Killer, Paper, Cut (The Kiki Lowenstein Mysteries)

by Campbell Slan, Joanna

  I stifled a laugh. "You are too funny. By day, Miss Prim and Proper, but by Night—"

  "I’m Emma Peel from the Avengers. I always loved her sense of style!"

  Twenty minutes later, I had flowers in hand, a fake badge that would have fooled anybody, and I stood in front of a positively ancient volunteer at So Co (which is what the locals call South County General Hospital).

  "Delivery for Laurel Wilkins," I said. "She’s in Room 252."

  Eyes magnified to cartoonish proportions gave me the once over. "Room 354."

  "Oh," I said and feinted confusion. "I guess someone copied it down wrong on my form."

  Without waiting for directions, I scooted right past Methuselah’s grandmother.

  The door to Room 354 was ajar. A television set hummed, and Anderson Cooper announced, "This is CNN." Since I’m in love with Anderson, I took this as a good sign.

  I rapped quickly on the doorframe and stepped inside.

  Laurel looked awful. She had a huge bandage wrapped around her neck. Her regulation hospital gown barely covered another bandage that peeped out of the neckline. At the sound of my entrance, she turned toward the door.

  "Kiki! What a wonderful surprise! Flowers, for me? That’s so nice!"

  Since I’d had the foresight to buy an inexpensive vase, all I needed to do was unwrap the cellophane.

  "These are from everyone at the store. How are you feeling?"

  "Pretty punk. I guess you know I have diabetes."

  "Right," I said. "I wish I’d known that in advance. If something had happened to you, I might have done the wrong thing."

  She colored slightly. "I don’t like having anyone know. When I was young, I was teased about it. I guess I should put that aside and act more grown-up about it. But I feel like people already look at me and make all sorts of assumptions. They think that because I’ve been blessed with good looks that my life is perfect. So I hold back on the diabetes info, because it’s my way of reminding myself that they don’t know as much about me as they think they do."

  I took both her hands in mine. "Laurel, when I first met you, I found it hard to get past how beautiful you are. But now I look at you and just see Laurel, my friend. You are beautiful to me for all sorts of reasons. I hope at some point, you’ll feel comfortable to share more of yourself with me. Because you couldn’t tell me anything that would make me like you less. That’s impossible. However, I would like to know you better."

  A tear rolled down her cheek. "I grew up in foster homes. After being bounced around, I had a hard time feeling I was really worthwhile, you know? It’s better now, but I learned bad habits. When you don’t have any champions, people bully you. I kept as much to myself as possible. I shared next to nothing. I figured that if I didn’t give my housemates any ammunition, they couldn’t hurt me. Mostly that worked. But now, I need to recalibrate? Or what is it that the GPS lady says? Recalculate?"

  "I’m sorry you went through that. I didn’t know. In fact, I didn’t know that Mert was your biological mother until yesterday."

  "That’s because I don’t think of her as my mother," she said. "She didn’t raise me. Of course, it wasn’t her fault that I was taken from her. After she looked me up, I told her that we could be friends, but that Edith Wilkins was my mother. Edith adopted me, and even though her husband left us, she kept me. Edith will always be my mom."

  "I hope that Erik will feel the same about me one day. That I’m his mom."

  "He will."

  I cleared my throat. "Do you need anything? Want me to run down to the gift shop or the vending machines?"

  "No. Thanks. How did the rest of the crop go?"

  I laughed. "Let’s put it this way, they’ll be talking about that particular crop for years and years to come!"

  "Someone tried to take me out." Her voice was raspy. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

  "I know. Any ideas who it might have been?"

  "I wish I could remember. I started feeling sick. I knew I needed to check my blood sugar. I opened my purse. Next thing I remembered, I woke up in the emergency room."

  "Okay," I said. "Was there anyone at the crop who didn’t like you? Any enemies?"

  "Hadcho stopped by and asked the same thing. Do you have a list of the participants?"

