One for the Hooks Page 13

  “Too bad,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, Peter isn’t giving up. Merry was just his first choice.” He looked at the chocolate cake. “Maybe we should get it packed to go. We could take it back to my place. I’ll make you a cappuccino. We could have a sleepover.”

  Then he let out a sigh. “I forgot—I have an early morning with my clients.”

  “And I have my animals, and who knows what shape my house is going to be in.”

  He put the desserts in to-go containers and offered them to me.

  “You haven’t said anything about coming with me,” he said. “Last I heard you had details to take care of.”

  He’d caught me. That was what I’d said. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Shedd first chance,” I said.

  “Good,” he said, putting his arm around me as we walked to his car.

  “We can talk about it tomorrow night over cappuccinos and whatever comes with them,” I said, giving him a snuggle.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The house was better than I’d expected. The dining room table had been cleared and the dishwasher run. The caterer had packed up leftovers and put them in the refrigerator. Some furniture had been rearranged, and some entertainment industry award statuettes that Peter had won were on the mantelpiece.

  Peter and Gabby were in their room with the door shut in a reversal of roles, which was fine by me. The animals were beyond happy to see me and to be released from the master suite. They let me know their displeasure at having been confined. I found a trash can knocked over and the contents spread around the room.

  They went rushing across the house, and even Blondie and her new friend, Princess, joined in. The dogs all got yard time, and the cats got attention and a second dinner of their favorite wet cat food.

  As much as they couldn’t wait to get out of the master suite when I got home, they were anxious to go back in there when I went to bed. I feel asleep being cuddled by their furry bodies.

  I had to admit that I felt reassured by Mason’s assessment of Peter. At least if he was taking over my house, he was on a mission. They were sitting in the backyard having breakfast when I came outside the next morning, on my way to the bookstore.

  “Mason told me what you’re working on,” I said. “I’m okay with all the masquerading, but I do insist you not leave the animals locked up for a long time. They need their water and cat boxes.” I considered what to say next. “I need advance warning and for you to ask, not tell me you are taking over the house.

  “You don’t have to worry about any people here tonight. You can do karaoke in the living room wearing that grass skirt you got in Hawaii,” he said. For a moment I froze. Was that what he thought I did when I was home alone? I checked his expression and was relieved to see a good-natured smile. He was joking. “Gabby and I are taking a ride up to Santa Barbara. We’re going to stay over a couple of nights.” He looked at my attire—my usual work wear of khaki pants and an untucked shirt—and shook his head. “It’s Sunday. Don’t you ever take a day off?”

  I debated what to tell him. Would he understand that the bookstore was more than a job? I didn’t really have to go in, but I wanted to work on getting everything together for the event.

  In the end, I just shrugged off his comment and wished them a pleasant trip.

  I grabbed a Red Eye from the café. I’d considered ordering something different just to show Bob and myself that I wasn’t stuck in a rut, but the Red Eye was what I really wanted. There was no story time, and the bookstore was quiet. I took the drink to the cubicle near the front of the store that served as my office. Each of the kits would have an insert, with the pattern on one side and the details about the kit on the other. I’d handed out copies of the paper version of my pattern that Elise had tweaked to the group. But I needed something more elaborate for the kits. I took out the flash drive that Elise had given me and put it in the computer. My plan was to fold the sheet in half, with the name and information about the kit on the half of the sheet that would show through the bag. I wanted to include a color photograph, but since each scarf would have different yarn, the best I could do was to have pictures of several finished scarves, to give an idea of what the kit would make.

  I took out the one I’d started and was contemplating how long it would take me to finish it when I heard someone clearing their throat, a sure sign they wanted my attention. When I looked up, Rhoda was leaning on the counter that surrounded my little space.

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” she said in her nasally voice. She held up a Serendipity scarf done in shades of red with a shot of royal blue. “I brought it over as soon as I finished it.”

  I thanked her profusely. Having two scarves to photograph would be better than one.

  Sheila came up to the booth a moment later, also with a scarf. It figured that she’d chosen yarns in her usual color palette—a mixture of green, dark blue, and lavender. She dropped it off quickly, saying she had to get back to Luxe to open up the lifestyle store. I called out a thank-you.

  “And thank you to you too,” I said to Rhoda. I showed her my work in progress. “I’ll finish this, and then I can take a picture of the three of them.”

  “It was fun to make. I’ll grab some yarn and work on another so you have more samples for the event.”

  I picked up my work, and the two of us went back to the yarn department. Rhoda looked through one of the bins of yarn and pulled out three skeins. “This time I’m doing crazy salad,” she said, showing me what she’d chosen. One of the yarns looked like it had confetti hanging off it, another was a ribbon yarn in shades of pink and orange, and the last was a glittery gold. She dropped them in her bag. “I better go. Hal’s waiting in the car. We’re off to brunch.” I thanked her again, and she rushed out the door.

  I sat down at the table and started to work on my scarf.

