'The detective asked me the same kind of stuff,' Meredith said as she took out some ruby yarn and a hook. 'I told her I'd gone to Ellen's right after the group and given her a massage, though it hadn't seemed to help her. She seemed as tense when I left as when I'd gotten there. I think Ellen was upset about something or someone. She mentioned a client coming for lunch.'
'Really?' I said. 'Did she say who? Maybe that's what she was upset about.'
'Maybe. She didn't name any names,' Meredith said. 'You know Ellen worked out of her home office a lot. I think she didn't want anyone to overhear whatever they were going to discuss.'
'Ellen was cooking lunch?' Sheila chirped.
Meredith stifled a laugh. 'Ellen didn't cook. She called and got food delivered. We had lunch once, and she had a whole spa meal brought in.'
'Really?' Dinah said. 'What was it? Some kind of egg-whitefrittata?'
'Who cares about the menu, dear. The real question is, who was the guest the day she died,' CeeCee said.
All eyes were on me.
'It wasn't me, if that's what you're thinking.'
'Whatever, Pink,' Adele began. 'We're losing sight of our crochet problem. We've got a map for the squares and an idea for how to assemble them, but there is one major thing wrong: We don't have enough squares.'
'We should have checked when we were in Ellen's crochetroom for the ones she made. I'm sure she'd want us to use them,' Meredith said.
'Why doesn't somebody call her husband and ask if we can have them?' Sheila suggested.
Why were they all still looking at me?
'Maybe you didn't notice, but Lawrence wasn't exactly friendly toward me,' I said. 'He basically accused me of killing Ellen. I think that excludes letting me come over and hunt through her crochet room.' Then I had a much better idea. One that would open the door to getting the squares and help me get the Will Hunter book event. 'I could call Natalie Shaw instead. She's taken over Ellen's business, and I'm sure she could help us get the squares.' And who knew what else I might find out?
CHAPTER 6
And i thought dating was tough the first time around. Aside from the occasional broken heart, all I'd had to contend with were my mother's problems with my dates. For example, according to her, Zak, my boyfriend in high school, looked like a windup toy and his moustache like it had been drawn with eyebrow pencil. I thought his moustache made him look worldly but, much as I hate to admit it, as I look back, she was probably right. Before that, there was the Greg disaster. At a family party, my mother was going to sing something from her girl-group days. Everyone knew what, since the She La Las had only one hit--'My Man Dan.' By then, my mother was reduced to doing backup, but was still convinced she was just one shot away from the big time. Greg offered to accompany her on the piano. The trouble was, he played better than she sang, and she practically threw a fit. Seeing it through adult eyes, I kind of got her point. It must have been hard being upstaged by a fourteen-year-old.
All that seemed simple compared to this middle-age dating. Now there was so much baggage. Ex-wives, late husbands, and sons of all ages. Jeffrey's arrival had definitelymade things even harder. Barry had never gone into detail as to why his son was suddenly coming to live with him, but obviously something wasn't working out with his ex, as Jeffrey had been living with her all three years since the divorce.
Trying to be Super Dad, Barry had originally decided that unless we were in some kind of committed relationship,such as engaged or married, it wouldn't be good for Jeffrey to meet me. I understood his reservations, because my sons were much older and still were weird about my dating. We had a don't-ask-don't-tell arrangement regardingwhat time Barry left my house. Though the last part was no longer an issue once Jeffrey arrived. Barry was home with him every night unless he was working.
But once Barry finally acknowledged there wasn't going to be any status change in our relationship in the near future,he changed his mind and decided Jeffrey and I should meet after all. Technically we had already met. Barry had picked up Jeffrey once before dropping me off, and we'd exchanged hellos in the car, though Barry had never explainedwho I was. This time I was getting a title.
Barry decided we should meet over dinner, which was why the three of us were sitting outside a Northridge restaurant shaped like a log cabin. Barry was holding the pager, Jeffrey was busy with a handheld game thing and I was watching the two of them.
Jeffrey had barely reacted when they'd picked me up and Barry introduced me as his girlfriend.
Barry tried to make conversation and asked about my day. Somehow I morphed from talking about the crochet group to telling him that CeeCee said Detective Heather didn't like me.
'I told you she had it in for me.'
Barry looked uncomfortable. 'We all know you didn't do it. There's no evidence you did. I can't say anything to her--you know, obstruction of justice and all.'
'Didn't do what?' Jeffrey asked, suddenly paying attention.'What's going on?'
Barry Super Dad gave me a little nod as a signal that he would handle Jeffrey's question.
'Molly got into the middle of a crime scene by mistake.' He said it like it was an event on
Jeffrey suddenly viewed me with new interest. 'Wow. Was there, like, a body? A dead body?'
Barry cringed on
'So, like, how did it happen? How did the person get killed and how did you end up there?'
Barry was clenching his jaw, looking very uncomfortable. This wasn't what he'd planned for our dinner conversation.
'Do you want to be a detective like your dad?' I asked, deflecting his questions. I'd noticed politicians did that a lot. They simply ignored an awkward one and talked about something else. Personally, I would have just told Jeffrey the whole story, but Barry looked like his blood pressure was going up, and I just wanted the evening to go well.
Jeffrey shook his head decidedly. 'Naw, I'm going to be an actor.'
The answer was not good for Barry's blood pressure. His eyes kind of bugged out, and his mouth fell open in surprise--clearly not happy surprise. Then Barry calmed himself and even chuckled. 'You're still a kid. When I was a kid I wanted to be a race-car driver. You have lots of time to figure out what you really want to do.'
Jeffrey shook his head again. 'I don't need years. I know I'm going to be an actor. And I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a man in the eyes of God.' He mentioned his Bar Mitzvah.
'That's just a ceremonial thing,' Barry said. 'You can't vote or drive or buy a beer. Maybe in God's eyes you're a man, but in everybody else's you're still a kid.'
Jeffrey shrugged off Barry's comments. 'You might as well know. I joined the drama club at school.'
'Drama club?' Barry said in a tone of disapproval. 'I thought you were joining the Junior Forensics.'
'And from now on I want to be known by my stage name, Columbia.'
'What kind of name is Columbia Greenberg?' Barry said, giving the waitress the evil eye when she arrived to take our order.
'A very good name. An unusual name. The name of, like, a superstar,' Jeffrey said defiantly. He was trying to sound so serious, but he still looked soft and round, kind of like an unfinished sculpture. In contrast, girls his age all looked like women, wearing eyeliner and push-up bras. Not that Jeffrey wasn't trying to look more manly. He'd gelled his hair into spiky clumps and worn a blazer over his T-shirt and jeans.
I realized it was time to turn the direction of the conversationagain. I picked up my menu and pushed one toward each of them. Barry opened his in a huff. Jeffrey took a second, then picked his up.
'Do you think Detective Heather questioned Lawrence Sheridan?'
'The husband?' Barry said, looking at me from behind his menu. He seemed relieved the question had nothing to do with Jeffrey's future ambitions. 'Of course.'
'I bet he was having an affair.'
Barry scowled from behind his menu and started gesturingtoward Jeffrey.
'What's everybody going to have?' Barry said.
