A Stitch in Crime (24 page)

Dinah would be heartbroken. Sheila would be sad. And Adele—the jury was still out. She’d probably inherit my job at the bookstore. My death would be chalked up as an accident. Sergeant French would give up and accept that Izabelle was alone on the beach. And her killer and mine would get away with it.

I didn’t want to die. Not now, not yet.

I put more effort into working my foot against the accelerator, trying to get it unstuck, not that it helped. My cell phone was in my purse on the floor, out of reach. Who would I call, anyway? I looked toward either side of the road, hoping there would be an open field to steer into, but I saw only trees.

Another stoplight was coming up. It was green, and I hoped it would stay that way. It was still green as I got closer. I let out my breath, thinking I would make it through. But it went to yellow. Thankfully, the car in front of me didn’t consider stopping, and sped through the intersection. The light was red when I got to it. I choked on my breath as the silver Honda zoomed through the intersection. In the rearview mirror I caught sight of the cross traffic surging into the spot I had barely vacated. I caught sight of something else, too. A cop car pulled onto the road from behind a tree and, lights flashing, came up behind me.

My breath poured out in a gush. Someone was coming to help. Or not. I heard a disembodied voice over a loudspeaker order me to pull over. He didn’t want to help. He wanted to give me a ticket.

I opened the window—who cared now if it stuck?—and tried waving my hand out of it, hoping they’d realize I was in trouble. I don’t think they got the message. The cruiser stayed on my tail, and the voice over the loudspeaker kept ordering me to pull over. I saw more flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Three cruisers were after me now. It was like those car chases I’d seen on TV.

I was so occupied with what was going on behind me, I momentarily lost track of what was in front of me. When I refocused, I saw that I was closing in on a blue Neon. Worse, there was a white minivan in the lane next to it, matching its speed. It seemed like I had no way out. It got worse as I saw the Neon’s brake lights go on. I pulled hard on the wheel and drove onto the shoulder just in time. As soon as I got ahead of the two cars, I steered back onto the road. The cop cars did the same.

The road was empty ahead. Had the cops cleared it? I hoped so. All I had to do was steer now—and figure out how to stop. In my peripheral vision I saw one of the police cars had pulled alongside and was driving next to me. A voice barked through the loudspeaker, commanding me to pull over. I yelled back, with all the voice that I could find, that the accelerator was stuck.

I roared past stores and businesses in Pacific Grove. The turnoff to Asilomar went by in a flash, and then the street turned and ran along the beach. There were dunes on one side and a rocky beach on the other. I thought of those piles of sand I’d seen on the sides of highways to stop runaway trucks and tried to aim the car toward a sand hill, but all my years of trying to avoid hitting things kicked in and I couldn’t do it. I just grazed the sand and was back on the road. I looked toward the beach side and was relieved to see the rocky area give way to plants and sand. Much as I hated to damage the fragile plants, as soon as I saw an area that looked level, I pulled the wheel hard to the left. The car went off the road, and I bumped through the low fence and over the plants, finally hitting the soft sand. The wheels got stuck and the engine stalled out as the car finally stopped. For a moment I just sat there stunned. Then I opened the door and got out. As soon as I stood, my legs gave out.

A STRONG PAIR OF HANDS CAUGHT ME BEFORE I hit the sand. I instinctively tried to fight my way free of being held. The first backward swing of my elbow made contact.

“Ouch, tough girl, I was just trying to help,” a familiar voice said as my rescuer let me go. I looked back just as I hit the sand. Mason was rubbing his arm. “You’ve got quite an elbow swing.”

He looked down at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

I did a quick survey of myself. Somehow I had avoided any kind of injury—not even a bump on the arm. Mentally I felt a little shaky, but an inner voice ordered me to snap out of it and I obeyed. “I think so,” I said as Mason held out his arm and helped me up. It was still sinking in that I was safe. I apologized for the elbow strike and threw my arms around him, grateful to have the chance to do it.

