You Better Knot Die Page 3

  “And maybe she just reported him missing as a cover-up,” Dinah said.

  “And asking me to look for him is some kind of setup,” I said, my voice rising in excitement. Then we both looked at each other and rolled our eyes. “Or maybe he really did just take off and we have crime on the brain.”

  We finally got to the greenmobile and I drove Dinah back to her car and then went on to the bookstore. It was only when I was walking into Shedd & Royal that I realized Dinah had never told me her news.

  CHAPTER 2

  WALKING INTO SHEDD & ROYAL BOOKS AND More was like going to my second home. The smell of books and coffee was comforting. Riding over the top was the scent of something chocolate, and I guessed Bob, our main barista and cookie baker, must have just taken some cookies out of the oven. As I crossed the front of the store, I looked in the café. A plate of brownies was sitting on the counter and the scent had drawn in some customers. One of the other counter people was waiting on them, while Bob sat at a table with his computer open. Whenever he had a break, he pulled out the computer and worked on his screenplay. He was secretive about the story. All any of us knew was that it was some kind of science-fiction piece. I stopped by Mrs. Shedd’s office. She used to come in to do her work mostly when the bookstore was closed. But lately she’d been spending more and more time there when the store was open. And now that it was our busiest time of year, it was all hands on deck. Particularly since Adele and I had been gone for two days, checking out the yarn store in San Diego. I laughed at the framed poster on the wall. It said I and then had a big red valentine-shaped heart before the word Vampires. The poster was a hot item among readers since vampire books were white-hot. It had a different meaning for Mrs. Shedd. She wasn’t a vampire lover. She loved what vampire books did for sales. We had a whole display set up for vampire books by different authors. They all did well, but for now the Anthony books were the star sellers and had their own table in the front.

  Even though Mrs. Shedd had told me I could call her Pamela, it felt too strange. Kind of like calling your doctor by their first name. So, mostly I avoided calling her anything, but when I had to say something, it always came out as Mrs. Shedd. She was just clearing off her desk and shutting off her computer when I walked in.

  I guessed she was somewhere in her late sixties, but her dark blond hair didn’t have even a strand of gray, and I was sure it was natural. Something about the pageboy style seemed timeless. I was a little on the breathless side from rushing. My tote brushed her desk and the knitting needles clanged together. Mrs. Shedd wasn’t into crafting, but she recognized the needles and chuckled.

  “I’m glad you don’t share Adele’s obsession. She reacts to knitting needles like a vampire does to a stake.” Mrs. Shedd glanced up at my face and looked suddenly concerned. “Molly, are you okay? You look a little frazzled.”

  In my rush to get to the bookstore, I’d forgotten to stop and check my appearance. Instinctively I reached up and touched my hair. I could tell by feel that it wasn’t laying flat. I was still wearing the clothes I’d put on in the hotel in San Diego. The khaki slacks were wrinkle proof, but the white shirt was a little worse for wear from the car ride and the animal pick up. I pulled a vest out of my tote bag and put it over the shirt and tried to pat my hair into order while I detailed my arrival home.

  Mrs. Shedd’s eyes widened when I got to the part about the broken front door. “Molly, you certainly lead an interesting life.” When I got to the real story, she listened with interest. “This neighbor that disappeared—is it anyone I know?”

  “You might have seen him in the bookstore. His name is Bradley Perkins. He’s on the tall side, reddish brown hair with a friendly smile,” I said, expecting a dismissive nod.

  “What do you mean Bradley Perkins disappeared?” Mrs. Shedd said abruptly.

  “You know him?” I said, surprised.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. I waited for more details about how she knew him, but none came. I repeated what Emily had said about how he’d gone to work and just not come home.

  Mrs. Shedd’s placid expression had changed to agitated. “That’s hardly a full story. Did she call his office to see if he showed up there? Was he there all day, or did he leave early?” I shrugged, realizing I didn’t know. She seemed so concerned, I tried to calm her by telling her that it seemed most likely it was what the cop had said—he and his wife had had some kind of argument and he’d gone off to cool down. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me posted,” Mrs. Shedd said as she gathered up her things. Mr. Royal stopped in the doorway and looked in.

