For Better or Worsted Page 5

  There was a sudden uproar in the next room, and Mason was there in a flash with me close behind. The Kingsleys’ lawyer had taken the opportunity to wave a check in front of Thursday, along with the papers he wanted signed.

  “She’s not going to sign anything,” Mason said, intercepting both items and pushing them back at the man.

  “It’s been a long day, and if you are all finished,” I said, making a not-too-subtle sweeping gesture toward the door. Before I could remind them that it was my house, and my animals were supposed to have the run of it, a bunch of conversations erupted. The attorney had been instructed that once he found Thursday, he was not to leave without the papers being signed.

  “Thursday isn’t signing anything, and unless you want him to arrest you for trespassing,” Mason said, pointing his shoulder in Barry’s direction, “you should leave.” The attorney shoved the papers in his leather briefcase and angrily went to the door.

  With the lawyer gone, Barry started to talk to Thursday. “For now, we’re following up on the idea that someone slipped in dressed as a server, did what they came for, and then left before anyone realized what had happened.” I noticed that he didn’t mention that my finding the bloody shirt probably had a lot to do with them coming up with that scenario. “We think the motive is some kind of revenge—”

  Mason interrupted, “And Kingsley is trying to say the revenge motive is aimed at me. He thinks it’s because of some client I got off.” Mason shook his head in disbelief. Most of Mason’s law practice was involved with keeping celebrity types out of jail. Their crimes were usually relatively minor, so it was hard to think of someone being worked up enough to want revenge.

  Barry retook the floor. “Fields, don’t be so quick to dismiss it. Someone could be blaming you for getting someone off who they think ruined their life.”

  Mason looked at his daughter. “You should know cops don’t really like lawyers.”

  Barry shook his head. “Nobody likes lawyers, Fields.”

  Jaimee got up, insisting that her daughter should be staying with her rather than her father’s girlfriend. Barry flinched at the girlfriend remark and said he just wanted to ask Thursday a few more questions. Mason jumped into the middle of it, wanting to know what the questions were. Was I really powerless in my own living room?

  “Get your things, Thursday,” Jaimee said. Mason’s ex was fidgeting and tapping her foot, both signs of her impatience.

  “I just wanted to show you some pictures,” Barry said, sliding several sheets out of an envelope and passing them to Thursday. He turned to Mason and Jaimee. “You can look at them, too. They are copies of the photos from the reception your photographer got to me. We’re looking for someone who doesn’t belong.”

  Thursday looked over the pictures and shrugged. “All the serving people looked like robots.” She glanced at her mother, making it clear it had been her idea.

  Jaimee started to defend herself, saying it was the caterer’s idea. “She said it was the trendy thing now to have the men and women look alike. All with slicked-back hair and no makeup or jewelry to set anyone apart. The white gloves were to give it that English butler touch.” Jaimee looked at all of us. “I didn’t know there was going to be a murder, or I would never have made it so easy for someone to slip in.” Her voice had an escalating edge to it. “And I certainly didn’t expect to be detained or called a murderer-in-law,” she said. She took the pictures from her daughter and started going through them. She shrieked when she saw that the photographer had gotten a shot of her sitting in the cake holding the bloody knife, and she pushed them on Mason.

  His eyes were glazed over by the time he’d gone through them all. “With all the people at the reception, and the cookie-cutter help wearing white gloves, I don’t know how you’ll be able to sort out what’s evidence.”

  Barry took the comment as a challenge. “This isn’t one of those TV shows where they pick out a fiber that solves the crime, and it all takes place in a few minutes. But we have our ways,” he said. “Personally, I mostly depend on finding suspects through tips. Somebody remembers something.” He looked at Thursday. “Like you remember that one of the servers looked different or acted a little strange. Then before you know it, we have a good idea who did it. It might take a while to get enough evidence to bring charges, but we know who the guilty party is.”

  He gathered up the proof sheets and slipped them back in the envelope. Jaimee turned to her daughter, who was still sitting on the couch, and gestured for her to get ready to leave.

  Jaimee realized that Thursday wasn’t getting up and repeated another time what she’d said about her daughter getting her things. Thursday shook her head and didn’t move off the couch.

  All the color drained from Jaimee’s face, and I thought she was getting faint again. “But I’m your mother. I’m supposed to be the one you stay with at a time like this.” She looked to Mason. “Do something.”

  Mason looked at me and shrugged. “And you were upset when I kept you out of my family?”

  It was then I noticed that Thursday had the crochet hook and yarn I’d given her in her lap. She picked up the hook and began to work on another coaster as her parents discussed options of where she could stay. Okay, she’d gotten to me. She was the first person I had taught to crochet.

  Thursday looked at her mother. “If I stay with you, I’ll end up in the middle of the Housewives of Mulholland Drive.” She turned to her father. “And your house is too much of a reminder of what happened. And the condo Jonah and I were supposed to live in—it would feel too strange. And besides, it belongs to Kingsley Enterprises, so I probably wouldn’t be welcome there anyway.” Her gaze finally rested on me. “I’ll be going back to work in a little over a week, and I’m going to find my own place. But in the meantime, could I stay here? I’d be glad to help with the animals and anything else you need.”

