Gone with the Wool (15 page)

“But Frank, she said she didn't do it.”

I heard him laugh so hard he snorted. “Feldstein, really—just because she said it, you believe it?”

“Wait, Frank, there's someone else. Rosalie's husband.”

“You didn't mention she had a husband. Now we're cooking with gas. Spouses make excellent suspects. That's what you've got to do—give that cop another suspect. Dinner's ready, got to go.” He clicked off.

I can't say his advice gave me much comfort, but I had to put it on hold while I went back to being retreat leader and sat through dinner with my group. Afterward, most of them broke off into smaller groups to make more butterflies. A few were more interested in the evening events put on by Vista Del Mar. There was a sing-along by the fire pit and the screening of
Butterflies Are Free
in Hummingbird Hall. The movie had nothing to do with monarchs, but I guess since it had butterflies in the title someone thought it fit in with the plan for the week.

When I stopped back at home, there were messages from my muffin customers saying that they wanted to continue with the half orders. I suppose I should have been glad that they didn't cancel entirely.

I gathered up the supplies for the night's muffins and put them in a couple of recyclable grocery bags. Frank's words echoed in my mind. I had to give Lieutenant Borgnine another suspect, but how?

As I was loading everything into the Mini Cooper, I heard music coming from down the street. That meant that Dane had some of the local kids over in his garage for karate lessons. Dane would know what to do.

I walked down the street and up his driveway before knocking on the door to the garage. Our houses were a similar style but not quite the same. The music and karate yells covered up my knock, and I tried again. When nobody seemed to be responding, I opened the door and went inside. The floor was covered with mats, and the walls had mirrors, which made the space seem larger than it was. A bunch of boys were kicking their legs and moving in some kind of routine. Dane was in a white karate suit with a black sash, walking around and correcting their form. He was almost next to me before he realized I was there.

His angular face softened into a smile, and he held my gaze. He was definitely glad to see me. The boys gave me the once-over. I noticed Crystal's son, Kory, was among them. He gave me a little wave, but the others began teasing Dane, calling me his lady and saying they bet he liked my muffins.

Laughing, Dane told one of the other kids to take over and led me outside. There were some catcalls as we walked away.

“Don't mind them,” he said. “I'd rather they tease me
than grumble about the loss of that homecoming game. This is the first time they've been here since the game. I'm glad to see them back in action.”

“Are the players who got sick in there?” I asked, and Dane nodded.

“They were the ones making the catcalls.” Dane had his teasing smile.

“I heard someone yell out something about muffins. I suppose they blame me for getting sick,” I said.

Dane rolled his eyes. “I don't think they were referring to the muffins you bake. Teenage boys are kind of crude.”

“Oh,” I said, realizing what they meant. I also realized that I'd gotten distracted from my reason for coming over. “There's something I want to talk to you about—regarding the case.”

“I'm all ears,” he said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. The door opened, and a couple of the boys came out.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we were wondering if you made some of that spaghetti.” Dane told them that he had, and they went back inside, only to reappear a moment later.

“Everybody is asking how long till we eat?”

“In a few minutes—it's all ready,” he said, urging the boys to go back inside. Then he turned back to me. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“This was a mistake,” I said. “Maybe we can talk later.”

His face warmed. “Much better idea.” He glanced toward his house. “You could come back when you're done, if you don't mind Chloe.”

“That's not good. It might be hard to say things in front of her.”

“There's your place,” he said.

I shook my head. “Not with Sammy in the guest house.” Dane got it and agreed. I suggested he come by when I was baking, but he said feeding the crew and the cleanup was going to take a while. “Those boys are like bottomless pits, even more so after a workout. I make them help with the cleanup, but it's more about teaching them to be responsible than speed at getting it done.”

“Maybe we should just wait until tomorrow,” I said.

“Not so fast. We'll work something out. How about when you finish baking? We could meet by the entrance of the boardwalk at, say, midnight?”

“Perfect,” I said. “It's a date.” I meant it just as confirmation, but he took it literally, and his mouth curved in a teasing grin.

“Oh yes it is.”

Tag was waiting for me when I got to the Blue Door and followed me as I carried my bags into the kitchen. “How's Lucinda? Is she mad at me? Why is she mad at me?” he asked. The cook had already left, and the place would have been mine, except that Tag didn't make a move to leave.

“She'll get over it,” I said. I looked over at the dessert case. There was a half of a chocolate cake left.

“Lucinda insists we have you make the normal number of desserts. The leftover chocolate cake will probably go at lunchtime,” he said.

I told him I was making pumpkin cheesecakes for the desserts and pumpkin muffins to keep to the orangish theme. “Do you think the town council would go crazy if I called them Monarch Muffins?”

“They might be okay with that, but why take a chance? Just call them what they are—pumpkin muffins,” he said.
Still, Tag didn't leave, and eventually he started helping me. It seemed like I was never going to get to bake alone. At least I was sure all the measurements would be exactly accurate, I thought, watching him pouring sugar into a measuring cup.

