processing all that had happened. I wondered if she had noticed the scarf on the desk in his office. She seemed to be staring into space while her fingers worked the same royal blue yarn she used at our last meeting. Her stitches weren’t tight this time. If anything they were inconsistent, one loose, the next one tight, and the edges were completely uneven.
“Sheila,” I said gently, pointing out how the side seemed to be getting bigger. Her gaze went down to her work and she almost jumped.
“What am I doing?” she mumbled and began unraveling.
“You probably have a lot on your mind,” I said, getting dirty looks from CeeCee and Adele, since they were usually the ones who gave her smaller hooks or comforted her.
“You have no idea,” she said, putting the hook and yarn down.
“Then why don’t you tell us, dear,” CeeCee said.
“I think I might be in trouble,” she said softly. “My fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”
Everyone’s head shot up. “Murder weapon?” we said in unison.
Sheila explained that one of the gym members’ close relatives worked at the West Valley Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. “When she came in this morning, she told me she’d heard they thought Drew had been knocked out with a paperweight before he fell in the soup.”
“So that’s what happened.” I told the group about seeing blood on the back of Drew’s head. “I saw a bunch of paperweights on the desk. How do you know your fingerprints were on the one that hit him?”
Sheila let her breath out and sat back in her chair. “When I went up to see Drew about my money, I was really nervous. You know how I sometimes tap my fingers? Well, I was trying not to do that, so I picked up one of the paperweights. But before I could stop myself, I started tapping it. So, I put the first one down. It was very heavy and large. I picked up the next one, and then I was tapping again. You get the idea. I went through all of them.
“I shouldn’t say this, but I was mad enough to do it. He just laughed at me when I asked for the correct amount. He said where else was I going to sell my scarves. The worst part is he was right. I could try to sell them online, but unless you see them and touch them, they don’t seem that unique.”
“Nonsense, dear,” CeeCee said. “Your scarves are lovely and special. I’m sure you could sell them somewhere else.” CeeCee did a few stitches on the birthday cake. “So they think Drew died from a blow to his head?”
“She said they won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but they think he drowned in the soup. Still it was getting hit with the paperweight that made him fall in the bowl.”
There was a collective gasp in the group.
“Oh my,” Patricia said. “It’s true a person can drown in just an inch or so of liquid.”
Sheila stared at the table. “I don’t know if the rest of you noticed, but one of my scarves was on his desk.”
“Does Detective Heather know about your fingerprints?” I asked, laying my hands over Sheila’s.
“Maybe not, but she’s going to. After an officer questioned me, he asked if I’d let them take my fingerprints and a hair sample. I said sure when he explained it was so they could exclude my fingerprints when they were looking for the suspect. It’s just a matter of time before they match them up.” She looked up at me. “I’m scared.”
And Sheila didn’t even know that Detective Heather had overheard her threaten Drew.
CHAPTER 6
THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THE MEETING THE crochet group did their best to reassure Sheila that nobody could possibly think she killed Drew Brooks. After everyone left, I took down the long table and set up rows of chairs and a demonstration table for the evening’s event. Then I left the bookstore and headed to Dinah’s house. I had decided not to wait any longer to find out what was going on with her. When I saw her car was in her driveway, I pulled up behind it.
Dinah’s house was in an area called Walnut Acres, largely because at one time it had been a walnut farm. Just as there were orange trees in my backyard left from when the whole area had been an orange grove, there was a walnut tree in her front yard.
I knocked on the door, and a moment later she opened it.
“You can’t hang up or run off this time,” I said, trying to seen inside.
She opened the door wider and motioned me in. “I’m sorry. I should have explained at the crochet meeting.” She looked worn out. Even her spikey salt-and-pepper hair seemed deflated.
Like Dinah’s clothes, her house had an arty look with interesting color combinations. She had a deep purple couch with a chartreuse throw over the arm and colorful pillows. There was a wing chair with a floor lamp next to it and a side table that held a stack of books and her crocheting. However, the coffee table had been cleared of the usual items. I wondered at first, but when I heard the giggly voices from the other room, I realized she had kid- proofed the place.
I glanced through to the added-on den. The walls were lined with bookcases, and there was a TV and a soft leather couch in a warm chestnut. A sliding glass door at the back of the room led to Dinah’s compact backyard, which she kept low maintenance by having a garden of native plants. I sat down on the couch, and she walked over to one of the bedrooms, looked in and then came back.
“Okay, who are they and why are they staying with you?”
“This is so embarrassing,” Dinah said, sitting on the arm of the couch. Being embarrassed was so unlike her. She was the gutsy one, the one not afraid to tell her students that when it came to her class she was queen and they followed her rules or they flunked. What could possibly make her embarrassed?
The answer was simple, but one I never would have expected. “Jeremy showed up,” she said, referring to her ex-husband. “And he wasn’t alone. E. Conner and Ashley-Angela are fraternal twins and his children with the new Mrs.—or should I say the new ex-Mrs. Lyons.” The irresponsible with the more irresponsible. What a couple.
“He’s been living up north. He lost his job just about the same time his wife took off, leaving him with the kids. He’s down here about a job.” Dinah shook her head obviously upset with herself. “I can’t believe I’m letting him stay here. . . . Well, he’s actually gone now. He went to San Diego about a job. I must need my head examined to have let him leave his kids here.”
“Well, who am I to talk? Samuel’s girlfriend is staying with me, and I think she’s anorexic.”
Dinah knew about Morgan but not her eating problem. She looked at me with understanding and hugged me. “I was afraid to tell you. I thought you’d think I was an idiot.”
“Or softhearted.” I smiled at her. “Or softheaded. Maybe that’s what we both are. Whatever. I’m just glad to have my friend back.”
Now that her secret was out in the open, Dinah relaxed. After checking on the kids again, she made us some tea, and I told her about what had happened at the crochet group.
“Are you sure Sheila didn’t do it? I mean, she is full of surprises. Who would have guessed she’d make those beautiful scarves?”
“She couldn’t have. Besides, if she was going to do it, why would she want all of us to be there?”
“Unless it was one of those disorganized crimes,” Dinah said. I had told her a lot of the stuff I’d learned from
“If you’re so sure she didn’t do it, who did?” Dinah said.
“We know who had opportunity. Everybody who was there.”
Dinah looked at her watch. “I have a class and I have to get the kids ready to go. Thank heavens Beasley Community College has child care.” She got up and walked me to the door. “I wonder how many people have a motive?”
“If he cheated Sheila, he probably did the same to other people. So anyone who sold things on consignment could have had it in for him. The bald man was sure mad at him. Kevin Brooks seems like a nice guy, but Mrs. Shedd
