For Better or Worsted (4 page)

Her mother seemed a little surprised and said the books might be too old for her.

“Mother,” she said as she rolled her eyes skyward. “I’m going to be eleven.” There was some discussion about her upcoming party. When Emerson said she’d booked the pizza place that had all the games, Lyla looked stricken. “You didn’t, Mother. That’s for children.”

I was familiar with the place and had to agree with Lyla, though I wasn’t going to say anything. I think Emerson must have seen her daughter’s point, too, because as I excused myself to get some young adult books on writing, I heard the mother say something about rethinking it.

By the time I’d come back with the books, Mr. Sherman was there. I did a double take. I don’t know why, but I was expecting someone with a white beard and wire-rimmed glasses. Mr. Sherman, or Ben, as he told the kids to call him, was young, with a mop of unruly black curly hair and an overly serious attitude. Several more kids had joined the group. Their parents hung around for a few minutes, and then I saw them, along with Emerson, make their way to the bookstore café.

Somehow I felt responsible for the success of this new program at the bookstore, so I used setting up a display of writing books as an excuse to hang around and see how it went. Ben won them over in a flash, particularly when they heard his credits.

“I suppose you want to know what I’ve written. Some of the stuff you’d probably find pretty boring, but how many of you watched
The New Adventures of Janet and the Beanstalk
?” Lyla and the two other girls raised their hands. The boys didn’t look that impressed. “Who says girls can’t be heroes?” Ben said. He looked at the boys and mentioned writing some episodes for
Zeon, Spaceship Mechanic
. He glanced in my direction and described some literary stories in several academic anthologies. He told the kids and me that it was good not to lose touch with the real world when you were a writer. He managed that by dabbling in the food industry. I got it. Food industry was his way of saying he was a waiter.

I didn’t want to hover too much, so as soon as he gave them their first writing exercise, I walked away.

The event area was on the side of the bookstore that faced Ventura Boulevard. The back corner of the bookstore had recently been turned into a yarn department, which I was in charge of, too. It was also the spot where the crochet group, the Tarzana Hookers, met. Once we’d put up a permanent worktable in the middle of the colorful department, some of the Hookers were almost always hanging around, even when it wasn’t a real meeting time.

Though this morning was a regular get-together. As I approached the table, I was surprised to see how full it was and that there seemed to be some new members. CeeCee Collins had her position at the head of the table. We all thought of her as the leader of the group. Along with being a superb crocheter, she was also our resident celebrity, not that that had anything to do with her leading the group.

Everybody recognized her from some part or another of her career. Long ago, she’d had her own sitcom,
The CeeCee Collins Show
, but now most people recognized her from her reality show,
Making Amends,
or her supporting lead in the film
Caught by a Kiss
, which featured Anthony, the vampire who crocheted. There was even a rumor that she might get an Oscar nomination.

She was always the best dressed of us, concerned that the paparazzi could pop out from behind one of the bookcases and snap her picture at any time.

“Molly, dear, are you joining us?” She held up the multicolored piece she was working on and explained it was a pet mat she was going to donate to the pound. “So those poor dears don’t have to sleep on the cold cement floor.” She made a broad gesture around the table. “It’s not a group project,” she said sounding disappointed. “Everybody seems to be doing their own thing.”

For the moment, all seemed peaceful and I pulled out a chair. But before I’d sat all the way down, all heads turned my way. “We heard about the wedding,” Rhoda Klein said. She was a no-nonsense person with a thick New York accent, even though she’d lived in Southern California for twenty years. Her brown hair was short and neatly cut. Her clothes were always comfortable looking, which was a nice way of saying dull.

“Molly, were you there when it happened?” Sheila Altman said in a hushed voice. Her face looked tense as she turned to the rest of the group. “I knew the victim. Sort of, anyway.” The words came out in a nervous squeak. She pointed down the street to Luxe, the lifestyle store where she worked, but she didn’t say more.

Sheila was the youngest in the group, still in her twenties. She was pretty much alone in the world, and we all looked after her.

“I heard they arrested the mother-in-law,” Elise Belmont said. She had a birdlike voice and wispy brown hair to go with it. In fact, all of her seemed wispy, like a good wind would carry her away. She sighed and looked down at her project. None of us said anything to her anymore. We just accepted that everything she made was going to be vampire style, as she called it. It all had to do with her almost worship of the character Anthony, the vampire who crocheted. It meant she exclusively used the half double crochet stitch because she thought it resembled fangs, and almost everything she made was black and white with a splash of red somewhere.

