Hooked on Murder: A Crochet Mystery cm-1 Read online

  "Why don't we go into the cafe," I suggested, moving towardthe entrance without waiting for her answer. What bookstore worth its weight in paper didn't have a cafe these days? No more not letting people in with food and drinks. Now bookstores made their customers feel as if they were missing something if they didn't take a latte-schmaatte, decaffoam-only cappuccino or some other whipped-up party drink right in with them while they browsed. We weren't any better. In all honesty, Shedd & Royal needed the added income.

  Before we walked in, the smell greeted me. Our angle was that we baked fresh cookies, and the smell worked like a magnet to pull people in. Detective Heather wasn't immune.She got that fluttery-eyed look as the sweet fragranceof melting chocolate and buttery dough hit her nose. Maybe I could soften her up with sweets.

  A batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies was cooling on a tray. "How about some cookies and a drink?" I offered as we approached the counter.

  "Thanks, but no thanks on the cookies," she said, eyeing the treats with resolve. "I don't usually discuss cases over coffee." She hesitated as if she was thinking it over. "But I suppose it's all right--as long as I buy my own." She noddedat Bob, our main barista and cookie baker. "How about a large decaf nonfat latte with a shot of no-sugar vanilla syrup, ice blended." She smiled at me. "We don't all do donuts, you know."

  It was one of the longest drink orders I'd ever heard and probably was a prizewinner in the hyphen department. I tugged at my waistband with regret. I bet Detective Heather never had caramel corn evenings, or if she did, it was with no-sugar, no-fat, no-taste caramel corn. I got a plain coffee, and we headed to a table.

  She made small talk at first, commenting on how good the drink was, weather was nice for September, etc. It only upped the tension level for me. I wanted the conversation to be like a Band-Aid removal: Rip it off fast and get it over with.

  Finally she got to the point.

  "It's come to my attention that you knew Ellen Sheridan more than in passing. I was curious why you didn't say anything when we talked before."

  Talked? Is that what she called that thing in the back of the police car? I had been so freaked out by stepping on Ellen's leg and being questioned, that at the time I had barely remembered my name, let alone my history with Ellen. "You mean about Ellen being my late husband's partner?"

  Detective Heather nodded and added, "And there was something about you trying to work with her and it didn't work out."

  My shoulders sagged, and I swallowed hard. "Okay, I admit that when I tried to step into my husband's position, there were some problems. Ellen forced--I mean, I let her buy me out. But I have tried to put all that behind me, and I don't really think much about it. Things have turned out reallywell for me. I have this great job." I made an expansive gesture toward the bookstore. "And I'm even dat--" Oops, caught myself just in time. There was no reason to bring up my social life, particularly since I had the social life DetectiveHeather wanted.

  For just a moment, I wondered about Barry's eyesight. Being this close to her, I could see that Detective Heather had no crinkly lines around her eyes, was obviously smart and a professional, and as much as I hated to admit it, was in better shape than I was. Yet Barry claimed to notice her only as a colleague. Unless--a dark thought passed through my mind--it was all an act just to throw me off.

  Detective Heather wrote a bunch of notes in her black reporter's notebook. It seemed as though she wrote more than I said, which didn't make me feel good. Somehow when I'd thought about what happened when I attempted to step into Charlie's business shoes, it hadn't sounded so bad. But saying it out loud to Detective Heather--well, it sounded like a motive.

  "There's just one more thing," she said, keeping her incrediblysparkly blue-eyed gaze on me. She let the commenthang in the air, making my heartbeat kick up. The woman sure knew how to throw me off balance.

  "I spoke with Ms. Sheridan's associate, Natalie Shaw. Do you know her?"

  Should I answer quickly, or think about it? Which way made me look worse? Too fast and I sounded nervous; too slow and it would seem as though I was trying to hide something. The good part was, she was asking about somebodyelse.

  "Natalie started working for Ellen when I left. I don't really know her." I let out my breath, relieved that the spotlightwas off me, but it didn't last for long.

  "Well, she mentioned your recent disagreement with Ms. Sheridan."

