“Anybody have an idea what it is?” I asked.
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but the style is called filet crochet, Pink,” Adele said with a generous amount of attitude.
“I know what kind of crochet it is,” I said. CeeCee had told me about the particular kind of thread crochet and shown me samples once when I was at her house. “I meant what is it supposed to be? Maybe a table runner?”
“Filet crochet—what’s that?” Dinah asked. Right, Dinah hadn’t been with me at CeeCee’s. I was about to explain the method of crochet when Adele stepped in and pointed to the open mesh and areas that were blocks of solid stitches. By now I’d begun to see that the filled in areas formed images. I recognized one as that of a cat, though because it was formed by squares, it had a slightly awkward geometric shape.
Adele was in full form now. There was nothing she liked better than to lord her superior crochet knowledge over someone. “The open spaces are made with double crochets and a chain stitch, and the solid areas are continuous double crochets.”
Dinah picked the piece up and held it at distance for all of us to see. It seemed to have ten or so panels that had been joined together, and viewed from afar, the images became more apparent. Or some of them did.
“What’s that?” Dinah said, pointing to what looked like a big ring.
I shrugged and indicated another panel. “This looks like a guy with a bow and arrow,” I said.
“This looks like a house of some sort.” Dinah pointed to an adjacent area. “And here’s a vase of flowers.”
“Isn’t that another cat?” Sheila said. The one I’d recognized had been sitting down facing front. This one appeared to be walking.
“Well, that looks like a bath-powder box I have on my dresser,” CeeCee said. She’d obviously tried to keep out of it but ultimately couldn’t help herself. “And that looks like the Arc de Triomphe.”
“Molly, you better come quickly,” a voice said, interrupting. When I looked up I saw that our main cashier, Rayaad, had come in from the store and appeared troubled. “There are some people doing strange things in the bookstore.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Adele retreating into the corner. Typical. Adele liked to be in the midst of book signings and the bookstore’s other notable events, but when trouble surfaced, she made herself scarce.
Dinah, on the other hand, got up as I did and followed me into the store. She was my backup even if she wasn’t an employee.
I watched as a man and woman I didn’t recognize walked around the main area of the store. They pushed on bookcases to see if they moved. They looked at the ceiling and periodically stopped to talk to each other, at which point one of them would write something in a notebook. They pushed two display tables together and started rearranging the books. They dragged over two comfortable chairs and appraised them quickly. Then they both got on their cell phones. I had heard of takeover robberies, but makeover robberies?
They were definitely up to something. They moved on to the best-seller table and put all the books on the floor before pulling the table off to the side. Then they took photos of the empty area from different angles.
Rayaad had rushed back to her station. She stuck the cordless phone under her arm and held up nine fingers, then one twice and looked at me with a question. I was about to signal her to go ahead when the phone rang. She jumped in surprise and the receiver fell.
When she recovered, she put it to her ear. A moment later, she began waving me over, mouthing that it was Mrs. Shedd. Dinah moved closer to the duo to keep tabs on them while I went to the phone.
“I’m glad you called,” I said. “There’s a couple doing weird stuff. They’re moving things around and taking pictures. I was just about to call the cops.”
“Don’t,” Mrs. Shedd yelled. “Or you’ll ruin our big chance for fame. I’m sure they’re from the show.”
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it. Just be helpful, Molly,” Mrs. Shedd said.
“Show?” I asked. “Are they going to televise one of our book signings on that cable program?”
“Thank heavens, no. Who can stay awake to see the end of that? Somebody could make a fortune taping those shows and then selling them to people with insomnia. I’m talking about a hot show. A show that millions of people watch. I wish I knew how to get in touch with Mr. Royal,” she said. The bookstore was called Shedd & Royal, but Mr. Royal seemed to be a silent partner. None of us had ever met him.
“We have to make sure the place looks perfect,” Mrs. Shedd continued. “Too bad there isn’t smellovision—we could pump out the smell of Bob’s cookies.” Mrs. Shedd found that funny and chuckled at her own joke. Then she urged me to get off the phone and help the couple.
I hung up, joined Dinah and the two of us approached them.
As soon as I confirmed they were from the show I tried to be friendly. “You television people work a lot. Here you are and it’s Sunday evening.”
“This is nothing. We’re just in preproduction. When we’re actually in production we’re 24/7,” the man said, explaining he and the woman were set directors. I introduced myself and said I was the event coordinator-community relations person. The woman handed me her card and shook my hand. They assured me they didn’t need any help and mentioned the filming date in a few weeks.
In all the excitement I’d never found out the name of the program. I quickly asked.
“Making Amends,” the man responded as they got ready to leave.
I did a double take. That was CeeCee’s show! I was about to mention she was in the café, but they were already walking toward the door.
I turned to Dinah. “I wonder why CeeCee didn’t say anything about them taping an episode here.”
There was no chance to ask CeeCee about it. When Dinah and I returned to the café, the table was empty. Bob waved from the counter and held up the paper sack. It looked like the ball was stuck in my court.
CHAPTER 2
THE PHONE WAS RINGING WHEN I FINALLY unlocked my back door. I put down the bag on the kitchen table and grabbed for the cordless as two fur balls danced around my feet and then rushed out into the yard. They raced around the perimeter and disappeared in the bushes. Thinking that CeeCee was probably right about the owner showing up for the package, I’d decided to just hold onto it. I had given Rayaad instructions to call me if anyone came looking for it.
“Molly, why did you take so long to answer?” the caller demanded. She didn’t have to identify herself. Did anyone not recognize their mother’s voice and the emotional buttons she could immediately push with her intonation?
I started to explain, but after a moment she was obviously bored with my description of the fund-raiser at the park. Even the mention of the mystery package didn’t capture her attention. I could tell by the sound of her breath and the fact that she started to talk before I finished.
“Daddy and I are coming to visit.” She paused to let the information sink in, then continued. “Lana got a call from an agent. He wants to put us on tour. On a national tour,” she said.
My mother had been part of a girl group, the She La Las, who’d basically had one hit—“My Man Dan.” But it had been a big hit and still got played on the radio, though mostly on oldies stations. The group had gone their separate ways, and my mother spent the rest of her career as a backup singer for various artists. In her own mind, though, my mother remained a star. In my father’s mind, too, I guess. He was a dermatologist with a quiet, even temperament that never threatened her center stage persona.