I expected it to be a simple evening. Kimball would read a case history, people would buy books, get them signed and leave.
Why did things never go off as expected?
Somewhere in the afternoon, I took a break, hoping to cruise by Yarnie’s and get a quick answer to who owned the bag of items. Then I hoped to make a chink in the list of things my mother had to have for her visit. The initial list she’d given me on the phone had been enhanced by numerous e-mails.
My cell phone rang on the way to the car.
“Hey, babe,” Barry’s deep voice said when I answered.
Finally, a phone call from him. A certain tension went out of my shoulders. It always seemed to come when I didn’t hear from him for a while. I mean when your job involves guns, suspects and criminal activity, it’s only natural for people who care about you to worry.
“Do I have a lot to tell you,” I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I unlocked the greenmobile. Barry said something but his voice was muffled, and then in the background I heard what sounded like someone making an announcement over a PA system.
“I just have a minute,” Barry said, apparently having not heard what I said. He seemed to be talking to someone else, and I could still hear other voices in the background.
“Where are you?”
“On a plane about to take off. They’re insisting I turn off my phone.” In a burst of words, he told me he had to go to Philadelphia to question a witness and that he was taking his son, Jeffrey, with him and was going to drop him off at his mother’s. Barry had been divorced for several years and his wife had just remarried. “I miss you,” he said quickly. “I’ll make it up when I get back.” And then there was silence.
It took a minute for it all to sink in, and as it did, I felt the tension come back into my shoulders. Being in a relationship with a homicide detective was certainly a challenge. And again I questioned if it was what I really wanted.
My husband Charlie had worked long hours in the public relations firm and he’d traveled frequently, but when we went out to dinner we never had to take separate cars in case he got a call in the middle of our meal because somebody had just found a dead body.
I started the car and drove to the address Adele had given me for Yarnie’s—a strip mall on the Tarzana-Encino border. I felt my anticipation level rise as I pulled into a parking spot. Barry was off on his case, and I was about to find out the solution to mine.
Dinah and I had always intended to check out the small yarn store but had never gotten around to it. I glanced ahead to the front window and noticed it was strangely dark. Hoping the store owner was just trying to save on electricity, I went to the door and pulled. It didn’t open. Then I noticed the colorful sign on the window.
Of all the times for the owner to close for three days so she could go to a wool seminar in Pismo Beach! I couldn’t hide my disappointment; I felt my mouth droop as I headed back to the car with the grocery sack stuck under my arm.
I plowed through part of the list for my mother and got the organic blackberry honey that had to come from Canterbury, New Zealand, and the organic meyer lemons, the cotton sheets and the natural detergent I had to wash the sheets in three times before putting them on the bed.
I had decided to put my parents in my room and had already begun cleaning the house and removing anything that might inspire negative comments like “You don’t really use that kind of orange juice, do you?”
I dropped my purchases off at home, took care of Blondie and Cosmo and went back to the bookstore.
It was dusk when I arrived, and the bookstore looked welcoming, its warm lights shining through the windows and inviting customers in. Bob had a red eye ready for me and handed me some cookies to go with it. In a moment of humor, he had decided to make sugar cookies that looked like dog biscuits. Whatever they looked like, they tasted delicious and the strong coffee drink was a good chaser.
He set up a coffee-and-cookie stand right in the bookstore while I went to the event area. Kimball was already there taking some boxes out of a shopping bag and putting them on the table with the books.
I picked up one of the boxes and examined it.
“It’s a test kit for taking a DNA sample,” Kimball explained, along with the fact that he manufactured them and was offering them to the bookstore at a special rate.
I was going to object, but the crowd began to arrive. Obviously there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Who knew I needed to mention the event was for humans only? It seemed everyone in the crowd had a dog with them. And not all of the dogs were that glad to see each other. More than once I had to separate two snarling canines and send them along with their owners to opposite sides of the arrangement of chairs.
Kimball started the program, reading some sample stories from his book about how owners had found out the ancestry of their mixed-breed dogs. “And now I’ll show you how to take a sample. It’s the same as for people. We look for the DNA in saliva. With people you can even get a sample off a licked envelope or a paper cup. With dogs, we just take a swab.” He opened up one of the boxes and asked for a volunteer. A woman with a dog that looked like a basset hound-poodle mix brought her pet up to the front.
“You just take a little swab of the inside of the cheek,” Kimball said, lifting the side of the dog’s mouth. The dog took it well, and then Kimball showed there was a container and a mailer in the box.
“I want to do that for my Rocky,” a woman said, pointing to a brown short-haired dog that looked like he was laughing.
“Me, too,” said a man, who had a tiny white fluffy dog sitting on his lap.
They made a move toward the tests and were joined by a bunch of others. I had to step in and in a nice way make sure the kits were paid for before being opened. I helped Rayaad cashier and rushed back to the event area just as Kimball was instructing the owners to open the boxes and take out the swabs. What had looked easy when Kimball did it was anything but when the owners tried. And their dogs were far less willing than the bassoodle had been.
Suffice it to say, there were suddenly dogs everywhere with owners chasing them holding swabs. Somewhere in the confusion one of the dogs got hold of the sugar cookie dog biscuits. When I looked over to the snack stand, an empty plate with some sugar sprinkles was all that remained.
Still, on the positive side, Adele wasn’t there to tattle on me to Mrs. Shedd, and none of the dogs had accidents. Finally, after breaking down the chairs and vacuuming up the dog hair and cookie crumbs, I went home.
THREE DAYS LATER THE TARZANA HOOKERS MET again. The proprietor of Yarnie’s was due back today, and I planned to head over there after the meeting. I had been bringing the bag back and forth to the bookstore every day, hoping the owner might show up to claim her things, but there was no such luck.
“You haven’t found the owner yet?” Adele said, picking up the grocery sack. “I practically handed you the name. What happened?”
The group was sitting around the event table, and everyone looked up at Adele’s comments.
“Dear, I thought you would have taken care of it by now.” CeeCee seemed a little put out.