For Better or Worsted Page 17

  “I bet Adele loved it,” Dinah said.

  “Not the yarn-bombing accusation, but I think she enjoyed giving her speech to Dr. Wheel with an audience.” I told Dinah the details of it.

  “I’m sorry I missed that. No one can do drama like Adele. Do you think Dr. Wheel really liked her?” Dinah asked.

  “Who knows? Maybe,” I said. “I got the answer about the shirt.” I told her what Emerson had said about people bringing a spare one. “And there’s more. She told me that Ben Sherman, the person I saw Thursday talking to twice who she claims not to know, worked as one of the servers at the wedding.”

  “The writing teacher?” Dinah said.

  “Right, and there’s more besides. Emerson said she saw what seemed like an argument between Thursday and her late groom at the wedding reception just before she left.”

  I heard Dinah suck in her breath. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you going to talk to Thursday about it?”

  I said I’d hoped to, but Thursday wasn’t home. “I’m not sure how I could ask her about any of it anyway without it seeming like I thought she was guilty of something. And she would probably just deny knowing Ben again. Claim it was a coincidence that he worked at the wedding.”

  “What about talking to Mason?” Dinah suggested.

  “No way. It would be a lose-lose thing. He’d be upset that I was implying anything about his daughter. And remember, he’s a criminal attorney, so he’d just say something like it was all a misunderstanding.”

  “What about telling Barry?” Dinah said.

  Dinah couldn’t see it through the phone, but I was shaking my head vehemently. It didn’t matter that he and I had a personal relationship. He would handle the information as Barry the homicide detective. “I’d only do that if I knew for sure . . .” I let my voice trail off. I couldn’t even say the possibility out loud.

  Dinah realized I was right and started saying it was an impossible situation, but I stopped her.

  “I have an idea. Maybe Thursday won’t admit to knowing Ben, but how about we switch it around? We could see if Ben would admit to knowing Thursday.” I finally added the hot water to the tea and let it start steeping. “Even though I really hope there is some other explanation. Aside from her being Mason’s daughter, I like her.”

  “I know, and she’s the first person you taught how to crochet.” Dinah started to add the part that Barry had said about just because you liked somebody didn’t mean they couldn’t be a killer.

  “I got it,” I said, cutting her off and going back to my plan for approaching Ben. “I found out from Mrs. Shedd where Ben works as a waiter. I say we show up at the restaurant and see what we can find out.”

  “I like it,” Dinah said. Before we signed off, we made arrangements to meet the next evening, and I made my way across the house and fell into bed.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING AS I DROVE TO THE BOOKSTORE, I was thinking about how Dinah and I would handle Ben. But the subject ended as soon as I walked in Shedd & Royal Books and More and remembered that everything had been left out from the night before. I went into the event area, prepared to break down the setup. Adele was sitting next to the signing table, crocheting. When she looked up, I saw the upset in her eyes.

  “He gave me this,” she said, holding up a wooden hook. “He carved it himself.” She stopped and ran her fingers along the smooth surface. “Pink, what am I going to do? I thought Eric was the yin for my yang, but Chopin is my crochet soul mate. Eric doesn’t understand. He accused me of being the yarn bomber, as if it was something terrible. Chopin looked upon spreading the word of crochet as something of honor.”

  “Are you the yarn bomber?” I asked.

  “Of course not. I’m just saying that if I was, Eric wouldn’t understand.” She took out the colorful mittens that had been on Eric’s motorcycle handles. I took a moment to look them over because it was a chance to see the yarn bomber’s work up close. They were nicely crocheted in a variety of different colors.

  “I wonder if this is a clue,” I said, pointing to what appeared to be the letter P done as surface crochet in a series of chain stitches on one of them. Adele looked at it with new interest and seemed upset with herself that she hadn’t noticed.

  I started to fold up the chairs and put them on a cart to be rolled into the back storage room. Adele had set aside the crochet-bomber pieces and put a little shopping bag on the table. “Thanks to Chopin, I see the light. No more of this diet stuff for me. I’m sticking with the crochet plan.”

  It turned out she had another plan, too. She wanted to take the diet powder back to Elise for a refund. Apparently, while Leonora had ordered it for her, Adele had to pay for it.

  “I thought I’d bring it along when we go over to her place to see the kits she’s made up,” Adele said. “You could back me up. You heard what Chopin said about some problems with that company in the past.”

  What had I gotten myself into? But I agreed to take Adele with me to Elise’s because I thought that with Adele’s crochet mania, she could tell if the kits were complete. We were also going to Rhoda’s to see some sample projects she’d come up with.

  Adele got up and helped me with the chairs and with putting together a display based on Dr. Wheel’s appearance. Little by little, we’d started putting displays together that were more than books. Adele and I arranged one with his latest book in the center, surrounded by some of the dark chocolate he’d mentioned and an array of hooks and cotton yarn. Adele had already crocheted several of his meditation washcloths and added them to the display. Of course, she rushed off to the computer and made up a sign saying who’d made them.

  As we finished putting it together, she touched one of the cloths tenderly. “It’s like a connection between us,” she said wistfully.

