A Tangled Yarn, page 6
Kevin St. John made the rounds of all the tables. He had a smug smile when he got to ours. “I want to remind you all that for any of you looking for something to do this evening, there are games in the Lodge, a star hike through the dunes and we’ll all be gathering around the fire circle for the Roast and Toast.” Then, with a gesture toward the door, he said the Amazing Dr. Sammy would entertain them with his close-up magic.
Lucinda nudged me so hard that I almost fell out of my chair as Sammy came into the dining hall. At first I didn’t get it. He was wearing his performance outfit—a tuxedo—and waving a greeting at the crowd. But then I saw Bridget come up next to him. She was wearing fishnet hose with spike heels and a very short glittery black dress. She didn’t wait for Sammy to say anything but took a bow and said she was his assistant. All this since I’d seen them in the morning?
Normally, I would have made sure my people were okay with their evening activities, whether it be social knitting in the Lodge or the living room of the Sand and Sea building, where they were all staying, or any of the things that Kevin St. John had mentioned, and gone off to the Blue Door to make the desserts for the restaurant and bake muffins for the coffee spots. But this time I’d premade extra cheesecakes with cherry topping for the restaurant and had declared Friday a no-muffin day, so after a stop home to check on Julius and to call my helpers to set up a meeting first thing in the morning to do something about the program, I went back to Vista Del Mar to experience the Roast and Toast.
The plan was that after all the evening activities, everyone would gather outside at the fire circle to mark the beginning of the weekend’s programs.
When I got back to Vista Del Mar, I joined the throng of people walking to the Roast and Toast. The outdoor lighting was minimal, making the whole area seem dark and mysterious. The fire circle was located on the edge of the grounds, near the dining hall. A low stone wall with glass on top ringed part of it to define the space and keep the constant breeze out. The actual fire pit was sunken in the center of the circle and surrounded by benches. The crowd was filling in quickly. It was hard to see who was who, but by the sheer number it seemed that everyone was there. By some miracle Lucinda found me and we sat together.
Although it was called the Roast and Toast, it appeared the toast was going to come first. Staff from the kitchen had brought out urns of hot chocolate, and the drinks were passed out.
Kevin St. John seemed to appear out of nowhere and stood near the fire pit. Between the darkness and his dark suit, it almost looked like he was just a floating head as he began to speak. His words were all about the writers’ conference as he patted himself on the back for organizing it. “This ceremony is to mark the beginning of events at Vista Del Mar. First we toast; then you can roast marshmallows.” He smiled and held up his cup of cocoa. “I know that we’ve actually already begun. I went around to the workshops today and I could see you writers were already having a wonderful experience.”
As Kevin went on, I heard some sniggering behind me. “Obviously he missed the action at Don Porter’s workshop,” a man said.
“Yeah, I’d hardly call having someone storm out a ‘wonderful experience,’” a woman said.
Lucinda nudged me and we traded glances—so our workshop wasn’t the only one with problems. I hoped they’d say more, but then Kevin’s toast ended and the two people behind us along with everyone else said, “Hear! Hear!” and then began to drink their hot chocolate.
I didn’t stay for the marshmallow roast and wished Lucinda a good night. It was only as I walked away that I realized Kevin St. John hadn’t even mentioned the yarn retreat.
6
It was like walking into a cloud when I crossed the street to Vista Del Mar the next morning. White mist veiled everything, which made it look as if someone was trying to erase the dark brown buildings. Some stragglers passed me on their way to breakfast, but other than that the grounds were quiet. I caught a whiff of pancakes, bacon and coffee coming from the dining hall and I regretted that I was on my way to meet Crystal and Wanda instead of joining my group for a meal. But I was determined to fix the program before the next workshop.
How had I dropped the ball, or in this case the ball of yarn? I should have put off the muffin test, particularly since it had turned out the way it had. Then I would have realized Crystal’s program had disaster written all over it.
The grounds were so empty that it was eerie as I walked to the meeting room, though the fog was beginning to melt. When I got to the Cypress building, the door to the larger room was shut. Crystal and Wanda were already in our part of the building, which I hoped was a good sign.
“I brought you a cappuccino from Maggie’s,” Crystal said when I walked in.
“Kiss up,” Wanda said, rolling her eyes. Crystal ignored the comment and handed me the drink. I thanked her profusely since it was just what I needed.
“I’m sorry that the group didn’t seem happy with arm knitting and finger crochet,” she said. She had topped her jeans with a gauzy purple top and an orange shirt under it. She had a chunky black shawl wrapped around her to ward off the chilly morning. Her earrings almost matched—they were both hoops, though one was tiny and the other very large. I was still jealous of how she pulled off the heavy eye makeup. Whenever I tried it, I was always shocked at my reflection, sure that I looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie.
Wanda stood next to her, looking all the golf pro in navy slacks and a pale blue polo shirt.
“I could have told you that it wasn’t going to work,” Wanda said. She had her hand on her hip, and I know she didn’t mean to be funny, but I couldn’t help smiling as I thought of the teapot song again.
