Knot Guilty (8 page)

“I suppose you're here about K.D. Kirby,” I said, avoiding looking at his face. I didn't have a cop face to hide behind, and I didn't want him to see my reaction to his presence.

“We need to talk.” He had the cop voice going, too. It was all business.

I felt a hint of guilt for not trying to do something to help K.D., but as soon as I saw the cord going into the water, I was afraid all I would do was electrocute myself.

Detective Heather came up behind him and leaned in close to say something to him. When she stepped back, she looked at me directly. “Molly. So you're involved in this case.”

I should explain that I was the only one who called her Detective Heather. And it wasn't out loud, either. I only called her that in my head. To everyone else she was Detective Gilmore. If there'd been a homicide detective Barbie, it would have resembled her. Heather wasn't all just good looks, either. She was smart and reputed to be a great shot at the gun range. She'd always had her eye on Barry, and now I guessed he was finally hers.

“So, you guys are partners now?” I said, trying to keep the snarky tone out of my voice.

Was it my imagination, or was there a little triumph in the way Heather nodded in answer before suggesting that maybe she should handle the interview with me and he could talk to Delvin Whittingham.

“I've got it covered,” Barry said to her, and after a moment she walked away. He turned back to me. “Yes, we're partners, Molly.” There was a slight lapse in his cop face. “At work only. I'm doing the single thing now. Just concentrating on work and dealing with a teenage son.” He blew out his breath. “I don't seem to be very good at relationships.”

His comment hung in the air for only a second before he became all business again.

“I understand you were the one to find K.D. Kirby.” His cop face broke again. “You can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you?” he chided before resuming his professional demeanor. “How about you tell me what happened.”

Before I could even begin to answer, we were jostled by shoppers coming into the booth. A woman touched my arm. “Could you tell me about the crochet parties you put on?”

Barry gave the woman an arresting stare and said she'd have to wait. When he flashed his badge at her, the woman's eyes widened and she began to back away, mumbling something about how she'd heard I was some kind of sleuth and she didn't want to interfere.

“Did you have to do that?” I said with a touch of annoyance. “She might have wanted to set up a party at the bookstore.” I broke away and snagged the woman, pressing a card on her and urging her to call me.

“This isn't going to work,” Barry said with a sigh. Not only were we being jostled, but the din of noise made it hard to hear. “I could take you down to the station for the interview.”

“No way,” I said, shaking my head vehemently for emphasis. Not only did I not want to be away from the booth for a long time, but I'd seen the rooms they used. They were claustrophobic with locked doors. “We have a hotel room for the weekend. We could go there,” I offered.

“A quiet hotel room is just what we need,” he said. I glanced up at him to see if there was some double meaning in his phrase, but he was all detective.

Dinah had been watching the whole thing while helping a woman start a granny square pin. She gave me a funny look when I said we were going up to the room, but she agreed to handle the sales in my absence.

The noise level dropped abruptly when we went out of the marketplace and into the windowed corridor. I suggested we talk there and pointed to a corner. The words were no sooner said than a woman stopped next to me, read my badge and asked for directions.

“Let's stick to the plan,” he said, leading me toward the elevator. We rode up in silence, both of us looking at the floor.

I unlocked the door to the room and he followed me in. I stopped abruptly to feel for the light switch and he walked into me. There was an awkward moment as we made contact. He apologized profusely and stepped to the side.

The room had signs of a lot of people being there. There were coats strewn on the bed and a number of empty coffee cups. We took the two chairs in front of the window. This room didn't have the floor-to-ceiling ones that K.D.'s suite had, but there was still a view. The lights of the Valley twinkled below like jewels on velvet.

He had his notebook out. The cops were still old school, using paper and pen. He was keeping up his cop demeanor, but now that we were alone I was having a hard time playing the part of the impersonal witness. While it was true that I hadn't seen Barry for months, I had seen his son Jeffrey.

It was a complicated story—one of the dogs living at my house was supposedly theirs. Jeffrey came by once a week to deliver dog food and play fetch with Cosmo in my backyard. He never spoke about his father and I didn't ask.

“Jeffrey seems to be doing well,” I said, and Barry looked discombobulated.

“Molly, this is official business. Let's start at the beginning—what were you doing in Ms. Kirby's suite?”

