A Stitch in Crime Page 5

  I wanted to say it was her idea to move to a building at the edge of the grounds. I wanted to, but didn’t. It would only irritate her more.

  Instead, I tried acting sympathetic. “I’m sure he’ll show up. Maybe you just missed him.” I gestured toward the path ahead that disappeared into the fog. “If we see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.” Nora didn’t fly into a tirade, but she didn’t seem pacified either, and I thought I heard her mutter something about leaving in the morning.

  “She doesn’t seem happy,” Mason said, watching her go.

  “I hope she’s not serious about leaving in the morning. What am I going to do if they go? I have people arriving who’re expecting an acting workshop with a known actor.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Mason said. “She’s just upset. I’ve had clients like Bennett. You see these people on TV shows acting like they can run the world, but in real life they’re clueless. She probably has to take care of everything all the time. He gets to be the nice guy and she has to be the hammer.”

  “Do you think I should help her look for him?” She was almost out of sight. Dinah grabbed my arm.

  “Snap out of it,” she said. “He’s not that helpless. He’ll find his way back to their room even without his phone and in the fog. And she won’t leave in the morning. It seems to me she’s been threatening something since the moment we first saw her.”

  “Dinah’s right, Sunshine,” Mason said. “Let’s get back to finding some food.”

  We went inside the administration building and Mason talked to the redheaded clerk. Meanwhile, Dinah and I checked out the long table set up for morning registration. Sheila and Adele had left the boxes of folders under the table along with a check-in list. I opened a random folder and was glad to see it had a schedule, map, name tag, and meal ticket.

  “Apparently there’s only one option,” Mason said, leaning against the pool table as I put the folder back and pushed the box under the table. “The nearby restaurants are already closed, but there’s a market still open.” As we headed toward Mason’s rental car, which was parked near the gate, Commander Blaine caught up with us, and when he heard where we were going, he asked if he could tag along.

  “I need to get some things for my session tomorrow,” Commander said. Dinah didn’t join in as Mason and I invited him along. I was really going to have to find out what was up with her. The street outside was very dark, and we followed the clerk’s directions. A few blocks up, we passed some businesses and a restaurant. All closed for the night. I was relieved to see cars in the grocery store parking lot. At dinner I had been too busy being concerned about everybody to eat, and I was very hungry.

  We each got a basket and started going through the aisles. Mason headed off to the prepared foods, Dinah and I went on a cookie hunt, and Commander headed for parts unknown.

  I pulled Dinah into the aisle with the toothpaste and cat food. “Okay, what’s with you and Commander Blaine? He brightens up like a three-hundred-watt halogen bulb every time he sees you, and you look at him like he’s dust. What’s the problem?”

  Dinah shook her head so vehemently that her dangle earrings began to jangle. “There’s no point in encouraging him. He’s not my type. Did you look at his jeans? And the shoes! And did you listen to him?”

  I had to admit I hadn’t been paying attention to his pants or footwear. We slipped around the aisles until we looked down and saw Commander reading the labels on the olive jars. At first I thought Dinah had lost her mind, then I got it. His jeans had creases so sharp you could probably cut butter with them. The shoes were tasseled loafers that were polished to perfection. The kind I called party shoes.

  “Too fussy,” Dinah said, coming up behind me. “I bet he wears boxers, and they’re probably starched and ironed.”

  Down the aisle out of earshot, Commander looked up from an olive jar and waved us over to ask our opinion on whether to get the plain olives or the pimento ones. I wasn’t sure what the olives were for.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I should explain. I had a few boxes of things shipped up here for the workshop, but I always forget some things and I also always like to add some fresh things.”

  I looked at the jar of olives again. “Are those for your gourmet s’mores?”

  Commander’s eyes lit up as he laughed. “No. I don’t go that far outside the box with the s’mores. Olives and chocolate. Even for the most adventuresome palate that sounds like a bad combo. Part of my workshop is teaching people how to use vegetables to make amusing table decorations. It’s along the line of radish roses, but a step up. I make palm trees out of crookneck squash and cucumber peel, and stick olives on as coconuts.”

