Shotgun, Wedding, Bells

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Keith picked up her hand and kissed it. “No one would have ever known that I'm Diya's biological father. We certainly didn't. When Diya had her appendix removed, everything came unraveled.”

  Sarita took over. “Sanjay was out of town at a research conference when Diya was rushed to the hospital for an emergency operation. While she was there, she saw her blood type and realized Sanjay could not possible be her biological father. Fortunately, I had been honest with him from the beginning. But I didn't know I was pregnant when I married him! So I didn't realize what Diya had found out. It never even occurred to me! And Diya didn't tell me what she knew. Instead, she became angry and rebellious. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. Then one day, she confronted me, calling me all sorts of names. Once I got her calmed down, I told her about Keith. I also explained that I hadn't kept anything from her father. Thank goodness for that.”

  Keith never took his eyes off of Sarita. His expression was one of such longing that I could almost feel my own heart breaking. “Sarita is so wonderful. She has always been totally honest about everything.”

  “What did Sanjay do?” I asked.

  Sarita sighed. “He was upset. But he was more worried about our family than he was angry about the past. You see, Diya insisted on meeting her natural father. In part, she wanted to confirm what I'd told her. And of course, she was curious. Sanjay and I weren't sure what to do. I phoned Keith. In the end, the three of us decided to get professional help. I made an appointment with a psychologist, a specialist in adolescent issues.”

  “Dr. Westin suggested that we all meet in his office, Diya, Sarita, Sanjay, and me,” said Keith. “I was cool with that. If it made things better for Diya, that was fine by me. I have to admit I was totally shocked to hear I had a daughter. I wanted to know everything about her. Sarita told me how good Diya was in school, that she loved horses, and then she sent me a picture. I couldn't get over how beautiful Diya was. She looks—looked—exactly like her mother.”

  “We had a difficult time scheduling the meeting because of the holidays,” said Sarita. “I told Diya about our appointment. She didn't believe me. She thought I was procrastinating. We quarreled. I thought we'd made up, and that she had come to realize I was telling her the truth. Then she asked if she could stay at Isabella Franklin's house for an overnight. The girls spent lots of evenings at one house or the other, so of course, I said yes. It never occurred to me that Diya was planning anything.”

  “Isabella told Diya about the party. A couple boys they liked were going to go. Diya must have looked up the address and realized it was close to my house. So the two girls snuck out and walked to a party in my neighborhood,” said Keith. Shaking his head, he added, “Only a couple of kids would walk around in that kind of weather. But I guess Diya was determined. After she had a couple of drinks, for Dutch courage I guess, she slipped out of the party and walked to my house. When I opened the door, I knew immediately who she was and why she had come. She was already feeling the booze and had a headache. I called Sarita. We decided it was best to put her to bed and tackle the conversation in the morning with fresh heads.”

  “Keith didn't know Diya had been having bad cramps. I'd given her Midol, and she'd also taken Tylenol Extra-Strength at Isabella's house.”

  “She'd been drinking. She complained about her head hurting, so I gave her a couple Tylenol. She asked for two more, and—” his voice cracked, “God forgive me, I had no idea it wasn't safe. I've never raised a kid. They talk about Tylenol for children all the time on TV. It's my fault that she overdosed. I killed my own daughter!”

  CHAPTER 48

  Keith broke down into noisy sobs, not holding anything back. He keened with misery, pulling on his hair, beating his fists against his thighs.

  “Sarita, I am so sorry. I'm such a waste,” he told her. “No wonder your parents didn't want us together. They were right. I'm a total loser. I've done nothing with my life since I lost you—except to bring you pain.”

  “No, Keith, no.” She grabbed at his hands to stop him from hurting himself. “This wasn't your fault. It was an accident. You didn't know what she'd taken. You didn't know it wasn't safe.”

  “But I gave those pills to her! I killed her!” and his head rolled back on his neck as he howled, a sound so animalistic it had to have come from his gut.

