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

  "Hey, hey, time-out," Dinah said, making a T with her hands. "What about my turn?"

  I reluctantly pulled out the stitches and gave up the blue plastic hook and the yarn. Dinah had been watching me and barely needed the directions. Pretty soon she had formed a little snake of circles and then made rows of singlecrochet just like I had.

  "Okay, it looks like we both got the snake thing and singlecrochet down. Let's make something."

  After the basic directions on how to crochet, there were directions for making a little pouch. It was really just a long piece of crochet you folded over, sewed together and then put a button on the front of. We took turns doing the rows of stitches and managed to finish the whole thing.

  "Wow," I said, proudly holding up the tiny bag. "We're as good as any ten-year-old." Dinah glanced at her watch. I knew she wanted to get back to her online chat. She assuredme this guy had real promise--unless he wasn't telling the truth. When she left, I looked at our little creationwith amazement. I couldn't wait to join the crochet group.

  "ARE YOU SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING?" Dinah asked. We were standing in the bookstore, looking toward the event area. The crochet group was gathered around the end of the table. There were still only four of them.

  "They need us. There is no way they are going to make enough squares for that blanket without some help. They'll welcome us with open arms."

  "We only know how to single crochet, and we barely know that." She still seemed troubled by the idea of our joining the group.

  "We made the little pouch that came with the set. Before we folded it and stitched it together, it was almost a square. We'll just make single-crochet squares. They won't be as fancy as the other ones, but they can still fill in a lot of blank spots. It's the least we can do for Ellen."

  Dinah shook her head. "But you didn't even like her."

  "Shush." I glanced around to see if anyone had heard. There was only a man buying a magazine within earshot, and he didn't even seem to notice us. "Okay, I didn't exactlylike her, but I respected her abilities."

  "Which abilities? Her ability to be rude to you? Her ability to push you out of Charlie's business?"

  "She bought me out."

  Dinah snorted. "I stand by pushed because you couldn't have said no."

  "Whatever. I have a personal interest in making sure they finish their project. Having groups meet in the bookstoreis supposed to help build our image. How good would it look if the charity crochet group didn't finish their project?"

  Dinah obviously wasn't going to make the first move, so I did. Mumbling something about she wasn't sure it was the image she was after now that she was considering datingyounger men, she followed me anyway.

  "Hi, ladies," I said with a bright smile. They were crochetingsilently, and all glanced up from their work. Adele was the only one who didn't seem happy to see us.

  "What's up, Pink?" Her eyes drifted to my tote bag.

  "We want to join you. We want to make squares for your charity blanket."

  Adele laughed. "Since when do you crochet?"

  "Ah, I learned a while ago. I just never thought to bring it up . . . until now." I pulled out the pouch Dinah and I had made together. I had thought it looked pretty good, but now, compared to what they were doing, it suddenly didn't look so hot. The lime green color seemed harsh in the bookstore lights, and maybe the stitches weren't exactly even, and when we'd sewn it together, we'd left a piece of yarn hanging.

  "What's it for?" Adele asked, reaching for it. She turned it over in her hand. "This looks kind of familiar. Have I seen this before?"

  I didn't want her to put it together with the kids' kit in her department. It would kind of blow my story. I snatched it back and put it in my bag. "I don't know why you're beingso fussy. You guys need us."

  "It's very nice of you to offer, dear," CeeCee said. "And as the leader of the group, I say welcome."

  "Excuse me, but I'm the leader," Adele said, her face clouding up.

  They immediately went back to a contest of who had helped Sheila more with her tight stitches.

  Sheila looked up at the mention of her name. The calm in her face disappeared, and her eyebrows shot up in worry. "Please don't argue about me. You both helped." She sniffed the air. "How come it smells like massage oil in here?"

  Even with all the airing out, some of the shower gel fragrancestill lingered. But it was now light enough to be pleasant.

  Meredith took a drag of air. "It's a little different from massage oil. I smell lavender and eucalyptus, but there's something else in it."

  "Rose geranium," I said, and then told them about the shower gel incident.

