Gone with the Wool (22 page)

The ringing of a phone cut into my sleep, and I sat up suddenly, not sure of what day it was. As the room around me came into focus and I saw an annoyed looking Julius, who had been displaced, I realized it was Saturday. I looked at the clock before I answered and let out a sigh of relief—it was still very early, and I wasn't late for anything yet.

“I didn't want to wait until Sunday to call this week. I didn't wake you?” my mother said. Who did she think she was kidding? There was no way my doctor mother didn't know that it was two hours earlier here in Cadbury and that I never got up at six in the morning.

“No,” I lied. Why did I always do that when she called too early? Did I feel some kind of shame that I was still asleep? There was no time to analyze my emotions, because she got right to the meat of her call.

“Are Sammy's parents still there?” she asked. I groaned
to myself. I knew she knew they were still here. I uttered an uh-huh and she continued.

“So how is the visit going?” she asked brightly.

“You want to know the truth?” I asked. Of course she said she did. “While they're busy fussing around with Sammy, Bernard and Estelle seem to be having their own battles going on.”

My mother was all ears as I recounted hearing Estelle tell Bernard that something he was doing was a problem and he insisted he did whatever it was to relax.

“And she didn't give any hint to what it was? I hope it isn't drugs.” Then my mother quickly added, “I'm sure Sammy is nothing like that, except for that nonsense with the magic.”

“I'm not worried about Sammy being like his father. We're just friends,” I said.

“To you, you're just friends. But I bet he'd make a justice of the peace magically appear if you just said the word.” She paused for only a moment. “I know this is a cliché, but you could do a lot worse. Everybody loves Sammy.”

She paused, and when I didn't say anything, she spoke with a knowing tone to her voice. “Isn't this the place where you say, ‘Except me'?” When I didn't protest right away, she laughed. “Maybe you didn't say anything because you do love Sammy.”

“Maybe I do, but only in the friend way,” I said, and she made a hopeless sound. “If Sammy would just tell them the truth about his magic gigs, we could stop this charade.”

“You don't really believe Sammy wants to stop playing your boyfriend,” my mother said with a chuckle. We did a few more back-and-forths about Sammy, but meanwhile, I was thinking about something else. I knew she'd see Sammy's parents when they got back, and I knew they would bring up
the rumor about my muffins. Who could predict what they would say? They already weren't happy with me. By then they could want to bury me. Better that she heard it from me.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

I could hear the anticipation in her breathing. “I'm guessing by your tone that it isn't good.”

I spilled the whole problem with the sick football players and how Rosalie had implied it was my muffins and now she was dead. “Don't worry, I'm not really a suspect,” I said. “I think it's getting better, but the rumor is still out there.”

“Back up,” my mother said. “The woman is dead? How did it happen?”

“Sammy's parents aren't likely to bring up the dead woman. The whole town is keeping it quiet because it's Butterfly Week.”

“Casey, I can't believe how much you leave out of your life when we talk. I didn't know about any of this. You said you're not a suspect. Then who is?” As soon as she heard it was Dane's sister, she knew I was involved with the investigation.

“Remember, I offered to send you to that detective academy so you could get a private investigator license. The offer is still good.”

I was going to remind my mother I had a profession as a baker, but with what I'd just told her, that seemed a little shaky at the moment.

“Thanks for the offer. I'll think about it,” I said. I heard my mother laugh.

“Do you think I don't know that's a brush-off? I'm just saying it's there if you want it. Now tell me why that woman thought your muffins made the boys sick.”

I told her the details again.

“How many boys got sick?” she asked.

“I only heard about two,” I said.

“This is where I put on my doctor hat,” she said. “It seems to me that if there was something wrong with the food, more people would have gotten sick. And even if it was some bug going around, more people would have been affected. It sounds like there was something wrong with just their food.”

“Mother, I didn't think of that. I guess nobody did.” She seemed pleased that she might have been helpful, and we got ready for our good-byes.

“Your life continues to mystify me,” she said. “When I was your age,” she began, and I thought, Here we go with the usual, and interrupted.

“I know when you were my age you were a wife, a doctor and a mother, and then you always say, ‘And you're what?'”

“Maybe that wasn't what I was going to say this time. Actually, I was going to end it with, for better or worse you're my daughter, and although I don't always agree with your choices, I will respect them.”

I looked out the window to see if any pigs were flying by. Had my mother really changed?

I fell back asleep with the phone next to me. Eventually, a wonderful smell drifted through my dreams, and I opened my eyes with a start. Sammy was standing in the doorway, holding a container with food and coffee.

“It looks like you overslept. I finally get to bring you breakfast in bed,” he joked.

I looked at the clock and freaked. “Put it in the kitchen. I'm late.” I got up and started grabbing clothes and heading for the shower. He was sitting at the kitchen table when I came in.

“Julius has had his stink fish,” Sammy said, reaching down to pet the cat. Julius surprised me by leaning into his hand
and then jumping on his lap. Sammy seemed thrilled. I flipped the lid off the coffee and started to drink.

“This is the last day with my parents. And then everything can go back to normal,” he said. He sounded a little down, and I thought of what my mother had said.

“Good. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss you making things appear out of my hair, my ears, my hands and whatever else.” I hoped it would cheer him up.

“Like I always say, Case. You're the only one who gets me.” His eyes brightened, and he reached down toward the cat. “Oh, look what was in your ear, Julius.” A quarter seemed to have come from nowhere. The cat wasn't impressed.

