Paper, Scissors, Death

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  I had to get hold of my emotions. Fast.

  Detweiler turned those gorgeous eyes on me. They were angry, no doubt about it. “Actually I don’t have anything better to do. I’m doing my job. This is my second assignment to the Major Case Task Force in the past year and each time, your name manages to turn up. I’m not leaving until you tell me what you know about the shooting last night.” His arms remained stiff at his sides. He stared at me, daring me to look away.

  “What shooting?” Dodie and I said in tandem. We could have doubled as the chorus in a Greek play.

  “Don’t play coy with me. The shooting last night at Chesterfield Mall.” Neither Dodie nor I responded. We had no idea what the man was going on about. Chesterfield was a suburb several miles west of the city of St. Louis, while our store and my home were in the more centrally located suburb, Richmond Heights.

  “Cut it out! Don’t tell me you know nothing about it!” His voice was clip.

  “It what?” I demanded. My voice rose higher and higher. “What are you talking about?”

  “Roxanne Baker’s murder!”

  “Roxanne? Dead? You’ve got to be kidding me! How? When?”

  “Oy vey,” whispered Dodie.

  “Like I said, she was killed last night in the mall parking lot.”

  “Whoa, so that was the body in the news,” Dodie gulped. “They hadn’t released the name this morning …”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That’s … that’s awful. But we just saw her, when? Saturday? At the shower? Dead? Are you sure? And shot?”

  I couldn’t help thinking maybe she got what she deserved.

  A wave of despair hit me. Now I’d never learn more about her relationship with George. Death had a curious way of ennobling people. Of washing away their flaws and elevating their reputations to a new purity. Sinners became saints once their bodies were lowered into the ground.

  Now no one would tell me all the dirt on Roxanne. I suspected she might have been one of the two women my husband lunched with the day of his death. But how would I ever know?

  Detweiler studied me.

  “She wasn’t a very nice person. She stomped in here and threatened to quit doing business with me if I didn’t fire Kiki,” Dodie volunteered.

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  Dodie shrugged. “Soon after you came to work here. But I fixed her wagon.”

  For a moment, I thought Dodie was going to confess. So did Detweiler; I could see it in his eyes.

  “Yeah, I fixed her good.” Dodie’s voice was casual.

  I froze. What was she saying? Did my boss knock off my husband’s ex-girlfriend?

  “I tore up her frequent buyer card.”

  Detweiler made a strangled noise, a sound between a gurgle and a cough.

  Dodie was totally serious. She pantomimed tearing a card in half, crossed her arms over her copious self and beamed smugly. As far as she was concerned, she’d shown Roxanne who was boss.

  I turned to the detective and watched him struggle to regain his composure. “Who killed her? And why?”

  “Do you have a suspect in custody?”

  Boy, Dodie was really up on her law enforcement lingo.

  Detweiler ignored her. Instead, he turned his attention back to me. “Where were you last night, Mrs. Lowenstein?” His voice was softer, less demanding than before. “Can your friend Gracie give you an alibi?”

  “You can’t be serious. No way was Kiki involved.” Dodie wagged her head. “Yesterday she carried a spider out of the store rather than step on it.”

  “Answer my question. Where were you?”

  “What? Me? You kidding?”

  “You were overheard threatening her.” Detweiler’s pen touched his notebook. A lock of hair over his eyes gave him a rakish look.

  I responded with a hard mental slap to my own face. This man had just accused me of murder and here I was salivating.

  Proof positive I’d lost my cotton-picking mind. I gathered myself to my full height of five feet three inches. “No, I didn’t kill her. Yes, people heard me threaten her. My exact words were, ‘Eat bugs and die.’”

  “Eat bugs and die?” Dodie and Detweiler spoke in tandem.

  “Kiki, you know that’s not how the saying goes. It’s eat sh—”

  “Stop,” I popped my hand over Dodie’s mouth.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” she said after she peeled away my fingers. “You are such a girl scout.” But she’d given me time to think.

  “Did she have bugs in her mouth?”

  “No,” said Detweiler.

  “There you have it. I didn’t kill Roxanne Baker.”