  Meredith chuckled as she listened, her hands busy puttingthe black border around a square of the same pattern she'd been making before, only this one had the colors reversed.

  "I'll agree to let Pink and her friend in, as long as there is no chance Pink ends up the leader." Adele nodded to the group.

  "I don't want to be the leader," I said.

  With that agreed, they let us sit down with them. Dinah and I chose seats near CeeCee and as far away as possible from Adele. The last thing I wanted was her staring at me while I crocheted. She was bound to be critical. CeeCee on the other hand seemed likely to offer help, which we needed immediately. We'd had the directions in front of us the whole time we were working at my house. Now, withoutthem, I didn't know where to start.

  "You'll want to make a slipknot," CeeCee said out of the corner of her mouth. Then she surreptitiously showed us how. I looked down at my selection of crochet hooks, and CeeCee suggested using a J to start with. Dinah and I each took out our Js and then tried the slipknot. We were both nervous and had some trouble, but then got it down. Adele was already back into her own square and didn't notice.

  I remembered the part about making a bunch of chain stitches, but had no idea how many to make.

  "Why don't you two make a practice swatch to begin with?" CeeCee suggested. Then she said she'd be able to calculate out how many stitches and rows we'd need to do to get the size square they needed.

  I listened to what she said, but it didn't process. Dinah seemed as confused as I was. Finally CeeCee said just to crochet ten rows of ten stitches and she'd help us from there.

  Sheila put her work down and stretched her arms. "Those aren't Ellen's hooks, are they?"

  The question caught me off guard, and my hook slipped out of my hand and clanged on the table.

  "Of course not." I retrieved my hook. In the meantime the few stitches I had done had come unraveled. I started again. I was clumsy with the hook, but still watched with amazement as the stitches started to accumulate. On one side there was a plain old ball of royal blue yarn, and on the other a row of sweet little single crochets. Not to make a pun, but I was hooked.

  Dinah was already frustrated. She kept getting distractedby a nice-looking guy in a warm-up outfit in the reference section.

  "It helps if you look at your work," CeeCee said to her, then, following Dinah's gaze, "unless there is someone like that to admire." The man picked up a book, unaware that he had an audience.

  Dinah dropped her hook and ten chain stitches on the table. "I just remembered I need a crossword puzzle dictionary." She was off before I could stop her.

  There was a twinge in my shoulders. I was trying too hard. "I thought this was supposed to be relaxing," I said, rolling my neck and stretching my shoulders.

  Meredith smiled at me. "Not so much when you first start. It seems like you're so worried about how you're doing,it's just the opposite of relaxing." She got up and walked around the table. "Sorry I don't have my chair, but this ought to help."

  She kneaded my neck and moved down to my shoulders.She had magic fingers. The tension seemed to just melt. "Wow," I said, hoping that if I encouraged her, she wouldn't stop. "I can see why you're so popular." She took my arms one at a time and worked out the kinks. She moved back to my back and put pressure on various spots on my shoulder blades. "I mix in a little acupressure," she said, finishing and going back to her seat. "I do legs and feet on my regular customers."

  "Your regular and very lucky customers. Thank you."

  "My pleasure. It is very satisfying to provide such a necessary service."

  I rolled my shoulders a few times and picked up my work again.

  Just when I was beginning to enjoy the relaxed feeling the massage inspired, I caught sight of a woman in a suit with a familiar knit bag.

  "Mrs. Pink," Detective Heather Gilmore said. "I was hoping to find you here."

  Oh, no, not again. I put on a pleasant smile, but inside I was groaning.

  "That's a magnificent bag," CeeCee said, touching the sculpted blue yarn stitches of Detective Heather's purse. "Did you make it?"

  Detective Heather nodded with a pleased expression.

  "Maybe you'd like to join our crochet group," CeeCee continued. She explained the squares and the charity sale, and the fact that we were a little behind.

  "Sorry I don't crochet. I knit." There was just a touch of haughtiness to the word knit, as if it were somehow on anotherplanet from crochet.

  Adele's head shot up, and for once the storm-cloud expressionwasn't directed at me.