  "Disagreement is such a strong word," I began, keeping my tone light. "I suggested something and she turned it down. That's all." I hoped that would satisfy Detective Heather, but of course it didn't.

  "Do you want to give me the details?" With her pen poised, Detective Heather looked at me.

  I hesitated. No, I didn't want to give her details. I didn't want to talk to her at all.

  "You don't have to give me the details if you don't want to," she said finally. "I heard Natalie's version, and I can go with that. I'm just curious how you saw it."

  Barry was right. The detective was good at her job. No way was I not going to answer her now. I didn't know what Natalie had told her, but I was sure it made me look bad. I took a sip of my coffee and cleared my throat. "Part of my job is to arrange book signings. Ellen had a client, an actor turned author, who was coming out with a memoir, Walk a Mile in My Shoes. Maybe you've heard of him--Will Hunter?"

  As if anybody hadn't, including Detective Heather. She unsuccessfully tried to hide her reaction. The guy was hot in a laid-back slacker sort of way, and apparently made an impression even on the perfect detective. I noticed her pupils dilate just a touch at my mention of his name. She nodded and gestured for me to get on with it.

  "Celebrities bring in foot traffic. Foot traffic leads to sales, and . . ."

  "I got it, I got it," she said impatiently. "Stick to the part about Ms. Sheridan."

  I started talking faster. Her impatience had made me nervous, and I just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. I explained how I'd approached Ellen about hostinghis signing and how she had turned me down, preferringto stick to the hip, trendy bookstores the other celebs had been using. I didn't see any reason to mention that I had still hoped to get her to change her mind.

  "So, then, you weren't about to lose your job over not landing the book signing?"

  I shook my head vehemently. "Of course not. Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal are completely happy with me. Besides,one signing isn't going to make or break the bookstore." I finished my coffee and started to get up, thinking we were done. Detective Heather flipped her notebook shut, and then as an afterthought flipped it back open.

  "There's just one more thing. . . ."

  I pushed back against the chair. Who did she think she was, Columbo, with her just-one-more-things? Then I got a sinking feeling. Columbo always said that to the person he thought did it.

  This one more thing was a question about Ellen's husband."Several people have said they thought Lawrence was having an affair." Detective Heather moved a little closer and looked me dead in the eye. "I thought you might know something about it, being that you're a widow and a neighbor." How unsubtle could you get? Did she think I was two-timing Barry? Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

  Okay, I wanted to laugh, but I restrained myself. Lawrence, never Larry, was totally not my type. The only way he'd have been my type was if we were the only two people left in the world and I honestly thought it was my duty to start repopulating the planet. And even then I'd have to pretend he was somebody else.

  The trouble was, I protested too much and Detective Heather kept nodding and writing things down.

  I figured I'd better cancel my plan to take a casserole over to him as a condolence gesture.

  By the time Detective Heather packed up her notebook and annoying questions, my nerves were on high alert. When I went back into the bookstore, the crocheters were working away on their squares. Sheila looked positively calm. She was still mouthing the keep it loose directions, as if it was some kind of mantra.

  Maybe crochet was something for me. It was certainly a better occupation for my hands than acting as conveyers of caramel corn. I guess I was staring. Adele picked up on my gaze and looked at me. If expressions could talk, hers would have said, This is my domain and don't even think about coming back here. As I said before, I wasn't about to ask her to teach me. I didn't do well with diva types. I had been through way too much of that with my mother.

  Ah, but there might be another way.

  CHAPTER 3

  Maybe i hadn't been 100 percent truthful with Detective Heather. Mrs. Shedd wasn't totally happy with my job performance, and I'd never met Mr. Royal. Mrs. Shedd did a lot of her work from home and usually came in before anyone was there or after closing, which was why I had been surprised to find her waiting in the office the week before.

  She was somewhere in her late sixties but, thanks to a fabulous hairdresser, had blond hair that looked totally natural.Nobody ever called her anything but Mrs. Shedd. I didn't even know what her first name was. Mr. Royal was even more elusive. He always seemed to be traveling around the world on some book-finding mission. I had begunto wonder whether he was just an imaginary partner.

