Killer, Paper, Cut

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  "And she had us checked out?" I still marveled at that.

  "Aye. Both of you. Character references and all. You’ll be pleased to know that a whole lot of people think the world of you both! She even checked into CALA. In fact, a friend of hers is an alumnus; so really, he checked everything out for her. Since a lot of people with money send their children there, she knew Erik would be safe on the premises. And of course, she trusts the two of you implicitly."

  I tried to take all of this in. "Are you suggesting that Erik is in danger? I mean, it’s one thing to kill a man and his wife, but his child? And Erik wasn’t even his. He’s not kin to Mr. Lauber, so why would he be in danger? I’m confused."

  "Aye, ‘tis confusing, isn’t it just?" Brawny turned so she could keep one eye on the house. She was always vigilant. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she owned a Gaelic version of Semper Fi cross-stitched and framed.

  "Miss Lorraine is much, much smarter than some give her credit for," said Brawny slowly. "It’s often that men underestimate the fairer sex. Especially once a woman is of a certain age. Mr. Thornton thinks he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. But she’s never felt comfortable with the man. After her brother died, she asked for an accounting of Mr. Lauber’s investments. Took a wee bit too long to get those numbers. Things didn’t quite add up. Large purchases weren’t registered the way they should have been. She’s got a bright, bright mind. So she put two and two together, and then she asked for an accounting of the money in Erik’s trust. That took a suspicious long time to calculate. She started wondering, ‘What if the money was being moved from one pot to another?’"

  "What did she conclude?" asked Detweiler.

  "She’s thinking it’s more than likely possible."

  "But why is Erik in danger?" I asked. I still couldn’t see the link between the Laubers’ funds and the boy.

  "Because if Erik is gone, there’s no reason for the trust to pay out to one source. Instead, it will all go to various charities, groups that would be happy for any sum of money. If there’s been shenanigans behind the scenes, Erik’s death might give someone time to cover his tracks." She paused. "Of course, this is pure speculation right now. Miss Lorraine’s the first to admit that she’s got naught to hang her hat on. Just a lot of scurrying about that seems unnecessary when she asks for an accounting. That and a bad feeling. But I don’t discount such a notion. Especially coming from Miss Lorraine. Listening to that still wee voice inside you, it’s a good start, isn’t it?"

  "If this is true, Lorraine’s in danger, too?" Detweiler’s voice sliced the autumnal air with a cold, cold edge.

  "It’s possible. I told her as much. She’s careful, you see. She’s got Orson, her chauffeur. He’s more like a bodyguard than a chauffeur. Hilda, her cook, well, she can handle a knife in places other than the kitchen. As for tracking down the money, she hired a forensic accountant, the best in the world, and he’s doing it sort of backdoor-like. In a manner that won’t raise red flags or tip her hand."

  "But she’s still alone in that big house, and she’s immobile," said Detweiler. "I don’t like that at all."

  "Right. I pointed all that out to her. Because she sleeps upstairs, she’s isolated. As you well know, she can’t get to her first floor very quickly. Not with those legs of hers. She and I discussed it before I left. I recommended that she buy herself an Alsatian."

  "An Alsatian is what we call a German Shepherd?"

  "That’s right, Miss Kiki. No, she found something better. For her at least. A Giant Schnauzer. Won’t shed. The dog will be ready in late October. She’s flying to Kentucky to meet it. I wish she had it right now, today, but…"

  "You both seem to think the world of Lorraine Lauber," I said.

  "We do." Detweiler nodded. "She’s good people. You and she will get along like a house on fire. Now, Brawny, what do you think we need to do to keep Erik safe?"

  "Trust me," she said. "I’m a Celtic warrior through and through, sir. To harm you or your kinfolk, a villain will have to go through me. When he does, he’ll learn where the word ‘berserk’ came from, and how come you don’t go messing with a Scot. Not if you want to keep your guts tidy inside your belly."

  Chapter 13

  The three of us cobbled together a plan of action. Brawny and Detweiler immediately reviewed what security measures were already in place at our house. They did a survey of the lights, the motion sensors, the locks, and the alarm system.

