Knot Guilty (4 page)

When we walked inside the retail area, I stopped and glanced around in awe. It was so perfect that it looked like a yarn store in a movie set. The back wall was covered with cubbies of different sizes and shapes filled with yarn in luscious colors and textures. Sweaters, scarves and shawls made from the yarn were artfully displayed. At one end of the store there was an antique library table with refinished wooden kitchen chairs. Each had a bright-colored seat cushion and all were uninhabited for the moment. Not so for the grouping of wing chairs around a large coffee table strewn with designer tote bags and balls of yarn. The comfortable chairs were all filled with knitters.

“K.D., can I do something for you?” a woman said. She turned to the rest of us and introduced herself as Thea Scott, the manager of the store.

While K.D. pointed out CeeCee and admitted that she was trying to get her to join their regular circle, I checked out the store manager. She had the contemporary look down: black jeans, black shirt not tucked in and a knitted men's tie that she wore with the knot pulled loose. Her short brown hair seemed to have some kind of color added to make it such a velvety shade, and it was styled in the mussed-up, asymmetrical cut that seemed so popular. It made me glad to work in the Valley. We always got the rap for being suburban and nowhere near as hip or trendy as the city side of the Santa Monica Mountains. I looked down at my khaki pants and tucked in my shirt, which was practically my uniform. I didn't need a mirror to know that my shoulder-length naturally brown hair was hardly a contemporary style. The chilly weather was the reason I was wearing a purple and blue cowl, more than style. And the black sweater I had on over my white shirt wasn't even cashmere.

Thea dropped the ball of yarn she was holding, and when she bent over to pick it up, her shirt rode up exposing the brand name of her jeans. She must have realized it and reached back to pull down the shirt. In this crowd, the lowly brand just wouldn't cut it.

Adele and CeeCee had separated themselves and were looking at yarn. Delvin had left. K.D. turned her attention to the group of women around the coffee table, zeroing in on one of them. Her stare sharpened and her eyes narrowed before she leaned close and conferred about something with Thea. K.D. shook her head and didn't seem happy with whatever the manager had said and marched over to the group. There was a sameness to the women's appearance. They had almost identically styled hair in the glossy shade of mink that seemed to be in now, and they all wore layered tops with lots of accessories and soft leather boots. K.D. singled out one of them who stood out because she had a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her hand. It was obvious there was some kind of altercation going on. I'm afraid I'm like a moth to a flame when it comes to trouble, so without even consciously doing it, I edged closer until I could hear what was going on.

“You know the rules, Julie,” K.D. said as she picked up the yarn sitting in the woman's lap. “Did you really think taking off the label would fool me? You can only hang out here if you buy the yarn here. All our yarns are made of fibers like silk, wool and cotton. This . . .” she said, holding out the forest green peanut-shaped skein as if it had cooties, “is acrylic.”

Julie's humiliation was too uncomfortable to watch. I backed away and pretended to look at the glass case on the checkout counter. When I looked up, the woman with the tattoo abruptly got up from the table and stuffed the yarn in her fancy tote bag before storming out. The other women kept their gazes on their yarn work, but I had no doubt they heard every word.

“Sometimes K.D. gets carried away,” the store manager said. I'd been so busy being nosy I hadn't noticed that she was behind the counter. “I said I'd talk to Julie privately, but K.D. takes everything so personally. There was no reason to embarrass Julie that way.” I quickly learned that the woman with the acrylic yarn was going through a difficult time. Her husband had lost his executive-level job, and she had four small kids, two of which had special needs.

I didn't want to get into the middle of something, and instead of commenting on what Thea had just said, I asked about the contents of the case, noting there was a whole selection of silver knitting needles. They had different colored stones inlaid in the top. At the end, there was a complete set of different-size needles in a satin roll. The clear stones at the top twinkled in the reflected light.

“Can I see those?” I asked, indicating the set of needles in assorted sizes. I explained I was in charge of the yarn department at the bookstore and that we were having a booth at the upcoming show. “I'm afraid all we carry are plain metal and wood needles, none with ornaments. Those seem like the ones in the Lucite box that K.D. Kirby showed us.”

“Except those are made out of gold plate and these are sterling silver. Both have diamonds.” Thea took out the rose-colored fabric holder that had slots for all the needles and laid it on the counter. She left me to examine them when one of the women in the group waved her over. I didn't do a lot of knitting. Most of it was just swatches to serve as samples of our yarn, but I was still curious about the elegant needles. Even the case they came in was elegant, made out of a satiny material. Then I noticed the price sticker, $3,500, and I almost choked.

Thea rejoined me, carrying some knitting, and laughed at my expression. “I know where you're coming from, but our customers don't care about price. Those women have money to burn, as the cliché goes. If anything, they like it when things cost more.” She pointed to the pairs of needles with colored stones on them. “Those are cheaper because the stones are just semiprecious. Would you believe we sell more of the ones with the diamonds?”

Adele had joined me at the counter. She looked aghast at the satin roll with the silver needles. “Those are like the publishing company logo,” my coworker pointed out. “We've got to make a logo for crochet. And I have a great idea.”

I shuddered at the thought.

