You Better Knot Die (27 page)

I suggested he get Spike’s sweater-in-progress and show me where he was stuck. When he showed me, I wanted to laugh. He’d made a mistake and was trying to rip out a row, but the yarn had snagged and stopped coming free. Fixing it amounted to a little tugging and separating two pieces of yarn. I handed it back to him and suggested he sit in the built-in booth and work on it while I cooked dinner. If he ran into another problem, I’d be there to help. He looked too pleased as he slid onto the wooden bench.

“You ought to keep your cell phone out,” Mason said. My tote bag was sitting on the bench where I’d left it when I came in. Mason reached for it but plucked the owl-in-progress out instead. “What’s this?” he asked. I mentioned the elephant I’d made and how I wanted to make another toy to add to the things we were sending to the shelter.

“A snow owl?” Mason said, holding it up. For the first time it registered that the head was sparkly white and the body sparkly black. I pulled out the pamphlet with the pattern and looked at the photo of the snow owl on the cover. It was all white. When I went to check the pattern I realized the pages between the snow owl and penguin had gotten stuck together and in essence I had put a white head on a black body. I said something about having to unravel it, but Mason stopped me with a grin. “Keep it. I think you might have come up with something. You know it almost looks like a vampire.”

I started to protest but then realized he was right. I was as bad as the rest of them with vampires on the brain. I set it down, deciding I’d figure out what to do with it later.

“The BlackBerry isn’t in there anyway,” I said as I took out some dry penne noodles and put water on to boil. I poured a bag of cut-up vegetables in the olive oil and garlic I’d been heating on the stove. As they began to cook I poured in some bottled marinara sauce and the kitchen filled with tasty scents.

“I want to thank you again for it,” I said. As soon as I’d added the pasta to the churning water, I pulled out the smart phone from my purse. “I’d really never hear it ring if it was buried in all that yarn. The camera function sure came in handy.” I looked at the screen and began to scroll through the pictures on it to show Mason. I got to the beginning of the photos I’d taken of Bradley. I meant to scroll back over them, but I hit the wrong button—like that was anything new—and a strange photo filled the screen. One I didn’t remember taking. I couldn’t even tell what it was at first. The whole frame was sand colored. I kept trying to make sense of it, and suddenly I remembered how I’d fumbled with the phone while Dinah and I were trailing Emily. In all my accidental button pushing, I’d done something right. I’d ended up taking a photo of the sandy road and captured the freshly made track of the mountain bike that had just whipped past us. I smiled and actually jumped up and down.

“Let’s see the picture that’s making you so excited,” Mason said. He reached for the phone, but I held on to it.

“It won’t mean anything unless I explain.” I described the mysterious biker and my idea of being able to identify him or her by the impressions of the wheels. “For once my lack of nimble fingers paid off,” I said after telling him about our trip back up to Dirt Mulholland.

The pasta bounced around in the boiling water, sending a spray on the stove. The sputtering sound got my attention and I went back to check on dinner. The penne was done, so I drained it and poured it into a bowl. A little toss with olive oil and I mixed in the sauce. While I told Mason my thought that the biker could be the murderer, I made a quick salad. He helped me bring the food and plates to the table and we sat down to eat.

Mason liked my idea about matching the tire impressions and wanted to know if I’d come up with any suspects.

“I know that both Logan and Nicholas have mountain bikes and both had reason to be angry with Bradley, though Logan seems to have a lot more reason. I’d include Joshua Royal if I find out he has a mountain bike. I think he might have done it to avenge Mrs. Shedd’s big loss. And then there’s anyone else with a mountain bike that lost money with Bradley.”

“It sounds like it could be a lot of people. I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but how are you going to get a look at all these mountain-bike tires?” Mason said. He began eating and barely had finished a bite before he said how good it was. Mason ate in the finest restaurants, but sometimes there was nothing that matched a home-cooked meal.

I heard a noise in the front door lock before it opened and closed. A moment later Barry walked in the kitchen, pulling his tie loose. He was sniffing the air. No way could you miss the garlic smell. He froze when he saw Mason and me at the table.

