A Stitch in Crime (2 page)

Then Sheila handed the piece to me. As Adele’s gaze turned my way, she saw the box with the clipboard on top that I had set on the table. I prepared myself for the onslaught.

“What are you doing with the rhinestone clipboard?” Adele demanded. Was there a little quiver in her lip? When I didn’t answer immediately, she stood up. “Well, Pink, what’s the story?”

Even after several years, Adele had still not gotten over the fact I’d been hired as the event coordinator at Shedd & Royal Books and More. It didn’t matter that I had a background in public relations thanks to my late husband Charlie’s business; Adele still thought she should have gotten the position. To soothe her hurt feelings, she had gotten the children’s story time. And over time, Adele had managed to work her way into handling some events with me.

“Mrs. Shedd told me she isn’t going to the Get Out of the Heat and Light Your Creative Fire weekend. She put me in charge and turned over the rhinestone clipboard,” I said finally.

“That’s ridiculous! You’re not qualified. How many of the retreats have you gone on?” Adele said. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “I’ve been on every one since I started working here, which was years before you started.”

Adele was right on that point—I had never been on one of the retreats. I had been left in charge of the bookstore while Mrs. Shedd and Adele went. But I had already arranged to go this year as a participant and to help Mrs. Shedd. Why should it matter that I hadn’t gone before, anyway? I had put on countless author events. Yes, there had been a few problems, like the smoke alarm going off during a cookbook demo and the fire department showing up. Another time the men’s bathroom flooded when it turned out a fixit book author didn’t know quite how to fix it. But the sense of not knowing what was going to happen had turned out to be a benefit, and was attracting more and more people to the bookstore’s events.

It occurred to me that that sort of unpredictability might not transfer well to the retreat. But certainly I could get through four days without anything terrible happening. I was in my late forties, mature and able to handle things, right? Okay, I’d gotten involved in a few murders, but I’d managed to solve them, hadn’t I? Besides, there weren’t going to be any murders during the weekend. I simply wouldn’t allow it to happen.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Adele, but it’s a done deal,” I said, trying to end the discussion. I knew there was nothing I could say that could smooth things over. At least I now understood Adele’s over-the-top behavior. Once, when we had sat crocheting together in the kids’ department, she had opened up and told me her life story. It was kind of like Cinderella without Prince Charming, the fairy godmother, or the happy ending. All she’d gotten were the nasty stepmother and stepsisters.

But understanding her history didn’t mean her personality was always easy to take.

I sensed someone come up behind me. “Excuse me, ladies,” a female voice said. “Which one of you is Molly Pink?”

Before I could volunteer the information, several fingers were pointing toward me.

A woman with shoulder-length champagne blond hair and Angelina Jolie-quality puffy lips stepped into my line of vision. Before I could speak, Adele stood up so quickly her chair fell over, and she rushed up to the new arrival.

“I know who you are. You’re Izabelle Landers.” Then Adele did something I never thought I would see. She raised her arms in a worshipful position and bowed to the newcomer. “I’m awed by your crochet work.” Adele turned to the rest of the table. “She’s the author of
A Subtle Touch of Crochet
.” All of our gazes moved back to Izabelle, who appeared uncomfortable at Adele’s antics.

“Mrs. Shedd said to see you,” Izabelle said to me. “She said you had the folders for the weekend.” Then I put it all together. “You’re doing the crochet workshops, right?” Of course, I recognized her now from the photo on the back of her book, though her green eyes were much more startling in person.

Adele stepped in front of me. “Did I mention that your book on crochet embellishments has been an inspiration? I love embellishments.” As if to illustrate, Adele turned around in model fashion. There was nothing subtle about her embellishments. She wiggled her behind to show off the trim she’d added to the back pockets of her jeans and then kicked her leg out to show off the line of what looked like coasters she’d attached to the bottom of her pants. She pulled her bag off the table and swung it in Izabelle’s face. “I got this flower pattern from your book,” she said, pointing out the felted fuchsia flowers clustered around the handles of the black fabric tote bag.

Izabelle nodded uncomfortably at the fashion show and at the first chance turned back to me, saying she was going up to the retreat a day early and wanted to pick up her folder.

