Yarn to Go (17 page)

Kris grabbed Crystal’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but some of the others are waiting to get their yarn cut.”

I don’t know why I felt so annoyed at Kris for interrupting. All she was doing was trying to handle things. The very thing I’d wanted her to do. Did that mean that I wanted the position of leader? I was shocked to realize that I thought I did. I cared that Bree was afraid to be alone. I truly wished Olivia would tell me why she seemed so unhappy. I wanted to help Scott admit to his wife he was a knitter, so he’d be free to follow his passion. And as for Melissa and Sissy, well, I didn’t really think there was much I could do besides separating them. I watched them as they tried out the different yarns, fussing the whole time. Finally, Gwen and Crystal went to the old-fashioned glass case that served as the checkout as we formed a line, holding our skeins and supplies.

“Hmm, a lot of you are buying the serendipity yarns,” the older woman said.

Crystal gave her mother a knowing nod. What Gwen did next surprised me. She patted her daughter on the shoulder. “You were right. This store needs your touch.”

“I hope you’ll come back when the kiosk is up,” Gwen said to Kris as she rang up her yarn. “I can’t wait to see it. Just imagine, it’s going to say
Kris Garland’s Retreat in a Box
.”

Kris blushed, but it was easy to see that she was very pleased at what Gwen had said. “The yarn company is doing a whole promotion with me, but even if they didn’t, I’d be sure to come back here.”

“Tell us how it works again,” Bree said.

“Let’s say Casey came in here looking for something to make,” Kris began. “She’d go up to the touch screen and answer some questions, and the software would not only figure out the perfect project for her, but generate a pattern and a supply list for the store.” Kris gestured toward Gwen. “The store personnel will put together the yarn, needles and other tools, along with instructional DVDs. All of it will be placed in a tote bag like the one you all got.” Kris smiled at the finish.

“So it will be just like our workshop,” Bree said.

“Not exactly. It’s going to be a little more standardized than your projects are.”

Lucinda put several skeins of a heathery dark gray wool on the counter so Gwen could ring them up. “I think this would make a great scarf for Tag. He’s always saying he’s cold.” She handed over her credit card and rolled her eyes. “Am I nuts? You know he’ll find some mistake I made in the knitting and never let me forget it.” She looked at Kris. “What would your computer come up with in a situation like that?”

“A woven scarf from the Pendleton shop,” Kris said with a sly laugh.

“I think I’m making the scarf for me,” Lucinda said.

When we’d all paid for our purchases and were heading for the door, Gwen came up to me. “I’m sorry Joan isn’t here. This was her idea, you know.” She patted my shoulder in a reassuring way. “She’d be so happy that you were continuing the tradition.” I wanted to tell her this was just a one-time thing, but she seemed so pleased that I’d stepped into my aunt’s shoes, I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Afterward, Lucinda led us down the street to the Blue Door restaurant. Tag was busy supervising the setup for dinner, but Lucinda brought the group in anyway. She had everyone sit down and then waltzed in the kitchen and sweet-talked the cook until he made us afternoon tea. Tag looked like he was going to bust a gasket.

20

WHEN THE VAN LET US OFF BACK AT VISTA DEL MAR,
there was free time until dinner. The group all went their own ways, anxious to try out the yarn they’d just bought. I wanted to talk to Lucinda about solving Edie’s murder, but she started jumping and trying to click her heels while saying, “Free again. I’m free again.” I didn’t want to ruin her buzz and didn’t stop her from going back to Sand and Sea with the others.

I went across to my place to think. Was Crystal right? Was Cadbury PD going to name a suspect? Who was it? Kris’s question about what to do with the information about Scott had ended up being rhetorical. She’d walked away before I had answered. And what did naming a suspect mean anyway? If anything it seemed like it would tip someone off it was a good time for them to take a trip to Brazil.

What did I have? It all seemed like a mishmash, and here it was almost Saturday night. The only thing I could think of was calling my old boss.

“Okay, Feldstein, what is it now?” Frank said. “You do know it’s Saturday and two hours later here. You might not have realized it, but I do have a social life.”

