Camille described how the person with the winning bid had come over to her and complimented her on her crochet work. Then she pulled out some photos and passed them around. An ambitious-looking dark-haired man was wearing the scarf and standing between Camille and her husband. The scarf guy’s eyes were on Hunter. “It was truly rewarding to feel something I’d made could do so much good,” Camille said, finishing her story.
“Weren’t you going to the cafe?” Dinah asked CeeCee. CeeCee glanced toward Camille and said something about having changed her mind.
Eduardo came in later and apologized all around for being MIA. But he hadn’t been idle. He had two of the blankets finished and lots of bookmarks. I was amazed how with his big hands he could maneuver the tiny hook and thin thread.
Dinah pulled her chair close to me. “What are you going to do?”
I sighed and told her I didn’t know. “The worst of it is, much as I hate to admit it, Adele’s right. I have made a mess of everything and gotten nowhere.”
Dinah tried to make me feel better and regretted she couldn’t hang around after, but she had office hours to get to. We promised to catch up later.
After the group left, I cleared away our table and chairs and then kept busy around the bookstore. While I was putting out copies of the newsletter I’d written I noticed Mrs. Shedd was in. Ever since the television show had arranged to film there, Mrs. Shedd had been around much more. In the past, she usually came in before we opened and after we closed.
I walked over to her as she was supervising the removal of all the easy chairs we had spread around the store. “They’re being upholstered,” she said, showing me a swatch. She’d changed the artwork, too. Before there had been some prints that I had barely noticed. Now there were framed photos of the store, some customers, Bob and his cookies and the transformation of the street over the years. I had to agree with her thinking. The local photographs made the bookstore feel more personal.
The one good part of having my parents staying with me was that my father was happy to take care of the dogs. So, I had no reason to rush home. I stayed until the bookstore closed.
It was dark and cold when I drove up my driveway. I felt a certain apprehension as I walked across the backyard. Would there be another phone call or gift on my door-step?
The house was quiet when I walked in. All the take-out food had been put away. I peeked in the living room, wondering if the She La Las had fallen asleep in midpractice. I wasn’t ready for who I saw.
The couches, tables and chairs were still piled in the den. The only seating available in the living room was a bunch of folding chairs up against the wall. My parents were in two of them, and Barry was in a third with Cosmo draped over his lap.
“What?” I said, walking in. My gaze stayed on Barry, and I supposed my expression wasn’t exactly welcoming.
“They called me,” he explained. He looked exhausted, his tie was off and his shirt open at the collar. His eyes were heavy and his beard overgrown. The black eye my father had inadvertently given him was fading but still visible.
“I was on my way home. Thirty-six hours straight.” His eyes met mine. My immediate thought was sympathy, but then I reminded myself that had we still been seeing each other, I would have been wondering where he was and probably worried. And, I also reminded myself, he had left out a huge chunk of his life.
My father got up, went to the kitchen and came back with a freezer bag. As he passed I saw the silvery dead fish with the marzipan apple still in its mouth. He showed it to Barry.
“I heard the phone message,” my mother said. “We were worried, so we called him.”
Barry blew out some air and looked at me. “What have you gotten yourself in the middle of this time?”
“She’s gotten in trouble before?” my mother said.
First, I was surprised and maybe a little pleased that my mother seemed so concerned. She’d always been self-absorbed, but with the She La Las rehearsals she’d gone over the top even for her. Then I was upset. I didn’t want my parents to worry, and it was embarrassing to have them call my ex-boyfriend about a dead fish with some almond-paste fruit stuck in its mouth.
I gave Barry a little shake of my head, hoping he wouldn’t start giving details.
“Didn’t you at least offer him some food?” I said, trying to change the subject.
Barry looked at the dead fish and made a face. “If that’s what you had in mind, no thanks.”
“Okay, intervention over,” I said to my parents. “I’ll tell Barry about it myself.”
They looked relieved and went into the bedroom. My father came back a minute later and pressed a tube of something in Barry’s hand.
“It’s moisturizer with a little color. It ought to camouflage your eye.”
“Makeup?” Barry said, eying the tube with discomfort.
“It’s not makeup,” my father insisted.
I took Barry into the kitchen. He was still holding the now-frozen dead fish and the makeup, and I wasn’t sure which one upset him more.
I pointed toward the trash, but he suggested I might want to hang onto it for now in case it turned out to be evidence. Then he opened the freezer and popped it back in, before putting the makeup on the counter and leaning against it. Cosmo had followed us into the kitchen and parked himself next to Barry’s leg.
I made him a plate of the leftover take-out food and then heated up a square of the noodle pudding. The buttery smell filled the kitchen.
He nodded when I handed it to him. “Looks homemade. Your mother?”
I laughed. “No. Me.”
We sat down at the kitchen table, and he began to eat ravenously. I noticed he went for my noodle pudding first. He nodded as he chewed and sighed with pleasure. Then he went back to his tough expression. “I am not going to ask you what’s going on. I know that you’re still mucking around in the Mary Beth Wells case. The fish is a warning. Drop it.”
I nodded. I had my pride and wasn’t about to let on that the whole case was a disaster anyway.
Barry finished the noodle dish and moved on to the corned beef sandwich, potato salad and coleslaw I’d given him. I offered him something to drink. “I can help myself,” he replied, getting up. This was all too weird. So familiar and strange at the same time. He opened the refrigerator, and I saw him do a double take.
“Who’s the beer for? Your new boyfriend.”
“No, it’s for my father. He likes to drink a bottle at night. It helps him sleep. Feel free to have some.”
“How’s it going with the dancer?” There was an edge to Barry’s voice as he came back to the table with the amber bottle. Cosmo was following his every move.
“I’m not going out with the dancer,” I said, hoping to end it.
“Who then?” Barry was looking directly at me. He was Mr. Detective now, interrogating and confrontational.
“You don’t want to know,” I said, breaking eye contact and looking down.
Barry put down the sandwich. He didn’t have to say the name for me to realize he knew it was Mason. When he had finished eating and drank most of the beer, he looked down at the black mutt and ruffled his fur. His face softened for a moment, but it was back to tough cop when he looked at me. “Do you have any idea who the caller was or who might have left the gift?”
I groaned. There were so many possibilities.
“Just spread the word that you gave up,” he said, rising to leave.
There was an awkward moment while we stood facing each other and his gaze held mine. “I don’t know if it matters to you, but I contacted my daughter.”
He thanked me for the food and went to the kitchen door. Cosmo tried to follow, but Barry stepped out quickly, closing the door before the dog could get out. Then Cosmo sat down in front of the glass door and whined.
CHAPTER 28
THE PHONE CALLS, THE FISH AND MY PARENTS concern had gotten to me. Maybe it was time to drop it. So
