another murder and needed someone to tell me how to deal with the police. Personally, I thought the visit had more to do with Peter’s efforts as matchmaker than his concern about me being a suspect. Particularly since I wasn’t a suspect. However, I was glad Peter had brought him over since I did have something I wanted to talk to him about.
From across the room, as though he had lawyer radar, Barry glanced up, locked eyes with Mason and clenched his jaw. Barry knew how to keep his face impassive, but the jaw thing was his one tell when he was really upset.
I don’t think Barry would have liked Mason even if he didn’t see him as competition. Mason had a reputation for keeping his celebrity clients out of jail. He knew how to find the reasonable doubt in cases detectives like Barry built. He was high profile and showed up on the news all the time, coming out of the courthouse. He was also on the board of directors of almost every charity. He claimed, in his usual joking manner, he had to do something to make up for being a lawyer. He was divorced and clearly could have his pick of women of any age group even though he was in his fifties. Why not, he had the big three going for him: successful, good-looking and available. Actually, there was also a fourth. He was a total nonjerk. I suspected his interest in me had more to do with the fact that I kept putting him off than anything else. You know, people always want what they can’t have.
I did like him. He had a sense of humor about himself and an ability to take care of things without making a big deal out of it, like the way he had helped my younger son line up some gigs playing keyboards at some local bars. So I wasn’t saying never about Mason, just not right now.
“I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you about something.” I stepped toward the open door and the relative quiet of the backyard. Mason straightened at my comment and got an expectant expression on his face. I was afraid when he heard what I wanted to talk to him about he was going to be disappointed.
I didn’t have to see Barry’s eyes to know that he probably had a stare so piercing it could burn a hole in a rock.
“So talk,” Mason said when we got outside. He had on a dark suit—blue that was almost black—and a creamy white shirt made out of a soft, silky cotton. He wore no tie and his shirt was open, showing a frizzle of chest hair that, like the hair on his head, was mostly dark brown with a little gray. A few strands of hair always seemed to fall across his forehead, giving him an earnest, hardworking sort of look. He stretched one arm and leaned his hand against the house, which placed him at an intimate distance from me.
“No matter what Peter might have said, I’m not about to be arrested. I’m not a suspect, person of interest or anything like that. Well, maybe a witness.” I started to explain the whole scene with Drew’s face in a bowl, but he’d already heard it. It was serious and all since Drew was dead, but saying the whole thing out loud sounded ridiculous and funny.
“I’m glad to hear you’re not a suspect, but you know if you ever are arrested or need a cup of sugar or just a friendly ear, I’m just a phone call away.”
I thanked him but told him I wanted to talk to him about somebody else and I began to tell the whole story about Sheila.
“Detective Hea—I mean Gilmore heard Sheila say some threatening things about Drew, and then Sheila was at the shop when the whole soup incident happened.”
Mason nodded but didn’t seem particularly concerned until I mentioned the row of paperweights on the desk and how Sheila had said her fingerprints were on the paperweight that had hit Drew on the head.
“How did she know which one hit him, if she didn’t do it?”
“You have to know Sheila,” I began, then told him about her finger tapping and how she’d tried to appear calmer and started tapping the paperweights and worked her way through all of them.
Mason pulled out a card. “If they start accusing her or anything, tell her not to say anything and to call me.”
I gave him a thank-you hug. “And there’s another small problem.”
He waved for me to bring it on.
“She doesn’t have any money.”
Mason shrugged. “No problem. I’d do it as a favor for you. But then you would owe me, wouldn’t you,” he said with a teasing twinkle. “How about dinner as payment?”
“No problem,” I said and offered to pay up right away. Of course, I invited everyone else to stay, too. I don’t think that was what he had in mind.
CHAPTER 12
“HOW DID YOU FEED THEM ALL?” DINAH ASKED. We were the first ones at the crochet group and had taken out our shawls to work on. Dinah wanted all the details of my impromptu dinner party.
I’d been working on my shawl at home, and even though it was just simple rows of single crochet and double crochet with a space, I kept losing stitches. I hadn’t noticed at first and had just kept going, but then began to see there was a certain incline to the edges. I counted the stitches and realized I’d lost ten somewhere along the line. If I continued this way, instead of being a long rectangle the shawl would be shaped like an arrow. I was just glad Adele wasn’t there to see it or I’d never hear the end of it. I unraveled row after row until I’d reached one that had the right number of stitches.
Dinah had found a babysitter for the kids. Although she seemed more relaxed, I noticed she kept taking out her cell phone as if she was going to make a call, then reconsidering and putting it down on the table.
“In answer to how I fed everyone, I sent Samuel and Morgan and their argument to the store. I have a gas grill in the backyard, and I told Barry and Mason they were cooking. I had to get them some tee shirts left over from some promotion Charlie did since they both had on nice clothes. They looked pretty funny in suit pants and green tees that said ‘Wally the Wonder Worm.’ ”
“I thought you said Barry couldn’t cook,” Dinah said, spreading out her work and the ball of forest green yarn. She had tried to convince us to let her make a shawl by joining all the washcloths, but we talked her into following the same pattern as the rest of us. Despite everything she was dealing with, she was still farther along than I was. After hearing about my lost-stitch problem, she kept counting hers every few rows and was relieved to see she still had the correct amount.
“What man can’t barbecue? Or would admit it, anyway?” I said. “Besides it was just hot dogs and hamburgers.”
“Barry and Mason barbecued together?” Dinah said. “How did that go?”
“Not so well.” I laughed at the remembrance. “They argued about when something was done, what rare looked like and whether or not the hot dogs should just be heated or should look all scorched and covered with black. Luckily I had a lot of condiments. You stick it on a bun and pour on enough catsup and mustard and it tastes fine, no matter what.”
“What about Morgan? Did she eat?”
“I think so. I heard her mumbling about losing some weight and then all the dance roles would roll in.” I looked at Dinah and winced. “Did I really just say that?” Dinah nodded with a laugh and I shrugged. “Whatever. Thank heavens it isn’t my problem.” I had done another row and counted stitches. I was back at the right amount.
“Do you think Samuel wanted her to stay with you because of her eating problem? Maybe he thought you could fix it,” Dinah said.
“I hope not, because that kind of problem is out of my league. I’m better at things like going shopping together at the mall or teaching her how to crochet, not fixing her life.”
“Tell me the rest about Barry and Mason,” Dinah said.
“How do you know there is a rest?”
“I need there to be a