  The duty nurse came running. Brawny hopped up and intercepted her. “It's under control. This is a man who just lost his daughter.”

  “Do I need to call a doctor?” The nurse surveyed Keith with calculating eyes. “Someone to prescribe a sedative? Who's his family care provider?”

  Sarita put an arm around Keith and patted his shoulder. “He'll be all right.”

  “If you say so.” The nurse shot us a dubious look before turning toward her desk.

  “We were honest with Detective Detweiler.” Sarita sounded defiant as she tried to sooth Keith Oberlin. “We told your husband everything. He's a good man. He was fair to us. First he needed to check out our stories. Of course, there was the lab report. The comments from the emergency technicians. He took statements from some of the other kids who were at the party, and of course, from Isabella. There was no way to keep it out of the news. Those reporters watch Keith like vultures. Someone leaked that an underage girl died at his house. The media just doesn't have any respect for other people's lives!”

  As Sarita talked, I marveled at her strength. Perhaps my astonishment showed up on my face, because she dropped her gaze and sighed. “It's been a nightmare. The only reason I'm not falling apart is that I can't. Not when I have two other children at home. They need me. So does Sanjay. He's devastated and embarrassed.”

  Keith wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. “People make money spying on me. I'm used to it by now. With a name like Oberlin, everything I do makes news. Now I've got bricks being thrown through my windows, eggs smashed against my car, and all sorts of pranks happening around the clock. I don't care. They can do all they want. It's nothing compared to how I blame myself. Nothing can bring back Diya. I have to live with knowing I killed my own daughter.”

  Sarita nodded. “We thought about going public with the full story, but Sanjay worries it will hurt our younger children. And of course, our families. Our parents would never understand. Nor would our extended families. We both have brothers and sisters who live nearby, and they would be horrified.”

  She reached into her pants pocket and brought out an iPhone. With one hand, she scrolled through the camera roll. Once she found the photo she wanted, she pushed the iPhone across the table so Brawny and I could see the family picture of Diya and her two siblings, a boy and a girl. They were younger but not by much. In fact, I remembered that the boy was right behind Anya in school. I'd seen him at a class play.

  “It's been tough enough on them,” said Sarita. “They loved Diya. They didn't understand why she was so angry.”

  “I don't want to hurt the other kids.” Keith's mouth trembled. “That's the last thing I want. I've done enough harm. If that means taking a certain amount of harassment, fine. I'm a big boy. Sanjay has been wonderful about all of this. I respect him. He wants to protect his family, and I'll do anything I can to help. He's a good man.”

  “Meanwhile, the vigilantes are braying for blood,” I said, more to myself than to them. “But did two of them come after my husband?”

  Brawny had been listening quietly. Her fingers traced a pattern on her kilt. “Kiki, you have to remember that after one went down, the other still came after you and the children. That suggests they weren't gunning for Detweiler.”

  “But maybe that's just because they're whack-jobs,” said Keith. “These vigilantes don't seem to be organized. Or even logical. The things they're saying are ridiculous. It's more like they're mad at me for being rich than really being concerned about a young girl's death.”

  Sarita frowned. “A man came after you? And your children?”

  “We were hiding in a shed. I heaped straw over the kids
so they couldn't be seen, but the creep heard my son crying. He threatened us. It was awful.”

  “Eight and a half months pregnant, and she still has the heart of a lioness.” Brawny gave me a nod of approval. “He had a gun, but Kiki went after him with a pitchfork.”

  “You fought off an armed gunman with a pitchfork?” Keith shook his head in amazement.

  Sarita gave me a knowing look. “Never underestimate what a mother will do to protect her children.”

  CHAPTER 49

  After Keith and Sarita left, I went back in to see if Detweiler had gotten any pain relief. To my surprise, he was sitting up and watching television, an activity he never does at home. At first I worried he would snap at me again, so I entered softly and stayed by the door, hoping to observe whether he was more like his usual self.

