Dead Men Don't Crochet Read online

  “No matter what Peter might have said, I’m not about to be arrested. I’m not a suspect, person of interest or anything like that. Well, maybe a witness.” I started to explain the whole scene with Drew’s face in a bowl, but he’d already heard it. It was serious and all since Drew was dead, but saying the whole thing out loud sounded ridiculous and funny.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re not a suspect, but you know if you ever are arrested or need a cup of sugar or just a friendly ear, I’m just a phone call away.”

  I thanked him but told him I wanted to talk to him about somebody else and I began to tell the whole story about Sheila.

  “Detective Hea—I mean Gilmore heard Sheila say some threatening things about Drew, and then Sheila was at the shop when the whole soup incident happened.”

  Mason nodded but didn’t seem particularly concerned until I mentioned the row of paperweights on the desk and how Sheila had said her fingerprints were on the paperweight that had hit Drew on the head.

  “How did she know which one hit him, if she didn’t do it?”

  “You have to know Sheila,” I began, then told him about her finger tapping and how she’d tried to appear calmer and started tapping the paperweights and worked her way through all of them.

  Mason pulled out a card. “If they start accusing her or anything, tell her not to say anything and to call me.”

  I gave him a thank-you hug. “And there’s another small problem.”

  He waved for me to bring it on.

  “She doesn’t have any money.”

  Mason shrugged. “No problem. I’d do it as a favor for you. But then you would owe me, wouldn’t you,” he said with a teasing twinkle. “How about dinner as payment?”

  “No problem,” I said and offered to pay up right away. Of course, I invited everyone else to stay, too. I don’t think that was what he had in mind.

  CHAPTER 12

  “HOW DID YOU FEED THEM ALL?” DINAH ASKED. We were the first ones at the crochet group and had taken out our shawls to work on. Dinah wanted all the details of my impromptu dinner party.

  I’d been working on my shawl at home, and even though it was just simple rows of single crochet and double crochet with a space, I kept losing stitches. I hadn’t noticed at first and had just kept going, but then began to see there was a certain incline to the edges. I counted the stitches and realized I’d lost ten somewhere along the line. If I continued this way, instead of being a long rectangle the shawl would be shaped like an arrow. I was just glad Adele wasn’t there to see it or I’d never hear the end of it. I unraveled row after row until I’d reached one that had the right number of stitches.

  Dinah had found a babysitter for the kids. Although she seemed more relaxed, I noticed she kept taking out her cell phone as if she was going to make a call, then reconsidering and putting it down on the table.

  “In answer to how I fed everyone, I sent Samuel and Morgan and their argument to the store. I have a gas grill in the backyard, and I told Barry and Mason they were cooking. I had to get them some tee shirts left over from some promotion Charlie did since they both had on nice clothes. They looked pretty funny in suit pants and green tees that said ‘Wally the Wonder Worm.’ ”

  “I thought you said Barry couldn’t cook,” Dinah said, spreading out her work and the ball of forest green yarn. She had tried to convince us to let her make a shawl by joining all the washcloths, but we talked her into following the same pattern as the rest of us. Despite everything she was dealing with, she was still farther along than I was. After hearing about my lost-stitch problem, she kept counting hers every few rows and was relieved to see she still had the correct amount.

  “What man can’t barbecue? Or would admit it, anyway?” I said. “Besides it was just hot dogs and hamburgers.”

  “Barry and Mason barbecued together?” Dinah said. “How did that go?”

  “Not so well.” I laughed at the remembrance. “They argued about when something was done, what rare looked like and whether or not the hot dogs should just be heated or should look all scorched and covered with black. Luckily I had a lot of condiments. You stick it on a bun and pour on enough catsup and mustard and it tastes fine, no matter what.”

  “What about Morgan? Did she eat?”

