On the Hook Page 9

“What was it? Was he shot, stabbed, or was it poison?” Deana asked.

  “I don’t know—yet,” I said.

  Adele struggled to regain the group’s attention. “Don’t pay attention to her. She thinks she’s really a private private detective.” She turned back to me. “You should have told me you were investigating what happened.” Realizing she’d only given them more reason to want to talk to me, she abruptly changed the subject. “What we really need to talk about is how we can continue to meet.”

  There was some muttering among the group, but then Alexandra stepped forward. “I could step in as leader.”

  “Not at my place,” Sonia said. “Timothy and I had a special arrangement.”

  Leave it to Adele to offer the yarn department, and I had to explain that the table was reserved for our crochet group and the occasional yarn crafter that stopped to try out some yarn.

  “I’ll work on it,” Adele said finally, and then the group broke up.

  By then it was closing time. Adele caught up with me as I was turning off the lights. She was clearly wrapped up in thinking about something, and when I tried to ask her about Timothy’s fees, she gave me a vague look and grabbed my arm. “Pink, I need you to help me get back into Timothy’s.”

  I just looked at her and said without hesitation, “No.”

  Chapter Nine

  Friday morning, Dinah met me for coffee and an update on what had happened with Mason. To make it a real break for me, we’d gone down the street to Le Grand Fromage, where no one would come up and ask for help finding a book. I quickly gave her the lowdown on our meeting. Quickly because there wasn’t much to tell.

  “He really didn’t say anything about anything?” she asked when I finished.

  “He did advise me on what I called him about,” I said. “Remember, it was just professional. And he offered to see what he could find out.”

  Dinah saw right through my nonchalance. “It must have seemed strange.”

  I nodded. “I kept expecting him to be the old Mason, but he was so formal and distant.” There wasn’t really any point talking about it anymore, though, so I told her about Adele’s gathering. “Any one of them could be a suspect. But since all I really know is that Timothy was murdered, there’s no way to focus on any one of them. It would be better if they didn’t know that I was investigating, but I already let on that I had inside information, and Adele mentioned that I was a private private detective.”

  Dinah chuckled at the title before she drained her café au lait and checked the time. “Keep me posted,” she said as we both got up and went our separate ways.

  I was surprised to find Lara-Ann surrounded by a cluster of teenage girls when I walked back into the bookstore. She frantically waved me over. “They’re all looking for some book they heard about on YouTube,” she said. “And a woman came in looking for you. She disappeared before I could get her name.” I asked for a description, but she pointed at the group of girls. “I’m afraid they got all my attention.”

  “I’ll handle this,” I said, turning to the girls. “You’re looking for My Gal Ella, right?” They nodded enthusiastically and all started talking at once about how they absolutely had to have a copy right away. I had them wait while I checked the back room with my fingers crossed that the rush order had come in. When I returned with an armload of copies of My Gal Ella, they emptied my arms before I could hand them out. As they walked away I heard one of them say how neat it was to get the book right away instead of waiting for it to be delivered.

  I was smiling to myself as I walked toward the information desk. The smile faded as I saw Barry come in the front door. He was in cop mode and gave me a pointed stare. I let out a sigh, wondering what he was going to ask me this time.

  We both arrived at the information booth at the same time. I moved behind the small cubicle as if it would give me some protection.

  “What brings you in?” I asked. “Can I help you find a book?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and I thought maybe you were ready to talk about your relationship with Timothy Clark,” he said.

  “I’ve already told you I didn’t know him,” I said. I glanced at the phone, hoping it would ring and give me an excuse to end the conversation. The phone stayed silent, but I was surprised to see a tall plastic cup next to it on the counter. I seized on it as a way to change the subject. “Isn’t that nice? Someone left me a cherry Bobaccino.” Barry’s lips tightened as I told him about the new drinks the café had added. “Hmm,” I said as I caught a whiff of the almond scent in the drink. “I guess Bob must have added a cherry almond flavor to the list.”

