Dinah was the next to notice the rhinestone clipboard on top of the box. She picked it up and looked at me. “What’s this?” CeeCee, Sheila, Eduardo, and I all rolled our eyes as Adele told her in full detail what it was, what it meant and, most of all, that once again she hadn’t gotten her due.
In a huff, Adele went off to the bookstore cafe to see what kind of cookies Bob, our barista-cookie baker, had made. As soon as she was gone, Dinah came over and hugged me. “How wonderful that you’re going to be in charge.”
I smiled weakly. “Yes, this is my big chance to show off my leadership qualities, but what if I screw up? I was just planning to be a participant at the retreat, and help Mrs. Shedd. ‘Help’ is the important word here. Help isn’t the buck stopping with me.”
“Don’t worry,” Dinah said, releasing me and going back to her seat. “Look at all those author events you’ve put on. They’ve all been fine.” She winced and then went on.
“Okay, maybe there were a few mishaps, like the stink bomb.” Dinah caught herself again and put on her inspirational tone. “But even with the mishaps, everything always turned out well and you sold a lot of books. You’ll do fine this weekend. I personally promise not to be a problem.”
Dinah was leading a memoir-writing workshop.
Sheila chimed in and reminded me that she was going to be there, too. “You can count on me if you need any help,” she said.
Eduardo and CeeCee both voiced their confidence, and apologized for not being able to offer any support because they weren’t getting there until the last day.
“You’re not coming?” I said to Eduardo. He explained that he had a photo shoot for a cover that was big time. “It’s a Roberta Iron book,” he said, referring to the romance novel superstar.
Adele returned with a snickerdoodle and a latte. “Why, exactly, isn’t Mrs. Shedd coming?”
“All she said was that something had come up,” I said.
CeeCee cocked her head. “I bet it has something to do with Joshua Royal. Things have sure changed since he came back. Pamela Shedd must be well into her sixties, and Joshua, too, but they’re acting like a couple of teenagers.”
That was true. When Mrs. Shedd hired me as the event coordinator, Mr. Royal was such a silent partner that I didn’t think he existed. And then one day he’d just shown up. It was obvious they had some kind of history and were picking up its threads.
With all this talk about the fancy clipboard, I finally had a look at it and thumbed through the pages it held. “Mrs. Shedd said the crochet group would make afghans over the weekend and donate them to a homeless shelter up there,” I said, my voice rising in concern.
“It’s obvious she doesn’t crochet,” CeeCee said with a sigh. “Even if we weren’t going to do a crochet-along project, it would be impossible except for the speediest of crocheters to make an afghan that fast.”
There was something else on the page in front of me. Another little plan of Mrs. Shedd’s that she hadn’t mentioned. She had crossed out candle making and written in knitting. “When did she add a knitting workshop?” I blurted out. If Adele was upset about me getting the rhinestone clipboard, it was nothing compared to her reaction to the word
She smacked her fist on the table. “I can’t believe she betrayed us like that.”
All of the Tarzana Hookers agreed that crochet was better than knitting, but we weren’t militant like Adele. Before I could calm her, she launched into her tirade.
“We crocheters are not going to be the stepsisters of knitting anymore. Why does everyone insist on saying ‘knitting and crocheting’? Why not the other way around? ‘Crocheting and knitting’ is alphabetical.”
We all just listened as Adele went on. We’d heard it many times before.
Half an hour later, the group broke up. CeeCee left in a hurry to get to a production meeting for her show. Sheila had to get to one of her several jobs. Dinah had to get to class. Adele and I were left to put away the table. As Adele was packing away her hooks, she looked around the table. “Pink, where is it?”
“Where’s what?” I asked, looking at the cleared table. Adele stuck her head under the table and checked the floor. She seemed a little panicky.
“The piece with the marshmallow stitch I created is missing.”
CHAPTER 2
IT HAD TAKEN A WHILE, BUT I’D FINALLY CALMED Adele down by convincing her someone in the group must have scooped up her work when they were packing up their own.
Adele stopped the frantic search and flopped into one of the chairs we hadn’t folded up. “You’re probably right.”
Typical Adele. She could call me by my last name and hassle me every chance she got, but she forgot it all and expected me to help her when she had some kind of trouble. Dinah had asked me why I didn’t just tell Adele to back off when she got annoying or demanding, and I had explained that I looked at Adele like that cousin everyone has who annoys you no end, but you put up with her because she’s family. Okay, Adele wasn’t family in the real sense of the word, but in a looser sense she was.
I gave Adele a sympathetic smile and went to touch her shoulder. “Pink, just because you helped me look for my marshmallow stitch doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the rhinestone clipboard,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Shedd. I’ve worked at the bookstore longer. I’ve gone to three of the workshop weekends, and you’ve gone to…?”
Adele didn’t let up until I repeated that I had never been to one. After that she tilted her head with a knowing look. “And Pink, just to let you know, if you have any expectations of having a good time, you might as well cancel them. The rhinestone clipboard comes with twenty-four-hour responsibility.”
I tried to dismiss Adele’s warning. I knew about putting on events. Hadn’t I handled countless book signings? Then I started to think about it. I never sat in the audience at events. I was always keyed up and standing just out of sight. And there was the setting up and tearing down. Oh, dear, I hated to admit it, but Adele was right. The rhinestone clipboard came with a definite downside. I would be so busy making sure everything went right, I wouldn’t get to take part in the crochet workshop or have any time for fun.
As I put the table back in the storage room, I realized I’d never gotten a chance to take out the lightweight bubble gum pink scarf I was working on. Was this a preview of the weekend?
Suddenly, another problem surfaced. Barry Greenberg.
Barry Greenberg was my boyfriend, though I thought that title sounded stupid for a homicide detective in his early fifties. I also thought the term dating sounded too giggly and high schoolish. For a long time I had fought the idea of any title connected with our relationship, even though he was definitely woven into the fabric of my life. Barry had wanted us to move on and get engaged or married, but I had resisted. I’d been Mrs. Pink for a lot of years, and I wasn’t ready to be Mrs. Somebody Else yet. So, we basically settled on being just… a couple.
Barry was supposed to come on the retreat with me. He wasn’t going to take part in the workshops, but it had seemed like there would be plenty of time for us to do things together.
It had taken a lot of juggling for him to get the weekend off and make arrangements for his son, Jeffrey, to spend the time at a friend’s house, and we were looking forward to this time away together. Even if I had to help Mrs. Shedd, I was sure I’d be free for moonlight walks along the beach that was supposed to be across the street from the conference center where the retreat was being held. Meals were included, but we figured we’d slip away for dinners on our own. Barry had already made reservations at several restaurants that he promised were heavy on romance. Now that the bucks were going to be stopping with me, there was no way I could slip away for dinner and moonlit strolls. Adele was right. I might as well forget about having a good time.
This was certainly a different turn of events. How many plans had been broken because Barry picked up a homicide? Or he had to fly off somewhere to follow a suspect? Or an important lead came up just as our salad arrived? Sometimes I felt like Barry was married to his job and I was the other woman. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, I was sure he would understand. At least I hoped so.
I took out my cell phone and called. “Greenberg,” Barry said tersely. His tone softened when he heard my voice, but barely. I could hear the adrenaline flowing in his voice, making it high-pitched and choppy as he said
