Hooks Can Be Deceiving Read online

  The rest of the Hookers filtered in. We certainly weren’t a cookie-cutter group. The only thing we all had in common was crochet—well, and the fact that we all liked to get together. Rhoda came in with Elise. They looked as different as night and day. Rhoda Klein had a thick New York accent despite having lived in the Los Angeles area for over twenty years. Her dark hair was cut short in a style that required nothing more than a comb. She stuck with comfortable clothes, and though I never actually saw the waistband of her pants, I was sure they were elastic. She didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle and always went directly to the point. She’d been the one to ask all the questions about Connie and Marianne’s relationship when the two women had first joined us.

  Elise Belmont had a windblown, ethereal appearance and a birdlike voice. But it was all a ruse. She had an iron core and a determined personality. She’d gone through a passion for vampires and then moved on to real estate. She had a way of finding an angle to turn a profit. When she’d been into vampires, she’d developed kits to crochet scarves and other accessories in vampire style. Now that she was selling houses with her husband, she’d started placing small colorful afghans in every house they listed, making sure everyone looking at the house knew the afghan was for sale.

  She took her usual spot at the table and already had her hook flying through the afghan she was working on before she greeted everyone.

  Sheila Altman came in next, from work. She was our youngest member and worked at the lifestyle store down the street. She’d had bouts with anxiety, which our group’s friendship and crochet had helped. Though she still had moments when she seemed to be falling apart, she was handling her life much better these days. She made a point of greeting Marianne but seemed uneasy. Sheila never said anything, but I guessed that seeing how difficult it was for Marianne to function frightened her. As if Sheila could see herself in the same spot.

  Eduardo came in last. All that was left of his career as a cover model and then spokesperson were his good looks. No more billowy shirts and leather pants; now he wore well-tailored sport jackets and slacks with a collarless shirt. He owned a high-end drug and sundries store in Encino called The Apothecary, and he took off an hour to join us most evenings. He touched Marianne on the shoulder as he passed her and said hello. She flinched and her eyes registered surprise, though it seemed like it was in slow motion. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen her express.

  “Now that you’re all here, I have something to tell you,” I said, taking the floor.

  “Wait for me, Pink,” Adele said, rushing to the chair at the opposite end of the table from CeeCee.

  I gave her a moment to take her seat, and then, in typical Adele style, she upstaged me and told them about the show taping at the bookstore before I could get a word in. She was pretty short on details and then said, “There’s probably going to be more exciting news about me to share in the next day or so. I probably shouldn’t jinx it, but I suppose I could give you a hint—”

  “And they want all the Hookers to be part of the show,” I said, cutting in. It was useless to wait for Adele to take a breath, so the only choice was to interrupt. “They want us to host a Make-and-Take event. Isn’t that exciting?” I glanced around at the group, and they all nodded. Only Marianne’s nod was a beat behind the others.

  Adele stood up abruptly. “Sorry I can’t stay, but Cutchykins is picking me up.” Cutchykins was her pet name for her husband, Eric. She grabbed her things and started to rush to the front of the store.

  We all watched her progress and saw her stop suddenly. “Uh-oh,” Rhoda said. “It looks like Cutchykins isn’t alone.” Eric had come into the store with his mother right behind.

  “You know, if she stopped calling her Mother Humphries, maybe they’d get along better,” Rhoda said.

  “Dear, I don’t think it’s what she calls her mother-in-law that’s the problem,” CeeCee said. “The woman doesn’t see Adele as the right woman for her son and never misses a chance to tell him so. And the three of them all living in that townhouse.” CeeCee put up her hands as we watched the three of them leave the store.

  The group seemed quieter without Adele, and everyone went back to working on the projects they’d brought along. I took out the beginnings of the small afghan I was making for my mother using Elise’s pattern.

  “What’s with this yarn?” Connie said in an annoyed voice. She held up the square she was making and showed us all how the strand of yarn she was working with had pulled free from the rest of the skein.

