Killer, Paper, Cut

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  "We’re talking about a distinct lack of intellectual curiosity," said Clancy as she tapped the turtle and watched his head float up and down. "You're saying that if someone told them that the earth was flat, they would continue to believe that forever. They had no reason to challenge what they knew. Facts were facts, right?"

  "Right. They believed that blacks and Jews should stick to their own kind. The man of the house was the provider, end of discussion. The woman’s job was to make the man of the house happy. In return, he put food on the table and kept a roof over your head. There were two kinds of women: good and bad. Men were men, and bad behavior was part of the bargain. A smart woman didn’t upset the apple cart."

  "He didn’t even hear Catherine out?" Clancy shook her head in disbelief.

  "Nope. From what I've been told, she said she thought she might be pregnant. Mom knew she’d been interfered with while walking home from school. A neighbor found Catherine lying in a ditch beside the road with a bump on her head and blood on her clothes. But Mom never said a word to my dad. Never told him that Catherine had been raped."

  "Did you and Amanda know that your sister had been molested?"

  "No," I said, wiping away a tear with a shaking hand. "On that particular day, Amanda and I were at choir practice at church. Catherine can’t carry a tune, so she didn’t belong to the choir. She stayed late after school to help a teacher, Mr. Heffernan, and lost track of the time. Any normal parent would have gone looking for her child, especially when it got dark outside, but not my mother. She decided ‘to teach Catherine a lesson.'"

  "How did Catherine get home? Did the neighbor bring her?"

  "Yes, it was an elderly woman who often saw us walking past her house. She noticed Catherine’s scarf fluttering in a bush and went over to investigate. The woman drove Catherine home. Mom was furious—with my sister. Instead of taking her to a doctor or the hospital, she warned Catherine that if people knew, she would be shunned. She shamed our sister into silence. Catherine slid into a deep depression. Went to school and came home, but then she’d go immediately to bed. Amanda and I couldn’t pry out of her what had happened. It wasn’t that we didn’t notice something was wrong; it was this conspiracy of silence. No one would tell us what was going on!"

  "You were just a kid. A teenager. I’m not sure what else you could have done," said Clancy, as she laid a kind hand on my shoulder.

  "Maybe," I said. "Or maybe I was just too selfish to care. Usually my mother was busy picking on me. But for those four months, she left me alone and carped at Catherine. I should have realized something was up."

  Chapter 24

  I was back at my worktable when Catherine walked in. She jingled as she walked, her fingers playing with Amanda’s car keys. They’d fallen into a routine where Catherine dropped Amanda off at work, which gave her use of her car, a Saab convertible, during the day. Catherine didn’t have two pennies to rub together. After having her child and giving it up for adoption, she’d taken to self-destructive behavior. Since alcoholism ran in our family, that became her drug of choice. But now she’d been clean and sober for three years.

  "Hey, big sister," she said as she slung an arm around my shoulder. I rose to hug her. She’s taller than I am by about four inches. While my hair is dishwater blonde and Amanda’s is auburn, Catherine’s was strawberry blonde, and it has darkened to a deep coppery-red, a color that most women would kill to possess. It’s not as curly as mine or as wavy as Amanda’s. As far as I’m concerned, Catherine is the pick of the litter when it comes to looks.

  "Pull up a stool and take a load off, baby sister," I said.

  "Nice place you’ve got here." Her soft gray-blue eyes roamed from fixture to fixture, taking it all in. "Wow, Kiki. Good for you."

  "It’s not paid for, but you’re right. I fell into a pot of jam, sort of. I love this place."

  "I can see why."

  Clancy approached us from the stockroom. In one hand she held a Diet Dr Pepper and in the other a Diet Coke. I had a bottle of water. "Hi," said my friend. "We haven’t met. I’m Clancy Whitehead. You’re living in my mother’s house."

  "I’m Catherine," said my sister, rising to take the Diet Dr Pepper. "It’s a nice house. Big as all get out. I’m sleeping in the room that y’all used as an office. On the first floor? I love books, so it’s really comfy for me. If I wake up at night and can’t get back to sleep, I just choose something from the shelves. I hope you don’t mind."

