You Better Knot Die cm-5

by Betty Hechtman

  “All I said was ‘The Grove.’ Whatever that means. I thought the guy who asked me to relay the message said Grover, like the Sesame Street character. You know, since he was talking to an elf and all. But he said no in an annoyed voice and made me repeat what I was supposed to say. Then he said he’d be watching to make sure I did it.”

  “He did?” I said excited. “Is he still here?” I looked around and the elf did, too, but then he put up his green hands.

  “Naw. Don’t see him.” I asked for a description, but the elf was getting impatient.

  “Hey, lady, I didn’t really look at him. I was more interested in the fifty-dollar bill he laid on me. He was a guy, that’s all. I think he had on a baseball cap,” he said before walking away.

  Dinah had managed to keep everyone in the car. I promised everyone snacks at the next stop no matter what. I told Dinah and Adele about my conversation with the elf and the message Emily had gotten.

  “The Grove,” Dinah said with a exasperated sigh. “That’s all the way over the hill into the city and it’s rush hour. He couldn’t have picked another shopping area in the Valley.”

  “All I could get out of the elf was that it was a guy maybe wearing a baseball cap who gave him the message for Emily. It could be Bradley,” I said as Dinah peeled out of the parking lot, heading for the 101. The most direct route was to take the freeway to the Laurel Canyon off-ramp and take the canyon into the city.

  Traffic was thick as we started up the steep grade on Laurel Canyon Boulevard. At the top the road turned curvy as it threaded through the Santa Monica Mountains. The traffic clogged to a crawl as we passed Sunset Boulevard.

  “I can’t believe Mrs. Shedd let you leave the bookstore to chase after your neighbor,” Adele said. I didn’t say anything, hoping she would drop it. I should have known—Adele never dropped anything. I heard a big aha come from the backseat.

  “Mrs. Shedd was in Perkins’ investment club, wasn’t she?” Adele didn’t wait for a confirmation. “Yes, that’s it.” She prattled on, wondering how much Mrs. Shedd had lost and then I heard her suck in her breath. “She didn’t lose the bookstore, did she?” When I didn’t say anything, Adele took it as an affirmative answer and got panicky. “Pink, you’ve got to do something,” she said. She glanced around as if the pieces were falling into place. “Mr. Royal doesn’t know, does he? Who’s the great detective now? Well, thank heavens William and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  I guess she forgot about not being allowed in his writing room and his not mentioning anything about being A. J. Kowalski. By the time we turned off Fairfax Avenue into the shopping center driveway, Adele had forgotten her panic over the bookstore’s future.

  “This is my fav shopping center,” Adele squealed as Dinah pulled into the entrance of the parking structure. “It’s like a little town,” she said to the rest of us as if we’d never been here. “The decorations must be amazing. The Nordstrom here is the best. You know this is where all the celebrities come to shop now.”

  “No stopping until I say it’s okay,” I snapped.

  Parking at The Grove was much more of a production than at either of the Valley malls. There were tickets to be had and a lot of levels and people directing cars to the level with open spots.

  I figured that Emily and Madison had a head start on us, but since Dinah had driven like a race car driver, I was hoping we were close behind them. I was out of the car before Dinah had pulled all the way into a spot. I took out my BlackBerry as I ran to the escalator. I was ruthless, pushing through shoppers and baby strollers as I headed toward the Santa setup, figuring that was where they’d go.

  Santa had his own gingerbread cottage here with Raggedy Ann and Andy handling the photos. I pushed through the throng of parents and kids waiting, while I surveyed the crowd. Someone brushed against me and I automatically turned. My breath stopped when I found myself face-to-face with Emily.

  “Molly, what are you doing here?” When I looked down both she and Madison were empty-handed and going in the opposite direction. I studied the crowd ahead, looking for a man with a jewelry bag, but it was impossible to pick out anyone in the crowd.

  I swore under my breath. They had won.