  I really didn’t want to get twisted up in Adele’s social life, but at the same time I hated to see her mess up something good. As we drove to Elise’s, I tried to get her to see that she should let go of her infatuation with Dr. Wheel and stick with the bird in the hand, Eric.

  “Pink, you’re so wise,” she said in an over-the-top dramatic tone. I almost choked. Had she just given me a compliment? “You’re right, I should just accept the moment Chopin and I had and let it go. I’ll always have this,” she said, showing off the hook again.

  Elise lived in a development called Brae Mar. The houses were on twisty roads that ran along the slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains. They had great views of the Valley, but paid the price by having steep yards that were mostly unusable.

  Elise was waiting for us. One of the features of houses like hers was they had an upstairs den. She’d turned hers into a combination crochet room and supply room for her side business. The health-products side of the room had stacks of boxes and a long table she used to put together the orders. The yarn side had bins of yarn arranged by color, though one bin was a hodgepodge with single skeins. She also had a wall unit she’d turned into a shrine to Anthony, the fictional vampire who crocheted, with all the books, samples of all her vampire-style crochet projects, and a life-size cardboard cutout of Hugh Jackman, who’d played the part in the movie. CeeCee had been in the film, and she’d gotten the cutout signed for Elise. I walked over to admire the display, but Elise suddenly stepped in front of me and ushered me over to a long table she’d set up.

  “I made up a couple of sample kits for you to pick from,” she said in her wispy voice. Between the voice and her flyaway frizzle of brown wavy hair, she gave the impression of being a bit scattered. I looked through the kits. She had used different types of tote bags and varied the contents accordingly. At one end of the spectrum, there was a small bag made of recycled plastic bottles with just a skein of yarn and a hook, and at the other, an unbleached cloth tote that had “Lyla’s Birthday” written in pink glitter glue across the front and was outfitted with yarn, a hook, scissors, tapestry needle fo
r weaving in the ends, and a small ruler that measured gauge. There were several levels of tote bags in between.

  Adele was being no help and wasn’t even looking at the samples, so I started to point out the most basic one, when I saw that Adele was pulling out the small shopping bag from her own large cloth tote. She laid it on the table and pushed it toward Elise.

  “Molly will tell you why I’m bringing this back.”

  Elise turned to me, and I gave Adele an annoyed stare. My idea of helping her bring the stuff back was just being there as moral support, not doing the dirty work. I explained about Dr. Wheel’s appearance and that Adele wanted to stick to using crochet as a weight-loss tool because it had only good side effects.

  I could see resistance building up in Elise. Adele must have seen it too because she stepped in front of me and took over. “I know that some people died because of some products from this company. I’m not taking any chances.” She pushed the shopping bag closer to Elise.

  Elise merely pushed it back toward Adele. “I’m sorry, I can’t take it back. You’ll have to take it up with the company directly.” Elise’s voice didn’t have a trace of its usual flighty quality and was all business. “I’m sorry,” she said again, softening a little, “but I can’t take it back. It’s company policy.” Adele didn’t take this well and went storming toward the door. I told Elise I wanted to talk to Emerson about the prices of the kits, and I’d let her know.

  “They’re up in Chatsworth,” Elise said as she walked us to the door. Adele wanted to go right there, but I insisted we stop at Rhoda’s first.

  I hadn’t realized it before, but Rhoda lived across the street from Emerson. Only instead of living in a town house, Rhoda and Hal had a small stucco house that looked like it had been built in the 1950s, which was old by Tarzana standards.

  Like Rhoda, her house was straightforward. She took us into the small den where she kept her yarn and supplies. There were no plastic bags of yarn lying around or hooks hiding under chairs. She had everything arranged neatly in a cabinet with doors that closed.

  Adele seemed distracted as she followed behind me, and I knew her mind was on taking back the diet stuff. Rhoda brought out several projects and set them out on the coffee table.

  She had a beanie all done in single crochet, a flower pin and a skinny scarf. None of them were too exciting. I picked up the skinny scarf while Adele told Rhoda about Dr. Wheel’s appearance. I described the ruffly potato chip scarf and said it was too bad we couldn’t do something like that.

  Rhoda’s face lit up. “I’ll work on it.” Rhoda offered us something to drink, but Adele was so anxious to take back the diet stuff, she had one foot out the door. I declined and we stood by the door making small talk for a few minutes.

  “I didn’t realize you lived across the street from Emerson,” I said, pointing out the front bay window toward Emerson’s town house. Across the street was a loose term. It was more like catty-corner, and the wide street between them had two lanes in each direction.

  Rhoda seemed surprised. “I wonder if she’s the one I heard about,” Rhoda muttered. “There was some kind of scandal, but I can’t remember what it was.”

  Emerson with a scandal? It didn’t seem likely. All the town houses looked the same, so I was sure that Rhoda was wrong.

  “C’mon Pink,” Adele said, moving to the door. “We have to go if we’re going to get back to the bookstore on time.” What Adele left out was that she’d planned a side trip first.

  It was pointless to suggest that Adele return her stuff some other time or go on her own. She’d only make a fuss. The most efficient thing to do was just to go there and get it done.

