Paper, Scissors, Death

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “Then it’s easy to blame me?” I kissed her fingers and gave them a squeeze.

  “Yeah.” Her eyebrows peaked in a dubious question mark. “How come I do that? And how did you know?”

  “It’s natural to want to find someone to blame when things go wrong.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and added, “And since parents are supposed to make everything better for their kids, it makes sense that I’d be the one to blame.”

  She rose up to hug me hard. Her hair smelled of baby shampoo. “But I know I shouldn’t.”

  I whispered to her hair as I held her. “Part of growing up, sweetie, is finding out that parents aren’t perfect. We’re just people. Bigger. Older. Sometimes smarter. Sometimes not. So try not to blame me for everything, okay? Please, sweetheart, try not to.”

  ___

  Monday morning Anya seemed fine. I took her to school and walked into the store determined to finish my computer alterations to the photos. Maybe today I would discover whether the downloaded images held the answer to Roxanne’s murder. I fingered the note Olivia had handed me at Antonio’s. The sooner I finished the bridal shower albums, the sooner I’d be able to interrogate the mystery woman my husband had eaten lunch with the day he died.

  Around one thirty, Detweiler popped through the front door. In his dark suit, white shirt, and tie, he was a man on a mission. Each step slapped the floor hard. He pulled a chair up next to me. He half-threw himself into the seat. “I heard about the break-in and your trip to jail. I can’t believe it,” he rubbed his face with both hands. “I was only gone two days!”

  “What happened the other night was no big deal.”

  “No big deal!”

  “Not really. But I did want to talk to you about my trip to the slammer.” I hit SAVE and twisted to face him. “I think you told them to take me in. You wanted to see if I would crack.” I kept my voice even. My eyes never left his face.

  “What?” He was mad. Sparks flew from the hard set of his chin. He grabbed my elbow. “I don’t play games. Get it? Not now. Not ever. Especially not with you. I know what you’ve been through. You deserve better.” He leaned toward me, his face nearly touching mine. “I can’t believe you’d think that.”

  I pulled away. “Why wouldn’t I? Why should I trust you? Or anybody? You have to admit the timing was pretty convenient.”

  “Yeah, I do. And I’m worried. There’s something going on, and I want to get to the bottom of it. But I wasn’t involved. I would never hurt you. Never.”

  My eyes got watery. I pulled my arm away from his grasp and faced the screen again, sniffling a little. I wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “But you had my alibi. You knew I was at Jellystone.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “I knew you said you were at Jellystone—and I put that in the file—but the security videos won’t be available for viewing until this afternoon. That’s how they justified taking you in.”

  Okay, so that was his story. Could I trust him? More importantly, did I want to trust anybody ever again? No, no, and no.

  He said, “When I left town, you were in the clear. Someone with a whole lot of clout put pressure on the Chesterfield P.D. and did an end run. Trust me, I am not happy about this. And I will get to the bottom of it. The system works, but … people can be …” he hesitated “… can do the wrong thing.”

  “Wrong thing, huh? That’s what you call throwing innocent people in jail? Making me sleep all night on a bench surrounded by goodness-knows-who? Or what?”

  “What? All night?” He jumped up and paced, his hands jammed into his suit pants pockets. “Why didn’t you call someone to get you out?”

  “There wasn’t anyone to call.”

  “Family?”

  “No one nearby.” I didn’t add we were on the outs anyway. Rats, I still hadn’t called my mother. I slapped my forehead.

  “Your mother-in-law?”

  “Sheila. Right. She thinks I’m guilty.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of everything.”

  “She didn’t send help?”

  “Nope.”

  “She’s family and she didn’t help you? With all her money?”

  “No,” I rubbed my face. “I’m on my own. Except for friends.” I pushed back from my work to study him. His jaw was set at an angle and his eyebrows met in the center of his forehead. A vein pulsed along his forehead. He was seriously ticked off.

  “The open seating area is no place for someone like you. We get clowns waiting to be arraigned. Weirdos coming down from dope. Folks off their meds. You name it. You shouldn’t have been there. They could have at least put you in a cell.”

