Wound Up In Murder (18 page)

“I have no idea. I didn't even know how she knew the details until Scarlett Miller told me that she'd run into Diana last week and told her about it.”

“They must be good friends.”

“Hardly. I think Scarlett hoped Diana would come and do what she did—make a scene. I don't know if you have any people putting on workshops for you, but be careful if you do. They can think they deserve a piece of the business.”

It didn't take much reading between the lines that he meant Scarlett's husband. I could tell he was really going to leave this time so I quickly threw out another comment. “I understand your wife was from Cadbury.”

My comment caught him off guard. “I'd forgotten about that. She told everybody she came from San Francisco because that's where she and her father lived.”

“Does she have any family in Cadbury?”

He looked at me oddly as if he suddenly noticed I was asking too many questions. “The magician is a friend of yours, isn't he?” I noticed the friendliness had drained from
his face. “Well, have a good afternoon.” He left before I could wish him the same.

By now I was on mental overload. There was too much swirling in my mind. Someone had called in a false sighting of Sammy. Was Scarlett more than an innocent bystander? What about Kevin St. John and the mysterious death of his grandmother, who also happened to be Diana's mother?

It was time to focus on
my
retreat. I took the long way to get to our meeting room, hoping I could clear my head. I had hoped my people would be much further along on their projects by now, but the first session had gotten interrupted by Scarlett finding Diana Rathman's earring in her bag and all that ensued afterward. I hadn't anticipated how long it would take everyone to decide what they wanted to make. And who knew they would start swapping their yarn and supplies? If there was one thing I had learned, it was that things never seemed to go as planned.

All I really wanted was for everyone to have a satisfying time. Not that anyone had complained. If anything, they seemed to like all the excitement.

Whatever else Norman Rathman might have done, he certainly knew how to organize their retreat. I had seen their schedule, and his people had a number of choices. They could take dancing lessons for the popular dances of 1963.
It was interesting how they all had names, such as the Hully Gully, the Mashed Potato and the Monkey. Not that I danced much, but I didn't think the current ones were called anything more than slow or fast.

There was a hike along the beach to the lighthouse. That activity worked for almost any year they were celebrating since it was built in 1855. And for the more sedentary, there was a discussion and screening of episodes of the
Dick Van Dyke Show
and a bridge tournament in the lobby of one of the guest room buildings.

The brief hint of sun had disappeared and now fingers of fog were blowing in, making it feel like I was walking through gossamer. Up ahead the small white building that housed our meeting room seemed to be disappearing in the mist.

The walk there had done the trick and I felt refreshed when I went inside The Pines. Thanks to the fire glowing in the brick fireplace, the meeting room seemed cozy and bright after the gray sky outside. Some women were already sitting at the long tables. They were working on projects they'd brought with them and talking.

When I saw the coffee and tea service set up on a counter, I realized I still hadn't brought over any cookies. I also noticed Madeleine staring at the tea bags and urn of hot water.

“You do know how to make a cup of tea,” I said, noting her confused expression.

“Of course. Cora and I don't have the staff my mother had. I just can't remember if you put the hot water in the cup first or the tea bag?”

“Let me,” I said. “Which kind do you want?” There was a selection of different kinds of tea bags in a wicker basket.

“I didn't realize there were so many kinds. We always just had Lipton's tea. What do you recommend?”

I picked the aged Earl Grey and showed her how to put
the bag in first and then the hot water. The fragrance drifted up from the cup immediately, and her face lit up. “That smells wonderful,” she said with a delighted smile. I explained the lovely scent came from the oil of bergamot that the tea was sprayed with. The Delacorte sister's eyes were bright. “Casey, I can't thank you enough. I never would have thought that at this time of my life, the world would be opening up for me.” She glanced around the room and out the window. “And it was right here all along.” She suddenly turned wistful. “If Edmund hadn't died, everything would have been different. I would have done more brave things than just that one time.”

