Yarn to Go (11 page)

The whole table tried to calm her down. Even Scott looked over from his usual spot at the table behind us. She finally seemed on an even keel and not like she was going to split any second, but I was still concerned.

I realized it was up to me to do something. Distraction was always good. It was another lesson I’d learned during my substitute teaching days. “Melissa and Sissy, we don’t really know much about you,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “How did you happen to sign up for this retreat? How did you even hear about it?” I asked. I instantly regretted lumping the mother-daughter team together when I saw that Sissy looked like smoke was going to come out of her ears.

Sissy rolled her eyes upward and stuck her arm toward her mother. “It was all her idea.”

The two women strongly resembled each other. Both were the same height with long, rambunctiously curly hair, but clearly in a effort to look different, Sissy had separated hers into braids while Melissa wore hers loose. I’d call the beige slacks and red and white pin-striped shirt that Melissa wore classic casual. Sissy had on jeans that purposely looked ragged, paired with a black-and-white striped low-cut tee that seemed to be constantly slipping off one of her shoulders, exposing the top of a tattooed rose.

“I don’t know if all of you know that we come from Fresno,” Melissa said. She waved her arm in the direction away from the water to indication its location. “I handle customer service for an online company.” Sissy was making faces.

“What she means is, she answers the phone in our kitchen and listens to people complain.”

Melissa gave her daughter a forced smile. “Whatever. But it is because of my job that I found out about this retreat.” Melissa explained that since most of the people who worked for the online company worked out of their houses, they’d never met. “The owners put together a meeting here last year so we could see each other face to face and do some brainstorming. Our family vacations have always been to Yosemite, which, don’t get me wrong, is great. But I’m a sea person, and I took one look at this place and fell in love with it.

“I was in the gift shop looking over their selection of yarn, and I saw your aunt. Well, I recognized her as the former Tidy Soft toilet paper lady, and when she saw me holding the yarn we got talking and she told me about this retreat. Edie came in, and Joan introduced us. There was something weird going on. Edie was nothing like she was yesterday. She was subdued and seemed to want to get away from us. I saw her winking at a man in the corner of the gift shop.”

“Really?” I said. “Did you notice anything special about him?”

Melissa shrugged. “He had on a baseball cap, and I wasn’t really paying that much attention to him. I figured he was probably her husband.” Melissa seemed perturbed as she continued. “You know, last night at the wine toast, I tried to remind Edie that we’d already met, but she claimed not to remember.”

A guy in a baseball cap? Could it be Michael, the man I’d just met, who claimed to be barely an acquaintance of Edie’s?

I tried pursuing the subject, asking Melissa what else she remembered, but Kris stepped in and pointed at her watch. “You better get your food before they stop serving.”

Once everyone had their dinner, the conversation turned to the events of the evening. There was to be a short concert in the auditorium put on by a jazz chamber music group who were guests of the hotel and conference center. The schedule my aunt had made up showed there was a Nite Owl Knit-Together after that.

Kris explained what it meant. “Your aunt always liked the group to do some communal project that could be donated.” I must have had that deer in the headlights look, because Kris said not to worry; even though it was beyond her duties as project designer and instructor, she’d handle it.

I held on to Lucinda’s arm as the rest of the table pushed back their chairs. “I need to talk to you,” I said in a low voice.

Out of habit, my friend began to put the dishes onto a tray behind us. “You’re off duty,” I said and got her to sit down.

“You’re right. Tag’s obsession with things is rubbing off.” The rest of the dining hall cleared out, and soon it was just us and the kitchen staff cleaning up.

“Okay, shoot. What’s on your mind?” she said. “Is it about Edie?”

I nodded vehemently. “You have no idea what you’ve missed.” Lucinda listened intently as I told her about my call to Frank and his many suggestions. Her eyes got wide when I told her about the missing double-point knitting needles. “Do you think those are the ones . . . ?” She didn’t have to finish. I knew what she meant and nodded that I thought they were.

“And you didn’t tell Lieutenant Borgnine?” she said.

