Shotgun, Wedding, Bells

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “It could also be a case from Hadcho's past. He grew up in Oklahoma. I don't know if he worked on the police force there. He's been in and out of Detweiler's life. First he and Detweiler were partners, then they were reassigned to other officers, and now they're back working together. We don't have access to everything that Hadcho has investigated.”

  “Or that you stumbled into,” said Brawny. “Margit and Laurel are always talking about the way you've helped your customers. You have a knack for solving crimes and zeroing in on culprits. Maybe someone blames you for something that didn't go right?”

  I couldn't think of anyone in particular. As I turned names and faces over in my mind, I had a thought, one that had been bugging me since the shooting occurred. “Brawny, who would have known we'd be out in the yard that morning? Think about it. From when I decided to have the ceremony to the actual event, we spent about forty-eight hours, right? So who could have known we'd be out there in the open and distracted enough to be easy targets?”

  She pondered this. “Who did you invite?”

  “My staff, of course. Clancy, Laurel, Joe, Margit, Rebekkah Goldfader, and her father, Horace. Then there's Rabbi Sarah, my sisters, and mother. Detweiler's parents. His whole family.”

  “Any one of those people might have spoken to someone else,” she said.

  That made sense, although it didn't make me happy. “What other avenues do we need to pursue? Prescott isn't convinced that second shooter even exists, but we know better. I saw him. The kids saw him. Detweiler and Hadcho were chasing him. Did you see him?”

  “Aye, but I didn't get a good look at his face. I was pre-occupied while aiming at the first shooter, the man I neutralized.”

  “How about Leighton and Lorraine?”

  “They wouldn’t have seen him. Lorraine was fumbling with the prayer book and her walker. Leighton was helping her.”

  Outside, a car spun its wheels, trying to get traction on the frozen sleet. The sound typified futility. We were like those tires, making endless circles, going nowhere fast. Instead of narrowing down the list of suspects, we'd broadened it considerably.

  “It's bad outside.” Brawny craned her neck to see out the window. “The weatherman predicted more of this overnight. But it's supposed to warm up tomorrow afternoon. Enough that the ice and snow should melt. I plan to go back to the house and do a search of the grounds. Perhaps there's something the crime scene people missed.”

  “But Hadcho and Detweiler…?” I started to whine about their safety.

  “Officer Whooli will be here tomorrow morning. He'll take a shift. He volunteered to organize other men and women for me. How did your memorial service go?”

  I summarized the event for Brawny. “Jennifer Moore told me that Diya's personality changed after having her appendix removed. Odd, isn't it? I wish I could have talked privately with Sarita Patel.”

  “You did your best. You look all done-in. Why not get a little sleep?”

  It didn't take much coaxing from her; I could barely keep my eyes open.

  Grabbing a fresh cotton blanket from the supply closet, I headed to the recliner in Detweiler's room. Shaking out the worn coverlet, I climbed into the chair and tipped it back. In that position, I stared up at the ceiling—and smiled.

  Someone had glued florescent stars to the hospital room ceiling. They spelled out a simple message: God Bless You.

  CHAPTER 45

  The next morning, I woke up before Detweiler did, took a quick shower in his bathroom, and stepped out fully dressed.

  “Hello, love,” he said.

  I nearly squealed with joy. “You must be feeling better.”

  “Not really. I'm not as groggy. I sort of feel worse because some of the pain meds have worn off.”

  “Consider that a message from your body. The solid yellow caution flag is being flown. No hopping up and running around.” I leaned over and kissed him just as a new nurse appeared. She helped him out of bed and into the john. At first, he was a bit wobbly, but Belinda reminded him that he'd lost a lot of blood, and that standing up caused everything to flow away from his brain.

  After he was back in bed, he asked, “How're the kids and Hadcho?”

  I told him that I'd Skyped the children, and that they were having a blast with Laurel and Joe.

  “In fact, your detective friend hopes to be discharged this afternoon,” the nurse told us. “It's a little quick, if you ask me, but he's insistent.”

  “Probably can't stand this ugly hospital attire,” said Detweiler, plucking at his own gown.