“Sorry to get in the way of your evening,” I said. He was right. I’d never thought of him having a social life, or a life outside the agency. When I’d come into the office and left it, he’d always been reclining in his office chair. I guess I thought he lived there.

I apologized again for the call and started telling him about running out of time and the yarn retreat ending and how I didn’t know what to do next. I was just getting to being worried about the night’s activities when Frank cut in.

“Okay, Feldstein, I got it. Let’s cut to the chase. Give me your list of suspects.”

“Well, there’s Kevin St. John,” I said, and Frank made a groaning noise.

“Feldstein, the names mean nothing to me. You have to tell me who they are. How does this St. John guy fit into the big picture? Is he the husband? Remember, I told you that’s always where the cops start—and usually finish.”

I started to explain who Kevin St. John was, but Frank stopped me again. “What’s his motive, Feldstein?”

“I’m not sure what she said to him, but the dead woman managed to say the wrong thing to just about everybody. But there’s something else.” I told Frank how Kevin wanted all of my aunt’s paperwork about the retreats and that he wanted to put on the future retreats himself. “I’ve kind of been stalling about handing it over, and he might be worried that I’m going to keep putting on the retreats. What if he killed Edie, I mean the victim, to make me look bad as a retreat leader?”

“I see where you’re going, Feldstein. And he stuck those needles in her to make it look like it was one of your knit people. Could be.”

“About those needles,” I said, feeling uneasy. I told Frank that I was pretty sure the needles stuck in her had been taken from my aunt’s. “And there’s something else. They probably have my fingerprints on them.”

Frank chuckled. “Don’t sweat it, Feldstein. You’re not in the system. I know because I did a background check on you when you came to work for me. Just don’t do anything stupid like agree to give the cops your prints.” He paused before continuing. “And don’t give them a chance to lift your prints off of something.” He went on about how tricky cops could be, picking things out of the trash or grabbing a coffee cup in a restaurant.

I started to say I’d only talked to Lieutenant Borgnine the one time so far and I didn’t think there was anything he could take with my prints on it. Then a black thought crossed my mind. “Remember you suggested I flirt with a cop to get information?” I said. I told him how Dane had invited me over for breakfast.

“And probably some nookie, too,” Frank said.

“He doesn’t need any nookie from me. He turned his garage into an orgy room.”

“And . . .” Frank coaxed.

“I offered to put my bowl and juice glass in the sink, but he insisted I leave everything, that he’d clean up.”

“And you left your glass on the table, didn’t you? Not good, Feldstein. They’re probably matching those prints up as we speak.”

“Don’t say that, Frank. Dane, the cop, had today off. Maybe he hasn’t taken the glass in yet.”

“I’d sharpen up those flirting skills and make a quick trip back there. Just a hint, but if you see the glass, I recommend an accident. No prints on a smashed glass.”

I sat hugging the phone after we’d hung up. What if the suspect they were going to name was me? Not if I could help it.

I went outside and started down the street toward Dane’s. His red Ford 150 truck wasn’t in the driveway, and there was just a lone Honda parked at the curb. When I got to his driveway I walked up it with the idea of looking in the window. I had my fingers crossed that I’d see the glass in a plastic bag waiting to be taken in. I had stand on my tiptoes, and the light was low inside, so I pressed my face against the window, trying to see in.

Suddenly the light came on and a woman walked in the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing the pink sweat suit I’d seen the first time I’d been there.

She jumped a little when she saw me but wasn’t nearly as startled as I would have expected. She came to the back door and opened it.

“If you’re looking for Dane, he isn’t here,” she said in a nonchalant tone. I tried not to be too obvious as I looked her over. She had red hair. I mean, really red hair. Cherry red, which didn’t go well with the pink sweat suit. The heavy makeup didn’t go, either. When she turned I saw
HOT
in big white letters across her butt. So maybe sweat suit was the wrong term for it. What difference did it make, anyway? She was obviously part of his party crew or maybe his girlfriend. I guessed her name was Chloe because it was written in glitter across the front of her white knit shirt that barely covered her midriff.

“You must be new. The group isn’t here yet. If you want you can go ahead into the studio and get started on your own. I heard there are some new toys.”