  “Come here, you,” he said, when he noticed me. “You don't have to cower. I'm sorry I was such a jerk. I hate feeling helpless, so I hadn't taken any of the pain meds.”

  “You can hate it all you want, but pretending you aren't in pain won't help.” I stood at the side of his bed, looking down on him.

  He took my hand. “I know, I know. I was one hundred percent in the wrong. Please don't be angry or hurt.”

  I resisted at first, but when he pulled me in for a kiss, I gave up. I tried to think through what had happened. Detweiler had once told me that he went into law enforcement to protect the people he loved. But here he was, laid up and helpless, while a gunman threatened his family.

  “Look, you're still a cop. You're still able to help us. Okay, so you can't get up and run around.”

  He gave me a mirthless laugh. “I'm like that character in the Jeffrey Deaver books.”

  “No, love, you are not a paraplegic like Lincoln Rhyme. But you are wicked smart, so instead of feeling sorry for yourself, how about if you help me figure out what was behind that attack on us?”

  Detweiler's green eyes twinkled with mirth. “Boy, you are one tough lady, Kiki Lowenstein.”

  “That's Mrs. Detweiler to you.” I kissed him, and launched into a narrative about my meeting with Keith and Sarita. He shook his head at the image of Keith getting tackled and handcuffed in the hall.

  “It's not really funny,” Detweiler said, rubbing his chin. He's fastidious about shaving, so seeing him with a two-day beard was unusual. “Given all the trouble he's had recently. Keith's actually not a bad guy. If he could have married Sarita, his whole life would have turned out differently. Funny, isn't it? His parents thought they were forcing him into a good decision, but maybe they didn't know what was best for him. Sarita has a stabilizing influence on him, doesn't she? Makes me worry about the mistakes that we'll make as parents.”

  “There will be plenty,” I said, pulling myself up on the edge of his bed so I could sit next to him. “And like the Oberlins, we'll make them out of love and from our desire to do what's best for our children. In their experience, a mixed marriage wouldn't have worked. That's all we parents have to draw on, our own experiences, and since the world doesn't stand still, what we've done and heard and seen is always ten paces behind the new reality.”

  “Now that you know what really happened, you can see why I took my time releasing the results of the investigation. It won't go down well with folks who think of Keith as a ne'er-do-well playboy. And I'd like to spare the Patel family as much scrutiny as possible. Diya was a minor, and Isabella is still one, and she has her whole life ahead of her. Isabella felt like she was to blame. After lying to her parents, she didn't keep an eye on her friend. Her guilt alone should be reason enough to keep the proceedings private. I've asked the court to seal the documents. That's why everything is moving so slowly.”

  “Do you think that a vigilante took a shot at you? Because of Diya's death?”

  “No, I don't. If anything, the vigilantes think I'm the answer to their problem. Shooting me would only slow down the justice they think Keith Oberlin has coming.”

  I explained to him what Brawny and I concluded. “Seems logical that I should close the store for a few days. No one should be out and about in this weather. I don't want to put Margit or Clancy or any of my customers at risk.”

  “But there's no reason for anyone to take a shot at you,” said Detweiler. “Or is there?”

  I put my hands on my hips, which must have looked pretty silly since I was sitting on the bed and my belly took up all my frontal real estate. “What a sneaky way of asking me if I've been snooping around. I haven't. Between Christmas and our wedding, I've had my hands full.”

  “I figured as much. Although Brawny has a good point. The remaining gunman went searching for you, even though we were hot on his tail. So maybe you were the target all along. I've been thinking. What happened to that woman who missed out on the adoption? The one who blamed you? Bernice Stottlemeyer, right?”

  “Not a problem. Not for me at least. She's now angry with Bonnie Gossage, her former adoption attorney. See, Bonnie finally told the Stottlemeyers that she couldn't help them, not ethically, because she considers Bernice mentally unstable.”

  “I bet that went over like a balloon full of concrete.”