  I did. I pulled it out of my back pocket. Smoothing it flat, I handed it over. "Where are you going after you leave here, Laurel? I’m worried about you staying alone."

  "Mert insisted that I come stay at her house. I told her I wanted to be in my own apartment with my things around me. Hadcho told me I shouldn’t be on my own. The doctor was concerned, too. So I guess Mert will come and stay with me."

  She picked up the list and scanned it. "Everyone on this list has been really nice to me. I can’t imagine anyone taking a knife and…"

  "Could someone on the staff of the talent agency have had a problem with you? I looked on your Facebook page. I didn’t know you had a second career."

  "Oh, that," she laughed. "I took lessons after I broke up with a boyfriend. I was so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed. When I started, I was awful, but this other girl in the class needed help with her business, so I went with her on a couple of gigs. Then she left town, and I took over her clients. It’s fun. You should try it."

  "Maybe I—"

  "What are you doing here?" A sharp voice interrupted me.

  Mert Chambers stood in the doorway, glaring at me. "You aren’t family. You ain’t supposed to be here. Nurse!"

  That’s how I got thrown out of South County General.

  Chapter 39

  "I can’t believe her!" I said over my cell phone to Clancy. I was so angry that I shook with rage. "She treated me like I was some sort of stalker. Some creep. Not like she and I had been friends for years or like Laurel and I were close."

  "She’s a mom doing her Mama Bear imitation," said Clancy. "I wouldn’t let it worry you."

  "First she blames me for what happened with her brother. Now she blames me for what has happened with Laurel!"

  "You don’t know that." Clancy was trying to sooth me.

  "Oh, yes, I do! She yelled, ‘Haven’t you done enough damage to my family?’ I think that message is perfectly clear. She’s found another reason to blame me."

  "She’ll get over it."

  "That’s what you said after Johnny got hurt. And she hasn’t."

  "Are you driving?"

  "Kind of."

  Clancy sighed. "Then you need to end this conversation and concentrate on what you’re doing. You can’t change Mert’s mind, Kiki. Getting in a car accident won’t help Laurel."

  She was right. I sort of hung up on her. I didn’t mean to, but I nearly sideswiped a parked car as I shut off my phone. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry or bang my fist against the steering wheel. How could this woman have been my best friend! Who turns on you like that?

  I pulled into a parking lot and reopened my phone. I’d recently installed the Google Maps app. Now I hit the search function and typed in St. James Episcopal Church. The nice lady who gives me earthly guidance told me that I was ten minutes away. I did a U-turn. At the very least, I could pray once I got there. I’d pray for my family and our move. I’d pray for the health of my baby. I’d pray that guardian angels would watch over Anya and Erik. Especially Erik. I’d pray that my mother wouldn’t be too miserable for us to live with. I’d pray that our move went smoothly.

  Of course, I’d pray for Laurel’s health and safety.

  Would I pray that Mert changed her mind about me?

  I mulled that request over.

  I’m not a big believer in dumping friends. Okay, sometimes you have to go your separate ways. You have to agree to disagree. Or you simply fall out of contact. You discover your interests have changed.

  Once in a while, you recognize that you were deceived. That you only knew one aspect of a person, and that there were other sides to her, sides that are unacceptable to you. For example, I remembered a neighb
or we’d had in Ladue. Her name had been Mary. She had seemed perfectly nice. I had admired Mary’s ability to throw a party. But we were at a neighborhood event together she lied to someone just because it suited her to do so. Later Mary laughed about the situation.

  I didn’t.

  I had gone home and crossed her phone number off the paper list in my kitchen.

  George had told me I was being childish, but I had disagreed. "That woman has no conscience. It’s one thing to make a mistake and feel badly about it. It’s another to simply not care about someone’s feelings. Mary had that other woman twisted in knots. It was cruel."

