Crewel Intentions (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery) by Lois Winston Page B

talking to you, Erica. For your safety and my own.” This call not only put her in jeopardy, but might also lead to a couple of Neanderthals with baseball bats showing up at my front door. And they wouldn’t be asking directions to Yankee Stadium.
    She panicked, her voice trembling as she sniffed back tears. “P…please don’t hang up, Anastasia.”
    I caved. After all, Erica had played a major role in saving my life. I owed her. “What’s going on?”
    “I need to see you. Can we meet?”
    “Is that such a good idea?”
    “I’ll make sure no one finds out. You’re the only person I can trust.”
    “What about the U.S. Marshals? Aren’t they supposed to protect you?”
    “If I tell them what’s going on, they’ll relocate me.”
    “So?”
    “I can’t leave.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’ve met someone.”
    Translation: I have a new boyfriend . “Won’t they relocate him with you?” Again, my source of knowledge was totally television-based.
    “He wouldn’t be able to move with me.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    Isn’t everything? I sighed. “I don’t think meeting with you is a good idea, Erica.”
    “I’ll pay you.”
    Bull’s eye. Erica knew all about Karl Pollack, my not-so-dearly departed husband, leaving me in debt that rivaled the gross national product of many a small third-world nation. Ricardo had been Karl’s bookie, a fact I learned only after Karl dropped dead at a roulette table in Las Vegas when I naively believed he was at a sales meeting in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Since then, my life has been reduced to scrounging for whatever additional money I can earn to supplement my paltry craft editor’s salary.
    “Three thousand dollars,” she added.
    A sum much too large to pass up, even though I had no clue what she needed from me. Too many bill collectors had me on speed dial, and every day my sons inched closer to college. Right now I couldn’t even afford to send them to the local community college. Hoping I didn’t regret whatever I was about to dive blindly into, I said, “Okay, where do you want to meet?”
    “First, swear you won’t tell anyone.”
    Was she kidding? “Of course, I won’t tell anyone. You shouldn’t even be telling me where you are.”
    A huge heave of relief made its way through the phone line. “Thank you. I knew I could depend on you. I sent you a plane ticket.”
    “You were pretty sure of yourself. What if I turned you down?”
    “I knew you wouldn’t.”
    “And why is that?”
    “I saved your life.”
    My mind flashed on an image of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye from White Christmas , my favorite holiday movie. Throughout the story, Danny Kaye’s character manipulates Bing Crosby’s character with the same argument. Visions of me plummeting into a similar, non-ending situation with Erica swam around in my head. Would I wind up running to her aid for years to come, risking my life each time she dangled a few thousand dollars in front of me? Probably. Thanks to Karl, I had little choice.
    “And what happens once I arrive at this as yet undisclosed location?” I asked.
    “I’ve arranged for a car service to pick you up at the airport.”
    She hung up before I could say anything else. An hour later the mailroom sent up a FedEx envelope that had arrived for me. Inside I discovered a roundtrip ticket to Pittsburgh and a money order for three thousand dollars.
    I stared at both in disbelief. Erica had me booked on a flight leaving out of Newark Liberty the following morning and returning Sunday night. A note indicated that a car service would pick me up at the crack of dawn to drive me to the airport.
    ***
    Luckily, Mama had no plans for the weekend and agreed to stay with the boys. I wasn’t about to leave two teenagers alone for a couple of days. Not that I didn’t trust my sons, but temptation can invade the bodies and brains of even the best of kids. “Where are you going?” she asked.
    Mama never met a secret she could