Seams Like Murder (11 page)

“What about Tony?” Dinah said. “Do you think he has something going on the side? And if so, would he do anything as crass as actually meet that someone on CeeCee’s property?” I watched a mother with two toddlers go by. The toddlers had almost the same walk as the pair of ducks in front of them.

“I hope not.” I glanced at my cell phone to check the time and saw that a reminder had come up. “Oh no. How could I have forgotten about tonight?” Dinah had a blank look, and it was clear she’d forgotten as well.

“The promo for Yarn U. The idea is that all the teachers will show off what they are going to teach, including you.
How could I have forgotten? I’m supposed to be the assistant manager, and I forgot something as important as this!”

Dinah stepped in. “You’ve had a few things on your mind. We all have. After what happened at CeeCee’s, it’s a wonder you remember anything.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Okay, now take a deep breath and then let it out. It’s not too late. We just have to make a few calls.”

What would I do without my best friend?

It turned out that only Dinah and I had forgotten about the Yarn U Preview that night. Well, CeeCee had, too, but under the circumstances, I didn’t think that counted. I told her not to worry about it. Her class was going to be a onetime thing showing how to make items for charity. It was going to be free, at her insistence, and I was sure it would be full. Despite her earlier fussiness, Rhoda said she would be there, and Elise was coming and bringing samples of the projects for her class as well as some kits in case someone didn’t want to sign up for a class but still wanted to make something vampire style. Eduardo was full of apologies about missing all the group things lately, but he promised to attend with samples of his lacy crochet work. Adele already had all of her things at the bookstore. And luckily, Dinah had all her pieces in her tote bag.

I saved contacting Sheila until last, but I was completely surprised when she seemed okay with showing off a sample
of the hug. Though she did make sure that all she had to do was stand there and let her work speak for itself. What a relief. I had somehow managed to pull off the reminders without giving anyone an inkling that I’d forgotten. I didn’t even think Mrs. Shedd realized it as I went around the store, putting up signs on the posters for Yarn U directing people to the yarn department.

The rest of the setup was easy. I just had to move the chairs away from the long table in the yarn department and put out cards with the class names and instructors, along with lots of sign-up sheets. And then it was home to take care of the animals.

*   *   *

“Oh, you’re here,” I yelped in surprise as I came through my kitchen door. My son Peter was standing at the counter, eating a bowl of the vegetable stew. He set down the spoon momentarily.

“Sorry if I scared you. I left messages everywhere that I was stopping by. You still don’t look at texts, do you?” I didn’t think he expected an answer.

“I’m guessing you heard about the excitement.” I slipped off my jacket and set it down.

“An unknown body is found in a celebrity’s guest quarters by a crochet group—yes, I heard about it, and I saw you running away from the news crew. Actually, it was my assistant who said, ‘Isn’t that your mother running away from the reporter?’ Mother, not again. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have my assistant point out that my mother found another dead body? He made all kinds of jokes calling you Hercule Pink, Molly Marple, and Sherlock Hooks.” Apparently Peter’s assistant knew about my crocheting.

There was reproach in his voice. Peter dearly wanted me
to keep a low profile—or maybe no profile. He was a TV agent and very concerned about his image. He’d been ambitious from the time he was a kid and had a lemonade stand that offered iced, blended drinks.

“It’s not an unknown body anymore,” was the only thing I could think of to say.

“I know who it is.” He said it in a dismissive manner, as if he didn’t want to talk about the fact that he had gone to school with Delaney’s daughter. “You should be more careful. I know you and your friends go sticking your noses where they don’t belong.”

I told him not to worry, that me and my friends were Teflon when it came to trouble. He didn’t see the humor in it and went back to eating the stew.

“Why don’t you sit down and eat?” I said, doing my best Vanna White impression to show off the built-in kitchen table.

“No time.” He tilted the bowl and got the last of the broth onto his spoon. Peter disapproved of just about everything I did, so in the hopes of avoiding him going through the laundry list of everything I was doing wrong, I changed the subject.

“I saw an old friend of yours. Erin Willis. She has another name now, and I can’t remember what it is, but she reminded me that you two went to prom together. She’s going to have a baby, and her mother wants to do the baby shower at the bookstore.” He had his back to me, and I couldn’t see his brown eyes, but I had the feeling they were glazing over. Now that I thought about it, it occurred to me that Peter had probably asked her more because of who her father was than any great love between them. “You must see Evan Willis all the time. Isn’t one of the shows you packaged with Wolf Films?”

