Knot Guilty (14 page)

By now the streets of Tarzana were quiet and I didn't pass another car as I took the back roads to my place. I did a start when I saw that the outside lights were on as I pulled into the long driveway that led to my carport and garage. Of course, I'd realized how long I'd be gone and remembered I'd asked my son Samuel to stop by and look after the animals. He must have left the lights on for me.

No upturned garbage can this time. Or if there had been, Samuel must have cleaned it up. The kitchen was as clean as I'd left it. I almost wished my son had made a little mess while he was there. I laughed at myself, thinking about how long I'd wished for this on-my-ownness and now I didn't like it at all. But I reminded myself I had Mason, or I would have once K.D.'s murder was settled.

After Dinah's cozy house, my place seemed enormous with the vaulted ceilings and large rooms. My footsteps echoed on the wood floor as I crossed the living room. I was keyed up from the day and not ready to sleep yet.

I settled onto one of the leather couches in the living room to consider my options. I thought about a nice scented bath but quickly let it go when a vision of K.D. in her bath floated through my mind. For a second I could almost smell the cloying fragrance I'd encountered.

What else was there? Crocheting? To be honest, after the day I'd had, I really didn't want to do anything with yarn. I thought of watching a movie, but the decision of what I was going to do was pretty much made for me when the animals, glad for company, gathered around me, locking me in place. Holstein climbed onto the back of the couch and came up behind me, putting his paws on my shoulders, kneading them. He rested his head on top of mine and began to purr loudly. Who said cats weren't affectionate? Cat Woman jumped up and settled next to my leg. Cosmo wasn't about to be left out, and the small black mutt took up a position on the other side and draped himself over my thigh. The only one who didn't join us was Blondie. I heard her claws on the floor as she headed out of the room. Even after years of living with me, the terrier mix hadn't lost her aloofness. I knew she was heading for her chair in the bedroom.

I hoped the cuddling of the pets would be calming, but I started thinking about Adele. Really I started worrying about Adele. Her hook had been found at the murder scene. Now they had her fingerprints, which might match those on the hook. She hadn't done herself any favors when she made a disparaging remark about K.D. in front of Barry. Though he hadn't come out and said it, I was sure Adele was Barry's prime suspect. It didn't matter that he knew her. Actually, it was almost worse. It wasn't that much of a stretch to imagine Adele being enraged at K.D. about the stupid crochet logo and doing something on impulse, like waiting until K.D. was in the tub and then throwing the hair dryer in. But Barry hadn't come back and arrested her. And then a troubling thought surfaced—she hadn't been arrested yet.

I knew how the cops operated. They liked to take people in when there was the least resistance and when they had the advantage. I knew they favored doing it late at night, like right around now.

As Holstein purred louder and started to massage my neck with his paws, I pictured Barry and the SWAT team. They were all wearing bulletproof vests that said LAPD in big letters and were gathered outside Adele's condo door. They had their weapons drawn as one of them pounded on the door and yelled out, “LAPD, open up.” They were ready to break through the door if she didn't follow their command.

I imagined Adele inside dressed in one of those filmy cream-colored peignoir sets out of an old movie from the 1940s. But knowing Adele she would have embellished the nightwear and sewn on some giant doilies done in an eye-searing fluorescent pink.

My mental picture fast-forwarded to the crew of cops escorting Adele to jail. My last image was of her in the peignoir, sitting in a cell with a couple of angry DUIs whom she was trying to teach how to crochet using their fingers. Outside the cell Mother Humphries had an I-told-you-so look on her face and Eric waved a sad farewell at Adele.

I shook my head to get rid of the image. Maybe my imagination had taken it over the top, but the idea of the cops being at Adele's door was all too real a possibility. I couldn't let that happen.

Barry's homicide detective crazy hours had been a problem when we were together, but now they were a benefit. It didn't matter that it was almost midnight; he was used to getting calls at all hours. Holstein's massaging turned into grabbing with a hint of claw as I tried to stand up to get the house phone. I reached for my cell phone instead.

“Greenberg,” he said in his cop voice.

“It's me, Molly,” I said, not assuming he'd recognize my voice. “I need to talk to you about Adele.” I wanted to ask him where he was or more specifically if he was outside my coworker's door, but instead I just apologized for calling so late.

“No problem about the hour,” he said in an even tone. “Actually, I'm not far from your place. Do you want to talk in person?”

I hadn't thought about that, but it seemed like a good idea. I'd have a better chance of pleading her case if we were face-to-face. I invited him over.

A few minutes later there was a soft knock at the front door. It was so strange to have all the familiarity between us gone. He'd always come through the yard to the kitchen door and called me by an affectionate nickname. I suppose I should have been glad that he said, “Hello, Molly,” when I opened the door instead of calling me Mrs. Pink.

Barry had obviously accepted the situation as strictly professional. No more was he trying to win me over by being anyone other than who he was. The overhead light on the porch made the shadows on his face even deeper, only enhancing how tired he looked. The dark gray suit, white shirt and striped tie gave it away that he was still working. I saw the black Crown Victoria parked at the curb, which confirmed it.

“Do you want to talk here?” he said, not making a move to come inside.

“Why don't you come in,” I said, stepping back to clear the way.

“Good,” he said, accepting my offer and letting down his professional demeanor for a moment. “It's cold out there.” He shut the door behind him and we stopped in the entrance hall.

He waited to make a move until I invited him into the living room. It seemed inhospitable not to offer him something.

“I was going to have some tea. Would you like to join me?”

