A Stitch in Crime Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  All-Purpose Pouch Purse

  Adele’s Marshmallow Stitch

  Commander Blaine’s Savory and Sweet Mini Cream Puffs

  Classic S’mores

  A CROCHET MYSTERY FROM

  NOW AVAILABLE IN ONE VOLUME

  Praise for

  Dead Men Don’t Crochet

  “Fun . . . Has a great hook and a cast of characters that enliven any scene.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “[A] brisk and enjoyable cozy . . . A fun read . . . Readers will be hooked.”

  —New Mystery Reader Magazine

  “Classic cozy fare . . . Crocheting pattern and recipe are just the icing on the cake.”

  —Cozy Library

  Hooked on Murder

  “A gentle and charming novel that will warm the reader like a favorite afghan. Its quirky and likable characters are appealing and real.”

  —Earlene Fowler, author of Love Mercy

  “Betty Hechtman has written a charming mystery. Who can resist a sleuth named Pink, a slew of interesting minor characters, and a fun fringe-of-Hollywood setting?”

  —Monica Ferris, author of Sew Far, So Good

  “Hooks the reader from the onset with likable characters . . . Readers will admire the feisty, caring Molly.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Readers who enjoy craft-and-hobby-related cozies will find lots to like in Hooked on Murder . . . Betty Hechtman does it all so well: writing, plotting, and character development.”

  —Cozy Library

  “Hechtman’s writing is fun and introspective, and Molly is a likeable character.”

  —Romantic Times

  “A great start to a new mystery series.”

  —MyShelf.com

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Betty Hechtman

  HOOKED ON MURDER

  DEAD MEN DON’T CROCHET

  BY HOOK OR BY CROOK

  A STITCH IN CRIME

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written.

  The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  A STITCH IN CRIME

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Betty Hechtman.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18474-5

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Sandy Harding for her continued enthusiasm and great editing. Thanks to everyone at Berkley Prime Crime for the great cover and all their efforts on my behalf. None of this would have happened without my agent, Jessica Faust.

  Thank you, Howard Marx, M.D., for the quick answers to all my medical questions. Appellate Defender Judy Libby keeps the lawyer information coming. Roberta Martia is my crochet tester and chief cheerleader.

  And Burl and Max—you guys are still the best. Thanks for being such devoted recipe testers.

  CHAPTER 1

  “MOLLY, PLEASE TRY TO GET THROUGH THE WEEK-END without any dead bodies,” Mrs. Shedd said, pushing the rhinestone-encrusted clipboard across her desk to me. “And take good care of this. It’s the first time I’ve turned it over to anyone.” I could see why she made the dead body comment. After forty-seven years of not one dead body showing up in my life, there had been a plethora of them in the past couple of years.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “No murder or mayhem, I promise.” I completely meant it when I said it. Too bad it turned out not to be true.

  I stared at the fancy clipboard for a moment as what it meant sank in. Every September the bookstore where I worked, Shedd & Royal Books and More, put on the Get Out of the Heat and Light Your Creative Fire retreat on the Monterey Peninsula. The “getting out of the heat” referred to the September weather in Tarzana, California, which was always hot and dry. In contrast, the Monterey area was cool and damp year round. I’d never been on one of the retreats, but I knew Mrs. Shedd chose four or five creative pursuits, such as writing or candle making, and lined up local people to put on the workshops. The retreaters committed to a topic and went to a number of sessions over the long weekend. At the end there was a gathering and everyone got to show off what they’d done.

  “This retreat is your baby. Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, expecting some kind of explanation.

  Mrs. Shedd shook her head, making her perfect blond pageboy swing. “I’m more than sure. It’s your baby now, Molly. Something’s come up and I can’t go,” she said cr
yptically.

  Pamela Shedd was the co-owner of Shedd & Royal Books and More, which made her my boss. I was surprised she didn’t give me any more details of why she suddenly couldn’t go on the retreat, but it wasn’t my place to ask. Since I was the community relations-event coordinator for the bookstore, it made sense that she was putting me in charge. But no way was it going to sit well with my coworker Adele Abrams.