  “You don’t want to drink that,” Barry said, reaching over the counter and snatching the cup.

  My mouth fell open as I looked down at myself and then back up at him. “Are you saying I need to go on a diet?”

  Barry’s face gave away nothing; he just turned and left with the drink. I knew he was annoyed that I wouldn’t talk, but really, that was a low blow.

  I thought about bringing up the incident when the Hookers got together for happy hour, but then I’d have to explain why he had shown up at the bookstore in the first place. It was easiest to say nothing. I’d save it to tell Dinah later.

  Rhoda had brought Leo, expecting that I would take him home with me for our next session. I tried to put it off, but Rhoda said he’d made so much progress already it seemed a shame to ruin the momentum. And then she thanked me a bunch of times and said I must have a magic touch. Okay, the flattery got to me, so I agreed. I sent him on to the living room while I checked the landline for messages. Mason had called promising inside information and told me to call his cell.

  “So what’s the inside information?” I asked as soon as I got him on the phone.

  “For one thing, I know what killed him. A pink squirrel.”

  “A pink squirrel killed him?” I repeated, incredulous. “I’ve never heard of a pink squirrel. How could a little squirrel, no matter what color it was, kill a big man like Timothy Clark?”

  I heard chuckling come through the phone. “Molly, a pink squirrel isn’t an animal. It’s a drink, a cocktail made with crème de noyaux, crème de cacao, and cream. It was invented in the fifties somewhere in Wisconsin. It’s supposed to taste delicious, like a milkshake or some kind of dessert. My source said that Timothy had one each evening. The crème de noyaux has an almond flavor, though it’s made from apricot pits, and is a perfect cover for cyanide.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling silly about my assumption that it was a mutated squirrel.

  “There was one half-full cocktail glass on a table next to Clark. The only fingerprints on it were his.”

  “Hmm. Then what makes the medical examiner so sure it was murder? Maybe it was suicide,” I suggested.

  “From what I understand, there was no suicide note, and they found a whole bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine chest, which would have been a nicer way to go. Cyanide doesn’t make for a peaceful exit. And someone cranked the air-conditioning up on the lower floor to keep the body cold, seemingly to make it harder to determine the time of death.”

  I thought back to when Adele, Elise, and I had been there. “And that’s why we didn’t notice a smell,” I said. “That explains the blast of cold air I felt coming up from the lower floor.” I shuddered at the memory of the cold and the thought that Timothy had been sitting there all along.

  “By the way, Barry must be keeping it to himself about the scarf. As far as I could tell, the cops don’t even have any persons of interest yet,” Mason said.

  I thought of something. “You said he had a pink squirrel every evening, and the cold air would only work so long—I bet it happened Monday evening, the day before we were there.” My mind wandered back to the drink. “I wonder how the killer mixed in the cyanide.”

  “Before you start playing detective, I have some background information on Clark.” I had pulled out a piece of paper and was about to take notes when Leo came into the kitche
n.

  “It was getting kind of lonely in there,” he said. “I thought you were going to give me lesson number two in the art of love.”

  It sounded as if Mason choked before he stuttered, “I didn’t realize you had company.” He let out a nervous laugh. “It certainly doesn’t sound like Barry. So, you’ve met someone new.”

  Leo was standing there, staring at me. There was no way I could explain the situation in front of him. “I’ll be free soon. Maybe we could talk in person. What if we had one of those pink squirrels?” Leo gave me a more perplexed look at the mention of the drink.

  “Hmm, this is a first,” Mason said. “It seems like it was always me suggesting we get together.” It was the first time he’d made any reference to our past, and I wondered if he thought I was being flirty with the suggestion.

  I considered saying that it was just professional, the way our last meeting had been. But I thought making too much of a point of it would only make it seem questionable. It would be far better for me to show him that’s all it was when we got together. Even the drink counted as research on what had killed Timothy Clark. We agreed to meet in the bar of an old-time steakhouse on Topanga Canyon Boulevard in an hour.