  “Ready, Pamela?” he said. I thought of Mr. Royal as the world’s most interesting man. He’d been away for several years, and in that time, he seemed to have gone everywhere and done everything. Trekking through the Himalayas, driving a snowplow in Minnesota and training dolphins were only a few of the many adventures he’d had. He wore his charcoal gray hair long and I’d heard he cut it himself. I guessed he was close to Mrs. Shedd in age, but he moved with the agility of a young man. And now that he was back, he was lighting up Mrs. Shedd’s life. It seemed funny now, but before his return, I had wondered if he really existed. I started to say I’d let her know if I heard any more about Bradley, but she gave her head a fast shake with a quick glance toward Mr. Royal. I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out whatever connection she had with Bradley, she didn’t want Joshua Royal to know about it.

  “We’re off to get a tree for the store. I was going to pull the artificial one out of the storeroom but Joshua convinced me we ought to have a live one. I was worried about it drying out and being a hazard, but leave it to Joshua to come up with a solution. We’re going out to a Christmas-tree farm to get a truly fresh one.”

  I followed them back into the main part of the bookstore. They went on to the door and I stopped by the cashier stand. Our main cashier, Rayaad, had a couple of young men behind the counter with her and was showing them how to ring up books. Not that there was much to show anymore. The computer did all the work. I introduced myself to the new recruits.

  “I’m going to be in the yarn department, if anything comes up,” I said to Rayaad, then headed toward the back of the store. The store was quiet and it seemed like a good time to get some work done on the new department. We’d all agreed it was essential to have swatches of each of the yarns hanging on their bins. Some of us—as in me and Mrs. Shedd—had also agreed there should be both crocheted and knitted swatches. Adele had practically stamped her foot and had steam come out of her ears at the mere idea, but she was being ignored. The crocheted swatches were being done by both of us, but the knitted swatches were all in my court.

  Adele would never admit it, but I was pretty sure she knew how to knit. Not that it mattered. No way was she going to pick up the needles. Luckily I had learned the basics while getting information during our creative retreat at Asilomar last fall. Knitting felt awkward and slow compared with crocheting, but I didn’t want to alienate knitters, the way some yarn stores ignored crocheters.

  Even though it was only partially completed, I loved the yarn area. The back wall had been outfitted with bins that were beginning to fill up with yarn. When we got everything put out from the store in San Diego, most of them would be filled. We were organizing them by color and the effect was beautiful.

  Adele was already sitting at the table and looked up from her work as I approached. “It’s about time, Pink.” Her eyes narrowed. “What took you so long? Did you get arrested?” Adele stopped with her hook in the air over a strand of soft blue sport weight yarn.

  I threw her my best don’t-be-ridiculous expression and set my tote bag on the table. Now that we had the yarn department, the worktable stayed up all the time. Before I’d had to put it up and down every time the Hookers met. I heard Adele almost growl when I took out the needles attached to the beginning of a swatch of a thick off-white wool from Peru. In addition to the blue yarn Adele was working with, she had a ball of white thread and a fi
ne steel hook. Next to it was a pile of limp snowflakes.

  I started to repeat the story for the zillionth time. Just when I got to the part about the bodies, William Bearley walked up to the table and distracted Adele. She jumped up and hugged him and then made a whole production about straightening his jacket and knocking some lint off it. She told anyone who would listen that he was an important children’s author, but never explained that he wrote the Koo Koo the Clown series about common childhood experiences like going to the dentist. When William did book signings or story time, he dressed up in a clown outfit complete with giant red shoes. But in his normal persona, he was bland looking and reserved. His receding sandy hair and pale skin appeared practically colorless next to Adele in her fuchsia-trimmed electric blue jacket.

