Behind the Seams Page 9

  “I can’t call any of the other PAs and ask them to check. You saw how they were, Molly. They all think I’m guilty. You think anybody is going to try to help me. No way.” Now they were both looking at me.

  “Maybe I can figure something out,” I said.

  I had to walk back to my house and pick up the greenmobile and drive back to the bookstore. I did my best to make up for all the lost time. I updated Mrs. Shedd on the fake book signing, telling her about the scheduling board and that I’d met the person who was taking over for the dead woman. I thought it might make her feel a little better about me being gone.

  “I’m glad you got something accomplished for the bookstore,” Mrs. Shedd said. “As far as I’m concerned, the business with the blogoir author is off my plate and on yours. Just remember our aim is to get something that says Shedd and Royal Books and More in the shot.”

  Just before I left for the day, I went over to the event area and tried to picture where to put a sign. Through the window, I saw that the sky was my favorite translucent blue and still had a hint of light. It had been a trying day and I was glad to be finally going home.

  I left the car in the driveway and crossed through my backyard. The orange blossoms were just about finished, but the air was still filled with their sweet scent. Floodlight illuminated the lawn, which thanks to the winter rain was a bright spring green. Pink and red carnation blossoms showed as bright spots in the flower beds. More hyacinths and daffodils had popped up from the bulbs I’d randomly spread around the previous years. The dogs flew out as soon as I opened the back door. Okay, the flew related to Cosmo. The little black mutt loved to charge out and run around the yard and check his territory. Blondie followed more slowly and, after a few sniffs, draped herself on a chaise lounge.

  I’d left the house in a hurry. Nell had just honked and I’d run out. I was surprised to find the coffee mug I’d left on the table was in the dishwasher. Someone had brought the mail in and set it on the kitchen table. I was pretty sure it must have been Barry, because his flannel shirt was hanging on the door handle. I checked on the shelving unit and it was definitely closer to being finished.

  During my afternoon at the bookstore, I’d thought about the best way to deal with who had sent the sweetener to Robyn. I was sure the cops could do a more efficient job than I could, but I didn’t think Detective Heather would appreciate my suggestion. More than not appreciate it, I was pretty sure she’d ignore it. But if it came from someone else—

  I picked up the phone and called Barry’s cell. Expecting to get his voice mail, I had my message all worked out. I was caught off guard when he answered and barely croaked out a hello.

  “Babe,” Barry said with a lift in his voice when he realized it was me. “You found the brochures I left about a condo development in Simi Valley. Don’t you agree it would be perfect for us?”

  He sounded a little disappointed when I said I hadn’t seen them yet, though as I was talking, I found them on the counter and promised to look them over. I told him about my morning at the studio and about Nell’s remembrance about the box of sweetener. “I was just thinking maybe you could tell Heather about it. Nell said they log everything in. Whoever sent it has to be the real killer.”

  There was silence at Barry’s end for a moment and then a tired sigh. “Molly, I can’t suggest anything to Heather. I’m sure she’s already checking on who had access to the sweetener and where it came from.” He paused a moment. “Doesn’t it seem awfully convenient that Nell suddenly remembered that the sugar substitute was sent to the victim and that only she knows about it?”

  “Barry, she’s CeeCee’s niece, and even though she barely crochets, she’s one of the Hookers. She’s not a murderer.”

  I heard Barry breathe for a moment before he spoke, which is what he usually did when he thought I wasn’t going to want to hear what he had to say. As usual, he was right. “Murderers have families and hobbies. Just because you know someone, doesn’t mean they’re innocent.” Before I could protest, he continued. “I did hear it was confirmed the poison in the drink was cyanide and it was the cause of death.” He told me more than I wanted to know how cyanide worked and finished with, “It acts so fast. Once she drank the coffee, it was already too late.”

  I tried to tell him that Heather was so sure Nell was guilty, she wasn’t checking anything else.