  “Give it to me,” Rhoda said. As soon as she had the skein in her hands, she tugged at the strand coming off the ball, and after a couple of inches, it broke off as well. “It’s defective. You just pull and it frays.”

  I got up and checked another skein of the same kind of yarn. I pulled out a length, and when I gave it a tug, it came apart, too. “I’ll get it out of here,” I said, starting to collect matching balls of yarn in a box. When I left the area to take the yarn to the back room, I noticed a man standing at the edge of the yarn department watching the group. I didn’t think anything of it, but when he was still there when I returned, I went up to him.

  “Can I help you with something?” I said with a wary look.

  “I didn’t mean to come across like a stalker,” he said, picking up on my reaction. “Michael Kostner.” He held out his hand. He was tall and had a pleasant face with stubble that seemed intentional.

  “Were you looking for some yarn?” I asked. His face opened into a smile.

  “What an ego,” he said, rolling his eyes at himself. “To expect that you would know who I am. I’m a producer at the Craftee Channel. Creating With Crochet is my current project. I’m local, and I thought I’d stop in and see what the crochet group looked like in action.”

  I invited him to come closer and introduced him to the group.

  “That’s crocheted?” he said, sounding incredulous as he looked at the red mohair flower Rhoda was just fastening off.

  “I’m going to attach it to this wrap,” Rhoda said, laying the flower on the white mohair shawl.

  “Impressive,” he said, nodding, before he turned his attention to Elise. She wasted no time in telling him that she was in real estate, and I thought she was going to give him her card, but thankfully she just showed him the multicolored afghan she was adding the last row of black edging to. “They’re like my trademark,” she said. “Every house I list has one on display on the end of a couch. I like to think of them as arm candy. Get it? They’re pretty and on the arm of the couch.” She chuckled at her own cleverness and didn’t seem to notice that no one else joined in.

  Sheila was sitting next to Elise and glanced up shyly when Michael’s attention moved to her. She was never one to talk herself up. Eduardo stepped in and explained how Sheila mixed shades of blues, greens, and lavender in the different pieces she made. “We think her shawls and scarves have the look of an Impressionist painting, like Monet.” Michael leaned closer to get a better view of the scarf Sheila was working on and nodded in agreement.

  “You all seem so accomplished,” he said as he moved down the table in the direction of our two newest members.

  Connie seemed upset as she stared at Rhoda’s red flower and then looked down at her half-done square with the frayed strand of yarn hanging off of it. She glanced up at Michael and muttered, “Now I get it.” Next to her, Marianne was trying to fold her scarf so the wobbly edges didn’t show. I wondered if I should step in and explain that they were just learning.

  Thankfully, CeeCee rushed in and distracted Michael so that he glanced over the pair and focused on our actor–slash–crochet leader instead.

  “Molly just told us about the program, and we’re all very excited to be a part of it,” CeeCee said.

  Michael beamed at her. “It’s always a plus to have a celebrity in the mix. You’ll certainly add an exciting touch to the show.”

  I stepped in and introduced myself, explaining that I was to be
the contact for the bookstore.

  “Nice to meet you, Molly Pink. My people will be in touch.” He glanced around the table for a last time. “I don’t want to keep you from your work. Hook on, ladies and gentleman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Chapter Two

  “Good save,” I said to CeeCee. Happy hour had ended and everyone had scattered but the two of us. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to find out what it was that Dinah had wanted to talk about before she rushed off.

  CeeCee finished the row she was working on and began to fold up the rose-colored scarf she was making. She glanced at where Marianne had been sitting. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I do know that she seems to be trying so hard with that scarf that I couldn’t bear the thought of the man from the Craftee Channel giving her a disapproving glance.” CeeCee held up her hook and waved it around with a smile. “We Hookers have to look out for each other, dear.”