  “A cell?”

  “To keep you safe.” He slapped his fist into a palm. “They should have called me in Springfield. Geez, there are times when I hate this town—and my job.”

  I smiled to myself. He was being protective, and that felt good. Then immediately, I stopped myself. Was I nuts? I was doing it again. Falling for him. Could I trust him? Maybe this was all an act. Maybe he hadn’t been out of cell phone range.

  He must have read my mind. “I didn’t get your phone message until this morning. I drove straight here after testifying. I was out of cell range until I hit the Mississippi.” His earnest expression made me go all soft and gushy. His face was very close to mine. Very, very close. A pleasant tingle, a feeling I’d forgotten, began.

  “Okay.” There was a catch in my voice. Talking to him, seeing him looking strong and capable, seemed to give me permission to break down.

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had my child to think about. I turned back to the monitor. “This has been hard on Anya. She doesn’t know what to think.”

  His big hands clenched in fists. “Now we know. Someone is convinced you know something important. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to put you in jail.”

  “I still think all this is related,” said Detweiler. “I’m just not sure how. Have you had any time to work on the photos?”

  “I’m doing that now.”

  “By the way, I went to the pond yesterday at my parents’ farm and scooped up a few tadpoles. I figured Anya might enjoy watching them turn into frogs.”

  Other women get flowers. Or diamonds. I got tadpoles. And I liked it. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thanks. I know she’ll be thrilled. I hear Gracie’s tail thumping all the way out here. You better go pat her. If she gets to swinging it too hard, she’s liable to do some damage.” As he walked to the storeroom, I noticed how strong his shoulders looked, how beautifully his suit hung on his body. He was a dangerously good-looking man.

  Careful, Kiki, I warned myself. The last time you felt this way, you wound up pregnant and part of a love triangle. I turned my attention to the computer screen.

  Detweiler came back grinning. “Man, she’s a great dog. Sloppy, but great.” He wiped his hands with a cloth handkerchief.

  “Hence the name.”

  “Great Dane. I got it. You all right with slimy critters in the house? Tadpoles don’t bother you?”

  I grinned, recalling our visit to WE. “I’m fine with tadpoles and frogs. Anya will be in seventh heaven. She loves any sort of creepy crawly thing.”

  He pulled his chair closer to mine. “I’m not kidding when I say I’m worried. I’ll follow up on your latest break-in. Any idea who might have called in a favor to get you locked up?”

  I shook my head. “Whoever she was, she thought I still owned the Lexus. Lucky for me. Proved she was lying.”

  He stretched his long legs and rocked back in the chair. As he’d done in my kitchen, he linked his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling.

  “Could you hazard a guess? Who knew you once owned a Lexus?”

  I shrugged. “Anyone who knew me before George died.”

  Dodie hustled over to us. She put two meaty fists on her hips. “Hey, buddy, you planning to make these visits a habit?”

  Detweiler and I both turned red.

  �
�You missed all the action, pal. A jail break and a break-in. It’s been a real exciting couple of days. You’re lucky she’s even speaking to you. Kiki tends to look on the bright side.” She gave a menacing leer, “Whereas I tend to hold grudges. Whose side are you on anyway? You’re sure not much use. At least not so far. Anyway, we’re on the case. Just call me Sherlock.”

  Dodie winked at me. “Watson and I had a thought about those photos.” She explained our idea about matching Roxanne’s vacation pictures to shots in scrapbook magazines. “Maybe that’ll give us a bead on the locale. They usually print commentary with a place name next to the scrapbook pages.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Detweiler told Dodie. “Kiki, would you be willing to look over Ms. Baker’s albums? Think you could tell anything from them?” He seemed hopeful.

  “I might. I’m not sure what.”

  “Forensic scrapbooking,” said Dodie. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “How about we go to Ms. Baker’s apartment so you can see them? The place has been locked up since the murder. Our people glanced through the albums but didn’t come up with anything. You might interpret them differently.”

  “What would I be looking for?”

