When all twenty-five retreaters had checked in and were set up for lunch and some free time to look around Vista Del Mar before the first workshop, I went home. Julius was parading in front of the back door when I got there. He followed me inside and stuck close as I walked through the house. It was obvious Sammy had returned while I was gone. He’d gone all out. His shaving stuff was in the bathroom, and his robe hung on the back of the door. He’d left a pair of shoes with socks stuck in them, which was really very unlike Sammy. He wasn’t a throw-your-socks-on-the-floor kind of guy. He’d left a stack of American Association of Urologists newsletters in the living room on the coffee table. The only thing he hadn’t left was any hint of his passion for magic.
“It’s just for show,” I said to Julius, who had jumped on the pile of newsletters and seemed intent on knocking them to the floor. The black cat didn’t seem to believe me, and I decided to give him an extra serving of stink fish to pacify him. I’m sure that was probably bad cat training, but it worked. Julius did figure eights around my ankles in happy anticipation of his treat.
After I’d fed him, I turned on the oven to preheat and took out some logs of butter cookie dough. I sliced them, sprinkled on some slivered almonds and popped them in the oven. The sweet buttery scent filled the air as they baked. Presentation is everything, so once they were cool, I put a doily in the bottom of a round tin and arranged the cookies before putting on the lid.
I also did a little fix-up on my appearance. I’d settled on practically a uniform for the retreats of black jeans and black turtlenecks, with some of my aunt’s knitted and crocheted creations to add some color. There were so many pieces to choose from. Today I picked a loose cowl made out of a nubby yarn in shades of turquoise. I redid my makeup and added some lipstick. As I looked at my reflection, I wondered how Crystal managed all that eye liner and blush and didn’t look overdone. On me, even simple red lipstick seemed blindingly bright.
The best outerwear for the area was fleece, and I had a whole wardrobe of different colors and styles of the cuddly material. I decided to go all the way for bright and picked out a red fleece that was designed to look like a shirt.
As I went across the street once again, I noticed that the air was a nice kind of cool—bracing, but not like a slap on my skin. Thanks to all the fireplaces in the Vista Del Mar buildings, the air always had a hint of wood smoke, mixed with the scent of the ocean. There was lots of activity now that lunch had ended and the newly arrived guests were checking out their surroundings. I’d included a map along with the schedule in the folders, so I felt confident my group would find our meeting room.
The meeting rooms were in single-story buildings sprinkled around Vista Del Mar. Some took up the whole building and some just half. All the buildings in Vista Del Mar had names. I’d chosen Sea View for our group. It was located on the top of a slope and, as its name implied, had a vantage point through the dunes to the water. The inside seemed cheerful and cozy after the flat light of outside. A fire was going in the fireplace, and coffee and tea service had been set up on the counter near a small sink. I put the tin of cookies next to the stack of white ceramic mugs.
Two long tables had been set up parallel to each other. I checked through the stack of boxes against the wall. They were filled with sets of long and round looms. There were also plastic bins filled with an assortment of yarns. I was just considering how to distribute everything when Wanda and Crystal arrived. I was always struck by the difference in their styles. Crystal, with all her unmatched everythings and layers of colorful shirts and bouncing ringlets of black hair, made Wanda, in her comfortable beige slacks and pale yellow floral top, seem so bland.
We greeted one another, but they both seemed a little done in. I had successfully put everything about the previous night out of my mind, but seeing them brought it all back. I figured it was best to deal with it now, before the retreaters arrived.
“I suppose you know about Rosalie,” I said. They both nodded.
“It still doesn’t seem real,” Crystal said. “It’s almost as if it was somehow part of the service. I wasn’t a fan of Rosalie’s, but still.”
Wanda seemed to want to get on with the matter at hand and started looking through the boxes of supplies. “I’ll put a set of looms at each place,” she said. She pulled out some marker pens. “They can mark the boxes with their names, take out the round loom we’re going to use first and store the rest back in the big boxes.”
Crystal didn’t object, and we all started taking out the sets of looms and distributing them around the table.
I knew it was best to find out what they knew while it was still fresh in their minds, but I didn’t want to come across as grilling them. At the same time, I had to get to it, because our group would be arriving soon.
“Was there anything different about the service this year?” I asked.
Wanda stopped what she was doing. “No, it was the exact same program. So much the same that you could set your watch by what the pianist was playing.”
“So then everyone knew when the lights would be off,” I said. “Did either of you notice anything when it was dark?”
“There was just a lot of shifting around,” Crystal said. “The princesses all had to go out the front door and grab their cardboard trees and assume their positions. I was trying to look for my daughter, but with the music and the narration it was hard to focus on anything.”
“I wonder where Liz Buckley was when all that was going on,” I said.
Wanda put a set of the looms on the table. “She uses one of those cordless mikes, so she could have been anywhere.”
We’d finished setting the looms out, and the two of them began to distribute samples they’d made using the looms on their respective tables. There was no doubt as to which samples belonged to whom. Wanda’s were all rather utilitarian, done in basic blues and tan, while Crystal’s had mixtures of orange and purple and hot pink, usually paired with something with sparkle.