Eww. I wanted to make it clear I wasn’t part of the party hardy crowd, but that really wasn’t the point now. I had to think fast. And maybe I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I should have. Frank had made me crazy about the orange juice glass, and all I could think of was finding it and breaking it.

“No thanks on the studio,” I said. “I think I left something here this morning. Maybe I could look for it?”

The woman looked me up and down. “You were here this morning?” she said with interest. “As in from last night?”

Uh-oh, I didn’t want to get caught up in some kind of jealous rage thing with her. “No, no. Nothing like that.” I didn’t wait for her permission and started looking around the kitchen. The table was clear and so was the sink. She was walking right behind me, firing questions that I didn’t want to answer. How well did I know Dane? Where did we meet? How come she’d never seen me before? I kept answering with shrugs, as I moved faster around the room toward the dishwasher. I didn’t dare look at her as I pulled it open and then pulled out the top rack. There were still some flecks of orange stuck to the two small glasses.

“What are you doing?” she said as I stared at them. I had no time to think. All I could remember was what Frank said about no prints on a broken glass as I grabbed both of them out of the dishwasher and threw them on the floor. I might have stamped on them before I ran for the door.

I ran all the way home and didn’t look back. Once I was inside I slumped in my one chair and began to laugh hysterically, thinking of the look on the woman’s face.

I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard a loud knock at my door.

21

I THOUGHT I’D MADE A CLEAN GETAWAY, BUT THE
woman with Kool-Aid-colored hair must have followed me. Why? What was she, the official custodian of Dane’s dishes? Maybe if I didn’t answer the door, she’d give up and go away. There was another knock on the door, only now it sounded more like she’d pounded on it. Geez, all I did was break a couple of glasses. Frank had just gotten me so nuts about destroying the evidence, I wasn’t thinking straight. Right, it was Frank’s fault. There was another loud pound on the door. Okay, it wasn’t Frank’s fault. I had to take responsibility for my own actions.

At the third pounding, I figured she wasn’t giving up and went to the door. “Look, I’m sorry about the glasses. I’ll be glad to replace them,” I said through the closed door.

“Glasses? What are you talking about? Casey, open up.”

“Lucinda?” I said with surprise and relief as I pulled the door open wide.

“What’s going on?” she said, gazing at me with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly,” I said before spilling the whole story about the fingerprints and my effort to get rid of them. By the end of the story, she was laughing.

“I wish I could have seen her face when you smashed the glasses. So, the cop has a girlfriend. I’m not surprised. He’s pretty hot.”

“I think she’s just one of a group. She thought I was a new recruit for the orgy. She said I could go on into the studio and play with some of the toys.” We both said, “Ewww” together.

“I almost forgot what I came for,” my friend said. “Your parents are across the street.”

“What? But they’re in Chicago,” I said, wondering if I’d heard her right. What could my parents possibly be doing there? I’d broken down and told them I was hosting the Petit Retreat, but why would they just show up? Lucinda had met them at Joan’s funeral and knew all about my relationship with my mother.

“And there’s a guy with them. Kind of tall and always smiling. Oh, and he kept making it look like a coin was coming out of Kevin St. John’s ear as your parents talked to him.”

“They were talking to Kevin St. John?” I said with a sinking feeling.

“The lord and manager of Vista Del Mar didn’t seem amused by the coin trick. The guy had short dark hair that reminded me of something.”

“The sugar on a gumdrop, maybe?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said. “He has that short hair that sort of sticks out all over.”

“It’s really a long crew cut,” I said.

“So then you know who he is,” Lucinda said.

“Yes, I know who he is. How about Dr. Sammy Glickner, my former boyfriend. The person my mother found for me and expected me to marry.” I gave Lucinda the short version of our relationship. Dr. Sammy, as he was called, was a urologist, but his real love was magic. The trouble was there just wasn’t any sizzle in our relationship. He was goofy and pretty funny most of the time, but what was that saying—all very nice, but not really good? He deserved somebody who would appreciate him. I had really done him a favor by breaking up with him. So why was he here?

“What are you going to do?” Lucinda said, noting that I seemed to be frozen in position.

