You Better Knot Die

I just put up my hands in a who-knows sort of way. The next moment Adele waved toward the parking lot and announced that William was driving by to pick her up and then she flew out the door.

With Adele gone, Mrs. Shedd and I discussed the afternoon. I didn’t want her to feel hopeless, but at the same time I didn’t want her to feel too hopeful, either, since there was no guarantee Bradley was even alive. And even if he was alive, after what the SEC people said about the checks to the casinos, it was doubtful there was any money to find.

“Just don’t give up, Molly,” Mrs. Shedd said in a tense voice. “No pressure, but the future of the bookstore is on your shoulders.” She let the words sink in and then went back to her normal self and asked if everything was ready for the upcoming holiday event.

Thanks to CeeCee’s effort to get everyone making snowflakes, I felt comfortable saying yes. Finally, Mrs. Shedd went back to her office.

I looked back at the activity table in the yarn area and was surprised to see Elise sitting by herself. Even from here I could tell by her body language that she was upset. She was slumped in a defensive posture over her yarn. She looked up when I approached the table. I almost expected her to put her hand in front of her face to deflect any blows. She had balls of black and white yarn and seemed to be starting another vampire scarf. I slid into the seat next to her.

“I couldn’t stay home any longer. The phone keeps ringing. It’s always the same thing. They want to talk to Logan. Why isn’t he answering his cell phone? Why isn’t he answering his business phone? Then they want to know what’s going on with Bradley Perkins. Is it true he’s dead? They called Bradley’s office and all they did was take a message and refuse to give out any information. It ends with something frantic about wanting to know if their investments are okay.”

Elise leaned back in the chair. “I was afraid to come to the Hookers meeting this morning. Everyone is so angry. They think Logan was making some kind of commission off the people he got to invest with Bradley.” Her expression darkened. “I don’t know how much more Logan can take. He seems pretty close to cracking.”

I felt sorry for her, but at the same time wanted to know the truth. “Did Logan make money off his dealing with Bradley?”

Her face hardened. “Logan didn’t make any commission on the clients he introduced to Bradley. The only gain he got was that Bradley tried to push real estate business his way.” She said the line as if she’d said it many times before. She ended by staring at me and saying a defiant, “Okay?”

I reached out and touched her in support. I believed her and felt sorry for her situation. “Would it make any difference if Bradley was alive?”

Her eyes focused and she straightened. “Did you see him? Where? When?” Her voice sounded frantic.

“No, I didn’t see him,” I said. “I just have reason to believe he might still be alive.”

Elise held on to my arm. “Find him, please. If he is, he’s the one who should pay for his crime. Not Logan.”

I lightened the mood by asking her about her crocheting. As soon as I got her talking about Anthony and what we thought would happen with the vampire and the reporter in the next book, she went back to being her regular self. I asked her about the directions for the scarf and she apologized for forgetting she said she’d bring them in. She pulled out a piece of paper and began writing down how to make it. As I was leaving the yarn area, a woman had come up to the table and was admiring Elise’s work. It was probably only temporary, but at least for the moment she seemed to have some peace.

Since I’d been gone all afternoon I stayed at the bookstore until eight. Most of my time was spent helping customers, but in between I went through my checklist for our So Many Traditions event, as we were calling it. The centerpiece was celebrating Santa Lucia Day, which it more or less coincided with. To many the Swedish holiday kicked off the holiday season. Mrs. Shedd was the Santa Lucia expert. It was part of her Swedish heritage and as a child she’d been the one to wear the white dress, red sash and crown of candles. In our version, Rayaad’s daughters were going to wear the outfits, though our candles were going to be battery operated. Since part of the tradition of Santa Lucia had to do with feeding everybody, refreshments were on the house. I stopped in the cafe to check with Bob on the status of the ginger cookies, or pepparkakor, as Mrs. Shedd called them. He had taken advantage of the slowdown in customers and was leaning on the counter, typing on his laptop.

He startled when I stepped up to the counter and stood up abruptly.

“I tried two recipes. Tell me what you think.” Bob was very serious as he handed me two cookies shaped like stars and a shot of milk to clear my palate between tastes.

“I thought so,” he said when I pointed out the cookie I preferred. “Those are the ones with molasses.”

He asked about the rolls we were serving. Technically, they were supposed to be saffron buns, but Mrs. Shedd’s family had been renegades and served cardamom buns instead. Bob was the king of cookies, but he was nervous about doing anything with yeast, so I’d offered to make the buns.

“I’m making a test batch tonight,” I said and promised to bring him a sample.

I MADE A STOP AT THE GROCERY STORE FOR SUPPLIES and headed home. Shortly after Charlie died, I’d thought of selling the house and moving to a condo. It had really been more Peter’s suggestion, telling me I should downsize. Now I was glad I hadn’t done it. With two dogs, two cats, too much yarn and Samuel as a temporary resident, I needed the space. I was sure Samuel would make some other living arrangements in the near future. But I was willing to put money down that when the time came for him to move, the cats would stay with me.

I was looking forward to taking my time and enjoying making the rolls. Even if Samuel was home, he’d probably be in his room and not in my way.

It had become an automatic response to check the Perkins’ house as I drove by. From the street it looked dark. Not even the porch light was on.

I shut off the motor and grabbed the grocery bag. Along with the baking supplies, I’d picked up a pint of ice cream. One of the things I’d said I liked about being on my own was being able to have an occasional ice-cream dinner and not have anybody look askance. No cars in front of my house and no cars in the driveway. I pulled into the garage and the automatic door shut with a rumble. I walked into the backyard and looked ahead to the back door. And no one ruffling through things in my house. The door was locked and any mess inside was strictly my fault.

Once inside I saw there was a note on the table. Barry had stopped by and given the dogs yard time along with feeding them and the cats. Feeling like a lady of leisure for the moment, I set the grocery bag down and took out the pint of ice cream. First things first. I’d have my Bordeaux and strawberry dinner and then begin baking.

I took a bowl of ice cream and settled in the middle of the couch and put my feet up. The dogs plumped down on either side of me and the cats jumped up and perched on the back of the couch. I let out a big satisfied ah as I took my first spoonful of my favorite ice cream.

The back wall of the den was all windows that looked out on the backyard. Something moving outside caught my eye, and I sat bolt upright and almost choked on my mouthful of ice cream. A moment later I heard someone fidgeting with the back door lock. Was it a key or someone with a hairpin?

I marched to the kitchen and grabbed a broom, ready to do battle as the door opened.

I raised the broom, ready to smack whoever entered. Luckily I looked before I swatted. Barry and Mason walked in, talking about football. They both looked up at the same time.

“Oh, you’re home,” Barry said, giving the raised broom a strange look.

“Hey, Sunshine, what are you doing, trying to sweep the ceiling?” Mason said with a grin.

I set the broom down. “I got a little nervous when I heard someone fiddling with the back door.” I glanced from one of them to the other. Something wasn’t right. They were acting friendly toward each other. “What’s up with you guys?”

“Sunshine, even with a BlackBerry you still have to answer it or look at your messages.” When I didn’t get what he was talking about, he asked to see it. I found it in my purse and handed it over. He hit some keys and displayed a list of messages, he’d left. He’d left voice mail messages, too.

“I stopped by the bookstore this afternoon and you weren’t there, either. Finally I came by here. Greenberg was in the yard with the dogs. I hung around awhile to see if you were going to show up. When he finished with the animals and you still weren’t here, we decided to get some dinner together.”