Hooked on Murder: A Crochet Mystery

'Ellen wanted me to stick to ones she'd used before. There was one in Hollywood and one in Santa Monica.'

We had a clear shot of the living room from where we were standing. The crowd hadn't thinned; if anything, it seemed to have grown. Lawrence and Natalie were working the room separately. Even without hearing what was being said, it was obvious by body language that people were offeringcondolences, and Lawrence and Natalie were in turn consoling the guests.

Will nodded toward Natalie. 'She'll be the one handling that sort of thing now. I have to hand it to her: She stepped right up to bat,' he said before taking a sip of his drink. 'No disrespect of the dead, but I have to worry about my career. Dude,' he intoned, shaking his head as he looked over the crowd. 'Do you think whoever killed Ellen is here? In a show I did, the murderer showed up at the funeral to gloat.'

I was considering his comment when Dinah reappeared just as Natalie grabbed Will and whisked him away. Dinah's eyes were bright, and she looked happy enough to dance.

'You and Will Hunter?' she said with a giggle. 'My lips are sealed. Barry will never know.'

I rolled my eyes at the thought as Dinah chirped on about her potential Mr. Right. She went into a long descriptionof his deep baritone voice, which sounded like a growl. She didn't realize it, but little by little I moved us to the edge of the room. The coffee and her presence had given me courage.

'What's going on?' she whispered as I took her arm and led her off toward the private part of the house. Dinah was quick on the uptake, and before I could answer, she'd figured it out.

'Snooping, huh? So what are we looking for?' She banged into me when I stopped short in front of the office door.

'I don't know,' I said in a low voice. There was a slight problem. What did I know about investigating a murder? 'This room is one of the ones that was ransacked.'

'Let's have a look.' Dinah turned the handle, and both of us gasped before we could step in.

The room was in better shape than when I'd seen it last. The floor was clear and the drawers of the filing cabinet were shut, but it still had the feeling of disarray. In the center,CeeCee was hunched over Ellen's desk, rummaging through a bunch of files. Her hat kept bobbing every time she moved. She didn't notice us at first, and flinched when she did.

I was all ready with our excuse. We were looking for the restroom. I couldn't wait to hear hers. But all she did was drop the file she'd been examining.

'So there you are,' she said, as if she'd been waiting for us all along. 'C'mon, the crochet group is in the den.'

What? She didn't even make an attempt at an explanation.She just went out the door and took us with her.

You didn't have to know anything about investigating to figure out she had been looking for something. But why was she sneaking around to find it? If it was something in her file, why not just ask Lawrence or Natalie? Now that Ellen was gone, surely they'd give her anything she wanted. Unless . . . unless it was some sort of secret she didn't want them to know. Charlie had always known embarrassinginformation about his clients. That was part of his job--to know where the bodies were buried but keep the public's attention focused somewhere else. What if Ellen had known something about CeeCee and had some kind of proof?

I glanced over at CeeCee as she led us down the hall, and I wondered whether I should consider her a suspect.

When we got to the den, Adele and Sheila were gathered around a chestnut-colored leather coach. Sheila's eyes were darting around the room, and it was obvious her nerves were out of control. She said something about Meredith having gone off to get some food. Adele had toned down her look to merely a black-and-white polka-dot skirt and a black-and-white print blouse, and was talking to a twenty-somethingwoman who looked remarkably like Ellen. I realizedit was her daughter, Dakota Sheridan. She had been in Samuel's class in elementary school.

'So, you're the Tarzana Hookers?' Dakota said, letting her gaze take us in.

'My mother was making a messenger bag for me. I talked to her last week and she said she'd almost finished it. But I can't find it anywhere.' There was a frantic touch to Dakota's voice. 'I thought you might know.' The you referredto all of us, but the only one who answered was CeeCee.

'I know just the bag you mean, dear. It had that special yarn in the middle. Let's have a look in the crochet room.'

