If Hooks Could Kill (16 page)

Dinah and I left early to meet up with Commander who had picked up the food. We’d just pulled up in front of the Donahue house when Dan drove into the driveway.

He seemed distracted as he let us in. More cars arrived and the living room filled up with neighbors, the Hookers, Dan’s store employees and some of Kelly’s family. I had wondered if they would even come, but I suppose it was more out of respect for her than sympathy for Dan. Dan sat on the couch staring off into space and didn’t act as the host. Commander was particularly good at playing host and worked the room to make sure everyone went into the dining room and helped themselves.

I had hoped to get a chance to talk to Kelly’s family, but they stayed only long enough to make an appearance and then left en masse.

I looked around the living room and wondered if anyone would notice if I took a little side trip. I had never been alone in Kelly’s crochet room and I wanted to poke around in it without watchful eyes.

The room seemed dimmer than I remembered and I realized the sheer curtains had been drawn across the sliding glass door. It seemed eerie and still and I suddenly wished Dinah had come with me. The computer was sitting on the library table and when I hit the power button, it came on. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I was curious about her business. Nobody seemed to know the name of it. I sorted through the folders and came across one called online store. When I clicked on it, two folders appeared. I clicked on the one labeled “Crochet.” There was a long list of files with unintelligible names. I clicked on a few and saw that each had a picture of a crocheted item and a brief description and whether she’d sold it, and for how much, along with how long it had taken her to make it and how much the yarn had cost.

She had spent a lot on yarn, but she’d also sold the pieces for a lot. The fact that they were one of kind and almost art pieces was probably why she got her price. I wondered about the other folder under the “Online Store” heading and backtracked until I got there. It was marked “Non-Crochet Items.” Kelly must have been selling more than just things she made. I clicked on the folder and a list of files with numbers instead of names showed up.

I was about to open the first one, when Adele sashayed in. “Pink, I thought I’d find you in here. What are you doing?”

I took it as a rhetorical question and didn’t answer it. “Did you find anything else made with the bull—” Adele looked around to see if anyone was listening. “You know that special stitch.”

Adele moved further into the room and began looking around. She noticed a pillow that had fallen off the couch. It had a three-dimensional design with rows and rows of different-size bullion stitches.

She picked it up and was touching the stitches as if they could impart the magic of how to make them.

Suddenly CeeCee swept into the room. “There you two are. I’m going to have to leave. The atmosphere in there is terrible. All those people staring at Dan. He finally got up and went outside.” CeeCee saw Adele clutching the pillow and took it from her to examine it.

“Dear, those bullion stitches are lovely.” She commented further on how perfectly the stitches laid next to each other before turning to Adele. “The Hookers should make something using that stitch. Of course, we’d probably have to teach almost everybody how to do it.” She looked at Adele again. “What do you think, dear?”

Adele squirmed and looked to me for help. I shrugged as an answer. CeeCee was busy looking at the pillow and around the room and didn’t notice Adele’s look of panic.

“I had no idea that Kelly was such a fine crocheter,” CeeCee said. Adele had plastered herself against the back of the couch with the terrified expression as if any second CeeCee was going to make her prove she knew how to do the tricky stitch. CeeCee apparently had other things on her mind, because she didn’t seem to notice that Adele had never answered her comment. She checked her watch.

“I have to get across the Valley to a meeting,” she said moving toward the door. “Success has its drawbacks,” she said in a feigned upset tone. “Everybody wants you in their project.” She waved her hand toward the yard. “I’m surprised the
L.A. 911
people haven’t asked me to do a guest spot.”

When she was gone, Adele let out her breath. In panic mode she grabbed a hook. She made a foundation chain and the next thing I knew she was wrapping the yarn around the hook and then trying to pull the hook through it with no luck. I thought Adele was going to cry and did my best to console her as I pulled her out of the room and shut the door.

“Pink, you really are the best friend I’ve ever had,” Adele said. She had lost her usual look of bravado and appeared vulnerable as she hugged me. But typical Adele, she was back to her usual self by the time we reached the living room and she made her way through the people standing around. I didn’t see Dan anywhere.