“Now if you could make a can of stink fish appear,” I said, and we both laughed.

*   *   *

A few minutes later Sammy and I walked outside together. “I'm meeting my parents this morning and taking them to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Want to come along?”

“Sorry, I've got retreaters to deal with,” I said. “Otherwise, I'd be there.” My tone was clearly sarcastic.

“I wish I could just drop them off.” Sammy seemed forlorn, and I hugged him, hoping it would make it better.

I followed along as he backed his car down the driveway and waved as he pulled onto the street and drove away.

“I hope that wasn't as cozy as it looked,” Dane said. I hadn't noticed that he was standing in the street. I could tell by the shorts that he was out for a morning jog.

“I actually have stuff to tell you.”

“How about we talk about it tonight? You could be my date to the Butterfly Ball.”

“I have a date,” I said. His face fell, and I realized he thought I meant I was going with Sammy. “With a bunch of women and one man—my retreaters,” I added quickly. “I hope it's one of those things where people just get on the dance floor by themselves and move around.”

“Why don't you just tell me what you know now? Please, please let it be something good.” His tone was light, and I was amazed how he managed to keep it together with his sister still being the prime suspect.

“It's sort of good, but not that good. I told you before about the Hardcastles owning commercial property and Rosalie trying to muscle her way into the businesses.”

“Yes, and you wouldn't tell me who they were.”

“Well, now I'm ready to.” I named names.

“I like that you have a list of suspects. Though convincing Lieutenant Borgnine that there are other suspects is another story. We'll have to come up with a way you can let him think he figured it out himself, and soon. I'm sure he hasn't arrested Chloe because it's Butterfly Week. He's just keeping an eye on her though. She keeps complaining to me that wherever she goes, there he is.” Dane started to run in place. “Speaking of Lieutenant Borgnine, he'll be at the ball with Mrs. Borgnine.”

“Really! There's a Mrs. Borgnine? Now I'm really looking forward to going.”

I started to leave, but he didn't move. “What?” I said, looking at him.

“You gave him a hug,” he teased. “Don't I get one, too?”

*   *   *

Lots of people were walking around the Vista Del Mar grounds. Breakfast had just ended, and a crew
was working on the float for the parade. There was too much activity to keep it hidden anymore. Kevin St. John drove past me in his golf cart with the Delacorte sisters.

I stepped into the Lodge and noticed Liz Buckley was hanging by the counter. Her manner was a lot different than when I'd met her here at the beginning of the retreat. She'd seemed efficient and businesslike then. She still wore business wear, the same as when I'd seen her before, but she looked like she was just barely keeping it together.

“I thought I might run into you here,” she said. She led me off to a corner and then took something out of her bag.

When I looked down, she pressed a heavy envelope in my hands. She seemed a little nervous. “It's all there. I didn't want to give you another check.”

The envelope was thick with bills and a handful of change. I noticed a lot of the bills were singles. My first thought was it looked like it had come from a piggy bank. “You can count it if you like. I wouldn't blame you for not trusting me.”

“That's okay,” I said, putting it in my tote bag. “The Danish women seem very happy with the retreat.”

“Good. I hope you won't hold this against me and we can do more business. It will benefit both of us. I promise it won't be like this next time.”

I nodded as if I was agreeing, but I wasn't so sure there would be a next time. She was definitely on my suspect list. She'd certainly had access to Rosalie at the service, and she'd had a motive. The way she seemed now could be the aftermath of killing someone. Maybe she'd felt justified in killing Rosalie, but then afterward her conscience kicked in.

I could just hear Lieutenant Borgnine say, “She
could
have done it, but that didn't mean that she
did
do it.” Without evidence, it was all meaningless.

We parted company, and I went on to join my retreaters. I thought it would be hard to segue from thinking about Liz being Rosalie's killer to being with a bunch of knitters, but it turned out to be easy.

The room was ready for us as usual. A fire warmed the space, and the window looked out on the flat light of another white sky day. I walked around admiring everybody's work. It was impressive how much they'd done with the looms. Most were still working with the looms, but a few of them had made enough items and had gone back to the traditional way of knitting with needles. A group of retreaters were gathered together, crocheting butterflies. They were all chatting as they worked, and the atmosphere was warm and friendly.

Crystal nodded her approval when I took my seat and began working with my loom. “It looks like I'll have to finish it after the retreat,” I said, holding up my work.

“You don't seem particularly enthused about making a hat,” Crystal said, and I nodded in agreement.

“I noticed that you wear a lot of cowls,” Crystal said.

“They're all my aunt's creations,” I said.

Crystal took a bright red cowl out of her bag and showed it to me. “Maybe you'd be happier making one of these.” I loved the color and tried it on at her insistence.

“You're right. I would rather make a cowl.” I took it off and handed it back to her.

“It's even easier than the hat,” Crystal said. “I'm sure you won't have any trouble with it, but you know where to find me if you do.” She showed me some written instructions and a skein of the red yarn.

“My gift,” she said, putting the yarn and instructions in my tote bag. She pulled out the set of round looms in the bag and pointed out the one I should use.

“I'm sorry I've missed so much with the group,” I said to both Crystal and Wanda. Crystal looked forgiving, but Wanda didn't seem so anxious to let me off the hook.

“The retreat seems to have worked out okay, but only because I—well, and Crystal, too—kept it together. Next time, I think I should have more say in the plans.”