Okay, he was lying, but he seemed to be good at it, which meant I probably wasn’t going to be able to get any more information out of him.

I’d used up my casual conversation card. It was time for my secret weapon.

“You want me to do what?” Dinah said. I’d timed my arrival to coincide with the memoir writers’ break. Most of them had gone down to the gift shop to hit the coffee cart. I knew Dinah’s head was all into the workshop now, but I was hoping to get her help.

“I don’t think I can get any more information out of Spenser Futterman.” I had already relayed my conversation with him to her and mentioned I was sure he knew more than he was saying. “He told me how he knew Izabelle, so I can’t very well bring it up again. But you,” I said with a hopeful look, “could use your charm and find out everything.”

“You think I’m that charming?” Dinah said with a throaty laugh.

“Commander certainly seems to think so,” I said.

“So, what do I do, flirt with Futterman?” She slumped. “Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard for me to meet anyone. I’ve been spending too much time whipping freshmen into shape. I’ve lost my soft side.” She sighed. “I’m out of practice in that department. Plus, I don’t want to look pathetic. Or desperate.”

“That’s only if it’s real flirting. This would be phony flirting, and you’ll look just fine. It’s not like you really want him-just information.”

“Good point,” Dinah said, watching as her writers came back up the path. Her whole demeanor perked up. “Did I tell you what a treat it is to work with people who are excited to be here? I don’t have to fight anybody about wearing a baseball hat inside or deal with any attitudes. My writers worship me,” she said with a happy smile. She headed back in the room with her group close behind. “Okay, people, let’s get back to mining those memories.”

The yarn workshops were up next. Not only did I want to check on them, I also wanted to remind the participants of Mrs. Shedd’s promise of blankets to a local shelter, and whatever they could do would be appreciated.

I stopped in at the knitting group first. Jeen and Jym were going around, helping members cast on. They were exacting in their movements. Only a few people seemed to be experienced knitters, and they were already working on something. I watched the casting-on process with interest and once again appreciated crochet. Making the row of chain stitches was really the same thing. Both casting on and the row of chains provided something to begin with, but the foundation chain in crochet was so much easier to do.

Jeen looked up, and when she saw me in the doorway, waved me in and met me at the front of the room.

“Everything going okay?” I asked, and she nodded. The center of the table had a neatly arranged selection of worsted-weight acrylic yarn and sets of needles. There were also samples of scarves with copies of patterns next to them.

“I was expecting people with a little more experience. Most of them have none. But we’ll get them going in no time.”

I reminded her about Mrs. Shedd’s promise of the blankets, and an expression of concern passed over her face. “I’m afraid there won’t be blankets. We’ll be lucky to get one. As soon as we show all the newbies how to cast on, we’ll teach knit and purl. I thought I’d have them make practice swatches, which hopefully we can put together into a blanket. The good part is the group is all for it.”

She invited me to stay and join them, but I passed. I started to leave, but she looked like there was something she wanted to say.

“Is there anything else?” I prodded.

“Well, yes. This is kind of awkward.” She appeared momentarily perturbed. “As I said to you before, I sincerely wish whoever was on the beach with Izabelle would just come forward and settle things.” She composed herself and began again. “When we talked to Sergeant French, we said we didn’t know Izabelle before this weekend. It just seemed like a way to end his questions.” She bent her head in a pleading gesture. “So, I’d appreciate it if you would leave it that way.”

At first I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I remembered the way Jeen had greeted Izabelle and commented on her weight loss, and realized they obviously did know each other from before.

I said yes, without bothering to explain that even if I did say something, Sergeant French would probably file it under “annoying amateur sleuth.”

It wasn’t quite as peaceful in the crochet room. Adele stood in the front, showing off samples of things from Izabelle’s box. When I walked in, she was holding up a lap blanket made of soft gray squares with different stitches. They were joined with white yarn that also was used for a border.

Sheila was moving among the people, who were hunched over their work. Boy, did I recognize that posture. For something that was so relaxing, meditative and restoring, when you first started out, crochet was just the opposite.

If anyone knew how to deal with too-tight stitches, it was Sheila. As accomplished a crocheter as she’d become, she still slipped up sometimes and let her emotions rule her crocheting. All the Tarzana Hookers knew to automatically hand her a smaller size hook when she ended up with a row of tightly knotted stitches she couldn’t get her hook into and to remind her to take her time and make the stitches loose enough so she could go back to the bigger hook. She was so busy helping the others, she’d forgotten about her own tension. She pushed her hair behind her ear to keep it from blocking her view as she helped a man in a striped sweater. When I caught sight of her expression, she seemed animated and happy, but most of all, calm.

Adele tried to ignore my presence, but finally acknowledged it, and with a diva-ish sigh asked if I was just going to stand there or come in.

It was lucky for Adele that Sergeant French wasn’t watching her. She seemed to be enjoying being in charge all too much. She might as well have been wearing a banner that said I have a motive. But, I reminded myself, he just thought someone had been on the beach with Izabelle-he didn’t think the someone had killed her.

As soon as I brought up the blankets, Adele flashed a self-satisfied smile. “Pink, I’m way ahead of you. I already have them working on blocks.” She suggested I join them, and while I could certainly have used some crochet time, I thought it would compromise my authority to have Adele acting like she was in charge of me.

I went back outside and took a deep breath of the pine scented air. So far, so good. There was just Commander Blaine’s group to check. He had brought all kinds of equipment with him, and the room bristled with enthusiasm. He had set up several stations and was moving between them to check on his students. One group was doing origami with napkins, and another was making flowers out of radishes, cucumbers and carrots. I heard him talking about how everything they would be doing in the workshop sessions was leading up to what they would do for the final evening’s party.

His group members were all so occupied they didn’t even look up when I stuck my head in the door.

Commander Blaine didn’t seem quite as happy the next time I saw him.