  Now I wondered what I should do about Mert. Should I cross off her number? I understood that she’d been upset when Johnny was shot. She blamed me. I figured once the truth came to light, she’d slowly get over her temper, and our relationship would normalize. But this afternoon showed me another side of Mert. She didn’t care about what was good for Laurel. She didn’t stop to see if Laurel wanted my company or not.

  Clancy was wrong. This wasn’t Mama Bear behavior.

  This was something else.

  I couldn’t figure out what.

  Frankly, I was sick and tired of trying to come up with excuses for the woman I once called "my best friend."

  Chapter 40

  St. James Episcopal Church reminded me of the church I’d attended growing up. A stately edifice of limestone with a red door, hinged with black wrought iron. Twin locust trees bracketed the entrance. A sign announced, "All are welcome!" I hoped that was really true.

  Bright yellow mums edged the foundation of the building and sent up clouds of spice-scented perfume. A glass case protected a sign that listed the hours of Holy Eucharist and other services. At the bottom in smallest lettering was a legend proclaiming that Father Joseph Tinsley was the priest in residence.

  Most priests and rabbis spend an inordinate amount of their time doing office work, writing sermons, and supervising myriad details of church work. They can typically be found in an office, rather than in a sacred space. Walking into the church proper would ease my soul, but I doubted that I’d bump into the good father on bended knee. As I stood by my car, my eyes followed the bulky stonework to my right, and sure enough, there was a second door. Much plainer but with a groove worn by the pressure of many hands. My guess was that this door led the way to the business offices, the assembly hall, and the Sunday School rooms.

  What to do?

  I decided to go inside and pray. I was here as much for my needs as for Laurel’s.

  The front door opened easily to the narthex. Once inside, I waited while my eyes adjusted to the dim light. A small greeting area held pamphlets of all sorts and another one of the ubiquitous glass cases; displaying the hymn numbers in the order they would be sung. After I could see a little better, I clasped the huge wrought iron door handle and yanked the door open.

  The wonder of the nave sent chills down my spine. A soaring stained glass window depicted Christ surrounded by children. A simple wooden cross was suspended from the ceiling. Although many Episcopal churches prefer a crucifix, I appreciated the stark simplicity of this rugged wooden icon. Dust motes danced in rays of sunlight that streamed through stained glass windows on each side of the nave. Red carpet dulled my footsteps. The lingering fragrance of incense brought back memories.

  About halfway up the aisle, I slipped into a pew. The kneeling cushions had been needlepointed, a true labor of love. The place was peaceful and quiet, so I rested my head in my hands, and cleared my mind.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Father Joe at the altar rail. His head was bowed and his hands pressed in prayerful supplication.

  If I stood or moved, I might disturb him. He probably had a lot to pray about. So I sat there quietly, but he seemed to realize he was not alone. Or maybe he’d seen me hunched over and he decided to let me pray first before greeting me.

  Whatever the sequence was, he raised his head. Slowly, he rose to his feet. With a small bow of his head, he saluted the altar. I sat there quietly and waited.

  "Kiki Lowenstein," he said, when he turned to face me. "I’ve been hoping you'd stop by."

  Chapter 41

  "I’m afraid that I can’t offer you any Diet Dr Pepper, but I guess that’s for the best, isn’t it? How about a bottle of water?" he asked.

  Father Joe had escorted me down the backstairs and into his office. I perched on a surprisingly comfortable modern chair of navy leather with brass tacks. As he reached behind his glass desk, he opened a small refrigerator and withdrew two bottles of water, one for each of us. While he served us, I admired the streamlined shelving units, the uncluttered décor, and the silver lamp with a long arm extending over his desk space.

  "Ikea," he said, with a sheepish grin. "The old desk had a footprint as big as zip code. No one could fit in here but Father Conrad. I suspect that was done on purpose. Not big into counseling. Or listening. Or tending to the flock. Quite the showman, though. Enjoyed high church and all the trimmings. That man went through incense like Barnum & Bailey goes through sawdust."