I picked up some used dishes and carried them into the kitchen. The window over the sink faced the driveway. Dan was standing there having an animated conversation with Nanci Silvers. Abruptly she put her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Not exactly the sign of a grieving husband.

C
HAPTER
23

“You’re drinking tea with the detective every night now?” Mason said. “What happened to the idea that he was just a boarder? The whole ships passing in the kitchen thing.” Mason didn’t sound happy.

“It’s nothing. We don’t talk about anything personal.” I noticed that there was suddenly a furrow of worry in Mason’s brow. “Don’t worry, he’s not trying to start things up between us. From what I gather, Detective Heather has been a frequent visitor.”

Mason’s face relaxed and he laughed. “I’d like to see you call her that to her face.”

“Not unless I want her to handcuff me and throw away the key.” I brought up the little pizza party and how she’d been trying to relate to Jeffrey’s drama friends.

“How’d that go?” he said.

“I don’t think she could help it. You know how cops have that air of authority. That and she had a way of looking at them as if she thought they were all guilty of something. The topper was when I heard her call one of the girls ‘ma’am’ as she handed her a slice of pizza.”

Apparently that image tickled Mason and he did a full belly laugh in response. He was good at seeing the humor in most things.

Mason had come in just as the bookstore was about to close to intercept me before I went home. He’d waited while I got my things and we’d headed down the street for dinner. Mason took my hand as we walked and said how nice it was to be just the two of us. But when I glanced toward him, his brows were furrowed in concern. He suggested we go to the Italian place down the street again. It was a Tarzana fixture and the fragrance of garlic and tomato sauce was comforting, even if Mason’s demeanor wasn’t.

Since it was late, the place was almost empty and we took a table by the window that looked out on Ventura Boulevard. The sidewalk was deserted and the street had only thin traffic. We ordered a Margherita pizza to share along with a Caesar salad.

“Okay, what is it?” I said when the waiter left after taking our order.

Mason smiled. “Am I that transparent?” He put his hand on mine. “Sunshine, I need to ask you a favor.” I looked at him expectantly. “Would you come to Santa Barbara with me?”

“That’s it?” I said. I hadn’t meant to, but there was a squeak in my voice. Even though Mason and I had been more or less dating since the big break up with Barry, we hadn’t spent a night together. There seemed to be one excuse after another—on my part, anyway. The plan, at least in my head, was to wait until Barry moved back home. But a trip out of town, even to Santa Barbara, which was only a little over an hour’s drive, seemed to be pushing up the moment. Mason picked up on my hesitation.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. I have to go up there about the wedding and I’m afraid if I go alone with my wife, I might kill her.” He sounded weary as the whole story came out.

“Jaimee heard about a hotel up there with a cancellation. After all that’s gone on, I’m not committing to anything without seeing it. I certainly can’t trust her to handle it, and she won’t let me handle it alone.” There was pleading in his eyes as he looked at me. “So, will you come?”

Mason had come through for me on numerous occasions and even though playing referee between him and his ex didn’t sound very appealing, I agreed to go. Hmm, I noticed that he referred to her as his wife. I guess that was the thing with divorce, it didn’t erase the relationship.

“Good,” he said as relief spread over his face and the usual Mason came back. “And I promise there will be a stop at the McConnell’s ice cream store,” he added with a grin.

McConnell’s of Santa Barbara was my ice cream of choice. The grocery stores that sold it locally only had the basic flavors, but the shop in Santa Barbara had a whole array of choices.

“You know my weak spot,” I teased.

“It’s the least I can do in exchange for keeping me from strangling Jaimee. With that out of the way, Mason leaned back in his chair and turned into the fun person I was used to.

Mason knew I’d gone to Kelly’s funeral and asked if I’d found anything more about her murder.

“I saw some of the crochet pieces she was selling online, but I don’t think they had anything to do with her death. I did see something strange outside though.” I mentioned seeing Dan hugging the neighbor he told me he barely knew.

“So he is still the number one suspect?” Mason said.

The waiter dropped off our salads and I waited to answer. “Apparently for Detective Heather he is, even though she doesn’t have any evidence and his hands were swabbed and there was no gunpowder residue on them or his clothes. And his gun hadn’t been fired.”

