Knot Guilty (5 page)

The Buena Vista Hotel and Event Center was on Ventura Boulevard in Encino. It was a relic from the old days and for a lot of years had been
the
spot to hold a trade show or wedding. Recently, it had gotten new owners and a complete makeover and was now a boutique hotel and event center. The low building used for events was small by the current standards but just the right size for a yarn show.

I was surprised that K.D. held the Knit Style Show in the San Fernando Valley. She had snob written all over her, and I was sure she was the kind who thought the civilized world ended with Beverly Hills and the Westside of L.A. But then I realized there was one benefit that this side of the Santa Monica Mountains offered that had probably trumped her snobbery. Free parking. Like so many other places in the Valley, the Buena Vista offered a huge courtesy parking lot.

If I hadn't known the Buena Vista was there, I could have driven right past it. It was surrounded by bushes that had been coaxed and trimmed into a green wall. I didn't go in the curved driveway in the front but turned off onto the side street and went into the driveway that led to the big parking lot at the back of the complex.

Adele's Matrix was already there when I pulled in. There were a lot of vans with their doors open, being unloaded. A parade of people wheeling assorted carts were walking toward the event center, but Adele wasn't among them. I'd only stopped at the bookstore for a few moments, so I wondered how she'd gotten so far ahead of me. It worried me to think of what she was up to.

The five-story hotel faced sideways with a long two-story building attached to it that featured the lobby and several restaurants. The event center was really a continuation of that low building and went toward the back of the property.

I didn't stop to admire the lovely grounds. I rushed past the pond, barely noticing the floating lily pads and the regal swans. Many a Valleyite had gotten married in the lovely rose garden, but to me it was just a blur of color as I headed toward the entrance.

Adele must have driven there with a lead foot. As I moved down the inner corridor there wasn't even a glimpse of her in the distance. The marketplace, as the vendor area was called, was being held in one of the larger spaces, and the double doors were open for easier access.

Just before I went in, I checked the escalator that led to the second floor. The classes were being held in the meeting rooms up there, and I wondered if Adele had gone to check hers out. Actually, I hoped she had, as she was less likely to cause any trouble in an empty room. But the moving stairs were going up without any passengers. A registration booth had been set up in the outer corridor. I stopped and got my badge and the ones for the Hookers who would be coming later. Adele's had already been picked up.

The exhibit hall was a cavernous space bustling with activity as all the vendors were busy setting up their booths. Aisles had been created with the use of curtain-covered panels. I did a quick survey of the area around the entrance as I came in. A table with administration stuff flanked one side of the door, and a rather elaborate booth was being erected on the other side. I was surprised to see a sign that said “Cline Yarn International” across the front. I was familiar with the company. Their headquarters were in the San Fernando Valley, and we bought a lot of the yarn for the yarn department in the bookstore from them. But I'd never seen them selling direct to the consumer before.

I glanced to see if our contact with the company, Paxton Cline, was in the booth, but there was only an older woman who seemed to be directing things. The business was founded and run by Paxton's grandmother, Ruby Cline, and I guessed that was her. She was sharply dressed in fashionable jeans, leather cowboy boots and a long red sweater no doubt knitted from their yarn. So much for the image of some gray-haired granny in a rocking chair, I thought with a laugh.

I had no trouble finding the Shedd & Royal booth. It was in the first space in the first row. Actually, we had the first three spaces. I had no trouble finding Adele, either. As Mr. Royal was putting the finishing touches on the storefront he'd created out of wood, she was on a ladder hanging the “Crochet Spoken Here” banner she'd made right below the “Shedd & Royal Books and More” sign.

“Pink, check it out,” she said, gesturing toward the long table set up at the front of the booth. Her crochet logo was sitting on a black velvet–covered pedestal. She'd turned the thing on and the LED lights blinked on one at a time. Nobody was going to miss that.

Mr. Royal came around to where I was standing. He was about the same age as Mrs. Shedd, which I guessed was in the sixty-something category, but they wore their age so differently. It just wasn't fair the way men aged so much better than women. With his agile build and shaggy dark hair with a few wiry gray strands, he looked a decade younger than his partner.

“I think you can add builder to your multitude of professions,” I said, admiring the job he'd done. Joshua Royal had traveled all over and done everything, leaving Mrs. Shedd to run the bookstore. When I'd first started working there, he was such a silent partner, I had wondered if he really existed.

He led the way to the back of the booth and showed off the wire cubbies for the yarn, tables for assorted yarn-related supplies, freestanding racks and shelves for the books. “All that's left to do is to put out our wares,” he said, showing me the plastic bins of yarn and the boxes of books. The yarn placement was strictly up to me, but he thought we ought to put the craft books together and set the craft-related fiction and mysteries in their own section. “Be sure to put this in a prominent position.” He held up a poster that detailed everything the bookstore had to offer besides books. This was a chance to remind local people of the various groups that met at the bookstore and our yarn services and crochet parties. I read it over and laughed when I saw the last item—our world-famous café.

“Says who?” I asked, pointing it out. Mr. Royal looked a little sheepish. “Pamela talked me into putting that in. She said I'd been all over the world and might have mentioned our barista Bob's cookie bars and coffee drinks.”

I laughed at Mrs. Shedd's marketing strategy and set the tin of Oatmeal Power Squares on the table, along with the menu.

Mr. Royal chuckled at the idea of giving out samples. “They'll be gone in half an hour.”