When he turned, he had that look that kids give their parents—basically a how-can-you-be-so-clueless look.
“Mother, Evan Willis hasn’t been at Wolf Films for a few years. And when he was, it had nothing to do with my work.”

“I suppose they gave him some kind of production deal when he left,” I said, trying to prove that I wasn’t as clueless as he thought. Peter shook his head in distress at what I’d just said. I guessed that meant I was beyond clueless.

“No, he didn’t get a production deal. Last I heard he was out of the business.”

“He must be doing something that pays well. They still have the house with the tennis court, and Erin Willis didn’t even ask the price of the crochet shower. She just said they wanted the deluxe package.”

Peter just shook his head again as he put his bowl in the dishwasher and slipped his suit jacket back on. I opened the door and let the herd of animals go outside. Even Blondie came across the house to join them. I followed them outside to supervise the cats, and a moment later Peter joined me.

As much as I’d tried to avoid it, I got the laundry list of everything I was doing wrong. It started with me dating a homicide detective, even though that was ancient history now, and went into how I shouldn’t be letting my other son live with me or have all these animals. His final point was I should downsize and relocate to some condo settlement meant for older people. Then he surprised me by giving me an awkward hug. The best I could guess was that it was because there was no one around. “The stew was good. Thank you.” More surprise. Peter couldn’t be accused of overusing those two words.

“How’s it going with Mason?” That question was not a surprise. Peter had introduced me to Mason and had been hoping we’d get together all along. Mason was a powerful attorney with a lot of celebrity clients who could be helpful to Peter’s career, but mainly I think he hoped Mason would keep me out of trouble.

Cosmo and Felix were excited at having company and were sitting on Peter’s feet, looking up. Peter let out a sigh and then looked back at me, shaking his head in reproach.

“You do realize that having this many pets limits your options for moving.”

I remember thinking that when I grew up I’d be able to do whatever I wanted. What I hadn’t considered was what it was like to have adult children. Samuel, my younger son, wasn’t a problem. He seemed pretty nonjudgmental about whatever I did, though maybe he thought that was part of the deal when moving back home. It was a different story with Peter. He’d been unhappy with my life choices since I’d become a widow and probably even before.

I think at the bottom of it all, Peter was unhappy with his name and blamed me. When he was born all I could think of was Peter the Great, and it hadn’t occurred to me that he would end up with the initials PP.

“I stopped by to pick up my golf clubs,” Peter said. I’d seen them leaning against the wall in the entrance hall. He must realize that if I ever followed his advice and relocated to a smaller place, he would no longer be able to store his skis, kayak, golf clubs, collection of bats and who knows what else here.

He looked at me. “I suppose you know what happened.” He didn’t have to say more. I knew he was alluding to Delaney Tanner.

“No, I don’t,” I said as Peter followed me inside. He let out a sigh of relief until I added, “At least not yet.”

“Not
yet
? Oh no, Mother, not again.” Poor Peter.

*   *   *

It was dinnertime when I returned to the bookstore. I waited on a few customers, and then the Hookers started to arrive. Whatever was bothering Rhoda seemed to
have subsided, because she appeared upbeat as she methodically arranged her items on her section of the table. She had said more than once she wanted to do everything she could to make her felting class a success, but it wasn’t completely altruistic—it had been Mrs. Shedd’s idea to pay the teachers a piece of each student’s tuition for that class instead of a flat fee for teaching.

Elise arrived next, pulling a small cart. The disconnect between her appearance and her personality still always came as a surprise. She looked like a strong breeze could carry her away but she was all about business and had brought a large assortment of her kits. To further get the message across, she was wearing a crocheted black-and-white striped tunic with a bloodred tassel. The white was for vampires’ pale skin, the black for their clothes, and the red—well, that was obvious. I didn’t have to look closely to know that the tunic was done in half double crochet stitches, or as she referred to them, vampire fangs.

Eduardo Linnares would have stood out even if he weren’t the only male in the group. A former book cover model, he was tall and incredibly good-looking in a romance novel sort of way—long black hair drawn into a low ponytail, strong jaw, even features and a killer smile. He had left the leather pants and billowy shirts behind and now wore well-tailored slacks and sports jackets. The only leather was the tote he carried. It still amazed me how his large hands were able to manipulate a tiny steel hook and crochet thread to create dainty Irish crochet pieces. His grandmother had taught him well.

