Knot Guilty Page 14

  “I thought Adele was a thorn in your side and now you’re standing up for her?”

  “Well, I guess I am. She thinks we’re French toast sisters,” I muttered, and he gave me a strange look. “She says I’m her best friend.” He still seemed a little incredulous. “You should be looking for other suspects. There certainly are enough of them.”

  Barry let me finish and then leveled his gaze at me. “As I’ve told you before, killers don’t always look like killers. Nice people can do bad things in a moment of anger.” He paused and let his breath out. “Thea Scott, the woman running the booth across from yours, told us about the victim insisting you take down Adele’s crochet banner and some kind of blinking crochet hooks. She also told us that she’d overheard Adele say that she wasn’t going to let Ms. Kirby dictate what was in your booth and that she was going to talk to her and tell her the crochet things were staying.”

  “Oh,” I said, with a worried groan in my voice.

  “Ms. Scott also told us that K.D. Kirby would never have let the crochet banner stay or the hooks with the blinking lights, no matter what Adele said to her. I’m sorry, Molly, but the timing of it all puts Adele with the victim around the time of death.” He took out his notebook. “I talked to the room service employee who brought up the bottle of champagne. K.D. Kirby was alive to sign for it, so she was killed between that time and when you and Mr. Whittingham found her.”

  “Maybe she was up there before the champagne came. Did you ask him if he saw a big hook on the table?”

  “No, but I doubt he would have been that observant.”

  “There are lots of other people who didn’t like K.D. Kirby. Any of them could have gone up there and tossed the hair dryer in the tub.”

  Barry sat a little straighter and had his notebook open and his pen poised. “And they are?”

  I hesitated and his eyes narrowed. “You have to tell me. Remember I mentioned that charge of withholding evidence?”

  “Is that a real charge or did you just make that up?”

  “Real, of course,” Barry said and then waited for me to proceed.

  I mentioned that I’d heard that K.D. was supposed to be making a very big announcement that evening. “Delvin seems to think it had to do with him being promoted and that K.D. was going to lighten her load. What if that isn’t what she was going to announce at all and he found out and killed her before she could say anything? I heard him say there was something in writing that if she was incapacitated, he was to take over. Dead is the supreme way to be incapacitated.”

  “I need more evidence than that, especially when I have a crochet hook loaded with fingerprints that puts Adele at the crime scene.”

  My offer of other suspects wasn’t working, so I tried my last card. “How about this? Could you promise not to arrest Adele until the weekend is over and the show closes? I would let you know if I heard her talking about buying a ticket to Brazil or anything.” The last comment was supposed to lighten the moment.

  “Are you asking because you need Adele working in your booth, or are you trying to buy some time so you can investigate more?”

  I almost laughed. Did he think I was going to tell him the truth with his constant hints that I could get arrested for interfering? I insisted it was all about the booth and Eric’s mother. Since both Barry and Eric were cops, I thought he’d understand. “Put yourself in Eric’s shoes. Having your mother see your girlfriend taken off in handcuffs is pretty hard to smooth over.”

  Barry’s mouth was in a straight line, but his eyes were almost rolling. “I never met your mother,” I said, defending myself. “And even if I was in handcuffs a few times, I was never really arrested. This is different. The charge would be some kind of homicide. And you aren’t as straight an arrow as Eric is.”

  “Fine, I won’t arrest Adele until Monday.”

  “Then you really are going to arrest her?” I said incredulously.

  “Part of the deal is you can’t tell her anything,” he said, ignoring my question. He set the mug down on the tray and peeled Cosmo off his lap. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, giving the dog an affectionate pat before he turned to me. “Thanks for the tea.”

  We both stood, he from the couch and me from a chair, and I picked up the tray prepared to walk him to the door and then take it in the kitchen. When we got to the door, he showed me the balled-up napkins in his hand.

  “I’ll just throw this away.” He went ahead to the kitchen, and I came in after with the tray. He was doing the same thing he’d done before in the living room. He seemed to be examining the counters, the table, the whole room.

  “Okay, what are you looking for?” I said finally.

  He seemed a little disconcerted at being caught. “I don’t see any evidence of Mason being here.” He shrugged and gestured toward the hall tree that just had one umbrella and my rain jacket. “I kept a jacket hanging there. And I left a lot of tools here.” He pointed to the handle of the closet door in the hall. “One of my flannel shirts was always hanging there.” He turned back to the kitchen and I busied myself with putting the things away. Even though we’d always drunk our tea plain, I put out milk and sugar just in case. I put the sugar bowl back and then opened the refrigerator to put the milk away. I didn’t realize Barry was watching from over my shoulder until he spoke. “It looks like you’ve got a lot of dinners for one,” he said.

  I shut the refrigerator quickly, though of course it was too late; he’d seen the stack of single-portion dinners I’d made up for myself and stored in containers. “We could be spending lots of time at his place,” I said defensively. Barry shook his head.

  “No way. You’d never abandon your pets.” Then he went silent and just let it all hang in the air.