  “There you are,” Adele said, coming up to the table. “I just came in to drop this off.” She was holding a pot of glitter and a wand. Thankfully she didn’t feel the need to demonstrate how she planned to use them. As soon as she saw I was crocheting, she pulled out her phone. “Let me get this for my fans.” She had me hold her phone while she held up my work. “This is being made the long way. Do you know what it would look like if you tried to knit like this?” Adele made a dramatic horrified face. “Stitches pushed together just waiting for a chance to jump off the needle just when you’ve done rows and rows. Poof—all your work for nothing as your project unravels into a pile of yarn.”

  I turned her phone so it was facing me. “I’m sure all your followers want to know what I’m making,” I said brightly. “I’m Molly Pink, and here at Tarzana’s own Shedd & Royal Books and More we are doing something special in our yarn department.” I could feel Adele’s eyes on me. She hated to have the spotlight stolen even for a few minutes, but she also realized I was giving her some much-needed content. Even so, she couldn’t totally stay out of it.

  “She’s talking about the special kits I came up with. An exciting mixture of yarn curated by yours truly. To kick things off, there will be an event at Shedd & Royal,” she said. She turned to me, asking the time and relayed it to her followers before logging out.

  “And that’s the way it’s done, Pink,” she said when she stopped taping. “In a single stroke of genius, I just made those kits into a super item. The Adele’s followers will make the kits a sellout.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t tell your followers the story of where the yarn came from,” I said.

  “I considered it, but if I mentioned the stink bomb, they might think the yarn smelled.” Adele made a face at the memory of it.

  “You were there that time?” I asked.

  “Of course, Pink, how could you not remember?”

  I looked at the phone in her hand and had a sudden thought. “Did you tape anything for your vlog from there?”

  “I suppose I did. I was in such shock after what happened that I didn’t even think about it.” Adele seemed to be re
imagining the moment and, in one of her typically dramatic poses, bent her head and put the back of her hand on her forehead.

  “Do you still have whatever you taped?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, probably. I was so disturbed by the whole circumstance, and then when the police wanted to talk to me, they totally ignored that I was a police wife.” She let out a loud harrumph.

  I really wanted to see whatever she’d gotten, but with Adele it was better not to be direct. “Don’t you want to check?” I asked. “If it’s too upsetting for you, I’d be glad to look.” I reached for the phone, but Adele snatched it back. Actually, I was glad. I didn’t have a clue how to find it.

  “You’d probably mess everything up,” she said. She looked at the screen and went through a bunch of swipes and clicks. “I did tape it. I guess the shock erased my memory.” She was watching something, and she let out a gasp.

  “Can I see it?” I said, taking a chance of being direct this time.

  Adele held the phone close as she thought it over. Finally she handed me the phone. “It’s cued up, just hit the arrow.”

  I took the phone and hit “Play.” At first there were just shots of the inside of the house and Adele with her narrative about being on a crochet adventure, this time a yarn hunt. There were a few shots of the boxes in the guesthouse, then Adele was talking to the camera. It must have been after she had gone into the house. The sliding glass door and yard beyond were visible behind her. Sloan came out of the guesthouse, looking at her phone. The drone was hovering nearby and started to fly toward her. It appeared she was trying to move away, but the drone kept on her. The picture stopped just as the bag swung at her, and Adele grabbed her phone back.

  It sure looked like Sloan was the target.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The rest of the day at the bookstore was very quiet. I took advantage of the peace to talk to Mrs. Shedd about taking a week off. She was a little concerned about how soon it would be, but when I explained the situation and the opportunity to be able to witness the culmination of Mason’s case in Kansas, she understood. As long as I managed to hold the event first and left them with enough scarf kits, she was okay with it. When I finally went home, I didn’t do karaoke or get my time with Mason. He’d texted me his apologies and said that he was tied up with his clients. Something about having to go out of town with them to a croquet tournament.

  I knew how that went. Charlie’d had his own public relations firm when we were married, and a lot of his clients were entertainers. My late husband was expected to be there as part of the entourage whenever they performed. The only way we had a weekend night out was if I went with him.

  The only other interesting thing that happened was I got a call from Miami, telling me she’d found two more boxes of yarn and requesting I pick them up on Monday.

  I told Dinah about it when she came into the bookstore the next day. “Would you mind coming with me?” I asked as we stood outside the café.

  “I need a drink first,” my friend said. “It was one of those mornings.” We got our drinks and found a table. “Before we talk about my morning, though, what’s with you and Mason? You’ve been kind of radio silent about him,” my friend said.

  I told her about our phone call and his updated offer.

  “He’s good,” she said with a laugh. “So did you take him up on it?”

  “Yes, I finally talked to Mrs. Shedd yesterday and she agreed. I just have to tie up all the loose ends here before I go.” I let out a sigh.

  “What about the other night?” she said. She laughed at how we couldn’t manage to get together.

  “It was so much easier when we were all in our twenties,” I said. “But enough about me. What did your students do this time?”

  She taught freshman English at a community college that had open admission. They had year-round classes now, and for some reason, the summer session was always the toughest. I suppose they all really wanted to be at Zuma Beach instead of in a classroom.