  Before Erik’s first day at CALA, Brawny and Detweiler visited the school. They confabbed about the best route for her to take when dropping the kids off. They also met with CALA’s newly appointed head of security. Maggie Earhart would be Erik’s kindergarten teacher, so we met with her to discuss our fears. Maggie is rock solid and pragmatic. She not only listened carefully, she volunteered a few good ideas of her own for keeping Erik safe. We taught him code words. To pick him up, a person would need to use those words. If something worried him, he was to go to the nurse’s station and complain about pain in his heart. If Maggie saw anything that tripped her warning trigger, she also could send us a coded message. All of this, we shared with Anya.

  Detweiler bought canisters of pepper spray. One for me and one for Anya. We practiced using them on a calm day. He even helped Anya dot the lids on the canisters with bright red nail polish. "Most people panic and point the aerosol the wrong way," he explained. "I want to see how you intend to use it."

  He watched her and then said, "Don’t extend your arm all the way when you point it."

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because with your arm fully extended, you lose leverage. You make it easy for an opponent to grab you and pull you off balance. Remember, your goal is to get away. This is a deterrent. Shoot three short bursts and run."

  When Anya told her friend Nicci Moore what she’d learned, Jennifer Moore called me. "Would Detweiler mind showing Nicci how to protect herself? I’d really appreciate it."

  Soon Detweiler taught impromptu classes in Leighton’s yard. Anya, Nicci, and Rebekkah Goldfader, all heard lectures on self-protection. Detweiler showed them vulnerable areas on attackers. He drilled them in using their pepper spray. They discussed dangerous situations and awareness.

  All in all, good training. Important information that every young woman can use.

  Bit by bit, we built an imaginary wall of security around our family. We weren’t naïve enough to think we were invincible, but after the first week of our drills, I finally managed to sleep through the night again. The second week after Brawny warned us, I woke up in a panic. Detweiler was working late shift. Suddenly, I had to check on Anya and Erik. I climbed out of bed, padded my way to the short hall, and tripped over Brawny.

  I would have gone down on my knees, except that she bounced to her feet in nothing flat and grabbed me by the arm.

  "Brawny? What were you doing here? In the middle of the hall? On the floor?" I tried to keep my voice down so I wouldn’t wake the kids. By my calculations, she’d positioned herself equidistant from the tiny room where Erik slept and the slightly bigger second bedroom that was Anya’s. Despite our protests that Brawny could share a room with Anya, she had still insisted on sleeping on the sofa. We’d emptied an old footlocker for Brawny to use as personal storage. She claimed she didn’t need anything more.

  "I heard a noise outside," she said. "Gracie got up and whimpered. I decided this was the best place to be. No one could get past me to hurt you or the bairns."

  "But on the floor? Weren’t you uncomfortable?" I squinted in the darkness, trying to see her expression. Instead of pajamas or a nightgown, she wore black athletic pants and a black tee shirt. Even in the half-light, I could see she was ready for action if the need arose.

  "No, Miss Kiki. It’s not too bad. Besides, I couldn’t have slept at all if I thought you weren’t protected. "

  "But…but…" I couldn’t wrap my head around this astonishing self-discipline of hers.

  "Tutum te robore reddam," she s
aid. "My father was a Macavity, but my mum was a Montgomery. That’s her family motto."

  "What does it mean?" I asked.

  "I shall render you safe by my strength."

  Chapter 14

  Saturday, the morning after the stabbing…

  Kiki’s house in Webster Groves

  Detweiler woke up at five. He dressed quietly in the half light, pulling on his gym shorts, tee shirt, windbreaker, and athletic shoes. Tiptoeing down the hall, he passed Brawny as she sat cross-legged on the floor, doing her daily meditation. Trying not to disturb her, he locked the back door behind him and stepped out into the crisp fall air. Acorns crunched under his feet, scenting the yard with a greenish nutty fragrance.

  "Have you told her?" Leighton stepped out of the shadows of the shed, blocking Detweiler’s path to his car. A soft nicker from his donkey, Monroe, followed as the animal watched both men.