  CHAPTER 17

  MRS. SHEDD WAS IN THE FRONT OF THE STORE when Adele and I walked in. Dinah had just dropped us off and headed home with the kids. She had evening plans with Commander—this time the kids were included—and she was nervous.

  “Well, how did it go?” Mrs. Shedd asked. Adele stepped in front of me and took over answering.

  “We didn’t see the dead guy, but Pink thinks he’s alive because of what some elf told her.” Mrs. Shedd wasn’t smiling when she looked around Adele and our eyes met. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mr. Royal about the money you lost in the investment scam,” Adele said.

  “How could you, Molly?” Mrs. Shedd said, her expression darkening. “I specifically told you I wanted to keep my situation a secret.”

  For once Adele’s ego helped me. Adele insisted I hadn’t told her anything, she’d figured it out all by herself. “Pink’s not the only detective around here,” Adele said. Mrs. Shedd muttered something about the afternoon being wasted, but Adele held out her shopping bag. “No, it wasn’t. I got a new dress for the launch. I can’t wait to show it to William.” Adele kept giving me conspiratorial winks. Finally Mrs. Shedd asked her if she’d developed a twitch.

  Adele looked horrified. “Of course not. Don’t you know a wink when you see it? It was just my signal to Pink about some special information we have.” Adele sighed. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone who A. J. Kowalski really is and ruin the launch.” Adele fingered the little vampire hanging off her sweater.

  “You know who the author is?” Mrs. Shedd asked.

  Adele waited a beat to build up the suspense. “It’s William. My boyfriend.” Mrs. Shedd looked toward me and I just put up my hands in a who-knows sort of way. The next moment Adele waved toward the parking lot and announced that William was driving by to pick her up and then she flew out the door.

  With Adele gone, Mrs. Shedd and I discussed the afternoon. I didn’t want her to feel hopeless, but at the same time I didn’t want her to feel too hopeful, either, since there was no guarantee Bradley was even alive. And even if he was alive, after what the SEC people said about the checks to the casinos, it was doubtful there was any money to find.

  “Just don’t give up, Molly,” Mrs. Shedd said in a tense voice. “No pressure, but the future of the bookstore is on your shoulders.” She let the words sink in and then went back to her normal self and asked if everything was ready for the upcoming holiday event.

  Thanks to CeeCee’s effort to get everyone making snowflakes, I felt comfortable saying yes. Finally, Mrs. Shedd went back to her office.

  I looked back at the activity table in the yarn area and was surprised to see Elise sitting by herself. Even from here I could tell by her body language that she was upset. She was slumped in a defensive posture over her yarn. She looked up when I approached the table. I almost expected her to put her hand in front of her face to deflect any blows. She had balls of black and white yarn and seemed to be starting another vampire scarf. I slid into the seat next to her.

  “I couldn’t stay home any longer. The phone keeps ringing. It’s always the same thing. They want to talk to Logan. Why isn’t he answering his cell phone? Why isn’t he answering his business phone? Then they want to know what’s going on with Bradley Perkins. Is it true he’s dead? They called Bradley’s office and all they did was take a message and refuse to give out any information. It ends with something frantic about wanting to know if their investments are okay.”

  Elise leaned back in the chair. “I was afraid to come to the Hookers meeting this morning. Everyone is so angry. They think Logan was making some kind of commission off the people he got to invest with Bradley.” Her expression darkened. “I don’t know how much more Logan can take. He seems pretty close to crackin
g.”

  I felt sorry for her, but at the same time wanted to know the truth. “Did Logan make money off his dealing with Bradley?”

  Her face hardened. “Logan didn’t make any commission on the clients he introduced to Bradley. The only gain he got was that Bradley tried to push real estate business his way.” She said the line as if she’d said it many times before. She ended by staring at me and saying a defiant, “Okay?”

  I reached out and touched her in support. I believed her and felt sorry for her situation. “Would it make any difference if Bradley was alive?”

  Her eyes focused and she straightened. “Did you see him? Where? When?” Her voice sounded frantic.

  “No, I didn’t see him,” I said. “I just have reason to believe he might still be alive.”