  “Isn’t it kind of last minute to make a date?” Leo asked. Then he laughed. “Look who’s giving who dating advice.”

  “It’s not a date. It’s more of a business meeting,” I said. “But let’s get down to your future dates.” I really wanted to change the subject because, with all my inner protesting, I was starting to wonder if I was in fact looking at it as a chance to see Mason again.

  We went back into the living room and sat down. I began by reminding him of what I’d said the last time about thinking before he said things, this time explaining that he might hurt his potential date’s feelings.

  He seemed surprised by what I said. “I never thought of it that way,” he said.

  Then I moved on. I remembered the story about his disastrous date with some friend of Rhoda’s and explained that he ought to take the woman somewhere and not a fast food place.

  He seemed at a loss about eating out. His wife had cooked all the time, and plain food at that. It turned out there was literally a whole world of food he had never tasted or even known existed. He was curious but hesitant.

  “Why don’t you talk to Rhoda and Hal? I bet they’d love to take you around to try sushi or falafel.”

  “Hal doesn’t like restaurants except for special occasions, and then it’s only for prime rib.”

  Was I really going to say this? “How about I take you somewhere? You pick the kind of food you’d like to try and I’ll find the place.”

  Leo brightened. “That would be wonderful. I have always wanted to try Chinese food.”

  “You’ve never had Chinese food?” I said in disbelief.

  He shook his head, looking a little sheepish, probably because of my tone. As I looked at him, something else crossed my mind. He’d shown up in washed-out chinos and a plaid shirt again. They made him look old and boring. His hair was neat but dull.

  “Have you ever considered updating your wardrobe?” I asked.

  He looked down at his outfit and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “Your clothes are kind of faded and not really stylish.”

  “Really?” he said, genuinely surprised. “Stylish,” he repeated with a laugh. “That’s a word I never really thought about. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “I suppose we could stop at a clothing store when we go out for the Chinese food,” I said tentatively.

  “You really think I need something new? This stuff looks okay to me,” he said.

  “Yes, I do,” I said.

  “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with going to a store and looking.” He seemed uncertain.

  It was silly, but I felt a sense of accomplishment when he agreed. What was I doing? I thought the point was just to give him some hints on what it was like dating when you were past the point where you were going to call it dating. And now I was taking him to a restaurant and shopping.

  We agreed on a time, and I handed him his parka. But he seemed overly concerned about where I was about to go. “What kind of business? I thought you worked in a bookstore. Why would you be meeting someone in a bar?”

  I thought over what to say and then just went for broke and told him the truth. “Remember we talked about how I get involved in solving crimes? A friend of mine has some information for me.”

  “Wow.” Leo sounded impressed. “I don’t suppose I could go with you?”

  Before I had a chance to say no, I heard Rhoda honk out front. “There’s your ride,” I said, ushering him out the front door.

  Chapter Ten

  I was about to hand the Greenmobile, as I called my vintage Mercedes, over to the valet, but Mason came up to the car and stopped me. “They don’t have pink squirrels,” he said. The valet gave us both an odd look, and then Mason told the guy I wouldn’t be staying. “Just pull around the corner and I’ll explain everything,” he said.

  I did as he suggested and pulled behind his black Mercedes SUV just as he came around the corner on foot. I cut the motor and got out.

  “So, what’s up?” I was doing my best to sound casual, but I felt a buzz seeing him again. He was casually dressed in a leather jacket on top of a sweater and jeans. I knew without seeing the label that they were some designer brand that came with the broken-in look. Instead of being upset that the bar didn’t have the drink we were after, he seemed excited.

  “I called around, and the bartenders all thought it was some kind of prank call when I asked if they had pink squirrels. It turns out that the crème de noyaux is a little obscure, but I found a store that sells it. I have the rest of the ingredients at my house. We could talk things over while we pick it up and then end with the actual drink at my place.”

