Hooks Can Be Deceiving

by Betty Hechtman

  Her intentions were the best, and I watched as she fumbled with the coffee pot and paper filter. It was hard for me to watch her struggle without offering to step in, but it seemed important to her to do it herself.

  We sat down at a small table in an eating area off the kitchen. A sliding glass door led outside. From my vantage point, it looked like a black hole with some lights coming from a building in the distance. Marianne had seated herself so her back was to the view. It seemed intentional, and I realized the black hole was probably the yard. Did she connect it with what had happened to Connie?

  The coffee was more like brown water, but I told her it was good. She sighed and then managed a smile. She offered me food, saying there was a full supply of frozen things she could put in the microwave, but I said the coffee was fine.

  I didn’t want to upset her, but I really wanted to find out everything I could. It wasn’t just about helping Barry anymore. I was genuinely curious. There was no polite way to ask her why she was on the drugs, or more important, what her brother had meant when he talked about what would happen if she didn’t take them. So, I chose another topic. I asked her if the police had finished their investigation.

  Marianne had made a cup of herbal tea for herself. I recognized the distinctive scent of chamomile. She didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t tell if it was because it was hard for her to collect her thoughts or because she was considering what she should say. “Yes, I believe they have whatever they need,” she said finally. There was nowhere to go with her comment, so I changed the subject.

  “It seems like a big place for you, but then I should talk. People say the same about my house,” I said.

  She made a movement with her mouth. “Sorry, but my mouth is so dry.” She drank some of the tea and swallowed a few times. “I always think drinking something will help, but it doesn’t.” Her gaze scanned the pleasant room. “This is my family home. It’s where I grew up, and when my parents died, I was left in charge. Errol has wanted to sell it from day one. But I don’t see the point. I like living here.”

  I was wondering about the expense of it all and trying to think of a way to bring up the subject, but Marianne did it on her own. “We were both left trust funds. It was better when I was working, but mine covers the expenses of this place. Now he’s trying the angle that I can’t take care of myself and should be living somewhere with twenty-four-hour care. Connie’s accident gave him new ammunition. I knew we’d find somebody to take her place.” I could tell by the way her tongue seemed to stick that her dry mouth was making it hard for her to speak. But she seemed determined and drank some more tea, clearly hoping it would help.

  “It’s really not a bad job. I don’t require as much care as Errol thinks. The woman before Connie was working on a book. It’s more about them being available rather than hovering over me.”

  “Then you were happy with Connie?” I asked, and she shrugged. “But I suppose you really got to know her.”

  “We weren’t friends, really. It was a very lopsided relationship. Her job was to care about me. My end of the bargain was to pay her. That makes me sound pretty awful,” she said. “I did try to ask about her life, but she said something about keeping a professional distance. I had a feeling that she didn’t want to make it seem as if we were friends because she thought I might use it to manipulate her.”

  Although she didn’t say it, from the two times I’d seen Marianne fuss with her brother about taking her meds, I thought it had to do with that.

  “So it’s pretty much a round-the-clock job,” I said.

  “It’s really about someone being here. My driving is a little shaky, and sometimes I need help doing things. The job comes with room and board,” she said. She turned and peered out in the darkness. “See those lights? It’s a nice little guesthouse. I used to use it as an office.” Marianne sounded almost wistful. “Things were a lot different then.”

  As I listened, it seemed to me that she was very self-aware despite the brain fog from the drugs. I almost brought up the elephant in the room and asked why she needed them. But I was going to have to work my way up to it. What struck me as I talked to her was that while she talked slowly, she clearly wasn’t slow-witted. I thought back to when she’d first joined the Hookers. We’d all reacted to the way she talked and had never really included her in the group. Everyone had always greeted her but then left it at that.

  “You know, I’m the one who found Connie.” She said it calmly, but I was stunned. I desperately wanted to know more, but she had picked up her teacup and stopped talking. The answer seemed to be to ask her something to keep her going.

  “Do the police know?” I asked, and she nodded.

  “I’m the one who called 911. Then I called Errol and he took over. He wouldn’t let me say anything until he got the attorney.”

  I was still processing that she’d been the one to find Connie, and I asked her for details. I half expected her to clam up after what she’d said about her brother and the attorney, but if anything, she seemed anxious to talk.

  “Connie always came to the house in the morning to do this and that. I was okay with it when she didn’t come in that morning. I can certainly get myself up. But it got later and later and she still hadn’t come. After lunchtime, I tried her cell phone, but there was no answer. I went outside and saw her car parked in the driveway. That’s when I decided to go to the guesthouse and knock on the door.” She turned to look at me. “There’s an opening to the lawn just past the garage, and I thought I’d walk across the grass.”

  I didn’t let on, but I knew exactly where she was talking about. It was where I’d seen the white van and the tent.

  “That’s when I saw her lying there.”

  “Did you ever find out what happened to her?”

  I sensed she was thinking over what to say and willed myself to be patient and move at her speed. “It seems like it was a freak accident. Something happened to her when she stepped on the grass.” She drank some more of the tea. “My brother said it was a reason to sell this place. He said it could have been me.”