  While he was talking, Dinah was behind him, rolling her eyes. Maybe he was a little too excited about the details of his workshop. Actually, until that moment I hadn’t really thought about the content of his workshop.

  “So, your workshop group puts together the s’mores?” I asked.

  “No, no. The s’mores I do personally. The group will be helping set up some of the other activities. And my people will be doing the food and decorations for the final party. The rest of the workshops provide the entertainment.”

  At the moment the closing party seemed a long way off, but I was glad he had it covered.

  Mason showed up carrying some kind of sandwich and a container of lemonade. Commander glanced from Mason’s dinner option to our empty baskets. “Are you gals hungry, too?”

  Dinah and I said something about dinner being a little heavy for our liking but we were thinking about a snack.

  “You can just pick up some food and go back and eat it in your room, or we can make something out of it. My personal philosophy is to make an event out of everything. I love impromptu get-togethers. How about it?”

  “I’m in,” Mason said. “The sandwich would have been okay, but your idea sounds much better.”

  I looked toward Dinah, expecting something negative after what she’d said about Commander.

  “You know, I feel that way, too. Why not have some fun?” Dinah actually smiled at him, and they all turned toward me. I got it. As the holder of the rhinestone clipboard, I was the decision maker.

  “Go for it,” I said, catching some of Commander’s enthusiasm. Mason replaced his sandwich and drink and came back with a cart. Dinah and I abandoned the baskets, and we began to follow our party leader through the store.

  “I’ve got a perfect idea,” the silver-haired man said as he headed for the bakery. He picked up a long French baguette and put it in the cart. He kept going, stopping along the way to add more items. By the time we headed for the checkout, we had bread, sliced cheese, cartons of soup, and a flourless chocolate cake for our late-night meal, and trail mix and cookies to keep for snacks in our rooms.

  We paid, then headed out into the darkness, already having fun. Even the fog made our excursion more exciting. By the time we went back through the gates of Asilomar, we were all laughing. I didn’t even realize how tense I’d been until the tension fell away.

  “C’mon, let’s go to the fire circle,” Commander said as we passed the administration building. I didn’t know what he was referring to until we got to an area on the edge of the grounds. I had passed it before, but it had been empty and plain, and hadn’t made any impression on me. Now there was a fire in the pit in the center, though no one was sitting around it.

  “They built the fire for the bird group’s farewell,” Commander explained. A low wall with a glass layer on top formed the enclosure and protected it from the constant wind. We put our packages on the benches and sat around the fire. The warmth felt good and the brightness was reassuring. Commander said he had to get some equipment from his room.

  The man might have too-sharp creases in his jeans, but he knew how to pull together a last-minute meal. He came back with a box of supplies, and within a few minutes he was holding some kind of contraption with the bread and cheese inside over the fire. Dinah was holding the long wi
re handle of the pot the soup was heating in.

  “Still think he’s too fussy?” I said under my breath to Dinah after the food had been served. She was too busy eating one of the chewy toasted sandwiches to speak. The nod of her head said he’d definitely earned some points.

  “This is going to be a great weekend,” Mason said, smiling at me as he toasted everyone with a mug of the hot soup.

  Mason, Dinah, and I ate the chocolate cake with our hands, a messy choice that gave me a case of the giggles. I don’t know if it was because of our sticky fingers or it was just the final release of all the tension I’d built up in the day. Our party organizer would have earned more points with Dinah if he hadn’t eaten his cake with a plastic fork and a napkin.

  I jumped when my cell phone began to vibrate, then ring, and tried to swallow my laughter, but that only made it worse.

  I answered, trying to keep the chocolate crumbs off the phone and the giggle out of my voice. I failed at both.

  “Hi. I called to say good night,” Barry said. I managed to get out what I thought was a serious sounding hello as I stood to collect myself. Then I took a few steps away for privacy. Commander had produced some marshmallows and long forks, and the rest of the group had started roasting the white puffs over the fire.

