give Morgan a real lesson since she was a pro. To prove her point, she held out her arms to show off the black- and-white-striped warmers she’d made for them. Actually, they seemed like a good idea for May weather, though they were at odds with the rest of her outfit. I’d begun naming her outfits, and this one I called Queen of the Pampas. She wore black leather boots with rust-colored gaucho pants and a black camisole. The arm warmers went from the base of her hand to slightly below her shoulders. She’d let her hair go back to light brown and had it in tiny pigtails. Adele didn’t know the meaning of the word
Adele took Morgan to the end of the table, promising to teach her the right way to crochet. The rest of us started choosing yarn for our first shawl. At that moment Patricia rushed up out of breath, apologizing for being late. She took out a completed aqua shawl. It appeared to be made of mohair yarn, but she insisted it was synthetic and machine washable.
Sheila looked at it. “What a beautiful shade of blue-green. But it looks almost—” CeeCee made a shush move with her fingers and angled her head toward Adele. Sheila didn’t finish the sentence, but I knew what she was going to say. Knitted. The shawl looked knitted.
Patricia kept her voice low. “I know how you feel about you-know-what, but I’m so much more comfortable with a pair of needles and it is going to be hard for me to commit to being here all the time. And it is such an important project.”
“Of course, dear. All that really matters is that we get enough shawls done,” CeeCee said, doing a double take as Patricia pushed away from the table. “You aren’t leaving already. You just got here.”
“Sorry, but I have to do a demonstration of some of my hints at my daughter’s school.” Patricia was already halfway to the door by the time she got to the end of the sentence.
“Well, ladies, lets get going on the shawls,” CeeCee said with a sigh of resignation.
We all started making our foundation chains. I glanced CeeCee’s way and she seemed to be working a much bigger clump. At first I thought she’d gotten ahead of us since she was such a skilled crocheter, but even working faster didn’t explain it.
Adele finished playing teacher, and she and Morgan rejoined the group. Adele told Morgan to make a practice swatch and then she’d help Morgan start a shawl. Adele saw the clump of worked yarn coming off CeeCee’s hook and wanted to know what it was.
“Just the next big advance in crochet,” CeeCee said. “They are called extended stitches; you do the foundation and the first row at the same time. No more pesky trying to force your hook into a twisty chain stitch.”
“That’s just the rabble-rousers spreading rumors. It’s nonsense to think of giving up the foundation chain. It’s . . . its historic,” Adele sputtered. “And I’m a purist. I say the old way is the best way.”
I added not opened minded onto my description of Adele. Luckily CeeCee had already put away Patricia’s contribution or Adele would have gone ballistic, probably yelling something about us not being needle heads and keeping our group pure. Adele always went nuts when confronted with anything about knitting. I suppose there was some dark secret in her past. Maybe a bad experience with a sweater knit by her grandmother or something. As if calling yourself a hooker all the time was some kind of step up.
With all the commotion, nobody was paying any attention to Sheila. She had positioned herself at the end of the table, and her head was bent over her work. I was the first one to check out what she was doing. She had the directions for a shawl and six skeins of dark navy yarn. But she seemed to be stuck on making the foundation chain. From my vantage point her stitches looked like knots. I didn’t have to ask to know she was upset.
CeeCee noticed next. She put a hand on Sheila’s arm to stop her struggle, then suggested she unravel, do her foundation with a bigger hook and then go back to the K-size hook on the next row.
Sheila stopped her work and took the larger hook, then she began to tap it on the table, another sure sign she was upset. CeeCee reached over and put her hand on the hook, making it impossible for Sheila to continue tapping it. Undaunted, Sheila began drumming her fingers.
“Just tell us what’s wrong,” Adele said impatiently.
“You’re all very nice to me and I hate to be a crybaby, but I’m worried about losing the place where I live.” She looked at me and I shook my head, indicating I’d done as she asked and not told anyone about her living arrangements. “You might as well all know. I rent a room in a house in Reseda, and I babysit on the weekends to pay part of the rent. The woman who owns it said she’s uncomfortable with me being there since Detective Gilmore asked her a bunch of questions about me. I talked her into letting me stay for now, but she said if I get arrested, I’m out.” Sheila tried to take a deep breath. “The detective has decided I’m a person of interest. She said she overheard me threaten Drew Brooks.” By the end, Sheila’s voice was cracking.
“Don’t worry, dear,” CeeCee began. “Molly will take care of it. She’ll find out who killed that nasty man and get you off the hook.”
“What?” I said as Sheila rushed over to hug me in gratitude.
CHAPTER 9
“I CAN’T BELIEVE CEECEE SAID THAT. SHE MADE it sound like a done deal. What if I can’t find out who killed Drew Brooks?” Dinah and I both had the morning off, and I was pacing around her living room. Several days had gone by since CeeCee had made her pronouncement that I’d get Sheila off the hook, and I just didn’t know if I’d be able to do it. The kids were playing in the other room, and Dinah seemed angry.
“He said he’d be back last night for sure,” she said seeming totally unaware of what I had been talking about. “I’ve called and called his cell phone, and I’m just getting his voice mail.” She ran her fingers through her short hair. She might not be listening to me, but I knew she was talking about Jeremy and his so far failed promise to return from his big job hunt. Dinah didn’t look like her usual self. Not only had she kid-proofed her house, she’d kid-proofed her appearance. No long scarves, because the kids tended to step on them and almost choke her whenever she bent down to their level. Gone were the long earrings, too, since E. Conner started playing with them when she took the kids out for lunch. All she had left was her gelled salt-and-pepper hair and her attitude. Poor Dinah. She was used to her house and life being orderly.
“C’mon kids, you’re going to see Miss Trudy,” Dinah said in an upbeat tone.
“We don’t want to,” E. Conner said, dragging his feet as he walked through the living room. It made an awful noise and probably left scuff marks. Ashley-Angela followed him, hanging on to a beat-up stuffed elephant.
“We want to stay here. They won’t let me talk to Wonkie,” she said, hugging her elephant.
Dinah had been pretty easygoing with them, but between their father not showing up and their poor behavior, she’d reached the end of her patience. Dinah was an expert at shaping up immature freshmen. She did it by being direct and leaving no wiggle room. It was her way or the highway. I had a feeling the kids were about to get a taste of this technique.
“No discussion. We’re leaving in five minutes,” Dinah announced. “Wonkie’s not going.” She started to snatch it from Ashley-Angela’s arm, but the little girl’s face crumbled. Dinah was tough but not mean. “Okay, he can go, but you both have to do what Miss Trudy says.” E. Conner tried dragging his feet again. Dinah told him to stop it or else. Her tone was strong enough that even I didn’t want to ask what the
She got them in the car, making sure they were belted in, and we headed off for Beasley. Dinah didn’t have a class until late in the day, and she kept muttering something about how she hoped no one checked her schedule since child care was supposed to be used only during office hours and class. I hoped they didn’t, too, because it wasn’t a day to mess with Dinah.
As we walked them in, Ashley-Angela ran back to hug Dinah and give her Wonkie.
“He said he wants to go with you,” she said in a serious voice.
“Freedom,” Dinah said, sticking the elephant under her arm before doing a little dance as we walked away. “I need coffee.”
“Me, too. Then maybe we can come up with a plan,” I said, relieved to have my friend all to myself.
“Plan? Plan about what?” Dinah asked, and I realized she hadn’t been paying any attention to what I’d been saying. After I reminded Dinah of why I needed a plan, we discussed where to go for coffee. Dinah didn’t think I’d want to go to the bookstore cafe since I didn’t have to be at the bookstore this morning. However, the coffee was
