Behind the Seams (5 page)

Nell seemed frozen in her spot as the producer fell forward out of the chair and onto the floor.

I grabbed Robyn’s iPhone and dialed 911.

I’D NEVER BEFORE SEEN ANYBODY DIE RIGHT IN front of my eyes. The three of us stood around helplessly trying to figure out what to do as Robyn lay writhing on the floor. Adele got disgruntled with our inactivity, and with her pink pom-poms flying, leaned over the woman and tried to at least raise her shoulders. I bent down to help. It was a horrific sight as Robyn thrashed around and kept slipping from our grasp. The convulsing went on for a few minutes, and then abruptly Robyn was stone still. It all happened so fast I didn’t think the paramedics would have been able to do anything even if they’d found us right away.

The logistics of the whole episode were a mess. Nell had never handled anything like this before and didn’t realize she needed to contact security so the paramedics could get in and find us. She pretty much had a meltdown, and by the time the paramedics finally showed up, she had fainted and was on the floor, too. The man and woman in the dark blue uniforms had much more success treating her.

They just had to roll Nell on her back and put her feet up. But Robyn showed no signs of life and there was nothing they could do to help her.

I was in shock to put it mildly. One minute the young woman with the Martha Stewart haircut was complaining about her latte, and a few minutes later, she was gone.

Adele was hanging on to me for dear life. “I tried to give her first aid,” she said to the paramedic pair, “but nothing seemed to help.” Adele let go and tried calming herself with her crochet hook and yarn. I was surprised to see something I’d never seen before. Her stitches were a mess.

I lost track of the time, and security people came in and took the three of us out into the hall. They asked a lot of questions and then a bunch of uniforms showed up and asked more questions about what had happened. The most I could find out was that despite what was going on, it hadn’t interrupted the show. Then just when I thought they were going to let us go, the cops separated us. I don’t know where they took Adele and Nell, but I was taken to a small lounge and told to wait to speak to a detective. When I tried to find out why, it became abundantly clear that they only asked questions and didn’t answer them. After what seemed like eternity, the door opened and Barry walked in. He was completely in his detective mode, flipping open his notebook. Only when he looked up did his expression break.

“Molly?” Barry said. There was a squeak of surprise in his voice, and then he began shaking his head, obviously realizing that once again he was going to have to step down from a case because I was involved. “What are you doing here?”

I told him the whole story and he shook his head again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the show last night?”

I actually thought he might be more upset that I hadn’t told him about my plans than the fact that I had just witnessed someone dying. I reminded him that he’d left rather abruptly and explained the plans had been last minute.

I glanced vaguely in the direction of the audience waiting room where everything had taken place. “She must have had some kind of attack?” I said before describing what had happened. Barry had on his cop face again and he just looked at me when I’d finished. “That’s right, isn’t it, you’re just here investigating because she died suddenly and not in a hospital, right?”

Barry’s face showed no emotion. It was maddening how he could do that. But then he’d been at his job long enough, it must have been second nature to hold it all in.

“You’re all right, then?” he said. There was a flicker of emotion in his eyes, which was a relief from robot Barry. He knew that I knew that his not confirming what I’d said meant they suspected foul play. He looked toward the doorway, which was empty, and crossed the space between us and hugged me. “Just answer the questions and let it go, okay?”

Before he could realize that I wasn’t agreeing with his order, he was out the door.

Murder? It couldn’t be murder. They had to be wrong.

I had a pretty good idea who was going to replace him investigating. Detective Heather showed up a few minutes later in a cloud of Vera Wang perfume. Okay, her real name was Heather Gilmore, but in my head and when speaking among my friends, I referred to her as Detective Heather. I always said if they ever made a homicide detective Barbie, she’d look like Heather. I’m sure her extreme prettiness worked well when questioning men. They’d probably confess just to be able to spend more time with her.

This was not to say that she was just a pretty face. She had it all, brains and beauty and youth. She was more than ten years younger than I was. But despite all her attributes, I had managed to solve some cases she hadn’t been able to crack. There was an additional undercurrent of hostility between us because I had something she wanted badly. Barry Greenberg. I don’t think she could understand how he possibly could have chosen me over her. I could kind of see her point. They would have been the homicide division’s golden couple. Though I had to wonder what it would be like for two people whose daily work really was a life-and-death matter to deal with something mundane like whose turn it was to take out the trash.

She had questioned me a number of times before, and I began to wonder if she just kept a sheet in her little notebook with all my vitals. The first few times we’d gone through this, I’d been the docile answerer of questions, but by now I asked as many as I answered.

“Why do you think it’s murder?” I asked. Detective Heather rocked her head with frustration. I might ask questions, but it didn’t mean she wanted to answer them.

“What’s this?” she asked, ignoring my question and pointing to the giant turquoise crochet hook with the tangle of purple yarn sticking out of my pocket. Adele had been frustrated with her messy stitches and tossed it aside and I had picked it up. Did I mention that on top of all her other talents, Heather was a first-class knitter? Lucky for her, she’d gotten me to question. Adele knew about her knitting talents and would have either thrown a fit or taken the opportunity to try to convert her to crochet.

I explained the whole audience incident and how it was that Adele and I had ended up in the waiting room. “And you were going to tell me why you think there was foul play,” I said with an expectant air.

“Nothing is certain until the coroner determines the cause of death. We’re just investigating. What makes you think we think it’s murder? We could just be following up on a sudden death,” she said. How could I tell her it was all based on Barry’s reactions?

