I described my visit to the cactus nursery and my conversation with Iris. “She denied knowing Mary Beth Wells and I proved she was lying.”
“Ouch,” CeeCee said. “Dear, that sort of thing never goes over well. I remember a role I had in The Devil’s Mistress .” She looked at us for recognition of the title and continued. “It was a period piece, all bustles and rustling dresses. Thank God that fashion hasn’t made a comeback. I played the sweet sister who got killed for doing exactly what Molly did. My sister in the movie kept saying she’d never met the grand duke, and my character found a letter the sister had gotten from him that proved she was lying. She smothered my character with a pillow.”
All eyes were back on me. “No pillows on my face last night, just a creepy whispering phone call and a dead fish with a marzipan apple in its mouth.”
That information elicited a couple of ewws. Sheila was the only one looking away. She was intent on her blanket, and I could see her stitches getting tighter with each movement of her hook. Suddenly she set it down, rushed over and started hugging me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “You have to drop it, Molly. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
I hugged her back and told her not to worry. With her grandmother dead, Sheila was alone in the world and overburdened by work, school and an unpleasant living situation. The group was her family, and I was the one she felt closest to.
I could feel Dinah’s eyes on me. She’d known about everything except the dead fish and the phone call.
“That’s why I don’t get involved when people drop things like this on me. Just because I’m on a show about solving problems doesn’t mean it’s my job to solve them,” CeeCee said.
“I don’t think Mary Beth left it for you to figure out. From what I’ve found out, Ali is at the center of whatever Mary Beth was trying to fix. I think she left that panel piece with us because she saw Ali was in our group,” I said.
“Was in our group is the operative phrase, Pink,” Adele added. “It sounds like you’ve made a mess of everything. Let’s see. We lost a wonderful member of the group, you insulted her mother, someone is dropping off dead things at your house—and you still haven’t figured out what the crochet piece means.”
Sheila was still hugging me when Camille showed up. She was breathless and either ignored that she had arrived in the middle of something or didn’t notice. I was voting for the latter since she immediately launched into a speech telling everyone how much her scarf had gone for at the silent auction.
When they heard the amount, the group wanted details on the scarf, apparently thinking the quality and design had determined the high price.
CeeCee and I looked at each other over the table. We knew the scarf would have sold even if it had been made of knotted string. Camille’s name was the attraction, not the scarf.
Camille described how the person with the winning bid had come over to her and complimented her on her crochet work. Then she pulled out some photos and passed them around. An ambitious-looking dark-haired man was wearing the scarf and standing between Camille and her husband. The scarf guy’s eyes were on Hunter. “It was truly rewarding to feel something I’d made could do so much good,” Camille said, finishing her story.
“Weren’t you going to the café?” Dinah asked CeeCee. CeeCee glanced toward Camille and said something about having changed her mind.
Eduardo came in later and apologized all around for being MIA. But he hadn’t been idle. He had two of the blankets finished and lots of bookmarks. I was amazed how with his big hands he could maneuver the tiny hook and thin thread.
Dinah pulled her chair close to me. “What are you going to do?”
I sighed and told her I didn’t know. “The worst of it is, much as I hate to admit it, Adele’s right. I have made a mess of everything and gotten nowhere.”
Dinah tried to make me feel better and regretted she couldn’t hang around after, but she had office hours to get to. We promised to catch up later.
After the group left, I cleared away our table and chairs and then kept busy around the bookstore. While I was putting out copies of the newsletter I’d written I noticed Mrs. Shedd was in. Ever since the television show had arranged to film there, Mrs. Shedd had been around much more. In the past, she usually came in before we opened and after we closed.
I walked over to her as she was supervising the removal of all the easy chairs we had spread around the store. “They’re being upholstered,” she said, showing me a swatch. She’d changed the artwork, too. Before there had been some prints that I had barely noticed. Now there were framed photos of the store, some customers, Bob and his cookies and the transformation of the street over the years. I had to agree with her thinking. The local photographs made the bookstore feel more personal.
The one good part of having my parents staying with me was that my father was happy to take care of the dogs. So, I had no reason to rush home. I stayed until the bookstore closed.
It was dark and cold when I drove up my driveway. I felt a certain apprehension as I walked across the backyard. Would there be another phone call or gift on my door-step?
The house was quiet when I walked in. All the take-out food had been put away. I peeked in the living room, wondering if the She La Las had fallen asleep in midpractice. I wasn’t ready for who I saw.
The couches, tables and chairs were still piled in the den. The only seating available in the living room was a bunch of folding chairs up against the wall. My parents were in two of them, and Barry was in a third with Cosmo draped over his lap.
“What?” I said, walking in. My gaze stayed on Barry, and I supposed my expression wasn’t exactly welcoming.
“They called me,” he explained. He looked exhausted, his tie was off and his shirt open at the collar. His eyes were heavy and his beard overgrown. The black eye my father had inadvertently given him was fading but still visible.
“I was on my way home. Thirty-six hours straight.” His eyes met mine. My immediate thought was sympathy, but then I reminded myself that had we still been seeing each other, I would have been wondering where he was and probably worried. And, I also reminded myself, he had left out a huge chunk of his life.
My father got up, went to the kitchen and came back with a freezer bag. As he passed I saw the silvery dead fish with the marzipan apple still in its mouth. He showed it to Barry.
“I heard the phone message,” my mother said. “We were worried, so we called him.”
Barry blew out some air and looked at me. “What have you gotten yourself in the middle of this time?”
“She’s gotten in trouble before?” my mother said.
First, I was surprised and maybe a little pleased that my mother seemed so concerned. She’d always been self-absorbed, but with the She La Las rehearsals she’d gone over the top even for her. Then I was upset. I didn’t want my parents to worry, and it was embarrassing to have them call my ex-boyfriend about a dead fish with some almond-paste fruit stuck in its mouth.
I gave Barry a little shake of my head, hoping he wouldn’t start giving details.
“Didn’t you at least offer him some food?” I said, trying to change the subject.
Barry looked at the dead fish and made a face. “If that’s what you had in mind, no thanks.”
“Okay, intervention over,” I said to my parents. “I’ll tell Barry about it myself.”
They looked relieved and went into the bedroom. My father came back a minute later and pressed a tube of something in Barry’s hand.