  “I think so. I heard her mumbling about losing some weight and then all the dance roles would roll in.” I looked at Dinah and winced. “Did I really just say that?” Dinah nodded with a laugh and I shrugged. “Whatever. Thank heavens it isn’t my problem.” I had done another row and counted stitches. I was back at the right amount.

  “Do you think Samuel wanted her to stay with you because of her eating problem? Maybe he thought you could fix it,” Dinah said.

  “I hope not, because that kind of problem is out of my league. I’m better at things like going shopping together at the mall or teaching her how to crochet, not fixing her life.”

  “Tell me the rest about Barry and Mason,” Dinah said.

  “How do you know there is a rest?”

  “I need there to be a rest. It’s almost the end of the semester at Beasley and the last chance for my freshmen to shape up.” She shook her head with hopelessness. The community college gave everybody a chance and then left it to instructors like Dinah to weed out the kids who couldn’t cut it. Some years were harder than others, and I gathered this one was a prize winner in the not-ready-for-college department. “I need some diversion from thinking about my students and the fact that I am still taking care of my ex’s kids and he still isn’t back. If there isn’t something good, make it up.”

  It wasn’t that hard to come up with more, and I didn’t have to invent any of it. I told her Barry had made a point of fixing a lamp in front of Mason and turning it off and on numerous times to demonstrate that it now worked. “Barry also kept acting very territorial, showing he knew where everything was and implying he belonged there. Then Mason made a point of loading the dishwasher.” I chuckled at the memory of Barry’s shocked expression. I hesitated, and Dinah knew I was holding something back.

  “C’mon,” she urged, putting down her crocheting to listen.

  I explained I had told Mason to help himself to something to drink. I was busy gathering stuff for the table and didn’t notice at first that Barry was standing behind Mason as he surveyed the drink offerings in the refrigerator.

  “Why don’t you have a beer,” Barry had suggested, gesturing toward the four amber bottles of Hefeweizen on the second self. I knew what Barry was doing and I should have just closed my eyes and left it alone when Mason took one of the bottles.

  It was ridiculous to think of it as Charlie’s beer, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

  “You don’t want to drink that,” I had said, taking the bottle out of Mason’s hand. “It’s really old and probably flat and has beer cooties. I should throw it out.” Despite my words, I had put the bottle back in the refrigerator.

  Mason had been clever enough to figure out whatever was going on had nothing to do with beer and took a Perrier instead.

  When I finished the story, Dinah rolled her eyes. “Do you still have that beer?” she asked, shaking her head.

  To avoid the lecture I knew was coming, I changed the subject and told her I’d gotten Mason to agree to help Sheila and it turned out he was on the board of directors of the Women’s Haven.

  “That man is on the board of directors of everything,” Dinah said. When I started to say something she said it for me. “I know—he has to make up for being a lawyer. What did you have for dessert?”

  I told her I’d thrown together something last minute. “I sliced up some apples and mixed them with a little cinnamon sugar, then I’d covered them with a mixture of flour, brown sugar and butter and baked it for a while.”

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  “It was even better when I added the vanilla bean ice cream. It was the only time there was any peace. Barry and Mason had their mouths full and couldn’t spar.”

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p; Adele arrived as I was finishing the story. She gave us a hurt look as she put down her things. “Why didn’t you come get me?” she demanded.

  “You seemed busy,” I said by way of an excuse. It was true. When I’d gone past the children’s department, she seemed to be poring over something.

  “I was working on the plans for the Milton Mindell author program.”

  My jaw dropped. I wasn’t even used to the idea that she’d be working with me, and she was already trying to take over. She pulled out a file and started going over her plans. They began with the idea that the program should take place in her section of the store and we should do it differently this time. I put up my hand to stop her. “It’s all about what Milton wants. Not what you want or I want. He has his own plans and we just implement them.” I wondered if Mrs. Shedd knew what she was unleashing when she said Adele could work on the event.

  Just then Patricia walked in with CeeCee. I had to give Patricia credit; she was persistent. She was still working on CeeCee, trying to convince her to appear in one of Benjamin’s campaign ads.