  Detweiler stopped, reluctantly. While he hadn’t been avoiding Leighton, he had hoped not to see the landlord. The more he thought about Leighton asking them to move when Kiki was seven months pregnant, the madder he got.

  But even as he fought the anger welling up inside him, Detweiler noticed how frail Leighton looked. How he was wringing his hands. How stooped over he was.

  "No, I haven’t told Kiki. Not yet. She had a particularly rough day yesterday. You heard about the stabbing?"

  "Oh? So that Laurel was Kiki’s Laurel?" Leighton acted befuddled.

  Not for the first time did Detweiler wonder if the man might have a slight touch of dementia. Of course Laurel was "Kiki’s Laurel." Who else would have been stabbed at a scrapbook crop? Giving in to his curiosity, Detweiler said, "How old are you, Leighton?"

  "Seventy-eight in December," the man answered. "I guess I’m a little old to be acting fatherly, huh? You’re right, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it wasn’t like I entirely abandoned my daughter, Melissa. I provided for her and her mother, Ellen. I set up a trust through my agent, Ruff Booker. A portion of all my book royalties has always gone to Missy."

  "You have a literary agent named Booker?" asked Detweiler.

  "Yes," said Leighton with a short laugh. "Pretty amazing, isn’t it?"

  "Look, is there any way your daughter could postpone her move into the house? Just until after the holidays? Kiki’s had her heart set on having Hanukkah and Christmas here and—"

  Leighton turned his head away to stare at Monroe. "Sorry."

  "She won’t even consider it?" Detweiler hated the whining tone his voice had taken.

  "No. I asked, honestly I did, but Missy insisted. She says she’s looking forward to her first holiday in her own little house and having me over as her guest."

  Detweiler’s fist clenched deep in the pocket of his navy jacket. He wanted to punch out a wall. Not that it would solve anything, but he wondered, how could the man be doing this to Kiki?

  "So after all these years, your daughter suddenly decides she wants to get close to you? What brought on this newfound desire to be a part of your life?"

  True, it sounded hurtful. He didn’t really mean it as such. But as a cop, he depended on his curiosity. His sense of smell. And right now, something stunk to high heavens. If Leighton was seventy-seven, then his daughter must be in her forties at least. Why would a forty-year-old woman suddenly want to live right next door to the father she’d never known? Most people in their fourth decade had built lives for themselves. Families. Friends. A routine. A place in the world. A job.

  Detweiler continued, "What’s her profession? Is she planning to find a job here?"

  Leighton turned his entire body so that he wouldn’t have to face the cop. "Um, I don’t think Missy’s found her way in the world. Not yet. She worked for a while in an insurance firm. Smart as a whip, of course. Lovely girl. Got her mother’s face and figure. Then she was an assistant to an executive. A start up. That failed. Since then, she’s sort of flailed around. Not really stuck with anything."

  "Where does she live now?" Detweiler persisted.

  "Uh, Indianapolis. Been there two years."

  "Before that?"

  "Chicago. But she hated the cold."

  "And she lived there for how long?"

  "Oh, I’d say, hm, maybe a year?"

  A pattern emerged. This was a woman without roots. Melissa Haversham didn’t know what she wanted in life. Scratch that: She changed her mind a lot about what she wanted. Right now, she wanted her father’s converted garage.

  "So she’s seen this place and—"

  "No," said Leighton rather curtly. "She flew in last night. Still sleeping. It was the color piece in my agent's office that she saw. Missy says she fell in love with the place."

  Leighton pivoted to face Detweiler. "Wait until your child grows up. You’ll see all the ways you’ve failed her as a parent. Every mistake you’ve made is written there on your child’s face. You’ll understand. You’ll see that you’d give anything to change the past. To have another chance. To make things right. Don’t you get it? This is my chance to do all the things I should have done, that I didn’t do, because I was too selfish or too stupid or too self-centered when she was growing up. Now she’s given me a second chance. Of course I’ll grab at it. Why wouldn’t I? It might be my last chance to win my little girl’s love. Who wouldn’t knock down heaven and earth for the opportunity?"

