“French was right. She wasn’t alone,” I said. It all came back to me now, and I reminded Dinah how we’d found the remnants of the fire first. “Commander was all upset because someone had left two of his wire forks on the beach. He used one of them to pull the partially burned s’mores bag out of the hot ashes.” I watched as Commander clutched the bag and got up. “And then he put them in that canvas bag.” We were all staring at Commander now. “I guess finding Izabelle made me forget about the forks. Do you remember him picking them up?” I stopped to think about the implications.
“Yes, now that you mention it, I do recall him fussing about the two forks and I remember the bag,” Dinah said, growing more excited.
“The question is, was he really concerned about collecting his tools and cleaning up litter, or was he trying to get rid of evidence?”
“Great! It figures the guy who likes me turns out to be a murderer.” Dinah groaned.
“Maybe I should call Sergeant French and tell him,” I said, but both Dinah and Sheila shook their heads. “Right, he already thinks I have murder on the brain. Besides, the marshmallow forks have probably been thoroughly cleaned and mixed in with all the others. So, what’s the point?”
Dinah looked back toward her people. They were still in their seats, obviously waiting for something. “I have to go,” she said with a guilty furrow of her brow. “I promised to take them on an outdoor writing exercise. It’s just a little something extra I thought I’d do. They are so enthusiastic. Did I tell you how much I’m loving this workshop?”
I laughed. “You might have mentioned it a few times. Go, go, I don’t want to stand in the way of anything that’s going well.” I took a sip of the now cold coffee and made a face. A red-eye was definitely a priority. The dining room was clearing out. Adele and her crocheters separated. They headed outside and she cruised by our table. Sheila’s shoulders sprang into a hunch as Adele stopped next to her.
“I guess you didn’t see me when I waved for you to join us at the other table,” Adele said. There was no sarcastic edge in her voice. I don’t think it occurred to her that Sheila ignored her deliberately. Why wouldn’t Sheila want to sit with the reigning crochet queen?
“Whatever,” Adele said quickly. “Just be sure to get the containers of yarn for the crochet session.” And then, in a whirl of too much white, Adele caught up with her crochet groupies and rushed ahead to get in the front. She waved for them to follow her. It occurred to me that if she’d worn that outfit during the fogout, she would have disappeared.
“You think all this has gone to her head?” I said with a sigh. “C’mon, I’ll help you get the yarn.”
After a brief stop to put my phone in the charger, I led Sheila to Izabelle’s room. “Maybe I should just wait here,” Sheila said, hanging back. I knew she felt apprehensive about going into the dead woman’s room. Who could blame her? There was something eerie about seeing Izabelle’s toothbrush still sitting in a glass on the sink. Or thinking of the clothes in the closet she packed for the weekend and now would never wear.
I promised Sheila it was all right and she finally came in, but it was obvious she didn’t want to stay.
There were two containers marked “Supplies,” and Sheila grabbed one and headed toward the door. As I went to take the other, I saw the laptop sitting on the night table. With everything going on, I had forgotten all about the e-mail Dinah and I had sent to the ITA sponsor. Wondering if he’d sent an answer, I powered it up. I went through the motions of getting to Izabelle’s e-mails, and along with some junk e-mails there was a reply from Tom.
When I opened it, a full page of text appeared. He explained that he had never actually met Izabelle. He was her sponsor and everything between them was supposed to be confidential, and even though she had died, he was still going to honor that. There was only one small piece of information he offered. Maybe small to him, but very large to me. He said that ITA stood for Identical Twins Anonymous. As the information registered, I got it. We knew that Izabelle had a sister, and now I realized it was a twin sister. And suddenly the green contacts, the plastic surgery, and the voice coach made sense.
It had been all about creating her own identity. I always thought that it would be neat to have a twin, that it would be like having another you to be friends with. But apparently not all twins felt that way. I did a quick search on the organization. It had been started to help identical twins with an identity crisis. I went back and reread the original e-mail Tom had sent. It was obvious Izabelle had told him she was going to do something, and he was trying to stop her. Considering the organization, it seemed like a safe assumption it had something to do with her twin. Did that mean the twin was here?
I couldn’t wait to tell Dinah all that I’d found out. And Sheila couldn’t wait to get out of the room.
“I’ll help you get these to your classroom, but I’m stopping for a red-eye first,” I said when we’d gotten outside.
As we headed around the administration building to the side with the deck, I noticed that Spenser and his mysterious female companion were sitting on a corner bench with their backs to us. They were talking about something. I didn’t want to tell Dinah, but her undercover work had been a little weak. I’d hoped she would get information, but it sounded like all she’d done was give it.
“Why don’t you go on ahead to your meeting room?” I said to Sheila, never taking my eyes off the pair. This was my chance to find out what was really going on with those two.
Sheila saw me staring and asked what was up. Then she nodded her head in sudden understanding. “You think they have something to do with Izabelle’s death, right?” I motioned for her to keep her voice down, and she started talking in an excited whisper. “You’re going to eavesdrop, aren’t you?” She took another look at Spenser’s back. “I’m staying. Two sets of ears are better than one.”
The deck was raised off the ground, and the spot where they were seated was bordered by bushes taller than me. Sheila and I checked the area around us, and the footpaths were empty in all directions. Sheila stuck to me like glue as we walked closer to the deck, still carrying the boxes of crochet supplies. When we were even with the bushes, I abruptly made a side move off the footpath and behind a leafy bush. Sheila paused for a beat and did the same move, which sent her crashing into me behind the bush. We put our burdens down and slipped farther behind the brush.
At first I could only make out their voices, but not what they were saying. I took Sheila’s hand and we moved farther along the wall until we were directly beneath Spenser and his lady friend.
“Keep on good terms with Dinah Lyons,” the woman said. “She’s a good source if I need any more information. We took care of almost everything regarding Izabelle Landers. I can’t believe nobody figured out what was going on.”
“What else is there?” Spenser asked.
“I need to take care of the one who’s running the crochet workshop now. All I need is a clear shot, and I can check her off my list.”
CHAPTER 19
MY HEAD WAS SPINNING BY NOW. IN A SMALL space of time I’d found out that the sister Izabelle didn’t get along with was her identical twin, that Commander Blaine may or may not have been tampering with evidence and that Spenser Futterman’s companion wanted to shoot Adele.
Sheila and I had slipped unnoticed from behind the bushes. Once I got my coffee drink, we’d found a bench and I was trying to regroup. I let the red-eye circulate through my brain. I was thrilled that Dinah was doing such a great job with the writers, but I missed having her to talk to. Sheila was definitely trying to be helpful, but she was already a wreck from driving with Adele, then sharing a room with her and then becoming her crochet assistant.
“The obvious priority here is Adele,” I said. “I have to warn her.”
“Good luck getting her to listen to you.” Sheila had taken out her tranquilizer crochet supplies and was adding a row. Her breath immediately smoothed out.
I sighed and asked if I could do some; I certainly needed something to calm my thoughts. Instead of giving me her crocheting, Sheila produced a ball of sunny yellow worsted and another hook and said I could do my own. A few minutes of crocheting did wonders for me, and I was ready to save Adele as we headed for her workshop.