  Elise held on to my arm. “Find him, please. If he is, he’s the one who should pay for his crime. Not Logan.”

  I lightened the mood by asking her about her crocheting. As soon as I got her talking about Anthony and what we thought would happen with the vampire and the reporter in the next book, she went back to being her regular self. I asked her about the directions for the scarf and she apologized for forgetting she said she’d bring them in. She pulled out a piece of paper and began writing down how to make it. As I was leaving the yarn area, a woman had come up to the table and was admiring Elise’s work. It was probably only temporary, but at least for the moment she seemed to have some peace.

  Since I’d been gone all afternoon I stayed at the bookstore until eight. Most of my time was spent helping customers, but in between I went through my checklist for our So Many Traditions event, as we were calling it. The centerpiece was celebrating Santa Lucia Day, which it more or less coincided with. To many the Swedish holiday kicked off the holiday season. Mrs. Shedd was the Santa Lucia expert. It was part of her Swedish heritage and as a child she’d been the one to wear the white dress, red sash and crown of candles. In our version, Rayaad’s daughters were going to wear the outfits, though our candles were going to be battery operated. Since part of the tradition of Santa Lucia had to do with feeding everybody, refreshments were on the house. I stopped in the café to check with Bob on the status of the ginger cookies, or pepparkakor, as Mrs. Shedd called them. He had taken advantage of the slowdown in customers and was leaning on the counter, typing on his laptop.

  He startled when I stepped up to the counter and stood up abruptly.

  “I tried two recipes. Tell me what you think.” Bob was very serious as he handed me two cookies shaped like stars and a shot of milk to clear my palate between tastes.

  “I thought so,” he said when I pointed out the cookie I preferred. “Those are the ones with molasses.”

  He asked about the rolls we were serving. Technically, they were supposed to be saffron buns, but Mrs. Shedd’s family had been renegades and served cardamom buns instead. Bob was the king of cookies, but he was nervous about doing anything with yeast, so I’d offered to make the buns.

  “I’m making a test batch tonight,” I said and promised to bring him a sample.

  I MADE A STOP AT THE GROCERY STORE FOR SUPPLIES and headed home. Shortly after Charlie died, I’d thought of selling the house and moving to a condo. It had really been more Peter’s suggestion, telling me I should downsize. Now I was glad I hadn’t done it. With two dogs, two cats, too much yarn and Samuel as a temporary resident, I needed the space. I was sure Samuel would make some other living arrangements in the near future. But I was willing to put money down that when the time came for him to move, the cats would stay with me.

  I was looking forward to taking my time and enjoying making the rolls. Even if Samuel was home, he’d probably be in his room and not in my way.

  It had become an automatic response to check the Perkins’ house as I drove by. From the street it looked dark. Not even the porch light was on.

  I shut off the motor and grabbed the grocery bag. Along with the baking supplies, I’d picked up a pint of ice cream. One of the things I’d said I liked about being on my own was being able to have an occasional ice-cream dinner and not have anybody look askance. No cars in front of my house and no cars in the driveway. I pulled into the garage and the automatic door shut with a rumble. I walked into the backyard and looked ahead to the back door. And no one ruffling through things in my house. The door was locked and any mess inside was strictly my fault.

  Once inside I saw there was a note on the table. Barry had stopped by and given the dogs yard time along with feeding them and the cats. Feeling like a lady of leisure for the moment, I set the grocery bag down and took out the pint of ice cream. First things first. I’d have my Bordeaux and strawberry dinner and then begin baking.

  I took a bowl of ice cream and settled in the middle of the couch and put my feet up. The dogs plumped down on either side of me and the cats jumped up and perched on the back of the couch. I let out a big satisfied ah as I took my first spoonful of my favorite ice cream.

  The back wall of the den was all windows that looked out on the backyard. Something moving outside caught my eye, and I sat bolt upright and almost choked on my mouthful of ice cream. A moment later I heard someone fidgeting with the back door lock. Was it a key or someone with a hairpin?

