A Stitch in Crime

Table of Contents

 

 

“Fun . . . Has a great hook and a cast of characters that enliven any scene.”

“[A] brisk and enjoyable cozy . . . A fun read . . . Readers will be hooked.”

“Classic cozy fare . . . Crocheting pattern and recipe are just the icing on the cake.”

 

 

“A gentle and charming novel that will warm the reader like a favorite afghan. Its quirky and likable characters are appealing and real.”

—Earlene Fowler, author of
Love Mercy

“Betty Hechtman has written a charming mystery. Who can resist a sleuth named Pink, a slew of interesting minor characters, and a fun fringe-of-Hollywood setting?”

—Monica Ferris, author of
Sew Far, So Good

“Hooks the reader from the onset with likable characters . . . Readers will admire the feisty, caring Molly.”

“Readers who enjoy craft-and-hobby-related cozies will find lots to like in
Hooked on Murder . . .
Betty Hechtman does it all so well: writing, plotting, and character development.”

“Hechtman’s writing is fun and introspective, and Molly is a likeable character.”

“A great start to a new mystery series.”

—
MyShelf.com

 

HOOKED ON MURDER
DEAD MEN DON’T CROCHET
BY HOOK OR BY CROOK
A STITCH IN CRIME

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written.

The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

 

A STITCH IN CRIME

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Betty Hechtman.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-101-18474-5

 

BERKLEY
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PRIME CRIME

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

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PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

I’d like to thank Sandy Harding for her continued enthusiasm and great editing. Thanks to everyone at Berkley Prime Crime for the great cover and all their efforts on my behalf. None of this would have happened without my agent, Jessica Faust.

Thank you, Howard Marx, M.D., for the quick answers to all my medical questions. Appellate Defender Judy Libby keeps the lawyer information coming. Roberta Martia is my crochet tester and chief cheerleader.

And Burl and Max—you guys are still the best. Thanks for being such devoted recipe testers.

“MOLLY, PLEASE TRY TO GET THROUGH THE WEEK-END without any dead bodies,” Mrs. Shedd said, pushing the rhinestone-encrusted clipboard across her desk to me. “And take good care of this. It’s the first time I’ve turned it over to anyone.” I could see why she made the dead body comment. After forty-seven years of not one dead body showing up in my life, there had been a plethora of them in the past couple of years.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “No murder or mayhem, I promise.” I completely meant it when I said it. Too bad it turned out not to be true.

I stared at the fancy clipboard for a moment as what it meant sank in. Every September the bookstore where I worked, Shedd & Royal Books and More, put on the Get Out of the Heat and Light Your Creative Fire retreat on the Monterey Peninsula. The “getting out of the heat” referred to the September weather in Tarzana, California, which was always hot and dry. In contrast, the Monterey area was cool and damp year round. I’d never been on one of the retreats, but I knew Mrs. Shedd chose four or five creative pursuits, such as writing or candle making, and lined up local people to put on the workshops. The retreaters committed to a topic and went to a number of sessions over the long weekend. At the end there was a gathering and everyone got to show off what they’d done.

“This retreat is your baby. Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, expecting some kind of explanation.

Mrs. Shedd shook her head, making her perfect blond pageboy swing. “I’m more than sure. It’s your baby now, Molly. Something’s come up and I can’t go,” she said cryptically.

Pamela Shedd was the co-owner of Shedd & Royal Books and More, which made her my boss. I was surprised she didn’t give me any more details of why she suddenly couldn’t go on the retreat, but it wasn’t my place to ask. Since I was the community relations-event coordinator for the bookstore, it made sense that she was putting me in charge. But no way was it going to sit well with my coworker Adele Abrams.

My boss picked up a box from the floor next to her and handed it to me, saying it held the folders for the presenters along with the schedule for the weekend. Later I could pick up the larger boxes with the folders for the retreaters and the other supplies. She seemed relieved to have passed everything off to me. “Oh, and be sure to have fun.”

I put the clipboard on top of the box and took it with me as I headed across the bookstore to the event area, where my crochet group, the Tarzana Hookers, was already assembled. Morning sunlight streamed in the window that faced Ventura Boulevard. The long table was strewn with balls of yarn, coffee cups and some completed projects the members had brought in to show off to the group. The crochet group met regularly at Shedd & Royal. Adele Abrams, who along with being my coworker, was coleader of the group and a crochet fanatic, was waving around her hook, which had something white and fuzzy hanging from it. As I got closer, she began to pass around what she was working on.

“Pink, you missed it,” Adele said, her voice full of excitement. I had gotten past being upset about her insistence on calling me by my last name. “I just created a stitch.” She pointed toward what looked like a row of fuzzy, white yarn bumps in Eduardo’s hand. Eduardo Linnares was our only male member. I doubt most people would pick him out as a crocheter. In his other life he was a cover model, and he definitely looked the part. He was tall with long, shiny black hair, handsome, even features and a muscular body that must have required long hours at the gym. But he fit into the group very nicely thanks to his pleasant disposition and his skill with a hook. His grandmother had taught him well.

“Creating stitches is something we crochet divas do,” Adele said, crowing with pride. “I’m thinking of calling it the marshmallow stitch.”

At the word “marshmallow,” CeeCee Collins looked up. She was the host of the reality show
Making Amends
and had a legendary sweet tooth; hence her interest at the mention of a sweet. When she realized what Adele was talking about, she seemed momentarily disappointed before taking the piece of yarn from Eduardo and examining it.

CeeCee’s acting career had recently had a resurgence, and she’d gone from occasional cameos to being in the limelight. The best thing about her was that she could be a celebrity and a regular person at the same time. Well, sort of a regular person. She was the only one of us who had to be concerned about being caught by the paparazzi with soup dripping down her chin.

“I can’t say it looks good enough to eat, but you’re right—the way it puffs up with the halo of white, bulky yarn does make it look like a marshmallow, dear. What are you going to do with it?”

“I used that baby yarn we made the cuddle blankets with,” Adele said, referring to a group project in which we made soft blankets for traumatized children. She took the strip and held it on her wrist. “I could make a bracelet.” Then she held it across her chest. “Or keep going and make a vest.” Adele was amply built and had an eye for the outrageous when it came to clothes. Knowing her, she’d probably go for the vest.

Sheila Altman put down her hook and looked at Adele’s creation. She was dressed in a black suit, which was her uniform for her job as the receptionist at the local women’s gym. For once she seemed relatively anxiety free. Just hearing about all she had on her plate made me nervous. Along with juggling several jobs, she was going to school to become a costume designer, and lived in a rented room partially paid for by babysitting the homeowner’s kids. “I think you should use it for trim,” Sheila said, taking the strip and holding it at the bottom of the blue scarf she was working on.