“That sounds good,” he said. He was standing in the living room, glancing around. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, and they had definitely softened. Was he thinking about all the cups of tea we'd shared and memories connected to my place?

My house held a lot of memories for both of us. I watched his gaze move in the direction of my crochet room, which I'd converted into a bedroom for him when he'd been recuperating from being shot. I stopped looking at him as he turned toward the other side of the house and my bedroom. I didn't want to conjure up any memories connected with that room and started to walk toward the kitchen.

“Something is different,” he said, and I turned back.

“Samuel moved out,” I said and continued on my way. As I took out a teapot and some loose-leaf Darjeeling, I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake agreeing to us talking here. It was more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. It wasn't that we'd broken up in a fit of anger. It had really come down to wanting different things. For him, first and foremost was his job, or as he said, his calling. Not only did he love it, but he felt like it was his duty to find justice for the dead. The erratic hours, the knowledge that something else would always come first didn't work for me. Even though he was the one who made the decision to walk out of my life, I ultimately agreed with that choice.

When I came back with a tray, he'd settled on the couch. Cosmo remembered Barry and was lying across Barry's lap. I doubt that the black mutt realized he was supposed to actually belong to Barry. I was curious how Barry would react to the dog's demand for attention. He didn't exactly rub his tummy and go into baby talk, but he stroked the dog affectionately, though his attention seemed elsewhere and he appeared to be examining everything in the room.

I poured the fragrant tea into two mugs and pointed to a plate of cookies. I knew it wasn't a social call, but the tea seemed a little bleak without something to go with it. The way he took a handful of the sugar cookies, I was sure he'd missed dinner. It was really hard for me not to offer to scramble some eggs for him, but this wasn't that kind of visit.

“So,” he said, after eating the cookies and taking a sip of the steaming tea, “you said you wanted to talk to me about Adele.”

“You didn't just arrest her, did you?” I blurted out. I told him about my image, well, most of it. I didn't mention the peignoir set or crocheting in the cell. I also didn't mention Mother Humphries and Eric standing outside it.

Barry broke his cover and laughed. “Arresting Adele would hardly take a SWAT team in the middle of the night.”

“But you haven't arrested her, right?” I said.

“No,” he said, going back into cop mode.

I launched into my pitch, saying that I was sure that Adele hadn't done it and it would ruin everything if they arrested her now. I needed her to help me run the booth and she had a whole slew of people signed up for her crochet class. Maybe I fibbed a bit on that one; the sign-ups were still pretty light. I ended by telling him about Mother Humphries, although I referred to her by her real name. “She's just here for the weekend. If she sees Adele getting arrested, can you imagine what she'll say to her son about his girlfriend? It'll be over between them. And he's the yin for her yang, her soul mate.”

“I thought Adele was a thorn in your side and now you're standing up for her?”

“Well, I guess I am. She thinks we're French toast sisters,” I muttered, and he gave me a strange look. “She says I'm her best friend.” He still seemed a little incredulous. “You should be looking for other suspects. There certainly are enough of them.”

Barry let me finish and then leveled his gaze at me. “As I've told you before, killers don't always look like killers. Nice people can do bad things in a moment of anger.” He paused and let his breath out. “Thea Scott, the woman running the booth across from yours, told us about the victim insisting you take down Adele's crochet banner and some kind of blinking crochet hooks. She also told us that she'd overheard Adele say that she wasn't going to let Ms. Kirby dictate what was in your booth and that she was going to talk to her and tell her the crochet things were staying.”

“Oh,” I said, with a worried groan in my voice.

“Ms. Scott also told us that K.D. Kirby would never have let the crochet banner stay or the hooks with the blinking lights, no matter what Adele said to her. I'm sorry, Molly, but the timing of it all puts Adele with the victim around the time of death.” He took out his notebook. “I talked to the room service employee who brought up the bottle of champagne. K.D. Kirby was alive to sign for it, so she was killed between that time and when you and Mr. Whittingham found her.”

“Maybe she was up there before the champagne came. Did you ask him if he saw a big hook on the table?”

“No, but I doubt he would have been that observant.”

“There are lots of other people who didn't like K.D. Kirby. Any of them could have gone up there and tossed the hair dryer in the tub.”

Barry sat a little straighter and had his notebook open and his pen poised. “And they are?”

I hesitated and his eyes narrowed. “You have to tell me. Remember I mentioned that charge of withholding evidence?”

“Is that a real charge or did you just make that up?”

“Real, of course,” Barry said and then waited for me to proceed.

I mentioned that I'd heard that K.D. was supposed to be making a very big announcement that evening. “Delvin seems to think it had to do with him being promoted and that K.D. was going to lighten her load. What if that isn't what she was going to announce at all and he found out and killed her before she could say anything? I heard him say there was something in writing that if she was incapacitated, he was to take over. Dead is the supreme way to be incapacitated.”

“I need more evidence than that, especially when I have a crochet hook loaded with fingerprints that puts Adele at the crime scene.”

My offer of other suspects wasn't working, so I tried my last card. “How about this? Could you promise not to arrest Adele until the weekend is over and the show closes? I would let you know if I heard her talking about buying a ticket to Brazil or anything.” The last comment was supposed to lighten the moment.

“Are you asking because you need Adele working in your booth, or are you trying to buy some time so you can investigate more?”

I almost laughed. Did he think I was going to tell him the truth with his constant hints that I could get arrested for interfering? I insisted it was all about the booth and Eric's mother. Since both Barry and Eric were cops, I thought he'd understand. “Put yourself in Eric's shoes. Having your mother see your girlfriend taken off in handcuffs is pretty hard to smooth over.”