CHAPTER 21

I WAS DETERMINED TO JUGGLE HANDLING THE RETREAT and checking out my list of suspects. After all the fuss to get her more of Izabelle’s supplies for the workshops, Adele had complained there was too much clutter and insisted I take back one carton. I opened the door to Izabelle’s room and took it inside. A copy of A Subtle Touch of Crochet fell out of the box. When I picked it up, I thumbed through it and stopped when I got to the doll picture. I saw what those women meant-the face didn’t look like any doll I’d ever seen. Before I could really study the picture, I heard some fumbling at the door. I had every right to be in there since Zak Landers had given me the okay, but still instinct kicked in and I slipped into the closet, leaving the door open a crack.

It took a few more moments of fumbling and then I heard the door open, followed by nervous whispers.

“We have to hurry. My boss will have a fit if we get caught.” I recognized Spenser’s female companion as she slipped in. He held up some kind of device and said something about being surprised that it really worked.

“If all else fails, I might have a future as a burglar,” he said with a grin. She glared at him in response.

“It’s in there,” he said, pointing at the closet. I just had time to move behind the clothes before the closet door swung open. Spenser leaned in and began moving things along the clothes rod. I flattened myself against the back wall as he took a hanger containing a jacket.

“Hold it up,” she ordered, and he complied. The dark space was filled with flashes of light. Between seeing spots from the brightness, I caught a glimpse of her single-lens reflex camera. If I hadn’t been hiding, I would have hit my forehead with my hand. So that was the kind of shooting they had in mind for Adele!

“Got it,” she said, and headed for the door as he rehung the jacket.

“It’s a lot easier exiting by the door than by the window,” Spenser said, following her out.

I waited a few moments and then stepped out into the room. All was quiet. The jacket was in the middle of the clothes rod, and I took it into the light to see what the fuss was about. The body was cream-colored denim and the sleeves were crocheted in coral yarn. Another strip of coral crochet ran down the front and around the neckline. I checked the inside for a label and found one of the kind I’d seen advertised in craft magazines. It said “An Izabelle Landers Original Design.” The style reminded me of a baseball jacket.

After Spenser’s comment, I opened the window and stuck my head out. In the daylight his means of escape the other night was obvious. The balcony almost touched the back stairs.

When we met after the morning sessions ended, Dinah got a good laugh about the real meaning of shoot and was curious about the jacket.

“I could go undercover again and see what I could find out about it,” Dinah offered, but I told her to put it on hold for now. I also told her how glad I was I hadn’t decided to call Sergeant French about the threat against Adele. Talk about embarrassing! We had stopped by the entrance to the dining hall. Dinah seemed supercharged with energy.

“I know this weekend has been tough for you, but my students are a teacher’s dream. How am I ever going to go back to my restless freshmen at Beasley Community College?” She went on some more about not having to waste time arguing about what was or wasn’t acceptable to wear in class and being respectful of others. I didn’t mean to, but I kind of tuned out as she went back to raving about her group, and I didn’t come back into focus until she said she’d been thinking about what I’d said about Izabelle being a twin.

“Remember that first e-mail we saw from Tom? He was reacting to something she had said she was going to do. It probably had something to do with her twin. I was thinking,” Dinah said, glancing into the interior of the large dining hall, “what if her twin was here, and whatever she planned to do, she planned to do this weekend?”

I told her I’d been thinking along the same lines, and we began surveying the people coming out of the food line, picking out those from our group and checking them for resemblance to Izabelle. But after a moment I rocked my head in a hopeless gesture. “How can we tell? It’s pretty obvious that after all that work Izabelle had done, they’re no longer identical.”

“Look for height and build,” Dinah said, studying Jeen. She fit the bill, but so did a lot of others-Miss Lavender Pants, the woman in the safari jacket, even the one who kept thinking it was a mystery weekend. I was about to give up when I noticed a head of long, prematurely gray hair come into view.

“I have an idea,” I said, but when I turned to Dinah, her students were beckoning her to their table. Her whole demeanor brightened as she went to join them. I was on my own.

“Excuse me,” I said to the gray-haired woman. She looked up from her plate of macaroni and cheese and smiled. I asked her how she was enjoying the crochet workshop to break the ice, and then worked back to where I wanted to go.

“You mentioned something about the doll model in Izabelle Landers’ book.” She brightened with recognition almost immediately.

“It was quite something, wasn’t it?” she said. “Personally, I find those dolls a little too wax museum for my taste, but to each their own.”

“So you think the doll was made to resemble a real person?” I said, and she nodded.

“Just a guess, but since it was in her book, probably the author as a child. Personally, I’ll take a Madame Alexander doll any day over one of those.”

I thanked her and said I hoped she enjoyed her lunch. While I mentally went over what she had just said, I had a sudden desire to get another look at that doll. I slipped out of the dining hall, greeting people as they came in.

Outside, the sky was white. Even though it was midday, the light looked the same as it had in the early morning. I walked up the main path toward the meeting room that housed the crochet group. Since they were gathering again in the afternoon, Adele would have left everything as is. And the door was unlocked as well.

The table was littered with yarn and hooks. Izabelle’s sample flowers and lacy trims were in the center of the table along with several copies of the book. I felt a surge of excitement as I fluttered through the pages, looking for the doll model.

I looked at it through new eyes now. Was this how Izabelle had looked as a child?

“I’m glad to catch up with you,” Bennett said, coming through the open door. “The actors need a few props, and I wondered if you could snag them.” When he described what they needed, they sounded like the kinds of things Commander Blaine had brought, and I suggested asking him. It was the first time I’d really had a chance to talk to Bennett alone. I apologized for the bumps that had started off the retreat.

“It was too bad about the Landers woman, but hardly your fault, any more than the fog.” He smiled and I got a dose of his charisma. Like Dinah, he was enthusiastic about his group. “Even in this short time, it’s been fun watching them come out of their shells. I guess there’s a ham hiding in all of us,” he said. He thanked me, and with a wave said his group was saving him a seat in the dining hall.

I glanced at the book in my hands and hoped my idea would work.

Adele was in full crochet diva mode when I came back to the dining hall. She held up a purple pouch purse she’d just completed and was showing off the chartreuse flowers she was going to add. The women and one man around her all oohed and aahed. Adele didn’t seem happy when I interrupted.

“Adele, I have to use your car,” I said softly. She instantly made a negative face and shook her head. “It’s important,” I persisted. She still didn’t budge. “Okay, how about this-it might permanently get Sergeant French off your back.”