The relief at being out of the car had made me forget my police entourage until a voice over the loudspeaker ordered me and my accomplice to put our hands on the roof of the car. The three police cars had stopped on the street. All three had their doors open as shields. This had happened before, and I knew enough to simply follow their command instead of trying to explain what had happened.

“This is why I came here this weekend,” Mason said as we both stepped out of the hug and complied with the order. “I never know what’s going to happen with you around.”

“How did you just happen to be here?” I asked as we stood side by side with our arms on top of Adele’s sand-locked car.

Mason said he’d gotten back from his aunt’s party. “You know how it is with family. I needed a tai chi break and headed to the beach. Here I was, expecting peace, and suddenly a car comes rolling on the sand. Obviously, it got my attention.”

I glanced toward the area across the street, and for the first time it registered that I was only a short distance from the gateway to the Asilomar boardwalk. After a moment the police officers came onto the beach and approached the car.

“Ms. Pink?” Sergeant French said, separating from the others. “Are you okay?” As soon as I told him I was, his tone changed. “What was all that about? Did you really think you’d get away? You would just have gotten a ticket if you’d pulled over. I’m afraid you’re in a lot more trouble now.”

“I wasn’t trying to run away from your officers,” I said. “The accelerator in the car stuck. I couldn’t stop. You really should check it out. Remember I told you about getting some information that was going to rock your case? I think someone didn’t want me to make it back.”

Sergeant French let us take our hands down and we all stepped away from the car. He stared at Mason’s tai chi outfit. “How does he fit into the picture?”

“He doesn’t,” I said. I was a little out of it from the shock of everything and started to babble that Mason was a high-level attorney from L.A. and a tai chi expert who needed to recover from a family party and had come to the beach to do some tai chi. Mason threw me a concerned look and said he’d take over.

“When I saw Molly get out of the car, it was a natural instinct to come over and help her.”

Sergeant French called over one of his officers and told him to check out the accelerator. Then he turned his attention back to me. “Okay, now why would someone not want you to make it back, and from where?”

He had his friendly face on, but I knew he was probably thinking “Humor the crazy amateur sleuth.” Mason nodded. “Molly, I’m curious, too. What’s going on?”

We were interrupted by the officer Sergeant French had sent to look over Adele’s car.

“Hey, Sarge, you aren’t going to believe this.” The uniform gave me an odd look. Sergeant French followed him. The car door was open and the officer pointed to something. Then they both knelt down. I was trying to see what they were doing and overhear their conversation. Mason reached out and touched my arm. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“You and me both,” I said, remembering how I’d thought it was the end. I was sure Charlie wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer.

A few moments later, Sergeant French and the other officer came back to us, both of them wearing odd expressions, and took us to the car.

“Show her what you found,” the sergeant said. The officer used a stick to fold back the floor mat, which I now saw had covered part of the accelerator. A mélange of yarn with something pink and sticky mixed in was stuck on the mat. I knelt down and leaned in to get a closer look. The smell gave it away.

“Bubble gum?” I said with surprise.

“Yes, somehow the bubble gum and that yarn mess got caught under there. The mat must have moved when you were driving and held the pedal down. The gum and yarn obviously came from the backseat. There are balls of yarn all over the place and an open bag of bubble gum.

“But don’t you see? That didn’t just happen. Someone did it to the floor mat,” I protested.

Mason was all business now. “What my client is trying to say is that she has good reason to think that someone deliberately placed that glob so the floor mat would stick to the pedal.”

“Thanks for your input, counselor, but I’d really like to hear why Ms. Pink is so sure someone wants to harm her.”

Was there any way I could explain what I’d been trying to do so it didn’t sound ridiculous? I took a deep breath and decided to give it my best shot. I said I thought Sergeant French was right that Izabelle had been meeting somebody on the beach. I explained the e-mails from the Identical Twins Anonymous sponsor. “It seems the whole point of the group is for identical twins who are having problems with being identical twins. Izabelle changed her appearance so she wouldn’t be identical anymore. She never even mentioned her sister was her twin in the memoir piece she wrote in one of the workshops. The e-mail made it sound like there was something she was going to do this weekend that involved her twin,” I said.