  “Don't you know it? Bernice was furious. I guess she threw herself at Bonnie and tried to strangle her right there in the law office. Her husband had to pull her away. Proof positive that Bonnie was right on the money. So like I said, Bernice has a new best enemy, and I'm not it.”

  “Other than that, any disgruntled folks who might have decided to take you out?” Detweiler squeezed my fingers. “Think hard.”

  “I'm trying, but I have hormone brain. Now that there's been a bit of a thaw, Brawny plans to do a canvass of our lawn. Maybe the crime techs missed something that can help us direct our search.”

  “Your search? There is no 'your search,' babe. You need to stay safe and keep out of this. Let the Webster Groves police take care of the investigation.”

  “Of course,” I said, as I kissed his forehead. “I hear your nurse rattling her clipboard outside the door. Time for me to go.”

  Right.

  I'd stay out of this.

  Not hardly.

  Sure, he meant well, but how on earth could I sit idly by while a gunman was targeting my family?

  CHAPTER 50

  On the way back to the sofa, I looked out the window. Yes, some of the snow had melted, but an icy rain had started to fall. As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the temperature went down, we'd get another freeze, a new layer of ice. I needed to call Margit and tell her to close the store.

  She didn't answer. My calls went straight to voice mail. I gave it five minutes and tried again. After the third time, I started to freak out. Margit is a model of German precision. She can be incredibly rigid in her beliefs. For example, she goes absolutely crazy if the phone isn't answered by the second ring. I've actually seen her jump over a box of paper to get to a ringing telephone. That's pretty amazing considering she's pushing seventy-five years old.

  So why wasn't she picking up?

  Brawny watched me dial and redial.

  “No answer?”

  I shook my head.

  “That doesn't sound like Margit. She's keen on answering the phone.”

  I swallowed hard. “Seems like all I do anymore is worry. First I was panicked about the safety of everyone at the wedding. Now I'm frightened about Margit.”

  “Did you try calling her at home? Perhaps she's already closed up shop.” Brawny's knitting needles began to click rapidly.

  I went to my favorites and dialed Margit's land line. No luck. I also tried her cell phone. She didn't answer. Then I tried the store phone again, and struck out.

  “This doesn't make sense,” I muttered. Margit's aging mother is in a care facility, so she's very, very careful about answering her cell phone and staying in touch with care providers.

  “I'm going to see if her mother is all right. If there's a problem, it might explain why Margit's not available.” Going to Google, I punched in the numbe
r for the assisted living facility. I explained who I was and why I was calling.

  “We haven't seen Mrs. Eichen today, but her mother is fine,” said the receptionist.

  So where was she? Could she have taken a tumble in her home? Or at the store?

  There was no way around it; I had to check on my friend. Brawny watched me, waiting for me to decide what to do. “I need to see what's happened to Margit. You'll have to wait here while I take the car, because someone needs to keep watch over Detweiler and Hadcho. I'll try to get back quickly so there's still enough light for you to do a search of the grounds around the house.”

  “Over my dead body,” said a deep voice.

  Hadcho stood at the edge of the lounge. He was dressed in a starched white shirt, a navy jacket, and pants with a crease so sharp it could part your hair.

  “Wow, look at you.” I was amazed by his dapper appearance. My clothes looked like they'd been slept in, because they had. “Where'd you get the clothes?”

  He gave me a level gaze, as if the question was beneath him. “Where do you think? I had my dry cleaner drop them off. I do a lot of business with him.”

  I imagined he did. I sniffed the air appreciatively. “Toilet articles, too?”

  “Like I said, I do a lot of business with him. He's got a key to my house so he can drop off my things.”

  “Ah. Let me guess. In return, you fix parking tickets.”

  Hadcho glowered at me. “That's a low blow. Even coming from you.”

  “Sorry.”

  The half-smile on his face told me I was forgiven. But he still sounded gruff when he said, “Look, ain't no way that you're going gallivanting around by yourself. I'm riding with you.”