Drew was short with a solid build and a flop of brown hair. What he lacked in size he made up for in a sense of power. He ushered the bald man to the door and in a phony voice thanked him for his business. As he walked back past the tearoom, he saw all of us sitting there, crocheting, checking calendars and reading student papers— everything except eating or drinking.
“This is for customers only,” he said in an unpleasant voice. Sheila took a deep breath, stood up and separated herself from the rest of us.
“I need to talk to you,” she said in a surprisingly forceful voice. “That check is unacceptable.” I guess the moral-support thing really worked.
Drew dismissed her with a shake of his head. “Sorry, no time. I’m on my way out.”
Before any of us could say a word, he had gone out the front door. It shut with a bang and an angry jangle of the bell.
“If he thinks he can just avoid dealing with me, he has another thought coming,” Sheila said and banged on the table for emphasis. We all jumped.
Another man, maybe a little younger than Drew, came down the stairs. He had similar features and the same brown hair, but it looked different on him. Drew had more of a sneer, while this man, who I assumed must be the other Brooks brother, seemed to have a more genuine smile.
“Ladies, I hope you noticed we’re now featuring some homemade soup,” he said, apparently oblivious to any problem we were having. He checked the refreshment bar, noting the tea was low and the creamer empty.
“Kevin Brooks,” he said as an introduction, holding out his hand to CeeCee. It was really meant for all of us, but she was closest.
“Your brother owes our friend an apology and the rest of her money,” CeeCee said. I guess she had made sure there were no cell phone or paparazzi cameras aimed at her and decided to go for it.
His innkeeper smile faded, then he looked at CeeCee again as who she was began to sink in. “Ms. Collins, I wish I could help, but my brother handles the money.” His gaze moved over the rest of us, and he sucked in his breath when he saw our fierce expressions. “How about a bowl of soup for each of you? On the house, of course.” When he didn’t get any response from us, he rethought his offer. “Maybe it’s a little early for lentil soup. How about some coffee or an espresso drink and a pastry?”
“A cappuccino would be nice, with low-fat milk, of course,” CeeCee said. Once she’d opened the door, the rest of us spoke up. Kevin made the coffee drinks, set them up on the bar and invited us to help ourselves to the pastries. CeeCee muttered something about not wanting to be rude as she took a raspberry croissant. We carried our goodies back to the table. I was pleased when my red eye was nice and strong and a perfect complement to the sour cream danish.
“Then everything is fine now?” Kevin Brooks said, coming by to check a few minutes later.
Sheila surprised us all by hitting the table with her fist and saying it wasn’t. “If you think giving us a caffeine-and-sugar rush is going to make me go away, you have another thought coming. My friends and I’ll be back, and your brother better make good on what he owes me or else.”
Kevin took a step back and appeared uncomfortable with her outburst. I was also surprised by it. Sheila always seemed soft spoken, with her head down and her hair covering her face. I didn’t know she had the ability for such a confrontation. The other customers had heard her, too, and we suddenly had become the center of attention.
“I think it’s time to go,” CeeCee said, scanning the crowd for anybody with a camera. These days, with everything on the Internet in a few minutes and the public hungry for anything embarrassing about celebrities, she was always on guard.
As we filed into the entrance hall, Sheila said she really meant what she’d said: She was coming back, and next time Drew Brooks was going to have to deal with her or else.
“We’re with you,” Adele said. “That was a fabulous cappuccino, just the right blend of foam and espresso, but it’ll take more than that to buy me off.”
CeeCee was hesitant about agreeing to another go-round, but she finally patted Sheila’s hand and said she was in. Dinah’s eyes were flashing, and she told Sheila she’d done good by standing up for herself. Of course, she’d be back. There were some problems with us meeting at the shop the next day, so we decided to do it the day after at the same time. We’d started out just wanting to help Sheila, but now Drew Brooks had gotten all of us mad.
Patricia excused herself, saying she had to get to some volunteering thing at the hospital and left ahead of the rest of us.
As we were leaving, I noticed a familiar face admiring the heather blue knitted blanket I’d noticed earlier. She looked up and our eyes met.
Detective Hea—I mean, Gilmore,” I said. Her face showed recognition but not the open smile of someone really glad to see you. No wonder—we weren’t exactly friends. We did have something in common. Barry Greenberg. She wanted him and I had him. And it really bugged her.
“Were you with the brown-haired woman making the scene?” she asked.
I tried to shrug it off, but she stuck with it. “Didn’t I recognize the crochet group? What is it you call yourselves?”
“We’re the Tarzana Hookers,” I said in a low voice, realizing that seeing her shopping like a regular person was weird. Detective Heather was dressed in a dark suit with a pencil skirt and heels, and had pulled her white blond curls back into a more serious style. I only called her Detective Heather in my mind and to my friends. Saying it directly to her sounded too much like calling her Detective Barbie Doll. She already didn’t like me, and I didn’t want to make it worse. The truth was, she had a lot going for her. She was not only hot looking, but also very smart and a good detective, according to Barry.
Detective Heather asked what the problem was. I knew it was foolish, but since it wasn’t for me, I explained, thinking she might do something, like wave her gun at the nice Brooks brother and get Sheila her money. No such luck.
“Tell your friend to take him to small claims court,” she said, brushing some lint off her purse. I didn’t have to ask to know she’d knitted it. It was the replica of some bag featured at Neiman Marcus that you’d have to take out a mortgage to buy. Detective Heather was knit only and no fan of crochet or the people that did it.
CHAPTER 4
TWO DAYS LATER, I WAS AGAIN WAITING OUTSIDE the Cottage Shoppe, but things were different. According to the banners on the windows, the Hearston Estate items had arrived. I didn’t know what they were, but they seemed to have attracted a crowd. People kept passing me and going inside. I thought the crochet group had agreed to meet outside, but after standing alone for a while, I began to wonder if I’d misunderstood, so I went inside, too.
Once I got past a clump of people in the entrance hall, I saw CeeCee standing in the dining room, admiring a three-tiered tray of scones.
“I thought we were going to meet outside,” I said, walking up to her.
“It’s so much more interesting in here, I came inside,” CeeCee said. I asked about the others, and she mentioned she’d seen Patricia looking around. “And here’s Dinah.” My friend stepped around a woman carrying a butter churn.
I was determined to get some information from Dinah this time about the other night. I’d since tried calling her a number of times, and either she hadn’t answered or she’d told me she couldn’t talk. Today she was wrapped in a rust-colored shawl and had on brass earrings that jangled when she moved her head.
“Okay, so what
“I’m really not trying to stall you. I’ll tell you about it, but let’s take care of Sheila’s problem first.” A woman jostled Dinah as she showed off a crystal decanter to her shopping companion. “Here comes Sheila.” We waited while Sheila moved between some people and came over to us. She had a determined look on her face, but I noticed she was twisting her fingers, a sure sign she was nervous.