  My boss picked up a box from the floor next to her and handed it to me, saying it held the folders for the presenters along with the schedule for the weekend. Later I could pick up the larger boxes with the folders for the retreaters and the other supplies. She seemed relieved to have passed everything off to me. “Oh, and be sure to have fun.”

  I put the clipboard on top of the box and took it with me as I headed across the bookstore to the event area, where my crochet group, the Tarzana Hookers, was already assembled. Morning sunlight streamed in the window that faced Ventura Boulevard. The long table was strewn with balls of yarn, coffee cups and some completed projects the members had brought in to show off to the group. The crochet group met regularly at Shedd & Royal. Adele Abrams, who along with being my coworker, was coleader of the group and a crochet fanatic, was waving around her hook, which had something white and fuzzy hanging from it. As I got closer, she began to pass around what she was working on.

  “Pink, you missed it,” Adele said, her voice full of excitement. I had gotten past being upset about her insistence on calling me by my last name. “I just created a stitch.” She pointed toward what looked like a row of fuzzy, white yarn bumps in Eduardo’s hand. Eduardo Linnares was our only male member. I doubt most people would pick him out as a crocheter. In his other life he was a cover model, and he definitely looked the part. He was tall with long, shiny black hair, handsome, even features and a muscular body that must have required long hours at the gym. But he fit into the group very nicely thanks to his pleasant disposition and his skill with a hook. His grandmother had taught him well.

  “Creating stitches is something we crochet divas do,” Adele said, crowing with pride. “I’m thinking of calling it the marshmallow stitch.”

  At the word “marshmallow,” CeeCee Collins looked up. She was the host of the reality show Making Amends and had a legendary sweet tooth; hence her interest at the mention of a sweet. When she realized what Adele was talking about, she seemed momentarily disappointed before taking the piece of yarn from Eduardo and examining it.

  CeeCee’s acting career had recently had a resurgence, and she’d gone from occasional cameos to being in the limelight. The best thing about her was that she could be a celebrity and a regular person at the same time. Well, sort of a regular person. She was the only one of us who had to be concerned about being caught by the paparazzi with soup dripping down her chin.

  “I can’t say it looks good enough to eat, but you’re right—the way it puffs up with the halo of white, bulky yarn does make it look like a marshmallow, dear. What are you going to do with it?”

  “I used that baby yarn we made the cuddle blankets with,” Adele said, referring to a group project in which we made soft blankets for traumatized children. She took the strip and held it on her wrist. “I could make a bracelet.” Then she held it across her chest. “Or keep going and make a vest.” Adele was amply built and had an eye for the outrageous when it came to clothes. Knowing her, she’d probably go for the vest.

  Sheila Altman put down her hook and looked at Adele’s creation. She was dressed in a black suit, which was her uniform for her job as the receptionist at the local women’s gym. For once she seemed relatively anxiety free. Just hearing about all she had on her plate made me nervous. Along with juggling several jobs, she was going to school to become a costume designer, and lived in a rented room partially paid for by babysitting the homeowner’s kids. “I think you should use it for trim,” Sheila said, taking the strip and holding it at the bottom of the blue scarf she was working on.

  Then Sheila handed the piece to me. As Adele’s gaze turned my way, she saw the box with the clipboard on top that I had set on the table. I prepared myself for the onslaught.

  “What are you doing with the rhinestone clipboard?” Adele demanded. Was there a little quiver in her lip? When I didn’t answer immediately, she stood up. “Well, Pink, what’s the story?”

  Even after several years, Adele had still not gotten over the fact I’d been hired as the event coordinator at Shedd & Royal Books and More. It didn’t matter that I had a background in public relations thanks to my late husband Charlie’s business; Adele still thought she should have gotten the position. To soothe her hurt feelings, she had gotten the children’s story time. And over time, Adele had managed to work her way into handling some events with me.

  “Mrs. Shedd told me she isn’t going to the Get Out of the Heat and Light Your Creative Fire weekend. She put me in charge and turned over the rhinestone clipboard,” I said finally.

