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  “The girls still don’t know,” she said in a nervous voice. “They figured out something is wrong because we went out for pizza and I’m letting them watch a movie—two things I never do on a school night.” I sensed she was telling me all this so I wouldn’t think she was a bad mother. Far be it for me to judge anybody. I’d been known to eat ice cream for dinner. I handed her the fudge, which she gratefully accepted before bringing me into the living room. We sat down and she tore off the top of the fudge and took a piece. I was right about her needing some chocolate. She caught herself and apologized for not offering me a piece first. I passed and expected her to set the tin on the coffee table, but she kept hugging it. She really needed chocolate.

  Curious about Mrs. Shedd’s reaction when I mentioned Bradley, I asked Emily how he knew my boss.

  “Bradley knows everybody. Leave him in a room with ten people, and in a few minutes, he’ll have ten friends. He gets a lot of his business that way.”

  “What exactly does Bradley do?” I said, a little embarrassed that after having them as neighbors for a couple of years I wasn’t clear on his profession.

  “He’s a financial advisor.” When she said that, it jostled my memory and I recalled that when they’d first moved in, he’d said something about working in finance. I’d asked him a bunch of questions since it was shortly after Charlie had died and I was suddenly in charge of everything. I vaguely remembered he had seemed put off by all my questions and that was the end of it.

  When I asked what exactly his title meant, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “That’s what he calls himself. But really what he does is invest money for people. He pools all the money and buys and sells securities. I don’t know the exact details, but he has some special system. He always gets impatient when I ask any questions. I guess he thinks I won’t understand. When he has me make bank deposits, he tells me what to do as if I’m a child. The same when I help with the monthly statements. But he’s very good at what he does. Wherever I go, I run into clients of his and they always rave about Bradley’s magic touch.” Her face had brightened as she talked about her husband, but then her mood fizzled as she began to talk about how he’d acted the day before. “He’s been short-tempered with me before, but never like that. I wish I knew what I did that set him off.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder in a consoling manner. “I’m sure it was more about him than anything you did.”

  “You said there was a way you thought I could find him,” she said hopefully. “I’m mad at him for doing this to me, but I want to talk to him and find out what’s really wrong. Running off isn’t the way to deal with problems.”

  “Does he have a credit card?” I asked and she nodded. She also nodded when I asked if her name was on the account as well.

  “We both have cards on the same account,” she said. Then she began to get it. “And if I find out where he’s charging ...” Her voice trailed off as she went for her purse.

  “I’d tell them you think there might be fraudulent charges on his card. They’ll be more likely to give you more details.” I mentioned that the women taking out their credit cards to buy the vampire books had been what made me think of it. “Not that there was any fraud going on with them.” I told her about the run on Anthony books, trying to lighten up the mood. I was glad to see a smile show up on her face when I brought up the launch party. “All this with Bradley will be settled by then and you can come and have fun with the rest of us.” I felt like I was on a teeter-totter. One minute the balance went toward her being involved in Bradley’s disappearance and then, like now, the balance went the other way and it seemed like a ridiculous thought.

  She said something about liking that as she dialed the number off the back of her credit card. She got stuck in voice-mail jail until she spoke the words fraudulent charges and the next moment I heard her talking to a customer service rep. Emily had a pencil and paper and began to scribble down information. Finally she thanked the customer service people and hung up.

  “His last charge was for a one-way ticket on the seven P.M. Catalina Express yesterday.”

  I had a little experience with the island of Santa Catalina. The island was about nineteen miles off the coast, and in the spring, summer and fall, it was a big destination for tourists, and boats ran often. At this time of year, it was mostly just locals going back and forth and there were only a few boats a day.

  “How can I thank you?” Emily said. She suddenly looked as if a heavy overcoat had been lifted off her shoulders. “I just felt so helpless before. As soon as I drop the girls off at school tomorrow morning, I’m going to catch the first boat I can and go over there. If I have to knock on every door, I’m going to find him.”

