A Stitch in Crime (25 page)

It might have worked if my cell phone hadn’t started to play its musical flourish. I tried to swallow my tears as I answered in a whisper.

“Why are you talking so softly?” Barry asked. Without waiting for me to answer, he said, “Okay, what’s wrong, babe?”

“Duck,” Mason said suddenly, pointing toward the window. Two people were going by, and I recognized Spenser and his lady companion. Mason and I both slid onto the floor, and I held my breath while we waited to see if they came into the chapel.

“Was that Mason?” Barry said, his voice changing from concern to irritation. “How is it every time I call, you’re with him? And why is he telling you to duck?”

“I guarantee we aren’t having fun,” I said.

“And you’ve been crying.” Barry’s voice changed back to concern. “What’s wrong?”

I had been hoping to avoid talking to him until everything was settled, but no such luck. I told him the whole story. Almost the whole story. I left out the out-of-control car ride. I didn’t think I could talk about it yet without falling apart. I could practically hear Barry hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand when I got to the part about the doll’s head. I knew he was about to say something about me being really around the bend this time, so I got it in that we were hiding while Sergeant French tried to get the doll’s face aged.

“Are you sure that cop is really doing that, and not just humoring you?” Barry said.

“I’m telling you, as we speak, he’s calling in favors because he thinks my plan might work.” Mason looked at me with a concerned shake of his head and gestured for me to hand him the phone.

“Our girl did good,” Mason said into the phone. I wasn’t sure if I liked being called “our girl,” and I just bet Barry wasn’t that thrilled with it, either. Though I did like the way Mason told Barry again how Sergeant French had actually listened to what I’d said. I wasn’t quite as happy when Mason told Barry about the car ride. I could tell Barry interrupted.

“Yes, yes, she’s really all right,” Mason said. “I was on the beach when the car hit the sand. Just by chance I was there to do my tai chi. She was kind of shaken up, so the police officer suggested I stay with her.” I just bet Barry didn’t care for that last part, either. “But you know our girl, she bounces right back.”

Mason handed the phone back to me, and Barry must have asked me five times if I was okay. Then he wanted to know why I’d left out that part of the story.

“I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I wasn’t sure—” My voice began to quaver, and I heard the frustration in Barry’s breath.

“My God, Molly, what have you gotten involved with this time?” Then he caught himself and his voice softened. “I wish I was there to make it all right.” I wished he was, too. After thinking I might never see him again, I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how much he meant to me. I could have done the last part, but it didn’t feel comfortable with an audience. There were more frustrated-sounding breaths coming from Barry. “I’m just glad you’re all right. I guess this isn’t the best time to give the news I was calling about.”

My stomach clenched. “What now?” I said a little too loudly and then repeated it in a whisper.

“Remember the things I mentioned that kept showing up in your house? This afternoon when I stopped over, there were some chairs and one of those climbing things for cats along with the boxes. I heard some noise and checked the house. Someone was sleeping in your son’s room.”

“Don’t tell me it was Goldilocks,” I said with a mirthless laugh.

“Wrong sex,” Barry said. “It was Samuel, and when I questioned him about what was going on, he said he’d lost his place and moved back home. He was waiting for the right moment to tell you. I told him I didn’t think that moment existed, and he should just call you, but . . . Well, neither of your sons exactly listens to me. And the cats. None of his roommates would take them, and Samuel didn’t think you would mind.”

I took it all in without comment. Barry finally added that he hadn’t noticed a lot of hunks of fur around the house, which he took to mean the dogs and cats were okay with each other. This was the awkward part with Barry. He was in a circle separate from the one shared by my sons and me. Barry was trying to be protective, but my sons knew that my house was always their home, too. For now there was nothing I could do, anyway.

When I hung up the phone, I looked at my watch. I hoped Sergeant French would hurry; the workshops would be ending soon. We’d moved back up into the pew since the grounds seemed empty. Finally I couldn’t take sitting anymore, and got up and started to pace.

After what seemed like eternity, but was probably around an hour, Sergeant French walked in the door, holding the book and a manila envelope.