“Rosalie mentioned someone named Hank during her spiel at the podium,” I said. “Who is he?”
Wanda was quick to answer, which figured since she always liked to give an impression of superior knowledge about everything. “He’s her husband. And he wasn’t there, if that was going to be your next question. He’s nothing like her, except in that they’re both native Cadburians.” Wanda put her hand on her hip. “She was so into the importance of the Butterfly Queen. You know how she was queen herself three times and tried to get the town council to make her the permanent queen? When that didn’t work, she tried to get it for ten years, then five years, but they threw out the whole idea of anything more than a year.”
Crystal added that they were rarely seen together, something about him working odd hours. Wanda nodded in agreement, and I realized I was running out of time. The retreaters would start arriving at any moment.
I got to the point. “Do either of you have any idea who stabbed her?”
It was getting too weird to see them both in agreement, but in unison they said, “It was the girl with the blue hair.”
I wanted to ask more, but Lucinda came through the door, followed by the other retreaters.
“Showtime,” I said. It was silly, but I could feel my heart rate kick up and my breathing get shallow. The early birds and Lucinda spread themselves equally between the tables, and the rest of the group followed suit.
When they’d all filed inside, I noticed that Liz Buckley had walked with the two Danish women and was standing outside, watching through the window. I knew the travel agent wanted to make sure that nothing would go wrong, but I thought she was taking it too far.
I let my two workshop leaders do the welcoming of the group and stepped outside to hopefully reassure Liz.
“They’re going to be fine,” I said as I reached her.
“I suppose I am overreacting. I think I’m still unnerved over what h
appened last night. It was supposed to be a happy time.”
“Then you know Rosalie died,” I said. Liz’s eyes opened wide, and she sucked in her breath in surprise. Apparently, she’d missed the news. Then she did something odd. I noticed just a hint of what seemed like a hopeful smile.
“That might change everything,” she said, and abruptly walked away.
I went back inside and walked straight into chaos. Wanda had gotten right into things and had clearly told them all to take out the correct round loom for their first project of a hat. As I watched, she gave them directions to mark their boxes and then get them out of the way. There were already grumblings from several of the women that loom knitting wasn’t really knitting. But things really seemed to have hit the fan when Crystal told them to pick the yarn they wanted to use. Go figure. After Crystal’s whole fuss about having different yarns so they could express their creativity while still doing the same project, they all wanted the navy blue yarn.
I stepped to the front of the room and put up my hands. I remembered dealing with an unruly group when I’d been a substitute teacher. I’d always found distracting the kids worked, especially if it was with something pleasant.
“Let’s all take a break,” I said. “There’s tea and coffee, and I brought homemade cookies.” None of them knew there was any question about my baking, and they swarmed the tin.
I told the women who objected to the looms that they could use needles, then I told Crystal to go to the Lodge and call her mother. I assured the group we’d have more navy blue yarn in no time.
The group was still sipping drinks, munching cookies and socializing when Gwen Selwyn came in, wheeling a stack of bins. She was a little breathless and I thanked her for rushing over. We set up in the corner, and I worked with her to hand out the navy blue yarn, while taking back the other colors. When she finished, she turned to the group.
“Ladies, and Scott,” she said, smiling at the male early bird. “I dropped off a supply of yarn and notions at the gift shop last night. I’m looking forward to seeing you all when you come into Cadbury Yarn later in the week. I know you are all going to love learning how to crochet a monarch butterfly.”
With her mission accomplished, she snapped the lids on the bins and went outside. I followed, wanting to thank her again for all her help. And in the back of my mind, I wondered if this was the time to tell her about the proof I had that she was Edmund Delacorte’s daughter.
“I’m happy to do it.” She stopped on the path to respond to my thanks. “I was very fond of your aunt, and I’m pleased that you took over the retreats. They’re a real boost for our business. Not only do you get a lot of supplies through us, but when the other guests see your people working with needles, they want to knit, too, and they buy the yarn we supply to the gift shop.” She gathered herself up, and I sensed she was going to go.
“There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” I said.
“It’s about what happened last night, isn’t it?” Gwen said. “What a thing to happen here. I think everyone is trying to put on a good front and just carry on despite it.” She adjusted the lid of a bin that had come loose. I realized right then that this was definitely not the time to bring up her real identity. However, it might be a good time to ask her a few questions, as I remembered that she had been on the grounds the night before.
“I noticed you said you came by last night to drop off the yarn. Didn’t I see you come in the dining hall when Rosalie Hardcastle introduced the Princess Court? I suppose you wanted to see your granddaughter get her crown. Marcy must have been very excited. Did you stay for the Blessing of the Butterflies?”
Gwen had started to walk now, and I was following her down the path. “I have to get back to the store. I did look into the dining hall when Marcy got her crown, but the Blessing of the Butterflies seems like stupid theatrics to me. I heard a bunch of commotion coming from there as I was leaving, which made me even gladder that I didn’t go.”