  “This group is outdoing themselves,” she said. She’d had students who tried to include emojis in their papers and others who had tried writing in text speak. They were all out of touch with a world before cell phones and computers. I knew she’d just given her classes one of her favorite assignments. They had to hand-write a paper, so there was no presumptive type, no grammar check, and no smiley faces or eggplants. Just words that they had to write with a pen. Just getting past their handwriting was a challenge.

  She held out a sheet of paper for me to see. The writing was printed in pencil. “Can you believe these kids don’t know cursive writing?”

  “I’ve got something to take your mind off it,” I said. “We’ll talk as we drive.” As soon as I described Adele’s video, Dinah understood.

  “It sure sounds like Sloan was the target. But do you think they meant to kill her or just upset her with the stink delivery?”

  “You mean like whoever did it knew that she was behind helping Miami make the place into a temporary rental,” I said. “That’s probably it. Her death was still an accident, but dumping the stuff on her was intentional.”

  I pulled the Greenmobile in front of Miami’s. The sign that said “Holiday House” had been propped up, and the posters were gone from the street signs.

  Miami motioned for us to come in as she glared at the houses in the cul-de-sac. She had circles under her eyes, and I noticed that she’d added a lavender color to her brown hair. “It’s been a little much,” she said. “It was stressful before, trying to get this place together, but then what happened to Sloan …” She let her voice trail off.

  “But you’ve got me now,” Elise said from inside the house.

  Dinah and I walked into the main part of the house. Elise had a presentation book open on a table that was part of the mishmash of furniture. She began to thumb through the pages as the three of us looked on. It was impressive. She had used a design program to put together a bunch of themed rooms. The Glamping Room was made to look like it was inside a tent, the Tropical Breeze had walls painted a sky-blue, with carpet the color of sand, and a fake palm tree sitting in the corner. The furniture was all wicker, and the curtains and bedspread were covered in tropical flowers. There was one she called the Library that had bookshelves, a comfortable chair, and a reading lamp.

  The Treehouse was meant for kids and had a loft held up by a fake tree stump, with a rope ladder.

  “Wow,” Miami said, “that’s a lot different from Sloan’s concept. Much nicer. But you said you’d take the same deal I had with her.”

  “What exactly was the arrangement you had with Sloan?” Elise asked.

  “She was going to sell off the stuff in the house and use the money to buy beds and stuff to furnish the rental rooms. Her plans weren’t as elaborate as yours. She wanted to make the bedrooms look like they’d belonged to kids who’d grown up and moved away, by using some of my aunt’s stuff like that old sailboat.” She pointed to something sticking out of a box.

  “Then you weren’t paying her anything,” Elise said. She looked surprised and wary. “How was Sloan getting paid?”

  “She was taking a cut on the stuff she sold, and I was going to pay her something out of the rentals so she could help me run the place.” The three of us looked around the mostly empty room.

  “It doesn’t seem like there’s enough to sell to make anything,” Dinah said.

  “Sloan had arranged things in a number of groupings. There were the good pieces she sold separately. My aunt had a lot of junk, but some really good stuff too. They were supposed to bring in enough to pay for the basic furnishings for the rental rooms. They’ve been out of here for a while. She put the things for an estate sale in the garage. She planned to leave a few pieces of furniture and some doodads in the bedrooms, and there was stuff she still had to go through.”

  “Who was keeping track of the money?” I asked.

  “Sloan was supposed to take her cut and put the rest into a business acc
ount I’d set up for the place.”

  “So, then, you have access to it and know how much is in there?” Elise asked.

  Miami let out her breath and seemed uncertain. “I have access to it, but Sloan was the one keeping track of it.” Miami shrugged. “She just told me not to worry about it.”

  “I’d like to see what you have for the rental rooms,” Elise said, her tone changing. “And I’m going to need some kind of retainer.”

  I didn’t want to get in the middle of Elise’s deal making and excused Dinah and myself to get the yarn. As we headed to the sliding glass door, I heard Miami offer to sign over the check I’d given her for the yarn.

  “Do you think we should warn Elise?” Dinah asked, glancing back at the two women. “If these people went after Sloan, maybe they’ll go after her too.”

  “I don’t think so,” I began, repeating what Miami had said before about no one wanting to do anything that might get them caught. “But it does seem like Sloan kept Miami in the dark about the pieces she was selling off.” I shrugged. “It’s Elise’s problem now.”

  Dinah and I avoided looking at the spot where the stink bomb had been dropped as we crossed the yard. The guesthouse was open as Miami had said. And two boxes of yarn were stacked against the wall. We’d brought trash bags to put the yarn in. My tote bag slipped off my arm and landed on the floor next to the counter that separated the kitchenette area. I left my purse on the counter and started to open one of the dark plastic bags. I glanced toward the open door.

  “We’ve got the yard to ourselves, so we might as well have a look around.”

  There was nothing new to see in the grassy area between the guesthouse and the house, but I was curious about the area behind the guesthouse. The lawn continued around the small dwelling, but the strip of land between the guesthouse and the wood fence that ran along the back of the property had a neglected feeling. There was gravel instead of grass, and a shed sat up against the fence.