I stared at it as he held it out. “It turned out better than your photo, though that isn’t necessarily saying much.” I opened the envelope and took out the print.

“That’s who it is,” I said, shoving it back. “C’mon, the whole group should be at the bonfire pit by now.”

I walked on ahead, still holding the envelope. Commander and his workshop had set up a cheese tray arranged around a group of Japanese eggplants carved to look like penguins. He was circulating through the group holding a bottle of red and a bottle of white to refill their plastic cups. As I moved into the crowd, I noticed that Sergeant French stayed off in the shadow. No doubt his plan was to move in at the right moment. Several tai chi enthusiasts immediately surrounded Mason.

Commander Blaine poured some red into Miss Lavender Pants’s glass as I reached the center of the crowd. I pulled out the photo and Commander glanced over at it.

“Whoever took that doesn’t have much of a future in photography,” he said, shaking his head with dismay. “What a terrible picture. It barely looks like Nora Franklyn.”

At the sound of her name, Nora looked up. “What picture?” she said, stepping away from Bennett and pushing through the people as she approached me.

I turned toward Sergeant French, expecting him to be moving in to question her, but he was still in the back.

“I never had that photograph taken. Where did you get it?” Nora demanded.

I took out the book and showed her the page with the doll model, and Nora’s mouth fell open. She stared at the doll and then looked at the book’s cover. “I don’t understand. What was Izabelle Landers doing with that doll?”

“Are you sure you don’t understand?” I said, watching her reactions. “You have the same doll, don’t you?”

Nora just glared at me and didn’t answer. If Sergeant French wasn’t going to take advantage of this opportunity, I certainly was. By now the whole group had stopped their conversations and were watching us.

“Izabelle Landers was your twin, wasn’t she? You’re the one who was on the beach with her. You knew about her peanut allergy and you got her to eat the peanut butter-laced s’more, and then you walked away and left her as the allergic reaction kicked in.”

Nora’s face had gone white and she appeared shocked. “Izabelle was Nina?” she said in a daze. She looked at the photograph on the back of the book. “We were identical twins. What did she do to herself?”

Miss Lavender Pants stared at Nora, studying her face. “I’m guessing she got her lips injected with that plump-up stuff. Probably some cheekbone implants, a nose job for sure.” Her eyes moved to Nora’s chest. “I guess both of you skipped the boob job.”

Nora gave her a withering look as I continued. “I know you two didn’t get along.” I mentioned the memoir piece Izabelle had written about the orange soda incident.

Nora took a deep breath, and as she began to recover, she got defensive. “It wasn’t my fault we didn’t get along. She took the orange soda and everything else she could from me. She didn’t like being a twin and she blamed it on me. Not that it’s any of your business, but our parents got a divorce right after those dolls were made. I think Nina blamed that on me, too. We went to live with our father, who never could keep us straight. Personally, I was relieved when she walked out of my life. I can’t believe she was living in Tarzana all this time and I didn’t know it.” As Nora got more in charge of herself, she glared at me.

“But kill Nina—are you out of your mind? She was mean as a snake to me, but she was still my sister.” She glanced around at everyone staring at her. “And I can prove it. I’m allergic to peanuts, too. If I had handled something with peanut butter on it, I would have had an allergic reaction, too. Even if I’d shot myself with an EpiPen, I’d have needed follow-up emergency care. If you don’t believe me, ask my husband.”

Bennett came forward and said it was true, then started to describe Nora’s attempt to get the airline employee to insist that nobody on the plane eat anything with peanuts. He looked at me with contempt.

Nora broke in. “The smell alone is enough to give me a sneezing attack. I need to know the ingredients of everything before I eat it or use it on my body.” Now the scene at the airport all made sense.

“Wow, so I was right. This was a mystery weekend after all,” the woman in the turquoise earrings said, starting to applaud. I ignored her comment, wondering how I could have been so wrong.

“But somebody sabotaged the car. Somebody didn’t want this picture to surface.” I looked toward the edge of the crowd and saw that Sergeant French had disappeared.