I know I should have probably just answered his questions and gotten the interview over with, but I couldn't help myself. “The fact that you're questioning me means she's dead, doesn't it?” I said. I was pretty sure of the answer, but I wanted to hear it from him. He didn't respond. “And this isn't just a death investigation, is it? You suspect foul play. Was the thing in the tub with her a hair dryer?”

Barry sat straighter and put up his hand. “We're not doing this. You are not going to answer my question with a bunch of your questions.” He was doing his best to sound like a tough cop, but he sounded more frustrated than angry. “I'm here to get information from you, not give it. I'm not even going to remind you that interfering in this case could get you arrested and charged. No more sharing of information.” He leaned toward me. “Now just tell me what happened.”

“At least tell me if she's dead?” I said. Barry groaned in frustration and finally nodded his head before I continued. “You know that Delvin Whittingham said she had an accident and he was taking over temporarily.”

Barry tried to maintain his calm and spoke in a terse tone. “Maybe he did that as sort of a cat's on the roof thing. Then, when it comes out that Ms. Kirby is deceased, it won't be such a shock. Now if we could get to what you were doing in the victim's suite.”

“I knew it. You called her ‘the victim.' You do think it's foul play, though to be honest I can't imagine how a hair dryer in a bathtub could be an accident. It was a hair dryer, wasn't it?”

Barry closed his eyes for a second and blew out his breath. “Molly, please, just the facts.”

“All right, but even without you confirming, I'm assuming it is foul play and a hair dryer was at the other end of the black cord I saw,” I said finally. After that I went ahead and answered his question and told him that K.D. had said she wanted to talk to me and that Delvin had had me go in first. As I said it, it occurred to me that it could have just been a setup. I remembered reading something about that in
The Average Joe's Guide to Criminal Investigation
. It was a common ploy of killers to get someone to go with them and discover the body. If Barry wasn't going to share with me, I wasn't going to share with him, either. Though he'd probably already thought of it himself.

“You said she wanted to talk to you about something. What was it?” he said with a glint in his eye.

I had assumed that it had something to do with Adele's giant flashing crochet hooks, but the truth was I didn't know for sure. Barry seemed vexed when I shrugged and said I didn't know.

“How well did you know her and what kind of person was she?”

I explained my dealings with her. “She wasn't a very pleasant person,” I said. “You know, didn't play well with others.”

Barry's antennae had gone up. “Anyone in particular? Maybe someone in your group?”

The truth was anyone who'd met K.D. seemed to have some kind of problem with her. I didn't feel like putting the spotlight on the Hookers—well, one Hooker in particular. The best way to get his focus off my people was to push him in another direction.

“There was a woman, Julie, whom K.D. outed about her yarn the other day. I saw her here, too. This time K.D. gave her a hard time about her entry into the competition. I don't know her last name, but she's pretty easy to spot. She has a butterfly tattoo on her left hand.”

Barry's expression softened into a smile. “Do you want to translate.
Outed her yarn
?”

I explained the setup, that women hung around the store working on their projects, but only if they'd bought their yarn at the store. “The yarn is very pricey, and I heard this woman had some financial problems and was trying to be one of the group.” As soon as Barry heard where the store was located and the kind of clientele they had, he got it.

“I suppose being embarrassed like that could be a motive. And you're saying the victim embarrassed her a second time?”

“Yes, K.D. claimed the woman was trying to enter the same piece in the competition again.” I saw Barry's eyes do the slightest roll. “I know all this sounds petty, and it probably is, but it was very important to Julie.”

“I've made note of it,” Barry said.

As he was writing, something else occurred to me. “K.D. was going to make some kind of announcement,” I said more to myself than to him. “Another reason to talk to Delvin.” Even though I mumbled it, my ex made another groaning noise.

“Oh no. I know where you're going. Remember what I said before about interfering with a police investigation. Let the professionals handle it, Molly.” He flipped his notebook shut. “That's it for now. If you can think of anything else.” He started to offer me his card, then took it back. “You know the number.”

We both stood up and walked to the door. He got there first and opened it. “So, you're with Mason, huh?” he said in a calculated, casual tone. I swallowed and nodded in response.

“I understand you are the one who found the body.” Kimberly Diaz Wang stuck her microphone in my face just as I got back to our booth. There was no avoiding the Channel 3 reporter since she basically blocked my way.

“No comment,” I said, trying to get around her.

