“Mary Beth Wells?” CeeCee said, putting a hand to her heart. “Didn’t I hear on the news that she died? It belonged to her?”
As I was explaining what happened when I’d tried taking the bag to Mary Beth, Adele interrupted. “Geez, Pink, you’re really attracted to dead bodies. You really are a—”
“Don’t even say it.” I stopped Adele cold. “I am not a crime scene groupie.” Adele snickered because I’d just said what I’d tried to keep her from saying.
“Of course you’re not,” CeeCee said, patting my hand. She turned to the others. “Molly isn’t some kind of thrill seeker. She was trying to get the woman’s handiwork back to her.” Then CeeCee gave the floor back to me, and everyone wanted to hear all the details. They were on the edge of their seats as I described walking into the house and seeing the body, and when I got to the part about running out of the gate and nearly slamming into the cop car, they all squealed. All except Adele, who just kept rolling her eyes.
“I showed the bag of things to Detective Heather, but she acted like I was ridiculous for suggesting they belonged to Mary Beth. She said nothing on either of the pieces of paper gave an indication they were from her, and she wouldn’t even listen to me when I tried to explain about the unusual thread. She said the death looked like it was from natural causes.”
I noticed Sheila shrank back at the mention of Detective Heather’s name. She reached out and touched my hand in support.
“Did she take you to the station and lock you in one of those interview rooms?” Sheila had been caught in Detective Heather’s sights when a local shopkeeper was killed. She was still getting over the shock.
“No interview room or even a trip to the station. I think she was closer to laughing at me. Too bad I hadn’t noticed this.” I took the panel piece from CeeCee and laid it on the table the other way.
“Oh,” Sheila said with a tremble in her voice. She touched the MB embedded in the roof of the wishing well. Suddenly Sheila sat back and looked pale. “There’s a member of the gym who has a relative who works at the West Valley Police Station. She came in this morning just before I left. I heard her talking to some friend.” Sheila’s eyes were big and round. “She was talking about someone named Wells and saying something about her being poisoned.”
“I knew it,” I nearly shouted. “They must have done an autopsy. Did you hear what kind?”
“What’s the difference?” CeeCee asked. “It obviously did the job. I played a murderess once in an episode of Keeley Crumpfort, ME. It was so against character, the director thought no one would be able to figure out it was me until the denouement. My character used poison to kill her husband. She, I mean, I fed him small amounts of it so he had a record of being sick, and then whammo, I gave him a double dose and he died.”
“I bet that’s what happened with Mary Beth. Detective Heather said the maid mentioned Mary Beth had been sick,” I explained. A picture of Mary Beth’s bedroom flashed in my mind. “And I bet I know how they could have done it. There was a half-eaten package of marzipan apples on the bedside table.”
CeeCee and Dinah both made faces, not about the poisoning, but rather about the marzipan. CeeCee said it tasted like gritty paste.
“It was probably a woman who did it,” Eduardo said. “Poison is considered a woman’s weapon.” We all looked surprised at his comment. “I read a lot of true crime,” he said with a shrug.
I laid my hand on the display of items. “Since these were left on our table, I feel it is my responsibility to finish what Mary Beth wanted to do, and since the first panel has an image of the Casino Building, I think the place to start is Catalina Island.”
For a moment there was silence at the table. Then CeeCee spoke. “I could use an outing, and since I’m sure the package was left for me, I should go along. Count me in.”
Sheila looked up. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but I don’t know . . .” I knew she was worried about the cost. She was chronically short of money. I told her I’d pay her boat fare and she could do something for me in return. I would have just paid it, but I knew Sheila had her pride.
Dinah’s face lit up suddenly. “I forgot the kids have gone home. I’m free. Count me in.”
Eduardo had to beg off because he was booked to do a talk show back east. “The idea is to turn me into more than just a face. I’m going to show my funny side.”
“Good idea, Eduardo,” CeeCee said. “It’s always good to be multidimensional. Did I tell you I used to sing, too?”
“We’re getting off topic,” I said. “So, all of you except Eduardo are coming to Catalina with me?” After some back-and-forth over when to go—everyone had something to rearrange—we finally agreed on a day later in the week.
“I’m here to join the group.” At those words, we all looked up from our conversation to see Camille Rhead Katz holding a swatch of off-white yarn. CeeCee’s face fell so low I thought it would hit the floor, and I heard her groan under her breath. Camille’s swatch had rows of single and double crochet and then a pattern with double crochets and shell stitches. She dangled it in front of CeeCee. “See, now I can crochet.”
CeeCee sputtered, but there was no legitimate objection she could make and she finally muttered a welcome to the group while sending an annoyed flash of her eyes in Adele’s direction.
“Did I hear you talking about a trip to Catalina? Is the group meeting there?” she said in a friendly voice.
CeeCee stepped in before anyone else could speak. “It’s a separate thing some of us are working on.”
Camille looked a little miffed, though not enough to leave. She set her bag on the table. It was made of black fabric covered with a pattern of small red hearts, each of which bore the initials VT. I had seen a lot of similar bags lately and initially thought they were one of those cosmetic-counter giveaways. Adele had been the one to set me straight. They were the latest bag from the Vladimir Tucci collection, and they cost a fortune.
Her crochet supplies were equally elegant. She pulled out a full set of hand-carved wood hooks in a padded roll and a set made out of plastic that featured little lights on the curved part. Next came a clear plastic case that held scissors shaped like a crane, stitch holders, a measuring tape, a space pen and a tiny notebook. She glanced Adele’s way. “Did I get the right stuff?” Adele nodded.
Camille noticed Mary Beth’s filet panels on the table. “Why do I keep seeing this?” She surveyed the group for an answer.
I opened my mouth to explain but caught sight of CeeCee giving me one of her cease-and-desist stares, and I closed it without saying a word. I got CeeCee’s drift. She couldn’t keep Camille out of the crochet group, but that didn’t mean she was really one of us.
Just then Ali rushed up to the table and skidded to a stop. She was out of breath, and between heavy gasps she apologized numerous times. CeeCee’s face softened. She liked Ali. She and her late husband had never had children, but I think she regretted it now. Ali was the kind of girl she would have loved as a daughter, except maybe for her problem with time management.
“That bag is wonderful,” CeeCee said as Ali set down her purse.
“You like it?” the young woman said with a grin. “Some people think it looks a little odd. It’s improvisational crochet. I put on music, take out a bunch of hooks and bits of yarn, beads and charms and go crazy.” I ran my hand over the texture. It went from smooth to bumpy and had beads and charms crocheted right into it. “The best thing is you can’t make a mistake; it’s whatever you feel like.”