“I know I didn’t kill Edie, so why would I tell him something that might incriminate me? I might as well just hold out my hands and say, ‘Arrest me.’ My plan is to find who did it and hand them over to Lieutenant Borgnine, and then where the needles came from won’t matter.” I surprised myself by saying that, because up until that moment I hadn’t realized I even had a plan.

Lucinda sat up and seemed very animated. “I love the idea of us playing detective.” She pulled out a piece of paper. “We should make a list of suspects.”

“I’m more concerned about what we don’t know. How can we figure out who did it when we don’t even know for sure how Edie died.”

I noticed Lucinda was looking out the window at the crowd of people on the path. “They must be going to that concert,” I said, and Lucinda nodded longingly.

“You really want to go, don’t you? Jazz chamber music?” I said, making a face.

“Tag and I never get to go anywhere. Owning a restaurant is twenty-four-seven, particularly when one of the owners is Tag. An occasional movie would be nice. So, yes, even jazz chamber music sounds appealing.”

“Why don’t you go? We can talk about this later. Besides, I have an idea, and it’s something I have to do alone.”

13

WHAT WAS MY IDEA? IT WAS WHAT MY FORMER
boss Frank had suggested—flirt with a cop. But what did I know about flirting? I’d be the first to admit that I didn’t have a clue how to pull off that hair-twirling, false-eyelash-batting girly stuff.

I left the Vista Del Mar grounds and went to my place. I looked down the street and saw that Dane’s red truck was parked in his driveway, so I knew he was home.

Since I wasn’t sure about pulling off the flirting thing, I armed myself with something I was sure of—freshly baked butter cookies. I always made a point to keep a couple rolls of dough in the refrigerator for just such an emergency. It only took a few minutes to preheat the oven and a few more to bake the cookies. Presentation counts, so I arranged them on a plate with a doily, grabbed an empty measuring cup and headed for the door.

As I started down the street, I noted with relief that there weren’t a bunch of cars parked around my cop neighbor’s house or music blaring. Maybe Mr. Party Guy was taking the night off.

As I walked up his driveway, I was suddenly enveloped in the most delicious garlicky scent, which made my stomach gurgle and reminded me that I’d been too busy dealing with my group to get my dinner. All I’d eaten was half of one of Lucinda’s doctored rolls. Trying to think of something clever to say, I knocked on the door.

I almost backed out and took off, but before I could take a step back, the door opened and Dane Mangano stood in the doorway.

“I thought I’d take you up on the offer of a cup of sugar,” I said, holding up the empty glass measuring cup. “And I brought cookies.” I held them out and waved them under his nose.

I didn’t have to worry about my flirting lack, because Dane took up the slack. His lips curved into a teasing smile as he gestured for me to come in.

“Finally I get the chance to show you what a good neighbor I am.” He stepped aside and let me pass, taking the measuring cup out of my hands. “You can have all the sugar you want.” Inside, the garlic smell was even more intense. I glanced at his living room as we passed through. The feeling was very masculine—leather furniture and a big-screen TV—but the red Indian print blanket hanging on the arm of the sofa and basket of pine cones sitting on the old wood coffee table softened the look. The fireplace appeared to be used often, and a stack of wood sat next to it. A tall bookcase sat against one wall, and along with books, it had framed photographs and some kind of awards.

He had me follow him to the kitchen, where I found the source of the wonderful fragrance. A big pot of tomato sauce was simmering on the stove. I noticed an oval platter of cooked spaghetti noodles sitting on the counter. Obviously I’d gotten there before the party started.
At least he feeds them
, I thought. And, well, I was salivating at the delicious smell. As I’d said, I was a master at dessert but a dud at the day-to-day kind of cooking. He put the measuring cup on the counter and took the plate of cookies from me, snagging one before he put them down. I could see how good they tasted by his expression.

“Hang on a second,” he said, picking up a bottle of olive oil and drizzling some over the cooked spaghetti before tossing the noodles to mix it. “It keeps the spaghetti from sticking together,” he said, noticing that I was watching him.

