Dead Men Don't Crochet Read online

  Kevin kept talking—and not getting up from his desk. I was beginning to feel a little panicky, like maybe I’d never get out of here, or worse, be discovered. Then I heard the scrape of his chair as he pulled it closer to the desk. I turned and saw that his knees were moving under the desk and any second they were going to hit me.

  And for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with a valid reason I could give for being there.

  My heart was pounding and the adrenalin rushing, but it wasn’t a good feeling this time—more like it was making me nauseous. I took a few deep breaths and prepared to face the consequences. His knees were so close I could smell the cleaning fluid from his pants. I battened down my personal hatches and prepared to hear him scream when his knees made contact.

  There was a sound all right and it was loud, but it wasn’t human.

  CHAPTER 10

  KEVIN’S SHOES TOOK OFF LIKE A SHOT IN RESPONSE to the loud whine. Mr. Work Boots followed close behind. I gave them a moment, then race crawled out from under the desk. When I got downstairs there was pandemonium as everyone was rushing out the back door.

  I followed the crowd and found Dinah standing with the others in the parking lot.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said hugging her.

  “You didn’t think I’d just leave you there. It’s lucky I was listening when Dorothy mentioned the alarm on the back door. All I had to do was push the door and it went off,” Dinah said, glancing around at the frantic faces of the group in the parking lot. “Though, I just wanted to create a distraction, not cause a panic.”

  Kevin moved through the former shoppers, checking everyone to see if they were holding any merchandise. Dorothy was leaning against the building, looking very pale.

  “I suppose everyone overreacted because of the murder,” I said as Kevin stopped in front of a woman in designer jeans and heels, holding a lamp. Judging by his body language, I suspected that he thought she’d tried to leave with the lamp and set off the alarm in the process. Too bad he didn’t take the time to think it through. I mean, if she was trying to steal a lamp, would she just hang around waiting to get caught?

  In the distance I heard the whine of sirens. “Uh-oh. We better get out of here,” I said, grabbing Dinah’s hand. We took off and as we ran, we both got the giggles. By the time we reached the bookstore café, we were breathless and laughing so hard, tears were running down our cheeks.

  “What’s up? You two look like you just did something naughty,” Bob said as we both flopped into chairs at a table by the window.

  “Us?” I said with my best innocent, middle-age widow look, which made us both start laughing all over again. Bob shook his head with disbelief as a hook and ladder roared past the window.

  Bob was very serious about his barista duties, and his round body shape suggested that he did a lot of taste testing of the cookies. He had a small clump of hair on the bottom of his chin that looked like a shaving mistake. Is that even called a beard? And he always reminded us that he was working on a screenplay—some kind of alien adventure story. Maybe the idea for his face hair came from that.

  When we finally regained our composure, I tried twisting my body to get the kinks out. “It wasn’t fun being squished under that desk,” I said.

  Bob brought us drinks and some cookie bars he’d just made using a recipe of mine. Since I’m only a marginal chocolate fan, they were more or less chocolate chip cookie bars without the chocolate chips. Instead I added more nuts and bits of dried apricot. After seeing our condition, Bob must have figured we’d had enough caffeine, so he brought us both camomile tea.

  We looked out the window and saw the hook and ladder had pulled around the corner from the Cottage Shoppe. Two firemen had jumped off and were headed toward the front door carrying axes. Most of the shoppers had left, but a few were hanging around to watch what was going on.

  “I guess someone must have freaked when the alarm went off and called for the works,” Dinah said, wincing with guilt. A rescue ambulance stopped in front of the store and another fire truck followed. Two police cruisers came from the other direction and barely stopped before the doors flung open and four uniforms popped out. A black Crown Victoria pulled up and Detective Heather got out of the driver’s side as her partner got out on the other side. Instinctively, I shrank back from the window as if her detective eyes could pick me out from across the street and a half a block down.

  Maybe she couldn’t boil an egg, but she could sure wear a suit—though I couldn’t imagine how she functioned in the pencil skirt and the heels. Barry occasionally made reference to some of the yucky places he had to go. Places with bugs and rodents, and he wasn’t talking butterflies and field mice. Personally, I’d want to wear armor.