“But they let her go, didn’t they?” We all jumped at Eduardo’s deep voice. We should have been used to it by now. He’d been a part of the group almost from the beginning, but we still reacted anyway. At least we didn’t all stare at him anymore. He was striking-looking, with long black hair he wore in a ponytail. But then he had been a cover model in his younger days. When he’d gotten to the age where he started being cast as the pirate’s father instead of the pirate, he figured it was time to branch out. He’d bought the Crown Apothecary, which was a fancy name for a drug and sundries store.

“I guess Adele isn’t coming,” I said. “But we have new people.” I looked to the two women who were sitting at the far end of the table. Both were dressed in somber colors, and I was surprised to see that one of them was knitting.

CeeCee dropped her voice and gestured with her head. She was trying not to smile. “Dear, maybe you should look again.”

More than look again, I walked down to the end of the table. The knitter was definitely someone new, and I started to introduce myself when the woman next to her looked up.

“Adele?” I said, far louder than I intended to. You have to understand. Adele never blended in anywhere. She naturally chose wild colors and unusual outfits that seemed more like costumes than clothes. The woman who sat before me was wearing navy blue pants and a white polo shirt with a little lip gloss, and the only hint of crochet was a tiny pink yarn flower on her collar. I did another double take when I looked at her project.

Adele tended toward big projects in bold colors. So what was she doing working on a dainty necklace? I was a little surprised to note that she was crocheting with soft wire and adding tiny pink seed pearls. But that paled in comparison to something else: Adele had no reaction to the fact that the woman next to her had long needles clicking together.

We all thought crochet was the superior yarn art, but none of us made a fuss about it. Adele, on the other hand, viewed knitters as her natural-born nemesis. It all had to do with a not-so-nice stepmother who was a knitter, and even after all these years, it was a sensitive spot with Adele. When I say sensitive, I mean over-the-top sensitive. Yet here she was sitting next to this knitter without batting an eyelash.

Something was definitely up.

CHAPTER 4

“
QUIT STARING AT ME, PINK,” ADELE SAID. S
HE WAS
the only one who called me by my last name. She’d started out doing it because it annoyed me. She thought she should have been promoted to event coordinator and was more than a little miffed when Mrs. Shedd hired me from outside. It didn’t matter that I had some PR experience when I worked with my late husband. Calling me Pink was her way of having a little revenge.

But by now it had become a habit, and I wondered if Adele even remembered why she’d started doing it in the first place.

“Why don’t you tell us more about the wedding?” she said with an uncomfortable glance toward the woman next to her.

Something was definitely up. Adele never wanted to give up the spotlight.

“Molly Pink,” I said by way of introduction, as I held out my hand to the mystery woman.

She set down her knitting and threw Adele a disparaging glance. “I guess we’re casual here and introduce ourselves. I’m Leonora,” she said. I noticed that she didn’t offer her hand and guessed that she didn’t think handshaking was a woman’s domain. I rested my hand on the table as if that had been my plan all along.

Before I could pull out a chair, the bookstore cafe’s barista and cookie baker, Bob, showed up bearing a plate of brownie morsels.

“There are two kinds.” He pointed to the plate and said one side had nuts and the other didn’t. “I need your vote.” He began to go around the table, letting everyone pick out a brownie bit from each side.

“I shouldn’t,” CeeCee said. “The camera puts on ten pounds.” But CeeCee took two pieces from each side, despite her comment. Not a surprise—her sweet tooth was as well known as she was.

The rest of the table followed suit. When he got to Adele, he held out the plate to her. Adele started to reach toward it, but caught sight of Leonora shaking her head.

I think we were all shocked when Adele retracted her hand with a no, thank you. When Bob offered it to Leonora, she actually pushed the plate back at him.

“I never eat sugar,” she said. “Except for the five grapes I have for dessert at lunch.” There was something very proper about the woman’s posture. It was almost as if she had a rod up her back making her sit so straight. She had a long face framed by nicely styled, highlighted brown hair. She began packing up her knitting before she turned to Adele. “You see it isn’t hard practicing willpower. That drink powder will help you.” After that, she got up and said it was nice to have met us, and then she rather abruptly left.

“I might as well give this to you now,” Elise said, sliding a green shopping bag across the table to Adele. I noted a sticker that said, “Want to lose weight? I can help.”

“It’s a gift from her.” Elise pointed to the front door that was just swinging shut after Leonora’s departure.