“What do you mean no comment? You're such a . . .” I cringed, afraid of what she might say next. This wasn't our first encounter when I'd been at a crime scene. “Crime scene groupie,” she said, finishing her thought. It was useless to point out that it was an incorrect statement.
Groupie
implied someone who was a follower of something or someone. I certainly didn't want to show up at murder scenes; it just happened.

“How'd you know that K.D. is dead?” I said, glad that she'd lowered the microphone. Delvin had only said the magazine mogul had had an accident.

“I'm a reporter. I have a nose for the story behind the story. Do you think I just bought that line Delvin Whittingham dished out about her having an accident?” As she was talking she dropped her cell phone. She rushed to retrieve it, but I got it first. When I looked at the screen, there in black and white it said: “Knitting legend K.D. Kirby found dead #murder?”

“Your news source is a tweet?” I said incredulously.

“But look who sent it,” she said. I read it over and saw the sender was KnitStyleMag, or Lacey Kirby.

Chalk up one for Kimberly. K.D.'s daughter was a credible source.

“What a lucky break for me. Here I was getting some sound bites about the opening of the yarn show for a story that I thought would be thrown in at the end of the broadcast. But with K.D.'s death and a question of murder, it ought to be flashed during the breaking news segment.” The newscaster stopped for a moment. “I didn't mean that to be as cold as it sounded.” She looked at me to see if her comment had gotten my approval. But before I could react, she started talking again. “I wonder if this is going to impact my award.”

“You must have missed it, but Delvin assured everyone the show would go on as planned, which I'm sure includes your award.” I tried very hard not to sound the least bit sarcastic.

“You really think so?” Kimberly said, dropping the reporter persona. “I sure hope so. I have a spot all picked out for the trophy.” Her eyes started to move back and forth, and it was obvious she was thinking about something. “This is definitely going to impact the feature story I was doing. I'll have to rework what I have.”

I made a move to get away from her, but she grabbed my arm. “C'mon, give me something. If you're the one who found her, you must have some inside dope, like how she died.”

“No comment,” I repeated. “Why don't you talk to the cops? I'm sure they'll tell you what happened.”

Kimberly rolled her eyes. She knew what little information she'd get from the cops, if they even agreed to talk. “The facts aren't enough anymore. The public wants color, gore, grisly details and hopefully some kind of video.” She looked at me hopefully. “Did you get something with your cell phone?”

I gave her a no on the video but finally relented on giving her a comment on one condition: She'd get our booth in the shot. She called her cameraman over and took out the microphone again. “I'm talking to Molly Pink, who discovered the victim. Tell us what you saw,” Kimberly said, expectantly.

I positioned myself next to the long table across the front of the booth. There were some crochet lessons going on, and Adele's logo was blinking. Eduardo in his pirate garb was in plain view as was Logan's version of a vampire. I cleared my throat and began. “It's a sad day in the yarn world with the passing of K.D. Kirby. She was a knitting legend.”

It wouldn't show on camera, but Kimberly made a face and muttered something about how she never would have made the deal if she knew that was all I was going to say. Then she gave herself a whispery pep talk, saying that she wasn't just a pretty face, she was a hard-hitting reporter.

But with nothing of substance from me, Kimberly had no choice but to read the tweet out loud for the camera. “I think it's pretty clear there was foul play if you consider this tweet that appears to have come from the victim's daughter. ‘Knitting legend K.D. Kirby found dead hashtag murder?'” She turned back to me. “What do you have to say about her death being murder? Surely the police have talked to you.”

I nodded as noncommittally as I could. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you,” she said, pushing the microphone closer.

“Yes, I did give a statement to the police about what I saw.”

“And that was?” the reporter said.

“No comment,” I repeated.

“Do you have any idea who did it?”

“I'm sure there is a whole list of suspects,” I said, trying to back away.

“Since you've become known as the Miss Marple of Tarzana, I bet you're already on the case and talking to the suspects.”

I did my best to appear shocked at her statement. The last thing I needed was for Detective Heather or Barry to hear something like that. Detective Heather would love the opportunity to arrest me for interfering with an investigation and, well, who knew how serious Barry was about his threats. He certainly had been tight-lipped about information.

Kimberly seemed disappointed when I said I was sure the cops had it under control. I tried to move aside to give a better view of our booth, complete with the sign, and even slipped in a little gesture pointing it out. “I'd love to help with a list of suspects, but I'm staying out of this one.”

“So, then you do have a list of suspects?” Kimberly said.