  “I’ll be ready in a minute, honey,” she said. Whatever his day job was, it didn’t seem to require his red shoes. He wore a dress shirt, pressed jeans and some kind of tan tie shoes.

  “Molly was just telling me about her house getting raided by the police.” William regarded me with more interest, and I started to explain the real details. Adele didn’t like losing the floor and interrupted me. “Her neighbor just jumped the gun about calling the cops. Her husband has only been gone a few hours.”

  “Bradley’s been missing for more than a day,” I said. “Though, from what Emily said, it sounds more like Bradley might have run away.”

  “Bradley who?” William said. When I said Perkins, his face showed recognition.

  “You know Bradley, too?” Before I could ask for details, Adele stepped in.

  “Of course William knows your neighbor. He brought his daughters in to all the Koo Koo events.”

  When Adele stopped talking, William asked what made me think Bradley had taken off. I told him about the cop getting it out of Emily that they’d been arguing and all. Adele intruded again. “I know what you’re doing, William. You’re doing research for another book.” She turned toward me. “William is always gathering information and ideas for his next book.”

  I smiled. “Right. It’ll come in handy in case you decide to write Koo Koo Goes Missing.” Both Adele and William seemed serious to the extreme about his books. Neither of them came close to cracking a smile at my comment. In fact, Adele seemed in a huff when she started gathering up her work. It only got worse when I picked up the knitting needles. She actually covered her face. Personally, I thought it was more for effect than any real horror at seeing me handle the tools of the other yarn craft. Eventually she took her hands down, though she still made a point to look away from them as she pushed the pile of finished snowflakes in my direction.

  “Pink, these need to be starched and William and I have plans.” It wasn’t an unreasonable request. We were making them to decorate the bookstore, and in all fairness, she had made many more than me, but in typical Adele fashion, she came across as high-handed and annoying. Adele often acted as though she were in charge; however, the minute there was any kind of trouble, she would throw her arms around me and expect me to take care of everything. I gathered her thread creations up and put them in my tote bag.

  When they left, I finally went to work on the swatch. I had learned the basics of knitting during the retreat but not enough to be comfortable. Casting on and doing rows of knit stitches felt awkward. The swatch didn’t have to be that big, did it? As soon as I’d done ten rows, I laid down the swatch, anxious to crochet.

  I thought of the discussion the group had had about making things to give to a shelter we supported. I pulled out the list of suggested items we’d come up with. My eyes stopped on toys. Yes, that was definitely what I wanted to work on. What could be better than making a holiday gift for a child? It would also be my first attempt at Amigurumi—small toys crocheted in the round using single crochet stitches.

  I found a pattern for an elephant that was just a nice size for a child to hold. I checked the stash of yarn we had for our charity endeavors and found a skein of soft gray yarn. Within moments, I’d finished the first round. This was going to be fun.

  My thoughts went back to Emily Perkins. How well did I really know her?

  I wondered about the argument she’d mentioned. Was it real or made up? All I’d ever heard was their voices coming from their backyard, and they always sounded friendly. My pondering was interrupted when a young man stopped next to the table. I realized he was one of the holiday helpers our cashier Rayaad had been training.

  “Mrs. Fazaha ...” he faltered. I had trouble with Rayaad’s last name and I’d known her for a while.

  “We just go by first names around here, except for Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal.”

  The young man seemed relieved. “Okay, then Rayaad said to talk to you.” Before he could finish two women had joined him. They were giggling and appeared a little embarrassed.

  “It’s about the Anthony books, the Blood and Yarn series. We wanted to get copies of Caught By the Hook and Caught Up in Yarn ...” She let her voice trail off as if I was supposed to understand.

  The clerk stepped in. “The display is empty. Are there any more books anywhere?”

  “Oh, please say there are,” the other woman said. “My girlfriend had Caught By the Hook on CD and I heard the beginning in her car. We got stuck in traffic, but eventually I had to get out of the car. I need to find out what happens. When he picks up the hook for the first time,” she said in a tremulous voice, “and when he realizes that he’s found a way to control his lust for blood.”