  As everyone settled in, I could see that none of us had done as much on our own as we’d hope to, and CeeCee clucked her tongue in slight disapproval. CeeCee laid a finished one on the table. It was beautifully made, so perfect it looked almost machine made. I picked it up and examined the sides. They were straight, unlike mine, which kept getting wiggly.

  Patricia had an impressive bag for her supplies. She showed us how she had taken a plain tote bag and attached pockets on the inside and outside. She had one for hooks and needles, and another for supplies like scissors and a tape measure, and she had made a special section to hold a skein of yarn. “I’m considering putting this in the next version of Patricia’s Perfect Hints, though once Benjamin gets elected, I’ll probably be so busy with my duties that I won’t have time to think about new editions.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was running for city council, not president. Did she think she was going to be first lady of Tarzana? Patricia started to take out knitting needles, but Adele gave her the evil eye, so instead she placed an unopened packet of crochet hooks on the table. “Which one do I use?” she asked.

  Adele put down her own work and pulled out a K hook from the package. Then she helped Patricia with the slip knot and showed her how to keep track of her chain stitches by making a mark on paper every time she made ten. Adele was a little condescending in her tone until Patricia reminded her that casting on for knitting was similar and she knew how to keep track of her stitches.

  I glanced toward the entrance. “Where’s Sheila?”

  All I got were head shakes and shrugs as answers. It wasn’t like Sheila not to show or call, and I started to worry. It distracted me from my crocheting, and when I counted my stitches, I found I had lost a bunch and the shawl was again taking on an arrow shape.

  “Good work, Pink,” Adele said sarcastically as she fingered it. She turned to CeeCee. “Didn’t you show her how to keep from losing stitches?”

  “Dear, why don’t you handle it?” CeeCee said in a cheery voice. Not the answer I wanted to hear. But at the same time I wanted to learn how. “Show her how to handle her stitches of despair,” CeeCee added.

  “Stitches of despair?” I said, looking at my work.

  “That’s what I call them. They are the stitches causing you despair,” CeeCee said, glancing up from the cream-colored shawl she was working on.

  Adele grumbled to herself and told me to begin the pattern row. I was supposed to chain four, which would count as the first double crochet and a chain. Adele stopped me when I’d only chained three and told me to mark the top chain with something that looked like a plastic safety pin. Then she let me make the forth chain.

  “Pink, that’s your problem. Now when you do the next row, you’ll be able to see where the last stitch goes and hopefully you won’t mess up anymore.”

  Adele waited while I finished the pattern row and then told me to do the next row. She stood so close over me that the beaded fringe on the scarf she had around her head kept smacking my face. Who wouldn’t get nervous when watched like that? I ended up getting the yarn twisted in my hook and dropping it with a loud ping. Adele threw up her hands as though I were beyond help and went back to her seat.

  Without her hovering, I did fine and best of all realized what I’d been doing wrong so I wouldn’t keep doing it.

  And still I kept checking for Sheila.

  “Here she comes,” CeeCee said. Sheila came up to the table, looking pale as skim milk.

  “This is so terrible,” she said, sinking into a chair. She explained Detective Heather had been hanging around the gym asking questions about her. Her boss was upset with her, and she was worried about losing her job.

  “Did Detective Heather talk to you?” I asked.

  “Of course. She talked to me first. She made it seem casual, but it was like she had a script. She said one of the salespeople at the Cottage Shoppe had said I’d been coming to the store for quite a while fussing with Drew over some money I thought he owed me.” Sheila sounded distraught. “I didn’t think he owed it to me, I knew he did. But I only went there once before you all came with me. I wasn’t stalking him, like she said.” Sheila swallowed a few times. “The detective kept saying, ‘It must have really made you angry, didn’t it?’ over and over. The trouble is her saying it over and over was making me nervous, and looking nervous is like looking guilty.” Sheila put her face in her hands. “I know she thinks I did it.”