She'd boxed me into a corner. “No comment,” I said with a sigh. When she realized that was all she was going to get, she left and waved to her cameraman to follow her. Once they were gone I gave all my attention at the booth, realizing it looked like a windstorm had gone through.

“What happened? I was only gone for a little while,” I said. The tin of Bob's goodies was empty, the granny square pin operation seemed to have shut down, but the table was littered with balls of yarn and scraps of crochet. Elise was putting out more of the vampire kits. Sheila was talking to someone and showing off the muted color wrap she was wearing. Eduardo was sitting close to an artsy-looking young woman, demonstrating Irish crochet made with yarn instead of thread. Rhoda was trying to demonstrate single crochet to a couple of women, but they were more interested in Logan. He'd struck a pose next to the Anthony books almost like he was the cardboard cutout we had in the bookstore. He held a hook in his hand with a trail of blood red crochet dangling off it. I noted that the supply of vampire books had gone way down. There were some bald spots in the yarn supply, and the number of hooks had also decreased.

Adele rushed inside and began rearranging things on the table as Dinah came to the front, holding the computer tablet we were using to check out customers. “We were really busy. So many people wanted to make the granny square pins, the line was blocking the aisle and I had to shut it down. And the free lessons . . .” Her eyes went skyward. “Everybody wanted them. The good part is they led to us selling a lot of yarn and hooks.” Two women squeezed past us to get inside and headed to the display of crochet tools, and Dinah shot me a quick look. “So, tell me, how did it go with Barry?”

“It was a little weird,” I said. “But he was all business and just wanted to find out what I saw and what kind of person K.D. was.” I mentioned that he had asked if I was with Mason. “It was the only personal thing he said.”

“And you said?” my friend asked.

“I didn't give him any details, but then there aren't any details to give yet. The only in-person contact Mason and I have had was seeing each other across the marketplace as he was trying to control his client. I wasn't about to tell Barry that. I just nodded as an answer and let it go at that.”

I looked around all the activity in the booth again. “I think it was a wise move to pay the extra money for this location. And Eduardo in his leather pants out front helps.”

“Don't forget Logan Belmont,” Dinah said. “He might not have the appeal of Hugh Jackman, but the women are still going nuts for him.”

“And we can't forget Adele's golden crochet hooks.” I glanced toward the table and saw that the colored LED lights had started blinking faster. Adele was hovering over the table fumbling through all the yarn and generally disturbing the lesson that Rhoda was giving a twenty-something girl with an elaborately tattooed arm. I let my glance move over the group. “I don't see any point in mentioning that K.D. is dead since most of the group doesn't know her. But Adele is a different story,” I said. “I better tell her before she hears it from somebody else.”

I swooped in and slipped my arm through Adele's and pulled her away from the table. Rhoda looked up with a grateful nod.

“Pink, I can't find it,” she said in a teary voice. “My hook, the one Dr. Wheel hand carved, is gone.” She stopped what she was doing and looked me in the eye. “You know how much that means to me. It's irreplaceable and it's the only thing I have left of our moment.”

Her drama was a little hard to take. Yes, the hook was handmade and one of a kind, but that moment she was talking about was probably on her side only. She'd been all over Dr. Wheel when he'd done a book signing at the bookstore, once she found out he had a passion for crochet.

“Maybe someone stole it. It was here this afternoon. It's my lucky charm. I need it to teach the class.”

Dr. Wheel wasn't local, and I didn't even know if he'd be willing to give her a replacement so I didn't even bring it up but offered to check around the table. I cleared everybody away and pulled out all the boxes we were using for storage from below. Logan offered to climb under the table and run his hand over the floor.

We found nothing. Adele was so panicked I thought she might not be thinking clearly, and I tried to calm her by asking her where she'd seen it last.

“Pink, I'm sure it was here on the table this morning.” Adele's voice cracked as she spoke.

She was close to having a complete meltdown, and I didn't know what I would have done if Mother Humphries hadn't come along. Instantly Adele reeled in the hysteria and greeted her.

“So, this is your booth,” Leonora Humphries said, looking over the interior and then the front table. Her gaze stopped on the flashing crochet hooks, and then she looked around at us. “Whose idea was this?” Poor Adele wasn't sure if she should take credit for it or not.

I cut to the chase and asked the woman what she thought of it. As soon as she said she thought it was definitely a good attention getter, Adele relaxed and told her she'd made it. Then to my great relief, Adele suggested they tour the marketplace together.

I realized I never got the chance to tell them about K.D.