  “Molly,” Barry said with a frustrated sound. “You know I can’t get mixed up in Heather’s case. Let’s talk about something else like that I’ll be finished soon and I was planning to stop by for a while.” His voice was heavy with suggestion. “We could look over those brochures together, among other things.” There was a short pause. “Should I pick up some Chinese?”

  I wasn’t happy with his answer even if I understood. Just when I was going to agree to the Chinese food, someone started talking to him and abruptly he said he had to go. So much for any plans. I sat down at the kitchen table and glanced through the condo brochure. It showed off a nice-looking town house with a small yard along with listing all the amenities like the pool and clubhouse. I understood why he wanted us to start with a new place, but I wasn’t sure I agreed. In any case, there was lots of time to think about it. It wasn’t like he’d put a down payment on a place. I left the pamphlet on the table. I was sure if Barry hadn’t gotten off the phone so quickly, he would have repeated his usual admonition for me to stay out of the investigation. It was pretty much a given, just the way it was a given I wasn’t going to listen.

  If he wouldn’t get Heather to check out who had delivered the package, I’d have to figure out a way to do it myself. I already had an idea.

  I pressed in Mason’s number. He answered on his cell, but he was home. “What’s up, Sunshine?” he asked.

  I started to tell him about the whole scenario from the morning, but he stopped me. “I was just going to go out. I was going to pick up some dinner. Join me, and you can tell me all about it on the way,” he said. Why not? Mason said he’d be by in a few minutes.

  “I was just going to get some food to go,” Mason said as I got into his black Mercedes, “and take it back to my place. Does that work for you?”

  “I interrupted your plans,” I said with a shrug, “so, sure, whatever you were going to do is fine.” Mason said something about being glad for the company and the next thing I knew, he’d gotten on the 101 freeway.

  “I hope you don’t mind a ride. I have to pick something up from my office first,” he said. He got off at Coldwater Canyon and headed toward the mountains. I barely noticed the twisty ride and the lights of the houses on the hillside as I gave him the whole unvarnished story from the morning.

  “Nell should really call me,” he said. “She needs to have somebody advising her on what to do and say or not say.”

  “She thinks because she’s innocent that that’s enough. She thinks getting a lawyer makes her look guilty.”

  Mason made a tsk sound. “I hate to say it, but she’s right about the general feeling that someone who hires a lawyer when they haven’t even been arrested is guilty. Not that I’m saying she shouldn’t get one anyway. But think about it. What kind of reaction do you have when you see some guy’s lawyer speaking for him on a morning talk show.”

  “Yikes, now that you mention it, you’re right. She’s right,” I said. I thought back to watching the news and seeing some lawyer doing the talking while his client mutely stood by. My first thought was, what’s the guy afraid of saying. And my second thought was that he was guilty of whatever he was being accused of.

  “She doesn’t need any help looking guilty,” he said “We know it, and I’m sure the cops do, too, that she had the perfect storm of motive, means and opportunity.”

  “Geez, when you put it that way, it really does look bad for her.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t do it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I can’t explain why I know, but I just know she didn’t.”

  Once we reached the city side of th
e Santa Monica Mountains, he drove to Century City. At one time, it had been part of a film studio, but then had been developed into office buildings, luxury condos, a hotel, and shopping and entertainment centers. He pulled in front of a high-rise, made a call and a moment later, the security guard came out carrying a briefcase.

  Mason thanked him and put it in the backseat. “Okay, business taken care of, now for food. I was going to pick up some wrap sandwiches and side dishes.”

  I told him it sounded good to me. Actually anything sounded good to me. Somehow in all that had gone on, I’d forgotten to eat. I was always up for serendipity in the food department anyway.

  The small café was getting ready to close, but the owner seemed to know Mason. I let Mason do the ordering, and a few minutes later, we left with shopping bags of delicious-smelling food.

