Well, now was my chance to check it out. I left the dining hall and caught up with the crew down the walkway.
“Excuse me, but which of you did the rooms in Lodge?” I said. The group eyed me warily before two women put up their hands in acknowledgment. I suppose they were expecting me to complain or accuse them of something.
I did my best to short-circuit that fear by thanking them for the nice job on my room. The tension left their faces and they smiled.
“I wanted to ask you about another room. It had a stack of plastic containers with a lot of yarn.”
One of the women nodded. “The one with the already made bed. Yes.”
I didn’t want to tell her it was more accurately not slept in, because the resident was dead, so I just nodded as an answer.
“Did you find a lot of papers under the bed and put them on the night table?”
One of the women nodded. “Papers? You mean like a stack about this big?” She held her thumb and forefinger out in a space that would hold maybe one hundred sheets, in the ballpark of what I was asking about.
I attempted to keep the surprise out of my face. Maybe I was going to owe Sergeant French a mental apology. “You found them under the bed?”
And maybe not.
She shook her head. “I didn’t find them anywhere. I get it. This is a setup. You’re trying to get me to incriminate myself. I didn’t let that man in the room even though he said he just wanted to drop something off. I took the pile of papers from him. I’d already picked some off the floor and put them on the night table. I just added the ones he gave me to them.”
“Some guy brought the papers?”
“Okay, I know it’s against the rules. We’re not supposed to let anyone in without having them show us their key. And I didn’t let him in,” the housekeeper said. The rest of her group had started to move on, and she looked like she was planning to join them.
I had to come up with something to get more details. Think fast, I ordered myself, mentally running through the table of contents of the
Average Joe
book. What it said was that sometimes the basic truth worked best.
“Wait,” I said as she turned to join the rest of the crew. “The room I’m talking about. Well, that woman is dead. She died on the beach yesterday.”
The girl’s face fell and she seemed in more of a hurry to leave, so I started to talk faster. “Everybody thinks it was an accident, that she was allergic to the peanut butter in the gourmet s’mores.”
“Peanut butter in s’mores? I’ve never heard of that. There is a lot of s’more business up here. Every group seems to make them in the fire circle, but they just go the usual way. So, she got sick from the campfire treats and—” She shrugged.
“I think she might have had help eating them and I’m investigating. So finding out who the man with the papers is is important.”
The girl’s mouth quivered. “You mean like in that old TV show where that woman who lived in Vermont or somewhere always was smarter than the cops?”
“Sort of like that.” As I watched the quiver turn into a giggle, I got annoyed. “I’ll have you know I have successfully investigated a number of murders.”
“Okay, sure,” she said in a patronizing tone. “I got to go. I don’t know who the guy was. I don’t keep track of guests’ names.
I took her arm and eased her up the path toward the dining hall. “If you could just have a look inside and tell me if you see him.”
“No way,” she said, pulling away from me. It occurred to me that sometimes you had to pay for information, so I offered to give her the tip that Izabelle might have left. The girl snatched the ten-dollar bill.
“I’m not going in, but I’ll look through the window.” She leaned toward the windowed wall and I pointed toward our group and asked if she saw the man. She just kept shaking her head, and I suddenly had the feeling that was all she was going to do even if she saw him. There was nothing in it for her to give him up.
I was about to let her go when the door to the dining hall opened and some people walked out. The movement drew her eyes to the group.
The Average Joe’s Guide to Criminal Investigation
had a whole section on observing people’s responses. Some were involuntary, like your pupils got bigger when you liked something, whether you wanted to admit it or not. And some were under your control, but still automatic, like the way the housekeeper straightened suddenly as she looked at one of the exiters.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” I said softly.
What was Spenser Futterman doing with Izabelle’s manuscript?
CHAPTER 14
THE FIRST SESSIONS OF THE WORKSHOPS WERE scheduled to start right after lunch. No time to talk to Spenser Futterman and no chance to tell Dinah that he was the crow. Dinah walked out surrounded by people from her table who were taking her workshop. She appeared happy and excited, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her by interrupting. I was discovering it’s lonely at the top.