Rhoda waylaid the bag before Adele got it. As Rhoda started to examine the contents, her eyes opened wider and she turned to Elise. “You’re selling supplements now?”

Elise put down the vampire-style pot holder she was making. “Yes, and if any of you want to order anything, let me know.”

Eduardo examined the contents of the bag. “I wanted to sell this weight-loss tonic at the Crown Apothecary, but the company only sells it through distributors like Elise.”

“My title is supplement adviser.” She waved at Adele to get her attention. “I just want you to know that I’m here to help you on your weight-loss plan.”

The bag finally made its way to Adele, and she took out one of the packets. Elise urged her to mix it with a glass of water immediately because it would help her ignore the brownies.

Dinah asked to see it first. “I’d like to see the ingredients. You should know what you’re taking.”

Elise took offense and insisted the powder was fine. She got up and returned with a glass of water and mixed the powder in. It got kind of thick-looking and turned light brown. We all watched while Adele reluctantly drank it. She made a face, no doubt expecting it to taste foul, and swallowed. Elise told us it tasted like red berry. Was that really a flavor?

Adele set the empty glass down and said it tasted better than it looked. Still, she didn’t seem sold on it. I can’t say I blamed her.

“Okay, what’s going on, and who is Leonora, and why didn’t you care that she was knitting?” I said.

“So, Pink, are you going to investigate the marriage murder?” Adele said.

What? Adele usually tried to downplay my investigative skills. Did she really think any of us would fall for that?

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Rhoda said. “Adele, we all know something weird is going on.”

Adele held her ground and continued to deny anything was strange, but her lip had begun to quiver.

“Dear, we’re like family. You can tell us what it is,” CeeCee said. I certainly hoped Adele appreciated how caring everyone was being. If the shoe was on the other foot, I honestly wonder if she would have been the same.

Adele took a deep breath, then let it out, before she tried again. “I know you all think I’m my own person, and I never bend to what other people think, but it’s different with Leonora. She’s my boyfriend Eric’s mother.” Then the story came out. Leonora was visiting from San Diego, and Eric had asked Adele if she could tone things down while his mother was here. He’d intimated that any future they had together required a vote of approval from his mother. There was more. Leonora had told Eric that she’d always dreamed his bride would wear her wedding dress.

Oops. Leonora was half a head shorter than Adele and a whole lot of pounds lighter. Now I got the diet supplement.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she gives me a thumbs-down,” Adele said in almost a wail. “You have to understand. Eric is the one. The yin to my yang. My soul mate, life partner.”

I tried to get Adele to lower her voice when I saw that Emerson had wandered into the yarn area. I remembered how I had hung around, waiting while my boys took swimming or art classes when they were Lyla’s age. I got up from my chair as Emerson looked through the cubbies.

“Do you knit or crochet?” I asked before offering my help.

She shook her head. “My thing is flower arranging. But I love the way you have the yarn colors arranged like a rainbow.” She glanced at her watch and sighed as she looked back at the event area. She smiled when she saw Lyla and the two boys walk out. The boys headed to check out the graphic novels, which was a fancy name for comic books. Lyla came toward us.

She joined her mother for a moment, then went over to the table and walked around it, looking at everybody’s work. “Is that knitting?” Lyla asked, pointing at CeeCee’s project.

Rhoda put a hand on Adele’s shoulder to keep her in place, expecting her to overreact to Lyla’s question. I was surprised to see Adele stay put and glare at us.

“What?” she said. “I’m a changed person. I can deal with knitters now.”

CeeCee didn’t look convinced and explained to Lyla that she was crocheting. She even demonstrated a couple of single crochets. Lyla wanted to know what CeeCee was making.

“I’m using up scraps of yarn and making a pet mat. We donate them to the pound so the dogs and cats will have something soft to lie on.” Lyla’s eyes got big as she listened to CeeCee, and she asked if it was hard to learn.

“I love animals, and I’d like to make something for them,” the girl said.

Emerson was watching her daughter and then turned to me. “Do you have a kids’ crochet group?” When I told her we didn’t, she waved to her daughter and said it was time to go.

As they started to walk away, a bunch of things came together in my mind. Mrs. Shedd was continually telling us the bookstore was on shaky ground, and we needed more revenue streams. Then I remembered hearing about Lyla’s upcoming birthday and the fact that she wasn’t happy with the idea of a pizza party at a place with a bunch of games. A party needed an activity. Lyla wanted to learn how to crochet. Maybe her friends did, too. And suddenly an idea was born.

I rushed after them. “We don’t have a kids’ group, but we do crochet parties.”