“I’d like to just stay here and turn out the lights and pretend I’m not home,” I said, looking around at the interior of the guesthouse. “If I thought dealing with the woman with the cherry red hair was bad, it was nothing compared with dealing with my parents and Sammy.” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Whatever they’re here for, it can’t be good.”

“What do you want me to tell them?” Lucinda said, apparently thinking I was serious about hiding out.

“Nothing,” I said, rocking my head in capitulation. “I’m a big girl and can deal with this.”

Lucinda offered to be my support, but I said I had to deal with them myself. I was grateful when she offered to go on ahead and meet up with the retreat group in the dining hall.

We walked across the street together and into the grounds and went our separate ways. Lucinda looked back and gave me a thumbs-up for encouragement.

“Here she is, Babs,” I heard my father say as I walked into the Lodge building. The three of them were in the small sitting area but got up when I approached. Sammy walked around my parents and got to me first. He had his hands behind his back, but when he reached out to hug me, he was holding a bouquet of roses. Real roses—not the fake flowers he used in his illusion.

“Good trick,” I said as he pressed the bouquet on me.

“The trick is, it’s not really a trick,” he said with a happy laugh. There was something teddy bearish about his build, and when he hugged me, he towered over the top of my head. I recognized the familiar scent of Pierre Cardin cologne he always wore.

Didn’t he get that we’d broken up? He seemed so happy to see me, it made me want to cry. Lots of women would be thrilled to have him after them. He was a good catch. Good job, not the kind of guy who would cheat. I had no doubt he would be a good father. He was funny, too. How many times had I been feeling lost about my life, only to have him start telling me funny stories until I forgot all about it? But even with all that, I didn’t want him. Could it possibly be because my mother had pushed so hard for him?

I refused to believe I was that childish. I was sure there was something else that kept me from falling into his arms.

“Mr. St. John said one of the people on your aunt Joan’s retreat died. Actually, he said she was murdered,” my mother said with a heavy sigh. “Casey, I don’t know why you went through with the retreat in the first place. You should have just canceled the whole thing to begin with. You could have told them about Joan’s death. You know, if you had just asked your father and me, we would have given you the money so you could have given them all refunds. What do you know about putting on a retreat?” My mother stepped closer to me and dropped her voice. “So, you think it was someone in your group who did it?”

“Mother,” I said in the hopeless tone I’d heard both Sissy and Crystal use to their mothers. Nobody knew how to find your sensitive spot better than your mother. “I have it under control,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

The three of them looked at one another, and my father was chosen as the spokesperson. “Honey, your mother was worried that you were going off on a tangent again. We thought it best that we talk in person.” My father at least was dressed casually in a pair of khaki slacks and a polo shirt with a sports jacket. He reached in his pocket, took out a cherry lollipop and pressed it in my hand. Even with all the talk about sugar being evil, my pediatrician father had always carried a pocketful of lollipops to give to his patients and me, ever since I’d been a kid. About the sugar thing, he thought moderation was the watchword. It was impossible for my mother to go casual.

You had to understand that shopping and clothes weren’t of interest to her. She had a personal shopper who would have an array of pantsuits ready when my mother came in. There were work pantsuits, dressy pantsuits, and maybe the tan one she was wearing was supposed to be a sporty pantsuit. She kept her dark brown hair short in a style that required little attention. The only personal touch to her appearance were dangle earrings. She chose them to reflect her mood. Today’s were little lightning bolts, which reminded me of a piece of jewelry connected to Elvis Presley. He’d said it meant taking care of business, which was exactly what my mother had in mind.

I was glad I hadn’t changed out of the gray slacks and black turtleneck. At least I looked kind of businesslike.

“Oh, Ned, we don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to the point,” my mother said. I didn’t really want them to get to the point, at least not that quickly. I was still recovering from the fact they were there. I offered them dinner in the dining hall.

“I suppose we could have dinner here if that’s what you want,” my mother said, looking around at the rustic surroundings. “We’re staying at one of the resorts in Pebble Beach. We thought we would take you to dinner there.” Of course they were staying there. Pebble Beach was all fancy resorts with gourmet restaurants and world-famous golf courses.