“Let’s not waste time placing blame. Anyway, it’s really my fault. I should have been paying more attention. The point is we need to figure out something different,” I said.
“Lucky for you, I’m quick on the draw,” Wanda said. “Right after I got off the phone with you last night, I came up with something.”
Crystal tried to defend her plan. “I thought it would be neat that they could finish a number of projects while they were here, since some of them are newbie knitters and crocheters. I didn’t expect they’d be so difficult.”
I could tell by Wanda’s expression that she was about to add a comment, and I was looking to fix the situation, not start a fuss. “Let’s hear what Wanda came up with,” I said.
Wanda stood up with her tote bag and took some finished knitted pieces out. “I call this Four for One,” she said. “We’ll have to make a few adjustments.” When she explained the projects, I could see that they were all workable, and I felt the clench in my stomach start to relax, particularly when Crystal was agreeable. It also had the benefit that each person’s project would be unique. Crystal always got upset at the idea of everyone making the same thing out of the same yarn.
“We can’t use the yarn we have,” Wanda said, pointing out that all we had was a bin of superbulky yarn and one of off-white cotton yarn. Crystal came up with a plan. We’d take the group to her family’s yarn shop for the afternoon workshop. They could pick out the yarn they wanted and start on their projects.
“And this morning, I can hand out instruction sheets and show them their options,” Wanda said.
“We’ll have to let my mother know,” Crystal said. The way she said it surprised me. She didn’t say that she would tell her mother. Maybe because I didn’t react right away, she figured I’d noticed something. “Do you think you could call her?” Crystal chewed on her lip. “The thing is, she wasn’t so hot on the idea of the arm knitting and finger crochet, and I just can’t face another ‘I told you so.’” It was obvious the last part of what she said was aimed at Wanda.
“Fine,” I said. “I have to go arrange for a bus anyway. I’ll give Gwen a call at the same time.” I got ready to leave the pair. “You two won’t kill each other while I’m gone, will you?”
Wanda did her teapot pose. “Don’t be ridiculous. We might disagree, but we’re still friends.”
Really? They could have fooled me. I took a last slug of the cappuccino and headed outside. The fog had gone completely now, and the air felt refreshing. Just as I passed the Sand and Sea building, a woman in a housekeeper’s uniform came running out. As soon as she saw me, she started yelling.
“I have to get help.” Her voice sounded panicky. “There’s somebody in Sand and Sea . . .” Whatever she said after that, the wind carried away as she ran past me and down the path to the Lodge.
Sand and Sea was the building all my people were staying in, and I felt an immediate sense of worry as I dashed to the entrance. I rushed through the living room and into the hall where the guest rooms were. The housekeeper’s cart was at the end, blocking one of the rooms. I pushed past it and went inside the open door.
My first impression was of a swirl of feathers. Then I saw the body crumpled on the floor. A pillow was nearby with a black hole in the middle of it. There was blood on the floor and on the person’s hands, along with streaks of it on the wall and light switch. I stepped closer to see the face. I felt embarrassed at my relief when I saw it was a man and he was neither of my two male retreaters. And then I was horrified when I recognized Don Porter, the travel writer and Madeleine’s newfound friend.
I knelt next to him and felt for a pulse on his neck, and then I shrank back. He felt cold and stiff.
“Casey?” Dane said in surprise as he came into the room. I barely noticed that he wasn’t in uniform, but he had his gun drawn. “I was on my way in when I got the call. What’s going on?” He looked down at the body. “One of your people?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but knelt down beside me and felt for a pulse. “I already did that,” I said, the words sounding like a croak because my mouth was so dry. He had to have felt the same cold stiffness that I did, but he showed no reaction.
“He felt cold and stiff to you, right? Like he’d been gone for a while,” I said in a slightly clearer voice.
“Yup,” he said, looking away, and I realized it wasn’t that he had no reaction—he just hid it well. “The paramedics are coming anyway.”
Dane was helping me up when Kevin St. John and the housekeeper stopped in the doorway. The manager took one look at me. “Ms. Feldstein, what have you done now?”
Dane was all serious cop now. He ordered us out of there and told us to wait in the living room. As soon as we’d cleared the hall, he moved the housekeeper’s cart so that it blocked the whole length of it.
The housekeeper flopped in one of the easy chairs and seemed to be staring off into space. I was getting back to my usual self and wasted no time in setting Kevin St. John straight. “I haven’t done anything,” I said in reference to his comment. “Other than go in there to see if I could help.” I looked him in the eye. “In case you’re wondering, it looks like he was shot and somebody used a pillow to muffle the sound.” There was a moment as he absorbed what I’d said. “That’s all I have to say. This is all on you. Don Porter was part of your conference.”
Two dark uniformed paramedics arrived at the door and I pointed them down the hall, but refrained from making any comment about the condition of Don.