  Kevin Brooks came out and met up with the emergency people. It appeared there was lots of pointing and apologizing. All the uniforms headed back to their various vehicles. Detective Heather made no move to leave and continued talking to Kevin. Her appearance wasn’t lost on him. Even from across the street, I could tell he’d be glad to do any egg boiling necessary. I was relieved to see he had apparently let the lady with the lamp go and was now holding it himself.

  “I suppose it must be a shock to her that she can’t get Barry. She does have a lot going for her besides looks,” I said, watching her conversation. “She’s smart, focused, ambitious and—”

  “Cold as an iceberg,” Dinah said, finishing my sentence.

  We ate the cookie bars but shunned the tea as we watched the hook and ladder roll past the window, shaking the floor as it went. Neither of us wanted to do anything to mess with the nice afterglow of the adrenalin rush.

  “What’s going on?” Even though the voice was coming from behind us, I recognized the speaker as Adele. When I turned, she was standing next to the table, following my gaze. Lately, she’d been getting a little more serious about her clothes. They were still outrageous, but ever since the Koo Koo the Clown signing, she’d been going for blander colors. I called this outfit the Butterscotch Kiss. She had on pants and a top in a dark golden yellow with a crocheted scarf the same color tied around her head. She’d barely mentioned their date except to say he really liked her, but she wasn’t into dating a clown, even if he was a published one.

  “Somebody went out the back door of the Cottage Shoppe and set off an alarm and the cavalry was called in,” I said. My lips started to quiver as I looked at Dinah, and I had to fight to keep the giggles from coming back.

  “How come you know so much about it?” Adele sounded jealous that we knew what was going on rather than interested in the answer. She sat down at the table before we had a chance to invite her to join us. Leaving out our little side trip upstairs, I told her we’d gone over there to check out the specials. I gestured toward the banners on the windows.

  “And probably snoop, too,” Adele said. “Pink, I know how you operate.” Shocked, I turned my head toward her, thinking she knew what we’d done, but then I realized she meant snoop in a general sense, as in talk to people and look around, not in the more specific sense of sneaking into private offices. “So, what did you find out?” Adele demanded.

  Why not tell Adele? I told her what Dorothy had said about Drew cutting salaries as well as the money the consignees got. “The other saleswoman, Trina, was the most upset. And Drew and Kevin were fighting all the time about something.” I turned to Dinah. “Maybe it had something to do with the plans Kevin has for the place.” Dinah nodded with interest.

  “Pink, you’re sure taking your time solving this. Sheila could be tried and convicted if you don’t get the lead out. I’m a better sleuth than you are,” Adele said with a snort. “Just from what you said I can see there are two prime suspects. The saleswoman who found him—Trina. How much more prime can you get? Who says his head was in the soup when she got there? Or the other one. Maybe she was telling you how upset Trina was to get the heat off of her. Whose to say she didn’t bop him and leave and let her coworker find him?�
�� Adele seemed pleased with herself, but then her eyes widened as if she’d thought of something else even more self-satisfying.

  “By the way, I had a little conversation with Mrs. Shedd about the Milton Mindell event. I told her I should handle it all by myself since it’s a kids’ event.”

  My adrenalin high faded. Was Adele out of her mind? So many kids showed up, we had to give out numbers in advance. And mixing Milton’s temperamental personality with Adele’s divaness spelled disaster in red letters.

  I’d have to talk to Mrs. Shedd, I thought. Then I stopped myself. Was the potential for disaster the only reason I was so uncomfortable with the idea of Adele handling the event? Or was I afraid that little by little Adele might take away pieces of my job? Bingo. Okay, I never claimed to be a saint.

  “I don’t know why Mrs. Shedd didn’t agree,” Adele said. I tried not to be obvious about my relief. Thankfully, Mrs. Shedd had some sense. But only some.