“I can’t just leave my people,” I said, suddenly feeling very protective of Vista Del Mar and its more primitive setting. As I said it, Bree walked through the large room that functioned as a lobby for the hotel and conference center. She had her cell phone stuck to her ear, but when she saw me, she got off her call.

“My boys called me,” she said in an excited voice. “And thank you again for last night. I know I was being silly, but if you hadn’t sat with me, I never would have fallen asleep.”

I watched the effect Bree’s comments had on my mother. She looked surprised and a little worried. As soon as Bree went on to the dining hall, my mother shook her head. “Tell me you’re not going to try to take on your aunt’s retreat business. You told us it was just this one. Mr. St. John said he would be only too happy to carry on Joan’s tradition and put on future yarn-related retreats himself. He said he needed some papers from you.”

“So this is some kind of intervention?” I said.

“We can discuss it over dinner,” my mother said. “In this dining hall place, if that’s what you want.”

I wanted to stay on my turf, and led the way out of the Lodge to Sea Foam. I was glad the line had already moved inside the dining hall. Kevin St. John must have thought my parents were allies in his quest to get all the paperwork, because he insisted on comping their meals. I waved to the group at our usual table and by their sympathetic looks figured that Lucinda had told them who I was with.

We chose a table far from the crowd in a quiet corner. Just as I was going to sit down, I noticed that Michael had come in and was surveying the tables. It was the perfect chance to ask Lucinda and Melissa if he was the man they’d seen with Edie. I started to get up from the table.

“I have to take care of something,” I said. My mother eyed me with that all-too-knowing look. The unspoken message was she knew I was trying to run away. I could only imagine her reaction if I said I was investigating Edie’s death.

“I’m sure it can wait,” she said, and I sat back in my seat.

Sammy sensed an awkward moment and went off to get his food, though it seemed like mostly what he did was entertain everyone with silly tricks and his friendly manner.

My mother watched him. “As soon as Sammy heard we were coming to talk to you, he asked to come along. I hope you realize how much he cares about you.” I answered with a dismissive wave of my hand. My mother didn’t understand. Everything I’d said about things being all very nice, but not very good with Sammy was only part of it. I was really doing Sammy a favor. I had trouble sticking with things . . . and maybe people, too.

“Let’s just get to why you’re here, so we can get it over with,” I said.

Some discussion went on between my parents as to who should tell me “the plan.” My mother must have said five times, “Ned, you talk to her. She’ll listen if it’s coming from you.”

Did they think I was six? Like I couldn’t hear them arguing. Finally, I just stepped in and ordered my mother to tell me whatever it was.

“Your father and I talked it over. Since you seem to have such an interest in baking, we thought you should become a real professional. So, we’re here to offer you cooking school in Paris.” She took a folder out of her bag and pushed it across the table. I let it sit there a moment, then my curiosity got the better of me and I opened it.

There was a booklet about the cooking school and enrollment papers, which I noted were filled out. “Everything is done, even a place to stay lined up. The classes start next week. All you have to do is hit the accept button,” my mother said. “Sammy thinks it’s a great idea. And when you finish you can come back to Chicago and who knows . . .” My mother looked me in the eye. “Where are you going to find someone better than Sammy?”

During my mother’s deliberate moment of silence when everything she said was supposed to sink in, Dane marched into the dining hall. He roared through the room like a ball of energy. I was stunned when he made his way directly to our table and me.

“What’s with coming over and breaking my dishes?” he said.

“It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll get you some new glasses.”

“So why did you do it?” He was standing his ground, and I got the impression he wasn’t going to leave until I gave him some kind of explanation. What possible excuse could I come up with on such short notice? All I could do was tell the truth.

“I thought you were trying to get my fingerprints off the glass.”

Dane shook his head in confusion. “Why would I want to do that? Besides, if I was trying to get your fingerprints, why would I put the glass in the dishwasher?”

He definitely had a point. But when I smashed the glasses, I wasn’t exactly thinking things through. Dane was still staring at me, as was everyone else. I certainly didn’t want to go into my call with Frank and my frantic thinking.

“I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” I said in a low voice, hoping he would drop it and leave.

At last, Dane threw up his hands and left, just as Sammy came back to the table carrying a plate of food. He joined my parents in watching Dane go out the door.