  Jaimee looked horrified, Mason appeared hopeful, and Barry did a slight negative shake to his head. I didn’t hesitate. I leaned down to hug Thursday and to tell her the room was hers for as long as she needed it.

  Barry’s cell phone went off, and he stepped away to answer it. I could tell by his expression it was business and wasn’t surprised when he said he had to go. It seemed natural to walk him to the door. When we got to the entrance hall, we stood facing each other for a moment.

  “Do you really think it’s a wise idea to let Thursday hide out at your place?” Barry said in a voice barely above a whisper. He gestured toward the living room and the rising and falling of conversations that sounded like an argument. “I thought you were so interested in being alone.”

  I had to stand close to hear him and shrugged before giving a tired laugh. “I think that ship has sailed. It seems there’s always someone or some animal showing up at my door.” To punctuate the comment, the banging on my bedroom door increased in volume. Something had been on my mind, and I decided to ask for his professional opinion. “Do you think it’s strange that Thursday is acting so, well, so as if her world hadn’t been turned upside down? She seems so calm.”

  Barry let down his bland detective demeanor and became Barry my friend. “Yes and no,” he said, clearly liking that I was asking for his input. “It could mean that she doesn’t care that her groom got stabbed, or worse—that she was involved.”

  I started to react with a vehement head shake, but Barry continued. “Or it could be her coping mechanism. She may have shoved everything under her mental rug for a while. Eventually, it will come out, and then the you-know-what will really hit the fan.”

  I started to ask Barry why he hadn’t mentioned the bloodstained shirt I’d stepped on, but he touched my arm and totally changed the subject. “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me and go to Jeffrey’s play?” He mentioned a day and time.

  My eyes narrowed as I imagined having dessert alone and sitting next to an empty
seat at his son’s play because something had come up at work and he’d had to go. His eyes flared and I knew he knew what I was thinking. “It won’t be like that. Look, I’m giving you advance warning and I have the night off. I’ll even turn my phone off.”

  “So, you’re asking me on a date?” I said, blanching at the juvenile term for people our age.

  “Take it any way you want. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a changed man. No more pushing for things my way. If you don’t want to get married, no problem. You want to be just friends, fine with me.” He looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

  CHAPTER 6

  “SO, WHAT DID YOU SAY?” MASON ASKED AS WE SAT together on my couch. Jaimee had accepted that Thursday wasn’t leaving with her and left. The animals had been released from the bedroom, and the two dogs and two cats did some major sniffing to find out who had been there. Thursday had hugged her dad, taken her crocheting and retreated to her room. Once we were alone, I’d told Mason about Barry’s invitation. He seemed less than pleased and even more agitated when I said I’d accepted.

  “I wouldn’t want to miss Jeffrey’s play,” I said. “Barry says he’s a changed man. He has no problem with us being just friends.” Mason leaned back deeper into the leather cushions. The concept of Barry being different seemed very upsetting to him.

  “There’s no reason to go overboard on the platonic thing with him. I thought this was going to be a time for us,” he said in a disappointed tone.

  I looked around at the living room that just a few minutes before had been full of commotion, and then toward the fourth bedroom where his daughter was holed up. “You’re kidding, right? Things are complicated enough.”

  Mason tried, but he couldn’t come up with an argument for that. “Maybe when everything settles,” he said hopefully, and I nodded in agreement, thinking I would worry about it then. I got up and checked Thursday’s room. The door was shut. When I came back to the living room, I led Mason into the den. I wanted as much distance between us and Thursday as possible before I said anything.

  “I was just wondering,” I began, “is it normal for Thursday to be acting the way she is? You know her better than I do. I would think under the circumstances she’d be more distraught.”

  “I kind of expected something different, too,” Mason said. “But Thursday has always been very independent and kept things to herself.” Mason hesitated. “It does worry me, though.”

  I asked him about Jonah, since I really didn’t know much about the groom. “He seemed nice enough,” Mason began. Then he chuckled. “As if anyone is ever good enough for your daughter. I didn’t really know him. Like I said, Thursday is very independent. I didn’t even meet him until they were getting engaged.” Mason went on to say he and Jaimee had gotten together with Jackson Kingsley and his second wife. Jonah’s mother had died years ago.

  “Kingsley seemed happy that his son was getting married. And happy with Thursday. If you want to know the truth, I thought Jonah was on the bland side.” Mason stopped and cocked his ear toward the other side of the house, obviously concerned Thursday might be up and about. “There was someone else before Jonah. I never met him, but I gather that Thursday was really in love with him. He broke it off with her.”

  “And you think that she met Jonah on the rebound?” I said. Mason nodded. Then he sighed deeply.

  “It’s terrible to say this, but if the motive was revenge, I’m just glad the victim wasn’t Thursday.” He looked in the direction of Thursday’s room, and I knew he wanted to go and hug her, grateful that she was there. Instead, he gave me the hug and reluctantly said that he’d better go.