  “That’s ridiculous! You’re not qualified. How many of the retreats have you gone on?” Adele said. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “I’ve been on every one since I started working here, which was years before you started.”

  Adele was right on that point—I had never been on one of the retreats. I had been left in charge of the bookstore while Mrs. Shedd and Adele went. But I had already arranged to go this year as a participant and to help Mrs. Shedd. Why should it matter that I hadn’t gone before, anyway? I had put on countless author events. Yes, there had been a few problems, like the smoke alarm going off during a cookbook demo and the fire department showing up. Another time the men’s bathroom flooded when it turned out a fixit book author didn’t know quite how to fix it. But the sense of not knowing what was going to happen had turned out to be a benefit, and was attracting more and more people to the bookstore’s events.

  It occurred to me that that sort of unpredictability might not transfer well to the retreat. But certainly I could get through four days without anything terrible happening. I was in my late forties, mature and able to handle things, right? Okay, I’d gotten involved in a few murders, but I’d managed to solve them, hadn’t I? Besides, there weren’t going to be any murders during the weekend. I simply wouldn’t allow it to happen.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Adele, but it’s a done deal,” I said, trying to end the discussion. I knew there was nothing I could say that could smooth things over. At least I now understood Adele’s over-the-top behavior. Once, when we had sat crocheting together in the kids’ department, she had opened up and told me her life story. It was kind of like Cinderella without Prince Charming, the fairy godmother, or the happy ending. All she’d gotten were the nasty stepmother and stepsisters.

  But understanding her history didn’t mean her personality was always easy to take.

  I sensed someone come up behind me. “Excuse me, ladies,” a female voice said. “Which one of you is Molly Pink?”

  Before I could volunteer the information, several fingers were pointing toward me.

  A woman with shoulder-length champagne blond hair and Angelina Jolie-quality puffy lips stepped into my line of vision. Before I could speak, Adele stood up so quickly her chair fell over, and she rushed up to the new arrival.

  “I know who you are. You’re Izabelle Landers.” Then Adele did something I never thought I would see. She raised her arms in a worshipful position and bowed to the newcomer. “I’m awed by your crochet work.” Adele turned to the rest of the table. “She’s the author of A Subtle Touch of Crochet.” All of our gazes moved back to Izabelle, who appeared uncomfortable at Adele’s antics.

  “Mrs. Shedd said to see you,” Izabelle said to me. “She said you had the folders for the weekend.” Then I put it all together. “You’re doing the crochet workshops, right?” Of course, I recognized her now from the photo on the back of her book, though her green eyes were much more startling in person.

  Adele stepped in front of me. “Did I mention that your book on crochet em
bellishments has been an inspiration? I love embellishments.” As if to illustrate, Adele turned around in model fashion. There was nothing subtle about her embellishments. She wiggled her behind to show off the trim she’d added to the back pockets of her jeans and then kicked her leg out to show off the line of what looked like coasters she’d attached to the bottom of her pants. She pulled her bag off the table and swung it in Izabelle’s face. “I got this flower pattern from your book,” she said, pointing out the felted fuchsia flowers clustered around the handles of the black fabric tote bag.

  Izabelle nodded uncomfortably at the fashion show and at the first chance turned back to me, saying she was going up to the retreat a day early and wanted to pick up her folder.

  “You’ll find all the information in here,” I said, handing Izabelle a thick packet.

  “I’ll be going to your workshops, though obviously I’m a very experienced crocheter,” Adele said, grabbing the white puffy piece and holding it out. “I’m a crochet designer, too. I just invented a stitch.”

  Izabelle barely looked at Adele’s offering. My bookstore associate didn’t seem to have any radar to detect how people were reacting to her. Instead of picking up on Izabelle’s dismissal, Adele put her crochet creation on the table and hung close to the weekend presenter, prattling on about how she’d be glad to help out with the workshop. Izabelle thumbed through the folder.

  “Before you leave, would you sign the copies we have of your book?” Adele didn’t wait for an answer, she just ran off toward the craft books. Izabelle definitely heard that question and looked over everyone’s works-in-progress as she waited for Adele’s return.