noise kept interrupting. I wanted it to go away and stop ruining my dream. Gradually I began to float to the surface, but the noise continued until I realized it wasn't my dream-- it was the phone. I reached for the cordless, feeling my heart rate pick up. Who ever calls in the middle of the night with good news? Through the window I could see that the night sky had just a tinge of light.
'I didn't want to scare you by ringing the doorbell,' Barry said after I'd finally got my mind clear enough to say hello into the right end of the receiver.
My pulse took a bump down. 'Hearing the phone ring in the middle of the night did a pretty good job on its own.'
'Technically it's morning, and for me the end of a long night. Sorry to have startled you,' he apologized. 'I thought you'd want to see the paper, since your picture's in it.'
'Where are you?' I asked, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
'At your front door.'
Blondie and I went to the door. A worn looking Barry stood in the glow of the porch light. He was dressed in a suit, with his tie pulled loose. He naturally had a heavy beard, but this was definitely double duty. He looked like he'd had a tough night.
When he walked inside, he held up the folded-open newspaper and showed me the picture. It was actually of Dinah, CeeCee and me, and once again I looked pasty. Even without her special makeup, CeeCee knew how to pose and had angled her best side toward the camera. Dinahjust appeared stunned. I reached for the paper to look at the accompanying article, but Barry held on to it.
'Donuts,' he said, holding out a white bag. I glanced back toward the paper he had moved to under his arm. I reached for it again and mentioned the article this time, but he didn't hand it over.
Why did I think there was something he didn't want me to see? He pushed the bag toward me again in an enticing manner. This time I took it and looked inside. The donuts resembled round, greasy bricks.
'You weren't planning to eat these, were you?'
'I was, unless you can think of something better.' There was a forced lightness to his voice that was covering somethingup. I asked about his night, and he gave me a vague answer about crime fighting not being a nine-to-five job. Whatever it was, judging by how he looked, it must have been extra awful.
The 'something better' was scrambled eggs and sauteed mushrooms on lightly toasted and buttered egg bread, along with orange slices, courtesy of the backyard trees, mixed with strawberries and bananas. To top it off, I made a pot of smoky French-roast coffee.
'That was so good,' Barry said, devouring the last crumb of his breakfast sandwich. We'd taken our plates into the living room and settled on the couch. Outside, the sky was growing into dawn's version of twilight. Blondie had gone back to her chair.
As I drank some of the strong-bodied coffee, Barry settledagainst me and drifted off to sleep with the newspaper still under his arm. I extracted it carefully, wondering what could possibly be worth hiding in an article about CeeCee.
The headline of Jeff Rogers's column seemed strange. What did ALL WRAPPED UP IN MURDER have to do with CeeCee and her continuing legend?
It turned out very little. Apparently Jeff had listened to our conversation about the blanket--how Ellen had started it and we were struggling to finish it--and decided that was his topic with a twist.
The main character in the piece wasn't CeeCee at all; it was the afghan. Jeff mentioned how the Tarzana Hookers had started meeting at Shedd & Royal and had decided their mission was to crochet for charity, with their first project being an afghan made of all different squares for the Hearts and Barks Fair auction. But before it was finished,the Hookers' founder and first leader, Ellen Sheridan,had been murdered.
The next section turned out to be about CeeCee, but in the context of the crocheters, and how she had stepped in to take over the group and was sharing her knowledge with new members such as the ones in the photo. I could just imagine seeing Adele when she read that part. She'd be fuchsia-faced, to match her outfit.
Jeff did a riff on how any celebrity connection added value to the donation of charity items like the blanket. But according to him, the real added value of the afghan came from its connection with Ellen Sheridan's murder. She had made a lot of the squares, and was even found with a crochethook and yarn in her hand. The only thing that would up the value more would be if the police caught the perpetratorright around the time of the auction.
I choked on the next line. According to Detective Heather Gilmore, lead detective on the case, they were close to making an arrest.
'Close to making an arrest,' I said out loud. 'You know who that means?' I squeaked.
'Now, don't go jumping to conclusions,' Barry said, waking up and putting his arm around me.
'You smell nice,' he said, nuzzling my hair.
'I bet they don't have jasmine shampoo in prison. I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me.'
'Not completely. Your hair really does smell nice,' he said, pulling me closer. 'She's probably just vamping, tryingto sound good in the newspaper. But even if she means it, there's nothing to say it's you.'
'Then who? You said you thought she hadn't focused on anyone else. She asked everyone about me, but she never asked me about anyone.'
Barry tried to keep the shades down on his expression, but I knew him well enough to recognize the flicker of a troubled feeling.
'People do all kinds of thinks to get rid of a rival,' I said. 'Her way could be sending me off to jail on a murder charge.'
He ruffled my hair, but I noticed that this time he didn't give me the
He glanced at his watch and sat upright.
'Gotta go. I'm driving car pool.'
Before he left, I packed up a breakfast sandwich for Jeffrey,and Barry gave me a hint on his night. It involved domesticviolence and a dead child. He gave no details, and I really didn't want any. Then, as I watched, he filed it away in the do-not-touch part of his mind, and the haunted look about his eyes softened. He took me in his arms at the door.
'Don't worry, babe,' he murmured. The trouble was, he didn't give me any reason to follow his suggestion. He didn't let go, just pulled me closer and said he hated to leave. 'We should be living together,' he said, sniffing the air, which still carried the fragrance of fresh coffee and buttered toast. 'It smells like home.'
It felt safe and warm in his arms, and for a moment I considered what he said. But then reality kicked in, and I let go. A visitor was one thing; a housemate and his son were a whole other story. I was just beginning to get back on my feet, and I wasn't ready to tie up my life with anyone just now, even if I was beginning to think I loved him.
I thought I would get some more sleep, but before I could settle back into bed, my cell phone, the house phone and the fax machine all went off at the same time. I'm sure e-mails were piling up, too.
I had Peter on my cell and Samuel on the house phone. Both of them started talking at once. Peter insisted it was more urgent that I talk to him, and had me tell Samuel I'd call him back.
Peter was on his way to some show taping. He'd seen the article, which surprised me. I didn't know Peter did anything as retro as read the newspaper.
'Mother, I can't believe you stayed in that knitting group,' he said, agitated by the column and the morning freeway traffic.
'It's crocheting,' I corrected, beginning to understand Adele's annoyance at people not giving crochet its due. I explained how relaxing it was and how much I liked it, and that the charity project was worthwhile. I could practically hear Peter rolling his eyes in frustration.
'What's that about the detective saying they're close to an arrest? Who?'
'Peter, she doesn't share her information with me. I have no idea.' There was no point in mentioning that I had a pretty good idea who she meant, and even half thinking about it was making me sick. In all my so-called detective work, I had come up with a number of other people who benefited from Ellen's death, but I was the only one who had been found hanging over her body. If only Ellen hadn't been so forgetful. But it wasn't forgetfulness, was it? She had been preoccupied. Everyone in the group had said she seemed upset about something. Or was it