Dinah found her spot on the end. Her class was on easy and quick crochet. Since she was a community college instructor, teaching was second nature to her and she seemed the most relaxed of the bunch.

Adele waited to make an entrance. I’m sure she would
have preferred to parade in when everyone was there, but my guess is she got impatient waiting for Sheila, or maybe she thought Sheila wasn’t going to show. Since Adele’s class was beginning crochet and the project was a basic scarf, she didn’t have much to put out. To make up for it, she was dressed like a crochet sample book. She wore a black cocoonlike shrug and had attached brightly colored swatches in all different crochet stitches. To highlight the special qualities of crochet, she wore a wide-brimmed hat she’d crocheted in yellow raffia. The hat band was covered in crocheted flowers that were all different colors and designs.

I had arranged to have Sheila next to Dinah, but our tense crocheter’s spot was still empty. People were beginning to wander into the yarn department, and I had to take on my job as greeter and pitch person for the classes. Mrs. Shedd was watching from a distance.

I was relieved when Sheila came rushing across the bookstore carrying a large tote. I’d had my doubts that she would show after last night.

“Sorry, I got stuck at the store,” she said quickly as she passed. I saw that Dinah immediately started helping Sheila set out several versions of the hug. All of them had been done with three strands of yarn in blues, greens and lavenders, but she’d used different combinations of the colors in each of them. They made a beautiful hazy display. I think Adele was crushed when all the people at the table gravitated toward Sheila.

I held my breath waiting to see what Sheila would do, but it turned out it was a waste of worry. She did fine, probably because all she had to do was hand out sign-up sheets and accept compliments. No teaching involved.

There was a steady trickle of people coming through, and I registered quite a few new students. We started a waiting list for Sheila’s class, and it was suggested we just add
another class for her. I groaned internally—now there were two classes I’d have to worry about her teaching.

A whoop of excitement came from the table, and when I looked, Adele had come around the front and was greeting two people. It was hard to miss Eric Humphries, her fiancé. He was very tall with a barrel chest—imposing-looking was an understatement. At least he wasn’t in his motor officer uniform. The woman with him was Mother Humphries, as Adele kept calling her, which might explain why the older woman wasn’t in favor of the union. Adele had let us know that her future mother-in-law was visiting from San Diego, again, and making things difficult for Adele.

I went to stand near the table to get an idea of how people were reacting. A small, intense-looking woman moved down to Rhoda’s display. Very smartly, Rhoda had put out a skein of variegated yarn, a crocheted swatch of that yarn and a crocheted swatch that had been felted, along with the pouch bag that was the project for her class.

It was amazing to see the difference in how the colors looked on the skein, the first swatch and the felted swatch. I stared at the first two for a long time, and it stirred something in my mind while I listened as Rhoda explained the felting process. Basically the item to be felted was swished around in very hot water, which caused the fibers to twist together. The end result was a solid piece with no hint of the stitches that had made it.

The woman seemed interested and picked up the felted piece to examine it as I was about to offer her a sign-up form. “Can you use any yarn?” the woman asked.

“Sure, so long as it’s wool, and not the washable kind.”

“Wool?” the woman squealed, dropping the swatch like it was flaming. She began scratching her hand frantically. “I’m allergic to wool. One touch is all it takes.”

I heard Adele say something about an emergency and that Eric was a trained first responder, and the next thing I knew, the large man was towering over the woman, who seemed to be itching even more frantically.

“Can you breathe?” he asked. “Do you need an EpiPen? I know how to do a tracheotomy with a pen. Don’t worry, you’re going to make it.” He turned to the crowd around the table. “Get back, everyone! We have a woman in crisis here.”

He ordered our group to clear the table of their displays, and then he picked up the woman and laid her on it while she continued to scratch at her hand, trying to tell him something.

Adele was acting as his assistant and handed him his phone, presumably to call for help. The crowd might have moved back, but I stayed close to the table to see what was going on. The woman seemed overcome, but I had a feeling it was more from all the attention than her allergic reaction. “I just need some antihistamine cream. It’s in my purse,” she said to Eric, then to me. Eric hadn’t seemed to have heard and pulled out a pen.