Killer hooks, p.1
Killer Hooks, page 1
Killer Hooks
There’s never a dull moment for amateur sleuth Molly Pink. Without warning, her infant granddaughter has been dumped in her lap for babysitting duties, her son has reluctantly enlisted her help investigating a potential investor in his business, and now she has to manage a high-profile bookstore event for a former Hollywood columnist who’s dishing the dirt in a juicy tell-all. And when the author collapses and dies in the store just as she’s about to reveal an incriminating tidbit, the police suspect foul play and zero in on Molly as the likely culprit.
Getting herself off the hook won’t be easy, but Molly and the Tarzana Hookers are convinced that whoever did the deed wanted to silence the author before she could expose their dark secret. As the police continue to needle Molly, certain she’s trying to pull the wool over their eyes with her claims of innocence, she’s also in over her head in a mommy group run by Hollywood power couples—all of whom may have something to hide. As she finally stitches together the loose ends and figures out the killer’s identity, they decide it’s time to silence her too, and Molly has to think fast before she makes a quick trip from her granddaughter’s cradle to the grave . . .
Title Page
Copyright
Killer Hooks
Betty Hechtman
Copyright © 2023 by Betty Hechtman.
Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs.
Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords
Beyond the Page Books
are published by
Beyond the Page Publishing
www.beyondthepagepub.com
ISBN: 978-1-960511-29-4
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Bill Harris for the great editing and everything else. Jessica Faust continues to help me negotiate the roller-coaster ride through the publishing world.
Thank you to my loyal blog commenters Linda Osborn, Patty, Sally Morrison, Miss Merry and Chkntza. And top fans Valley Weaver, Melissa Phillips Cook and Catherine Guerin. Thanks to Margaret Stanislawski, a loyal reader and super-generous crocheter who turns 100 this year. Mirium Lubet for posting pictures of my books on Facebook. And all the other fans of the Crochet Mysteries who let me know that you wanted more Molly books. I really missed writing about Molly and the Hookers and the rest of the crew, too.
Jan Gonder is my reminder of our writers’ group. I am forever grateful for her help with commas. Lee and Denene Lofland put on another fabulous Writers Police Academy. I always learn something and am grateful to have the chance to talk to first responders and find out about their lives. Hank Phillipi Ryan gave an inspiring keynote speech about celebrating the possibilities rather than just the achievements. Thank you to Tami Hoag for gifting the registration that I won.
Jakey has taken me back to kid-land and it’s even better this time around. I have become a connoisseur of playgrounds. Thanks to Max for being the driver through Malibu Canyon and around the rocky area in Chatsworth, so I could observe the scenery without becoming part of it. Over the years Burl got me the opportunity to be a featured extra, and to be backstage and on film sets, along with being a guest at interesting parties. Madonna let me go ahead of her in a buffet line.
Thanks to Buttercup for making her debut in the book. Sorry Kitten, maybe in the next one.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Granny Square Stripe Blanket
Bob’s Eggy Squares
Books by Betty Hechtman
About the Author
Chapter One
“No, no, no,” I said, hoping that repeating it three times made it more forceful, but Gabby just ignored my words and set the sleeping baby in her car seat down on my front porch. A man in a dark suit was behind her and deposited a suitcase, a stroller and a big quilted bag next to the baby.
“I have to go,” she said, waving to the driver to return to his car. “I can’t miss my plane. Tell Peter it’s on him. He’s her father. I can’t possibly take her with me without the nanny.” She blew a kiss at the baby and rushed down the two steps and sprinted back to the waiting limo.
I stood in shock watching the black car drive away.
Just then Marlowe opened her eyes and began to wail. “I know how you feel,” I said, pulling myself together and grabbing the handle of the car seat and going inside. I was greeted by my menagerie of dogs and cats, who had been hanging around the front door since the doorbell rang. Cosmo and Felix began to bark at the crying baby. Princess began to go in circles. Blondie took off for the bedroom to get away from the sound. The two cats swirled around my feet to make sure I knew they were there. Not sure of what else to do, I hung on to the car seat while I made repeated trips to bring the rest of the stuff inside.
This was not how I expected to start off my Monday morning. There had been no phone call or text to warn me about their arrival. Marlowe’s mother—and my son’s ex-not-quite-wife—had just shown up in a panic saying the nanny had quit just when she was supposed to leave for the airport. Gabby had made it sound like it was all about the nanny being irresponsible and unreasonable, but I knew Gabby well enough to figure they had more likely gotten into an argument caused by some demands Gabby made and the woman decided life was too short and walked.