  I wasn’t going to say anything, but the dead air and his staring finally got to me. “Mason and I are still at the beginning. We haven’t quite worked things out, yet.”

  All he said in answer was, “Okay.” And then he left.

  Barry would have been very unhappy if he realized that something he’d said had given me an idea how to get Adele off the hook. There was that double meaning again; well, almost a double meaning. I was trying to get them off her hook. All I had to do was prove that it was there when K.D. was still alive and their evidence would be irrelevant.

  My intention was to deal with it first thing on Saturday morning when I got to the show.

  Saturday was the main day of the yarn show. It was the day that got the biggest crowd, had the most popular classes (surprisingly, Adele hadn’t figured that out yet) and ended with a banquet where, among other things, Kimberly Wang Diaz would get her award.

  The other days had been long, but this was going to be a marathon. The banquet said black tie optional. I was definitely going for the optional, but there was no way my work clothes would look right. There was a time lapse between when the vendor floor closed and the banquet began, but I’d decided to bring my things with me and change in the mini suite. Actually, I was afraid if I went home and sat down for a few minutes, I’d never get up and leave.

  I made a stop at the bookstore on my way in and picked up another load of Bob’s goodies. We’d decided to give away one of his chocolate walnut shortbread cookie fingers with each purchase. When I arrived at the hotel I gathered everything up and headed inside. It was amazing how much I’d brought along for the change of clothes. My dress was in a garment bag, and I’d put the shoes and fresh underwear, makeup and accessories into a small duffel bag. First stop was the room, where I stowed my stuff and checked the extra stock we’d left there. I picked up the last of the pin-making supplies before I rushed downstairs to the event center, trying to get a little investigating in before the show opened for the day.

  All my rushing came to a dead stop when I saw a small crowd of people gathered in the corridor near the entrance to the marketplace. When I looked closer, I saw there w
as a uniform standing in front of the doorway blocking the entrance. I glanced through the gathered group, saw Thea Scott and caught up with her.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  She pointed to a cluster of people at the front of the waiting crowd. “It has something to do with them.” I was surprised she didn’t have more details, but then with K.D.’s death and all I supposed the yarn studio manager was too worn out to be curious.

  Personally, I still wanted to know what was going on. I made my way to the front of the gathered group to see what I could find out.

  Several uniforms were hanging around, and another one was talking to a man I recognized as the hotel manager. Next to him a man in a waiter’s uniform with his hand on a metal cart kept looking off to the side like he wanted to make a hasty exit. I got close enough to eavesdrop.

  The uniform had a metal clipboard and clicked his pen. “How about you tell me what happened again for the report.”

  The manager turned to the waiter and nudged him. “You tell him. You’re the one who called 911.”

  The waiter appeared unhappy as the officer asked him for his name and then the details. “I was wheeling in some urns of coffee. . . .”

  “It’s an extra gesture the hotel does for the vendors,” the manager said, butting in. “We know that Saturday is their big day, and we offer them courtesy coffee and donut holes.” The manager stopped at that, and when the waiter didn’t go back to his story right away, the manager nudged him to continue.

  “I should have figured something was wrong when the doors were unlocked,” the waiter said, gesturing in the direction of the entrance to the marketplace. “But it happens sometimes. I made the delivery and I was on my way out when I saw one of the inside doors was open. I knew it was supposed to be locked, so I went in to check. Somebody was standing over one of the tables. I said something like ‘Nobody is supposed to be in here.’ Next thing I know the person ran past me. I knew right away they were up to no good, so I called you.” He nodded toward the cop. “All I saw was a sweatshirt jacket with the hood pulled up.” I had the feeling the waiter added that last part to make it clear he couldn’t identify the person.

  The cop nodded. “Was anything missing?”

  “I don’t think so,” the manager said, stepping in again. He turned to the waiter. “Standard procedure is you contact me before you call the police.”

  “When the person ran out, they dropped these.” The waiter held up the satin roll.

  “It doesn’t look like anything else was taken,” the manager added quickly.

  The cop seemed to lose interest then. “I’m marking it down as attempted burglary. And you have no idea who the person was? Woman, man, someone you’ve seen around here?”

  The waiter shook his head on all counts and repeated his story about the figure in the sweatshirt jacket. Delvin pushed through the small crowd. He was carrying a garment bag and pulling a bin on wheels. He made an odd contrast to the conservatively dressed manager in his layers of T-shirt, dress shirt and vest, topped with a blazer. The style now was so silly and called for a skimpy jacket, and he looked like he was wearing something he’d bought in the kids’ department. He was wearing a gray hat this time, and the brim seemed a little bigger than the others, but as always he wore it at a jaunty angle. I honestly wondered if I’d recognize him if he ever went hatless.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded. The cop said something about a call about a break-in and then wanted to know who Delvin was.