I didn't know what she was talking about, and I guess it must have showed on my face. Her eyes flashed and she made an impatient
tsk
sound. “I told you about it before. Bobbie Listorie did a show after a Giants game at Candlestick Park. I thought it would be the same as when I saw him with my brother.”

Now I remembered she had said something about seeing the singer a second time, but I hadn't really been listening. “You mean you went on your own?”

She nodded, but when she gave me the details, I realized she wasn't quite on her own. She and Cora had been in San Francisco with the Cadbury Women's Club. “Our orders were to stay with the group but there was another woman with us who was a big fan of Bobbie's.” Madeleine giggled when she called him by his first name. “We got the concierge of the Mark Hopkins Hotel to get us tickets and arrange for transportation. We got there too late for the baseball game, but in time to see Bobbie and the fireworks.”

She shook her head with regret. “I was about your age. What a silly timid mouse I was. Look at you. You've done all kinds of things. Moved to a new town and started a new life and now you're even sort of a detective.”

I loved her perspective on my life and wondered if there was any way I could get her to talk to my mother.

In the meantime everyone else had arrived for the afternoon workshop. Crystal and Wanda had taken their spots at the front of the two tables and there was someone else. I waved a greeting at Gwen Selwyn, Crystal's mother and the owner of Cadbury Yarn. She had a bin on wheels with her and had started putting out yarn on the end of Crystal's table.

“I hope it's okay, but Crystal realized that the people making the dolls might want different yarn for the hair. She was concerned they might not have crochet hooks for the doll's dress, too.” She gestured toward the array of small balls of brown, black and yellow yarn and a handful of crochet hooks. “And as long as I was coming, I brought along some small balls of novelty yarn, packets of beads and some other things for the dolls' faces.”

Before I could say yes or no, a crowd was at the front of the table poking through the supplies. Wanda had stepped close to me and watched as her group joined in, looking through what Gwen had brought. “I tried to tell you the mystery bag idea wouldn't work. People like to pick their own supplies.” Wanda moved away and Lucinda took her spot.

“So much for the mystery bags,” I muttered.

“As long as they're happy, so what?” Lucinda said, and I realized she had a point. And as long as Gwen was there, I decided to grab some black yarn for my doll's hair.

“Crystal said you were asking a bunch of questions about the family trees of people in Cadbury.”

I didn't want to tell her why, so instead said I found it fascinating how all their lives intertwined in the small town. “Growing up in Chicago and living in a tall building downtown was a much different experience,” I said. “You know how people always fantasize about how friendly life in a small town is.”

“Nothing is ever as perfect as people imagine, but all in all, Cadbury is a good place to live,” Gwen said. It was funny, but if I were picking whose mother she was by looking at her clothes, I would have thought that she was Wanda's. She was a plain dresser and her socks matched, unlike her daughter's. But in temperament she probably was more like her daughters, both of whom had milder personalities than Wanda.

I mentioned to her who Maggie thought Diana could be and Gwen's eyes opened wider. “Oh my goodness, that's who the dead woman is.” She let it all sink in for a moment. “We were in Girl Scouts together. Her parents had broken up and I thought we might be friends since we now both had single mothers, but Diana wanted no part of it.” Gwen looked down at her plain attire. “I was too dull for her. She was kind of wild, and the next thing I heard, she'd gone off to live with her father. If she came back to town, I didn't see her. I don't know if she even came for her grandmother's funeral.” Gwen stopped again. “You were interested in our intertwined lives. How about this—she was Kevin St. John's half aunt.”

I feigned surprise and then asked about their relationship. “Diana was much younger than his mother so she hardly would have seemed like an aunt. And she wasn't around long after he was born. Neither was his own mother.” I got the details again that Kevin's mother was very young and unmarried and only stayed around until she turned eighteen before she left, too. “I have to tell you, he was an odd kid. The kind who seemed old already. I suppose it was hard being brought up by his grandmother. She worked at Vista Del Mar in the gift shop and she brought him with her and let him wander on the grounds. I guess it is no wonder he thinks of it as being his place.”

