and was the youngest in the group. Her long, light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore loose white cotton pants, a long top and an amethyst necklace.
Sheila set down her work for a moment and stretched. She acknowledged Meredith with a somber nod.
'It seems so strange without Ellen,' Meredith said, taking out some yarn and hooks. 'I just can't believe she's gone.' After Meredith finished laying out her work, she looked towardthe cafe. 'I'm going to get an herb tea. Anybody else want something?' The other women shook their heads, and she left to get her drink.
'Meredith used to be a masseuse at the gym,' Sheila said, moving back to the bigger hook.
'Until Ellen found her,' CeeCee offered. 'Meredith was already doing this special massage she developed. Ellen showed her how to market herself and introduced her to a lot of people and . . .'
'She got all these big-deal show-business types for clients.' Sheila sounded impressed. 'I've had her massages,and they're really great.'
I knew Sheila had tried everything to relax, so her endorsementmeant something. CeeCee explained Meredith'sunique hook: She took her massage chair and special aromatic oil to the exec's office. Her clients had to remove very little clothing and barely even had to stop working. 'She calls her massages 'Refresh, Relax, Renew.' And that's how her clients feel when she's finished,' CeeCee said.
It sounded good to me.
'Has anyone talked to poor Lawrence?' CeeCee asked. Everyone at the table shook their heads.
Hmm, poor Lawrence indeed. He was Ellen's husband of a million years. When Charlie was alive, we'd been on the regular circuit of award shows and assorted events and run into him often. He was always Lawrence, never Larry. He and Ellen were a real power couple. She had the PR business and he was a talent manager who'd recently added TV producer to his title.
For years, Lawrence had managed a stable of musiciansand comedians, all recognizable but not superstars. Then Jed Frank, a singer-songwriter client of his, ended up with a TV show, and Lawrence became a producer. The show was a monster hit, and it had fueled Jed's music careeras well. Suddenly Lawrence was at the top of the heap. Too bad he didn't have as much charm as he had power.
Meredith returned with her tea and settled in to crocheting.
'You're doing Ellen's favorite,' Adele said, looking at Meredith's square. It was certainly beautiful. The center resembled a scarlet flower, and around it were airy white stitches. Meredith was just adding the black border.
They all fell silent as their hooks moved through the strands of yarn.
Suddenly I felt like an outsider. Adele picked up on it and glanced up at me.
'Told you it was under control.'
I hated to admit it, but she was right. There was nothing for me to do. I looked back as I walked away from the table. Sheila had gotten into a rhythm of crocheting. She was mouthing the word
There was just one major problem. I didn't know how to crochet. I could ask Adele. A possible lesson played over in my mind. Adele, with a superior smile, would seize the opportunityto lord her hook prowess over me. She'd hover over me, correcting my every wrong move, which I would undoubtedly make lots of, and do her best to make me feel as though I had two left hands.
No way.
A figure in a dark suit, with white-blond hair, slipped into my peripheral vision. My tension level kicked up a notch, and I was suddenly hungry for caramel corn.
'Mrs. Pink, may I speak to you?'
As if I had a choice.
'Detective Hea--Gilmore,' I said, catching myself in time. Calling her
'Why don't we go into the cafe,' I suggested, moving towardthe entrance without waiting for her answer. What bookstore worth its weight in paper didn't have a cafe these days? No more not letting people in with food and drinks. Now bookstores made their customers feel as if they were missing something if they didn't take a latte-schmaatte, decaffoam-only cappuccino or some other whipped-up party drink right in with them while they browsed. We weren't any better. In all honesty, Shedd & Royal needed the added income.
Before we walked in, the smell greeted me. Our angle was that we baked fresh cookies, and the smell worked like a magnet to pull people in. Detective Heather wasn't immune.She got that fluttery-eyed look as the sweet fragranceof melting chocolate and buttery dough hit her nose. Maybe I could soften her up with sweets.
A batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies was cooling on a tray. 'How about some cookies and a drink?' I offered as we approached the counter.
'Thanks, but no thanks on the cookies,' she said, eyeing the treats with resolve. 'I don't usually discuss cases over coffee.' She hesitated as if she was thinking it over. 'But I suppose it's all right--as long as I buy my own.' She noddedat Bob, our main barista and cookie baker. 'How about a large decaf nonfat latte with a shot of no-sugar vanilla syrup, ice blended.' She smiled at me. 'We don't all do donuts, you know.'
It was one of the longest drink orders I'd ever heard and probably was a prizewinner in the hyphen department. I tugged at my waistband with regret. I bet Detective Heather never had caramel corn evenings, or if she did, it was with no-sugar, no-fat, no-taste caramel corn. I got a plain coffee, and we headed to a table.
She made small talk at first, commenting on how good the drink was, weather was nice for September, etc. It only upped the tension level for me. I wanted the conversation to be like a Band-Aid removal: Rip it off fast and get it over with.
Finally she got to the point.
'It's come to my attention that you knew Ellen Sheridan more than in passing. I was curious why you didn't say anything when we talked before.'
Detective Heather nodded and added, 'And there was something about you trying to work with her and it didn't work out.'
My shoulders sagged, and I swallowed hard. 'Okay, I admit that when I tried to step into my husband's position, there were some problems. Ellen forced--I mean, I let her buy me out. But I have tried to put all that behind me, and I don't really think much about it. Things have turned out reallywell for me. I have this great job.' I made an expansive gesture toward the bookstore. 'And I'm even dat--' Oops, caught myself just in time. There was no reason to bring up my social life, particularly since I had the social life DetectiveHeather wanted.
For just a moment, I wondered about Barry's eyesight. Being this close to her, I could see that Detective Heather had no crinkly lines around her eyes, was obviously smart and a professional, and as much as I hated to admit it, was in better shape than I was. Yet Barry claimed to notice her only as a colleague. Unless--a dark thought passed through my mind--it was all an act just to throw me off.
Detective Heather wrote a bunch of notes in her black reporter's notebook. It seemed as though she wrote more than I said, which didn't make me feel good. Somehow when I'd thought about what happened when I attempted to step into Charlie's business shoes, it hadn't sounded so bad. But saying it out loud to Detective Heather--well, it sounded like a motive.
'There's just one more thing,' she said, keeping her incrediblysparkly blue-eyed gaze on me. She let the commenthang in the air, making my heartbeat kick up. The woman sure knew how to throw me off balance.
'I spoke with Ms. Sheridan's associate, Natalie Shaw. Do you know her?'
Should I answer quickly, or think about it? Which way made me look worse? Too fast and I sounded nervous; too slow and it would seem as though I was trying to hide something. The good part was, she was asking about somebodyelse.
'Natalie started working for Ellen when I left. I don't really know her.' I let out my breath, relieved that the spotlightwas off me, but it didn't last for long.