The kitchen reminded me of my aunt’s. These weren’t tract houses, but they had been built at the same time by the same builder, so it made sense that they were similar. The big difference was my aunt had taken the freestanding garage and turned it into a guesthouse. I was pretty sure Dane had turned his into a party room, since his red truck was always parked in the driveway and the music always seemed to blare from his garage.

He seemed less imposing now that he was out of uniform. The cargo pants hung low on his hips and did a nice job of showing off—was I going to say his butt? I moved my eyes up to the gray T-shirt he wore on top and found myself noticing the bulge of his biceps and his well-developed chest. I bet there was a six-pack hiding under there.

I chastised myself for my thoughts, reminding myself of his too many nights a week of entertaining. But it was impossible not to notice that he was very attractive, even if he seemed a little cocky. I suppose his height was considered average, but it just made him seem more compact and like he could spring into action. I’d seen him jogging by my place at night sometimes, and he could definitely move.

In my worry about flirting, I’d forgotten to look at my page of notes. What did I want to ask him? Here was my chance, and I was blowing it. I searched for anything. If I couldn’t ask about Edie, maybe I could find out the details of what had happened to Amanda Proctor. “Do you know anything about a woman who fell off the bluff near the lighthouse?” I asked.

He finished with the noodles and gave the sauce a stir. “I don’t recall her name offhand, but she was here for one of these retreats. The medical examiner ruled it an accident.”

I noticed there was a question in his voice. “But you don’t think it was?”

He shrugged. “I just thought it seemed weird that she’d be sitting on a bench, knitting, and then stand so close to the edge that she’d fall off.” He shrugged again. “The ME thought a gust of wind might have knocked her off-balance.” He glanced downward. “I was the first responder. She’d been there for a few days when somebody climbing on the rocks saw her and called it in.” He shook his head. “I won’t go into the gory details, but she was still holding a handful of yarn.

“Sorry for the delay,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth dish towel and turning to face me. “So which is it, brown or white?”

“Huh?” I said.

“Brown or white,” he said for the second time.

I gave him a blank look and he winked. “The sugar you wanted, remember?” he said with a teasing smile as he picked up the measuring cup off the counter. “C’mon, sweetcakes, we’re neighbors. You don’t need an excuse to stop over. I saw you drooling over the spaghetti. Sit down and I’ll get you a plate.”

“Sweetcakes?” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make sweet cakes,” he said. His dark eyes were dancing in a friendly way as he pulled out a large white plate and used a funny-looking tool to grab a bunch of noodles.

“Muffin would be more accurate, but let’s not get into nicknames.” I was practically drunk from the smell of the spaghetti sauce, and my stomach was making all kinds of begging noises. Still, I tried to say no, but he said it was too late as he ladled on some sauce and added a shake of ground cheese.

“Mind if I wash my hands?” I said.

“Be my guest.” He pointed down the hall to the bathroom.

Just like my aunt’s guest bathroom, this one had a door to the outside. How convenient for his party crowd. I didn’t intend to snoop, but after I’d finished with the soap and water there wasn’t a towel. I was just going to check the cabinet in the corner of the bathroom for something to dry my hands with. As soon as I opened the door on it, a stack of women’s clothes fell out. I put most of them back without looking, but I couldn’t help checking out the sweat suit on top. It was pink and one of those designer things that had words across the butt. This one said
HOT
. I quickly refolded it and put it back.

The towels were on the next shelf, and as I pulled one out, I almost dropped it. Directly next to the stack of fresh towels at eye level were several industrial-size boxes of condoms. I shut the door fast, stifling an embarrassed laugh. I suppose you could at least give him credit for being prepared.

His parties must be even wilder than I’d imagined. I had a hard time looking him in the eye when I came back into the kitchen. He’d put out a place mat, silverware and a napkin, with a plate loaded with spaghetti in the middle.

He took another cookie and gave me a thumbs-up as I dug into the spaghetti. He pulled out a chair and sat across from me. I barely stopped eating long enough to give him a thumbs-up in return. Let’s say I more or less inhaled the whole plate. I was scraping up the last of the noodles and felt like licking the plate.