“Well, there are explanations for that. He could have worn gloves and he could have changed his clothes. As for the gun, maybe he had two. One to shoot her with and get rid of, and one that hadn’t been fired to show the cops.” Mason didn’t say anything, but I had a feeling he knew that from past experience with a client. “Did anybody swab the neighbor’s hands?”

“I don’t think so and it’s too late now.”

We finished dinner and before we parted company, Mason mentioned the time frame of the trip to Santa Barbara. He certainly wasn’t one to put things off. He wanted to go the next day.

Luckily, I had the next day off, so it was no problem. The following morning Mason picked me up and we made a fast stop at the bookstore café to get drinks for the road. I looked in to say hello to my bosses. They were busy rearranging a display, adding a sign that read “Serenity” over a table that featured candles with soothing scents, books on meditation, soothing teas and lavender sachets. Mr. Royal showed me a beaten up e-reader he said he’d found in front of the store when they opened. “I guess the shoplifter had a guilty conscience,” he said. But apparently not about all the crochet pieces.

When I returned to Mason’s black Mercedes, I set a cup of estate-grown Kenyan coffee in the drink holder for him and a red eye for me. “I don’t know what Jaimee drinks,” I said with a shrug before pulling out a bottle of a premade sweetened coffee drink. “So I got her this so she won’t feel left out.”

Mason chuckled and shook his head as he steered the car onto the street. “Nice thought, but she probably won’t drink it.”

“Oh,” I said sinking back into the soft leather seat.

Jaimee lived in a house in a gated community at the top of the mountains, along Mulholland Drive. According to Mason she counted a number of A-list celebrities as her neighbors. As we pulled in front of her huge house, a tan well-built man stood in the front door with one arm around Jaimee and the other holding a bag with a tennis racket sticking out. He was clearly a lot younger than she was.

Mason gave the guy a distasteful curl of his mouth. “That’s Mark. You’d think she could be a little more original than getting involved with her tennis instructor.”

The guy headed toward his silver sports car and Mason muttered something about how it figured he’d drive something like that and he wondered if it had been a gift from her. I took a sip of my red eye and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

With her boy toy gone, Jaimee shut the front door and walked to the car. She pulled open the door on the passenger side and yelped in surprise when she saw me. As soon as she recovered she asked if I’d take the backseat because she had car sickness issues and could only sit in the front.

Mason touched my arm as I retrieved my coffee. “Sorry, sunshine, it must be something new.” He rolled his eyes and sighed.

I offered the coffee drink to Jaimee as we headed down the mountain toward the 101 Freeway. She turned and gave me an uncomfortable smile. “It has sugar,” she said in a reproachful tone as if I’d just offered her a shot of poison.

We headed west on the freeway and the San Fernando Valley gave way to golden brown hills dotted with squat California oak trees. I looked out the window as we whizzed through Westlake, Thousand Oaks and went down the steep grade between jagged mountains toward Camarillo. Jaimee talked on, excited because she was being considered for a new reality show
The Housewives of Mulholland Drive
. I tuned it all out and took in the panoramic view of farmland and the shimmer of sun off the distant ocean.

By the time we’d gotten past the city of Ventura and were on the thread of highway between the Pacific Ocean and the green scrub-covered mountains, I understood why Mason had convinced me to come along. I wanted to kill Jaimee. It was the tone of her voice, the clack of her long manicured nails against the console and the way she kept insisting that they had to stop at some design studio to pick out something for Thursday’s home. “I know you don’t care,” Jaimee said in her abrasive voice, “but they need to have a center to the room. Something unique that sets them apart and brings the room together.”

No chuckles from Mason this time, except when he mentioned the proposed stop at McConnell’s. You’d think he was proposing we stop for arsenic. Jaimee looked back over the front seat and gave me the once-over. I felt very self-conscious and tried to suck everything in. “You’re going to eat ice cream?” she said making a tsk-tsk sound. “Mason, I guess your taste in women has changed.”

I said nothing and took in the view of Santa Barbara from the window. The small city was draped over the hills at the base of the tall green Santa Ynez Mountains. The hills sloped down to a sparkling bay. I could see why people called it the “American Riviera.”

