I followed them back into the main part of the bookstore. They went on to the door and I stopped by the cashier stand. Our main cashier, Rayaad, had a couple of young men behind the counter with her and was showing them how to ring up books. Not that there was much to show anymore. The computer did all the work. I introduced myself to the new recruits.
“I’m going to be in the yarn department, if anything comes up,” I said to Rayaad, then headed toward the back of the store. The store was quiet and it seemed like a good time to get some work done on the new department. We’d all agreed it was essential to have swatches of each of the yarns hanging on their bins. Some of us—as in me and Mrs. Shedd—had also agreed there should be both crocheted and knitted swatches. Adele had practically stamped her foot and had steam come out of her ears at the mere idea, but she was being ignored. The crocheted swatches were being done by both of us, but the knitted swatches were all in my court.
Adele would never admit it, but I was pretty sure she knew how to knit. Not that it mattered. No way was she going to pick up the needles. Luckily I had learned the basics while getting information during our creative retreat at Asilomar last fall. Knitting felt awkward and slow compared with crocheting, but I didn’t want to alienate knitters, the way some yarn stores ignored crocheters.
Even though it was only partially completed, I loved the yarn area. The back wall had been outfitted with bins that were beginning to fill up with yarn. When we got everything put out from the store in San Diego, most of them would be filled. We were organizing them by color and the effect was beautiful.
Adele was already sitting at the table and looked up from her work as I approached. “It’s about time, Pink.” Her eyes narrowed. “What took you so long? Did you get arrested?” Adele stopped with her hook in the air over a strand of soft blue sport weight yarn.
I threw her my best don’t-be-ridiculous expression and set my tote bag on the table. Now that we had the yarn department, the worktable stayed up all the time. Before I’d had to put it up and down every time the Hookers met. I heard Adele almost growl when I took out the needles attached to the beginning of a swatch of a thick off-white wool from Peru. In addition to the blue yarn Adele was working with, she had a ball of white thread and a fine steel hook. Next to it was a pile of limp snowflakes.
I started to repeat the story for the zillionth time. Just when I got to the part about the bodies, William Bearley walked up to the table and distracted Adele. She jumped up and hugged him and then made a whole production about straightening his jacket and knocking some lint off it. She told anyone who would listen that he was an important children’s author, but never explained that he wrote the Koo Koo the Clown series about common childhood experiences like going to the dentist. When William did book signings or story time, he dressed up in a clown outfit complete with giant red shoes. But in his normal persona, he was bland looking and reserved. His receding sandy hair and pale skin appeared practically colorless next to Adele in her fuchsia-trimmed electric blue jacket.
“I’ll be ready in a minute, honey,” she said. Whatever his day job was, it didn’t seem to require his red shoes. He wore a dress shirt, pressed jeans and some kind of tan tie shoes.
“Molly was just telling me about her house getting raided by the police.” William regarded me with more interest, and I started to explain the real details. Adele didn’t like losing the floor and interrupted me. “Her neighbor just jumped the gun about calling the cops. Her husband has only been gone a few hours.”
“Bradley’s been missing for more than a day,” I said. “Though, from what Emily said, it sounds more like Bradley might have run away.”
“Bradley who?” William said. When I said Perkins, his face showed recognition.
“You know Bradley, too?” Before I could ask for details, Adele stepped in.
“Of course William knows your neighbor. He brought his daughters in to all the Koo Koo events.”
When Adele stopped talking, William asked what made me think Bradley had taken off. I told him about the cop getting it out of Emily that they’d been arguing and all. Adele intruded again. “I know what you’re doing, William. You’re doing research for another book.” She turned toward me. “William is always gathering information and ideas for his next book.”
I smiled. “Right. It’ll come in handy in case you decide to write Koo Koo Goes Missing.” Both Adele and William seemed serious to the extreme about his books. Neither of them came close to cracking a smile at my comment. In fact, Adele seemed in a huff when she started gathering up her work. It only got worse when I picked up the knitting needles. She actually covered her face. Personally, I thought it was more for effect than any real horror at seeing me handle the tools of the other yarn craft. Eventually she took her hands down, though she still made a point to look away from them as she pushed the pile of finished snowflakes in my direction.
“Pink, these need to be starched and William and I have plans.” It wasn’t an unreasonable request. We were making them to decorate the bookstore, and in all fairness, she had made many more than me, but in typical Adele fashion, she came across as high-handed and annoying. Adele often acted as though she were in charge; however, the minute there was any kind of trouble, she would throw her arms around me and expect me to take care of everything. I gathered her thread creations up and put them in my tote bag.
When they left, I finally went to work on the swatch. I had learned the basics of knitting during the retreat but not enough to be comfortable. Casting on and doing rows of knit stitches felt awkward. The swatch didn’t have to be that big, did it? As soon as I’d done ten rows, I laid down the swatch, anxious to crochet.
I thought of the discussion the group had had about making things to give to a shelter we supported. I pulled out the list of suggested items we’d come up with. My eyes stopped on toys. Yes, that was definitely what I wanted to work on. What could be better than making a holiday gift for a child? It would also be my first attempt at Amigurumi—small toys crocheted in the round using single crochet stitches.
I found a pattern for an elephant that was just a nice size for a child to hold. I checked the stash of yarn we had for our charity endeavors and found a skein of soft gray yarn. Within moments, I’d finished the first round. This was going to be fun.
My thoughts went back to Emily Perkins. How well did I really know her?
I wondered about the argument she’d mentioned. Was it real or made up? All I’d ever heard was their voices coming from their backyard, and they always sounded friendly. My pondering was interrupted when a young man stopped next to the table. I realized he was one of the holiday helpers our cashier Rayaad had been training.
“Mrs. Fazaha ...” he faltered. I had trouble with Rayaad’s last name and I’d known her for a while.
“We just go by first names around here, except for Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal.”
The young man seemed relieved. “Okay, then Rayaad said to talk to you.” Before he could finish two women had joined him. They were giggling and appeared a little embarrassed.
“It’s about the Anthony books, the Blood and Yarn series. We wanted to get copies of Caught By the Hook and Caught Up in Yarn ...” She let her voice trail off as if I was supposed to understand.
The clerk stepped in. “The display is empty. Are there any more books anywhere?”
“Oh, please say there are,” the other woman said. “My girlfriend had Caught By the Hook on CD and I heard the beginning in her car. We got stuck in traffic, but eventually I had to get out of the car. I need to find out what happens. When he picks up the hook for the first time,” she said in a tremulous voice, “and when he realizes that he’s found a way to control his lust for blood.”