Kevin’s moon-shaped face wasn’t placid now. In fact, he looked like he was crumbling as the identity of the victim sunk in. “What am I going to do? This is terrible.” He was beginning to ramble now. “How am I going to fix the conference? He was supposed to do more workshops. What if they all demand refunds?” Then the manager crumpled even more. “This must sound terrible. Me going on about business when a man is lying in a pool of blood.” He took a few quick glances around him to see who might be listening and seemed relieved it was still just the three of us and the housekeeper seemed zoned out, probably trying to process what she’d seen.
I still felt a little shaky, but I was definitely in better shape than he was. I’d never seen Kevin St. John like this. He went on about how this was the first conference he’d put together and it couldn’t be a flop. “You seem to know how to take lemons and make lemonade, as that phrase goes,” he said. “What should I do?”
Hmm, this was an interesting turn of events. I could have been a jerk and given him the cold shoulder. He certainly deserved it after the all the hassles he’d given me. But I saw no virtue in stooping to his level. It wasn’t my style. And I was a little flattered that he thought I could save him.
“The first thing we have to do is take care of now.” I looked at my watch. “People are going to start leaving the dining hall soon. Anybody staying in Sand and Sea is not going to be able to come into the building before the morning workshops. I would suggest that we keep everyone from going to their rooms, because it would be complicated to figure out who was staying where. Someone should stand outside the dining hall and make them take the path that doesn’t go past the Sand and Sea building. Say something like there’s been an incident.” I paused for a moment to think. “And say that someone will come around to all the workshops and explain.” I nodded at him and he got the message that the someone should be him.
He was listening attentively.
“About anyone asking for refunds. Figure out a way to make them happy.” I thought of my retreat. “Think of an outing or some extra activities to make up for it.”
Talking to him made me remember what I’d been on my way to do. He agreed to funnel everyone directly to the meeting rooms, and then I said I had to take care of something. We were both heading to the door when a bunch of uniforms came in. I was surprised because I hadn’t heard any sirens. We pointed them back to the room where Don Porter’s body had been found.
Dane caught up with us. Even out of uniform, he was clearly acting like he was on duty. He threw me an apologetic glance. “Sorry to say this, but I need you all to stay put until Lieutenant Borgnine gets here.”
Both Kevin and I reacted by shaking our heads. “I have this whole place to run and the writers’ conference to worry about. The lieutenant will have to find me,” Kevin said.
“And I’ve got my retreaters.” Kevin St. John was out the door before I’d finished the sentence.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to pull the same thing,” Dane said with a worried expression. Lieutenant Borgnine would probably be okay with looking for Kevin St. John. But having to find me was another story. The lieutenant and I had a history. I had solved a few murders and he’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been right and he’d been wrong.
I felt bad for Dane, knowing the lieutenant would blame him for my exit. The least I could do was explain. Once he heard that I was trying to save my retreat, he told me to go on and that he’d handle Borgnine.
“What’s the worst he can do? Stick me on nights again? If he does, I’ll be stopping by the Blue Door when you’re baking again. Not the worst thing to happen.” He gave my arm a squeeze.
Once I was outside, I jogged down the path, slipping past the two police cruisers and the paramedics rig. The heart of Vista Del Mar still seemed untouched by what had happened, and I was surprised to see a cab had pulled up next to the Lodge.
Gill was working behind the registration counter and looked up as the door opened. He was tall and lanky and wore wire-rimmed glasses that made him seem old-timey, though he was probably about my age. The cabbie was leaning on the counter and seemed irritated. “I have the order right here to pick somebody up for an airport run.” The cabbie continued to grumble under his breath about losing business to Uber and Lyft.
“That’s fine, but as you can see, there is no one here,” the clerk said, gesturing toward the large empty room. “Do you have a name?”
The cabbie was getting incensed and held out his clipboard, tapping on the listing. “It says pickup, nine thirty. The order was put in yesterday afternoon.” Gill repeated his request for a name, and the cabbie took out his cell phone and then started cursing under his breath about the lack of cell service. Gill pointed him toward the phone booths.
Gill turned to me. “Hey, Casey, what can I help you with?” He glanced toward the angry cabbie. “Sorry for making you wait.” When the cabbie was all the way in the booth, Gill leaned closer and mentioned that the housekeeper had rushed in saying someone was sick.
“It’s worse than that.” I gave him the rundown.
“That explains why I saw our illustrious manager running down to Sea Foam.” He shook his head with concern. “And I thought dealing with that cabbie was going to be the worst problem of the day.”
“But no matter what the show must go on,” I said. “Or in this case the retreats.” I got to the point and told him what I needed. He offered to arrange for the bus and pushed the phone on the counter toward me so I could call Gwen about coming into Cadbury Yarn.
The cabbie came out of the phone booth and tried to slam the folding door, with no success. His mouth was an angry slash when he saw me using the house phone.
“You couldn’t have offered me that courtesy?” he said, scowling at Gill. “The passenger’s name is Don Porter.”
7
“Please, everyone go directly to your morning workshops,” Kevin St. John said as he came out of the Sea Foam dining hall, practically in slow motion. I could feel the crowd’s impatience as they tried to get around him. I was watching the action from the deck on the side of the Lodge while I figured out my next move.
