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“Why didn’t you tell me they were going to tape a show at the bookstore?”

“They are?” CeeCee said. “Someone should have told me.” She sounded perturbed. “I can’t believe I don’t know what’s going on at my own show. Whatever anyone says, I am the show. Why else would people be leaving me their problems to fix?” Her voice had grown a little shrill, and it wasn’t clear who exactly she was talking to, but it didn’t seem to be any of us.

When I glanced back toward the window, no one was there. Maybe CeeCee had gotten her wish.

Or maybe not.

The woman was standing next to the table.

CHAPTER 4

“HELLO, CEECEE. I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE part of the Tarzana Hookers,” the tallish dark-haired woman said. One glance at her face was enough to figure she must have a charge account with her plastic surgeon. She looked as though she’d been lasered, Botoxed and injected with fills until her face had the too-smooth shape of a doll’s. Her most distinctive feature was her lips, which were big and puffy, but I didn’t think it was the work of injections. They were just imperfect enough to be natural.

“Camille, so nice to see you,” CeeCee said in an authentic-sounding sweet voice. CeeCee was certainly a good actress. If I hadn’t heard her comments about Camille just a few minutes earlier, I would have totally believed CeeCee was thrilled to see her.

CeeCee introduced her to everyone at the table in the same friendly sounding voice.

I tried not to stare at Camille’s clothes. If you threw in the Rinny Fooh shoes, I bet the jeans, loose-fitting top and cropped jacket cost as much as some people’s monthly mortgage payment. Though Camille seemed indifferent to her outfit. To her, wearing designer stuff was probably the same as wearing an old bathrobe.

“Well, thanks for stopping by. It was nice to see you,” CeeCee said in a tone of dismissal, but Camille made no move to leave.

“I don’t think you understand,” Camille said, turning toward CeeCee. “I’m here to join you.” Then she turned back to all of us. When she got to Eduardo, she seemed uneasy. “He’s not a member, is he?”

“Yes, he is. In fact he’s one of our best crocheters,” CeeCee said with just the slightest edge to her voice. “Obviously you have a problem with that, which is why I’m sure you wouldn’t be happy in our group.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that probably didn’t come out right. My life coach has been telling me I have to watch how I speak. I was just surprised that you had a male member.”

Eduardo sighed. “It’s okay, I get that a lot, and no, I’m not gay.”

Camille looked embarrassed. “I wasn’t implying you were anything. Oh no, I’m talking myself into a corner again.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe if I explain . . . I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I have always been on committees for fund-raiser dinners and charity events of all kinds. I’ve arranged countless silent auctions. My life coach says I ought to try being on the other side of the auction table. You know, actually making something.” She saw the blankets at the end of the table. “Are you making these for poor people?”

There was a collective cringe at the table. Camille’s life coach probably wouldn’t have been happy with her, either. She said poor people as though they were aliens from another planet who had cooties besides. She caught herself again and apologized.

“Oh dear, my life coach said I needed to try being like a regular person, but I have no experience at it.” She slid into a chair. “My father is Alexander Rhead—of Rhead Productions.” She left it hanging, clearly expecting we would understand what that meant. When no one reacted, she continued. “We do CeeCee’s show, and a lot of others.”

“Then maybe you know who’s the subject of the episode they’re taping here,” I said.

Camille’s mouth fell open as if I’d asked her an inappropriate question. “My father is the head of the production company, and my husband is the executive vice president. We don’t deal with what goes on with the shows. We have people for that.” She slouched when she finished. “That sounded haughty, didn’t it? You see, I really need to be in this group. I need to be around regular people so I can get in touch with the regular part of myself.”

“Is that what your life coach said?” Dinah asked, holding back a smile.

Camille brightened. “Why yes. How did you know?”

“A lucky guess,” Dinah said.

“You don’t know how to crochet, do you?” CeeCee said. Her acting ability was falling by the wayside, the edge in her voice growing more obvious.

“Well, no,” Camille said.

“We only take members who at least know the basics. You really need to know what you’re doing if you’re going to make the blankets.”

I regarded CeeCee with surprise. New people showed up all the time and most of them were clueless. She or Adele were always happy to teach them. Why was she trying to scare off Camille?

“Maybe I can find somebody to give me some private lessons first,” Camille said.

CeeCee was shaking her head and about to speak when Adele made her entrance.

“Somebody needs crochet lessons?” she asked Camille brightly. CeeCee gave Adele a dark look, which had no effect. “I’d be happy to teach you.”

Adele took the opportunity to show off her latest project. Burgundy and gold striped mohair leg warmers. “Ali and I made these together,” she said to the group. “We met at the Yarnatorium this morning. They’re having a huge sale. She was going to come to the group, but she had to go to work.”

“Work?” Sheila said. “What does she do?”

“Why don’t you ask her next time she’s here,” Adele said, clearly not interested in talking about it.

Camille had started tapping her finger against the table in annoyance. This unnerved Sheila, who began tapping her fingers as well. The noise made the rest of us tense. Even the usually unflappable Eduardo seemed unsettled.

I had the feeling Camille wasn’t used to being kept waiting. And even though I insisted I wanted no part in running the group, I felt a responsibility for keeping Shedd & Royal’s customers happy. “Adele, why don’t you show us what you made later. If you’re going to give Camille crochet lessons, you ought to arrange it.”

It was a toss-up who appeared more annoyed: Adele for being interrupted or Camille for having to wait. CeeCee didn’t look too happy, either.

Camille moved down the table toward the filet piece and with her perfectly manicured fingers picked it up. She looked at it oddly for a moment, then let it flutter back to the table. “I’m not going to have to make something like that, am I?”

CeeCee saw her moment. “You might. You know, crochet isn’t for everyone. You might like knitting better.”

I could hear Adele sputtering behind me. She stepped between CeeCee and Camille. “Don’t listen to her. You don’t want to knit.”

I traded looks with Dinah. Uh-oh. Adele went ballistic whenever anyone brought up knitting. We all thought crochet was superior, but Adele was rabid about it. Her voice rose as she started her crochet rant, and Camille took a step backward.

“Crochet is more portable. Just one nice little hook instead of two poky needles. And there are so many things you can do with crochet.” Adele started to pick up the panel piece but apparently suddenly remembered Camille’s reaction to it and let it drop. Instead, she pointed to the yellow and white yarn daisy attached to her jean jacket. “You can make flowers like this, and granny squares, and afghans like you wouldn’t believe, and—”

Camille interrupted and said she had to go. I wondered if despite her life coach’s suggestion she had changed her mind about joining us. Not that I could blame her. CeeCee had been anything but cordial, and Adele had been, well, just plain weird.