I didn’t like this part of being the prize. Both men glared at each other. I got the feeling things were a lot different when the two of them had dinner together. I pointed to Mason’s dog sweater and said he was in a hurry to finish because of the cold weather.

“I’ll just say two words,” Barry said, clenching his jaw. “Pet store.” Mason totally ignored Barry’s comment.

“I hope your people are keeping an eye on our girl,” Mason said, using his shoulder to point in the direction of the Perkins’.

Barry flinched at me being referred to as “our girl.” I think the only one who liked it was Mason. “I was hoping Heather would arrest the Perkins woman,” Barry said. “But the photographs of her with Perkins that Molly took aren’t enough to build a case on.” He directed his next comment at me. “Has she been over here again?”

“I already asked Molly, and she said the answer was no,” Mason said. Barry glowered at Mason.

“I don’t think it matters.” I brought up my doubts again that Emily had killed her husband.

Barry didn’t seem impressed with my reasoning about Emily’s clothes. “Don’t let your guard down, babe. Heather’s a good detective. She’s got good instincts. If she thinks Emily Perkins is the guy, you better believe she is.”

“Can’t you get some kind of protection for Molly,” Mason asked. Barry took off his jacket and hung it on the back door handle after checking that it was locked.

“I did. Me. I had to make some arrangements, but I can stay the night.” He set down the small satchel he brought when he stayed over. There was a moment of awkward silence, then Barry took out a plate and helped himself to some food and sat down at the end of the table. The next minute they started talking about who they thought was going to be in the Super Bowl.

Apparently, I was only a prize sometimes.

We all had ice cream for dessert. As we were finishing, Barry put a travel brochure on the table.

“I know you don’t like things being pushed on you,” Barry said. In the past, in what he thought was a romantic gesture, he’d planned a trip to Hawaii. I mean really planned, almost to the point of packing my bag. He’d just neglected to check with me first. We’d had a fight and spent some time apart over it. Barry seemed pretty stubborn and set in his ways, so it was encouraging to see that he could change. I picked up the pamphlet and thumbed through it. It featured a cruise with stops in lots of places with white beaches and clear blue water. On the back were a list of dates.

“You can think about it,” Barry said. I could only see Mason out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look pleased.

“You should tell Barry about your theory that the biker is the real murderer,” Mason said before turning to Barry. “She has a picture of the tire tracks and everything.” I gave Mason an annoyed look. I knew it was useless to mention it to Barry and wasn’t going to. Barry lived up to my expectations.

“What?” he said. “I told you Heather is sure it’s your neighbor. You can’t go around asking people to see their mountain bikes.”

Mason packed up his dog sweater and I walked him to the door. “Let me know if you need any help checking tire tracks.” He chuckled and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and thanked me for dinner.

Samuel came home a short time later as I was cleaning up the kitchen. My son heard the TV in the den and wanted to know who was there. It was hard to read his reaction when I told him it was Barry. He said he was tired and got himself a snack and poured out some cat food before going off to his room.

When Barry shut off the TV, he insisted on going through the whole house and checking every window and door. When he headed for Samuel’s room, I prepared for a scene. Barry stopped at the door and knocked. To my relief, he didn’t insist on physically seeing that all the windows in Samuel’s room were locked. Even better, he explained why he was concerned about everything being secure and left it at that.

Maybe there was hope we could all just get along after all.

“COME IN, COME IN,” DINAH SAID IN AN EXCITED voice. I’d called her as soon as Barry left in the morning to tell her about finding the photo of the tire impressions and said I’d stop over on my way to work. Barry had sensed something was up and had been all cuddly and affectionate, trying to find out what it was. After his reaction I wasn’t about to tell him that I was going to pursue the mountain-bike idea. He gave up when his cell phone rang and he had to take off. Now that I was at her place, Dinah shut the door and we went into her living room. I had e-mailed myself the picture of the tire track and then printed it up. I laid the sheet of paper on the coffee table, and we both leaned over it. Seeing it enlarged made the imprint very clear.