  “You sound funny. Is everything all right?” Barry said. I swallowed a few times and tried to think of something serious to get the giggles to stop, but I couldn’t keep the laughter out of my voice as I attempted to tell him everything was fine.

  “Where are you? I hear voices in the background.” Barry never turned off his detective skills. I moved farther away, hoping to muffle the sounds, but it was too late. I heard Commander call Mason by name and comment on his marshmallow roasting technique. Barry heard it, too.

  Barry had a basic animosity toward Mason Fields based on their work. In Barry’s mind, lawyers like Mason helped criminals run free. Barry didn’t like it that Mason and I were friends, either. I suppose his guy radar saw a threat. I could see his point.

  “What’s Mason doing there?” Barry demanded. I could picture him suddenly sitting upright and then standing and pacing, probably running his hand through his short, dark hair. And his usual hooded expression was probably blown.

  The giggles finally went away. “Mason is one of the presenters,” I began, and then carefully explained that Mrs. Shedd had merely told me she got a replacement tai chi teacher, but not who. “I didn’t know he was coming when I told you to stay home,” I said, wincing. I hoped Barry would leave it at that, but Mr. Detective had picked up on the fact that there was some kind of fun going on. He wanted details. It was useless to try to gloss over it. Barry is very good at interrogation.

  “I promise this was just accidental fun,” I said, hoping to pacify him.

  “Okay, then,” he said at last. “So, you’ll be too busy with your rhinestone clipboard to spend any more time with him this weekend, right?”

  I uh-huhed in answer, and he said there was another reason for the call. “Were you expecting any deliveries?” When I said I wasn’t, he mentioned some sealed boxes on my front porch. “Are you involved in something you haven’t told me about?” he asked in his interrogation voice. I knew he was referring to a special delivery I’d gotten in the past—a dead mackerel with a marzipan apple in its mouth, meant as a warning.

  “My life is an open book. No murders. No dead bodies. No warnings,” I said, pleased that it was true. Barry still wasn’t sold on the idea of putting the boxes in the house and wanted to open them, but I convinced him to leave them shut and put them in the garage until I got back. Just before he signed off, his voice softened. “Miss you, babe.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and meant it.

  The phone call put a damper on things for me. I felt guilty about having a good time and uncomfortable that I’d been caught. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of our little group’s picnic, so I said I wanted to get back to my room and go over the schedule again. Both Mason and Dinah offered to go with me, but I told them to stay and enjoy the fire. It was hard to shake my feeling of responsibility for everything and everyone. It didn’t seem right that I should be giggling around a campfire.

  After I had gone only a few steps, the fire pit area slipped into oblivion thanks to the cloud sitting on the ground. All my worry over being in charge had already come back with a vengeance, and I almost walked into the figure ahead of me on the path.

  “Bennett,” I said with surprise. “Nora is looking for you.”

  I couldn’t see his expression, but it seemed like he was rolling his eyes and shrugging. I took it as a so-what-else-is-new kind of gesture.

  “I was playing a solo game of pool.” He gestured in the direction of the administration building.

  “Then everything is okay,” I said, putting on my leader-of-the-pack voice.

  “Was she giving you a hard time?” he asked.

  Why not clear things up? I mentioned her talking about leaving in the morning and being less than thrilled with everything.

  “Don’t worry, we’re not leaving in the morning. You have to understand: Nora’s a great manager. She’s always looking out for my best interest and wants me to be treated like a star.” He let out a chuckle. “I, however, know I’m just an actor.” His self-deprecating manner won me over, and we walked the rest of the way to Lodge together. I started to go in, and he continued on the path toward their accommodations. Yes, Bennett was pleasant and reassuring, but I couldn’t help thinking of what Mason had said about actor clients he’d had. They played the nice guy and let their spouse be the hammer.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE LOUD, INSISTENT KNOCK AT MY DOOR MADE me sit up suddenly. The rhinestone clipboard fell off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. Had I really slept with it? I looked around, trying to orient myself. After a moment I recognized the dark wood-paneled walls and ceiling of my Asilomar room. I’d left the curtains open, and the dim light filtering in implied that it was very early morning. The window was open a crack, and the room had filled with chilly, damp air. More noise came from the door. This time it was closer to pounding. My stomach did a flip-flop. It sounded like trouble.