  Chatsworth was in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley. There were some ranches and big properties, and also an industrial area. I’d been there before when I’d gone to talk to Paxton Cline, the fired best man. Adele had gotten directions from Elise and was telling me where to turn. I was surprised when we ended up on the same street the yarn company was on.

  “There it is,” Adele said, grabbing the shopping bag and getting out of the car. I suggested that I wait in the car, but she insisted she needed me for backup. “You heard what Chopin said about how you could never be sure what was really in these products, no matter what the label said.”

  Adele took the lead and I reluctantly followed her. My plan was just to stand there and let her do her thing. It was only when we got to the double doors that I realized where we were. This was the building Paxton Cline had pointed out. This was the building where Jonah Kingsley had worked in the family business. I looked at the placard on the wall. It said Kingsley Enterprises, Inc., and below that the names of their divisions. One of them was MRX Health Products.

  I was suddenly much more interested. Inside, there was a reception area with some seats and a table full of brochures and information about the company. The wall was lined with black-and-white photos. Adele went to the counter and set her bag on it. Before the young woman at the desk got to the counter, Adele was already doing her spiel.

  I hadn’t thought about what the Kingsleys’ family business was until now. Enterprises could mean anything.

  It was taking a while for Adele to get her story out, particularly since she had launched into telling the woman that if the company really wanted to make something that helped people, they’d make crochet kits. The woman looked as if she was waiting for Adele to take a breath so she could jump in and refuse the return.

  I began to look over the photographs with new interest. I recognized Jackson Kingsley with his even-featured good looks. He was standing with another man, both in white coats, holding some dark bottles. Underneath, there was a caption saying it was their first product. Kingsley was much younger, but still recognizable. I started to gloss over the man standing next to him, but then I looked again. How could he possibly look familiar? The more I stared, the more I was sure that I’d seen him somewhere before.

  I interrupted Adele and asked the receptionist who was in that photograph.

  She gave me a suspicious look. I didn’t really blame her. It must seem rather odd to have Adele raising a fuss about one of their products and then me wanting to know the identity of someone in a photograph on the wall.

  “That’s Mr. Kingsley, the CEO, president and chairman of the board of Kingsley Enterprises.” She seemed to want to leave it at that, but I pressed her about the man next to him.

  “His name is Felix Rooten.”

  “What does he do?” I asked. She seemed even more hesitant to answer. “I’m not exactly sure. I think he was in charge of products.”

  “I wonder if I could talk to him?” I said. The woman swallowed a few times as if her throat had grown dry.

  “Maybe I should get someone else to speak to both of you,” she said, backing away and disappearing into what I imagined was a warren of offices.

  I was surprised to see a familiar blond woman come toward us. Margo Kingsley. She didn’t seem to recognize me and looked at both Adele and me with an arched eyebrow.

  “This is our VP in charge of customer service,” the receptionist said. Adele spoke first. She just cut to the chase and said she wanted to return the unopened products. The latest Mrs. Kingsley looked past her to me and asked what I wanted. I didn’t think my connection to Thursday would help either Adele or me, so I didn’t bring it up.

  “I thought I recognized someone in one of the photos on the wall. I can’t place where I know him from. I thought if I could pop in to his office and say hello, I could figure it out,” I said.

  The receptionist leaned in to Mrs. Kingsley. Her eyes went to the photo as she did. Mrs. Kingsley’s expression darkened.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Rooten doesn’t work here anymore.”

  Their manner had gotten my curiosity fired up, so I didn’t leave it at that. I asked if they knew where I could reach him. Mrs. VP of Cu
stomer Service pursed her lips in hesitation, then must have decided just to be direct.

  “I’m afraid nowhere. Mr. Rooten is dead.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “WHO IS FELIX ROOTEN?” I ASKED. I HEARD A CHUCKLE come through the phone.

  “How about a little small talk first, Sunshine?” Mason said. I guess I had been a little abrupt. It was just that it was really bugging me that not only had Felix looked familiar and I couldn’t place him, but now he was dead. Words tumbled out of my mouth as I tried to explain my trip to Kingsley Enterprises. I’d called Mason as soon as Adele and I had gotten back to the bookstore. I didn’t like to make personal calls from work, so to make up for it, I busied myself in the yarn department, looking at the samples of the different kits Elise had given me while I talked to Mason. He had access to all kinds of Internet search stuff and people who knew how to use it, so I figured he could help me.

  “You went there? Why?” I began to tell him the whole story about Dr. Wheel and Adele wanting to return the diet stuff. “I had no idea what their business was.” Mason was taking it all in without saying a word, though he started to laugh when I got to the part where Adele suddenly seemed to have a mission beyond returning the diet products.

  “I should have some information about this Rooten guy in a few minutes.” He explained he’d already passed it on to one of his assistants. “It’s good to talk to you,” he said and continued on about how much he’d enjoyed our lunch. “It finally feels like things are getting back to normal. In no time, Thursday will be living in her own place, and Jaimee will get on with her Housewives show, and we can get back to having fun.” He let it hang in the air. I looked at the three sample kits I had chosen to show Emerson. “Are you still there?” he said after a moment. “I was expecting you to make some kind of comment about the prospect of us having fun.”