Hooked on Murder: A Crochet Mystery

but enough color so I won't look pasty.'

As if on cue, the jean-clad group with camera bags slung on their shoulders focused on us and began to shoot. The flashes blinded me, and I almost tripped on the curb.

'Hey, here comes Will Hunter,' one of the photogs shouted. They all turned toward the man with the unruly hair getting out of a Prius. CeeCee looked a little pouty at the loss of attention.

He grabbed my attention, too. Something about his tousleddark brown hair and slightly baggy but probably very expensive jeans paired with the black Armani jacket made me want to look at him. I think that is what they call charisma. I swallowed a laugh when I noticed that he was wearing slippers, the sheepskin moccasin kind. How funny that the guy who wrote Walk a Mile in My Shoes didn't wear them. Not that I thought for a minute he'd really writtenhis memoir. Ellen had probably hired a ghostwriter, who'd done the real work.

I couldn't take my eyes off Will as he made small talk with the photographers before passing us and going into the house. So what if I was old enough to be his very much older sister; I still found him adorably attractive.

A woman greeted him as he entered.

'Who's that?' I asked CeeCee.

'Natalie Shaw. She's . . . Sorry . . . She was Ellen's assistant.'

'That's Natalie?' I said, taking a closer look. I had seen Natalie at the Pink Sheridan office, but something about her seemed different. It took a moment before I realized what it was. Before, she had appeared somehow bedraggled, with her head down. Today, she was standing tall, and her whole demeanor seemed confident and in charge. For the first time, I realized that she had amber eyes and big lips.

I knew what was going on. I'd been through enough events with Charlie to understand that while this was an after-funeral reception, it was also business. Will Hunter was a client and had to be coddled. He and Natalie exchanged a few words as she ushered him inside. I had seen Ellen Sheridanact similarly toward clients at Charlie's funeral.

When Charlie died, I wasn't up to having a mob of peoplecome to the house. In fact, I'd barely been able to walk and talk, so we'd gotten a banquet room at a restaurant. To have put all this together, Lawrence Sheridan had to be much more functional than I'd been.

A woman greeted us in the foyer, introducing herself as someone from Pink Sheridan. I got a mere welcome, but CeeCee got the client treatment. As I walked away, the woman was still talking to CeeCee, touching her arm with a reassuring gesture.

The interior was barely recognizable as the same place where I'd walked in and found Ellen. Now it was full of life, but, then, that was the point of the reception--to say that life goes on.

How strange to be in the Sheridan house again. After not having been there for a long time, I'd been there twice in a few days. I supposed I ought to find Lawrence and give him my condolences, since I had missed him at the service. I headed back to the living room, avoiding the spot where I'd found Ellen. The carpet smelled newly cleaned, and the room was filled with flowers and people. A bar had been set up on the patio, and uniformed waiters were circulating through the crowd, serving platters of elegant baby quiches, shrimp with cocktail sauce and puff pastries with a mushroomfilling. Lawrence Sheridan walked through the room, and I considered approaching him, but he was with another of Ellen's celebrity clients.

One minute I was fine, and then suddenly a wave of emotion poured over me. This scene brought back memoriesof Charlie, and I reexperienced that punched-in-the-gutfeeling. Charlie had gone to Las Vegas to do some hand-holding and oversee the publicity for a soap-star client who was opening a boutique on one of the hotel's indoorshopping streets. Somewhere in the midst of it Charliehad collapsed. He died before the ambulance reached the hospital. Even now I teared up, remembering that wavingto him as he'd pulled out of the driveway on the way to the airport had turned out to be our last good-bye.

It seemed totally unreal. Charlie had always seemed immuneto middle age. He played racquetball several times a week and worked out at the gym regularly. He ate right most of the time and all his numbers were in the good range, but none of it had mattered in the end. His heart had simply given out.

Ellen had actually helped me get his body back home and make all the arrangements. Jewish tradition insisted that the funeral take place as soon as possible, so Charlie was buried within two days. It was over before I had processedwhat had happened. Throughout the next week, people had come by the house, though I had been in too much of a fog to even notice. I suppose the fog was a protectionagainst being overwhelmed with all the emotion.

I wondered about Lawrence. As I'd watched him walk through the room, he had seemed too in control, too distant. I wondered whether he really was that cold, or whether he was a master of shutting off uncomfortable feelings.

Natalie came into the room with Will Hunter in tow. They stopped within earshot, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop.

'I just want you to understand that everything is moving along. I'm working out the details to have the publicity for the book and your new movie coincide,' she said. 'I know you always talked to Ellen, but since I've been the one actuallyhandling your publicity for a while, the transition will be seamless. Lawrence will be involved, too.'

'It's okay, Natalie,' he said. 'I'm fine with giving you a chance. And if Lawrence is in the background, all the better.'

When they moved on, I glanced around for Dinah. Her call was taking a long time, which must mean it was going well. I nodded to a few neighbors and followed the smell of hot food into the dining room. More uniformed servers manned stations with a lavish array of poached salmon with hollandaise, baby lettuce salad with walnuts and pomegranate,whipped potatoes, and green beans with mushrooms and almonds. To finish it off, there was a dessert table with three tiered trays of miniature pastries.

I passed on the food, thinking back to my intent to gather information on who had killed Ellen. What did I know about being a detective? I certainly hadn't learned anything from Barry. He almost never talked about work, except when he'd had a satisfying end to a troubling case, and even then he didn't tell me how he'd solved it. Frankly, it seemed a little unnatural to me. Charlie had talked about work nonstop. But apparently Barry and his fellow cops talked only among themselves.

Even though I had been in this house twice in a few days, it seemed doubtful that I'd have this opportunity again. Should I have a look around? Nobody seemed to be paying attention to me, and they probably wouldn't notice if I slipped off. Thanks to my handcuffed tour with Officer James, I knew the exact layout of the place. Who says there isn't some kind of silver lining to every cloud?

But before I could make a move, I stopped myself. Was I actually thinking of snooping during a funeral reception? It seemed a little too much, even for me. I noticed the coffeebar set up along the wall. A young woman in the same white shirt and dark pants as the other servers was at the espresso machine. Perhaps a coffee drink would up my courage, or at least give me a buzz.

'A red-eye, please,' I said to the young woman. I waited to see whether she would recognize the drink or whether I would have to explain that it was a cup of coffee with a shot of espresso. Her eyes definitely brightened, but I realizedit had nothing to do with my drink order and everythingto do with the fact that Will Hunter had stepped up behind me. She seemed to forget my order, and asked him what he wanted.

'Dude,' he said in a disapproving tone, shaking his head at her. 'The lady was here first.'

I smiled at him. Wow, an actual gentleman. Who would have thought? She made my drink, then his, but kept her eyes on him even as she handed me my red-eye. As he sipped his soy-milk latte, he made no move to walk away. Should I bring up the book signing? It seemed inappropriate,but I'd already heard him discussing business with Natalie.

'Didn't you write a book?' I said, testing the waters.

His crooked smile widened, and his eyes grew more alert.

'Yes, I did. I really did. People keep thinking I used a ghostwriter, but I wrote it myself, even that poem at the end.' His gaze narrowed. 'How'd you know about it, since it isn't officially out yet?'

He made it easy for me to segue into what I did and why I was so interested.

'Book signing, huh, at a bookstore out in the boonies? Interesting thought.' He considered it for a moment. 'Ellen . . .' At the mention of her name, his expression grew serious, and he swallowed hard before continuing.