By Betty Hechtman
When a tv team involves Tarzana, Molly crimson and the remainder of her crochet crew, the Tarzana Hookers, take care of the inconvenience as top they could. but if certainly one of their very own is going down, Molly has to determine who would need to show a Tarzana place of abode right into a actual existence crime scene…
With a bit showbiz razzle-dazzle, tv crime express L.A. 911 has taken the various community’s such a lot mundane destinations and grew to become them into cinematic backdrops, together with the backyard of Kelly Donahue. The Tarzana Hookers’ most up-to-date member can’t regularly make the gang conferences, so while gathering crocheted goods to promote on the neighborhood Jungle Days road reasonable, Molly and the crowd comprehend larger than to anticipate an visual appeal from Kelly. in its place, they choose to stopover at her at domestic to choose up her goodies—only to quickly be ushered out end result of the tv crew’s commotion.
Kelly’s cache of designated crocheted creations is a welcome boost to their reasonable booty, however the information the Hookers get later that day isn’t welcome in any respect. it kind of feels an individual silenced Kelly—permanently—and not anyone heard a specific thing. with out strong leads, Molly makes a decision to behavior her personal research. Now, she and her friends should quick sew jointly the clues to seize Kelly’s cold-blooded murderer—before another person dials 911.
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Extra resources for If Hooks Could Kill (A Crochet Mystery)
28 I thought that in one of his pictures the idea was a little clearer, although I myself could not understand it. I have remembered that picture because it caused me to tremble as I looked at it. It showed a very long passage, with low walls, smooth and white. The background suggested that the passage was very far below the surface of the earth, but there was no way out of it that I could see. No lamps were shown, nor any other artifical light; but the whole scene was bathed in a flood of bright light.
It was now midnight, and I had reached the eleventh row — the last row — of stones. In a few minutes only a single stone remained to be fitted in. I struggled with its weight. I placed it partly in position. But now there came from inside a low laugh that made the hairs stand on my head. It was followed by a sad voice, which I could hardly recognize as that of Fortunato. The voice said:'Ha! ha! ha! — a very good joke — an excellent joke. We shall have a good laugh about it — he! he! he! ' I said.
In the end I gave up my attempts to solve the mystery of my anxiety. I left the lake, and went on to the house. The owner of the property, Roderick Usher, had been one of the closest of my childhood friends, but some years had passed since our last meeting. He had recently sent me a very urgent invitation to visit him — had begged me, in fact, to stay with him for several weeks. He wrote that he was suffering from a severe illness, a mental disorder. My companionship, he thought, would cheer him, and bring calm to his troubled thoughts.