  Detweiler shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is if there’s anything weird in them, you’d be the person who’d notice.”

  “I can’t help you until later. First I have to run by Dimont Development. And I have to pick up Anya from school. Since we’re on the subject, did you find Roxanne’s camera?”

  The detective shook his head again. “No luck. At least not yet. It wasn’t in her car, or her purse, or at her apartment.”

  If she was a keen scrapbooker, she probably had her camera with her at all times. That led me to suggest, “Maybe her killer has it.”

  Detweiler rose and stared down at me. “Or your home invader. The first one.”

  “Maybe,” said Dodie, “maybe those are one and the same. Kiki, you better be careful.”

  Dimont Development Inc. hadn’t changed much since my last visit. A new receptionist sat behind a nameplate that read, “Beth Hoover.” Young and flashy, Beth was standing behind her desk with a phone tucked under one ear. Her skirt was a mere suggestion of fabric. Her blouse was low cut, exposing a black lace bra. Everything about Beth confirmed she was strictly decorative.

  I took a seat and waited. The sitting area appeared to be unchanged from the last time I visited, except that now a framed photo of George with his date of birth and date of death took a place of honor on the wall. The magazines on the coffee tables were dated six months ago. That surprised me. When George was partner, he insisted on displaying current magazines. “I think it shows we’re current, too,” he always said.

  I thought he was right. He was right about a lot of things. And wrong about even more.

  The place needed a good cleaning. A thin film of dust covered the silk plants. A hairball the size of a Yorkie sat under one of the end tables. A coffee stain marred the top issue of The Economist.

  Obviously Beth didn’t do anything manual except manicures.

  “May I help you?” She didn’t look up from her nails.

  I pointed to George’s portrait. “I’m Kiki Lowenstein.” I extended my hand. “George was my husband.”

  “Wet polish.” Beth avoided my handshake. “I didn’t work here when he did. In fact, most of us are new. A lot of customers have mentioned how well-liked Mr. Lowenstein was.”

  “George was a kind person. I miss him. Actually, I’m here to see Bill Ballard. Is he in?”

  The corners of her mouth turned down in a girlish pout. “Aw, too bad. You missed him by ten minutes. He’s supposed to be here all day tomorrow. Can I tell him you’ll stop by?”

  “Actually, please tell him I’d like a copy of his buy-sell agreement with George. How about I write that down for you?”

  ___

  Back at the store I loaded Gracie into the passenger seat. With her ears flapping in the soft breeze, and the world beginning to turn solidly green, my spirits lifted. Trees were wearing party dresses of gossamer leaves. Azalea bushes made their debut in chiffon pinks and purples. All around us, the dance of spring swirled and twirled. The gloom of winter was behind us. A surge of confidence accompanied my every move. I was thinking a lot about Detweiler, and that made me feel good all over, too.

  The school pick-up line at CALA runs past the parking lot, around a concrete median, and alongside the honking-big new gymnasium. Gracie watched children climb into cars, her tail wagging with anticipation of seeing our little girl. My heart was thumping along with hers. I was looking forward to a quiet evening with my daughter. I planned to take her to St. Louis Bread Co. where I’d wait in the car with the dog while she ordered two green teas and two turkey sandwiches on asiago bread. After we picked up our food, we’d go to Queeny Park and find a picnic table. I was sorely in need of a breather from work. I wanted to talk to her about the break-in and the jail incident, to make sure she wasn’t scared or worried. I wanted to quiz her about her eating habits. Mainly, I wanted to hug her and recharge my mom batteries.

  Gracie and I kept our eyes on the school doors eager for our first glimpse of Anya. A phalanx of luxury cars lined up behind us.

  At last I saw Anya. Her pale face bobbed this way and that, searching for me. I sat up in my seat and waved. The line moved. I pulled forward. I half-stood and waved again. She started toward me calling out, “Mom! Gracie!” Gracie stood and yodeled with joy, her fat tail whopping me in the face as she wagged her whole body with happiness.