  “One more stop,” he said, heading for Melrose. I knew where he was going before he pulled up to the curb. I didn’t get there often because it was in the city, but it was my favorite cake bakery. Their berry cake was probably my favorite cake in the world. We both went inside and looked at the glass case of cakes sold by the slice. They all looked good, but I still went for a slice of the berry cake. No surprise, Mason got devil’s food.

  Driving home, I felt naughty, like being out late on a school night, but at the same time it was fun. Mason lived in the flats of Encino. His house was huge, particularly for one person and a small dog. He’d bought out his wife’s share of the sprawling ranch-style house when he’d gotten the divorce and seemed to enjoy having so much space. I’d actually only been there a couple of times. It seemed like he mostly came to my place or we went somewhere.

  Spike was patrolling the door when we came in from the garage. The tiny toy fox terrier seemed to have no concept of his size and took his job as watch dog very seriously. He ran around my feet, keeping me in the doorway until Mason laughed and told him it was okay.

  Then he followed us into the kitchen as we carried in the food.

  I felt guilty. Although I’d told Mason all about what was going on with Nell, I’d gotten distracted and never brought up finding out about the package. Wasn’t that why I went along in the first place? I quickly mentioned that Nell had remembered that the box of sweetener had been sent to Robyn. Mason picked up on it right away.

  “So, you think whoever sent it is the real killer,” he said. “Very good, Sunshine. And it must have come pretty recently,” he added.

  “How did you figure that?” I asked.

  “Elementary, my dear. Because if the packets were tainted, as soon as she used one she’d . . .”

  “Die,” I said, and he nodded.

  “Even if they hadn’t all been tampered with, my guess is the ones with the poison would have been positioned on the top,” Mason said as he put everything out on the counter and we made up plates. He’d gotten several kinds of wrap sandwiches, pasta salad, green salad, roasted potatoes and fruit salad. We took our plates of food into the den that overlooked the pool. Mason’s yard was landscaped beautifully, complete with a waterfall cascading into the free-form pool. Lights had been strategically placed to illuminate the lush foliage.

  “It happens you’re right about the time frame. Nell said the package had come in the last week,” I said, salivating at my plate of food. I’m sure the food tasted delicious, but I was so hungry, I practically inhaled it. Of course I had room for dessert. I enjoyed every mouthful of the yellow cake covered with whipped-cream icing, along with strawberries, blueberries and raspberries.

  “So you want to find out who sent the package,” Mason said with a grin. “Barry wouldn’t help you, would he?” Mason said, and I nodded. “Let me make some calls in the morning.”

  I thanked him profusely and he did a little mock bow. “Glad to be of service.”

  I was shocked when I saw how late it was and quickly helped him clean up and then he took me home. I hadn’t noticed, but Mason had gotten an extra piece of the berry cake for me to take with me. “I’ll call you in the morning, hopefully with an answer,” he said as he pulled in front of my house. I looked for my keys and was about to get out of the car when I saw my front door open.

  “Uh-oh,” Mason said as Barry jogged down the path to the street.

  “Where were you?” Barry demanded. “You didn’t answer your cell phone.”

  “It’s my fault,” Mason said, leaning across the seat. “I had to pick up something from my office and then we got some food.” He handed the white box to me. “Don’t forget your cake.”

  I got out of the car and fumbled for my BlackBerry. Somehow it had gotten set on silent.

  “You can leave now,” Barry said to Mason in an angry tone, and to punctuate it, he closed the front door of the sleek black car.

  I knew Barry well enough to understand his seeming anger was a cover for worry.

  “I told you that I was going to come over and bring Chinese,” he said when we got inside. I could smell the food as soon as I got in the door. “You could have at least called and told me you were going out.”

  Just then the door opened and Samuel walked in. He nodded a greeting to both of us and sensed trouble. Whether it was nosiness or some thought of protecting me, he hung around instead of going into his room. Having an audience made it awkward, and in a stilted tone, I reminded Barry of the interruption during our phone call. “You know how it is. Something comes up with work and all bets are off,” I said.