  The floor was icy on my bare feet as I got out of bed. Maybe icy was a bit of a stretch, but it was certainly very cold. The red readout on the clock radio said six thirty. I regretted not having brought a robe and slippers, and pulled the dusty rose shawl I’d crocheted over my nightgown. My shoulders felt warm, but it didn’t do much for the rest of me as I crossed to the door.

  Adele was tapping her foot when I opened the door. “It’s about time,” she said, shaking her head. My groggy feeling was instantly gone with one glance at Adele’s outfit. The fuchsia of her sweat outfit hit my eyes with a jolt—and who knew they made chartreuse sneakers? She completed the look with a backward baseball cap and a scarf of coaster-size doilies strung together and wrapped around her neck. “Pink, you’ve got a problem. No, it’s more than a problem. It’s a disaster.” She took in my outfit. “You better put on some clothes. You’re going to have to do something. You’re in charge, remember? The big cheese with the rhinestone clipboard. The buck stops with you.”

  Adele’s rant was interrupted by a door opening. Dinah stuck her head out. “What’s all the commotion about?”

  I pulled Adele into my room, and Dinah followed. No need to alert the whole floor that something bad had happened before I had the details.

  “So, what is it?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you. I have to show you. Downstairs.”

  Adele tends toward drama, but I couldn’t take a chance. I threw on yesterday’s clothes and shoved my sleep-shaped hair under a beige beanie I’d crocheted recently, figuring I’d deal with the disaster and come back for a shower before breakfast.

  Okay, there are some things that can’t be fixed. And for once Adele hadn’t gone for hyperbole. As soon as we stepped outside, I got it. It was like stepping inside a marshmallow. All I could see was wh
ite. Even though we’d gone only a few steps from the entrance to Lodge, the building was already disappearing in the white air swirling around it.

  Dinah came down the steps a few minutes later, glanced around, and rushed to join us. She’d pulled on some red sweats and covered the wilted spikes of her hair with a black baseball cap.

  “Wait for me,” a voice called from behind us. When I turned back, I saw that Sheila had just tumbled out the door. She screeched to a stop, reacting to the opaque air. I couldn’t make out her expression, but I could hear her breath become shallow and ragged. I got it right away. She was feeling panicky, and I could relate. There was something claustrophobic about a fog this thick.

  She took a tentative step toward us, eyeing the sky nervously.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Dinah said, putting her arm around Sheila when she finally reached us. We all urged Sheila to take some deep breaths, and gradually her features lost their frantic expression. Adele started to reel off information about how bad it was as she dragged us all to the administration building, where the lone TV was tuned to a live report.

  A newscaster was standing at a police roadblock. Behind her it looked as if a white curtain had been pulled across the road. “It’s a complete whiteout and has been named the Pacific Grove Fogout,” she said, gesturing to the road behind her.

  The redheaded guy at the registration desk began to talk. “It’s a complete whiteout. All the roads are closed around here. You can’t see past the hood of your car.” He shook his head. “We get fog all the time around here, but never like this. I bet it’s because of global warming.”

  He pushed a pile of phone messages across the counter. “These are for you—from your retreat people. They’re all stuck, and won’t be able to get here until the fog lifts. Everything—and I mean everything—is shut down, not moving, nothing going anywhere. Not even the park ranger or the security guy could make it in.” He mumbled something about having worked all night, and his replacement couldn’t make it in, either. Then he stared at us, looking a little crazed and his voice verging on hysterical. “We’re stranded, ladies. It’s like we’re on an island with no boat.” He leaned across the counter. “Be careful.”