One for the Hooks Read online

  “I’m here at last,” Adele said as she swept up to the table. She’d lost the crown and the cape, but not the dramatic manner. “It’s hard being a successful influencer. My fans keep wanting more and more from me. She dropped into a chair at one end of the table and put her phone on the selfie stick on the tabletop. “At last I have a few moments of a normal life, hanging out with all of you.” She fluffed up one of the crocheted flowers that covered her sweater.

  CeeCee Collins was the last to arrive. Someone always stopped her when she was coming through the bookstore and asked for an autograph or to take a picture with her. There were people who knew her from the long ago CeeCee Collins Show and some who recognized her from her role as Ophelia in the movie about Anthony, the vampire who crocheted to control his blood lust. She had been nominated for an Academy Award and now in her sixties had a restart in her career.

  She was a little self-absorbed but had a good heart and a musical laugh. She was the leader of our group and the one who came up with all the charity projects we frequently worked on. For now, we were all working on our own things.

  As everyone was greeting CeeCee, Adele started grumbling. “Pink, you almost ruined my interview with Merry Riley,” she said.

  Adele called me by my last name because she knew it annoyed me. It was her lame way of getting back at me for getting the job that she wanted. She was already working at the bookstore when I was hired, and she’d hoped to get promoted to the position of event coordinator, but I had experience working in my late husband’s public relations firm, which made me more qualified. As a consolation, she’d been given the children’s department to run. It actually worked out for her because it gave her a reason to dress up in costumes for story time. And despite her not really liking kids, they seemed to adore all her drama.

  Adele always wanted to be in the spotlight, and she’d finally found her way into it through her vlog. It had made her even harder to deal with now, if that was possible.

  All eyes went to me. “Her husband was trying to get her out of there,” I said.

  “Well, if you noticed, she seemed fine talking to me,” Adele said in a defiant tone.

  “He’s her manager, and I’m sure he was just trying to protect her,” CeeCee said. “She’s what you’d call a working actor. Her whole career has been playing background characters. Personally, I’d rather have a career like mine with its highs and lows. Hers seems kind of flat.”

  “I wouldn’t call it flat,” Rhoda said. “It seems pretty nice to me. She’s been doing what she loves for all these years and has a couple of kids and an adoring husband. I bet they never have to wait for a table at the Cheesecake Factory either.”

  CeeCee’s expression darkened as she took Rhoda’s comment personally. “I could have had all that too, if I’d wanted. And I get seated right away wherever I go,” she said. “I like to keep challenging myself. That’s why I’m doing live theater for the first time ever.”

  We all knew about her new venture. She was starring in a play at one of the equity waiver theaters. They were in rehearsal, and she had gone back and forth from being excited about it, like she sounded now, to terrified.

  “Who cares about Merry Riley,” Elise said. Her chirpy voice had a surprising edge as she turned to me. “You never finished talking about Sloan and her ‘emptying houses,’ whatever that means.

  Since the whole group was now listening, I had to backtrack. “Sloan is a set designer for one of the studios, but the work ebbs and flows, so she actually has a bunch of careers that all sort of work together. She’s a real estate agent but also stages houses to make them look super saleable. Now, she said she’s helping someone empty a house, and she said there was a bunch of yarn she thought the bookstore might be interested in. I’m going to look at it tomorrow. She thinks we could buy it and sell it here.”

  “I know more about yarn than you do,” Adele said. “You better let me come with.” It was true that Adele knew more about yarn and crochet than I did, but I suspected she had another motive. There was just the hint of a smug smile. Adele was looking for material for her vlog.

  “I better come too,” Elise said. “I’d like to see this house she’s emptying, and I’ll make sure you get the best deal on the yarn—that is, if you want it.”

  I looked at Dinah. “I hope Sloan agrees with ‘the more, the merrier.’”