  I grinned because my husband was back to his old self.

  After the nurse left, I told Detweiler what I'd learned about Sheila and Robbie.

  “I had a feeling she was getting worse. Robbie wouldn't talk about her. Not even mention her in passing. He'd change the subject straight away. That got me thinking that something was up.”

  I took his hand. “I talked to Jennifer Moore. She told me that Anya had called her some time ago and asked for help with getting Sheila to bed. Did Anya tell you about that, because I had no idea?”

  “No, but it doesn't surprise me. Anya's at the age where she wants to feel capable. She probably didn't want to worry you, especially with the baby coming, so she tried to act like an adult. We're lucky that she feels close enough to Jennifer that she could pick up the phone and call for help.”

  From there, I eased into the subject of his safety. “Brawny and I can't figure out who's out there gunning for us. She's tracked the dead guy down to Alabama. A hired assassin. Prescott refuses to believe we're at risk. He suggested I was making it up about there being a second shooter.

  “Of course there were two shooters. That's a given. Prescott is trying to punish Hadcho and me because we won't play his games.”

  “Even so, that puts us all at risk, doesn't it?” I perched on the edge of his mattress. “Brawny and I have been trying to figure out who paid the shooter. Could have any connection with Diya Patel's death?”

  “No.” His answer was terse.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I said no, and I meant it.” His tone surprised me. I bit the inside of my cheek rather than burst into tears. Detweiler is never abrupt with me. We'd only been married, what? Two and a half days? And he'd changed?

  Taking his hand from mine, he rubbed his temples. “Look, my head is pounding. Could you call the nurse?”

  I did. We waited for her.

  A cart rattled in the hall, and I smelled food. Specifically, the smoky scent of bacon caused my mouth to water.

  “Maybe your head is hurting because you're hungry. I am.”

  Belinda the Nurse walked in. Like every care practitioner, she looked harried but alert.

  Detweiler waved me away. “I'm fine. You go eat.”

  That caused me to gasp. Never has he spoken like that. The nurse looked from him to me and back to him. “On a scale of one to ten, how's your pain?”

  Detweiler mumbled, “Eight.”

  “Going without pain meds isn't going to speed the healing process. But it will help you run off everyone who loves you. Starting with that very pregnant lady over there.”

  Detweiler couldn't meet my gaze. “I don't want to get addicted to pain meds.”

  “You won't. But suffering isn't the answer.” With that, Belinda fiddled with the button on his IV. “Don't try to tough this out. Pain is a stressor.”

  Seeing that he was in good hands, I said, “I'm going down to get breakfast. Brawny is out there in the hall, if you need her. Knowing her, she's already eaten. Harry Whooli is on his way.”

  “I'll be fine.” He waved me away. But he followed that with a soft, “Sorry, Kiki. I know I'm being a grouch.”

  “It's okay.” I hurried away before my emotions got the better of me. On my way out, I passed a volunteer delivering Detweiler's breakfast.

  “How is he?” Brawny met me in the hall.

  “Much better. Lucid. Talkative. Irritable. Having his breakfast.�
��

  “Whooli has been diverted by Prescott.” Her eyes were hooded with concern. “Even though it's his day off, he was called in. What a lot of baloney. But Whooli's sending other officers. Prescott might have stopped Whooli from appearing in person, but he can't stop the entire department from helping out.”

  “It never ends, does it? Have you eaten?”

  She nodded yes. “You should go get your breakfast while the detective eats. I saw them take the tray into his room. By the way, I talked to Laurel earlier. The kids are fine. They watched movies last night. Ate popcorn and had a grand time.”

  “That's great. Be right back.” I went downstairs to the cafeteria, where I had a quick bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. After grabbing an apple for later, I took the elevator back upstairs.

  “I just checked. The detective has fallen asleep,” said Brawny. “Aye, and that's good news because his body needs all the rest it can get. He's weak as a day-old kitten.”

  The ding of the elevator door interrupted her. We turned and watched as its passenger stepped out.

  Her head was wrapped in a pashmina shawl so that only her reddened eyes showed, but I knew her instantly. It was Sarita Patel.