  Not that he stayed gone long. During the next few days, Mason stopped by on each of them to check on Thursday and bring clothes he’d gotten from the condo. He wanted to be there when Barry made his daily stop to talk to Thursday. Barry claimed he was stopping in to give her updates, but I wasn’t so sure that was his motive, because he always seemed to say pretty much the same thing. The detectives were going through all the statements they’d taken at the reception and going back to talk to some of the people, but so far no one seemed to have seen what happened to Jonah.

  Thursday stuck close to the house. I don’t think she went outside for three days, other than to go into the backyard.

  On the fourth day, she came into the kitchen as I was making coffee. Staying locked away like that didn’t seem healthy, so I suggested she come with me to the bookstore and spend some time with the Hookers.

  I was expecting to have to talk her into it, but she surprised me and readily accepted—she just needed a few minutes to get dressed.

  Cosmo and the cats followed us to the front door. In the short time Thursday had been staying with me, they’d already accepted her as part of the family. Blondie seemed to like her, too, but it was hard to tell with the terrier mix because she kept to herself so much. Just before we went out, Thursday turned to give them all a good-bye pat. She slid into the passenger side of the greenmobile, and it felt very natural to have her company.

  Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached, I warned myself as I pulled onto the street. But it was so easy. She had taken up crochet when I taught her. She liked my animals, my house. She wanted to stay with me.

  The winds had stopped for now, but all the junk they’d blown around was still in the street. Though the palm trees bent and swayed with the wind, the fan-shaped fronds didn’t do so well. I had to steer around a number of the long woody stems with sharp, pointy leaves. The sky was a bright blue without the hint of a cloud.

  “What’s going on?” Thursday said when we got to Ventura Boulevard and Vanalden. A police motorcycle and a cruiser were parked at the curb. The cops and several people were standing in the open gate to the Tarzana Cultural Center. Even from a distance, I couldn’t miss the big crocheted hearts in different shades of pink hanging from the white gazebo.

  I’m not sure if it was curiosity or just nosiness, but I pulled over and we got out. When I got closer, I recognized the barrel-chested motor officer as Adele’s boyfriend, Eric Humphries. He was standing with the two uniforms from the cruiser talking to several women. Thursday was right behind me as we approached.

  Eric recognized me and nodded a greeting. “Do you know anything about this?” he said pointing to what he called crocheted graffiti. Before I could even tell him I knew nothing, he was explaining to the women that my name was Molly Pink, and I was one of the Tarzana Hookers and knew all about crochet. The women sparked on the name and crochet comment and suddenly looked at me suspiciously.

  “We don’t mind the hearts,” one of them said, pointing at the decorations dangling from the gazebo, “but whoever did that came onto the cultural center property when it was closed.”

  “It’s trespassing, plain and simple,” one of the uniforms said.

  “And it’s illegal, just like all that tagging with spray paint,” Eric said. I didn’t want to bring up that it was hardly as permanent as spray paint. A few snips of some scissors, and they could be rid of the yarn bombing if it bothered them. I suppose it was trespassing, but with the idea of adding a little color and fun. Eric pulled me aside.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me about who is doing this?” he said. I knew what he was really asking. He knew what a fanatic Adele was about crochet and wondered if she was involved. There was something so proper about the tall motor officer. Not a scuff on his knee-high boots or the slightest wrinkle in his shirt. He was an absolute rule follower, which made him an odd pairing with Adele. I told him the absolute truth. I had no idea.

  I explained the concept of yarn bombing to Thursday as we drove the rest of the way to the bookstore. Once I’d parked the car, she followed me around to the front, admiring the display in the window before we walked in.

  We went directly back to the yarn department. Most of the group was already there, and I put my arm around her shoulder as I
prepared to introduce her.

  “Everyone, this is Thursday,” I said. I was about to add a last name, but floundered. Should I say Kingsley or Fields? It wasn’t as if they needed her last name to know who she was. Thursday wasn’t exactly Mary in the first-name department. As they realized who she was, a wave of sucked-in air passed through the group, then they were tripping over themselves to pull out a chair for her.

  A ripple of surprised ahs went through the group as she took out the cotton yarn and hook, along with a partially done washcloth. She’d moved up from coasters to washcloths as a way of trying out other stitches.

  “She knows how to crochet,” Rhoda said to the others. I said I’d taught her, though then she had taken over learning on her own. I was just a touch jealous at how fast she’d progressed by herself.

  “Dear, if you need any help, just ask me,” CeeCee said. Thursday nodded a thank-you, and then it registered with her who CeeCee was. Our resident actor and leader of the group lived for that moment when people recognized her. She instinctively patted her hair and struck a pose similar to the one in her publicity shot.

  Rhoda interrupted by introducing the rest of the table. I added that Dinah was my best friend when Rhoda got to her. Adele’s lip quivered from across the table, but she didn’t say a word since Leonora was next to her. Rhoda described Leonora as a guest from San Diego, leaving out who she was visiting. The lip quiver was because Adele had said more than once that I was the best friend she had, and she was upset that the relationship wasn’t mutual.