And where was Gabby going that was so important? She had a position as an associate producer on a TV movie that was shooting in Vancouver. I got it. There was no way she could take Marlowe with her unless there was someone to actually take care of the eight-month-old.
All that seemed beside the point now. It was more about dealing with her crying and figuring out how I was going to handle my workday.
“You probably don’t know who I am,” I said, trying to determine what was bothering the baby. How could she know who I was since Gabby had kept her away from all of us. “I’m your grandmother, but you don’t have to call me that. How about something like LaLa? That sounds like someone fun, doesn’t it.” I had Marlowe’s attention and her crying had turned to more of a whimper. “I’m sorry we haven’t spent much time together. Not my choice. But it looks like we’re about to make up for lost time.” I noticed she was wearing a dress that seemed all about looks and zero for comfort and appeared to have irritated the skin on her arms. “Maybe that’s the problem. Let’s find you something more comfortable.” It took some fidgeting with the straps but I managed to undo them and got her out of the car seat. She regarded me with interest as I carried her and the quilted whatnot bag to one of the leather couches in my living room. I had a whole entourage of dogs and cats following me, curious about the small visitor. I checked the quilted whatnot bag and found a yellow stretchy one-piece number.
“I used to call these baby suits when your daddy and his brother were little like you. I think the real name is onesies.” I felt around in the bag and found a diaper. “You probably need a fresh one of these too.” It had been awhile since I’d been dealing with diapers and baby clothes and I was a little nervous at handling it all.
It turned out to be like riding a bicycle. As soon as I started undoing the itchy dress it all came back to me and I had her all done up in a new diaper and the yellow stretchy suit in no time. The dogs viewed the proceedings from the adjacent couch, but the two cats had lost interest and gone off somewhere.
“I bet you’re hungry. Babies are always hungry.” There was a tin of formula and some new-style bottles in the bag. “You can have that later. I was just going to have breakfast and I’d be happy to share.” I put her back in the car seat since I didn’t have anything else to use and it seemed like it was meant to be used as a general-purpose seat, an d took her into the kitchen. “Lucky for you I haven’t downsized as your father has suggested. And I tend to hang on to things.” I set the car seat on the built-in table and arranged it so she could look out through the big window and see the backyard and the orange trees that were covered in fruit. I rummaged through a cupboard and found the old baby food grinder I’d kept from the time when my sons were small. It wasn’t completely about nostalgia; it actually was great for making egg salad. I took some of the scrambled eggs that were waiting on my plate and put them through the grinder. I did the same with some strawberries. The three dogs had followed us into the kitchen and were keeping their eyes on the food. Marlowe obliged and dropped some of the eggs on the floor, which were hoovered up in no time. The three of them looked up at her hoping for more accidents as she ate her fill. She was drifting off to sleep as I finished my coffee.
Now that I’d managed to deal with the short term, there was the long term to consider, like I had to go to work. I grabbed my phone and called Peter to let him know that his daughter had been abandoned on my doorstep. That was a little more dramatic than what really happened. Gabby did tell me she was leaving Marlowe instead of just dropping her on the porch, ringing the bell and taking off. But I wanted to make a point to my son. Of course, I got his voice mail. There was no immediate answer to my texts either. I checked my watch and was running out of time. I made some more phone calls and sent more texts without success. I looked at the peaceful baby, wondering how long that would last. “I guess it’s going to be ‘go to work with Grandma day.’” I’m not sure what was more jarring, the thought of dealing with a baby while I tried to work or calling myself Grandma.
I knew that Gabby dismissed my work as not being on the same level of importance as going off to Vancouver and dealing with a movie set. I would be the first to admit that it wasn’t brain surgery, but it was still important to me. Working at Shedd & Royal Books and More had changed my life and started a whole new chapter when my husband died. And it had kept me going recently when the bottom fell out of my life again. I pushed away even thinking about the details. It was still too fresh
I had been hired as the event coordinator, which included arranging for the Tarzana Hookers to have a place to gather—that’s hookers as in crochet hooks. The Tarzana part referred to our community in the San Fernando Valley. It wasn’t long before I became one of the Hookers after teaching myself how to crochet with a kids’ kit. We had all become friends and partners in crime when I’d gotten involved in some murders. Solving murders, not committing them. It had embarrassed my older son Peter no end that I had been referred to as Tarzana’s super amateur sleuth and interviewed by a local news person a few times.
