Mason was easy to talk to, and I eventually admitted I was having my doubts. He looked all too happy. Mason was divorced and had made it clear he wasn’t looking to get married again—something I could completely understand. I was really more interested in casual companionship, too. It was Barry who kept pushing for more.
“But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I need to know who Mary Beth Wells was,” I said just as the waiter arrived with dinner. Mason had ordered a platter of barbecued everything for us to share, and there was plenty to pass down to the dogs.
“Ah, playing detective again, are you? This is fun,” he said as we began eating. “I got your message just as I was leaving the office, so there was no time to check anything. All I can tell you is what I know offhand.”
Mason was on the board of directors of practically every charity there was. In his usual self-deprecating way, he always joked that he had to do something to make up for his profession. Since he was on all those boards, he was a regular on the circuit of dinners and events the charities put on. So, it turned out, were Mary Beth and Lance Wells Jr.
“They made a good-looking couple. She had honey blond hair and refined features. He had his father’s dark coloring and athletic build, but none of the dancing talent. Couple that with a little too much alcohol. Well, there were a few events when Mary Beth had to gracefully get him off the dance floor before he totally embarrassed himself.”
“What about the dance studios?”
“I don’t know much about them except that I think Matt Wells took over as the front guy when Lance Sr. died,” Mason said.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Sorry, I should have explained. Matt is Lance Sr.’s nephew. He’s on the charity-dinner circuit, too. Matt doesn’t have the star quality his uncle had, but he’s certainly competent to be the spokesperson for the dance studios.”
I told Mason again about the note and diary entry along with what I described as the crochet code map. “I’d like to find out what the secret was that she was about to reveal.” Mason was sympathetic when I told him I felt guilty somehow because I hadn’t figured out who the things belonged to sooner.
“Molly, I’m sure you couldn’t have done anything to change things.” He reached across and laid a hand on my arm. By now, the dogs were full of barbecue, and Spike, apparently used to being an only dog, was getting tired of having friends around. He jumped up on the bench, crawled under Mason’s arm and started to squirm, making it clear he wanted to go.
Mason had given me more information than I’d had, but not as much as I wanted. On the way home, I told him about the Casino Building being on the crochet piece but that I had no idea what it was supposed to mean.
“It sounds like she must have been very successful at keeping the secret a secret. Didn’t you say the diary entry was more than twenty years old?”
“You’re right.” I mentioned my coming trip to Catalina and said I hoped it would turn up something. He wished me luck and mentioned what a romantic spot it was.
“I’m going with the crochet group,” I said, rolling my eyes. “At least most of the crochet group.” I told him how CeeCee didn’t want our newest member to come. When I mentioned Camille’s name, Mason blinked in surprise.
“I wouldn’t have figured she’d join a handicraft group.” he said.
“Then you know her?” I asked.
“She’s Alexander Rhead’s daughter. Who doesn’t?”
When we got to my house, Mason, ever the gentleman, insisted on escorting me and the dogs to the door. Maybe it wasn’t all gentlemanliness. When we got to the porch and I started to say good-bye, he put his arms around me and kissed me. He’d kissed me before, but always more in the just-friends vein. This was a full-throttle, deep kiss. And much as I hated to admit it, it sent a shock wave down to my toes.
In the middle of it, the front door opened and my mother looked out saying something about having heard some noise.
“You must be Barry Greenberg,” she said, making no attempt to mask the fact she was checking him out. She invited him in and I started to make excuses, but he was all charm and introduced himself as he followed her inside. The She La Las were just packing up, and my mother told him all about their big audition.
I couldn’t believe what Mason said then or that my mother fell for it. He said it was hard to believe she was my mother. That she looked so young she could be my sister. I mean, isn’t that the oldest line there is? But she lapped it up anyway.
CHAPTER 10
“WHAT KIND OF BOAT IS IT AGAIN?” SHEILA asked from the backseat. I had borrowed my parents’ Explorer, and CeeCee, Dinah, Adele, Sheila and I were on our way to catch our ride to Catalina. The boats left from a small harbor in Long Beach. We’d found the one window in time just after rush hour and before midday when traffic was light, and we were practically zooming down the San Diego Freeway.
Just like Sheila, I, too, had never been to Catalina. And also like her I was very nervous about the boat. It was the whole boat thing that had kept me away all these years. I had a terrible feeling I would get horrendously seasick on the way over and not want to take the boat back and have to spend the rest of my life on Catalina Island. Okay, maybe my fear was a little over the top. But who says fears are rational?
My son Peter had been to the island a couple of times and had mentioned to me that helicopters flew there, too, but that sounded even worse.
Adele started talking about the steamship that used to go to Catalina and how that trip took two hours. “But that was back in the seventies. The boats they have now don’t seem to pitch so much, and it only takes an hour anyway,” she said, patting Sheila’s hand in reassurance.
Who was reassuring me? But then I hadn’t even disclosed my fears to Dinah. I hoped the fact that I was on a mission of good would somehow help. Maybe the fairies of the sea would make the ride smooth or just knock me out for the trip.
“You know, ladies,” CeeCee said, “this isn’t really the season. I hope the sea isn’t too rough.”
My stomach did a flip-flop at that. Then she went on talking about how all her trips there had been on her friends’ boats.
“Private boats go there?” Sheila asked with a little nervous squeak in her voice.
“My, yes. The harbor at Avalon is practically on the beach. But you’ll see when we get there,” CeeCee said. Then her cell phone rang and she made a big fuss about having to take the call and asking if we could all keep it down because she was sure it was her agent. “We’re in final negotiations about my new contract.” She held up crossed fingers and finally pressed the button to answer the call.
Arranging the day had taken some doing. Mrs. Shedd had been okay about me taking the day off. I had hoped she would object to Adele being out, too, but somehow Adele had pulled it off. Then I had realized the greenmobile was too small for all of us, so I had to convince my parents to trade cars for the day.
I’d asked my parents—well, my father—to take care of the dogs. When I’d mentioned it to my mother, she had looked as if I’d asked her to move the moon or rearrange the tides, instead of opening the door to the yard a few times and pouring some food in a couple of bowls.
When I pulled into the parking structure at the boat terminal, CeeCee lost her cell reception and got cut off midcall. She held the phone in her hand as if waiting for it to ring as we got out of the SUV and walked into the terminal building. The Catalina Express waiting room was beyond plain. Just a counter, some hard plastic seats, a small snack bar and a counter to arrange island tours, which was closed.