  “But she said I could work with you on it.” Adele gave my arm a friendly punch. “So I guess we’re partners, then.” It didn’t matter that I looked dismayed, Adele wasn’t paying any attention. She just went on, saying that Patricia Bradford had dropped off a box of books along with signage for her event. I noticed Adele made sure to mention that the Patricia’s Hints program was all mine to handle.

  We didn’t generally carry self-published books like Patricia’s because they were a hard sell, but Mrs. Shedd made an exception for Patricia, who never left anything to chance. Normally, I made signs for author events, but Patricia preferred to make her own, more elaborate ones with more flattering copy. Adele said this time she had described herself as “the first lady of hints.”

  “So, what did you buy?” Adele said, abruptly changing the subject. “You said you went over to the Cottage Shoppe to check out the specials.” Her comment jogged my memory, and I thought of the doll and truck Dinah had bought. Then I realized we’d left the bag on the chair in the refreshment area of the store. Since Dinah had a class to teach, I offered to get it. Adele insisted on coming with me.

  The store was considerably quieter than it had been earlier. In fact there were almost no customers for us to blend in with. Kevin was talking to Dorothy. She looked as though she couldn’t wait for her workday to end. Who could blame her?

  When I glanced in the dining room, I saw the package still on the chair. I picked it up and was heading toward the door, anxious to make a hasty exit, but Adele had gone off to look around. I stopped in the entrance hall to wait for her. Kevin and Dorothy were still talking. I like to think of it as curiosity, though some might call it nosiness, but I leaned a little closer to try to hear. I swallowed hard when I got the jest of it.

  Kevin was saying he’d seen someone on the stairs earlier. Because of the overhang all he had seen were a pair of legs in black slacks. It couldn’t have been Dinah, because she was wearing rust-colored denims, and it couldn’t have been me, because, as usual, I was wearing khaki pants.

  Could somebody else have been looking around upstairs, too?

  CHAPTER 11

  THE MAY GLOOM HAD FINALLY WORN OFF AS Adele and I headed back to the bookstore. With the sun burning through the clouds, the air had warmed considerably, and I peeled off my black knit hoodie. Once we got inside, she went off to the children’s department and I headed back to the office.

  I worked on the newsletter and made sure the calendar in it was up-to-date before printing out copies to leave by the door. I had included a little article about the Tarzana Hookers’ hugs of comfort project and mentioned how the director of the Women’s Haven was very excited to be giving shawls to the residents. I also put a little note in saying new members of the crochet group were always welcome. More than welcome. We needed them if we were going to get all those shawls made.

  After I had put out the newsletters, I cashiered a bit to give Rayaad a break and then helped some shoppers find books. By the time I was heading for home, I was thinking of a nice long bubble bath and an evening of soothing crochet. I really wanted to get a good part of my first shawl done, and while I was working I could think over everything I’d seen and heard at the Cottage Shoppe.

  Someone must be having a party, I thought as I turned onto my block and noted the number of cars parked on the street. I was glad I wasn’t invited. The bubble bath beckoned, and I was contemplating maybe an ice-cream dinner. I pulled into the carport and walked into the yard. It was empty for a change. No Barry and his dog. Ah, peace at last, peace at last. For a moment, anyway.

  Who knew the party was at my house?

  I pushed open the kitchen door and there was greeted by the instant noise of multiple conversations and people. Morgan and Samuel were in one corner of the kitchen having some kind of heated discussion over a bowl of lettuce and a bottle of vinegar. Barry and Jeffrey were by the pantry, unloading dog food and assorted treats from a grocery bag. Cosmo was watching at their feet. Barry had been bringing over so much dog stuff, it was taking up all the shelf space. My terrier mix was sitting in the other room, observing everything at a safe distance. Then Peter walked in from the other room along with Mason Fields. When my older son saw me, he marched over scowling. He wanted to know why Samuel’s girlfriend was staying with me and why Barry had a key and was acting like he lived here.

