Hooked on Murder: A Crochet Mystery

I nodded. 'I think that's one of the fancy kind. Her name is Ellen Sheridan. She leads'--I faltered--'make that led the crochet group that meets at Shedd & Royal Books and More. That's the bookstore where I work. I'm the event-coordinator-slash-community-relations person. I handle authorevents and book signings, and usually arrange for groups to meet at the bookstore. But Mrs. Shedd is the one who invited the crochet group.' I took a breath. 'I know I'm rambling. It's what I do when I get nervous, and I'm really nervous for obvious reasons. And I'm afraid if I stop talking,I might throw up.' Officer James's serious expression shifted momentarily, and now he looked nervous. He flutteredhis hand quickly to encourage me to keep going with the chatter. 'I've never been in the middle of anything like this before, and . . .'

'I have to check out the rest of the house,' he said, apparentlyrealizing that the only way he was going to get a word in was by talking over me. He took my arm. 'And it looks like you're coming with me.'

'Check the rest of the house? For what? Why do I have to go?' It came out like one continuous sentence. I couldn't see much of his face, since he was standing to the side and just a little behind me, but I heard him let out an impatient snort.

'First order of business is making sure it's safe. I have to make sure there isn't somebody with a shotgun hiding somewhere. Second order of business is to make sure there aren't any more bodies. And it's safer for you if you're with me.'

After hearing the shotgun part, I was glad to go along.

As he took my arm to steer me away from the living room, it registered for the first time that it had been trashed. Cushions were strewn around with their stuffing coming out, and the coffee table had been upturned. Papers were scattered over everything. Officer James seemed to notice it, but not react. I shuddered.

He didn't seem bothered by going through the house, either. But, then, dealing with crime scenes was his business.It certainly wasn't mine, and I felt uncomfortable and intrusive going into the private areas. The worst was Ellen's bedroom. Did I really want to know that she had left her bra hanging on the door to the bathroom? Or that she had a pile of Hollywood Reporters next to the bed that she was never going to get to read? The hardest were the photos of her children on the dresser. Her son and daughter had played soccer with my boys. Somewhere they were going through their day just like it was any other, only it wasn't.

I was relieved that we didn't find anyone hiding in any of the closets or under any of the beds. There were no more bodies, either. The rest of the house appeared untouched until we got to what looked like an office. The floor was a chaotic mix of papers, office supplies and furniture.

'What do you think that means?' I said, continuing with my rambling. 'She must have interrupted the burglar before they had a chance to go through the whole place, huh?'

He didn't answer, and I'm not even sure he heard me as he pulled open the door to look into the powder room. Apparently,letting me blather on didn't include listening. I'd probably lost him at 'crochet hooks.' Though he did give me a couple of nervous looks when there'd been a lull in my one-sided conversation.

Maybe his not listening wasn't such a bad thing. In my nervousness I had veered off the topic of Ellen and started giving way too much personal information about my husband,Charlie, dying a little over a year ago and how hard it was to start a whole new chapter of my life. I imagine a shrink would have a heyday with where my rambling had taken me.

We made a brief tour of the kitchen. No one hiding in there, though coffee mugs, cereal bowls and even cereal were still out on the counter. Who would have thought the Sheridans ate wild-berry marshmallow puffs? I'd have figuredthey were more the shredded-wheat types. I also changed my opinion about Ellen's being a neat freak.

As Officer James continued to lead me back to the front hall, a flurry of activity interrupted the eerie silence of the house. Two paramedics were walking in, along with a cop carrying a roll of yellow tape. Suddenly a petite ball of energywith spiky salt-and-pepper hair roared through the door.

'Molly?' Dinah said, stopping short. Her eyes grew wide when she saw my handcuffs. 'What's going on?' She glanced back toward the living room and noticed Ellen's body. She had the same response I'd had, and screamed.

Officer James let go of my arm and stepped in front of her, trying to block her further entry. 'You can't come in here.'

'Too late, I'm already in,' she said, holding her ground.

He gave her a dirty look. 'Okay, fine. But now you can't leave until the detectives talk to you.'

'What are you doing here?' I whispered to Dinah. She explained that she had been driving by and had seen my car out front. It's a real standout, a vintage--i.e., old-- Mercedes in teal green. The color of the 1993 190E was so rare that when I saw another one, the driver and I shared a wave of solidarity.

'When I saw the police cars, I had to find out what was going on,' she said, glancing down the hall again. 'Is that Ellen Sheridan?' she stammered.

I nodded, and she gulped. I think Dinah is somewhere in her fifties, though she won't tell anyone, including me, her best friend, exactly where, insisting that people peg you when they know your age. She's an instructor at the local community college, and she claims that teaching freshman English to kids who still act like they're in high school has prepared her for anything, but apparently not this. She suddenlyappeared a little green around the edges as she pulled at the burnt orange scarf wound around her neck. Dinah goes for the arty look, lots of layers and scarves and danglingearrings.

Just when I thought Dinah was going to lose it, Officer James escorted us into the front yard and then began draping the yellow tape across the entrance. Ellen's house was a one-storywhite wood frame house that took up most of the width of the lot. A tall pepper tree shaded the front yard with its lacy leaves. The grass grew on either side of the half-circle driveway, and the white picket fence that marked the front of the yard was lined with coral roses. It didn't look like a murderhouse. It looked like the kind of place that gave out big candy bars on Halloween and had nice parties with rental tents in the backyard and A-list caterers. It just showed you couldn't go by appearances.

Beyond the low fence, it was beginning to look like a street fair. More cop cars and news crews were parked on both sides of the street. A police helicopter was circling, and there was the loud thwack of news helicopters in a hover pattern. And since all this activity was not a common sight in the upscale area, the neighbors had come out to see what was going on. I saw more than one familiar person look at Dinah and me and shake her head in dismay.

I thought things were turning around when I saw a black Crown Victoria pull up and Barry Greenberg get out. That's Detective Barry Greenberg, who just happens to be my sort-of boyfriend. Though the sort-of part was in my head. He saw us as a sure thing.

Barry would get this all straightened out and have me uncuffed. Then Dinah and I'd be out of there.

I didn't like the way his expression darkened when OfficerJames walked up to him and pointed at us. There was a lot of talking and head-shaking, none of which looked like the easy fix I was hoping for. Finally Barry walked over to us, holding up his hands apologetically.

'Sorry, but I have to step down.'

'What?' I wailed, expecting him to tell the uniforms that he knew us and he'd take over.

Barry is your basic tall, dark and sexy in a mature sort of way. He was dressed in his detective outfit of a suit, white shirt and subdued gray-tone tie. He made a call on his cell with his back to us. When he clicked off, he turned toward Dinah and me.

'I can't handle this case. You just can't be the lead detectivewhen your girlfriend was found hanging over a dead body.'

'It works for me,' I protested.

'Well, any defense attorney would make mincemeat of the prosecution if he knew that's what went down. I could lose my job.'

'All right,' I grumbled. It wasn't as if I had a choice in the matter anyway, so I might as well agree. There'd be anotherset of detectives in no time, he promised, and no, he couldn't take off my handcuffs. The new detectives would.

When I saw who the new detectives were, I almost choked. Detective Heather Gilmore and her partner took over. It wasn't her partner, Rick Allen, I was concerned about. It was Detective Heather.

Though Barry insisted it wasn't true, I knew she had the hots for him and a death wish for me. We had run into her at a beachfront restaurant, and it had been totally obvious to me how she felt about him, though Barry