  "Books are meant to be read. I’m delighted to hear you’re enjoying them," said Clancy, pulling up a stool.

  "How’d you know I love Diet Dr Pepper?" asked Catherine.

  "It’s a family trait," said Clancy.

  "Well," I said. "I’m going to sound very left-brained, but I invited you here, Catherine, for a purpose. Clancy and I’ve been talking. We desperately need more help. I was wondering if you’d consider coming to work here. I can’t pay you much—"

  "Offer accepted."

  "Um, don’t you want to hear what I want you to do? How much I can pay?"

  "Nope."

  "Gee," I said. "That was too easy."

  "Not really," said my sister. "I need a job. I don’t have any marketable skills. We always had fun together when we did crafts. I realize this is different, but I’m eager to learn. I’d rather work with family than with strangers."

  She paused. "I’m trying to rebuild my life. I did a lot of dumb stuff. I have to attend Twelve Step meetings every other day to stay sober, so I need a boss who’ll understand that. I also need someone who’ll be honest with me if I mess up."

  Clancy and I looked to each other and shrugged.

  "Sometimes I might not have a car," said Catherine. "At least at first. Is that a problem?"

  "No," I said. "You’ve met Brawny, our new nanny. She can pick you up or I can."

  "When can I start?"

  Clancy and I spoke in chorus: "Tonight!"

  Chapter 25

  "So you’re telling me that this Laurel woman was stabbed in the middle of your event?" Catherine was helping me sort supplies for goody bags. Clancy had purchased clear plastic treat bags from the Dollar Store. Into these went a handful of candy, some bookmarks for a fabulous mystery series by Joanna Campbell Slan, stickers, and pens with our store name. We paper-clipped name tags right to the bags.

  "That is correct," said Clancy. She was kitting up paper supplies for the make-and-take projects. When you kit supplies, you break them down into the smallest portion necessary for a project. Instead of wasting an entire sheet of paper, when you only need a piece the size of a business card, you divide up the sheet and give the crafter the smallest amount necessary. This process actually cuts down on confusion, and it lowers the final cost of the project.

  "You don’t know why Laurel was attacked?" asked Catherine.

  "Nope," I said.

  "I love reading mysteries," said Catherine. "Absolutely love them. So I’m thinking about what my favorite amateur sleuths would do."

  "What would they do?" asked Clancy.

  "Snoop around. You said she was a student at a local college, right? I’d start by talking to her classmates."

  "But how would I find her classmates?" I asked.

  "Was she attending class this semester?"

  Clancy and I looked at each other. "The trash can!"

  I raced away from the worktable and into the back room. Two days ago, Laurel had asked to use the printer stationed by Margit’s desk. "Mine is out of ink and I need to turn in my assignment," she’d said.

  "No problem," I’d said.

  But I’d forgotten to swap out the blue paper I’d put in the paper tray. As a result, Laurel’s assignment wound up being printed on blue sheets. We’d quickly rectified the problem. The first run of her homework was tossed into the recycling. Since our recycling was always collected on Mondays, the blue papers should still be there. Sure enough, the papers were nestled at the bottom of the bin.

  "Tada!" I said, as I walked back ont
o the sales floor. "Looks like her class is with a professor named Brian Overmeyer. This is an assignment about social classes in Regency England. Her class meets on Wednesday mornings."

  "Okay," said Catherine. "May I use your computer?"

  "Be my guest," I said.

  "With this information, I can go to the campus directory and see what other days the class is meeting and what times. Also, I can find the professor’s office hours."

  With lightning strokes of her fingers, my baby sister did just that. Grabbing one of the sheets of discarded blue paper, she wrote all the information on the back. When she finished, she handed the sheet to me.

  "What else would one of your amateur sleuths do?" asked Clancy.

