Dead Men Don't Crochet

waved.

“I thought Jeremy was picking up the kids,” I said.

Dinah’s expression went to upset and she stepped closer to me and out of earshot of E. Conner and Ashley- Angela. “It’s a long story. No, it’s really a very short story. Jeremy left, alone. He’s up in Seattle supposedly locking in a job. He said he just has a hotel room and there’s someone who could babysit the kids, but he thinks the person might have an alcohol problem. Clearly he knows how to manipulate me. But it’s just temporary. He’s got thirty days. Then either he picks up his kids or I’m bringing them up there.”

I told her everything would be all right and sent them to the cafe for Bob’s special spider juice punch and shortbread fingers. I suggested Adele help in there, too. I was relieved when she let go.

As soon as I started handing out tickets I knew there were going to be problems. The people at the end of the line were already getting antsy. Just then a woman came up and took my arm. “You’re Molly Pink, aren’t you?” she asked. I nodded, and she explained the cashier had told her I was in charge of the crochet group.

“Not in charge, just one of the soldiers,” I said with a smile. She introduced herself and explained she was director of the Women’s Haven and had stopped by to pick up a book. “I also want to thank you in advance for the shawls. You have no idea what this will mean to the women, knowing somebody cares enough to make them something. God bless you for thinking of them,” she said before leaving.

The next mother in line was glaring at me for not attending to the tickets. Before I could start handing them out again, Mason Fields showed up with a little blond boy in tow who he introduced as his grandson. The same mother started muttering threats under her breath. Mason pulled me aside and asked if I could get his grandson in the tent. I made a big point of shaking my head as if to say no, while I told him to go in the cafe and wait with Dinah and I’d sneak them in.

I was glad Jeffrey was too old to appreciate Milton. With everything going on I didn’t need some kind of confrontation between Barry and Mason.

Two of the Horror Helpers came out and invited the first twenty kids into the tent. I was about to hand out more tickets when Pixie stepped in front of me.

“I found this on the copy machine,” she said, holding out two pieces of paper. She looked a little better and thanked me again for the food. Bob saw her and waved for her to come in. “You’re busy. You can look at it later and then give it back to me,” she said before heading toward the cafe. I started to look at the pages, but a mother in line tapped me on the shoulder.

“Are you going to hand out those numbers, or what?” the angry mother said.

“Sorry,” I said, tearing off more tickets and handing them out. The Horror Helpers invited the next group into the tent. As I suspected, I ran out of tickets before I ran out of people in line.

“This is ridiculous,” a mother wearing a bandana said. “I want to speak to the manager.” The other people in line heard her and started chanting the same thing.

“What’s going on?” a voice asked in the midst of the commotion. When I turned I saw that it was Dorothy. “I just wanted to pick up a coffee,” she said, regarding the squirming kids with distaste.

Ignoring the annoyed parents in the line, I blurted out, “I need to talk to you about who ordered Dr. Bullard’s soup.” Was it my imagination, or did her eyes narrow?

There were more complaints from the line as Dorothy pulled away. “Kevin’s alone at the store. I have to get back so he can clean out something in the storage unit. Can’t talk now.”

She was gone before I could stop her. I wanted to run after her, but I had to deal with the restless stragglers first. I rushed the overflow to the kids’ department. As expected, Adele was hiding there. I introduced her as one of Milton’s extra special helpers and said she would not only read a portion of the new book to them but would also get them complimentary spider punch and shortbread fingers. Her outfit was a big hit. I left before I saw how the reading went.

Then, when no one was looking, I slipped E. Conner and Ashley-Angela, along with Mason’s grandson, in the tent. Mason and Dinah had found a table and were talking. Bob was talking to Pixie; his body language said he was offering his sympathy and hers said she was taking it, along with a creamy-looking drink.