Mason pulled off the highway and parked by the beach. I looked out at the water while the two of them headed across the street to the hotel they’d come to check out. It was a classic white stucco building with a red-tiled roof, surrounded by lush landscaping.

When they returned I could tell by their expressions that it hadn’t gone well. The mood in the car was tense. Jaimee insisted if Mason had let her handle it, they would have been offered a better space. Mason looked like a pressure cooker about to explode.

“How about we go for that ice cream,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. Mason pulled away from the curb and headed into the city. We parked in front of a cat hotel.

While Mason and I crossed the street to the small ice cream store, Jaimee went in the other direction to a health food emporium and said she was getting a shot of wheat grass juice. Mason and I surveyed the ice cream offerings. To make up for everything, he insisted I get two scoops and I chose strawberry cheesecake and he got Vermont blueberry. We took our ice cream and sat at one of the wire tables outside.

“I’m sorry for her and thank you again for coming,” he said. “You said you wanted to be included in my family,” he joked. I took a spoonful of the ice cream and at last savored the creamy flavor. There were just inches between our arms and I moved mine against his and leaned my head on his shoulder.

“At least I understand why you got a divorce,” I said. He settled his free arm around my shoulder.

“Who knew all those years I was so busy working what she was really like.” He paused. “Or maybe she became this way.” He shook his head and grumbled about the situation of the wedding. “We’ve got two hundred people and still no place to put them.”

“Would it be so hard to make it two hundred and one?” I said. I hadn’t meant to, but it slipped out.

Mason hung his head. “You really want to come?”

“If Samuel was getting married, I’d invite you. It makes me feel like I’m in the shadows of your life,” I said. Jaimee showed up at that moment with a tiny cup of bright green liquid and the conversation ended. I caught the scent of her drink and it reminded me of newly mown grass.

“Cheers,” she said lifting the cup as she gave our ice cream a disgusted look, and then she chugged it.

We made another stop at a hotel under renovation. They said they could do it outside, but the Amtrak tracks ran right through the property. “So it’s not a wasted trip, let’s go to that design studio,” Jaimee said as we walked back to the car.

We drove up State Street, which was the main drag in town. It was lined with attractive stores and eateries, and was crowded with people. Jaimee directed Mason to turn on a side street and park. I think Jaimee was hoping I’d stay in the car, but I followed them into a low building around a courtyard filled with plants and a fountain. The moisture in the air here mixed with the sunlight and gave it an iridescent sheen.

I was surprised to see the proprietor of the design studio was a familiar figure. “Rexford Thomasville,” I muttered recognizing Kelly and Stone’s father.

“How do you know him?” Jaimee snapped.

“Allow me,” Mason said with a grin. “Molly is investigating the murder of his daughter.” Jaimee flashed a surprised expression and suggested I keep my Nancy Drew act on hold. “We’re here to shop, not play detective. I want to get a good piece from him, not antagonize him.” She waved her hand toward the courtyard. “Why don’t you go wait outside.”

I’d had enough being pushed aside by her. The day was almost over and by now I didn’t care if Mason killed her or not. I might have even helped. “No way am I turning down a chance like this.”

Jaimee’s mouth fell open and she turned to Mason and said, “Do something before she makes a scene.” Mason shrugged and chuckled and, with a brush of his hand, urged me on.

Jaimee got in front of me and reached the proprietor first. She threw her arms around the gray-haired man and said how good it was to see him again and that she needed the perfect focal spot for her soon-to-be married daughter’s home. I noticed his wife in an office and Jaimee gave me a shove in her direction saying, “Why don’t you talk to her.” Then she started in on Rexford, letting him know he was dealing with a soon to be member of
The Housewives of Mulholland Drive
show.

I didn’t take Jaimee’s suggestion and while she monopolized Rexford’s attention, I tried to remember what I knew about him. He had only made an appearance at Kelly’s funeral and no one had said much about him. All I could remember was what the prop guy had said, that Rexford Thomasville had been a set director before opening this place. I got why they called it a studio instead of a store. There weren’t price tags on anything and the idea was that people shopping here weren’t looking for a bargain.