  I marched to the kitchen and grabbed a broom, ready to do battle as the door opened.

  I raised the broom, ready to smack whoever entered. Luckily I looked before I swatted. Barry and Mason walked in, talking about football. They both looked up at the same time.

  “Oh, you’re home,” Barry said, giving the raised broom a strange look.

  “Hey, Sunshine, what are you doing, trying to sweep the ceiling?” Mason said with a grin.

  I set the broom down. “I got a little nervous when I heard someone fiddling with the back door.” I glanced from one of them to the other. Something wasn’t right. They were acting friendly toward each other. “What’s up with you guys?”

  “Sunshine, even with a BlackBerry you still have to answer it or look at your messages.” When I didn’t get what he was talking about, he asked to see it. I found it in my purse and handed it over. He hit some keys and displayed a list of messages, he’d left. He’d left voice mail messages, too.

  “I stopped by the bookstore this afternoon and you weren’t there, either. Finally I came by here. Greenberg was in the yard with the dogs. I hung around awhile to see if you were going to show up. When he finished with the animals and you still weren’t here, we decided to get some dinner together.”

  I looked at Barry for confirmation and he smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we went to a sports bar and got some burgers. Some football game, huh, Mason?”

  Hmm. I suddenly felt very left out.

  “Molly, if you’re not going to answer your phone or call anybody back, you can’t expect us to sit here and starve waiting for you,” Barry said.

  “I was working,” I protested.

  “I know,” Barry said. “And now I get how you feel when I make plans and then don’t show up because I have to follow some lead.” He turned to Mason and made some comment about some great football play, but there was something in his manner that implied that Mason could now leave. Mason played Mr. Dense and walked through the kitchen toward the living room.

  I retrieved my ice cream, which was quickly turning into mush. Barry followed both of us.

  “I have the dog sweater in the car,” Mason said, gesturing toward outside. “I got to something that said decrease and I didn’t know what to do.”

  I really wondered about that. It meant he was working on it on his own, and from what I’d seen, he only worked on Spike’s future coat when I was around.

  “Molly’s had a long day. I don’t think she’s up for crochet lessons,” Barry said, putting his arm around my shoulder.

  I heard the front door open. “Is this door ever going to get fixed?” Samuel said. He looked at the three of us in the living room. “What’s going on?” Ryder, the kid from down the street, came in behind him and wa
ved a greeting with his video camera. At the same time Barry’s cell went off. It was his son, Jeffrey. He was done with rehearsal and going to get dropped off. When he heard where Barry was, he said he’d get dropped off at my house.

  Mason looked at the bowl in my hand. “Was that your dinner?”

  I nodded and he chuckled. “And we ruined it for you, huh?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, going back to the kitchen. “Look guys, I have baking to do for work.”

  “Baking!” they all said together. So much for peace. Ryder had never seen anyone actually make something with yeast. Apparently, the best his mother did was a cake mix. He videoed the whole rising process and was going to do some time-lapse trick. He couldn’t capture the smell though. The yeasty smell mixed with the spicy scent of the cardamom spread throughout the house as the dough rose.

  The front doorbell rang and then I heard a key in the lock. The door opened and shut, and a moment later, my older son, Peter, came in the kitchen. “What’s with the front door and do you know that a channel three news crew is out front?” he said. He looked at the flour-covered counter and Ryder videoing me shaping the rolls. It was hard to tell if Peter was coming from some event or just a long workday. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his dress shirt. He certainly didn’t get that perfection from my side. I hadn’t realized at first that he wasn’t alone. A slender woman in a dark suit and heels so tall my feet hurt in sympathy was with him.

  Explaining the door was easy, but not the news crew. Peter and his companion followed me into the den, where Barry and Mason were watching ESPN. I flipped to channel three and had the eerie encounter of seeing my street on the screen. Kimberly Wang Diaz was doing a remote. It turned out there was nothing happening next door, it was just the news style now to have field reporters do their stories in the area where something had happened. The story was an update on Bradley and his apparent suicide and the investigation into his business.