When Thursday rolled around, I was too wound up to even notice the deadly quiet in my house. Mason was on my mind. He'd gotten back in town late the night before and called on the way back from the airport. He wanted to come over. But I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and I was concerned about the yarn show starting the next day. It was not the time for a big reunion.

“You're not going to change your mind on me, are you?” he teased before I heard him yawn. I had been a bit elusive in the past, and I could see his concern.

“And you're not going to take off because it was really just all about the chase, are you?” I countered. I sounded like I was joking, but there was still a bit of concern in the back of my mind. I was facing the big 5-0 and had been around long enough to know how relationships went. Nothing made someone seem more desirable than when they were out of reach. But if they suddenly turned around and waited with open arms, it was a whole other story.

“If it was just about the chase, I would have given up a long time ago. I'm just glad you finally realized what everyone else has known all along. We belong together. And I can't wait to start showing you how right they all are.”

I might have been facing the half-century mark, but his words sent a shiver of excitement down my body. And I knew he was right about us belonging together. He was always easy to be with. There were no issues. It was all just about having fun. We were on the same page about a relationship, too. He was divorced and not interested in getting married again. I wasn't, either. We both wanted something with no strings.

I was still thinking of our good-bye as I fussed around the kitchen. He'd ended the call with a “love you” again. The first time he'd said it, I'd melted. The second time I'd begun to wonder if he really meant it. And now, I was beginning to think it might just be an automatic sign-off to whoever he was involved with, like the way people automatically say bless you when someone sneezes.

I pushed it to the back of my mind; I'd deal with it when we finally got together. Right now I needed to focus on what was directly in front of me. Today was it. The day we set up the booth and the show opened. Maybe if we'd just decided to have a small booth, I wouldn't have been so keyed up. But somehow between Adele's insistence that we were going to be the champions of crochet at the show, Mrs. Shedd's idea that it was a chance to sell our wares and advertise all the things the bookstore had going, and my willingness to be responsible for it, we ended up getting a triple-size booth at the very front of the show in a prime spot, for a pricey cost.

I had a long day ahead of me, and without the backup of my son or the assorted people who'd stayed at my house to take care of the animals, I had to make sure they had everything they needed.

I filled the cat bowls, which were well out of reach of the dogs. I gave Blondie and Cosmo a breakfast of dry food followed by a long stint in the yard before I packed up my stuff and headed to the car.

It was just a short drive to the heart of Tarzana. I pulled into the parking lot behind the bookstore. I had things to pick up for the show, but first I was meeting my friend Dinah for breakfast.

I walked past the bookstore and down the block to Le Grande Fromage. The French café was busy and smelled of buttery croissants and fresh-brewed coffee. Dinah waved from one of the round tables.

“I wish I could help you with the setup,” Dinah said when I joined her. “But at least I can make sure you have a good breakfast.” She'd become downright motherly after all the time she's spent taking care of her ex's kids and had food waiting for me. I half expected her to start feeding me the scrambled eggs.

“You must be a mind reader. I have a nervous stomach and some eggs are about all I can manage right now.”

Dinah smiled. “I'm not a mind reader. I just know you very well.” She pushed the covered cup of coffee toward me. “It's a red eye.”

She waited until I had started on the food and coffee. “So, give me a Mason update.” Of course, I'd already told her about my first call to him right after it happened, but that was all she knew.

“He called me Tuesday morning,” I said with a laugh. “He wanted to make sure he hadn't dreamt my call. He called again that night and last night when he got back in town.” I must have gotten a dreamy look on my face because Dinah nudged me and asked for more details.

“He wanted to come over, but it was late and he was yawning and I was worried about today. I told him I was going to be tied up all weekend, and he's stuck with a client.” I explained to Dinah that being stuck with a client didn't just end at five for Mason. “His celebrity clients demand a lot of attention.”

My late husband, Charlie, had worked in public relations. In Southern California that meant dealing with assorted entertainment types, so I was familiar with the drill. Whoever it was would need a chaperone to make sure they didn't say the wrong thing. It didn't matter if the chaperone was an attorney, agent or publicist, they'd also get stuck doing menial stuff like sending back their client's lunch at some pricey restaurant because their soup wasn't hot enough. Celebs in trouble had to be guarded even more so these days. Before, it seemed celebrity types always got off, the worst punishment being a slap on the wrist. But these days, they were getting jail time.

“Of course, he couldn't tell me who or what they were accused of having done,” I said. I hesitated and brought up the love-yous at the end of his calls and my concerns.

“I hate to say it, but he does come from the world of fake hugs and air kisses,” Dinah said, then reconsidered when my face fell. “Don't worry, I'm sure he really means
something
by it.” Then she reminded me how I kept saying all I wanted was a casual relationship with him anyway. “So, it doesn't really matter if it's real or just his catchphrase way of saying good-bye to his woman friend.”

“I suppose you're right,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. Everything Dinah said was correct, and I shouldn't really be concerned, and yet . . . “Enough about that,” I said, closing the subject. “What we really should be talking about is how we're going to schedule the granny square project.”