  Dodie defended me stoutly. “That’s right. Kiki couldn’t have done it if there weren’t any bugs.”

  I brushed off my hands. “And might I add, although I don’t approve of violence, I’m not surprised. She was not a very nice person. And foul mouthed? Ugh.”

  I was trying to act nonchalant, but I was quaking in my Keds. I knew this looked pretty bad. I had every reason to want Toxic Roxie dead. I couldn’t believe my rotten luck. I’d never told anybody to “eat bugs and die” before in my whole life. I wouldn’t have thought to say it, but it was number three (in a revised form) on Mert’s Snappy Come-Back List. Numbers one and two were “Go soak your head,” and “Take a long hike off a short pier.” I’d already used those in minor traffic confrontations. I was working my way down the list when Roxanne got under my skin.

  Detweiler shook his head. “Mrs. Lowenstein, we have reason to believe Ms. Baker was your husband’s mistress.”

  Dodie’s eyes nearly burst out of her head.

  I snarled, “Took you long enough. I figured that out all by myself, and I don’t wear a big shiny badge. Good work, hot shot.”

  Dodie’s mouth flapped open and shut.

  “You had motive,” Detweiler continued.

  “Ha. So they were lovers before George and I met, big deal. She told me at the bridal shower that she’d dumped George right before … um … right before … um, he and I got together.”

  He studied me and I knew that he knew exactly what I meant. I was jabbering like a flock of parakeets at the St. Louis Zoo. My stomach hurt like crazy. The pressure was getting to me.

  Detweiler nodded. “I understand.”

  My cheeks grew warm. His color heightened, too.

  Dodie muttered, “I don’t …”

  We ignored her.

  I looked away. “I didn’t know they were still seeing each other.”

  “Come on. From the altercation at the bridal shower, you must have had a clue.” He cleared his throat. “That was her scarf in his mouth.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the scarf?”

  Detweiler turned his head away and swore under his breath, then he glared at me. “That information is part of an ongoing investigation. Forget I said anything. What if you decided to do her in? Did you? Decide to shoot Ms. Baker because she was seeing your husband?”

  “No. I. Did. Not. Kill. Roxanne Baker.” I spat out the words. “Like I keep telling you: I worked here, went home, and spent the night at the campground.”

  “But you could have swung back by the mall before heading for the campground. Maybe you thought Ms. Baker killed Mr. Lowenstein. You decided to get revenge. Or maybe you didn’t realize Mr. Lowenstein’s death would leave you broke. Or maybe he left all his money to her. Made you mad.” He leaned against a crop table and studied me.

  “Look, I’m a single mom working retail hours, doing freelance scrapbook jobs, and dog sitting to make ends meet. I don’t have the time or the energy to be mad.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first person to muster up the energy to commit murder. Especially under the circumstances.”

  Dodie’s head swiveled back and forth taking all this in.

  “I would never do something like that. I’m not brave enough to take someone on. Even if they came after me first. The Bible says the meek will inherit the earth. Well,
let’s just say I’m waiting for my inheritance.”

  Detweiler kept pushing, “You didn’t go to the mall last night and confront Roxanne Baker?”

  “No. I did not. And how would I have killed her? With my trusty paper trimmer?” I waved a boxed example to make my point.

  “Like I told you, she was shot.” His posture changed. The tension in his shoulders relaxed. The Bic pen tapped his thigh in a thoughtful rhythm.

  “Oh, puh-leeze. The only gun I own is a glue gun. I could have glued her mouth shut until she learned some manners. Or I could have stuck a red letter A on her forehead with sequins. But kill her? Uh-uh. No way. Now I’ve got work to do. Some of us have to earn a living.”

  I walked past Detweiler toward the back of the store. “Dodie, I’m going to check in the shipment from yesterday. I’d like to get the merchandise on the floor.”

  Detweiler called after me. “About that friend of yours, Gracie?”

  He and Dodie followed me like ducklings on parade. Dodie walked on her toes, falling forward with each stiff step. Detweiler stomped along behind her, with his notebook in hand.