Adele burst through her group. “Pink, what did you do to my car?”

“PINK, RUNNING ISN’T GOING TO MAKE IT GO away,” Adele said, following me as I skulked to the administration building. No wonder Sergeant French had abandoned me. I had egg on my face and down to my shoes. Only the woman who still thought it was a mystery weekend had seemed satisfied. Nora had added that my accusations were heartless, and she threw in a few comments about how poorly the retreat had been run and said they were leaving. I was a little surprised when Bennett confronted her and said he could understand if she wanted to leave, but he wasn’t going to abandon his actors. Everyone else had looked on with discomfort. Mason, in an effort to save the day, suggested an extra tai chi session. The crowd seemed anxious to get away from all the discord and abandoned their wineglasses, eagerly following him.

The lobbylike interior of the administration building was empty except for the person behind the registration desk. Someone had left the TV on and I glanced at the happy wedding scene on the screen, which seemed at complete odds with how I felt as I flopped into one of the overstuffed chairs.

“Well, Pink,” Adele said, standing over me. “What are you going to do about my car?” Dinah came through the door and rushed over and hugged me with sympathy. She assured me that Mason’s tai chi session would work wonders to smooth things over. That’s the great thing about a good friend. She didn’t sit and lecture me on my mistakes, but just stepped in to help.

I put my face in my hands, thinking what a mess things were. Maybe Sergeant French was right. Who would sabotage a car with bubblegum and yarn, or murder somebody with a s’more? The line kept going through my mind. I thought back to the tai chi group and felt my stomach clench as I pictured Adele’s car stuck on the beach, surrounded by yellow tape. I started to get up. “Mason can’t take them to the beach.”

Dinah gestured for me to sit and said he was doing the session on the patio area outside of the Scripps building. I leaned back in the chair, and tried to forget about everything for a moment. It was useless; the background music on the TV swelled, and grabbed my attention. The happy music was annoying under the circumstances, and I got up to turn it off. Adele protested.

“This is my favorite part. Wait until they cut the first piece of wedding cake,” Adele protested. After what had happened to her car, I figured it would be a good idea to humor her, so I stood with my hand over the power button as the bride and groom did a whole number with the piece of cake while the three of us watched. Dinah made a
yuck
sound as I stared at the screen.

All of a sudden the inflection of Sergeant French’s line that kept going over in my mind changed. “I was wrong,” I said.

“You can say that again,” Adele said. “Mrs. Shedd is going to realize what a mistake she made giving you the rhinestone clipboard when she hears the mess you made. And you’re still not dealing with my car.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” I said, turning off the TV. “I was wrong about Nora. I just figured out who was on the beach with Izabelle and what happened.”

“Pink, haven’t you made enough of a mess?” Adele shook her head and tsk-tsked a few times at me.

“Maybe, but I think I can fix it. But I need your help.” I nodded at Dinah and Adele. “I need both of your help.”

Dinah was in right away, but Adele held back.

“I can’t do it without you,” I said to Adele. “You’re the key.”

“Me?” she said, standing a little taller. “Hmm, so I’m the key. Well, all I can say is it’s about time you realized my importance. Okay, Nancy Jessica Drew Fletcher Pink, I’m in.”

With the tai chi session over, our group headed for the dining hall. I watched from behind one of the tall Monterey pines as people began to congregate by the entrance, waiting for the dinner bell and the opening of the dining hall. I was relieved to see that the key players were all there. Dinah and Adele came down the stairs from the deck outside the administration building and walked toward the waiting group. The sound of their arguing got everyone’s attention.

“I’m telling you, Pink is the one responsible for the mess in my car. It’s her fault the floor mat stuck to the accelerator. I mean, if she was going to chew bubble gum, couldn’t she have at least wrapped it in some paper before she threw it on the floor? She must have thrown some of the yarn down there, too,” Adele said with a toss of her head.

Dinah bristled. “Molly doesn’t even chew bubble gum, and if she did, she certainly wouldn’t throw it on the floor. Adele, it’s your car. The bubble gum and yarn on the floor were yours. Accept the responsibility.”