  "Molly, it's too bad about Will Hunter," Mrs. Shedd had said when she'd closed the door. "Particularly after you sold me on what a celebrity signing could do for the bookstore. I would love to give those oh-so-hip-and-in-love-with-their-coolness independents in the city a run for their big-name signings. I thought you were so sure you could get it."

  I had made it sound that way, hadn't I? It was just that Mrs. Shedd had sounded so excited when I proposed the celebrity idea. And she'd gotten even more excited when I'd said who I was thinking of. I foolishly thought Ellen would like doing something fresh and different with her client. I guess I was just naive.

  Mrs. Shedd didn't say anything threatening, like she was thinking of letting me go over it. It was worse than that, really. She said she was disappointed in me, and I felt terrible.She'd given me a chance, and I had let her down.

  Wrenching my thoughts back to the present, I glanced toward the event area and watched Sheila struggle with her hook. I thought of her worries over not being good enough, and could instantly relate. But maybe all wasn't lost yet. Maybe whoever took over Will Hunter's publicity would be more open-minded than Ellen.

  In the meantime, I had something else to take care of.

  I made sure Adele was busy with her square and not looking anywhere close to my direction; then I slipped over to the children's department. It was a sweet area with soft carpet featuring cows jumping over moons. There were little people-size tables and chairs, and books with pretty covers.

  There was also a big selection of craft kits in the corner. There were kits for everything, from making your own clock to designing your own doll clothes. Tucked at the end was just what I was looking for. I picked up the small, suitcase-shaped basket that said Crochet for Kids. I opened it and looked inside. There were little balls of yarn, a plastichook, a plastic needle and what I was looking for-- instructions.

  If the instructions could teach a kid how to crochet, they would probably work for me. I closed it and held it out of view as I slipped up to the cashier.

  "You buying this for your grandkids?" Rayaad asked. She was our main register person.

  "Who?" I said quickly. I had never mentioned grandchildren.Did she think I looked old enough to be a grandmother?I instantly touched my hair, wondering whether there was some gray I hadn't noticed. "It's a present for some kids. Kids I know who like to make things." I was explainingmuch more than necessary. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to Adele--that I'm the one who bought the kit. I mean, tell her somebody bought it so she can keep up with inventory, just not that it was me."

  Rayaad shrugged and agreed. I stowed the package with my stuff, making sure it was well hidden.

  When the crochet women left, I took down the long table and set up a smaller one at the front of the area, along with rows of chairs, for our next event. Daniel Cheeseboro was putting on a program to promote his book Clean Up With Soap Making. Actually, it covered more than just soap. The subject of the book was how to make a home business out of personal-care products mixed up in your bathtub. Of course, he was going to do a demonstration.

  "Did somebody buy the Crochet for Kids set?" Adele called to the cashier. Rayaad looked toward me with a question. I hoped she understood the stern shake of my head meant not to tell Adele it was me.

  It turned out to be more of a rhetorical question, becauseAdele dropped it before Rayaad could speak. I just hoped I could get through the rest of the day without Adele noticing the odd-size store bag with my things and putting two and two together. It would lead to too many questions and lots of awkwardness.

  I had thought I would get a chance to go home before the evening program, but there was too much to do at the bookstore. Before I knew it, people had started coming in and sitting down. While the author set up, I made a last-minutecheck of the book display, and mentally rehearsed what to say.

  "Hi, folks," I said into the microphone set up on the table. I went through my spiel introducing Daniel Cheeseboro.He was next to me, basking in the attention as I describedhis expertise in the personal-products area.

  "Tonight I'm going to demonstrate making shower gel." He held up a square plastic tub. "You mix up a batch in here for a few bucks, which gives you enough to fill a ton of these babies." He gestured toward the row of small bottles."Then drop in a little glitter, stick on a bow and a big price tag, and there you go. All the details are in the book."

  He began pouring clear, slimy stuff into the tub. He talked too fast for anyone to get exactly what the mixture was, but he assured everybody that when they bought his book, they would find a full list of the ingredients. I always appreciated an author who was also a good salesperson.