  "She’d pretend to be a floral delivery person and visit Laurel in the hospital. She’d track down Mert and make her spill her guts. After all, Mert’s the link, here, right? Oh, and she’d go on Facebook and see what she could learn about Laurel’s circle of friends."

  I knocked myself in the head with my fist. "Why didn’t I think of that? Anya is always telling me to check out Facebook."

  "Does the store have a Facebook page?" asked Catherine. "No? Hey, sis, time to make the leap into the twenty-first century. I’ll put one up for you. Meanwhile, spell Laurel’s last name for me."

  I did. Once again, my sister tapped out a message on the keyboard. She opened Laurel’s page. Sort of. Since we weren’t friends, we couldn’t see much of it. Except for the photos. When Catherine clicked on Laurel's photo album, Clancy and I almost fell off our chairs in shock.

  Chapter 26

  "Holy guacamole," I said. "So she’s an exotic dancer? A stripper? What gives?"

  "Read more carefully, big sister," said Catherine. "She’s a belly dancer. That’s entirely different from an exotic dancer. She dances under the name Sharina Azid. And for your information, belly dancing is a noble profession. In Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries, the entire family goes to restaurants where the dancers entertain. It’s only here in the Puritanical US of A that we associated it with stripping, like you just did."

  "Sorry!" I held up both hands in a gesture of apology. "Do you think that Hadcho knows about this, Clancy?"

  "I would imagine that he does. Checking out people’s Facebook pages is one of the first things that any law enforcement officer does these days. I read an article about it somewhere. I think that what you put up on Facebook is fair game for use against you, but don’t quote me on that."

  "But her dancing isn’t a reason to stab her, is it?" asked Catherine. "Unless you were the jealous type and your husband paid too much attention to her wiggling around in costume."

  "Who knows?" I wondered. "What else is Laurel hiding?"

  I tried to text message Mert again. And got no response.

  "Here’s a question for you," said Catherine. "Why did someone decide to stab her right now? In the mysteries I read, the sleuth pays attention to the timing of the attack. What significant event was occurring in Laurel’s life? It’s clear she’s been a belly dancer for a while. At least, I get that impression from the photos. Some of them look recent, but others weren’t taken with super-duper cameras. Why did someone decide that she had to be taken out ASAP?"

  Clancy explained to Catherine how little we knew about Laurel. "It’s embarrassing, really. She’s always there for us. Always a good friend, but we never got past the surface with her. She kept us at arm’s length."

  "I can’t help but wonder why," I said. "We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend until last week!"

  "As someone who’s been there, I would guess she was fighting her own demons," said Catherine. "I don’t think you should take it personally. I think you should trust that she told you what she could. What she was comfortable sharing. And I don’t think you should speculate as to why she kept a portion of her background to herself. Just trust that she was doing what was right for her."

  I turned to my little sister and put both hands on her shoulders. "I trust you. I trust that you did what was best for you, and you were young and scared and without guidance. As for what happened next, you had to heal. I’m sorry that you went through the healing process alone, and that I wasn’t there for you, but perhaps that’s what you had to do. And if in the future, I can do more for you, I hope you’ll put your trust in me. I love you."

  Chapter 27

  "Another night, another stabbing," muttered Clancy under her breath as we dragged the big cart on rollers into The Old Social Hall. Catherine pushed from behind.

  "Don’t you dare say that," I hissed at her.

  "Doesn’t it give you the creeps to be here?" she asked.

  "Yeah, sort of."

  "I bought a sage smudge stick with me," said Clancy. "I used a ton of these after my divorce."

  "You believe in that stuff?" Catherine asked.

  "You betcha. I believe in anything that might help. At the very least, it clears the air. Adds a nice fresh Western smell. Kiki, you hold the door open. Catherine and I will get the cart through."

  With a mighty heave-ho, they shoved our stuff into the hallway.

  Angela came around the corner and opened her arms to give us hugs. I introduced Catherine, who also received a quick embrace. Angela said, "I heard from Mert that Laurel is better."