“She's upset because she thinks you're keeping secrets from her,” I said.

“You mean all that nonsense about putting calamari on the menu without consulting her? I would never do that. What possessed you to tell her I was sneaking in squid?”

“I thought I saw you talking to a fisherman last night.”

“You must have been hallucinating. I wasn't talking to anyone about fish.”

“The man on the porch in the Windbreaker and rubber boots . . .” I said, trying to jog his memory.

“Him?” Tag said. “I noticed the Windbreaker, but I didn't notice his footwear.”

“If he wasn't here making a deal for calamari, who was he and why was he here?” I asked, opening a can of pumpkin.

Tag appeared stricken. “I can't talk about it. If she was upset about a menu change, she'd go nuts if—” He cut himself off. “I'm not going to say another word.” He found another measuring cup for the pumpkin.

“Don't tell Lucinda what I said,” he said. “Tell her it really was all about calamari. You can say I admitted I was going to put it on the menu, but since it made her upset, I canceled the plan.”

“But that's not true, and then she's going to think you lied to her,” I said.

“Better all that than what it is,” he said cryptically. He handed me the measured pumpkin and left without another word.

I finished up the rest of my baking without incident and left three pumpkin cheesecakes in the cooler. I packed the
muffins in plastic trays that fit into two carriers and got ready to make my rounds.

The sidewalks and streets were deserted, so I got a little nervous when a lone car stopped next to me and the window went down.

“It's kind of late for you to be out alone. Hop in and I'll give you a ride,” a man's voice said.

“Next you're going to tell me you're looking for your puppy,” I said sarcastically. I'd grown up in Chicago and was streetwise. I made an abrupt turn and started to go back the other way, knowing the car couldn't make the same move, and taking out my cell phone just in case.

I hadn't considered that he would just back up and keep pace with me. “That's it, I'm calling 911. The police station is around the corner.” I was about to press the button when he called out, “It's me, Dr. Bernard Glickner. Sammy's father.”

I still kept my distance until he stuck his head out the window. Oops. I apologized profusely, and when he offered me a ride again, I explained I preferred to make the deliveries on foot. In reality, I just didn't want to be a captive audience. It didn't work.

“You shouldn't be out here alone.” He pulled the car to the curb and shut it off. “I'll just walk with you,” he said, getting out of the rental car.

It was useless to argue. He wanted to take both of the muffin carriers, but I insisted we each carry one. He had the same lumbering sort of build as Sammy, but none of the teddy bear quality. I noticed he was alone and asked where he was coming from.

“You know we just want the best for you and Sammy,” he said, clearly ignoring my question. “I'm sure you want the best for him, too. There's lots going on in urology in
Chicago. The big thing now is doctors doing seminars. Sammy would be great.”

We crossed the street, and I went up to my first stop. I pulled out one of the covered trays and slipped it in a delivery slot. The empty one from the day before had been left outside. Sammy's father kept talking. “At least he seems to have given up all that nonsense about magic. I've been hearing for years that it was all my fault, because I gave him a magic set for his eleventh birthday. He usually didn't like anything I picked out. Who would have guessed the magic set would be the one thing he loved?”

This was an awkward moment. Personally, I thought Sammy should just tell his parents what he was doing and let it go. I was almost going to say it for him, but I reconsidered. It was overstepping. “Sammy's a grown man now, so it's up to him to decide what he wants his life to be,” I said. “He has to decide for himself what he wants and doesn't want.”

“I shouldn't be surprised that you have that kind of attitude. How many careers have you gone through?” He looked over at me carrying the plastic containers. “And now you're wandering around this town in the middle of the night. A town so small and ridiculous they make bets on when butterflies are going to arrive. What kind of living is that?”

Stay calm, I told myself. Don't engage. I didn't need his approval. He wasn't really almost my father-in-law.

“I don't agree with my wife,” he continued. “She thinks you're just playing with him and that you're going to break his heart.” We'd gotten to Maggie's, which was all closed up for the night. I opened the small door she had for deliveries and pulled out the empty container she'd left for me and then slid in the full one. “You're not going to break his heart, right?”

“Of course not. I love Sammy.” The words were out of my
mouth before I knew what I was saying. Did I mean that? Well, there were different kinds of love. I was thinking about that when Sammy's father said something that made me stop in my tracks.

“What are you now, around thirty-five? And where is your life? You're not a wife, or a mother, and what exactly do you call your career?” He sounded just like my mother. Apparently, he wasn't waiting for an answer and just continued on. “It's time for you and Sammy to step up the plate and quit living like a couple of college students.”

I was relieved when we finished the deliveries. He drove me back to the Blue Door, where my car was parked. I was afraid he was going to insist on following me home, but I saw that he'd turned his car around and was headed back to the Butterfly Inn. I never did find out where he had been coming from.

I drove home and pulled into my driveway. I saw Sammy looking out at me through the open shutters. I waved and held up the container of muffins and pointed across the street in a pantomime that I was going to deliver the muffins. I didn't want to mention what I was going to do after or who I had just talked to.

