Samuel moved on to me. “I’m just here long enough to change. I got a gig,” he said before giving the details. Samuel could play a bunch of instruments, but this job called for him to play piano at a hotel bar in Woodland Hills.
“How about I go with,” Ryder suggested. “I’ll video one of your songs. I’m a wiz at editing on my computer. By the time I post it on YouTube, it’ll look like a real music video.”
“As long as you don’t cause any problems,” Samuel said.
“I could go, too,” Jeffrey said, stepping next to Ryder. I saw Barry’s jaw clench and he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. He didn’t even have to say it, just the shake of Barry’s head got the message and Jeffrey slumped with disappointment.
A dark sedan pulled behind the jeep. It was too dark to make out what kind of car or who got out until he was halfway across the lawn. What was Mason doing here?
Barry apparently wondered the same thing and said as much.
“Don’t tell me you forgot again,” Mason said, taking his crochet project out of the bag.
Mason saw Samuel and they slapped hands. Samuel had no problem with Mason. Mason had helped him get his musical career going and I think he viewed him just as a family friend as opposed to someone I was involved with.
By now it was getting pretty chilly and Samuel and Jeffrey didn’t have jackets on. What could I do, but invite everyone inside?
Samuel looked at the crowd moving into the backyard. “Mom, you ought to start having the Christmas Eve party again.” I was surprised at his comment. The party had been a yearly tradition until Charlie died. It wasn’t that any of us made a decision to stop having parties, it had just sort of happened. The fact that Samuel was suggesting it meant he was finally beginning to move on. I certainly wouldn’t have any trouble finding guests. The group followed me in, and all RSVPed on the spot.
I offered everyone dinner if they’d take potluck. I hadn’t managed to get to the grocery store lately and had resorted to eating whatever I could scrounge.
“Not a problem,” Mason said, taking out his cell phone. “Everybody likes Italian, right?” There was a chorus of yeses, except Barry, who didn’t appear pleased that Mason was handling the food again. In an effort to make up for it, Barry made a big deal about going to check on the door.
I said I’d make salad and Mason left to pick up the order. I reminded Samuel to take care of his cats and Jeffrey fed the dogs and took them out into the yard to play. Ryder made a video of me making salad. He was very interested in all the ingredients and interviewed me as I mixed a bag of herb salad with some wild rocket lettuce. I added grated carrots, kalamata olives, cucumber, fresh tomatoes and sun-dried tomatoes. I made my own salad dressing. It was really just olive oil and balsamic vinegar, but it was the way I did it. I poured the olive oil on first and tossed the salad. Then I sprinkled on the garlic powder and seasoning salt before shaking on the vinegar. I never measured, but it always seemed to work out. I finished the salad by adding gorgonzola cheese and walnuts.
Dinner was a big success, though over quickly. Samuel had to get to his gig. Ryder tagged along with him. Jeffrey had some homework. Barry hesitated while Mason situated himself on the couch with the dog sweater. But finally he couldn’t stall any longer and left with a reminder to be sure to keep everything locked up.
I took a ball of iridescent-flecked white bedspread-weight thread and a steel hook into the living room along with the instructions for a snowflake Adele had given me. Hers were more elaborate, but she said she was doing me a favor by giving me something more basic to make. There was probably a slap at my skill in there somewhere but by now I’d learned to just let it go. Mason moved next to me, saying something about it was a better arrangement if he needed help. He watched as I struggled to make a slipknot with the fine thread and do the beginning circle. My hook slipped and the yarn was hard to see. It always took me a little while to adjust to working so small.
Mason took out the partially completed dog sweater and something else.
“Is that for me?” I said, looking at the gift-wrapped package.
Mason handed it to me and I commented that it was kind of early for a Christmas present.
“No, this just something I think you really need. I had something grander in mind for a holiday gift. Open it,” he said.
“Wow,” I said as the paper fell, revealing a box that said BlackBerry. Mason took it out and told me about all the features. He had even charged it up. He took out his own and called someone. After a few minutes of punching in some codes to the BlackBerry, he had activated it and it was now my phone.
He showed me the calendar and said if I put stuff in, it would pop up as a reminder. “So no more missing our crochet evenings,” he said with a grin before he demonstrated how to use the camera feature. I got in a mind muddle after that. The BlackBerry just did too many things to take in all at once. I hugged him a thank-you and when I looked up he was looking back at me. The usual smile in his eyes was replaced by something else. What was it? Longing maybe. I pulled away and he returned to his usual self.
I pointed to the dog sweater he’d laid beside him as I went back to my snowflake. “We better get crocheting.” He nodded in agreement and picked up his hook.
“Too bad the detective hasn’t taken up crochet. It would do him good.” Mason worked a few stitches. “I suppose he doesn’t think it’s manly enough.” Mason paused a beat. “I’ve always thought real men don’t have to keep proving themselves.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” I said vaguely, not wanting to get sucked into their competition. I changed the subject and brought up Emily and the break-ins. Mason was always a good sounding board. This was the first chance I had to put together all the discordant pieces and try to make sense of them.
“If this kid wasn’t the one sneaking in your house, then who was?” Mason said. He seemed doubtful about someone going to so much trouble to find out the identity of an author.
“You don’t know how people are about the Anthony books. It would certainly take the thunder out of our launch party if somebody disclosed the real identity of A. J. Kowalski first,” I said.
The snowflake began to come together quite quickly, though the limp white stitches were hardly impressive looking. Starching them was what did the magic.
Mason asked the obvious question. Did I know the vampire author’s real identity? And I gave him the same answer I’d given everybody else. No. No matter what I’d seen with Adele, the jury was still out on whether it was William.
“Maybe you know, but you don’t know that you know,” Mason said, chuckling at his own tongue twister. He gestured toward the tote bag I’d been carrying back and forth. A file stuck out that had Holiday Events written on it. “What’s in there?”
I pulled it out and showed him. Everything was about our multicultural holiday party. “See, there’s nothing in here.”
He suggested maybe it was something I’d brought home a while ago. We looked over my desk and there was nothing there. I took him in the crochet room and I heard him chuckling behind me. “Someone ransacked this room, right?” He bent down and pulled a plastic grocery bag off his foot that had caught there. I explained I’d cleaned it up since then. This was normal.