“Wow, it’s different than I remember it,” Dinah said, glancing toward my display as she returned with a latte and more cookie bars. She set down her café purchases and gave all her attention to the stitched item. “I see what you mean. Who knows what most of this stuff is supposed to be? Cancel what I said about song lyrics.” She pointed at the aqua rectangle with the window in the middle. “It’s as if she decided to mix abstract things with recognizable ones. Like that.” Dinah pointed at the man with the bow and arrow.
Dinah took a sip of her latte and with a thoughtful look picked up the diary entry. She read it over several times, frequently glancing back toward the panel piece. Her eyes suddenly brightened. “I think I’ve found a connection.” She pointed to December 20 on the paper and then to the bow-and-arrow figure. “The zodiac sign for that date is Sagittarius.” She stared at me, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction. When it didn’t come, she continued. “Don’t you get it? You know, the ram is for Aries, the lion for Leo and the archer for Sagittarius.”
“Oh,” I said, letting it sink in. “You’re right. Wow, that’s impressive.”
“What’s impressive, dear?” CeeCee moved past me, pulling her craft case on wheels to the head of the table and positioning it next to her chair. The production company had hired a stylist to work with her when the show took off, and the new look suited her well. Gone were the reddish blond bubble hairstyle and the jewel-colored velour warm-up suits she’d worn before. Now her hair was a soft brown with natural-looking highlights. The soft bangs knocked years off her face, her outfit—slacks, shirt and long vest—hid any hint of extra curves.
Before I could answer her question, CeeCee had spied my last cookie bar. “Does that belong to anyone?” she said, reaching for it. When I told her it was hers, she closed her eyes and savored the flavor.
“Dinah just figured out something about the crochet piece,” I said, showing CeeCee the date and the archer.
“Oh dear, no one showed up for it, did they?” She threw up her hands, appearing upset. “I just can’t deal with this. You’ll take care of it won’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the items down the table toward me. “Besides, it’s distracting us from our real purpose.”
The purpose of the group was to crochet things either to give to those in need, or to sell to raise money for some worthy cause. Our current project was making blankets for the police or social service organizations to offer to traumatized older kids.
At that moment Eduardo and Sheila came in together. They weren’t a couple or anything, they just arrived at the same time.
“I finished a blanket,” Sheila said. She held up a small throw the same beige color as Dinah’s drink and then draped it on the edge of the table. We all praised her fine work, but the look of strain across her forehead remained. Fitting in the crochet group around her job at the gym, her costume design classes and assorted odd jobs was an ongoing struggle for her. I felt nervous just thinking of all she had to do. As usual, she was wearing the black suit she was required to wear as receptionist at the gym. I thought it an odd clothing choice for a place where the members all wore sweats or spandex.
“Lovely,” CeeCee said one final time before folding up the blanket and setting it at the end of the table.
“Sorry I had to miss the park fund-raiser,” Eduardo said, setting his leather shopping bag on the table. His shoulder-length black hair was loose, and he was wearing jeans and a soft blue tee shirt. Everything looked good on him—that was probably why he was such a successful cover model.
Eduardo was also a master crocheter. He’d learned the craft from his grandmother, and he did it as though it were second nature. Reaching into his bag, Eduardo pulled out the child-size blanket he’d completed. It was moss green and so soft to the touch I wanted to cuddle it. But wasn’t that the point? We hoped these coverlets would provide warmth and the comfort of something to hang onto.
“Eduardo, that’s beautiful,” CeeCee said, taking it and putting it next to Sheila’s. “I have three now. I’ll drop these off at the West Valley Police Station.” CeeCee pointed to the bags of yarn the bookstore provided and encouraged them both to start another.
Eduardo saw the filet crochet piece and his brow wrinkled. “Where did that come from?”
Dinah told him the story, and he examined it. “Nice stitch work, but what’s the point?” He spread it out on the table. “Is it some kind of tablecloth?” We all studied it and shook our heads. It was too wide for a table runner but too narrow for a tablecloth.
“I don’t think it has a practical purpose,” I said, straightening it. “I still have a hard time thinking this is really crochet.”
Eduardo had a deep hypnotic voice. He could read the phone book and make it sound like poetry, so we were all rapt listeners when he started to talk about filet crochet. Even CeeCee.
“I understand your dilemma,” he said. “Filet crochet looks quite different than the blankets we’re making. I learned from my Gran Maeve that it was developed to make trimming that looked like lace for dresses and household items.” Eduardo grinned. “Not that I was interested in trimming anything.” Eduardo had told us how he was Irish on his mother’s side and, being the youngest in a family of boys, had been chosen by his grandmother to carry on the family tradition of Irish crochet. “But she made me learn filet crochet anyway. By the way, filet means ‘net’ in French.” He took out a hook and some yarn and proceeded to make a foundation row and then began a row of mesh spaces. “She said it was like drawing with thread because you could make pictures with it.” His fingers were nimble, and the yarn made the stitches easy to see. In the next row he made several open meshes with blocks, followed by more open meshes.
“If I was going to make a pattern or a picture, I’d make up a chart first. You can use graph paper, and then you mark in the blocks and leave the meshes open.”
Somehow when he said it, it all made sense. “Now, I get it,” I said as he handed me the little swatch he’d made. I compared it with the panel piece and was able to pick out the tiny double crochets and chains.
“Ah, but if you look so closely, then you lose the picture.” He took the panel piece from me and stepped away, holding it up. Sure enough, it was easier to see the pictures in each panel when I viewed the piece from a distance. It did not, however, make the meaning of the pictures any easier to figure out.
“Where’s Adele?” Eduardo asked, glancing up and down the table.
“No wonder it’s so quiet,” Dinah said.
“She called me early this morning to say she was going to be late,” I said. “She and her new best friend Ali went to some special yarn store this morning.”
“Oh dear,” CeeCee said suddenly, glancing toward the window. We all followed her gaze, but when she saw what we were doing she became agitated. “Don’t look. Keep your eyes on your work and maybe she’ll go away.”
“Who?” Sheila asked. She had looked up from the new blanket she was starting. She’d picked up on CeeCee’s upset, and consequently, her stitches were growing tighter and tighter. CeeCee and Adele had helped her deal with her too-tight stitches so many times, she now knew what to do herself. She pulled out a smaller hook, took some deep breaths and started the mantra of “keep it loose” as she slowly poked the hook into each stitch.
“Her name’s Camille Rhead Katz,” CeeCee said between her teeth.
“There was some man named Katz in here a little while ago. He said he was involved with your show. Are they connected?” I asked, nodding toward the window as I looked at CeeCee.
“Yes, he’s her husband.” CeeCee said, forcing her gaze away from the window.