  When she left, I cleared the yarn scraps from the table and straightened all the chairs. I stepped back and looked at the yarn department as a whole and tried to imagine how it would look on TV. Then I spent the rest of the evening helping a few customers find books and arranging things in the information booth.

  It took me just a few minutes to drive home, and I left the car in the driveway. The Greenmobile, as I called it, was a blue-green 190E Mercedes. Rather than calling it old, I preferred vintage or classic. There was no screen to display the traffic or a clicker to unlock the car. It was strictly put-the-key-in-the-door-and-open-it. No buttons to push to start the ignition either, just the same key.

  I could already see my welcoming committee through the glass of my kitchen door as I walked across the stone patio, illuminated by the floodlights along the back of the house. Cosmo, the black mutt, had first position, with Felix, the gray terrier mix, pushing in from the side. The two cats were hanging on the other side of Cosmo, probably planning how they were going to escape when I opened the door. Blondie was nowhere to be seen. I knew she was probably across the house, sitting in her chair. I really should have named the strawberry-blonde terrier mix Greta because she preferred to be alone.

  The two dogs started wiggling and yipping as I put my key in the lock. As soon as the door was open a crack, they slipped out and began running around the yard. I rushed inside and pulled the door shut as the black-and-white cat and his purplish-gray cat companion tried to make their move.

  “No way,” I said, looking down at them. “It’s daytime only and when I’m out there with you so I can see what you’re up to.” I tried to make it up to them by offering them each a cat treat. I never knew quite what I was going to come home to. My younger son, Samuel, had moved in and out several times and was on an “in” phase for now. He’d left a note on the kitchen counter saying he’d fed all the animals and taken Blondie for her walk.

  I glanced around the living room as I walked through, and everything was in its usual place. That would sound like a given to most people, but most people don’t have a mother who’s the lead singer of the She La Las. She was enjoying a resurgence in her career and used my living room as a rehearsal hall.

  I continued through the den and on to the master suite. A short hall led to a seating area near the closets and bathroom. I went down the two steps to the bedroom, and as expected, Blondie was sitting in the old orange chair with her head resting on the arm. She looked at me as I came in but didn’t lift her head.

  “Are you sure you’re a terrier mix?” I said. She had the looks, with the wiry strawberry-blonde fur, but not the disposition. I’d adopted her right after Charlie died. She’d been a little standoffish when I’d seen her at the shelter, but I’d thought it would all change when I brought her home. It hadn’t, and then looking over the paperwork that had come with her, I’d determined she’d been adopted once before and returned. “This is your forever home, no matter what,” I had told her.

  I didn’t go up to her and stroke her head. She didn’t like to be petted. She didn’t like to cuddle either. She didn’t care about food or dog toys. The only thing she got excited about was her nightly walk, and she’d already had that. I coaxed her out of the chair and got her to come across the house and go outside.

  When all the dogs had come inside, I threw together a hasty dinner for myself and took it into the den to eat in front of the TV. Since we were going to be on the Craftee Channel, I wanted to see what their programming was like. I had seen Adele’s guest appearance on one of their yarn shows, but I’d watched only the few minutes she was on camera.

  I found the station, and the program on was called Glitterati with a subtitle of “Fun With Glitter.” As I watched, I developed a whole new appreciation for the sparkling particles. I was curious about the setting and spent a lot of time trying to look beyond the two women hovering over a table. It seemed to be a set and felt very flat. Shooting in the yarn department would come across as richer and more exciting—or at least, I certainly hoped it would. Mrs. Shedd was over-the-top enthused about the taping and was depending on me to pull it off. There was no reason to be nervous about it. All I really had to do was help the Craftee people with the arrangements, like when I was putting on an author event. I let out a sigh of relief and turned off the TV. It had been quite a day.

  * * *

  The bookstore was extra quiet when I went in the next morning. Adele always took Tuesdays off, so there was no story time with a gaggle of kids and their escorts hanging around waiting to be checked in. And of course, no Adele to stir things up.