  Chapter Four

  Once again I was in for a surprise when I got home. There were boxes and plastic bins stacked on the stone patio, and when I looked in the garage, I saw some unfamiliar furniture. I should have known that the suitcases Peter and Gabby had shown up with weren’t everything. I heard the clang of the metal gate and started to tense, thinking, What now? I was pleasantly surprised to see Mason Fields coming toward me. He was beaming a big smile and inspired the same from me.

  “I thought you wouldn’t be here until later,” I said as we hugged each other in greeting. I’d seen his text that morning to let me know of his last-minute trip. He’d been gone for over a week, and I was happy to get the surprise visit.

  “I pushed everything up so we could have the evening.” He looked at the stuff in the yard. “I’m sure there’s a story to all this.” Then he shrugged. “Whatever it is, let me take you away from it all.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “I couldn’t wait to see you. I didn’t even change.” He was dressed in his work clothes. The tan suit had the fit of something custom made, and the cream-colored dress shirt had the sheen of a high thread count. His dark eyes were bright, and he seemed full of energy. A lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead as it always seemed to do. I don’t know why, but somehow it always gave him the look of someone hardworking and earnest. I had long since given up trying to brush it away.

  He seemed impatient to go but knew I had to take care of the menagerie first. While I put out everyone’s dinner, he looked around the kitchen. A fancy espresso maker was next to my coffeepot, and a box of groceries sat on the counter.

  “More mysterious additions,” he said, pulling out a package of fancy coffee. “You can tell me all about it as we go,” he said.

  “You seem pretty energetic after dealing with an early morning flight and then whatever it was you came back here for,” I said.

  “It’s seeing you, Sunshine,” he said with broad smile. He called me Sunshine because he said I brightened his life.

  “I think there’s more to it than me,” I said. Much as I would have liked to take all the credit for his new lease on life, I knew it had a lot to do with his work with the Second Chance Project.

  “Maybe you’re a little right,” he said. “I hated to have to leave and break my momentum, but one of my clients here required my presence and, well, they pay the bills so I can do the other work.” The dogs and cats had finished their food, and the dogs got their outside run. Then Mason waited while I rounded them up. “We can talk about it while we drive.”

  He took my hand and led me back to the driveway. His black Mercedes SUV was in the driveway behind the Greenmobile. That’s what I called my 1993 Mercedes. I used to refer to it as vintage, but decided classic sounded better.

  Before we took off, Mason leaned over and kissed me. Somehow it was playful and passionate at the same time and left me a little breathless.

  “The rest will have to wait until later,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “For now we need food and atmosphere.”

  I knew better than to ask him where we were headed. Mason loved to keep our destinations a surprise. It was rarely just a restaurant somewhere. Always romantic and a little fun. He got on the 101, and we joined the traffic headed into the sunset.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going on at your place?

  We generally talked every night while he was gone, but the previous night he had texted me to tell me of his unexpected trip home and said he’d fallen asleep trying to organize his work. “It’s Peter,” I said. “He’s moving in with his …” Then I faltered, wondering how to desc
ribe Gabby. Was she his girlfriend, his fiancé, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, or should I just call her his baby mama? Finally I just said “with Gabby” and left it at that.

  “Peter?” Mason said. “What happened?”

  I started to tell him what Peter had been working on, and he nodded with understanding. “It’s terrible for Peter and for everyone working on the series. They thought they were set for two years of work and probably made plans accordingly. And then overnight it all disappeared, all because Billy Boxmeir couldn’t keep his hands and other things to himself,” he said.

  “There’s more,” I said. “Gabby is pregnant. It’s a girl.”

  Mason looked over at me and chuckled. “So you’re going to be a grandmother.”

  “I know I should be happy about that part of it, but it’s all so sudden. I didn’t even meet Gabby until last night. I can’t help it. When I think of a grandmother, I imagine someone in a shapeless housedress, stirring a steaming pot of something on the stove before she retires to sit in her rocking chair.”