The workshops were all meeting simultaneously except for Mason’s. But then his wasn’t really a workshop and more of an activity, and we’d scheduled several time slots so the whole group could attend the tai chi sessions if they wanted to.
Mason caught up with me as I walked up the pathway past Lodge. I was clutching the rhinestone clipboard, ready to make my rounds. Mason had changed out of the tai chi clothes into well-fitting jeans and a blue oxford cloth shirt. The color of the shirt brought out the color in his face, and as usual a tousle of hair had fallen free and dangled over his forehead.
“Hey, Sunshine, where are you headed?”
I held up the rhinestone clipboard in response. “I’m going to stop in all the workshops and make sure everything’s going okay.”
I looked at his clothes. “What about you?”
His mouth eased into a grin. “No tai chi until late in the afternoon, so I thought I’d head over to Carmel for a while.” He glanced around the empty walkway. “You look tense around the eyes. How about joining me? Take an hour or so off. I noticed you didn’t eat breakfast, or lunch either.”
“Mason,” I said, rolling my eyes, “I can’t leave. After everything that’s happened, from the fog to Izabelle, well, I have to keep an eye on things.” I held up the clipboard.
“The buck stops with me.”
He nodded and let me know he understood. “I thought that’s what you’d say, but I figured I’d ask anyway. What’s on the schedule for tonight?”
I asked if he hadn’t gotten a schedule, and he admitted to having paid attention only to the times set for tai chi. I had a convenient copy and pulled it out, showing him that after dinner, Commander Blaine was setting up board games in the lobby area of a building called Scripps. “There’s going to be informal crocheting and knitting as well.”
“You ought to be off duty by nine. How about you and I slip out then? The Seventeen Mile Drive is just over there,” he said, referring to the private scenic roadway that wound through the Del Monte Forest and hugged the ocean as it ran past some famous golf courses and resorts. “There are some great restaurants.”
“Mason, I can’t go on a dinner date. I’m working,” I protested.
“It’s not a date, Molly, just two out-of-town Tarzanians discussing the weekend. Nobody will miss you for an hour or two.” He put his hand on my arm. “Everybody gets a break. Besides, if you don’t eat soon, you’re going to pass out.”
He had a point about needing to eat something and I certainly needed a break, though it was kind of funny to need a break from a supposedly fun weekend. Besides, now that I had accepted that Izabelle’s death was murder, we could talk about the case. Mason had helped me before by using his resources to find out information. So, I said yes. His smile broadened and he said he’d make a reservation.
“Nine o’clock, remember,” he said as he walked away and I left to make my rounds of the workshops.
I was curious to see Bennett in action, so his workshop was my first stop. It had been set up in a meeting room in one of the small newer buildings, and I stopped in the doorway. He was straddling a chair in the front of the room and wore a baseball cap backward. His group seemed to be mesmerized by whatever he was saying. Miss Lavender Pants and her crew were hanging on his every word, and I stepped closer to hear better. He said something about playing some acting games to loosen everyone up, and then he’d be passing each person their lines in a one-act play.
“We’ll work on them today and tomorrow, and then tomorrow night you’ll present the play for everyone at the last night party.” Miss Lavender Pants seemed to like the idea, but some of the others appeared nervous and complained about not having enough time before they had to perform.
Bennett put his hand up. “It would be nice to have more time, but you’ll all do fine. I know most of you are doing this for amusement, but our activities will help you all in your regular life. They’ll boost your confidence and you’ll have fun.”
He seemed to have things under control, so I moved on to look in on the others. As I was going down the walkway, I saw a figure headed toward me. I swallowed hard when I recognized the short man with the brick-shaped head. I wasn’t going to let Spenser Futterman get away without talking to him. I put on my best smile as he got closer, though I had no idea what I was going to say. I couldn’t very well just start out saying, “Hey, what was that about you messing with Izabelle’s manuscript and by the way, did you kill her?”