  "Fragrance is a key element. It is what will make your product memorable," he said, showing off a set of small brown bottles. "I make my own mixture of essential oils. Remember, a little bit goes a long way." He explained that for the sake of time, he'd already blended the scents. That recipe, too, was included in the book. Daniel held up a glass bottle with an eyedropper in it. He squeezed the bulb until it filled halfway; then he started to carefully measure out a few drops. It was a waste of time, because as he turned towardthe tub, he lost hold of the bottle and it hit the side, flipped and went facedown into the slime. A moment later, a cloud of lavender mixed with eucalyptus along with somethingelse spread around the bookstore. I glanced at the peoplein the chairs and saw that they were starting to gag.

  Before Daniel could finish apologizing, the place had emptied out. He seemed flummoxed and kept going in circles,talking to himself. I grabbed the tub and, breathing though my mouth, took it outside. On the way out, I got sloshed with some of the slime. The mouth-breathing didn't help much. While I avoided smelling it, I could still taste it. The only good thing was, there was no chance I'd be makingmore caramel corn. The taste was going to take a while to get out of my system.

  "You smell funny," my friend dinah said later that evening, wrinkling her nose. She leaned closer, took a bigger whiff and then stepped back. "What is it? I recognize lavender, eucalyptus and something else."

  "Rose geranium," I said. Daniel had filled me in on the last addition just before he carted the tub into the bushes and dumped it. I had done my best to air out the bookstore, then gone home when we closed. I had already showered and changed clothes, but the smell seemed to have dissolvedinto my skin.

  Dinah had reluctantly left her computer to come over and help me with the crochet kit. It was a real sacrifice, becauseshe had been busy chatting online with a new potentialMr. Right. Dinah was divorced and anxious for a new companion. After striking out with all the in-person ways of meeting someone, she'd gone Internet with a vengeance. I explained Daniel's goof, and she opened a window and then turned on the fan. I pulled out the basket shaped like a suitcase and showed it to Dinah.

  "Isn't that cute," she said, opening it. She took out the plastic hook and yarn and finally the instructions.

  "Did you hear anything more about Ellen?" she asked, and I mentioned Detective Heather's visit.

  "You don't really think she believes you did it?" Dinah asked as she flattened out the rolled-up pamphlet.

  "It seems too ridiculous. Me, a murderer?" I pointed to myself and shook my head. I told her about the Lawrence affair questions, and we both laughed. Dinah didn't find him any more appealing than I did.

  "I bet she'd just love to tell Barry you were cheating on him," Dinah said, and then her expression grew serious. "But somebody did kill Ellen. Aren't you curious who it was?"

  "Well, yeah, but I'm glad it's not my job to find out who. I don't want to think about it anymore. Let's crochet."

  Dinah nodded in agreement and began to read over the instructions. I figured anybody who could teach English to freshmen could help me figure out these directions. The first step was to make a slipknot. She read the instructions out loud, and I tried making one. I wanted to rename it a slippery knot because the yarn kept falling out of my grasp. Being nervous will do that to you. I finally got it and triumphantlywaved the hook and knot above my head.

  Then she read the directions for making chain stitches. It sounded simple. I slid the hook under the yarn, made a loop and pulled it though the slipknot, and presto, I had made a chain stitch. I did it again and now there were two chain stitches. I kept going, and suddenly there was a trail of little circles of lime green yarn hanging off my hook.

  When I had completed a bunch of chain stitches, Dinah told me to put the hook under both strands of the second-closeststitch to the hook, put the yarn over the hook and pull it through. Now there were two loops on the hook.

  "What do I do?" I said nervously.

  "Put the yarn over the hook again and pull it though both of the loops."

  "I did it," I squealed.

  "Congrats. You just made your first single crochet."

  I repeated the whole process and kept going until there was a single crochet in each chain. I was glad to see I had kept everything very loose. I had learned that much from watching Sheila. I made a chain and turned my work. Once again I began stabbing the hook under two strands of each of the stitches in the previous row. I looped the yarn over the hook and pulled it through, got two loops on the hook, yarned over and pulled the hook through both loops. It was starting to look like something.