When all of them saw me, there was a lot of hugging and telling me how sorry they still were about Charlie and apologizing for not keeping in touch. Finally, we all headed into the kitchen. The three men got their food first and started to file out of the room.
“I hope you don’t mind, Molly, but I set up a table for us guys in the bedroom. There’s a basketball play-off game on.” My father squeezed my shoulder as he passed.
I glanced down the hall just as my son Samuel came out of the room that was my current bedroom. He was dragging a keyboard and a bunch of wires. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me. “Grandma asked me to be the musical director.”
Samuel was a barista at a coffee shop by day and a musician by night. He sang and played all kinds of instruments, though it was either guitar or piano for most of his bar gigs. He went into the living room and started setting up his equipment.
I followed him back into the living room. The She La Las had put down their plates of food and were in the empty area in front of the fireplace. One of them started singing “My Man Dan” and the others joined in. It wasn’t like in the movies where suddenly it was like no time had passed and they were great. Actually, they were terrible. They weren’t even singing together. At least one of them forgot the words, and when they tried to do their signature dance steps they almost tripped over each other.
Even though I had just gotten home, I knew I had to get out of there. I grabbed the dog leashes and my cell phone, threw on a warm jacket and went out into the night. The dogs and I wandered around the block, but all too soon we were back at my house again. I looked through the big front window and saw the She La Las jumping around. I sat down on the stone porch. It was a little cold on the butt, but a lot quieter than inside.
When my cell phone rang I jumped in surprise. As I tried to open it, it slipped out of my hands and landed in the bushes. I frantically tried to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. Finally, I flipped it open.
“Hey, sunshine,” Mason said. “I got your message. Why do you want to know about Mary Beth Wells—” He paused a beat. “You’re not a suspect are you?”
“Not this time.” I started to tell him the whole story starting with the park, but he stopped me.
“You sound funny. Where are you?”
I told him about the She La Las taking over my house, and he chuckled when he heard I was on the porch.
“Have you eaten?” he said.
“There’s a ton of deli food, but no.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Information is always better over dinner.”
“But I have dogs with me,” I said.
He didn’t miss a beat. “No problem. I know just where to go. I’ll even bring mine.”
“You have a dog?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’m a lawyer. I need to get unconditional love from someone.”
I considered whether I should tell my parents I was leaving, but there was so much going on inside, I doubted I’d be missed.
A few minutes later, Mason pulled his black Mercedes into my driveway and walked across the lawn.
“Don’t you look cute,” he said when he got closer. The black mutt and the strawberry blond terrier mix got up as they considered whether to bark at him. He ruffled both of their heads before they had a chance, and both dogs went into tail-wagging mode.
They looked even happier as we headed toward the car.
“Where’s your dog?” I said, checking the backseat before Cosmo and Blondie got in. Mason pointed to the front seat.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
I didn’t see what he meant until I tried to sit in the passenger seat. A tiny short-haired white dog with black markings eyed me suspiciously.
“Meet Spike,” Mason said, introducing his toy fox terrier.
Cosmo and Blondie were sticking their noses through the space between the front seats trying to do what Mason said. Spike took one look at them and gave them a commanding bark. Both my dogs jumped back and sat down.
I lifted Spike up and got in. He started to bark at me, but I stared him in the eye and shook my head. “Not after the evening I’ve had.”
Leave it to Mason to know a restaurant where dogs were not only welcomed, they were catered to—as long as you sat on the patio. There were heat lamps and plastic siding that made it warm despite the chilly night. In no time, the dogs had bowls of water and dog snacks and we had menus.
As soon as we ordered, I tried to get down to the business of pumping Mason for information, but he stalled.
“So, where’s the detective?” he asked.
“On a case,” I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal. One of the reasons Mason was a good attorney was he saw through things—like my answer.
“Tough being left behind, isn’t it?” His dark eyes caught mine. He was still wearing his suit pants, but not the jacket. The opened collar of his cream dress shirt showed above the neck of his pullover sweater. The patio was warm enough that we’d both taken off our coats. “Look, I deal with homicide cops. I know the life.”
Mason was easy to talk to, and I eventually admitted I was having my doubts. He looked all too happy. Mason was divorced and had made it clear he wasn’t looking to get married again—something I could completely understand. I was really more interested in casual companionship, too. It was Barry who kept pushing for more.
“But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I need to know who Mary Beth Wells was,” I said just as the waiter arrived with dinner. Mason had ordered a platter of barbecued everything for us to share, and there was plenty to pass down to the dogs.
“Ah, playing detective again, are you? This is fun,” he said as we began eating. “I got your message just as I was leaving the office, so there was no time to check anything. All I can tell you is what I know offhand.”
Mason was on the board of directors of practically every charity there was. In his usual self-deprecating way, he always joked that he had to do something to make up for his profession. Since he was on all those boards, he was a regular on the circuit of dinners and events the charities put on. So, it turned out, were Mary Beth and Lance Wells Jr.
“They made a good-looking couple. She had honey blond hair and refined features. He had his father’s dark coloring and athletic build, but none of the dancing talent. Couple that with a little too much alcohol. Well, there were a few events when Mary Beth had to gracefully get him off the dance floor before he totally embarrassed himself.”
“What about the dance studios?”
“I don’t know much about them except that I think Matt Wells took over as the front guy when Lance Sr. died,” Mason said.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Sorry, I should have explained. Matt is Lance Sr.’s nephew. He’s on the charity-dinner circuit, too. Matt doesn’t have the star quality his uncle had, but he’s certainly competent to be the spokesperson for the dance studios.”
I told Mason again about the note and diary entry along with what I described as the crochet code map. “I’d like to find out what the secret was that she was about to reveal.” Mason was sympathetic when I told him I felt guilty somehow because I hadn’t figured out who the things belonged to sooner.
“Molly, I’m sure you couldn’t have done anything to change things.” He reached across and laid a hand on my arm. By now, the dogs were full of barbecue, and Spike, apparently used to being an only dog, was getting tired of having friends around. He jumped up on the bench, crawled under Mason’s arm and started to squirm, making it clear he wanted to go.
Mason had given me more information than I’d had, but not as much as I wanted. On the way home, I told him about the Casino Building being on the crochet piece but that I had no idea what it was supposed to mean.
“It sounds like she must have been very successful at keeping the secret a secret. Didn’t you say the diary