“When did you hear what happened?” I asked, struggling to keep up with her fast pace.
“Last night, when Crystal and Marcy got home. My daughter was upset that the police insisted on talking to Marcy. The one with the rumpled jacket came by this morning to talk to her again and ask her if she saw anything. She told him that she didn’t. How could she have seen anything if the lights were off?”
“Then she has no idea who stabbed Rosalie?” I asked.
“It was the girl with the blue hair,” Gwen said. “After what Rosalie did to her, who could blame her?”
I stopped in my tracks, but Gwen went on, the wheels of the carrier making a squeaking noise as she went down the path. It was clear I wasn’t going to get any more out of her, so I turned and headed back to the meeting room.
Now that everybody had the same yarn and the same round loom, Wanda gave them instructions how to cast on using an e-wrap. Crystal didn’t object—I think she had accepted that Wanda was best at giving instructions.
“Aren’t you going to join us?” Wanda asked me. I actually liked being part of the workshops. When I’d started doing the retreats I’d had no skills with yarn, but I was getting there. I grabbed one of the round looms and some extra yarn Gwen had left and took a seat. By the end of the workshop, all of us had mastered the e-wrap cast on and had begun our hats. The funny thing was that the knitters who had been so insistent on sticking with needles saw the rest of us working with the looms and felt left out. They ended up joining us, saying they wanted to have the loom experience, too.
When the workshop ended, they all headed off for free time before dinner and our evening event. As had happened with my previous retreats, a few groups arranged their own smaller gatherings to knit together before dinner. Some of them went to the living rooms of the buildings their guest rooms were in, and some went to the Lodge.
Lucinda caught up with me. “You did a great job at straightening things out. Who would have figured they’d all want to use the same color?” Like the others, she’d taken her work with her and took out the loom to examine the rows of stitches hanging off it. “This looks like a way I can make something quickly and easily. Just my style.” She smiled and then noticed that I seemed quiet. “What’s the matter?”
I let out a mirthless laugh at her question and told her what Dane had put in my lap. “And Wanda, Crystal and Gwen all said they thought it was Chloe who stabbed Rosalie, as if it was a given.”
Lucinda didn’t say anything for a minute. “I don’t like to have to say this, but if you consider the facts, it could be true. There was that whole fuss between Rosalie and Chloe in the dining hall. I don’t really know Chloe, other than what you’ve said about her, but she doesn’t seem like someone who would go away quietly.” Lucinda’s last comment was certainly diplomatic.
“It just can’t be true,” I said. “I haven’t gotten any exact details yet, but I am getting the vibe that Rosalie wasn’t well liked. And Chloe may have some edges, but I just don’t buy that she would stab someone.”
We’d reached the center of Vista Del Mar, and there were people walking toward the Lodge. “She’s lucky to have you on her side,” Lucinda said. “If anybody can help her, it’s you.”
I appreciated her belief in me. “There’s more,” I said. Lucinda stopped walking and turned to me. I told her about Sammy and his parents, and her expression lightened.
“Good, something for comic relief. He’s a grown man—why can’t he just tell his parents that he loves magic and he actually has a career here? Maybe if they saw him in action, doing table magic at Vista Del Mar, they’d see how much it means to him. And how much the crowd likes it, too. Tag and I even talked about having him do his act at the Blue Door on one of our slow nights, but there doesn’t seem to be enough space.”
“If you met his parents, you’d understand. Actually, you probably will meet them. They want to do things with ‘the happ
y couple’ while they’re here.”
“You know that I’m here if you need any help,” my friend said. We started to walk again, heading into the Lodge. There was a lot of activity going on. A group was gathering for a nature walk, and the pool table and table tennis were both in use. The seating area was filled. I saw that some of my group had taken over a table and were putting out their knitting things. As always, there was a line for the old-fashioned phone booths. It was a hard adjustment for people to go without cell phones and Internet when they were so used to being instantly connected.
“I have to call Tag,” Lucinda said, looking toward the line. I offered to let her use my place, but she said she wanted to stay on the grounds and keep the illusion that she was away on vacation somewhere going as long as possible.
I was about to leave when the clerk behind the massive registration counter waved me over.
“I wanted to tell you about this directly,” she said. “So you can take care of it before Mr. St. John finds out.” It was common knowledge among the staff that he was looking for a way to push me out of the retreats. Luckily, I got along with the workers and they were on my side. The clerk handed me a check, and it was stamped Returned for insufficient funds. I started to panic until I saw that it wasn’t my check, but rather the one Liz Buckley had given me for the two Danish women’s retreat costs. I’d merely signed it over to Vista Del Mar to cover their rooms, but the clerk reminded me that I’d gotten cash for the difference. Just what I needed: another problem.
10
While my group enjoyed their free time before dinner and the evening’s activity, which was something called the Beckoning of the Butterflies, I went into town. It was late in the day, and I hoped that Liz was still in her office. I was sure that the problem with the check was some kind of mistake, and I just wanted to take care of it quickly, so Kevin St. John didn’t find out.
Gone with the Wool Page 8