  “It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been over,” Peter said, gesturing toward the dog food unloading zone. “Who’s the kid and where’d that dog come from?” As if on cue, Cosmo dropped his saliva-covered ball on Peter’s zillion-dollar Enrico Fabrizio shoe. “Mother, this house is like a circus.” Since Charlie’s death, Peter thought it was his job to be the man of the family. Sometimes he took the job too seriously.

  “Let’s see,” I said, watching as he glowered at everyone, particularly Barry. “Your brother’s girlfriend needed a place to stay for a while, and I have lots of room. And Cosmo, Barry and Jeffrey are all part of the same thing.” I explained that Jeffrey was Barry’s son and they had wanted to get a dog, but couldn’t unless they had sort of a cosigner.

  “Mother, you didn’t?” Peter was already throwing up his hands in a hopeless gesture as I explained that Cosmo had started as a frequent visitor but had now become more of a permanent guest. The little black mutt dropped the ball at Peter’s feet again. He leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur before tossing the ball out the back door into the yard. Cosmo charged after it. To my surprise, Blondie followed him out.

  “He’s kind of cute. Couldn’t you just have said he was yours once he started living here?”

  “No. He’s really Barry and Jeffrey’s dog, and sometime soon they’ll be taking him back with them,” I said.

  “Sure,” Peter said with disbelief. “I think the more likely move is the cop and kid are going to try and come here to stay with their dog, Mother,” he said, stretching the word into two syllables of disapproval.

  Whatever happened to the concept of growing up and being able to do what you wanted? It wasn’t bad enough that I had had to deal with my mother’s withering opinions of anyone I dated when I was a teen. Now I had Peter, and he certainly didn’t give me any slack.

  Mason had discreetly stayed out of earshot during Peter’s fuss about Barry, Jeffrey and the dog. As soon as he saw we were done, he came toward me with an amused smile.

  “So, I finally get to see the famous Pink Manor. Certainly a lively place.”

  He explained he and Peter had come from a meeting about a reality show deal they were putting together at some production company in Sherman Oaks. Peter had brought him over because he was worried I was mixed up in another murder and needed someone to tell me how to deal with the police. Personally, I thought the visit had more to do with Peter’s efforts as matchmaker than his concern about me being a suspect. Particularly since I wasn’t a suspect. However, I was glad Peter had brought him over since I did have something I wanted to talk to him about.

  From across the room, as though he had lawyer radar, Barry glanced up, lock
ed eyes with Mason and clenched his jaw. Barry knew how to keep his face impassive, but the jaw thing was his one tell when he was really upset.

  I don’t think Barry would have liked Mason even if he didn’t see him as competition. Mason had a reputation for keeping his celebrity clients out of jail. He knew how to find the reasonable doubt in cases detectives like Barry built. He was high profile and showed up on the news all the time, coming out of the courthouse. He was also on the board of directors of almost every charity. He claimed, in his usual joking manner, he had to do something to make up for being a lawyer. He was divorced and clearly could have his pick of women of any age group even though he was in his fifties. Why not, he had the big three going for him: successful, good-looking and available. Actually, there was also a fourth. He was a total nonjerk. I suspected his interest in me had more to do with the fact that I kept putting him off than anything else. You know, people always want what they can’t have.

  I did like him. He had a sense of humor about himself and an ability to take care of things without making a big deal out of it, like the way he had helped my younger son line up some gigs playing keyboards at some local bars. So I wasn’t saying never about Mason, just not right now.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you about something.” I stepped toward the open door and the relative quiet of the backyard. Mason straightened at my comment and got an expectant expression on his face. I was afraid when he heard what I wanted to talk to him about he was going to be disappointed.

  I didn’t have to see Barry’s eyes to know that he probably had a stare so piercing it could burn a hole in a rock.

  “So talk,” Mason said when we got outside. He had on a dark suit—blue that was almost black—and a creamy white shirt made out of a soft, silky cotton. He wore no tie and his shirt was open, showing a frizzle of chest hair that, like the hair on his head, was mostly dark brown with a little gray. A few strands of hair always seemed to fall across his forehead, giving him an earnest, hardworking sort of look. He stretched one arm and leaned his hand against the house, which placed him at an intimate distance from me.