He actually appeared friendly when he saw me and stopped as our paths crossed. He made small talk about the weather improving and operations at Asilomar being back to normal. He asked about our group, but before I could bring up Izabelle, he did. Was it true she died?
I nodded with a solemn face. “Did you know her?” Of course I knew the answer, but I hoped it would get him talking about her.
His eyes narrowed warily. “I wouldn’t say I knew her. More like I saw her around. We both have mailboxes at the same postal center. The one the guy with your group owns. Captain somebody.”
“Commander,” I corrected. “His name is Commander Blaine.” Spenser nodded and then shrugged off the information. He seemed much more interested in finding out about our creative weekend and what part Izabelle played in it. When he heard she was a workshop leader, he wanted to know what we were going to do without her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to give me information, not ask for it.
“We have it covered,” I said, trying to get the upper hand of the conversation. “If you knew her, then you probably know about the book she has coming out featuring her new fusion craft.” I tried to read his face as he answered.
“She has a book coming out? I didn’t know,” he said, seeming surprised. “Like I said, I only knew her in passing.” Then he looked at his watch and muttered something about having to be somewhere, and wished me a good day before taking off down the path.
Okay, he was lying, but he seemed to be good at it, which meant I probably wasn’t going to be able to get any more information out of him.
I’d used up my casual conversation card. It was time for my secret weapon.
“You want me to do what?” Dinah said. I’d timed my arrival to coincide with the memoir writers’ break. Most of them had gone down to the gift shop to hit the coffee cart. I knew Dinah’s head was all into the workshop now, but I was hoping to get her help.
“I don’t think I can get any more information out of Spenser Futterman.” I had already relayed my conversation with him to her and mentioned I was sure he knew more than he was saying. “He told me how he knew Izabelle, so I can’t very well bring it up again. But you,” I said with a hopeful look, “could use your charm and find out everything.”
“You think I’m that charming?” Dinah said with a throaty laugh.
“Commander certainly seems to think so,” I said.
“So, what do I do, flirt with Futterman?” She slumped. “Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard for me to meet anyone. I’ve been spending too much time whipping freshmen into shape. I’ve lost my soft side.” She sighed. “I’m out of practice in that department. Plus, I don’t want to look pathetic. Or desperate.”
“That’s only if it’s real flirting. This would be phony flirting, and you’ll look just fine. It’s not like you really want him—just information.”
“Good point,” Dinah said, watching as her writers came back up the path. Her whole demeanor perked up. “Did I tell you what a treat it is to work with people who are excited to be here? I don’t have to fight anybody about wearing a baseball hat inside or deal with any attitudes. My writers worship me,” she said with a happy smile. She headed back in the room with her group close behind. “Okay, people, let’s get back to mining those memories.”
The yarn workshops were up next. Not only did I want to check on them, I also wanted to remind the participants of Mrs. Shedd’s promise of blankets to a local shelter, and whatever they could do would be appreciated.
I stopped in at the knitting group first. Jeen and Jym were going around, helping members cast on. They were exacting in their movements. Only a few people seemed to be experienced knitters, and they were already working on something. I watched the casting-on process with interest and once again appreciated crochet. Making the row of chain stitches was really the same thing. Both casting on and the row of chains provided something to begin with, but the foundation chain in crochet was so much easier to do.
Jeen looked up, and when she saw me in the doorway, waved me in and met me at the front of the room.
“Everything going okay?” I asked, and she nodded. The center of the table had a neatly arranged selection of worsted-weight acrylic yarn and sets of needles. There were also samples of scarves with copies of patterns next to them.
“I was expecting people with a little more experience. Most of them have none. But we’ll get them going in no time.”
I reminded her about Mrs. Shedd’s promise of the blankets, and an expression of concern passed over her face. “I’m afraid there won’t be blankets. We’ll be lucky to get one. As soon as we show all the newbies how to cast on, we’ll teach knit and purl. I thought I’d have them make practice swatches, which hopefully we can put together into a blanket. The good part is the group is all for it.”