“Look, I know you didn’t really come for the sugar, and you aren’t just dropping by to say hi. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you came by, but you want to level with me and tell me what’s going on?” While I was still considering what to say he continued. “I know you’re worried after what happened to that woman in your group. If you’re looking for reassurance, I’m here to give it.”

“What do know about Edie Spaghazzi’s death?” I said, suddenly remembering what I wanted to know. “Like how exactly did she die? When exactly did she die? Did Lieutenant Borgnine notify her family? And did they dust those knitting needles for fingerprints?”

He did a double take. “Aren’t you direct?” He started to give me the reassurance speech, but then he grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re doing the Nancy Drew thing.”

“I’ll have you know I’m experienced,” I said. “I worked for a private investigator in Chicago, and he’s advising me.” When he continued to grin, I went on explaining that I felt responsible for the group and felt like I had to make sure whoever was responsible got caught before everyone went their separate ways. I started to talk about the group and how they were all panicky because they felt like they were both suspects and possible targets. “I can’t let them down. I have an issue with not finishing things,” I said. Then I rolled my eyes. “Why am I telling you?” I thanked him for the food and started to get up. I needed to get back and get out of there before his bevy of guests started to arrive.

“Hey,” he said, following me to the door. “We’re on the case. True we don’t have a lot of murders in Cadbury, but we’ll get the guy. Don’t worry, even if it’s kind of weird. By the way, those silver needles weren’t the cause of death.”

“What?” I said, stopping. I thought back to finding Edie and the rancid smell. “Of course, the red stuff wasn’t blood. It was throw up, wasn’t it?” I said. “There was no blood. She was dead when somebody stuck them in her.”

“Very good that you figured that out,” Dane said before continuing. “After hearing from a number of people that the victim appeared very drunk after drinking only one glass of wine, and after finding a phenobarbital pill wrapped in a tissue in her purse, the medical examiner did some tests.” Dane stopped as if considering how to proceed. “I don’t know how to put this delicately, but the preliminary findings were that her vomit contained wine and phenobarbital. Alcohol and sleeping pills can be a deadly combination.”

“So that’s what killed her?”

“The sleeping pill in her purse wasn’t in a prescription bottle,” he said, ignoring my question. “Any idea where she got the pills?”

I just shrugged and said I didn’t know much about her or for that matter anyone in the group except Lucinda. I didn’t want to mention Olivia’s sleeping pills and put any more heat on her unless I was sure she was the killer.

“So are you going to tell me the cause of death or what?” I said.

He cracked a smile. “Persistent, aren’t you? I like that trait, maybe because I have it, too. The medical examiner said the wine and medication might have killed her if she hadn’t thrown up. Actually, he said he thinks the cause of death was suffocation. At first, he thought she choked when she threw up, but then he noticed there were some markings on the pillow that matched the residue on her face.

“So somebody used the pillow to smother her,” I said, and he nodded.

“Here’s the weird part,” Dane began. “If it hadn’t been for those needles sticking in her chest, the medical examiner said he might have just considered it an accidental death from the drugs and alcohol. He probably wouldn’t have even considered the markings on the pillow. But those knitting needles changed everything. She couldn’t have stuck them into her chest herself. You better believe we’re looking at any prints on them. Any of your group missing needles like those?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Appear nonchalant, I told myself. There’s no way he could know the fingerprints were mine. I tried to cover by saying I was new at knitting and didn’t really know much about needles or who had what kind. I didn’t do well in the nonchalant part, and he gave me a pointed look.

“I just shared with you. It’s only fair that you share whatever you know with me,” he said, clearly not buying my play at ignorance.

I heard a car pull up in front and the sound of voices as some people got out. Instinctively I glanced toward the sound and at the same time started to get up. “Sounds like you’ve got company,” I said.

“You don’t have to rush off. They’ll let themselves into the studio,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the garage. Studio, huh? Is that what he called it? What, was that a polite way of saying orgy room?

“I have to get back to my group,” I said, grabbing my empty measuring cup. He followed me to the door and rushed ahead to open it for me.

“Too bad you can’t stay. You could learn a few things,” he said.

I’ll just bet I could.