“You’ll find all the information in here,” I said, handing Izabelle a thick packet.

“I’ll be going to your workshops, though obviously I’m a very experienced crocheter,” Adele said, grabbing the white puffy piece and holding it out. “I’m a crochet designer, too. I just invented a stitch.”

Izabelle barely looked at Adele’s offering. My bookstore associate didn’t seem to have any radar to detect how people were reacting to her. Instead of picking up on Izabelle’s dismissal, Adele put her crochet creation on the table and hung close to the weekend presenter, prattling on about how she’d be glad to help out with the workshop. Izabelle thumbed through the folder.

“Before you leave, would you sign the copies we have of your book?” Adele didn’t wait for an answer, she just ran off toward the craft books. Izabelle definitely heard that question and looked over everyone’s works-in-progress as she waited for Adele’s return.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dinah Lyons said, arriving in a burst of energy. She’s my best friend and a freshman English instructor at Beasley Community College. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair short, which, along with her scarf wardrobe, gave her an arty, offbeat look. I was surprised at the flowing piece of white chiffon she was wearing, since she usually went for a couple of scarves in unusual color combinations. Dinah looked at Izabelle, assumed she was a new member of the group, and started to introduce herself, but she was stopped by Izabelle’s condescending smile—as if it was ridiculous to think she’d be one of us.

Izabelle set Dinah straight about who she was and why she was there. Then she spoke to the rest of us. “I don’t usually put on retreat workshops. The only reason I agreed to do the crochet session was Mrs. Shedd said I could demonstrate the fusion craft featured in my upcoming book. I want to practice it in front of a live audience before I go on the road with it. When my new book comes out, I’m going to be doing a major tour with stops at
The Today Show, Martha Stewart
, and some others.” Izabelle waited for the expected oohs and aahs, the loudest of which came from Adele as she returned, holding several of the large hard-bound copies of Izabelle’s current release.

CeeCee took advantage of the lull in conversation. “Molly, if you’re in charge, then I guess you’re the one I have to break the bad news to. You know I committed to running the acting workshop at the retreat, but I’m not going to make it until the last day.” Izabelle looked at our resident celebrity and seemed to just get who she was as CeeCee explained that the Hearts and Barks charity we’d helped before was having its yearly luncheon and that the entertainment was scenes from some current musicals. “The headliner, Helen Jones, had an emergency appendectomy, and you know the show has to go on, particularly when you’ve sold lots and lots of tickets and you don’t want to cancel and refund all that money meant to help the free pet clinic.” CeeCee paused to see if I was getting it. “I’m not sure you girls know, but I’ve done my share of singing and dancing, and my name means something. I couldn’t say no.”

Not a good sign. I’d barely been in charge of the weekend for an hour and Adele was practically smothering the crochet workshop leader, and now CeeCee was telling me she was going to be a no-show. I opened my mouth to object, but CeeCee turned on her magnetic smile.

“Now, dear, just because I can’t make it doesn’t mean I’m leaving you in the lurch. I found a replacement. He’ll probably do even better than I would have. He not only acts, but is the director of his own little theater. He knows how to work with actors, or people who want to be actors, better than I do.”

Izabelle had signed the books and set them on the table, and was now intently looking at CeeCee. “I thought it was you, but then I wasn’t sure. But it really is you, isn’t it?”

CeeCee was used to those kinds of comments and smiled, even though she’d been interrupted. Instinctively she touched the beret she wore over her highlighted brown hair to make sure it was straight. She always dressed to be seen even when she was just coming to lead the crochet group. Izabelle said how much she’d liked CeeCee’s old sitcom. “With all your years in the business, you’ve probably done tons of promotion on TV shows. I bet you could give me some pointers. You know how it is—nobody wants to fluff an interview with Matt Lauer.”

“I don’t know if I can help you, but if you’re going to the retreat, I bet my replacement could.” CeeCee turned to me. “Bennett Franklyn is an actor’s actor. He’ll do great.” CeeCee looked over the group to see our reaction. She seemed disconcerted when Izabelle was the only one who recognized the name. “He’s on
Raf Gibraltar
. You know— the main character is some kind of science teacher-secret agent who saves the free world every week by using everyday items to stop the bad guys. There’s lots of duct tape and coat hangers. Once he used a kid’s pencil to stop a fuel leak.” There was a chorus of recognition.