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

  "How’re those bites on your neck?" he asked. He’d been with us out at the Detweiler farm for the party that ended with me getting what looked like a collar of hickeys.

  "Healing. Nice of you to remember. No wonder you’ve charmed all your women parishioners," I said.

  "Aw, that," he blushed. "I hope to make them feel important and welcome. For too long, the church has pushed women to the outskirts, excuse my pun. But the women do most of the daily running of the church. Without them, I couldn’t keep the doors open on this big barn. No, really! I once did a calculation on the man hours—man hours, can you believe that?—that it took to keep the average sized-church running. You would not believe it! No way could we afford the overhead. Women are the lifeblood of the church, and most of them either work for free or next to nothing."

  "Well spoken, sir. Hurrah, hurrah." I uncapped my water.

  "Like you doing that crop for the Diabetes Research Foundation. If men gave as much of themselves and their time, well, to this would be a wonderful world.’"

  "That reminds me. I owe you a thank you note. You helped our cause tremendously by telling people about the crop. That was very kind of you. Three members of your church showed up both nights. There might also have been other church members, but I know specifically of three, Mary Martha, Patricia, and Dolores."

  In a covert motion, he signaled for me to shut the door behind me. I did.

  "Did they behave themselves?" he said. His face had turned solemn.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Come on, you know what I mean."

  "Sorry. I’m not sure that I do."

  He sighed and steepled his fingers. "All three of those women are lonely, unhappy souls. I’ve tried to work with them. I worry that they’ve taken any kindness on my part the wrong way. Entirely."

  "I see."

  "Do you?"

  "Yup, I do. We live in a society where a woman is marginalized unless she has a man in her life. I suspect that all three of those parishioners are single, right? You are young, good looking, and in their eyes, available. There’s a reason that The Thornbirds was such a hit on TV. And the Borgias."

  He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "I hate this. I hate it. It was never my intention to mislead any of them. But I couldn’t shun them! I had the sick feeling that they misunderstood. One of the male vestry members mentioned as much to me, but I laughed it off. I figured that if I kept them really busy, they’d come to hate me. Or even decide to back away. Instead, they think they have the inside track on everything that happens in my office."

  "You’re going to need to straighten them out," I said. "This is a community. Problems will spread like wildfire through the prairie."

  "I know."

  "Let’s change the subject, okay? Have you heard how Laurel is doing?"

  "Better than that, I've seen her myself. I stopped by
the hospital this morning."

  "They let you in? Because of your clerical collar?"

  He laughed. "I'm sure that helped. But it was probably this collar that convinced them."

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box that opened to display a diamond ring.

  Chapter 42

  "So what did he say next?" asked Clancy, when I'd returned to Time in a Bottle. She looked as stunned as I had felt when Father Joe told me he planned to marry Laurel. "I mean they haven’t been dating that long, have they?"

  "He got this huge grin on his face and told me that they’d met this summer when she was doing her special project. Although he hasn’t asked her to marry him yet, they’ve been talking about it. He didn't want to propose in the hospital," and I paused. "Did you ever see that episode of House where he says that a ten marries a ten? That’s exactly what we have here: a twenty. They’re both absolutely gorgeous!"

  "Okay, next question. Whom does he suspect as having stabbed his sweetheart? Surely the man has an idea or two."

  "I’d say the gleesome threesome is right at the top of his list. I suggested that he talk to Detweiler. Father Joe also promised not to tell Detweiler that I’d been snooping around. I reminded him that I’d been praying, not snooping. So, it's all good."

  "What did he say to that?"

  "He threw back his head and laughed. You know him, Clancy. He was one of your favorite students. He’s just the cutest thing. The women are right. He could have been a rock star. Total hottie. I can’t blame him for thinking it might be one of them. They were worshipful when they spoke of him, but I get the feeling that they hold him to an almost impossible standard. And I can back up my intuition with observations. They were very concerned about the fact that I’m not married. They wanted to know what my future plans are. There were a lot of dark looks of disapproval."