  Mason laughed. “Maybe some grandmothers, but not you. You’ll be reading her Nancy Drew stories when she’s a toddler. I’m sure she’ll have a cool name for you, like Golly.” He laughed again. “Get it? ‘Grandmother’ mixed with ‘Molly.’”

  As we passed through the hills just outside of Calabasas, I figured he was heading for Las Virgenes Road, which was a scenic route to Malibu. But we flew past it and kept going.

  “Anything but ‘Granny,’” I said. “But enough about me. What about what you’re working on?”

  “Here or there?” he said. Before I could respond, he went ahead and dismissed the clients he’d come to see quickly. “It’s all because the DA’s son didn’t get into Worthington University, and he’s poking around, hoping to find some fraud involved with some kids who did get into the school.” Mason reminded me of the “Varsity Blues” scandal that involved connected wealthy parents getting their kids into elite schools by masquerading them as football players and rowers. “Careers were ruined, and people who never thought prison was in their future ended up doing time,” Mason said. “I had to calm my clients. But the case I’m working on in Topeka is much more interesting. We’re talking about giving a kid his life back.” Mason sounded passionate. “I wish you could have seen his face when I visited him in prison and told him we were getting a hearing. He’d been convicted with shoddy evidence. It didn’t matter that someone else had confessed to the murder and that my client had an alibi.” Mason shook his head in disbelief at how the first trial had been handled. “You have no idea how hard it is to get a chance to go before a judge. There’s a bonus to having all my celebrity clients. Even judges in Kansas have seen me on TV talking about one client or another, and, well, they think I’m hot stuff and seem to listen to me a little more.” I glanced over at him and he beamed with pride.

  It was all regular freeway for a while, with car dealers and businesses on either side. Then the view changed as the roadway ascended, twisting through a mountain pass. As we rounded the last curve, the road ahead descended into an area of strawberry fields and citrus groves mixed in with the town of Camarillo. In the far distance, the sun was hanging over the ocean, about to drop in.

  “I’m sorry we’re going to miss the sunset, but there will still be the soft light of evening for a while,” he said. Already the sky above us had turned a soft haze of pastel colors.

  “What about you? What’s up with the Hookers?” he asked. Even though he knew it was connected to a crochet tool, he still laughed at the name.

  “The Hookers are fine,” I said. “Adele is driving everyone crazy with her vlog.” I started to say that it was mostly the same old, same old, and then I remembered Sloan and the yarn.

  “One of the bookstore customers is trying to sell me a load of yarn from a house she’s helping to empty.” I took a moment to explain Sloan’s many professions, and he asked for her name.

  “Sloan Renner.” I looked over at him, and he surprised me. I thought he’d shake his head and say he’d never heard of her, but instead he seemed deep in thought. “Then you know her?” I asked.

  “Not really, but I’ve heard the name. You said she’s a set designer. That’s probably it.” A lot of Mason’s paying clients were in the entertainment industry, both in front of and behind the camera. “Why do I sense there’s some kind of problem?” he asked.

  “It’s just that it was only going to be Dinah and me going over there. Then Elise got all huffy because Sloan is competition for her as far as real estate goes, so she insisted on coming too. Then Adele …” I let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter what reason she gave; it’s because she’s trying to get content for her vlog.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he joked. “Maybe I should come too.”

  By then we’d reached Ventura Harbor. The streetlights were coming on, but as Mason had promised, the sky was still a dusky blue. We left the Mercedes in the parking lot and walked across the street to the beach. We climbed the small dunes just inside the fence and surveyed the area. The sand was soft and silky, and the beach extended a long way before meeting the water. A few die-hard surfers were catching their last waves of the day. Santa Cruz Island loomed off in the distance.

  My stomach rumbled and Mason laughed. “I heard that. Let’s eat.” We went back across the street and followed the walkway along the harbor, full of commercial fishing boats, to a place that sold fish and chips.

  “You’re in for a treat, “Mason said as he carried a paper bag full of food to an outdoor table. The air had a bite to it, but a sweatshirt was enough to keep away the chill.

  “Nice, huh?” Mason said as we sat down at a table with a view of the boats. “If you’re not up to your elbows in a mystery, you probably haven’t seen Detective Barry,” he said. There was just a hint of something in his voice.

  “Actually, I saw him last night. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be at my house, and when I saw the door open, I freaked and accidentally made an emergency call on my smartwatch.”

  “And what? He automatically responds when he sees it’s your address?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But he didn’t stay? You didn’t feed him.” Mason looked at me in the darkness. I had fed Barry a few times when our paths crossed. Just because we were done didn’t mean that I didn’t care about him as a human being. What was the big deal if I made him a few scrambled eggs, anyway?

  “Nope. He just called me ‘Grandma’ and left.”

  We enjoyed the view and the food, but now that it was completely dark, the breeze had a chill, and Mason suggested we head back. The ride home wasn’t nearly as scenic except for the few moments of seeing the moon hanging over the barren mountains as we drove up the grade and through the winding pass between Camarillo and the Conejo Valley.

  “Spike will be so happy to see you,” Mason said as he pulled into his garage. He’d left the toy fox terrier with a pet sitter the first couple of times he went on the road to work on one of his pro bono cases, but had ended up taking the dog with him after that.

  Mason had kept the Encino house in his divorce. It was a large ranch style built in dark wood and surrounded by several old California oak trees Encino was named for. The front yard was landscaped with rolling hills and a plethora of interesting plants.. Spike was yipping at the door when we walked in. Then he danced around both of us. I saw Mason glance at his watch and thought it was a sign he was tired, but it actually turned out he wanted to watch the news.

  The room he used the most in the house was a den that looked out onto his backyard. The furniture here was comfortable and felt lived in. He turned on the TV and directed me to make myself at home. “I’ll make us a couple of cappuccinos.”

  He came in with the drinks and put them on the wood coffee table just as the news was starting with a tease of the upcoming stories. Mason’s face appeared on the screen. “Oh, look who’s on TV,” he joked. “I’m not really that into watching myself. But I wan
t to see how they present the story.” He handed me one of the coffee drinks. “As you probably figured, it’s about the clients I came back to see.”

  “Could it be happening again? Another scandal with powerful parents finding a side door for their children to get into a prestigious school?” the news anchor said.

  Mason came on the screen as reporters pushed microphones in front of him. He was used to talking to the media and he came across as friendly and approachable. “It’s all just saber rattling,” he said. “Lindsey Bagatti got into Worthington University on her own merit. She is absolutely a legitimate croquet athlete.” Mason looked at the reporter. “My hope is that the district attorney will not waste any more of the taxpayer’s money pursuing a case where there is no proof of any wrongdoing.”

  Mason was grinning as he turned to me. “Was I great or what?”

  “So that’s what you came back for?” I said. “A croquet athlete? For a moment I thought you said a crochet athlete.”

  “That would be pretty funny. You better not mention it to Adele or she’ll take it seriously. But yes, Worthington does have a croquet team. It’s a collegiate sport with a national championship put on by the United States Croquet Association. It’s not that common, but a number of schools have teams. Worthington wasn’t one of them until the Baggati family donated a large amount of money to organize one. Having a team meant that students could get admission to the university as croquet athletes.” He looked at me. “This is probably all very boring, but I have spent a lot of time going over it. Because it’s not that common a sport, the proof that a student was actually a croquet athlete is different.” Mason shrugged. “Basically, they need to satisfy the coach that they’ve played in a championship.” He chuckled. “Who knew that croquet was a game of skill and strategy? The DA is making a fuss about the family donating the money and then having their two kids get admission to the school as athletes.” Lester Bagatti has been a client of the firm for years. I came back to calm him down and talk to the media. Quite a switch from meeting my other client in prison. By the way, there’s a vending machine in the room at the prison where we meet, and I always make sure he’s gets some food. I just hope I can take him out for a steak dinner when I finally get him sprung.”