“Then Bennett plays Raf Gibraltar?” Dinah asked.

CeeCee seemed perturbed by our ignorance of acting professionals. “No, no. He plays his older brother. You’ll recognize him when you see him. People always think they know him from somewhere. He has those everyman looks. His wife is his manager. She’ll be coming as well.”

Izabelle was listening, at least until Adele interrupted, asking Izabelle about the fusion craft.

“You’ll have to wait until I do my demonstration.” Izabelle pushed the signed books toward Adele and said she had to go. Adele squeezed her hand and said she couldn’t wait to hear about the fusion craft before Izabelle picked up her things and left.

Dinah was the next to notice the rhinestone clipboard on top of the box. She picked it up and looked at me. “What’s this?” CeeCee, Sheila, Eduardo, and I all rolled our eyes as Adele told her in full detail what it was, what it meant and, most of all, that once again she hadn’t gotten her due.

In a huff, Adele went off to the bookstore café to see what kind of cookies Bob, our barista-cookie baker, had made. As soon as she was gone, Dinah came over and hugged me. “How wonderful that you’re going to be in charge.”

I smiled weakly. “Yes, this is my big chance to show off my leadership qualities, but what if I screw up? I was just planning to be a participant at the retreat, and help Mrs. Shedd. ‘Help’ is the important word here. Help isn’t the buck stopping with me.”

“Don’t worry,” Dinah said, releasing me and going back to her seat. “Look at all those author events you’ve put on. They’ve all been fine.” She winced and then went on.

“Okay, maybe there were a few mishaps, like the stink bomb.” Dinah caught herself again and put on her inspirational tone. “But even with the mishaps, everything always turned out well and you sold a lot of books. You’ll do fine this weekend. I personally promise not to be a problem.”

Dinah was leading a memoir-writing workshop.

Sheila chimed in and reminded me that she was going to be there, too. “You can count on me if you need any help,” she said.

Eduardo and CeeCee both voiced their confidence, and apologized for not being able to offer any support because they weren’t getting there until the last day.

“You’re not coming?” I said to Eduardo. He explained that he had a photo shoot for a cover that was big time. “It’s a Roberta Iron book,” he said, referring to the romance novel superstar.

Adele returned with a snickerdoodle and a latte. “Why, exactly, isn’t Mrs. Shedd coming?”

“All she said was that something had come up,” I said.

CeeCee cocked her head. “I bet it has something to do with Joshua Royal. Things have sure changed since he came back. Pamela Shedd must be well into her sixties, and Joshua, too, but they’re acting like a couple of teenagers.”

That was true. When Mrs. Shedd hired me as the event coordinator, Mr. Royal was such a silent partner that I didn’t think he existed. And then one day he’d just shown up. It was obvious they had some kind of history and were picking up its threads.

With all this talk about the fancy clipboard, I finally had a look at it and thumbed through the pages it held. “Mrs. Shedd said the crochet group would make afghans over the weekend and donate them to a homeless shelter up there,” I said, my voice rising in concern.

“It’s obvious she doesn’t crochet,” CeeCee said with a sigh. “Even if we weren’t going to do a crochet-along project, it would be impossible except for the speediest of crocheters to make an afghan that fast.”

There was something else on the page in front of me. Another little plan of Mrs. Shedd’s that she hadn’t mentioned. She had crossed out candle making and written in knitting. “When did she add a knitting workshop?” I blurted out. If Adele was upset about me getting the rhinestone clipboard, it was nothing compared to her reaction to the word
knitting.

She smacked her fist on the table. “I can’t believe she betrayed us like that.”

All of the Tarzana Hookers agreed that crochet was better than knitting, but we weren’t militant like Adele. Before I could calm her, she launched into her tirade.

“We crocheters are not going to be the stepsisters of knitting anymore. Why does everyone insist on saying ‘knitting and crocheting’? Why not the other way around? ‘Crocheting and knitting’ is alphabetical.”