  “Mrs. Lowenstein?” A woman in a tired gray suit stepped to the side of my car. Her face was careworn. She carried a scuffed and misshapen canvas substitute for a briefcase. She flashed an ID. “Letitia Smith. Children’s Division Case Worker, Department of Social Services.”

  “Yes?” I kept an eye on Anya as she ran to the passenger side, hugged Gracie, and moved to throw her book bag into the back.

  Ms. Smith put one hand on Anya’s arm. “Sorry, honey. You won’t be going home with your mother today.”

  “Pardon me?” Ever polite, my Anya tried to withdraw from the woman’s grasp.

  Ms. Smith waved toward a Mercedes in the back of the line. Sheila hopped out. My mother-in-law beamed triumphantly at me. In her navy St. John’s pants suit with matching navy pumps, she was the picture of a wealthy Ladue matron.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “My daughter is coming home with me. There must be some mistake.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lowenstein. Anya has to go with her grandmother. We are investigating a report. Anya can’t go home with you until there’s been an assessment. For the time being, you are not to have any contact with your daughter. A hearing will be scheduled—”

  “What?” I was close to shouting. “You’re saying my mother-in-law is taking my child away?”

  “No. Not exactly. Anya will be staying with her grandmother until there’s a hearing.”

  “Come along, darling.” Sheila wore a smug look on her face as she tugged at Anya’s arm.

  “Gran, what are you doing? I want to go home with Mom.” Anya pulled away violently. She tried to open the passenger-side door of my car. Gracie leaned forward to lick her.

  “Good Gracie,” cooed Anya, and she put her arms around her dog.

  “That animal tried to attack me yesterday,” Sheila said.

  Ms. Smith stepped away, her eyes wide with concern.

  “Gracie wouldn’t hurt a flea.” On the other hand, Gracie was feeling her oats after tackling our home invader.

  “Restrain your dog.” Ms. Smith’s eyes were big as coasters in her head.

  I grabbed Gracie’s collar.

  “Anya, I know this is hard,” Ms. Smith’s flat voice betrayed the fact she was accustomed to situations like this. “But you can’t go home with your mother right now.”

  I rolled up the passenger window, let go of the dog, got out of the car and ran to the passenger side. Ms. Smith stood b
etween me and my child. Anya reached for me. I reached for her, but Ms. Smith raised her arms to form a barrier.

  “I want my mother!” Anya tried to push Ms. Smith out of the way. My daughter’s lip trembled. The silver half-crescent of tears formed in her eyes. “Mom,” her voice broke into tiny glass pieces. Pieces so sharp they pierced my soul. “Mom, please. Please. I want to be with you. Take me home, please!” The last word ripped from her chest and behind it came a sob.

  “Anya. Anya, baby,” I grabbed for her.

  Ms. Smith blocked me. Short of hurting the woman, I couldn’t get to my child.

  Gracie scratched at the window. She gave a low, grumbling warning.

  “Mom …”Anya’s plea was fading. As was her confidence in me.

  Gracie growled louder.

  “That animal’s a menace. Now come with me, darling,” Sheila said. Using Ms. Smith as a barrier to keep me from my daughter, Sheila snaked out an arm and grabbed Anya.

  Anya tried to shake free. Sheila held on. Anya gave it one last-ditch effort, her whole body fighting Sheila’s grip. “Mom,” she whimpered as tears spilled down her face.

  A car door slammed. The noise jolted me; I realized where we were. The entertainment we were providing. The entire CALA carpool gawked at us. Heads craned out of cars to stare. Mothers gathered on the sidewalk and exchanged horrified whispers. A clutch of girls I recognized as Anya’s classmates giggled and pointed.

  This could only get worse. By tomorrow this drama would be all over school. The more upset Anya became, the faster the story would travel. I could imagine the girls text-messaging each other.The mothers would pick up where their daughters left off.

  I had to think of Anya. I had to think long term.

  “Let me see your paperwork,” I said. I kept my voice low and restrained.

  Ms. Smith handed over a sheaf of papers. My eyes were too misty to focus, but I could tell I held an official document. My hand shook, the letters swam around, an official seal jumped out at me.