There was nothing to mask the sound of the ocean, and I could hear the waves as I crossed the street. I always liked walking on the grounds late at night like this. Most everyone was asleep, and it felt like my own private little world.

The clerk gave me a sleepy yawn as I walked across the Lodge. The lights were on, and a fire was going in the big fireplace, but there wasn't another soul in the big room. The door to the gift shop was shut, with a big
CLOSED
sign hanging from it. The café was closed as well, and I left the container of muffins by the door. I'd pick up the empty the next day.

If the clerk noticed that I exited by the other door, the one that went out onto the deck and faced the sand dunes that bordered the property, he didn't say anything. This side of the Lodge was even more mysterious than the other. The moon provided some light, and I could just make out the grass circle with its sprinkling of trees, and beyond that, the entrance to the boardwalk. I passed the small chapel, which was still shrouded from view, and went on to the beginning of the boardwalk. The white sand around it reflected back the moonlight, and I could see no one was there.

Had I been stood up? I was about to give up and go home when Dane stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh,” I squealed, startled by his sudden appearance. I had kept a few muffins aside, and after I recovered, I held them out for him. “I hope you're not afraid to eat them.”

“Of course I'm not.” To prove the point, he took one out of the little shopping bag and took a bite of it. “Satisfied?” he asked, taking my hand. “Let's get situated before we get down to business.”

I saw his point. It was so quiet, it seemed wrong to break it by talking as we walked. We started down the boardwalk. Tall bushes grew out of the white sand, and a deer stepped from behind one and then stopped to look at us before soundlessly disappearing.

We reached the end of the Vista Del Mar property and crossed the winding street. The air coming off the water had a chill dampness but felt fresh and clean.

The beach ahead was empty, but as I looked back toward the posh resorts along 17-Mile Drive, their lights shined in the darkness. We were about to walk onto the sand when Dane stopped.

“I have a better idea,” he said. I followed his lead, and
we walked along the deserted street as it rose up a gentle slope. Finally, we reached the destination he had in mind.

I'd been there before. A bench sat on a small cliff above the waves as they lapped on some rocks. Ahead there was only dark water.

“This is the very tip of the land,” Dane said as we both sat down. Instinctively, we turned to the right and saw the beginning of Monterey Bay.

“At last,” Dane said. He pulled a small thermos out of his jacket pocket. “Hot cider,” he said, opening the lid. It smelled of apples and cinnamon. “There's only one cup, though, so we'll have to share.” He poured some of the steaming liquid into the top and handed it to me. “Ladies first.”

I tasted it, and as I expected, it was great. “This is all very nice, but I wanted to talk about the case.”

“Sorry, I got lost in the romance of the moment. This is kind of perfect.” I didn't say anything, but I had to agree.

“Romance over and out,” he said, giving a mock salute. “Of course, you're right. We should be talking about the case. Have you been able to come up with anything, like hopefully some other suspects?”

“There is one. Me. Lieutenant Borgnine seems to think I might have taken offense at Rosalie's comments about the muffins, because they were going to ruin my business.”

Dane put his arm around me. “He doesn't really believe that, does he?”

I let the cool air refresh my senses. “Well, one thing is right: her comment has definitely put a dent in my business. The sales of all my baked goods are down.”

Dane tried to sound encouraging. “I'm sure it's just temporary.”

“That's what Maggie said, but what if it isn't? Another
career bites the dust.” I told him about running into Sammy's father. “Maybe he's right.”

“About what?”

“That I'm wasting my time here.”

“I suppose he was suggesting that you and Sammy get married and move back to Chicago,” Dane said, sounding unhappy.

“Yes, but then he doesn't know that Sammy and I aren't really together.” I let out a sigh. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. There's another possible suspect in Rosalie's murder. My old boss brought it up. Frank said I ought to try to get Lieutenant Borgnine to consider Hank Hardcastle.”

“I'm sure Borgnine talked to Hank. But he could have dismissed him as a suspect because he's so sure Chloe did it.” Dane punched his fist in frustration. “Just because she has blue hair, or whatever color it is this week, it doesn't make her a killer.”

“I was thinking that if I talked to Hank Hardcastle I might be able to find something out. But I don't think I've ever met him.”

“Hank works nights, so your paths might not have crossed. The more I think about it, it sounds like a good idea for you to talk to him,” Dane said.

“I heard that before, about him working at night.” I knew the streets of Cadbury were practically rolled up at night, so there weren't a lot of late-night opportunities for work. “What does he do?”

Dane pointed out into the bay. In the distance I saw a tiny green light and something brighter near it. “That could be him.”

I was totally confused. “Doing what?”

“Fishing for calamari.” Dane went to refill my cup with the cider.

“Calamari?” I repeated. Dane misunderstood and thought
I wanted to know how they fished at night, and he went into describing how they caught the squid.

But I wasn't interested that they went out in two boats, with one shining a bright light into the water to attract the animals and the other boat actually catching them. Apparently they were like moths that way—drawn to the light. I just wanted to get back to Hank.