  What? I forced myself to seem calm and asked for more details.

  “Almost every night, the last thing I do before I go to bed is take a walk around the perimeter of the yard. It’s my way of saying good-night to the world. It makes me feel peaceful, and then it’s easy to fall asleep. Not that I really need any help with that. The pills knock me out.” I noticed she had gotten a soft smile as she talked about her nightly habit. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. And now it’s one of the few things I do completely on my own.” She turned back toward me. “But I didn’t walk that night because I turned my ankle.”

  I let what she’d just said sink in. And realized that it changed everything.

  * * *

  My mind was whirling when I got home, and my stomach was protesting the lack of dinner. Samuel had taken care of the animals before he’d gone out, so all I had to do was let the two dogs out for a few minutes. I stayed out with them and drank in the heady scent of pink jasmine flowers coming from another yard.

  I greeted Blondie in her chair in my room when I went to drop off my jacket. Then it was on to dinner. Mason had a business dinner that night, so he was out of the equation. For a moment I considered calling Barry to let him know that I’d found out something important, but Barry had been clear that he had to be in control and would contact me.

  I threw some leftovers in a casserole dish and stuck it in the oven. I had chosen the larger casserole dish, thinking in the back of my mind that Barry might call. But then he might not. It momentarily annoyed me that he just showed up whenever, but then I let it go. That was just how Barry rolled.

  The air filled with the delicious scent of the cooking casserole. The concoction of vegetables, rice, eggs, and some cheese wouldn’t make a stir on a cooking show, but it tasted good to me.

  I had just finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher when Mason called to check in and give me
some bad news. He profusely apologized, but our weekend plans would have to be put on hold. He had to fly up to San Francisco and do some damage control for a client.

  “You could come along, though most of your time would probably be spent alone,” he said. “I’ll be tied up hand-holding.” He let out a tired sigh.

  It wasn’t even a consideration, since I was working both days. I was going to tell him about my day, but I could hear him yawning and I knew he had an early flight. I wished him safe travels and we hung up. When I put down the cordless, I looked at the clock. It was already eleven. Just as I was thinking Barry wouldn’t come for sure, the phone rang.

  “Detective Greenberg,” he said when I answered. “Er, I mean, it’s Barry.” His tone was confused, still part official business and part regular Barry. “Well, I’m here on business. This isn’t a social call.”

  I felt bad that I’d hassled him about his formal greeting. I hadn’t meant to cause him so much confusion. “Okay, I know who you are and why you’re here. I’ll open the front door.” I suppose I could have told him he could use the key he had for dog care, but I thought that would confuse things even more—maybe for both of us.

  He had his standard late-night look, suit with no wrinkles and more than a five o’clock shadow on his chin. He held himself erect with no hint of how long he’d been working. The dogs came running and gave him a royal welcome, and I saw him crack a smile, though he tried to hide it.

  “I’m sure you’re probably hungry,” I said, skipping right to the point. “I have some leftover casserole. It’s not going to win any cooking competitions, but I liked it.”

  This time he showed his smile. “That would be great.”

  I sent him to the dining room and heated up a portion of the mixture. I added some orange slices for garnish. I put it in front of him and then went to get some sparkling water for both of us.

  “Well,” he said when I finally sat down across from him. “Tell me what you know.”

  “You’re certainly getting right down to business,” I said. “But I have a few questions first.” I took a sip of the orange-flavored sparkling water and watched as he stopped with his fork in the air.

  “I thought we agreed. You were just going to cooperate and be my informant and tell me what you found out. It was going to be a total one-way street of information. You to me.”

  “But I can’t understand the importance of what I know without knowing how the pieces fit. I could completely miss telling you something that is a key to everything because I didn’t realize it mattered.”

  “I should have known,” he said, shaking his head. “The idea was that you weren’t going to put together the pieces. That’s my job. You are just supposed to give me the pieces that need to be put together.”

  I folded my arms and looked across at him. “That doesn’t work for me. I can’t possibly tell you the very big turning-point piece of information I have unless I know something first.”

  He started to put the fork down, but I urged him to go ahead and eat. He went back to working on the food. He looked down and I was sure he was trying to figure out what to say so that it wouldn’t seem he was giving in.

  “It’s hard for me to consider your offer without knowing exactly what it is that you want to know. So what is this information that you need so badly?” He had a hint of a smile.

  “I saw that smile. I think you like that I give you a hard time,” I said. “It keeps you on your toes.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He’d gone back to his cop face. “The last thing I want to do is wrangle with you. So tell me what you want to know.”

  “The news article I read was very short on details. How did Connie Richards end up electrocuted?”

  “Electricity passed through her body,” he said. He had his cop face on, but I knew inside he thought he was being clever.

  “But what were the circumstances?”

  “Do you know that water is a conductor of electricity?” he said, and I nodded.

  “The sprinklers had soaked down the yard, and—”

  “And there was something that electrified the water on the ground, so that when she stepped on the soggy ground, she got electrocuted.” I said excitedly.

