“How did you happen to come to the beach?” I asked.
Mason chuckled. “I think your investigating business is rubbing off. I saw Nora headed toward the beach, and I decided to follow her and see what she was up to. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t agree to represent Bennett, first of all, I’m off duty this weekend, but even if I was in my attorney mode, there was too much conflict of interest.” He tilted his head and gazed at me in a serious mode. “Any way you look at it, you’re involved in this, and to defend him I might have to try to discredit you as a witness.” His eyes caught mine. “Sunshine, there was no way that was going to happen.” He touched my arm in a supportive manner. “You can relax now. The murder is solved and the retreat almost over.”
“Almost is the key word there,” I said. “I told Izabelle’s ex I’d help him with her belongings tomorrow. And since I wrecked Adele’s car, I have to figure out a way to get Sheila and Adele and all the stuff they hauled up here back to Tarzana, and I have no budget.”
“I’m sure dealing with Izabelle’s ex won’t be a problem, and as for the other-” He was all upbeat now. “I can solve that in a few sentences. You and I have plane tickets. We transfer them to your Hookers, and then I drive you and all the stuff back in my rental SUV.” I was surprised by the offer, and after asking him several times if he was sure he wanted to do it, and he kept insisting he did, I accepted.
I said something about getting a red-eye to recharge myself, and Mason offered an alternative. He led me to the patio area behind the Scripps building. Once he made sure it was deserted, he stood facing me.
“I’m going to teach you a few tai chi movements. We’ll begin with Awaken the Chi,” he said, holding his palms facing up. He inhaled and raised his hands almost to eye level, turned them over and let them float down as he exhaled. He repeated it a number of times and watched as I followed him. Next he bent his arm at the wrist and had me do the same, then placed his arm against mine and began to move his arm in a circle, taking mine with him. “This is called Push Hands,” he said as the move became slow and meditative. Almost like magic, all that had happened to me in the day poured out and I felt refilled with calm energy-and maybe some heat from his closeness. I glanced at Mason’s face. His eyes were half closed and he appeared to be in some peaceful place. Gradually he slowed his arm to a stop and stepped away. Together we did a few more Awaken the Chi moves and finally let our arms flow down to our sides.
“Better?” he said when we’d finished. I nodded and thanked him. “That should get you through the party tonight.” He gave my arm a friendly squeeze before I took off toward my room to change for the party.
When I finally saw myself in the mirror, I understood why Mason had been concerned. My hair had that stuck-your-finger-in-a-light-socket look, and I can only imagine how stressed my eyes must have looked before the tai chi, because they seemed frozen in a stunned mode. I was about to start repairing the damage when there was an insistent knock at my door.
Now what?
Adele grabbed my hand when I opened the door. “You’ve got to come, Pink. There’s something strange going on.” Sheila was standing behind her. Adele barely gave me a chance to grab my key and shut the door before leading me toward the stairs. With Sheila in tow, I followed Adele outside and down the path. As we passed the administration building, CeeCee, Eduardo, and some other retreaters joined the parade.
Adele came to an abrupt stop in front of the low, wood shingle-covered building called Viewpoint. A sandwich board sign sat out front with a notice written in wipe-off ink that read “Special Fusion Craft Workshop.”
“Somebody mustn’t have gotten the message about Izabelle,” I said, noticing the lights were on and there appeared to be some people inside.
Adele gestured toward me. “You’re the one with the rhinestone clipboard. You better do something.”
I went up the small staircase with everyone close behind me. After everything I’d been through in the last couple of days, could anything surprise me? When I looked inside the open door, my mouth fell open. Yes, something could.
A table was set up with samples of clothing and handouts as if the workshop was a go. A dress form wearing a familiar-looking jacket stood next to the table. “What’s going on?” I said to the couple in the front of the room.
“I didn’t know if anyone would come. Welcome,” Spenser Futterman said. His female companion pulled out a single-lens reflex and started shooting photographs.
“I’d like an explanation,” I said, blinking from the flash of the camera.
“I can imagine you do,” Spenser said. “First, let me introduce Marni Pottinger, who isn’t really either my niece or cousin.” He explained that she was a regular contributor to Craft World magazine and that he’d sold her editor on having her meet him at Asilomar to do an undercover story.
“Sorry for the subterfuge,” Marni said, lowering her camera.
“So that’s why you were talking to me,” Adele said. “Are you going to use what I told you?”
Marni nodded at Adele. “I heard you thought a stitch you created was stolen, but since there isn’t any proof, I’m going to have to leave it out. I will include what you said about crocheters feeling like second-class crafters. I got a nice photo of you wearing some examples of your work.” She glanced at all of us. “The angle of the article is the dark side of the craft world.”
“The dark side of crafts, huh? What I told you was nothing. You want to know about the real dark side?” Adele said, her voice filling with emotion. “How about this-you could write about a stepmother who ridicules you for your craft choice and goes to your father and tells him that knitting is the queen of yarn crafts and isn’t it nice how her perfect daughters all know how to knit, while his own daughter insists on sticking with her hook. Fast-forward to his birthday and the father gets a knitted sweater and some argyle socks that he goes on and on about how superior they are to the blanket his own daughter crocheted with her ten-year-old fingers.”
We all stood in stunned silence. I don’t think Adele realized a tear had rolled down her cheek. I had never seen her cry, and she almost never let down her defenses. Now her crochet craziness made sense. It went along with her Cinderella-without-the-happy-ending life story. CeeCee, Eduardo, Sheila and I all looked at each other and moved around Adele, doing a group hug. She seemed suddenly embarrassed.
“You didn’t think I was talking about me, did you?” She quickly wiped her eyes. “That’s just what happened to some little girl who lives down the street from me.” She looked at Marni. “Forget I even brought it up.” She waved at Marni to proceed. After an awkward moment, Marni mentioned the real focus of her story-Izabelle Landers.
Spenser took the floor to explain. “I’m an accountant by profession, but my passion is crochet and I came up with an idea for a fusion craft.” He explained he’d made notes and come up with patterns for a book. He’d met Izabelle at Commander Blaine’s office and mailing center. Spenser knew she’d come out with a crochet book and thought she might have some advice on how to get a book on his new craft published. He had given her a rough idea of his book to look over, but she’d returned it and said there was nothing she could suggest, and discouraged him from proceeding. “When I heard she had a book coming out about a fusion craft, I got it. She’d ripped me off. I came here to confront her, but she kept avoiding me.” He glanced at the floor. “I’m not proud of it, but I snuck in Izabelle’s room to borrow a copy of her manuscript. I wanted to show it to Marni so she could compare it with what I’d written.” He said he was going to get an attorney who handled plagiarism issues as soon as he got back to Tarzana. I looked at the jacket in the front of the room and realized why it looked familiar. It resembled the one in Izabelle’s closet. No wonder Marni had photographed it. It was one more piece of proof that Izabelle had stolen Spenser’s idea. I noticed that Spenser didn’t mention his second trip to Izabelle’s room. I just let it be.