  “You want Gracie? You got Gracie. Come on down, Mr. Detective.” I waved him into the stockroom. Rounding a tall metal shelving unit, the policeman found himself face to face with Gracie.

  “Wow!” Detweiler exclaimed. His whole face lit up.

  Dodie and I exchanged expressions of surprise. Most people who meet Gracie cower or demand she be put on a leash. She’s so quiet that Dodie and I occasionally forget she’s back in the stockroom. Gracie usually snoozed her way through the day. She was such a good girl. So sweet. So happy to be loved.

  “She yours?” Detweiler gave Dodie a big grin.

  “You’re trying to arrest the proud owner,” Dodie responded. “That’s the aforementioned Gracie, the Great Dane. I wouldn’t have a dog like this. Slobbers too much. And gas? Man, can this girl let them rip. Old Gracie here can peel paint off the walls once she gets going.”

  “May I pet her?” He acted like a ten-year-old boy rather than a thirty-something man.

  “Sure.” I tucked a finger under Gracie’s collar and led her closer to the detective.

  “When did you get her? I mean, have you always had her?”

  “No, George didn’t want a dog. Gracie is a rescue pup. I just fell in love with her. Since Anya and I live alone, and the neighborhood is transitional, she’s both a pet and a deterrent. But I’ve never heard her bark. Maybe she doesn’t need to. Word gets around when you own a big dog.”

  Detweiler dropped to a squat and rubbed Gracie vigorously under her chin. “She’s gorgeous. You didn’t have her ears cropped?”

  “No. She came this way. That’s fine with me. I like them long. They only started cropping to protect dogs used as hunters. A wild boar could grab floppy ears and go for the jugular.” I smoothed one of her ears that had turned pink-side-up. “Besides, I nearly fainted when I had my ears pierced. I couldn’t do that to her.” No way could I put my big girl through surgery.

  “I like her this way,” said Detweiler in a soft voice, running his hands gently over Gracie’s head.

  Suddenly, the stockroom seemed too warm. I fanned myself.

  “And here I figured you for a leg man,” drawled Dodie. We watched Detweiler bend down to Gracie’s level. She batted her brown eyes at him and made a deep, satisfying rumbling noise of joy.

  “This harlequin coloring is so cool. I mean, the fawn color is nice and so’s the brindle, but give me a Boston or a harlequin any day. Isn’t that black patch over one eye neat? And that black saddle on her back? Hey, aren’t you one beautiful girl? Huh, baby?”

  Gracie licked him in the face.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This cop had gone absolutely gaga over my dog. Two minutes ago, he was all Mr. Tough Guy about how maybe I killed Roxanne Baker and now, he was practically rolling on the floor next to Gracie. Not that Gracie wasn’t absolutely wonderful. She was, but …

  “Hey, what happened to the police interrogation?” Dodie took the words right out of my mouth. She seemed disappointed.

  Detweiler shrugged. “Sounds like Mrs. Lowenstein is in the clear. I’ll have to check out her story. Shouldn’t be hard.”

  Dodie continued, “You made a fast U-turn from bad cop to dog lover.”

  He laughed. “I’m a sucker for dogs. I grew up on a farm over in Riverton, near Springfield, Illinois. Dad got bitten by an old hound when he was a boy, so he hated dogs. Afraid of them, I figure. I always wanted one, but with my hours it wouldn’t be fair. Besides I love big dogs, but they need a lot of room and—” At that point, he realized he’d been gushing like a love-sick school boy. He stood up abruptly, all business now.

  Except that he knew, and we knew, he could never regain his tough-dude status. Thanks to Gracie. Good old sloppy Gracie with the thin thread of drool hanging from her lower lip had exposed the human being inside the cool professional.

  I had to laugh. Dogs are like that. Cats, too. Animals bring out the best and worst in people. They don’t judge. They only love. They are really clear about who they like and who they don’t like. They can’t pretend. Pets cut right through deceptions we throw up to protect ourselves.

  I reached down to cuddle my Great Dane. “Isn’t she wonderful? She’s so sweet. You should see her with Anya. And she’s very obedient … except she does like to run. Got to watch that. She likes to take off. Aren’t you a good girl, Gracie?”