“So, you’re saying you think her twin was on the beach with her?” Sergeant French said. To my surprise, he was actually paying attention to what I was saying.

I nodded. “Her twin would know about her peanut allergy and probably that she had an EpiPen with her. And since Izabelle didn’t like her twin, there’s a good chance the feeling was mutual. Who better to feed her sister the peanut butter-laced s’more?” Sergeant French put up his hand.

“Sorry, Ms. Pink, I still don’t buy it that the woman was killed with a s’more. But them meeting on the beach, one way or the other, seems reasonable.”

I shrugged off his critique of my murder plan and continued. “Because of the e-mail from the Twins Anonymous guy, I began to think her twin might be here. But how to figure out who was her twin?” I asked if I could retrieve the crochet book and the manila envelope, and he gave his okay. I opened to the page with the doll model and repeated what the gray-haired woman had told me about the doll probably being made from a photo of a real little girl.

“I thought there was a good chance the doll was made from a photograph of Izabelle when she was around five years old.” I mentioned remembering the photo of the missing child I’d seen on the milk carton and how it had gotten me thinking. I swallowed, then told him about my plan to get the photo in the book age-progressed. I went over my phone search to find the photo studio. To my surprise, Sergeant French’s face lit up with interest.

“What an interesting idea,” he said. He noticed the manila envelope in my hand, and before I could react, he’d taken it and was pulling out the photo. He might have been actually taking me seriously until then, but when he saw the picture, he seemed as if he didn’t know how to react. Finally he tried to speak, but choked on a laugh.

“Okay, maybe the execution didn’t work out quite right,” I said, wincing at the print that clearly just looked like a freaky doll head. Mason had his hand over his mouth, no doubt to hide his grin.

“But the idea could work,” Sergeant French said, taking the book from my arm. He studied the photograph of the doll. “The features and head shape do seem as though they were based on a real child. With the right software it could be very interesting. I have access to the real deal,” he said. “I’ll have to try to pull some strings, seeing it’s Sunday afternoon, but I know somebody who owes me a favor.”

“You mean you’re really going to try to do age progression on the doll?”

His face took on a wary expression. “But if my picture turns out like yours, then it never happened, got it?” I nodded in agreement and he glanced toward the car. “I’m not saying someone did that to the mat. People don’t use bubble gum and yarn to sabotage a car. They use bombs and cut brake lines.” Sergeant French measured his words. “But I’ll acknowledge someone could have. I’m going to err on the side of caution and assume someone did try to sabotage the car, and suggest that you stay low until I get back. The twin could have heard what you were doing and realized the altered photo could identify her.” He turned to Mason. Do you think you can keep her hidden? Let them think she’s over a cliff somewhere and they’re home free.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Mason said. “There’s a chapel just inside the grounds. No one would see us in there. They’re all still tied up with the workshops.”

“Then you really believe me about the s’mores and the twin and—?” I said in surprise.

Sergeant French put up his hand, interrupting me. “Don’t get too carried away. I’m limiting what I believe to the fact somebody might have put the gum and yarn together and stuck them to the floor mat, but that’s it.”

A cop carrying a roll of yellow tape came toward the car as Mason and I walked quickly toward the boardwalk. A few people on the beach had stopped when I’d first landed there, but by now they’d realized there was nothing going on and had drifted off. The path into the conference grounds was empty. I had passed the chapel building numerous times, but never noticed it until now. We slipped in the door and found a pew and sat down.

I thanked Mason for all his help. He was concerned that I was still shaky from my afternoon almost-disaster. I insisted I was fine, but then, out of nowhere, the strain of everything hit and I started to cry. I have to say Mason has always come through in a crisis, whether it’s getting me a frozen lemonade to soothe my injuries after I confronted a murderer for the first time, or rescuing me when my mother turned my living room into a rehearsal hall when she was getting ready for her big audition. He came through again and put his arm around me in a reassuring manner and reminded me I was safe. Now that Sergeant French had taken over, I could just relax.