“Because if you didn’t think it was, you would just say it wasn’t.” I rolled my eyes at the tongue twister. I wished what she was saying was true. If it was murder, the three of us who were with Robyn were the most likely suspects. And I had a bad feeling that when I finished answering all of Detective Heather’s questions, the suspects would be whittled down to just one.

She knew I had caught her and dealt with it by ignoring my comment. “So then, why don’t you tell me what happened,” she said with her pen poised.

I was shocked at how long Detective Heather kept questioning me. Once she realized who Nell was and that I knew her, she was relentless, going over and over what happened. I was pretty relentless, too, asking her over and over again why they thought it was murder.

“I give up, Molly,” she said finally. “If I tell you what we found, will you let it go and just answer my questions?” I sucked in my breath in anticipation while I nodded. I wanted to know and not know at the same time.

“One of the paramedics noticed a smell on the victim and . . .”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted. I had noticed it, too, but hadn’t put it together until now. When we were hovering over Robyn and the spilled drink, I’d noticed a faint almond smell. It didn’t register then. Though I’d had a fleeting thought that the drink had one of those flavored syrups added. But of course it didn’t; Robyn wouldn’t have needed sweetener if it had.

“Cyanide?” I said.

“You promised no more questions,” Detective Heather said.

Even though she didn’t confirm it, I was pretty sure I was right. I knew from a past experience that one of the signatures of cyanide was the scent of almonds and that it didn’t take much to do the job, and it acted very fast. For a moment, I felt a little less guilty. If it was cyanide, we couldn’t have done anything to save her. But the relief didn’t last as the question of how her drink became laced with cyanide filled my thoughts.

Detective Heather asked again about the sequence of events. And again I gave her the facts. I explained Nell had come in with a coffee drink for Robyn. There had been some issue about it being cold and then about the absence of sweetener.

“Did the victim drink any of the latte before she added the sweetener?” Heather asked.

“So, you think whatever killed her was in the sweetener?” I said. Detective Heather gave me a blank look and asked me if I knew what brand it was. I said I hadn’t realized it was going to be important and hadn’t paid any attention to it.

“It’s called Nature’s Sweetie,” Detective Heather said. She waited to see if that would generate a comment from me. Then she said she was surprised I hadn’t heard of it. It was the newest sugar replacement. “For people watching their weight,” Heather added. Was it my imagination or did her gaze immediately go to my middle? A not-so-subtle reminder that I was a little soft in that area.

I knew eventually Heather was going to ask me what I knew about Nell and Robyn’s relationship. Even if I hadn’t overheard Nell’s conversation with CeeCee, seeing their exchange over the coffee drink made it pretty clear they didn’t get along. I tried to think of something that wasn’t a lie and also wouldn’t make Nell look bad. Who would have thought that without meaning to, Detective Heather made that easy for me with her next question?

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Ms. Freed?” Detective Heather asked.

“Freed, her last name is Freed?” I said quickly. The subject never got to Nell and Robyn’s relationship and went directly to me explaining Mrs. Shedd’s phone call from the victim. I think by then Heather was as tired of questioning me as I was being questioned. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where to find me. She was actually a customer of our new yarn department.

BY THE TIME I WAS FINALLY REUNITED WITH MY purse and jacket and escorted to the door, I had a tension and hunger headache. I hadn’t even had my cell phone to call Mrs. Shedd and tell her why Adele and I were going to be delayed getting to the bookstore. When you’re questioned by the cops, it’s all on their terms. As soon as I was out on the street, I regretted being an audience member again. When I’d gone to shows with Charlie, we left by the backstage entrance and went right into the parking lot. It was all gated and secure and no one was going to stick a microphone in your face.

But now, the exit I went out put me right on the sidewalk. A bevy of reporters were clumped nearby, and I realized they were all set up to do remotes for the evening news from there. As soon as Kimberly Wang Diaz from channel three saw me, she practically knocked her colleagues out of the way to get to me.

She smiled. “Molly Pink? You must know what’s going on.” I edged away but she stuck close to me. I’d met the persistent reporter a number of times in the past. She was close enough to me that I could see the stage makeup on her face and smell the ton of hair spray that kept her black hair in an unmoving helmet. I wanted to get away before she trotted out her nickname for me. The last thing I wanted was to have that title broadcast to the greater L.A. area again. “C’mon, give us the details,” she said as I picked up speed. She was hampered by having to let her cameraman keep up with us. I ran across the street just as she yelled, “I know you know what happened. Crime scene groupie.”

She let go of the chase and I stopped running when I got across the street. It was then I realized a disconcerting fact. Adele had driven and was nowhere to be seen. I tried calling her and all the other Hookers, and all I got were voice mail answers. Were they still inside? There was no way of telling. I had to face it, I didn’t have a ride home. I considered my options. Ventura Boulevard was a few blocks ahead and it ran west all the way across the Valley to Tarzana.

I was pretty sure there was a bus that would get me to Shedd & Royal or close enough to walk. It was embarrassing to admit that I didn’t even know how much the bus cost. Over the years, the public transportation options had improved, but the truth was most people who had cars treated taking public transportation like a special event.

I found the bus stop and leaned against the glass enclosure around the bench. It was rush hour and the traffic clogged in the intersection when the light changed. Even when the light went to green, the cars moved so slowly in front of me, I had time to look at the occupants. It was the end of April and the weather was all over the place temperature wise. The mornings were usually cloudy and cool, the afternoons sunny and hot and then the evenings went back to chilly. Since I’d expected to just be getting in and out of a car, I’d worn only a thin rust-colored suede jacket with my khaki slacks. Even the black vest I’d put on over the white collared shirt didn’t add much warmth. And the events of the day didn’t help, either.