  “Mrs. Detweiler,” she said quietly, lowering the aqua fabric so I could see her long dark hair. In a pair of tailored black slacks and a matching cashmere turtleneck, she managed to be both stylish and appropriately grieving. As she pulled off leather gloves, she asked, “Is this a good time for us to talk?”

  “Sure.” After introducing her to Brawny, I gestured toward the chairs and sofa. “There's no one in the family lounge. Let's go sit down.”

  “How is the detective?”

  As we headed for the lounge, the uniformed officer passed us on his way to the men's room. I didn't recognize him, but I appreciated his presence.

  “Stop!” Brawny yelled.

  I thought she was shouting to the cop. Maybe warning him not to leave his post.

  “Freeze!”

  Sarita and I turned around to see what was happening.

  A man was standing in the middle of the hall. He wore a long coat and a black fedora pulled down low. My heart raced as I realized that he had come up via the stairway at the end of the hall. There the intruder stood, less than ten feet from Detweiler's door, with his back to us.

  “Put your hands in the air!” Brawny snarled.

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw that the uniformed guard had cancelled his visit to restroom. Cautiously, he drew his service pistol. With the gun in two hands, he advanced on the intruder. “Hands up! Do it now!”

  Slowly, the visitor raised a pair of black leather gloves.

  “No, please,” whimpered Sarita.

  “Do you know him?” I asked her, as Brawny shoved the intruder into a wall and jerked one of his arms up behind his back.

  Sarita grabbed at me. “Please don't hurt him!”

  Was this an armed assassin?

  My mind reeled in confusion.

  Why was Sarita so worried for his safety? I couldn't see the man's eyes, so I couldn't tell if he was defiant, surprised, or afraid. The tableau was frightening. A drawn gun, an intruder in black, and my helpless husband. Not to mention that Hadcho was also unprepared for another attack.

  The intruder shoved one of his hands deep into his coat pocket.

  “Brawny! Stop him!” I screamed. “He's going for a gun!”

  With a quick sweep of her leg, she brought the interloper down, face first. He hit the tile floor with a loud smack. The young police officer raced over to help, while fumbling with his handcuffs. In short order, he snapped them around the man's wrists.

  “Ow,” yelled the man in black. “Get off me! Stop it!”

  His hat popped off his head and rolled away, like a wheel broken off a kid's Radio Flyer wagon.

  “No, no, no,” moaned Sarita. “I warned him!”

  With one hand, Brawny hauled the cuffed visitor to his feet. His face was bloated, his eyes were red, and his complexion was pale.

  Sarita ran to his side. “Keith? Are you okay?”

  CHAPTER 46

  “Keith?” I repeated. I was trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, but I couldn't. Not quite. “Keith Oberlin?”

  “That's me. I was trying to show you my ID. I've got my driver's license in my pocket if anyone cares to see it.”

  While the cop frisked the visitor, Brawny fished around in his coat and brought out a wallet. Flipping through, she flashed us a laminated Missouri driver's license. “He is who he says he is.”

  The young officer said, “No weapon. But better safe than sorry.”

  “Keith? This is Mrs. Detweiler.” Sarita pointed at me.

  “I'd shake your hand, but...” He gave a mirthless laugh and displayed the handcuffs.

  I took a deep breath. “I thought you were going for a gun.”

  “No, just a pack of gum.”

  “My bad. I'm jumpy. I apologize. I'm Kiki Lowenstein-Detweiler.” I stuck out my hand, right as the young officer unsnapped Oberlin's handcuffs.

  “It's been that kind of week.” Keith Oberlin must have been a handsome man, years ago, but right now he looked horrible. His eyes were puffy. The tip of his nose was raw, as though it had been wiped repeatedly. He needed a shave. Obviously he'd hit a rough patch that had aged him emotionally.

  “Why are you here?” Now that the crisis was over, I felt bold—and angry. How long would my husband be at risk? Would I always feel so frightened?

  “I came because Sarita asked me to. She told me about Detective Detweiler getting shot. My lawyer called down to the police station to get details. He found out that Robbie Holmes has left town. That idiot Prescott Gallaway knows nothing about...” and he paused. To my shock, his voice broke and he sniffed back tears. “Knows nothing about anything. So Sarita called Jennifer Moore. To get the straight scoop. Because you two showed up last night. Together.”