  I gave Sheila Mason’s card and told her to keep it with her. I didn’t want to freak her out by telling her to call him if she got arrested. I just said he had suggested the less she say the better.

  “It’s hard. That detective knows how to ask questions so you’re saying things before you even realize it.”

  “What did you say?” I asked, feeling a sense of doom.

  Sheila swallowed hard. “I said I might have handled the paperweight that hit him on the head.”

  “Oh dear.”

  CHAPTER 13

  IT WAS YET ANOTHER OF THOSE COOL AND GRAY mornings so typical for this time of year as I let Blondie and Cosmo out into the backyard. I took my coffee and crochet bag and sat down at the glass table while they ran around. The forest green umbrella was folded down. There was no need for shade. This weather made both the flowers and me feel refreshed.

  Peter kept suggesting I sell the house and move to a condo. I wondered if he realized that selling this house would mean he would have to keep his golf clubs, tennis rackets, skis, bicycle and sports trophies at his apartment. It was a moot point anyway, as I had no plans to take his advice. I loved my yard and house.

  The gate clanged shut, and I sat up to see who’d come in. Dinah seemed agitated and was winding two scarves around her neck as she walked across the patio. Cosmo ran over and started to bark at her. Blondie merely looked at Dinah. Cosmo seemed to be teaching Blondie a lot of stuff, and I wondered if it would include barking.

  “Coffee?” I said as Dinah slid into the chair next to me. She nodded with a grateful smile and took out a pair of her long earrings and began to put them on. Apparently kid-proofing her clothes was only for when Jeremy’s kids were present, which made me wonder where they were.

  “Do you have something to go with it? Preferably something sweet and decadent.”

  I mentioned I still had some dessert left over from the dinner party the night before last.

  “I bet it would taste better with some of that vanilla bean ice cream.”

  I laughed as I headed inside.

  “Where are the kids?” I asked when I returned with a tray of coffee and the baked apple dessert topped with a generous scoop of ice cream.

  Dinah sat back, stretched her legs out and sighed with a definite sense of relief. “The babysitter, again. Jeremy promised he’d be back tonight. I can’t believe I let him stick me with them this long.” She took out her crochet bag and laid it on the table next to mine.

>   I set the mug of coffee and plate of food in front of Dinah. “I thought you were kind of getting attached to them.”

  Before she could answer Morgan came out the door. She was dressed in a creamy yellow leotard and matching tights with some kind of loose short dress over everything. She stopped by the table.

  “I’m so sorry I missed the crochet group yesterday,” she said with a tinge of guilt. I saw her eyes stop on the dish in front of Dinah and offered her some. She put up her hand in an extreme “no” motion. “I’m off to the studio for a morning class.”

  “You should eat something,” I said, then regretted interfering. She was a grown-up, and besides, there wasn’t a chance in the world she was going to listen to me. But I couldn’t stop myself and threw in a few more lines of how breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

  She headed off, giving me the slightest of hopeless head shakes.

  “If she wasn’t staying here I wouldn’t know about all this.” I leaned against the back of my chair, feeling frustrated.

  “Welcome to my world. If those kids weren’t staying with me I wouldn’t know a lot of things I’d rather not know, too. Like somebody never taught them the basics—pick up your toys, go to bed when I say so, and at least try the spinach souffle.”

  “I knew you were getting attached to them.”

  “Don’t even say that. It is too upsetting to care and then know that Jeremy is going to be the one responsible for them. Did I tell you Mrs. About To Be Ex took off and isn’t coming back.”

  She had already told me that gem, and we looked at each other with understanding. No matter what either one of us said about not getting involved and not caring, we couldn’t help it. I asked her if she’d given them any of her famous cream cheese and caviar sandwiches. It took her a moment to remember that gourmet treat she’d made for her own kids. Then she laughed.