  Chapter 15

  Later that same Saturday morning…

  Gold’s Gym near the police station

  "You mean to tell me that your landlord is evicting you? You and a woman who’s nearly seven months pregnant? And a kid who just lost his parents in a car wreck? And a teenager? And a nanny who just relocated from California?" Hadcho shook his head. "Man, that’s cold."

  "Don’t I know it." Detweiler shook his head.

  "What did Kiki say?"

  "I haven’t told her yet," Detweiler studied his protein shake. Every Saturday, he had the same thing, the peanut butter and banana smoothie with an extra scoop of protein powder.

  It was his Saturday tradition. First he and Hadcho pushed each other to work out hard. Afterwards, they downed protein shakes. This once-a-week session was his only "guy time," a regular meeting he considered well worth the effort. Not only was Stan Hadcho a dedicated fitness freak, but he’d also been a good friend over the years. They’d started as partners, been split up, and then reassigned as partners, to their mutual satisfaction. Hadcho was a clean cop, a good guy, and Detweiler trusted him with his life. Furthermore, Hadcho respected Kiki, thought well of her, and that made life easier for all three of them.

  "Wimp," Hadcho snickered before taking another gulp of his coconut raspberry protein shake. "Here I thought Leighton was a righteous guy."

  "His timing really stinks."

  "Where will you go? Any ideas? Can you move in with The Old Man?"

  That was Hadcho’s nickname for Police Chief Robbie Holmes. When Detweiler and Kiki married, Police Chief Robbie Holmes would become his father-in-law, sort of. That was fine by Detweiler. Robbie had recently married Sheila Lowenstein, the mother of Kiki’s late husband George.

  Robbie had been one reason Detweiler was on the force. He admired the police chief.

  Sheila, well, Sheila could be a pill, but since marrying Robbie, she’d calmed down quite a bit. Although she was still the epitome of high maintenance.

  "We can’t move in with Robbie and Sheila. While they were on their honeymoon cruise, they came to an understanding about her house. Rather than sell it, since it’s a great place and a fabulous location, they plan to redecorate it together. Get some of that froufrou stuff out of it so Robbie will feel more at home."

  "Ah, compromise. You got to love it," said Hadcho.

  "It makes sense. They found a decorator they both like. One they both trust. I guess he’s already started tearing up carpet and refinishing the wood floors. No way could we move in while that’s going on. Besides, Sheila is driving both Robbie and the decorator crazy—"

  "As
is her wont," said Hadcho.

  "As is her habit," Detweiler agreed. "So I couldn’t ask Kiki to get in the middle of that. She’s lucky to have survived Robbie and Sheila’s wedding intact. What with all of Sheila’s demands."

  "Your parents’ house? Just for a while?" Hadcho signaled the young man behind the counter by pantomiming the signing of a check. Slapping Detweiler on the back, he said, "This one’s on me, pal. You get my sympathy vote."

  "No. I clocked it. To get from my folks’ house to CALA takes more than an hour and a half in normal traffic. Anya’s at an age where she wants to do afterschool activities. That would be impossible for her if we were in Illinois."

  "So, what’s next? Looking for a rental?"

  "One that will take a Great Dane? Two cats?" Detweiler snickered. "I’ve been on Craigslist. I’ve called several real estate agents. They’ve told me to get real. One started laughing and dropped the phone. Not exactly an encouraging response."

  "Maybe the dog and the cats go to your parents’ house, and you can find a place that’s temporary."

  "There’s that…" He shook his head. "But that would kill Anya. Really it would."

  "What other choice do you have?"

  "We could move in with Kiki’s mother and sisters in U City," said Detweiler. As he spoke, he picked at the hem of his gym shorts. A thread had come unraveled. That’s what he’d be subjecting Kiki to, unraveling on a grand scale. Still, it might work.

  "Are you kidding me?" asked Hadcho. "Kiki’s mother is a total whack-job."

  "True, but she lives on the first floor. Can’t climb the stairs. We could occupy the second floor. It’s a big house. We’re talking temporary, of course, but until Kiki and I can find a place, it might work."