The point was that it had all started with my job at the bookstore. Recently, I had been promoted to assistant manager when Pamela Shedd and Joshua Royal got married. They were still involved in the bookstore, but spending more and more time taking long lunches and doing fun things like taking mambo lessons. So, it wasn’t as if I could just call in and say I was taking the day off at the last minute.
It took me forever to figure out how to put the car seat in my vintage Mercedes, but Marlowe amused herself with the toy thing strung across the front of it and didn’t seem to care that it was taking so long. The fact that I talked the whole time, telling her what I was doing, might have helped too. Once I finally got it installed, it took only five minutes to drive to the bookstore in what was considered the heart of Tarzana. It turned out to be a lot easier to unhook the car seat from the foundation. The parking lot was behind the bookstore and even with the bucket-like handle it was a hassle hauling the seat, the quilted whatnot bag hung cross-body, my purse, and the tote bag with my crochet project around to Ventura Boulevard and the entrance to the bookstore.
Normally, I would have checked over the display window before I walked in, but with all that I was lugging, I just wanted to get inside and make it to the information booth, which served as my office. It was an enclosed cubicle in the middle of the store and I figured it would work to contain Marlowe if I let her loose from the car seat. I had just made it past the cashier area and the entrance to the café when Adele Abrams Humphries came up next to me.
“What’s going on, Pink?” she said, looking down at the baby girl and then at all I was carrying. Before I could say anything, her expression darkened. “Don’t even think about trying to leave her in my area.”
Where do I begin to explain Adele? Maybe I should start with why she insisted on calling me by my last name instead of Molly. Even though I think she has forgotten by now, it was her little way to annoy me. Adele had already been working at the bookstore and expected to be promoted to the event coordinator position. She was more than a little resentful when I got hired instead. She refused to even consider that I was more qualified. I had spent years helping out with Charlie’s PR firm so arranging author events and community gatherings was easy for me.
To pacify Adele, Mrs. Shedd had given her the children’s department, which was where she was afraid I was going to drop Marlowe off. Adele didn’t have any children of her own and frankly didn’t really like them, but they loved her. She was tall and amply built and towered over them, but it didn’t seem to matter. Adele lived for drama and costumes whether it was a cape and crown for story-time or outfits that were overly embellished with crocheted flowers and motifs. Adele could have been the national spokesperson for the yarn craft. She dismissed knitting and knitters as unimportant in the yarn world. Crochet ruled as far as she was concerned. Needless to say, she was one of the Tarzana Hookers and had been with the group since they first started meeting at the bookstore.
First, I assured her that I had no intention of leaving the baby in the children’s area, then I explained who Marlowe was and why she was with me. Adele eyed me with disapproval. “Pink, I never would have let that happen. Your family is always dropping something on you. How many dogs and cats have they left with you? And now a baby.”
Marlowe seemed totally enthralled with Adele and had reached out to touch the crocheted sunflower on the sleeve of Adele’s sweater. My coworker started to scowl and then she reached in her pocket and pulled out a loose crocheted sunflower with two pieces of golden yellow yarn hanging off of it. She went to tie it to the string of amusements across the front of the car seat. I was surprised by the gesture until it became obvious that it wasn’t totally altruistic. “I might need your help on something,” Adele said. “Now that you’re dealing with a kid, you’ll be perfect.” She gave me the mysterious look she gave the kids when she came to a cliff-hanger during story-time. “I’ll tell you the rest later.” She reminded me that story-time was beginning shortly and she had to prepare.
My cell phone was ringing as I squeezed into the information booth. I was sure that it had to be a return call from the SOS I’d put out earlier and rushed to set Marlowe down so I could grab it.
I answered, expecting it to be Peter, but it was my younger son, Samuel. He let out a disbelieving chuckle when I explained the situation. “She just dropped the baby and ran,” he said. “That’s something since she wouldn’t even let us see the baby.” He asked about his brother and I said I’d left voice mails and texts with no response.
“Looks like it falls on Uncle Samuel to be the hero,” he said with a sound of pleasure in his voice. Peter was like Charlie, all about work and ambition, while Samuel was a little more laid-back. He had moved back home a while ago and was responsible for bringing the two cats and one of the dogs into my household. Samuel was a musician. He had moved up from open-mike night to actual gigs at some small bars. He was also the musical director when my mother’s singing group the She La Las went on the road. He had a day job managing a local coffee place. Peter had always excelled at everything and I knew that Samuel felt lesser for it. “Let me make some phone calls and I’ll pick up Marlowe when I finish my shift.” He gave me an idea of when it would be and was about to hang up. “With the way things turned out for you,” he said, “I’m glad I can be there to help out.”