  Gracie gave another low moan of pleasure.

  “Of course, she’s a good girl,” said Detweiler. “Anybody could see that. Anybody.”

  It seemed somehow like he wasn’t just talking about the dog.

  Detweiler had his hand on the car door handle and was ready to head back to the station when I yelled to him. “Wait! Wait! Help!”

  Detweiler had concluded his interview with a few more desultory questions. He promised to check with the ranger station at Jellystone to confirm my story. We figured they had security tapes. I knew there was no evidence linking me to Roxanne’s murder. How could there be? His last comment was, “Don’t leave town.”

  Right, like I had the money to run.

  That last comment was said in a businesslike way, but his voice was decidedly friendlier now that he’d bonded with Gracie. He was heading back to the station when I ran after him.

  I felt kind of silly running so hard, feet flying, arms pumping. I knew I was acting more like a ten year old in a school yard than a grown woman, but the urgency of the situation demanded it.

  “I … need … I just … got a call … and—”

  “Slow down. Catch your breath.” He had a wonderful smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes.

  “Someone broke into my house. Mert just called. She stopped by to put a coupon for dog food in my mail box. She saw … she noticed … my scrapbooking room window is open.” I bent over, gasping for air. “I never leave it open. Never. There’s too much paper that can blow around.”

  “Your car here? I’ll follow you to your house.”

  A few minutes later, we pulled up in my driveway. Gracie and I hopped out, but Detweiler stopped me with, “Get back in your car and wait. Give me your house key and let me check it out first. I called for backup.”

  While he walked through my house, checking it for an intruder, I phoned Sheila and asked her to pick up Anya and take my daughter back to the house in Ladue after school.

  “Someone’s broken into your house? I’m not surprised. I told you that’s no place to bring up a child. You wouldn’t listen. Probably some crack addict who would have killed both of you in your sleep—and don’t give me that bunk about your dog being a deterrent. We both know that fool of a hound would let Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy party at your place all night before she’d have the sense to bark. Stupid creature.”

  I sighed and hung up. As long as Anya was safe, Sheila could say whatever she wanted.

  Detweiler stuck his head out the back door and mot
ioned to me. “I’ve cancelled backup. They’re sending someone to dust for prints. The house is clear. I need you to tell me what’s out of place. Just don’t touch anything.”

  Everything was the way I’d left it the night before with one exception: the hard drive to my computer was missing.

  “Why would someone take the computer and leave the rest? I’ve got a lot of money in equipment here. That’s a professional quality monitor, scanner, and printer, and … it just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Something in your computer? What could be there that anyone would want?”

  “Beats me. Just photos.”

  “Add anything recent?”

  “I downloaded photos from the shower … the shower where Roxanne Baker was.”

  “The party where you threatened her?”

  I nodded. “You don’t think … I mean … there couldn’t be anything in the photos, could there?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when there’s been a murder. Tell me about the pictures.”

  I explained how Dodie pulled the memory cards, and how we downloaded the candid shots. I told him how I sent images to Snapfish and made copies. I retrieved the duplicate CDs from my bottom drawer, all the time feeling very self-conscious about having this man in my bedroom.

  The tips of his ears turned pink, but he sounded very professional. “You sure went to a lot of trouble.”

  We walked out of my room. “I take my responsibility for other people’s photos seriously. They are irreplaceable.”

  “Have you looked at these? The ones you loaded? Anything pop out at you?”

  I explained that I hadn’t looked at the images carefully, and why. Sure, I’d hoped to find something embarrassing in Roxanne’s photos, simply because I didn’t like the woman, but I hadn’t gotten that far.

  “So, someone who wanted to see the photos could find them on the website—”

  “And they were on my computer as well. And on Mrs. Witherow’s, but only temporarily. I mean, Dodie used that computer as a portal, not for storage. But I don’t know how many people would really understand how we loaded them. You could also right click and copy the images. Okay, if you’re a scrapbooker, you might be familiar with the site and what we’re doing, and anyone with a digital camera might know—” I shut up. It was pretty clear that just about any moron could follow the trail of photos.