  “Let's go sit down.”

  In the family lounge, Sarita sat ramrod straight on the edge of a chair, while Keith huddled as though he hoped to disappear. She began by saying, “I know Jennifer, so I thought it best to start with her. She explained that you were worried that the shooting might be connected to my daughter's death. I talked it over with Keith. We felt that we owed it to Detective Detweiler to clear this up.”

  Brawny and I exchanged looks. I was totally confused. So was she.

  “This is our friend Bronwyn Macavity. She has a background in law enforcement.”

  That was true enough, and I sure wasn't about to introduce her as my nanny.

  Brawny shook everyone's hands and took orders for hot drinks, as we arranged ourselves around the coffee table. Keith rubbed his wrists.

  “Are you okay?” asked Sarita.

  He gave her a weak smile. “I'm getting used to the way handcuffs feel.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head sadly. “How is the detective?”

  “Better, but very weak. We almost lost him.” For the next few minutes, she and I exchanged small talk, mainly about CALA. Keith didn't say a word. Brawny brought back two coffees and two teas. After producing creamer and sweeteners from her sporran, she raised a questioning eyebrow toward me. I signaled her to take a seat as I set about explaining our concerns.

  “Detective Detweiler and I got married two days ago. We decided on an outside wedding in the gazebo on our property. Two gunmen appeared out of nowhere. Detective Stan Hadcho was shot, as was Detweiler. One of the shooters was brought down by Brawny. She's had extensive training in personal protection.”

  That was the understatement of the year, but it served our purposes, so I continued my explanation.

  “Since Robbie is out of town, and the incident happened in Webster Groves, I'm concerned about the authorities finding out who did it. I'm not sure whether they have the full story or the resources. Or the will to follow up. While brainstorming possible motives, I learned that Detweiler was working up a report on the death of Diya Pate
l. That led me to wonder if someone out there was enacting vigilante justice. As you are well aware, there are members of the public who think Detweiler is taking too long to investigate. We also wondered if there was some other connection. Some other reason someone decided to use us for target practice. One that you might be aware of.”

  I shut up. I'd said my piece.

  Keith reached across the table and took Sarita's hand. He was sitting at right angles to her, so the gesture was out in the open, unhidden. She lifted sad eyes to him and nodded. “You tell them. I can't bear it.”

  He took a shuddering breath. “Diya was my daughter.”

  CHAPTER 47

  I felt my mouth fall open. I nearly did a cartoonish double-take.

  Brawny's face was inscrutable, but Sarita looked at Keith with great tenderness. That's when I realized I'd heard him right.

  “Keith and I fell in love in high school. As you might imagine, our parents were not pleased with our relationship,” said Sarita.

  “My parents were livid,” said Keith. “They called Sarita every racist name in the book and even held back their yearly gift to CALA, suggesting that it was the school's fault for allowing 'non-whites'—and those were their exact words—to attend.”

  “My mother and father are old-school Indian. They had already chosen a husband for me, someone with a similar background. Sanjay Patel. I met Sanjay and liked him. I couldn't see any future for us, Keith and me, so I did as my parents wanted,” explained Sarita.

  “The week before the wedding, we met for one last time,” Keith said.

  Sarita nodded, sending Keith a sad smile. “I didn't know it but I was pregnant when I married Sanjay. I thought I was vomiting because of nerves.”

  “We went on with our lives. I honored her marriage, although I've never met another woman like Sarita,” said Keith. “Sure, the press calls me a playboy. Everyone thinks I'm having a terrific time as a single guy. But the reality is that I can't have the only woman I'll ever love.”

  “Sanjay has been a wonderful father to Diya. We have two other children at home and a good marriage. Sanjay and I share so much! We think alike. We were both raised Hindu. Our families mesh well together. It would never have worked out for Keith and me. I knew that from the beginning.” With a shake of her head, she concluded, “I will always love Keith, but if I'd agreed to marry him, I would have ruined both of our lives.”