  "You know, I'm tired of people like you who think knittingis the be-all and end-all of everything. We crocheters are tired of being the poor stepsisters of knitting. We can do things with crochet that you knitters only dream about."

  Detective Heather appeared a little stunned by Adele's barrage, but quickly shrugged it off.

  "I came to return your pen," she said to me. "How would it look if word got out police detectives were filchingpens from people?" She held out an attractive gold pen.

  "It's not mine," I said, wondering whether it was just an excuse.

  "Really," she said, taking it back. "Hmm, I wonder whose it is." She glanced around at the group. "As long as I'm here, I'd like to ask you all something. Was it common for Ellen to forget her hooks?"

  "Not at all," CeeCee began. "I was so surprised when Molly told me. It was completely unlike Ellen. She was highly organized and into detail. She couldn't have run her business and managed to lead the crochet group if she hadn't been."

  "Really," Detective Heather said, taking out her notebookand regular pen. "So, then you saw the bag of hooks after she left?"

  CeeCee shook her head. "Not me. I left before her. I had a meeting about a project I'm working on. I'm going to be a spokesperson for a new face cream." She looked toward Adele, Meredith and Sheila. "You must have seen the bag of hooks?" They all shrugged and shook their heads.

  "Hmm, so, Mrs. Pink, you were the only one who actuallysaw the bag?"

  This wasn't sounding good. I didn't like the way DetectiveHeather was staring at me. I thought about what I'd said to Dinah about how it wasn't my job to find out who had killed Ellen. I'd just changed my mind.

  CHAPTER 4

  "I don't think you should go to ellen Sheridan's funeral," Barry said. I was just clearing off the dishes from supper. Since his son, Jeffrey, was at a friend's, Barry had time for once. I'd thrown together a casserole and some salad, and we'd eaten at the built-in booth in the kitchen. No detective suit today--Barry wore jeans and a pocket T-shirt. They weren't the high-fashion jeans that get abused to look broken-in. His were a soft blue from being worn. Barry looked good in everything, but I liked him best like this.

  As soon as I took away the dishes, he spread out some tools and my toaster. The popper-upper had stopped working.Barry could fix everything, and whenever he came across anything that was broken or barely working, he did his magic. My house had never been so functional.

  "Why? What aren't you telling me?" I stopped halfway to the sink.

  "Nothing." His face as usual was inscrutable, probably from too many years of working in law enforcement. "You've been mixed up in it enough. Let it go."

  "Let what go?" Barry and I both turned as the back door opened and my son Peter walked in. His tone was confrontational,as though he'd immediately assumed whatever Barry was suggesting was wrong. Peter had called earlier to say he'd be stopping by to pick up his golf clubs. Though he had his own apartment, all his sports equipment was still here. He looked at Barry and the tools on the table, and his eyes narrowed. "I would have fixed your toaster."

  Not in this lifetime. I loved my older son dearly, but I knew him for what he was. Peter could fix deals, not things. He would have just bought a new one. Not that it was really about the toaster, anyway. Peter had shown a certain degree of animosity toward Barry from day one. I gathered it was something about the idea of my dating and whatever else I might be doing with Barry that didn't sit well with him.

  The first time they'd met was at a party I'd thrown for my son Samuel's birthday. Peter took one look at Barry and pulled me into the kitchen, wanting to know who he was and how I'd met him. He wasn't any happier when he heard the details.

  "You picked up a stranger in the grocery store," Peter said, looking at me as though I'd lost my mind.

  "He wasn't a stranger." I explained that I knew Barry from traffic school. "He was the last-minute stand-in teacher, taking over for the motor cop who came down with food poisoning. I was there for making a right turn on a red light without stopping, though I still say it was yellow."

  Peter glared with disapproval as I continued.

  "So, you see, when I saw him in front of me in line at the grocery store, I already knew him, more or less." Peter had seemed no more sympathetic when he heard about Barry's handheld basket containing a single box of frozen macaroni and cheese, along with a six-pack of beer. "His groceries looked lonely." I'd gestured toward the counter crowded with food ready to be served. "And I had a cartful of pot roast and potatoes and fixings for that." I pointed towardthe German chocolate cake on the pedestal plate. "I invited him to join the party."