  “Right,” he said, seeming annoyed that I’d finished the thought.

  “What was it? Something with outdoor lighting?”

  “No, if that was the case it would be a clear-cut accident,” he said. Then he seemed to regret saying so much. “Oh, hell, I might as well fill in the rest of the blanks instead of playing this game. There was an old radio connected to a frayed extension cord that was plugged into a socket in the garage. The radio had been left on.”

  I sat up straighter. “Now I get it. The radio could have been turned on when everything was dry, but when the sprinklers came on, the lawn became a killing zone. Connie came back from her evening off and, as she walked across the lawn to the guesthouse, she was zapped. Did you ask Errol Freeman about it?”

  Barry let out a heavy sigh. “Of course. I’m a real detective, remember?” I saw his gaze go to the junior detective set and then back to me. “Freeman thought the gardeners must have wanted some music while they were working and found the radio and cord in the garage. Nothing is locked in that place.”

  “Did you talk to the gardeners?”

  Barry rolled his eyes, and I could see he was getting annoyed that I was asking more questions. “Yes, we spoke to them. They insisted they didn’t know anything about the radio.”

  “Were the gardeners Latino? Did you see what station the radio was tuned to?”

  He got where I was going and, for a flash, he looked excited, but then his expression went back to serious. “So, now you know what happened. Now it’s your turn to pay the piper and give me this earth-shaking piece of information.”

  I took pity on him and decided to make it easy. “Okay, here it is. What about if someone besides Connie was the intended victim?”

  “Wait a second, that’s not giving me information. That’s asking me another question. You’re not playing fair.”

  “Sorry, you’re right,” I said. He seemed surprised that I’d given in. Then I told him about Marianne and her nightly walk. “It was only by chance that she skipped it that night.”

  Barry took a moment to digest the information. “You’re right. That does change the possibilities.”

  “Did you say I was right?” I got up and did a dance of triumph. “Oh geez, I’m turning into Rory Graham and her Dance Breaks.” I sat back down. “I’m just so floored that you said I was right about something.”

  He seemed concerned. “Is that what you think? That I think you’re wrong about everything?” I suddenly got the feeling he wasn’t talking about detective skills anymore.

  “Well, yes,” I said finally.

  “I’m sorry. That simply isn’t true.” He continued looking at my face a little too long before he slipped back on his inscrutable cop expression. He pulled away from the table and picked up his plate. He quickly dropped it in the kitchen and headed to the door.

  “Thanks for the food and the information. I’ll be in touch.” He was already out the door as I said good-night.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m here to take you away from all of this and make up a little for canceling our weekend plans at the last minute,” Mason said. He was standing in front of the information booth with a big grin on his face. It was the middle of the day on Monday, and he wasn’t wearing a suit. “Someplace special, where it’s green as far as your eye can see.”

  I’d worked both days and spent my evenings using the instructions I’d gotten from CeeCee to make samples of the bracelets. I was pleased how they’d come out and was wearing one now.

  “What’s up? Are you playing hooky?” I said noting the jeans and Hawaiian shirt.

  “Sometimes you just have to be naughty,” he said, glancing around the bookstore. “It looks pretty quiet. Do you think you could take a long lunch?”

&nb
sp; “I’m the assistant manager,” I said, feeling my lips curve into a smile. “I think that gives me some clout.” I told him to wait and I’d see what I could do. I found Mrs. Shedd busy working with Phyllis, one of our new hires, arranging a display table with cookbooks along with some cooking tools.

  “Molly, I think we should try to have some events connected to cooking again.” She didn’t need to remind me why we hadn’t put on any for such a long time. The inevitable setting off of the smoke detectors and arrival of the fire department had deterred our efforts. Though, as I recalled, we had still sold a lot of books.

  I agreed and then reminded her of the event we had coming up later in the week that I expected to be a big draw.

  “I’m sure Missy Z is going to attract a big crowd. Romance and an author in disguise,” my boss said with a happy smile.

  “And hot sex,” Phyllis added.

  Mrs. Shedd chuckled and blushed. “I’m sure you’re right. We need to make sure we have lots of chairs.” Her expression turned serious. “Did you hear from the Creating With Crochet people?”

  “They called this morning to confirm they were coming by to look at the yarn department and check on things.”

  Mrs. Shedd stepped a little closer to me. “I’m depending on you to look out for the interests of the bookstore. See if you can get an idea where they’re going to have the cameras so we can conveniently place some signs with our name. Wouldn’t it be great if they were visible for the whole show?”

  Mrs. Shedd was always looking for ways to promote the bookstore, but it wasn’t just about upping the profit. She loved the place and thought it had value to the community. I heartily agreed.

  I got to the point of why I’d found her, and as soon as she saw Mason standing in the front of the store, she said she was fine with me taking a little extra time. She knew that I usually worked far more hours than my allotted shift. Her only request was that I be back by the time the TV people were supposed to be there.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Mason when I rejoined him. I’d already gotten my purse and jacket, and he took my hand and we went out the door feeling like two wild teenagers ditching school.