I saw Gwen do a double take when she noticed Madeleine thumbing through the yarn for the doll's hair. “So now she's
trying to pretend she's one of us,” Gwen said. I was surprised by the yarn store owner's harsh tone. I had thought of her as one of those people who accepted what the world delivered to her and got along with everybody. When I said something, Gwen rushed to smooth it over. “Everybody puts the Delacortes on a level above the rest of us, and they have always seemed to think they deserve it. I was just a little surprised to see one of the sisters acting like a normal person.”

I wondered if there was more to it than that. I noticed that Gwen let Crystal take care of Madeleine's sale. I was relieved when no one seemed to mind buying what they needed instead of expecting me to pick up the tab.

As it was, putting on these retreats was closer to a hobby than a moneymaking business. I regretted not getting more information from Norman Rathman about the business end of things as he seemed to be turning a nice profit.

I could hear my aunt saying she'd put them on out of the love of doing it. I could also hear my mother's response to the whole thing. “You're really turning down cooking school in Paris for this?”

Then my mother would remind me that my father's sister had been in a different place in her life when she started the yarn retreat business. I couldn't dispute that. My aunt Joan had had a long acting career in L.A. She wasn't the kind of actress where people recognized her name, but they did recognize her face, particularly after she was the Tidy Soft toilet paper lady. That commercial had left her with a nice nest egg, so she didn't have to worry about the yarn retreat business making a profit.

If anybody needed a worry doll, it was me. I was worried about Sammy, worried about making a decision with Dane, worried that my mother might be right and I was wasting my time. I joined the others and picked out some bulky black yarn to use for hair on my doll. Then I picked up my needles
and got to work. I was pleased that I'd gotten a lot of rows done by the time Wanda announced the session was ending. She and Crystal discussed it and then told both their groups that it was okay to take their projects with them to work on during their free time as long as they didn't need any help with them. A lot of the people took theirs. I didn't feel confident that I wouldn't need help and left mine on the table.

I was deep in thought as I did a little cleanup and pulled the door shut.

The mist was gone when I went outside. Not that I noticed. I was so busy thinking about all the information on Kevin St. John and his family that I paid no attention to my surroundings until I bumped into Jimmie Phelps. When I say bumped into him, I mean I literally smacked into him. He reached out to steady me so I wouldn't fall.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I should look where I'm going.”

I laughed. “I think I'm the one who should do that. I knocked into you.” He wouldn't let me take the blame, and all I could think was what a gentleman. He then insisted on making sure I wasn't hurt in any way. “It's been years since I played pro, but I've still got the arms.” He made a muscle and showed off his biceps and mentioned I could see him in action the next day when he took part in the softball game.

Up close I could see his tanned skin was a little leathery from all those games in the sun. His hair was silver with just a hint that it was once black. He had more going than just his biceps, though; he moved with the grace of someone for whom keeping in shape was second nature.

“I think I could use one of those energy drinks I saw you offering your people,” I said, thinking how much I needed a boost to get through the rest of the afternoon and evening ahead of me.

He flashed the smile straight off his baseball card and
led me by the hand. “I think this is your lucky day.” A red cooler was sitting next to one of the Monterey pines and he flipped up the lid. The interior was filled with the red cans and some ice. He grabbed a can and handed it to me.

“Are you going to join me?” I said, popping open the top.

“It's a great drink and believe me I do use them a lot, but moderation is my watchword.” I took a sip and he regarded me with interest. “What do you think?” he said.

It tasted like sweet raspberries and I did feel an immediate boost of energy. “It's good. What's in it?” I looked over the ingredients.

“It's nothing too secret. Caffeine is what provides the ‘energy,'” he said. “There is a display in the gift shop. With all the vitamins and minerals, this drink is a lot better than the packets of caffeine tablets they sell.”

Maybe it was the boost of the drink, but my mind seemed very clear and things I'd heard earlier slipped back into my thoughts. It had been brought up that Diana's father had been an announcer for the Giants. Jimmie Phelps had played for the team. Of course he must have known her father. I wondered if he'd known her then as well.