Crochet room? I thought back to my tour courtesy of Officer James, but couldn't recall seeing a crochet room. There had been a few rooms where he had just opened and closed the door without going inside. It must have been one of those. Then, I hadn't been interested in crochet. Now I couldn't wait to see the room.

'Oh, my,' I said to Dinah when we walked in. Ellen had taken the front corner bedroom and turned it into a crafter's paradise. One wall had cubbies for yarn. The groups of skeins were arranged by color and gave the wall a rainbow look. A fabulous afghan was draped on the arm of an olive green love seat, which had a full-spectrum floor lamp next to it. Adele explained that the lamp was good for working at night.

We all checked out the other wall of shelves, which held crochet books and samples of Ellen's work. An involuntary 'wow' escaped my lips when I compared the little square I was working on to the elaborate motif of the squares in a yellow and white baby blanket. There were more baby blankets in soft colors. The next shelf had a child's poncho and several shawls. Everything had a small white note attachedto it.

'My mother gave away most of what she made.' Dakota picked up the poncho and looked at the note, then explained that it gave the name of a women's shelter and detailed the kind of yarn the item was made out of, plus how to launder it. The rest of the displayed items all had notes with destinations and washing instructions, but the messenger bag wasn't among them.

'Let's check the closet,' CeeCee said, opening the door, which revealed a pile of clear plastic containers with lids. They were filled with an overflow of yarn and more completeditems.

'I'm sure she wouldn't have given it away,' Dakota said, pulling the tops off. Her voice sounded as though she was on the verge of tears, and her movements were frantic as she took out the contents of the containers. All the emotionsshe had been holding in seemed about to boil over, but then, as if realizing she was coming unglued, Dakota pulled herself together and her composure returned. She accepted CeeCee's promise that the bag was bound to turn up, and started putting everything back into the boxes.

Adele went to help her, and Sheila was commenting on the peace of the room when it was suddenly interrupted as Lawrence Sheridan rushed in. The tall man had a purposefulair. At one time he had probably been handsome, but so many years of being bossy and difficult had left an imprint on his face. His mouth seemed naturally set in an expressionthat shouted, 'I'm going to win.' He seemed to be looking for something or someone, and made a hurried check of the room. Just then, a small ball of black fur rushed in, jumped on a chair and off again, circled the room barking, and headed back for the door. As the poodle was about to exit, Lawrence made a dive for it. He picked up the squirming dog, and his whole demeanor softened. 'Poor ittle-bittle dog. All these people . . . Let's put you back in your room. I have some special chicken for you.' Suddenly Lawrence seemed to realize he was among a bunch of people. He glanced around, nodding when he saw his daughter; then his gaze moved on to me, and his whole face exploded in anger. I half expected flames to start shooting from his eyes.

'You,' he shouted. 'What are you doing here? You should be in jail.' He took a step closer, and I instinctively backed away. All eyes were on me now, including those of Detective Heather, who I noticed was standing behind him in the hall.

'I think it's time to split,' I said, grabbing Dinah's arm.

CHAPTER 5

'YOU JOINED WHAT?' PETER SAID. 'THE Tarzana Hookers?' Peter had come to drop off the golf clubs he'd picked up days earlier. I couldn't help noticing even his sports wear was designer. Peter had been an agent even beforehe knew what an agent was. In first grade he'd convincedMrs. Quinn to give the lead in the year-end play to Amanda Sanders. Years later when he was still a trainee at William Morris, he'd used the same bravado to get a fledglingactress one of the leads in the pilot of Everyone Loves Lulu. The show had been picked up, the actress was tabbed as the breakout star and Peter became an agent at 24. I just wished he could use some of his expertise to get some work for his brother. But he always said the same thing when I brought it up.

'If he wanted to play a musician, I could, but since he wants to be one, it's not my area.'

I couldn't help but laugh at my elder son's expression. 'As in crochet hookers.' I held up a size-J hook and