  Barry blew out his breath a few times. He knew what I was saying was correct. Still, he wasn’t happy. “You couldn’t have just stayed home?” he said.

  “I wanted to talk to Mason about something,” I said. Before Barry could start asking more questions, I just told him he wouldn’t want to know what the something was.

  “What are these?” Samuel said, picking up some condo brochures on the living room coffee table.

  Before either of us could answer, Samuel’s cell phone got his attention and he went into his room to talk. Barry picked up the brochures where Samuel had left them. “Everything will be different when we have our own place,” Barry said.

  I was too tired to even tell him about my concerns. I took the path of least resistance and just apologized for everything. Who knew the word sorry would have such an aphrodisiac effect? I was too tired to fight, but not to make up.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I’VE GOT GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS,” MASON said when he called the next morning. The morning was overcast, with a silvery sky and flat light. There wasn’t a shadow to be found. I was leaning on my arm, nursing a cup of coffee. It was just regular brew, but what I really needed was the jolt from an added shot of espresso.

  Barry and I had spent a lot of time making up, and then he’d gone home and I’d fallen into a dead sleep. This was my second cup of coffee and it still hadn’t cut through my sleepy fog. I yawned and Mason laughed. “Did the detective keep you up all night interrogating you about where you’d been and what you’d been doing?”

  “More or less,” I said, reaching for my coffee.

  “Hmm,” Mason said in a less happy tone. “Maybe I don’t want to know what was going on. Now for the news. The bad news is my calls about the package came up empty, but the good news is I have a plan for how we can get the information you want. I have everything worked out. I think you’re going to like this. Do you have a suit or something?”

  He preceded to give me instructions on what to wear and we arranged to meet in Encino on a street corner. It was all very cloak-and-dagger and frankly kind of exciting. The only problem was it had to be today.

  I stopped at the bookstore first just when I was supposed to start for the day. I found Mrs. Shedd putting out some new releases in the mystery section. When I said I needed to take a couple of hours off, her face stiffened. “You need to take more time off?” Mrs. Shedd said, sounding a little frantic. “I’ve always let you make your own hours because I always came out ahead. You spent more time here than I paid you for. But lately . . . Ar
e you trying to make up for it? You know it doesn’t work that way. It’s not like you were putting hours in the bank.” She caught herself. “Oh, Molly, I’m sorry. I know you work far more than I pay you for. It’s just that I was hoping the bookstore would be back in the black by now and I’m worried.”

  I assured her the Salute to Chocolate event would be a big draw and that, one way or the other, I’d figure out how to get a sign in the fake book signing. Then when I explained the time off was to help CeeCee’s niece, she totally backed down. “We’re all like family,” she said. “Go on.”

  “ACTION,” I SAID UNDER MY BREATH. THIS TIME I really did wish I had one of those chalkboards to clap. Mason and I were standing outside the glass door that served as the public entrance to the BOO production offices. I had done what Mason had requested and gone into the back of my closet and found a Chanel-style suit with a boxy jacket and a pencil skirt. I’d pulled out heels and a white blouse. Finally I’d taken my shoulder-length hair and put it in a low ponytail and put on much more makeup than I ever wear.

  Mason took a last look at the result of his suggestions and shook his head in disbelief. “I barely recognize you,” he said. “Let’s do it.” He pushed the door open and walked in brusquely, with me rushing after him. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Sally. You’re supposed to follow up on things.”

  “But I did, Mr. Fields. This is where I sent the package.” I gestured toward the reception counter.

  “But did you check to see if it got here?” he said as though he was pushing me in a corner.

  “I’m sure it got here.” I tried to say it with a wail in my voice and to look like I was about to cry.

  Since it was Saturday, there was only a skeleton staff. Mason had chosen the day deliberately, figuring there was less chance anyone would recognize me as having been there before and more chance we’d be able to get what we were after.