  “Are you sure Jaimee won’t mind?” I said. I really intended to keep my voice neutral, but a little edge crept in.

  He seemed surprised at my question. “Why would Jaimee care?” he asked.

  “She didn’t like it when I came over before, and now that you’re back together, I’m sure she’d be even more upset.”

  Mason had stopped what he was doing and was just staring at me. “What made you think we were back together?” he asked.

  I felt like a deer in the headlights, stunned by his question. “Uh, I overheard her saying she wanted to get back together with you. And then she went along on your business trip.” I swallowed before I got to the last part. “Then, when I stopped by when you all got back, she was there talking to an interior decorator about redoing your house. Brooklyn asked for my key back. What else could I think?”

  Mason seemed dumbfounded. “It’s actually almost exactly the opposite. Everyone has moved out. Brooklyn has her own apartment. Jaimee must have been just meeting the decorator at my place. The house she was redoing was her new one. She got a new reality show, Hollywood Exes. It’s just me and Spike again,” he said, referring to his toy fox terrier.

  “Oh,” I said, after taking a moment for all he’d said to register. “Then I guess she won’t care if I come over.”

  We both chuckled at my comment, and then there was an awkward silence before Mason said something. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about this to start with. I should have just picked you up. I’ll follow you back to your place and you can leave your car there. I’ll drive from there and take you back.”

  When I hesitated, he chuckled. “I don’t have some nefarious plan. I just remembered that you have no tolerance for alcohol. I couldn’t let you drive home.”

  Well, he was right about that. I could just about smell the cork from a wine bottle and have it go to my head. “Good thinking,” I said.

  He followed me back to my place, then pulled behind when I drove into my driveway, and I got into the SUV with him. I was still stunned that I had been so wrong. But finding out that he wasn’t back with h
is ex hadn’t magically changed things and put us back where we used to be. There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and it seemed more comfortable to talk about Timothy Clark, which was why I was there in the first place.

  “So some unknown person had to be there while Timothy was having his evening cocktail. Find out who was there and find the killer,” I said.

  “That’s probably what the cops think, too,” Mason said.

  “And if they figure the scarf is mine, it’s not a stretch for them to think it was me,” I said with dismay.

  We pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse store that had a huge selection of alcohol. Mason had checked, and they had the crème de noyaux we needed.

  “It’s not going to come to that, but I could absolutely rip that evidence to sheds,” Mason said reassuringly. Then he distracted me with weird facts about the liqueur we were after. “It turns out that the apricot kernels crème de noyaux is made with have some natural cyanide in them or something your body metabolizes into cyanide. It’s colored red artificially now, but the nineteenth-century version was made from apricot kernels, cherry pits, and other botanicals. The color came from red cochineal.” He wrinkled his nose. “They’re bugs.”

  He grabbed the bottle off the bare-bones shelving and showed it to me. It was bright red, almost too red.

  “That’s where the pink comes from.” We headed to the front of the store and he paid for the bottle.

  He gave me some background on Timothy Clark as we drove to his house. Timothy had picked up the habit of drinking pink squirrels when he was on Bradley V, P.I., since it had been his character’s cocktail of choice. The irony was that while it had been the trademark drink of Binkie MacPherson, the drinks on the show were all fake. But Timothy had gotten curious about what the real drink tasted like, and once he’d had one, he’d become hooked.

  “I heard he had quite the sweet tooth,” I said. It was getting late, and even Ventura Boulevard was quiet as we headed to Encino.

  “Even though he was really more of a second lead, a lot of people thought he’d stolen the show. I suppose he thought he’d get another series when the show ended. He probably held out for a while and then realized it wasn’t going to happen soon and started taking some small parts to pay the bills, though it had to be a blow to his ego. He did some speaking engagements and somehow became an acting coach. He gained credibility when a couple of his students did well. One got a super-successful commercial. Another woman is a regular now on a sitcom called Ethnic Smethnic.