  Usually that would be a ridiculous statement, but in the case of Catalina, with one main town of only a few thousand residents, it was a doable challenge.

  I admit I walked a little taller when I left. I’d done it. Problem solved. Bradley found. I walked across the dark lawn toward my house. As soon as I passed the row of trees that separated my property from the Perkins’, I saw a car in my driveway. In the dark I couldn’t make anything out beyond that it was a dark sedan. A figure started toward me. I recognized his walk and the outline of his solid build.

  “Mason?” I said, going toward him. I was surprised to see the high-profile lawyer, and friend, at my home.

  “I got worried when you didn’t show up. And you didn’t answer any of your phones. I went to the bookstore and there were a bunch of new cashiers who didn’t know anything. So then I came here.” He sucked in his breath when he saw the front door illuminated by the porch light. A piece of plywood covered the smashed part, but the door was obviously damaged. “What happened? Did somebody break in?”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Not exactly. Barry did it.”

  “The detective?” Mason said with a chuckle. “Didn’t he wrangle a key from you with some story about having to take care of his dog?”

  “It’s a long story. He forgot he had a key.” I peered at Mason in the darkness. “Was I supposed to meet you somewhere?” My life had become so busy lately, I was going to have to come up with a better organizational system than writing notes on scraps of paper and leaving them on the kitchen table for the cats to knock to the floor. I checked my cell phone and realized I’d forgotten to plug it into the charger when I got home. It was still dead.

  Mason held out his hand and the moonlight reflected off something metal in his hand.

  “We were going to have dinner and you were going to help me with Spike’s sweater. Does that ring a bell?” he said in a fake hurt voice.

  I sighed as my memory was jogged and it suddenly came back to me. Before the San Diego trip, I’d said I would have dinner with him and help him work on the dog sweater. He’d been anxious for us to get together because it was getting chilly and he didn’t want the toy fox terrier shivering on his night walks. I wasn’t sure how much dinner was about crocheting or just a convenient excuse to get together. It was hard to tell with Mason. Though he was a top criminal attorney known for keeping naughty celebrities out of jail, he was full of surprises. It was possible he really did want to learn how to crochet.

  How to describe our relationship? At the very least we were friends—really good friends; Mason always came through with whatever I needed, whether it was background information on somebody or to catch me when I was about to fall. He was also always a willing ear. Did I mention that Mason wanted something more than friendship? We’d come close to that a few times, but something had always interfered.

  “I’m sorry, I totally forgot,” I said before rambling off all the obstacles that had clogged up my memory. Mason put up his hand to stop me before I got even halfway through.

  “You’re forgiven,” he said with a gentle chuckle. “I’m just glad you’re all right. So, what happened with the door?”

  It had been a long day, an endless day by now, and all of it was beginning to kick in. How many t
imes had I repeated the story? Somewhere in my busy day, I’d forgotten to eat. Mason heard my stomach growl.

  “C’mon, we can skip the crochet lesson, but we both need dinner. You can tell me about the door when you’ve had some food.” He took me by the hand and led me to his car. It sounded like a great idea to me.

  It was late and a weeknight, but Mason knew exactly where to go. A valet relieved us of the car and we walked toward an island of activity amid all the closed businesses on Ventura Boulevard. I was doubtful about the outdoor seating at first. We’d been having unusually cold weather lately. The weatherman on channel three had even mumbled something about the possibility of a rare snow shower. But the chill was no problem as the café had plenty of patio heaters and Mason made sure we were seated close to several. The cuisine was Israeli and I let Mason order. Within moments the waiter arrived with so many small plates of different salads they covered the table. He finished by bringing a freshly made circle of soft flat bread.

  I took some bread and dipped it in the creamy hummus dip before I was ready to talk. I finally got the whole story out about the door. I finished by telling Mason how I’d helped Emily locate her missing husband.

  “Once she gets a chance to talk to Bradley, I’m sure they’ll get whatever their problem is straightened out. I don’t know the Perkins that well, but they seem like a pretty solid couple.” When I mentioned Bradley’s last name, Mason reacted.

  “Do you know Bradley Perkins, too?” I said, surprised.

  “Not personally, but I know of him. Somebody was telling me how Perkins had invested some money for them and they’d made a bundle. The guy is supposed to have some knack for making money grow.” Mason seemed suddenly concerned. “You didn’t invest any money with him, did you?”

  “I wasn’t even sure what he did for a living until a little while ago,” I said. Mason seemed relieved.

  “There are never big returns without big risks,” he said as the waiter brought small portions of hot potatoes and falafel balls.

  Mason delivered me home a short time later. He checked the front door to make sure it was secure. He wasn’t a fix-it wizard like Barry, but he knew enough to make sure the lock worked right and that the panel across the broken part was secure. He did make some comment that if he’d damaged my door, he’d have gotten it replaced by now.

  “You know you can always stay at my place,” he said. Mason lived alone with his toy fox terrier, Spike, in a house in Encino that was big enough to accommodate a large family. “No strings attached,” he added with a genuine smile. “I’m surprised Greenberg isn’t standing guard.” Mason’s smile turned to a grin at the jab at Barry.

  At last I hit the pillow, but as soon as I did, all my concerns about the upcoming unveiling of the vampire author began to surface. Who was he or she? Did I know them? What if it came out before the launch and took away all our steam? I had to untwist myself from the bedclothes several times before finally falling asleep. It was peaceful for a while, then a dog started barking in my dream. The noise was irritating and interfering with the story I was concocting. It didn’t stop and I rose through the levels of sleep, finally realizing the barking was real.

  Cosmo wasn’t in his usual spot next to me. The long-haired black mutt generally slept nestled against my side with his feet in the air. The barking was coming from another room and I recognized it as his. There was something different about it, too. I heard an undercurrent of a growl.

  By now I was wide awake and my heart was pounding big time. I heard something fall over and I sucked in my breath. Then suddenly relief washed over me. It was probably Barry and a late-night surprise visit. Still it seemed odd that Cosmo was making threatening sounds since he was more or less Barry’s dog. The easy solution was to call Barry’s cell phone. If I heard ringing, it would confirm it was him. I grabbed the phone next to me and punched in Barry’s cell number, and as the call went through, I listened for ringing in the distance.

  All I heard was something else fall over. Uh-oh.

  A moment later, Barry answered in a sleepy voice, though he snapped to attention when I whispered, “Barry, I think there’s somebody in my house.”

  I WAS HUDDLED IN THE FRONT YARD WHEN BARRY roared up in the Tahoe. He almost drove on the lawn. A police cruiser arrived a second later along with a helicopter. Barry’s instructions had been for me to get out of the house immediately. It was only fear that gave me the guts to propel myself out the window and face the drop into the bushes. Now I wished I’d taken a moment to grab a shawl or robe before I went out. Even with the adrenaline rush, I felt shivery. The helicopter began to circle, bathing me and my front yard in its spotlight.

  Barry waved for me to stay put as he ran toward the front door with his gun drawn—this time at least he used his key. The two uniforms went around to the back of the house. A few minutes later Barry came and got me and brought me inside.

  “It’s lucky Cosmo is staying with you. Blondie gets an F as a watchdog.” He took me into the den. “I checked and nobody is in here now.” The word now made me shudder. So somebody had been in there.

  “Molly, first of all, this had nothing to do with your front door.” He showed me the bathroom window I’d left open a crack. It was now wide open with the screen missing. “Here’s where they came in.” The outside door in the den was ajar. “Cosmo’s barking must have scared them off.” The two uniforms were searching the bushes in the backyard with the light from the helicopter. “Whoever it was is probably long gone.” Barry said with a shrug. My backyard faced three others. All somebody had to do was go over my fence and exit through somebody else’s yard. Barry called off the two officers and the helicopter.

  I glanced around the den. The end table near the window had been knocked over, but other than that everything looked okay.

  For the first time it sunk in that Barry was dressed in the suit he’d been wearing at his first stop of the day at my house. The shirt looked a little rumpled and his tie was pulled loose. His usually neat short dark hair was askew. Then I got it. He must have been asleep at his desk when I called.

  Barry pulled an afghan off the arm of the couch and draped it over me, wrapping his arms around me at the same time. “Is there something you haven’t told me?” he said with a little clench of his jaw. I had on occasion gotten involved in things that had gotten me into trouble.

  I shrugged off his question as we headed to the kitchen. No way could I go back to sleep after all of this so I offered him breakfast. “All I did was tell Emily Perkins how to figure out where her husband was.”

  “And that was ...” Barry said, following me as I turned on the lights. I told him about having her call the credit card company and his expression changed to admiration. “Good thinking, Sherlock. Though I still think you should mind your own business,” he said. I started to pull out eggs and butter and waved Barry over to sit down at the table. It was still solid dark outside, but already almost five.

  “I can’t see how telling her that would lead to this,” he conceded. “Is there anything else?” He didn’t sit but instead came over to help me. Butter was melting in the frying pan and I was beating some eggs, adding some cream cheese and chives. Barry poured fresh coffee beans in the grinder and turned it on. “And don’t hold back, okay?”

  I stirred the eggs a last time and poured them in the pan. I popped some English muffins in the toaster as I debated whether to tell him everything. But Barry is a master at reading dead air. “C’mon, Molly, you can’t fool me. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Okay, here goes,” I said. “You know about the holiday party slash launch the bookstore is putting on for the latest Anthony book?” No recognition showed in his expression. “The vampire-with-a-heart books. I told you about it before,” I said.

  The no recognition was replaced with an oh-no look. Barry wasn’t into vampires and thought nobody else should be, either. “Our big reveal is who the author is. Mrs. Shedd thinks somebody is trying to
scoop us. And some people might think that since I’m the event coordinator and this is a big event, that I already know who A. J. Kowalski really is and have the information here.”

  Barry started to dismiss the idea, but I interrupted him. “Think the Harry Potter books or the Twilight saga. We’re talking a superstar author here. CNN is doing a live feed and all the entertainment shows are sending reporters. The local news stations are coming, too. The whole event would fizzle if somebody announced the author’s identity before the launch. And whoever put out the news first would get a lot of attention.”

  Barry sat down at the table with an exhausted sigh. “Molly, you sure know how to fill a day.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “NOPE, DOESN’T WORK,” I SAID OUT LOUD AS I checked my image in the mirror. The makeup was supposed to cover up dark circles under your eyes. I’m afraid my lack of sleep was too big a challenge even for the self-proclaimed Miracle Circle Eraser. By the time Barry and I had finished breakfast, it was officially morning, though still dark. He checked all the windows and front door and then had to go home. It was his day to drive car pool. Barry was divorced and had his fourteen-year-old son living with him. Barry felt like a hero driving car pool. I don’t think Jeffrey quite saw it that way. Nothing like having your cop dad talk to you like you were a kid in front of your fellow eighth graders to bust your image as the cool drama guy.

  And me? I tried lying down, but I kept thinking I heard noises. Eventually I accepted that more sleep wasn’t coming and decided to make better use of the time. I took the pile of thread snowflakes that Adele had made into the kitchen. I poured some liquid starch in a plastic bag and dropped the snowflakes in the pearly liquid one at a time. They came out looking like hopeless clumps of thread. The magic was in the drying. I had already cut apart a cardboard box and covered it with wax paper. I laid the snowflakes and carefully stretched them into shape and held them in place with nonrusting pins. When I had them all done, I put them on the dining room table as dawn was breaking. In the half-light, the snowflakes looked almost real.