  I didn’t even have to worry about setting up for happy hour, since the Hookers didn’t meet on Tuesdays. I took my break in the yarn department and spent some time working on the afghan I was making for my mother. I was using Elise’s pattern, which was really all about the colors. My parents had lived in Santa Fe for a while, and my mother had fallen in love with all shades of turquoise stones. I was making the coverlet in shades of green and blue that reminded me of the stones and separating the color blocks with rows of black.

  I was just finishing up my coffee when Mrs. Shedd rushed into the yarn department, holding the phone to her ear. “I’ll give you over to Molly Pink. I’m sure she can take care of all your requests. She’s the one handling everything for the shoot.” My boss put her hand over the phone and frantically began to whisper, “It’s someone named Ellen, and she says they need us to set up some things. I’ll let her explain.”

  Before I could react, Mrs. Shedd had pushed the phone on me and was on her way out of the yarn department. I had a sinking feeling that “set up some things” was going to turn out to be an understatement.

  “I’m sorry this is so last minute,” Ellen began. “We had everything arranged, and then the location we had dropped the ball.” There was an annoyed tone to her voice when she said the last part. “Mrs. Shedd assured us that wouldn’t happen with you and that you would handle all of our requests.”

  “What exactly are we talking about?” I asked.

  “One of our sponsors is a craft supply company, and we’d like you to use their products in the Make-and-Take project.”

  “Sure. I assume you’ll be giving us the details of the project and get us the supplies,” I said, and I heard the woman make an uncomfortable sound.

  “Actually, our understanding is that you are responsible for the project and the instructions. Of course, our sponsor will arrange for the supplies. I’m sure you’ll be able to arrange to have some customers make the project when we tape. We’ll expect your group to provide assistance. We’ll need written instructions to put on our website. And another of our sponsors—National Mills Flour—would like a recipe from one of your people using their flour. We’ll have a plate of whatever it is on the table during the show.” She stopped just long enough to take a breath.

  “It sounds like you want us to do everything. What’s left for your people to do?” I said it as if I was being facetious, but really it did sound like it was all falling on us.

&n
bsp; “You notice that I didn’t say anything about writing anything for the show. We’ll have all the copy explaining the benefits of having people drop in to do crafts, and we’ll be adding an insert with the history of crochet.”

  I looked around the bookstore and caught sight of Mrs. Shedd as she scooted into her office. What had she gotten me into?

  “Then we’re good?” Ellen asked. I answered with a weak yes, and she continued.

  “Some of our people will be coming by to look at the area. It would be good if you could give them a demonstration of the project then,” she said. “I think that’s it. We’ll be in touch.” And before I could say anything, she hung up. I made sure the line was clear and punched in CeeCee’s number. When I told her what was going on, she promised to come up with the project, much to my relief. I spent the rest of any free time I had designing signs that we could put around the bookstore and in the window to get people in the store for the Make-and-Take.

  At six, I found Mr. Royal and told him I was taking off. “Wish me luck,” he said. “I’m taking over open-mike night for the poetry group.”

  “I forgot they got moved to tonight. Do you want me to stay?” I asked. As event coordinator, I was usually there for groups we had and book signings.

  “I think I can handle a bunch of emotional poets,” he said with a smile. I had no doubt that he could. Joshua Royal had been everywhere and done all kinds of interesting things during the time he’d been just a silent partner in the bookstore. So silent that when I had first started working there, I hadn’t thought he actually existed. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. “I even wrote a little ditty myself. I call it ‘Working the Rides at Tivoli.’”

  “Knock ’em dead, break a leg, or whatever is appropriate to a successful poetry reading,” I said, laughing.

  I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door. I stopped when I got to the sidewalk and saw that the curb was empty. Mason had said he’d pick me up around six, and it was just a little after. Even though it was April, the air was chilly now that it was getting dark. I shivered and zipped up my jacket as I watched the traffic go by.