  Despite Peter's giving Barry the evil eye for most of the party, Barry had enjoyed the company and the food, and had fixed my electric can opener. Since then he had fixed every broken and half-broken thing in the house and become part of my life, and Peter had never changed his opinion.

  I recognized the same unhappy look now as Peter took out a glass and poured himself some orange juice.

  "I was telling your mother she should skip Ellen Sheridan'sfuneral," Barry said, wrangling the toaster innards. I guess all his cop work had taught him to deal with disapprovaland confrontation, because he never seemed botheredby Peter's manner.

  "But she was a neighbor," I protested. "And Charlie's partner. She came to his funeral. It would be strange if I didn't go to hers."

  Peter drank the contents of the small glass in a single swallow and set it down on the counter. "He's right. You shouldn't go."

  "What?" I stammered.

  "You should do what he says. Let it go."

  I don't know who was the most surprised by Peter's comments. In all the times his path had crossed Barry's, Peter had never even come close to going along with anything Barry said.

  I almost wanted to skip the funeral to cement their new-foundagreement.

  But only almost.

  "HOW DO YOU THINK I'D LOOK AS A BLONDE?" Dinah patted her spiky salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm thinking it would knock off a few years." Dinah had offered to come along with me to the funeral even though she'd known Ellen only in passing. She kept the mood light as I drove through the gates marked HILLSIDE MEMORIAL PARK.

  "And that is off of how many years?" I smiled at her expectantly.

  "Ha, ha. You didn't really think I'd fall for that?"

  It was more of a tease than an effort to get at the truth. Dinah was determined to keep her age vague.

  "People know your exact age, and they start to judge you. Of course," she continued, her expression growing serious as we passed a grassy hillside marked with headstones, "gettingolder is definitely better than the alternative."

  Dinah had jazzed up her black jacket and pants with several intertwined long scarves in shades of green, earringsso long they almost hit her shoulders, and a lot of silverbracelets, which jangled as we walked toward the chapel. It was a gorgeous September day, with warm, dry air that felt like silk, and it seemed a shame to have to go inside. By the time we got there, all the seats were filled and we had to sit on folding chairs in the back. Ellen would have been pleased at the turnout and the fact that Lawrence Sheridan had gotten the A-list celebrant to handle the proceedings.She managed to soften all of Ellen's edges and build up all of her good points. Even with all the differencesbetween Ellen and me, I couldn't help but tear up.

  After the service, Dinah and I followed the snake of cars to the burial site, but we didn't join the proceedings. It reminded me too much of Charlie's funeral. It was a relief to head to the reception.

  The street in front of the Sheridan house was usually empty, but by the time we drove by, every inch of curb space was taken. I drove home and parked in my own driveway, and Dinah and I walked the two blocks.

  "I might have to duck out. I'm expecting a call," Dinah said as we got in sight of the white picket fence and coral roses that marked the front of the Sheridans' yard. "Mr. Online wants to go live-voice." Her face beamed with a hopeful smile before going back to funeral-somber. "I understandgoing to the funeral, but are you sure you want to go to the house?"

  I repeated what I had told Barry and Peter--about Ellen's being a neighbor and Charlie's partner--but added what I hadn't told them. "To see if I can find out anything about who really . . ." I gestured with my hands, hoping Dinah would fill in the blank.

  Dinah got it and started to say something, but her cell phone interrupted. "I'll catch up with you," she said, stoppingas she pulled it out.

  As I continued toward the house, I noticed a throng of people gathered at the entrance to the yard. I was straining to see what was going on, when CeeCee stepped next to me. She knew how to dress for a funeral. I had worn my all-occasion black pantsuit with flats, and left my shoulder-lengthhair moussed and loose. CeeCee wore a white silk shell under a perfectly tailored black suit with a pencil skirt, designer sling-backs and a matching purse. She completedthe look with a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses.