at the gym. CeeCee had a lunch engagement, and Dinah had to get to the college for her office hours.
Adele was the only one left at the table. She finished off a row on the blanket she was making. Her creations usually incorporated wildly vivid colors, but for this one she had chosen a soft butterscotch and snowy white and was following CeeCee’s pattern of stripes with a border.
As I rose to clear off the filet crochet piece, she said, “So, Pink, CeeCee really did leave it up to you to deal with that.” Then she kind of
Well, we were even there—I wasn’t too impressed with her, either. Especially her clothes. Since she’d started hanging out with Ali, her outfits had gotten several notches more ridiculous. Ali had the figure and style to pull off the miniskirts and odd combinations. Adele didn’t have either. Not that it stopped her. Today Adele wore a winter concoction with sheepskin boots that made her shuffle when she walked. She had tucked her black pants in and they puffed out, giving her a gaucho look. On top she had a short orange vest over a white tunic and about ten necklaces and a long yellow and black striped scarf. She’d added some highlights to her hair, but they were too regular and they made her hair look striped. Knowing Adele, I suspected it had been intentional.
I informed Adele I’d made some progress and told her about the diary entry and the astrological sign. “Though I still don’t have a clue who the things belong to.”
Adele held it up to examine it and then appeared way too pleased with herself.
“Maybe I should change my name to Adele Drew,” she said, flipping the hair off her shoulder. “I know how you can find out who made it.”
Okay, she had my attention and she knew it. She paused and kept looking at the piece, her self-satisfied smile widening.
“Are you going to tell me or are you just going to keep it to yourself?”
“I wish I had a drumroll or something,” Adele said, looking around as if some kind of musical flourish would appear. “It’s simple, Pink. See the aqua thread in this panel. It’s not your typical Super Craft Mart ball of yarn. I know because I made something out of it. There’s only one store around here that carries it—Yarnie’s. And they keep meticulous records.”
Adele began to gather up her things, putting them into her patent leather tote bag. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat. I have an important meeting in the children’s department.”
“Is it Koo Koo?” I called after her. She turned back and glared.
“His name is William,” she said with a hiss of annoyance.
Okay, his name really was William Bearly, but his nom de plume was Koo Koo the Clown. He wrote books about common childhood traumas from a clown’s point of view. He was also Adele’s boyfriend, but I suspected her important meeting was more about his upcoming event. Mrs. Shedd had started to let Adele handle the children’s authors programs. I’d seen the signage in the office. Apparently, this time, Koo Koo had taken to the skies. His current offering was
I called a thank-you as she disappeared behind the soft blue bookcases that separated the kids’ area from the rest of the store. I finally had a real lead.
CHAPTER 5
YES, I FINALLY HAD A LEAD, BUT IT WOULD HAVE to wait, at least for a few hours because I needed to clean up from the Tarzana Hookers and reset things for the evening event. I set up rows of chairs and a table with books, and made sure the signs were out front promoting
I expected it to be a simple evening. Kimball would read a case history, people would buy books, get them signed and leave.
Why did things never go off as expected?
Somewhere in the afternoon, I took a break, hoping to cruise by Yarnie’s and get a quick answer to who owned the bag of items. Then I hoped to make a chink in the list of things my mother had to have for her visit. The initial list she’d given me on the phone had been enhanced by numerous e-mails.
My cell phone rang on the way to the car.
“Hey, babe,” Barry’s deep voice said when I answered.
Finally, a phone call from him. A certain tension went out of my shoulders. It always seemed to come when I didn’t hear from him for a while. I mean when your job involves guns, suspects and criminal activity, it’s only natural for people who care about you to worry.
“Do I have a lot to tell you,” I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I unlocked the greenmobile. Barry said something but his voice was muffled, and then in the background I heard what sounded like someone making an announcement over a PA system.
“I just have a minute,” Barry said, apparently having not heard what I said. He seemed to be talking to someone else, and I could still hear other voices in the background.
“Where are you?”
“On a plane about to take off. They’re insisting I turn off my phone.” In a burst of words, he told me he had to go to Philadelphia to question a witness and that he was taking his son, Jeffrey, with him and was going to drop him off at his mother’s. Barry had been divorced for several years and his wife had just remarried. “I miss you,” he said quickly. “I’ll make it up when I get back.” And then there was silence.
It took a minute for it all to sink in, and as it did, I felt the tension come back into my shoulders. Being in a relationship with a homicide detective was certainly a challenge. And again I questioned if it was what I really wanted.
My husband Charlie had worked long hours in the public relations firm and he’d traveled frequently, but when we went out to dinner we never had to take separate cars in case he got a call in the middle of our meal because somebody had just found a dead body.
I started the car and drove to the address Adele had given me for Yarnie’s—a strip mall on the Tarzana- Encino border. I felt my anticipation level rise as I pulled into a parking spot. Barry was off on his case, and I was about to find out the solution to mine.
Dinah and I had always intended to check out the small yarn store but had never gotten around to it. I glanced ahead to the front window and noticed it was strangely dark. Hoping the store owner was just trying to save on electricity, I went to the door and pulled. It didn’t open. Then I noticed the colorful sign on the window.
Of all the times for the owner to close for three days so she could go to a wool seminar in Pismo Beach! I couldn’t hide my disappointment; I felt my mouth droop as I headed back to the car with the grocery sack stuck under my arm.
I plowed through part of the list for my mother and got the organic blackberry honey that had to come from Canterbury, New Zealand, and the organic meyer lemons, the cotton sheets and the natural detergent I had to wash the sheets in three times before putting them on the bed.
I had decided to put my parents in my room and had already begun cleaning the house and removing anything that might inspire negative comments like “You don’t really use that kind of orange juice, do you?”
I dropped my purchases off at home, took care of Blondie and Cosmo and went back to the bookstore.
It was dusk when I arrived, and the bookstore looked welcoming, its warm lights shining through the windows and inviting customers in. Bob had a red eye ready for me and handed me some cookies to go with it. In a moment of humor, he had decided to make sugar cookies that looked like dog biscuits. Whatever they looked like, they tasted delicious and the strong coffee drink was a good chaser.
He set up a coffee-and-cookie stand right in the bookstore while I went to the event area. Kimball was already there taking some boxes out of a shopping bag and putting them on the table with the books.
I picked up one of the boxes and examined it.
“It’s a test kit for taking a DNA sample,” Kimball explained, along with the fact that he manufactured them
