Hooked on Murder: A Crochet Mystery

someone?

Not missing a beat, Peter cut through my vague answer. 'She doesn't mean you, does she?'

'Of course not. Don't be ridiculous.'

He muttered something under his breath about the morningtraffic and got back on the subject. 'It's time we thought about a lawyer. I know just the guy. It would be good if you met him anyway.'

'Why?' I said, surprised. 'In case I walk in on another dead body?'

'Don't even joke about it, Mother. I'll talk to him.' Peter said he would take care of it, and I gave up. Once he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him, and much as I hated to admit it, it might not be the worst thing to have a lawyer available--just in case. Abruptly, he changed the subject to a happier topic. 'I wanted to invite you to brunch next week. Samuel is coming, too, and he's bringing a date.' Peter had assumed the man-of- the-family role and liked us all to get together, but always at his convenience.

I started to ask Peter whether I could bring Barry, but he cut me off. 'Maybe another time,' he said.

Like a half an hour after forever.

'I have a perfect idea,' Peter said, sounding pleased with himself. 'I'll invite the lawyer, Mason Fields, to join us. In the meantime, do you think you could try and keep a low profile--no news reports or newspaper photos?'

I couldn't help but laugh. Did he think I wanted to end up in the media? 'Low-profile and anonymous sounds good to me,' I said before hanging up.

I could hear the fax machine in the other room spitting out papers. Dinah and everybody I knew was faxing me the article. Dinah's came with comments. Where it reported that Detective Heather Gilmore had said she was close to an arrest, Dinah had written in her dreams in marker pen.

Things didn't get much better at the bookstore. Adele was waiting when I walked in.

'What's going on?' she demanded, showing me the article.I knew Adele wasn't asking about me and the potential arrest. It was all about CeeCee's comment that she was the leader of the group.

'You know CeeCee, always being theatrical. I'm sure she meant to say she was coleader with you.' Was I actuallytrying to comfort Adele? In some strange way I felt for her, even if she was always doing whatever she could to put a chink in my job performance with the hope of getting it away from me. The crochet group was a bright spot for her, and I thought she deserved to be at least cochair. But leave it to Adele to zing me for my soft feelings.

'Pink, we should have an emergency meeting of the group. You and your friend are slowpokes in the yarn department,and we are dangerously low on squares.'

'You should talk to CeeCee. I think she is still tied up with the commercial shoot,' I said.

'There's no law that says she has to give her permission or even be there.'

I gave Adele a dark stare and shook my head. 'CeeCee has made more squares than anybody. I don't think you reallywant to offend her.'

Adele didn't like my answer, and walked off in a huff, turning back as she did. 'Oh, and Mrs. Shedd wants to see you in her office.'

Mrs. Shedd was a little like Charlie in Charlie's Angels. None of us saw much of her, and most of our communicationwas by phone. I got a sinking feeling as I walked into the office, where she was going through a pile of mail.

'I can't say you're not getting attention for the bookstore,but all this in connection with a murder . . . ? Maybe we ought to change the name of the bookstore to the NotoriousS and R.' She looked at the newspaper again and kind of laughed, which implied she was making a joke. She zeroed in on me with a pointed expression, and I beganto tense up. Was this the part where she fired me?

'Do you think you'll have the blanket finished on time?' she asked, finally. Her question caught me off guard, and she continued while I processed the fact that she wasn't firing me. 'Maybe you could call in some knitters to help out. Make it a mixed-needle-arts blanket or something. It just wouldn't look good for the bookstore if the first project we sponsor doesn't get finished.'

I was so relieved at not being fired and that Mrs. Shedd didn't seem to know I might be the one Detective Heather was talking about arresting that I told her not to worry. She had my word the blanket would be finished. I did, however, mention that the mixed-needle part might not go over too well with the group, and it was best to stick to just crochet.

'And the Will Hunter book signing? It's a lock?'

'Almost,' I said in my most confident voice, leaving out the fact that we had to impress Natalie Shaw at our next event.

'Good, because I can't wait to meet him.'

'Why?' I asked, surprised. I couldn't imagine she'd be interested in the memoirs of a slacker-type actor.

'I'm a big fan. I've seen all his movies. I think he's just dreamy.'

Oh, no, that was all I needed. It wasn't just a matter of foot traffic. Mrs. Shedd had a crush on the guy. She went on to describe the new dress she'd bought for the event, which meant that, unlike with most of the author programs, she planned to attend. Only as an afterthought did she mention Detective Heather's comment.

'It isn't anybody we know, is it?'

'I hope not,' I answered in the understatement of my life, before heading to the door.

That night I thought I would go to bed early, so I'd get a good night's sleep before the Hook Down the Pounds author event. I wanted to be alert and ready to tackle any disaster that might come up. That was, unless Detective Heather arrestedme first.

It was a good plan--if I had been able to sleep. I couldn't find a comfortable spot in my bed. It suddenly seemed big and empty, and I got up in the dark. It may sound kooky, but I didn't want to turn on the lights. The house was faintly illuminated by the floodlights outside, and when I got to the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator.

The five bottles of Hefeweizen were still there. I reached for an amber bottle, thinking that nobody was going to drink it and it might help me sleep.

I took it to the kitchen table. With the refrigerator shut, the only light was from the backyard floodlights.

I heard Blondie's claws on the living room floor as she came across the house. I let her out and stood in the silent yard while she disappeared into the darkness. When she was finished, she bounded back inside.

With the door shut and locked, I sat down and opened the beer. I took a sip and made a face, expecting it to taste terrible. Actually it was quite good--for beer, anyway.

By the time I had a third sip, I was feeling the effects. Charlie had always said I was a cheap drunk. A few sips of anything, and I was ready to dance on a table.

The smell of the beer reminded me of Charlie, and I felt a whomp of pain hit me in the gut. Even now, sometimes when I first awoke, for just a moment I would forget. I'd think everything was as it had been, and Charlie had just gotten up early and was in the kitchen, reading the trades.

We had reached that place where we were comfortable together and knew each other's habits. Without thinking, I would scramble his eggs so lightly they were almost undercooked.And he automatically bought me a red-eye along with movie tickets.

I always thought we'd be like those older couples I saw who still held hands.

I took another drag on the bottle. It seemed so unfair that he'd died at fifty-one.

Blondie got up. I heard her lapping up water from her bowl and knew that any second she'd go off by herself. Though she looked like a terrier mix, she had the personalityof a cat. I guessed it was from being alone in an enclosureat the shelter for so long. But slowly she was beginning to bond with me. I reached down to pet her, and she stayed put and leaned against my leg.

The beer was working. I felt the tension melt out of my shoulders. I wondered what Charlie would think about my being suspected of being a murderess, though I suppose that was politically incorrect. There were just murderers now.

He probably wouldn't be happy that Samuel was a street musician--excuse me, open-air entertainer. At least if he was playing inside somewhere, he wouldn't have to worry about rain or low-flying pigeons.

I drained the last of the bottle. My thoughts were running together. Worries were crashing into other worries. Thanks to my meeting with Mrs. Shedd, I was now worried about my job. If the afghan didn't get finished or she wasn't able to meet her idol, the blame was going to fall on me.