  Her friend laughed. “But luckily not his lust for women. Whew. I hear there are some really hot scenes.”

  I left my work and followed them to the front of the store. A freestanding cardboard display had a blowup of the cover of Caught By the Hook. It featured a dark-haired man crocheting. There was just the slightest hint of a fang. Near it there was a cardboard cutout of Anthony holding a sprig of mistletoe in one hand and a woman in a trench coat in the other. Her head was thrown back with her neck exposed and he was leaning toward her with just a touch of fang showing. A banner across the middle announced the upcoming midnight launch of Caught Under the Mistletoe and the first public appearance of A. J. Kowalski. One of the women touched the poster with awe as she began to ask questions. Had I read the books, yes, and yes, I agreed Anthony was hot and, yes, I thought he had a heart even if he didn’t have a real one beating in his chest. Then she leaned close and lowered her voice.

  “You know who the author really is, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “All I know is A. J. Kowalski lives in the area.” She looked at me with the same disbelief I’d been getting a lot of lately. The two women started talking to each other about whether A. J. was a man or woman. Even though they both agreed that when people used initials it was usually a woman, one of the women kept insisting the author had to be a man.

  “I don’t think a woman could write a male character that well.” Her friend saved me the trouble and brought up J. K. Rowling, who did a great job with Harry Potter, and Stephanie Meyer, who pumped life into Edward Cullen.

  I had a few books stashed in the office. When I handed them over, the women were so excited they almost tripped over themselves.

  “I have to get this, too,” one of the women said, seeing the sign for Crocheting with the Vampire. I had to explain the companion pattern book wasn’t out yet but promised to let her know when it was. They seemed excited when I mentioned we were supposed to be getting Anthony action figures, along with a Colleen figure. She was the reporter who was bringing his story to the world and also the woman he’d fallen hopelessly in love with.

  They wanted hooks, too, so I took them back to the yarn department and showed them our accessory display. One of the women picked up one of the golden K hooks and began stroking it. “Is this the kind he uses?”

  “It could be,” I said. “The author isn’t exactly specific.”

  “I’m going to ask him about the hook at the launch party.” She looked at me. “I’m sure it’s a man.” They
had some discussion about whose credit card to put it on.

  I watched them go to the cashier stand and suddenly I knew how I could help Emily find Bradley. That is if she was really looking for him.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE DAYS WERE SO SHORT AROUND THIS TIME OF year, it seemed liked midnight when I headed home, though it was more like eight. Some weather front had blown in and my light jacket didn’t do much to keep out the cold damp air. My street was quiet and dark. The lights were on at the Perkins’, but their lawn display was dark. I wondered if Emily’d had any more news about Bradley.

  I pulled into my own driveway and left the car outside the garage. When I opened my back door, Cosmo flew past me into the yard. The small black mutt took off into the bushes. His long fur would no doubt be full of redwood bits when he came in. Blondie was probably sitting in her chair. The strawberry blond terrier was nothing like any other dog I’d had. Before I’d adopted her, she’d been in a shelter for a year and a half, and living in a kennel for all that time had left its mark. She was the only dog I’d ever had who didn’t mind being boarded. It was like going home. The cats circled my legs with plaintiff meows as I walked in the kitchen. They were hungry and still considering whether I should be forgiven for leaving them at the vet’s while I was gone.

  As soon as all animals were fed, I called Emily. She still hadn’t heard anything from Bradley and was thrilled to hear I had figured a way to locate him. I was going to tell her my idea on the phone, but she wanted me to come over.

  I hated to go empty-handed, but there was no time to throw together a batch of cookies. I noticed the tin of fudge I’d picked up when Adele and I’d stopped on the way back from San Diego. In Emily’s condition, she probably could really use some chocolate.

  I crossed her front yard, being careful to avoid tripping over the dark holiday decorations, and barely had time to check out the huge hanging light fixture on the porch before she opened the door. Emily had all the lights burning inside. In the distance I heard the television and her daughters’ voices.