  “I’m in charge of this show.” He made a lot of grunting sounds of displeasure, acting very much the person in charge. “First there’s a murder and now a break-in. Not very good security.” The manager apologized profusely, though I couldn’t see how anybody could blame him for K.D.’s death unless providing his guests with hair dryers counted as a crime. He apologized some more and said that the main door to the marketplace had been opened earlier for a delivery to the snack bar at the back and must have been left open. He insisted his people had nothing to do with the lock on the door to the room with the auction items.

  A maintenance man in a gray uniform tapped the manager on the shoulder, and they conferred for a moment. The manager seemed to shush him and went back to speaking to the group.

  “Nothing was really taken. It’s probably just some kind of misunderstanding. But I’ll give you someone in security to stand outside the door to the room with the auction items just in case.” While gesturing with his hand, the manager dropped the satin roll and it came undone. The cop leaned down to pick it up and saw what was inside.

  “Knitting needles?” the uniform said. “I’m writing a report because you think somebody was trying to take those? My grandmother has tons of them and nobody ever bothers with them.”

  Delvin’s eyes flared as he took the roll of needles and pulled one out. “Your grandmother’s are probably made out of aluminum. These are sterling silver. And I doubt that your grandmother’s have diamond accents.” Delvin lowered the top so the light caught in the embedded stone and twinkled.

  The uniform seemed at an impasse. “There’s no sign of forced entry, nothing missing, and therefore nothing to report.” He waved to his fellow officers and said they were done. They might have nothing to report, but I was convinced somebody had tried to steal the needles. It made sense to think it was someone connected to the show, because they would appreciate the value of the needles, and what’s more, they might be in the crowd around me.

  I surveyed the people just as the cop stepped away from the entrance and people began to go into the marketplace. I caught sight of Ruby Cline and her grandson Paxton before it got too hard to make out individuals.

  I heard a rumble as the waiter quickly pushed the metal cart down the corridor. The manager and Delvin parted company and, thanks to his gray hat, I was able to follow the show head as he pushed through the group going into the vendor area. The uniforms were headed to the door when I heard Mason’s voice.

  “Sunshine, what are the cops doing here?” Mason said, stopping next to me. He put his arms around me in a welcoming hug and wrapped me against his solid build. He was dressed a little more casually in slacks, a collarless shirt and a sports jacket. He was taller than me, but not so much that he towered over me.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “You don’t sound happy to see me,” he said in a teasing voice.

  “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I’m just surprised to see you.” I tried to smooth over my abruptness by snuggling against him.

  “That’s more like it,” he said with a smile in his voice. “As to why I’m here, it’s the same reason I was here yesterday.” I’d let go of him by then and we’d moved apart. When I saw the grin on his face, I got it. It was his way of saying without saying that he was there to keep an eye on Audrey Stewart.

  I realized that he had a lot more connection to the almost burglary than the rest of the crowd.

  “I know you can’t say anything,” I said in a low voice, “but it seems to be okay if I talk.” He leaned closer to hear and his arm touched mine. “Somebody tried to steal your client’s donation to the auction. The knitting needles she shoplifted.”

  “Allegedly shoplifted,” Mason said and then he let out a sigh. I was surprised he’d said anything after what he’d said the night before, but he explained that was common knowledge now and acknowledging it wasn’t divulging a confidence. I saw him scanning the flow of people going into the marketplace. Just then Delvin came out of the doors, and a moment later, Audrey Stewart followed. The graceful actress tried to catch up with him.

  Mason’s smile faded. “I hate to hug and run,” he said, giving me a last squeeze before he took off in pursuit of his client.

  I watched him catch up with her and snag her before she had a chance to talk to Delvin. I admired her outfit. She’d gone casual, but on her the plain black s
lacks and loose white shirt with a silky-looking triangle shawl draped across one shoulder had an elegance I could never manage. I looked down at what I was wearing and shook my head. This was the big day of the show, so I’d done my best to dress things up. The nicest thing you could say about my look was that it was classic. The black slacks had never been in or would be out of style. I’d worn a turtleneck because the place was drafty and chilly. After seeing that everyone at the show was wearing one of their best creations, I found a shawl I considered my best achievement. Adele had coached me on it, and it showed her touch. It was made of small black granny squares. Adele’s plan had been to sew a rosy pink crocheted flower on each square, but I’d gone a little more subtle and just added a few random ones.

  Mason steered Audrey back into the marketplace. I wanted to get in there, too, and check on our booth. When I got inside, I did a double take as I saw a woman standing by the stage. Was I seeing a ghost? Then the fact that this woman’s hair was blond, not white, registered, and I realized it was Lacey, K.D.’s daughter, and overnight she’d changed her hair color. She was talking to Delvin. Although I couldn’t hear them, their body language said they were having some kind of disagreement. Delvin made some broad gestures, and it seemed he was trying to show her he was in charge, but she made a face and her eyes went skyward.

  He’d laid the garment bag on a chair and went to open the bin he’d brought in. Lacey pulled out her smartphone and began typing away. He lifted out the Lucite box with the company logo of the crossed gold needles, climbed up on the stage and set it on the podium. Obviously, he hadn’t trusted the hotel’s security, which under the circumstances sounded like a good idea.