Adele stood at the table, staring at my hands. “I can’t believe it, Pink. You’ve gone over to the other side.”
CHAPTER 18
“YOU’LL BE GLAD I GOT YOU OUT OF THERE, PINK,” Adele said as we stopped outside the classroom. I didn’t look back, but I was sure Jeen’s face probably still had the look of horror. Adele’s actions must have broken every rule of Jeen’s code of proper behavior. My fellow Hooker had snatched the needles out of my hand and thrown them down on the table with such force, they bounced. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room as if she was rescuing me from being kidnapped.
Dinah came out of her classroom, holding the pen she’d been concerned about. “What’s going on?”
Adele answered before I could open my mouth and launched into a tirade about Jeen’s efforts to turn me into a knitter.
“She almost had Pink, too. First it was just casting on, then why not try a few rows, and the next thing you know, you’re making a baby blanket.” Adele adjusted her white turban that had gotten knocked off-kilter during my rescue.
“You really should thank-” Adele said, but I put up my hand to stop her as I gave her my rendition of CeeCee Collins’s cease-and-desist look. Nobody could carry it off with the same power as our crochet group leader, but whatever I managed was sufficient to make Adele close her mouth without saying anything more.
“Not that I have to explain, but nobody was getting me to do anything. I went along with learning how to knit to keep Jeen talking about Izabelle. It turns out they have a history.”
“Oh,” Adele said as her frenzied expression relaxed. “Why did you want her to talk about Izabelle?”
Dinah and I looked at each other, and Dinah gave me a why-not-go-for-it half shrug of one shoulder, so I told Adele I didn’t believe Izabelle had eaten the s’more on her own.
“You think somebody killed her?” Adele appeared stricken. “But you’re not telling anyone, right?” She grabbed my arm. “Look, Nancy Poirot Fletcher Drew, nobody else thinks it was murder, and you’ve got to leave it that way.” She made some loud dramatic sighs. “Pink, if the cops start looking for a murderer, you know their first stop is going to be me.” It wasn’t enough for Adele to just say it, she had to point to herself with both hands as well.
“You know I didn’t do it, right? I was just so upset when I saw she was wearing my work and calling it her own, I lost it for a minute. That’s all.” Adele tried to get me to promise to stop investigating, but I said nothing. I wasn’t going to lie to her, but telling her I planned to continue would only lead to more hysterics.
I had hoped to change into a more in-charge sort of outfit before breakfast, but when I saw people were already gathering outside the dining hall, waiting for it to open, the sweats were going to have to do it for now. By the time the three of us reached the building, the bell had rung, marking the start of breakfast, and people were already filing in.
The warm air inside carried the pungent aroma of coffee and bacon mixed with the slightly sweet smell of pancakes. As I watched people from our group head to the area we’d come to call our own, I noticed their animated faces and the friendly sound of their conversations. If there hadn’t been the fog emergency and Izabelle’s murder-no matter what anyone said, I was calling it that-this would have been an easy weekend. Asilomar took care of the lodging and food and provided a rustic backdrop. Commander Blaine was on top of activities. And the presenters were doing a good job tending to their groups. After registration, all I would have had to worry about was picking up sunglasses people left in the meeting rooms and replacing lost name tags.
As soon as we cleared the door, Dinah was surrounded by some of her memoir writers. It was great to see how enthusiastic they were, and I knew Dinah was loving it. Adele started to gather up her people and marched them to one of the tables. She got a glimpse of Sheila coming in and snapped a sharp wave at her-clearly a command to join them.
Jeen and Jym took seats and moments later were surrounded by their people. Commander Blaine drew his group to him like he was a magnet and they were iron filings.
Mason was probably already on his way to Santa Cruz for his aunt’s eightieth birthday brunch. I felt a twinge when I thought of his invitation to join him. Just when it seemed I had worked everything out, he’d confused things.
I went to the food line and passed on the plate-sized pancakes. It was definitely hearty food, but too heavy for my taste. I just took some fruit and a bowl of oatmeal which I flavored with a pat of butter, a light sprinkle of brown sugar, and a few raisins. Not that I expected to get to eat it. Why should this meal be any different from the others?
When I reentered the dining area, Sheila got my attention and pointed to the empty seat next to her. I noticed it wasn’t at Adele’s table.
As I took the offered chair, I saw that Sheila’s whole body seemed rigid.
“The tai chi was great,” she said as she put a napkin across her lap. “It was really relaxing.” She glanced toward Adele’s table. “But I think I already need another session.” Sheila looked at the pancakes in front of her and gave the plate a little push away. “It’s nothing against the food,” she said apologetically.
I laid my hand on her arm in a reassuring manner. “I know. You need a retreat from the retreat.”
We both turned our attention to the reigning crochet goddess, who was parading around her subjects, letting them admire the white flowers she’d attached to the white cowl top.
Sheila nodded in agreement and took something out of her pocket. Her hands started moving in her lap, and when I glanced over, I saw she had a magenta metal hook and a ball of cream-colored cotton yarn. She’d already made a slipknot, and as the hook moved through the yarn, a longer and longer length of chain stitches dangled from the hook. She took a few deep breaths and began moving the hook back over the stitches. Her fingers started to move fast, and as the new stitches pulled tight, she mouthed “loose,” drawing it out into a long exhale. The mantra succeeded, and her single crochets became loopy. The tightness literally left her shoulders as she worked down the row. When she reached the end, she turned it and did another, then slipped the whole thing back in the patch pocket of her jacket.
She knew I’d been watching her and turned toward me, her eyes now with a little sparkle. “I decided to call it tranquilizer crochet. When I feel my shoulders hunching, I just do a few rows. Since I’m not making anything, there’s no pressure to count stitches or worry if they’re uneven. It seems to be working pretty well.”
Sheila had tried so many methods of dealing with her runaway nerves, I was glad this one seemed to work. And it had no side effects like medicinal tranquilizers.
Some latecomers arrived in the dining hall, and I noticed a dark blue uniform among them. Sergeant French separated himself from the clump of guests and surveyed the room. As soon as he saw me, he nodded in acknowledgment and walked over.
“Ms. Pink, sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he said, stopping next to my chair. He mentioned trying to reach my cell phone and getting voice mail. While he explained he wanted to go over a few things for his report, I checked my phone. I’d forgotten to plug it into the charger, and it was dead. How many other calls had I missed?
There’s something about a cop’s uniform that makes it a magnet for attention. It seemed like most of the room was staring in my direction. I heard Sheila suck in her breath.