We were looking for ways to attract people to our booth, and we'd decided that letting people make something at no charge would definitely be a draw. Dinah had come up with the idea of granny square pins with some beads added and even designed the pattern. Since it was her design, I wanted to have the pin-making sessions when Dinah was there so she could supervise.

We were just hashing out a schedule when the door to the small café opened and Adele came in. Actually,
came in
was too mild a term. Adele always made an entrance. It was partly the clothes. There could be no doubt which side of the yarn fence she was on. She was crochet all the way. I'd never seen the black jacket before, but it was a definite showstopper. Actually, the jacket was merely a backdrop for the embellishments. Flowers in different sizes, patterns and colors adorned it. She did her best catwalk impression as she crossed the café, making eye contact with the other diners as she did. I did hear a few oohs and aahs.

“I thought I'd find you here,” she said, dropping her tote bag on one of the chairs before going to the counter to order her breakfast.

When she came back, she focused on me. “This is our chance, Pink. Crochet is going to have its chance to shine.” Adele pulled out an empty chair and sat down. “That Kirby woman isn't going to keep us in the yarn world shadow. They have a logo, and now so do we.” She reached into the oversize tote and took out a pair of the biggest crochet hooks I'd ever seen. “They're size X,” she said with a smile. The tiny steel crochet hooks were numbered, starting with 14 being the smallest and going to double zero. The larger hooks came in assorted materials, and their size notations were alphabetical. The biggest I'd used was a P. I didn't even know an X existed. It turned out it didn't, exactly. Adele had made it by cutting a plunger handle in half and then shaping the tops of each into hooks.

“I wouldn't want to try to crochet with them, but they're sure to stand out.”

“That's an understatement,” Dinah said as Adele laid them on the table. She'd bound them together in a crisscross fashion like the gold knitting needles K.D. had on her desk and then painted them with gold paint that seemed to have some glitter mixed in. There was a line of dots stuck to the front of both hooks.

“I couldn't do jewels,” Adele said, fiddling with the pair. “So I did this.” The dots on the front of the hooks came to life, and I realized they were LED lights in red, yellow and blue. Adele touched the hooks again and the lights began to flicker on and off. “Aren't they great? We can put them right at the front of the booth, along with this.” She unfurled a banner made out of shelf paper that said “Crochet Spoken Here” in large letters.

Adele lost her look of excitement for a moment, and she looked almost panicky. “Mother Humphries is coming to the show this weekend.” Adele put the heel of her hand to her forehead in a melodramatic gesture. “I have to shine to impress her.”

She was being so overly dramatic in her tone and manner that it was hard not to laugh. But both Dinah and I knew she was serious. Leonora Humphries was the mother of her boyfriend, Motor Officer Eric Humphries. Adele had already tried to win her over twice and failed. I wasn't sure the third time was going to be the charm.

It seemed like the first move to make if she wanted to win Leonora over was to stop referring to her as Mother Humphries. Somehow Adele had missed that the woman cringed every time she called her that.

When her breakfast arrived, she insisted they pack it to go. “Pink, we have to get there. We're the champions of crochet.” She waved the crossed crochet hooks over her head like they were some kind of magic wand. She was on her way to the door, saying she had to pick something up at the bookstore.

“It looks like destiny is calling you,” Dinah said with a laugh. When I made a face, she tried to reassure me. “Don't worry, I'm sure the setup will be fine. I'm coming later to help out, and so are the rest of the Hookers. You'll see. Adele's flamboyance will be a benefit.” She looked at her watch. “I've got to go, anyway.” Dinah started to gather up her things as I did. “A student asked for a meeting about his grade on a paper.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “These freshmen are trying to make up their own language.” Dinah had a thing about words. She liked whole ones. It was bad enough when her students tried turning in papers written in text talk, as she called it. Instead of
you are
, they wrote
u r
. But now they'd begun speaking and writing in half words.
Amazing
had become
amaz
,
excellent
had become
excel
. “I wonder what the short version of
flunk
is.” Then she laughed. “Of course, how very old school. I could just say he was going to
f—
it if he didn't do the paper over and use real words.”

“And someday, he'll thank you for it,” I said. Dinah had a gift for turning clueless freshmen into real college students. I was sure this kid would be no different. We walked down the street together.

“I have to pick up some things at the bookstore,” I said, opening the door to go inside. “I want to catch up with Adele.”

Dinah gave me a fast hug. “See you later,” she said as I went into Shedd & Royal and she continued on to her car.

Bob caught me as I went past the café. “I have everything all ready,” he said. I was confused for a moment, and then he reminded me that he was sending over some baked goods to represent the bookstore café in the booth.

“I tried something new. I'm calling them Oatmeal Power Squares.” He opened up a large tin and showed me how he had placed each of the squares in a paper baking cup. He waited while I tasted one.

“Bob, you've outdone yourself. These are delicious.” I put the lid on and took the sign he'd handed me that featured the café menu. While we were discussing whether to sell them or offer them as free samples, Adele made her way to the front door. She was gone before I could tell her not to do anything before I got there.

Oatmeal Power Squares and Adele's crochet hook logo made out of plunger handles. It was pretty clear our booth wasn't going to be boring.