“Quite the amateur detective, aren’t you?” She had finished reading the note and the torn sheet from a diary and had set them aside. Her attention turned to the crochet piece. Detective Heather was an accomplished knitter, so I thought she would appreciate the filet crochet.
“I think the images in the crochet piece all mean something, like they are clues to the wrong she wanted to fix. You read the note,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
“Like some kind of treasure map?” Detective Heather held the piece at a distance. I could tell by the way she was moving it around, she was focusing on the images we couldn’t recognize. This time she did roll her eyes.
“Maybe somebody didn’t want her to reveal something and they—”
“Killed her to keep their secret safe forever and ever.” She said it in the dramatic tone I’d heard some of the romance writers at the bookstore events use when they read from their books. She turned toward me and gave her head the slightest of shakes that made it clear she thought my idea was far-fetched.
She put everything back in the bag and took it inside the house. A few minutes later she returned and handed it back to me.
“I showed it to the maid and she didn’t recognize it. I’m sure you think you were very clever, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to connect it to Mary Beth Wells.”
“But . . . but,” I sputtered.
Detective Heather impatiently rocked her head from side to side. “There is nothing on the note with her name. I looked around; there isn’t a crochet hook or even a stash of yarn. The maid doesn’t know anything about any secret. She also corroborated your story about just getting here. It looks like natural causes. The maid’s been off for two days, but she said the woman was feeling sick the last time she saw her.” Then Detective Heather stopped herself. “Why am I even telling you this?”
“You should check for poison.”
Detective Heather glared at me. Clearly, she didn’t like anyone telling her her business. She started to dismiss me, but then her expression changed to one of smug satisfaction. “Haven’t seen much of Barry lately, have you?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, because she knew what the answer was. “Not much fun being left behind all the time, is it? It’s hard for civilians to understand. That’s what I told Barry over dinner the other night.”
I knew the “dinner” was probably a couple of burgers in a paper sack from the local drive-thru during a break from interviewing a witness, but she had hit a sensitive spot. I could tell by the way her eyes lit up that I had been unsuccessful at hiding my flicker of upset.
“Is that really what you want?” she said as I got up to go.
She stood watching me as I began walking down the driveway. The sky was almost dark, and the canopy of laurel trees made it even darker and more sinister. I was sure the things in the bag belonged to Mary Beth, and I was sure the cause of death wasn’t natural. But most of all I felt terribly guilty. If only I’d gotten here sooner, maybe she wouldn’t have died. On top of the guilt there was something else. Detective Heather’s words echoed in my mind. Is that really what you want?
Was it? I had been asking myself the same thing.
This time I walked through the gate. Several news vans were setting up on the steep street, and before I could get to my car Kimberely Wang Diaz of Channel 3 News rushed over to me.
“You again,” she said in an excited voice as she shoved a microphone in front of me. Oh no, not this time. I was not going to end up on the news leaving the scene where someone died. My son Peter would be embarrassed and my son Samuel worried, and everybody else would think I’d earned the title “crime scene groupie.”
The reporter was dressed to be on camera and had on a thick layer of makeup to keep her from looking washed out. I had neither going for me. “So was it murder?” Diaz asked with all too much excitement in her voice.
For once I wised up. “No comment,” I said, stepping away and going toward my car.
I drove directly to Walter Beasley Community College and found Dinah’s classroom. I waited ten minutes before the bell rang marking the end of class. Before it had even stopped sounding, freshmen exploded through the door. I had a momentary distraction watching the fashion show. It made me glad not to be young anymore. What was with the boys in skinny jeans pulled so low they waddled and their underpants hung out? And the girls—I still didn’t get the gaudy tattoos and too many earrings in all the wrong places and hair that looked as if it had been dipped in melted Popsicles.
Dinah came out last with a good-looking young man whose face was twisted in upset.
“I just don’t understand why I can’t take the test now since I missed it,” he said, almost running to keep up with her.
Dinah appeared about to pop her cork. “Because, Vincent, we just went over the test answers in class after I asked three times if there was anyone who hadn’t taken the test.”
“I didn’t hear you,” Vincent said. “I guess I fell asleep,” he muttered.
That didn’t seem to go over well with Dinah, and she threw up her hands. Then she saw me. I must have looked a little done in because her brows knit in concern. She told Vincent they were finished and no was her final answer. “If you have a problem with that, take it up with the dean. And be sure and mention the part about falling asleep in class,” she said before coming toward me.
“Omigod, what happened?” she said when she got close. I started to open my mouth, but she ordered me to hold my thought. “I have to pick up the twins from preschool, and if I’m late, they start charging five dollars a minute.”
I didn’t get a chance to talk until we’d picked up the kids with thirty seconds to spare and had gone to a Mexican fast-food place. Dinah was strictly ixnay on the kiddie meals and had gotten each of them a cheese quesadilla and half juice-half sparking water—her version of soda.
“I feel like it’s my fault. If I could have found Mary Beth sooner, maybe I could have done something.”
“But Yarnie’s was closed,” Dinah said, trying to make me feel better. But I persisted.
“If only I’d been able to talk to Mary Beth at least I could have found out who she was worried about and what all this means.”
“Did you consider that maybe Detective Heather was right? There really isn’t anything on here that says ‘Mary Beth Wells.’ ” Dinah had taken the grocery bag I was still clutching and was examining the contents again. She read over the papers and picked up what I’d started calling the “crocheted clue.” “It would be nice to know what all these things are supposed to be.” Dinah pointed to the panel next to the one with the rectangles. “It looks like a bunch of shapes that make no sense.”
My cell phone interrupted us as Ashley-Angela took the crochet piece from Dinah and turned it around. She tried to show us something, but Dinah just told her to finish her food.
Barry was on the phone. Apparently, he’d crossed paths with Detective Heather.
“Molly?” He sounded concerned and exhausted. “Are you okay?”
“Am I ever going to see you again?” I said.
“Babe,” he said with a sigh of apology, “as soon as I’m done with this case, I’m yours.” Then someone called him and he signed off.
The kids took their cups and food wrappers to the trash and went off to play in the indoor playground. Dinah watched them go and then turned to me. “They’re going home. For real this time. Jeremy called this afternoon,” she said, referring to her ex-husband. “I’m almost afraid to believe it. I’m going to get my life back.” Then her normally perky expression drooped. “But I’m going to miss them. Suddenly I’ll have all that time—”