before the word
Even though Mrs. Shedd had told me I could call her Pamela, it felt too strange. Kind of like calling your doctor by their first name. So, mostly I avoided calling her anything, but when I had to say something, it always came out as Mrs. Shedd. She was just clearing off her desk and shutting off her computer when I walked in.
I guessed she was somewhere in her late sixties, but her dark blond hair didn’t have even a strand of gray, and I was sure it was natural. Something about the pageboy style seemed timeless. I was a little on the breathless side from rushing. My tote brushed her desk and the knitting needles clanged together. Mrs. Shedd wasn’t into crafting, but she recognized the needles and chuckled.
“I’m glad you don’t share Adele’s obsession. She reacts to knitting needles like a vampire does to a stake.” Mrs. Shedd glanced up at my face and looked suddenly concerned. “Molly, are you okay? You look a little frazzled.”
In my rush to get to the bookstore, I’d forgotten to stop and check my appearance. Instinctively I reached up and touched my hair. I could tell by feel that it wasn’t laying flat. I was still wearing the clothes I’d put on in the hotel in San Diego. The khaki slacks were wrinkle proof, but the white shirt was a little worse for wear from the car ride and the animal pick up. I pulled a vest out of my tote bag and put it over the shirt and tried to pat my hair into order while I detailed my arrival home.
Mrs. Shedd’s eyes widened when I got to the part about the broken front door. “Molly, you certainly lead an interesting life.” When I got to the real story, she listened with interest. “This neighbor that disappeared—is it anyone I know?”
“You might have seen him in the bookstore. His name is Bradley Perkins. He’s on the tall side, reddish brown hair with a friendly smile,” I said, expecting a dismissive nod.
“What do you mean Bradley Perkins disappeared?” Mrs. Shedd said abruptly.
“You know him?” I said, surprised.
“Yes, I do,” she said. I waited for more details about how she knew him, but none came. I repeated what Emily had said about how he’d gone to work and just not come home.
Mrs. Shedd’s placid expression had changed to agitated. “That’s hardly a full story. Did she call his office to see if he showed up there? Was he there all day, or did he leave early?” I shrugged, realizing I didn’t know. She seemed so concerned, I tried to calm her by telling her that it seemed most likely it was what the cop had said—he and his wife had had some kind of argument and he’d gone off to cool down. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me posted,” Mrs. Shedd said as she gathered up her things. Mr. Royal stopped in the doorway and looked in.
“Ready, Pamela?” he said. I thought of Mr. Royal as the world’s most interesting man. He’d been away for several years, and in that time, he seemed to have gone everywhere and done everything. Trekking through the Himalayas, driving a snowplow in Minnesota and training dolphins were only a few of the many adventures he’d had. He wore his charcoal gray hair long and I’d heard he cut it himself. I guessed he was close to Mrs. Shedd in age, but he moved with the agility of a young man. And now that he was back, he was lighting up Mrs. Shedd’s life. It seemed funny now, but before his return, I had wondered if he really existed. I started to say I’d let her know if I heard any more about Bradley, but she gave her head a fast shake with a quick glance toward Mr. Royal. I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out whatever connection she had with Bradley, she didn’t want Joshua Royal to know about it.
“We’re off to get a tree for the store. I was going to pull the artificial one out of the storeroom but Joshua convinced me we ought to have a live one. I was worried about it drying out and being a hazard, but leave it to Joshua to come up with a solution. We’re going out to a Christmas-tree farm to get a truly fresh one.”
I followed them back into the main part of the bookstore. They went on to the door and I stopped by the cashier stand. Our main cashier, Rayaad, had a couple of young men behind the counter with her and was showing them how to ring up books. Not that there was much to show anymore. The computer did all the work. I introduced myself to the new recruits.
“I’m going to be in the yarn department, if anything comes up,” I said to Rayaad, then headed toward the back of the store. The store was quiet and it seemed like a good time to get some work done on the new department. We’d all agreed it was essential to have swatches of each of the yarns hanging on their bins. Some of us—as in me and Mrs. Shedd—had also agreed there should be both crocheted and knitted swatches. Adele had practically stamped her foot and had steam come out of her ears at the mere idea, but she was being ignored. The crocheted swatches were being done by both of us, but the knitted swatches were all in my court.
Adele would never admit it, but I was pretty sure she knew how to knit. Not that it mattered. No way was she going to pick up the needles. Luckily I had learned the basics while getting information during our creative retreat at Asilomar last fall. Knitting felt awkward and slow compared with crocheting, but I didn’t want to alienate knitters, the way some yarn stores ignored crocheters.
Even though it was only partially completed, I loved the yarn area. The back wall had been outfitted with bins that were beginning to fill up with yarn. When we got everything put out from the store in San Diego, most of them would be filled. We were organizing them by color and the effect was beautiful.
Adele was already sitting at the table and looked up from her work as I approached. “It’s about time, Pink.” Her eyes narrowed. “What took you so long? Did you get arrested?” Adele stopped with her hook in the air over a strand of soft blue sport weight yarn.
I threw her my best don’t-be-ridiculous expression and set my tote bag on the table. Now that we had the yarn department, the worktable stayed up all the time. Before I’d had to put it up and down every time the Hookers met. I heard Adele almost growl when I took out the needles attached to the beginning of a swatch of a thick off- white wool from Peru. In addition to the blue yarn Adele was working with, she had a ball of white thread and a fine steel hook. Next to it was a pile of limp snowflakes.
I started to repeat the story for the zillionth time. Just when I got to the part about the bodies, William Bearley walked up to the table and distracted Adele. She jumped up and hugged him and then made a whole production about straightening his jacket and knocking some lint off it. She told anyone who would listen that he was an important children’s author, but never explained that he wrote the Koo Koo the Clown series about common childhood experiences like going to the dentist. When William did book signings or story time, he dressed up in a clown outfit complete with giant red shoes. But in his normal persona, he was bland looking and reserved. His receding sandy hair and pale skin appeared practically colorless next to Adele in her fuchsia-trimmed electric blue jacket.
“I’ll be ready in a minute, honey,” she said. Whatever his day job was, it didn’t seem to require his red shoes. He wore a dress shirt, pressed jeans and some kind of tan tie shoes.
“Molly was just telling me about her house getting raided by the police.” William regarded me with more interest, and I started to explain the real details. Adele didn’t like losing the floor and interrupted me. “Her neighbor just jumped the gun about calling the cops. Her husband has only been gone a few hours.”
“Bradley’s been missing for more than a day,” I said. “Though, from what Emily said, it sounds more like Bradley might have run away.”
“Bradley who?” William said. When I said Perkins, his face showed recognition.
“You know Bradley, too?” Before I could ask for details, Adele stepped in.
“Of course William knows your neighbor. He brought his daughters in to all the Koo Koo events.”
When Adele stopped talking, William asked what made me think Bradley had taken off. I told him about the cop getting it out of Emily that they’d been arguing and all. Adele intruded again. “I know what you’re doing, William. You’re doing research for another book.” She turned toward me. “William is always gathering information and ideas for his next book.”
I smiled. “Right. It’ll come in handy in case you decide to write