“How lucky that you’re such a klutz with your phone,” Dinah said with a throaty laugh. The kids came in and wanted to know what we were looking at but lost interest when they saw the picture. It was only exciting if you knew what it meant.

The plan we came up with was we’d keep trying to find out who had a mountain bike, and then we’d try to charm our way into checking their tires. My cover story was that I wanted to buy a mountain bike for my son and needed recommendations from people who owned them.

We agreed we’d work as a team.

But sometimes opportunities just present themselves.

As was becoming the norm, the bookstore was buzzing when I got there. The store seemed very festive with the background holiday music and the scents of fresh pine and hot cinnamon cookies. After I dropped off my things in my cubby, I noticed that Elise was at the table in the yarn department. I was going to see how she was doing, but a commotion around the display of the Anthony books and paraphernalia grabbed my attention.

What was going on? So many people were crushed around the table, I couldn’t even see the display. Using my bookstore-worker authority, I pushed through enough to see what was up. In the center on the upper level was a copy of
Caught Under the Mistletoe
. It must have just come in from the publisher and it was the first chance anyone was getting to see the cover. One of Elise’s scarves was below it. Did I mention that the book and scarf were in a sealed Lucite box that was chained to the table? The cover was a winner. Looking pale and sexy, Anthony held up a piece of mistletoe and gazed longingly toward Colleen.

Mr. Royal neared the table carrying something and the crowd parted. He set a sign down that read “Exclusive to Shedd & Royal” before he put out a handful of plastic bags. A strip of paper in gothic type said “Vampire Scarf Kit.” Before I could take one to look at it, five hands had reached out and snatched them.

“What are those and where did they come from?” I asked Mr. Royal. He began by apologizing that they hadn’t talked to me first since they were really a yarn item. Elise had made them up and brought them in. Each bag had yarn, a crochet hook and Elise’s pattern for the scarf.

“We decided to put them out as a test,” he said.

“Looks like they scored a hit,” I said. Someone pushed between us and wanted to know if there were any more in the back. Joshua Royal explained that was all they had for now, but we hoped to be getting more in. The woman wanted to put a hold on three sets.

“Do crochet lessons come with the set?” she asked, and Mr. Royal looked toward me.

I quickly explained about our group and said we’d be happy to help her learn. Mr. Royal took her information and promised to set aside three sets when they came in. She walked away, saying something about how having the scarf would be like having a piece of Anthony.

Mr. Royal handed me the paper with her order, saying, “The kits are your baby now.” He started to rearrange the books on the table and I realized this was my chance to question him. But how was I going to go from the scarves and the Blood and Yarn books to mountain bikes?

Luckily, he was preoccupied with the display. As fast as he’d stand a copy of the book on top of the stack, someone would come and take it. He turned to me. “I never would have guessed a vampire would be so successful,” he said while I struggled for the words to find out if he had a mountain bike. Finally I just started to babble.

“Those people are lucky they know what they want to buy,” I said. Mr. Royal pulled out a box of books from under the table and started to add to the stacks. “Me, I’m stuck. My son Samuel wants a mountain bike.” Joshua Royal nodded and made the right kind of noises to show he was listening. “It’s just there are so many kinds. I don’t want to get the wrong one. I wish I knew more about them.” I stopped to see if he’d respond.

“Why don’t you ask your son? He probably knows what kind he wants,” Mr. Royal said.

I struggled to come up with a response. “You’re right, that’s a good idea, but I wanted it to be a surprise. If I ask him, I’ll be tipping my hand.”

He suggested I might want to check online. It sounded like he didn’t have a mountain bike and I was going to write him off but gave it one last shot. “Mr. Royal, you’ve been everywhere and done everything. Somewhere in all that you must have ridden a mountain bike.”

He ran his hand through his shaggy multicolored hair. He had been everywhere and done everything. I’d heard he worked his way across the Atlantic on a freighter, operated the carousel at Tivoli Gardens, been a beer taster in Germany and a dogsled driver in Alaska. “I could tell you the kind I have, but it might not be right for your son at all. Where does he want to ride?”