Adele had finished with her sign hanging and joined us. “Pink, look who we have for neighbors,” she said with a dismissive wave toward the booth across the aisle. A slightly more discreet sign than ours read “Knit Style Yarn Studio.” Thea Scott was helping another woman unload bins of yarn and arrange them. It made sense that the yarn store K.D. owned would have a prominent location and that the store manager would be running it. Thea was wearing a sample of her yarn expertise: a multicolored triangle shawl worn like a neck adornment with the pointed end in the front.

She looked up and I waved before my view of her was blocked as more people filtered in, pulling carts with their stock. There was a lot of activity going on all over as everyone tried to ready their booth for the late afternoon kickoff of the show.

“We better get going on this,” I said to Adele, grabbing one of the white bins of yarn. I pulled out an armload of yarns in shades of red. Adele was standing around crocheting.

“Excuse me, but there's been some kind of mistake,” a woman said in a sharp tone. I looked up from my work and saw an attractive woman with short, wavy dark hair held back by an orange knitted headband. “This front spot is mine.” Her hand was resting on a rack covered in a sheet. “At least this much of it is,” she said, measuring off the first third of our booth.

“And the problems begin,” I muttered as I walked closer to her. Adele came with me for backup as I assured the woman there was no mistake and that we were in the right spot.

The woman was not to be dissuaded. “I've been in the show since the first year, and I've always had this first spot.” She looked at the structure Mr. Royal had built. “Maybe you can just push the whole thing down.”

She introduced herself as Rain Bergere and waved a greeting to Thea Scott. “You can ask her. My booth has always been here.” When I looked at Thea, she turned away and it was clear she didn't want to get involved. I tried to calm Rain down by complimenting her on her long, soft gray knitted vest and mentioning how everyone seemed to be wearing something they'd made but me. I heard Adele making harrumphing sounds in the background and guessed that she was probably jealous that I hadn't made a fuss over her sweater with all the flower embellishments.

“This is just a sample of the long vests I have available. If you like this . . .” Rain said, pulling back the sheet on the rack she'd brought in, exposing a whole row of garments on hangers.

“Wow,” I said, moving the hangers as I admired the long vests like the one she was wearing. “I thought the vendors just sold supplies to make things,” I said.

“I'm the only one who sells finished items. Now I really need to get my space ready.” The woman seemed to be holding her ground, and I didn't want to be the heavy, but I was sure we were in the right place.

I saw an official-looking woman with a clipboard and called her over. I explained the confusion and she consulted her map of vendors.

She looked at Rain and shook her head. “Nope. This space isn't yours.” She showed her the map on the clipboard and pointed to the correct location. Rain didn't seem happy, and I was relieved when she pushed her rack down the aisle and disappeared.

“Sure, this was supposed to be her booth,” Adele said in a sarcastic tone. “More like she wished it was.” Mr. Royal had smartly stayed out of the whole thing and hung the list of the bookstore benefits on one of the wood supports in the front.

“It doesn't matter. She's gone. We should set up the front table,” I said, feeling a little scattered. Adele looked at her watch and her eyes flared with her usual drama.

“I have to go and meet my boyfriend, Eric.” As if either Mr. Royal or I didn't know who Eric was. She dropped what she was doing and took off.

Our booth was designed so that there was plenty of space for customers to come inside and look around. But the table across the front was where all the important action was going to take place. The Hookers were going to offer free crochet lessons there, and it was also where the granny square pin making was going to take place. Adele had positioned her logo in the middle of the table and left her crochet stuff next to it. I was surprised she'd been so careless with her special hook. I considered moving it but decided to leave it be. I had made signs announcing the free crochet lessons and chance to make a granny square pin. I put them in with the supplies. I was just shoving the box with the hooks, crochet thread and beads under the table when I heard a thud.

When I straightened, K.D. and her assistant, Delvin, were staring at Adele's crossed hooks, which now seemed to be askew, as though someone had picked them up but then dropped them. K.D. turned to Delvin. “This won't do. What is wrong with these people?” She looked up at the banner and shook her head. “This all has to go.” It was then that she noticed me. She repeated that the logo and banner had to go. “We attract the knitterati from around the world. We go for class, like our logo. This is a crass and cheesy imitation,” she said, handling the two giant glittery gold-painted crochet hooks. It did something to the light control and they started to blink more quickly. The magazine mogul stared at it and shook her head with disgust. “This has no place here, no place at all.”

I was put off by her high-handed manner and wondered if she had the right to dictate what we had in our booth. I was going to say something, but a dark-haired woman who looked like a younger version of K.D. joined them. From overhearing their conversation, I got that her name was Lacey and she was not only K.D.'s daughter but also handled the social media for the magazines and the show. There seemed to be some kind of disagreement over an announcement K.D. was going to make. I couldn't help but eavesdrop. They made an odd group. K.D. wore a designer black velour tracksuit. I don't know why they called them tracksuits. She certainly didn't look like she was going to take off on a sprint. Delvin had one of his oddly matched outfits and had traded the fedora for a newsboy cap. I guessed that was supposed to make the look more casual. Lacey had on jeans and a blazer.

“I'm not going to tell you what it is,” K.D. said in a sharp tone. “I don't want it tweeted and put on Facebook before I've made it public.”

“I don't know why you won't share it with me, at least,” Delvin said.

K.D. seemed to have forgotten about Adele's logo for the moment—and me, for that matter. She seemed to be considering something and then shook her head like it was an internal answer. “I'm not telling anyone before I make it. I will just say that it is something that is going to change everything around here.”