  I bit back a retort. Would it have killed Mert to share the news with me? I hated this sort of passive-aggressive baloney. But Clancy was onto my tricks. She pinched my upper arm, just hard enough to snap me out of my nasty slump.

  With all the drama yesterday, I’d forgotten that Mert and Angela knew each other. In fact, it had been Mert who suggested to Cara Mia that she give Angela a job in her catering business.

  "Laurel is better?" asked Clancy. "Tell us more."

  "Mert told me that Laurel had gone to the bathroom to test her blood. Sadly, that’s the last thing she remembers. She woke up in the hospital this morning and couldn’t tell them what happened. She was shocked when she realized that she’d been stabbed."

  "Will she be okay?" I asked. As Angela and I talked, Catherine and Clancy dragged the heavy case on casters into the private dining room. Angela had done a wonderful job of getting the tables set up as I’d requested. I propped a small doorstop under one of the wheels of the case and unlatched it. Clancy and Catherine started unloading the kits and supplies. I wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavy, so I waited until we got down near the bottom of the box. From the last box, I withdrew the overhead projector cells that I'd printed with pictures of our projects in progress. I also grabbed the manila envelope with the list of attendees, and our master schedule. But as I moved, I listened for Angela's response, although I took care to shield my face from her because I didn’t want her to see how ticked off I was.

  Really?

  Would it have killed Mert to send me a text-message saying that she’d seen Laurel? Was she so angry with me that she didn’t have the decency to ease my mind? I’d apologized and apologized for something that wasn’t my fault. What more should I do?

  The answer was: Fuggedaboutit.

  I thought she was my friend. But friends like that I could do without.

  Angela paused and lowered her voice. "Of course, there's always the possibility that her attacker might try it again. If he or she doesn’t realize that Laurel didn’t recognize the person who stabbed her, that creep might try to finish the job. Mert’s decided to stay at the hospital around the clock until Laurel is released."

  "She can do that?" I asked. "I figured they would give the bum’s rush to anyone who wasn’t family."

  "But she is," said Angela.

  "Is what?" I asked.

  "Mert is family."

  "She is?" I felt my voice go up a notch. "Mert is related to Laurel? How?"

  "They’re mother and daughter."

  Chapter 28

  I felt my jaw drop. Clancy must have seen my expression because she stopped what she was doing and hurried to my side.

  "Did you know that Mert and Laurel are m
other and daughter?" I asked my friend.

  Clancy frowned. "No, but remember how I kept saying they looked alike. That they had certain mannerisms that were the same? You just didn’t see it because you’d known Mert for so long."

  "But…but…if Laurel is Mert’s, and Laurel is twenty-nine, that means that Mert got pregnant when she was thirteen," I said.

  Clancy stared at me. She didn’t say a word, but I knew what she was thinking. My own sister had gotten pregnant at age fourteen. Fortunately, Catherine was on the other side of the big dining room, so she couldn’t hear our conversation.

  Without words, Clancy and I came to the same, sad, silent conclusion: Mert must have been molested or seduced to have had a child so young. No wonder she didn’t talk about it. Then it struck me. Three years ago when Sheila and I were at our worst, relationship-wise, my mother-in-law had called protective services on me. One outcome could have been for Anya to go to a foster home. Mert had turned paler than a sheet of typing paper and begged me not to allow that to happen. I was aware that Mert had been bounced from one foster care home to another, but she’d never shared the details. Now it occurred to me that one of the "details" was the birth of her daughter, Laurel.

  I would have asked Angela for more information, but right then Detweiler came walking in. "Sorry I didn’t get here sooner to help you unload. I hope you didn’t carry anything, Kiki." He stopped talking as he caught sight of Catherine.

  "Hey, girl," he said, as he gave my youngest sister a hug. "It’s good to see you."

  The two of them had clicked from day one. Even though Detweiler hadn’t had the chance to talk to Catherine very much, what with the arrival of Erik and Brawny, he seemed to have an instant affinity for my youngest sister. Probably because he had two younger sisters of his own.