I leaned against a bookcase and took a deep breath. So far, so good. I’d been so preoccupied, I’d forgotten I was still holding the two pages Pixie had handed me. At first, it didn’t even register what they were. Then I realized they were a copy of the brochure she had mentioned. The title on the front was Palladian Estate Heirlooms. There was a picture of one those large English houses that looked like it probably had no heat. Because it was only a copy, the picture quality wasn’t great. Below the photo was the story of the house and the family that had lived there. Lady Sara Ratcliffe was described as Princess Diana’s third cousin. Though Lord Ratcliffe was mentioned, the only family photo was of Lady Sara. It appeared to be a copy of an old sepia formal portrait. Lady Rafcliffe wore a long dark dress and was standing next to a chair, her hand resting on it. There was a lacy thing around her neck and down the front of the dress, which was obviously the collar Pixie had talked about. It resembled a long scarf. I could see enough detail to recognize that the piece I’d seen on Drew Brooks’s desk drawer handle came from it. Her hair was piled on her head in one of those old-fashioned styles, but since the focus was soft and it wasn’t a close-up, it was hard to make out her features. Dr. Bullard was good if he could see she had an overbite.

I looked closer at the face and covered the stylized hair with my hand. At first I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I stared so hard I had to look away to refocus my eyes. When I turned back to the picture, there was no mistaking who it was. And then all the pieces began to fall into place.

The picture was enough to convince me I knew who had killed Drew for sure and probably Dr. Bullard. But it probably wouldn’t be enough for Detective Heather. Ah, but then a thought crossed my mind. Hadn’t someone mentioned the meticulous records Ramona Brooks kept when she was the owner of the Cottage Shoppe? A sheet listing the seller of the Ratcliffe Estate items would be the piece that tied everything together.

And I even knew where the files were. I’d overheard Kevin mention putting them in the storage unit. I considered calling Detective Heather and telling her about Ramona Brooks’s records. But hadn’t Dorothy just said something about Kevin clearing some stuff out of the unit? I had to get that Ratcliffe Estate file now.

Even though I was in the middle of Milton Mindell’s event, I couldn’t take the chance that the records would get shredded before I got the sheet I needed. I dashed to the children’s section and told Adele I had to step out for a few minutes.

“Pink, you can’t go,” she wailed, looking at the kids sitting around her. Obviously my plan hadn’t worked so well; the kids were fidgeting and punching each other. She got up and stepped close to me.

“You wanted to be in charge, well, consider yourself in that position for ten minutes or so,” I said. “It’s important. I know who killed Drew Brooks, and if I don’t get the proof now, it will be gone.” Adele demanded details of where I was going, and I pointed toward the Cottage Shoppe. “There is something I have to get before Kevin Brooks has a chance to throw it away. If you have any problems Dinah will help.”

Adele sighed and marched back to the kids, asking if anybody wanted another round of spider punch.

I was almost jogging when I passed Dinah and Mason in the cafe. I turned as I kept moving and told Dinah I had found the answer to everything and was going for the proof. She started to get up to come with me, but I waved her off. I thought something might be developing between them and I didn’t want to interrupt it. Besides, all I was going to do was slip into the storage unit and find a file. I started to jog down the street, but it morphed into an outright run.

I rushed past the Cottage Shoppe, barely catching a glimpse of Kevin stirring some soup while Dorothy helped a customer.

The doors to the storage unit were closed but, thankfully, not locked. I pulled one side open and slipped in. It was a full-service container and had a light. I walked down the narrow walkway between tall shelving units, quickly checking both sides for a box of files. The shelves were jammed with stuff from the store. On the upper shelves I saw pots and pans, the espresso machine, and giant glass jars of tomato products along with one-gallon plastic jugs of brown liquid. The yarn swift and the skeins of yarn Dorothy had put aside for me were sticking out from an eye-level shelf. The lower shelves held plastic containers of merchandise from the store and cleaning supplies, but nothing that looked like a box of records.

My heart was pounding from the running and anticipation as I reached the spot at the back where the shelving ended. The whole area was filled with boxes, and I began to tug at them so I could get them in the light and see their contents. The first two I opened contained cookbooks and more merchandise from the store. And then I opened one that made me gasp. It was filled with the paperweights that had been on Drew’s desk. Apparently