I nodded. “It’s an honor to be assigned to that squad. But he won’t tell me everything for obvious reasons. I’d heard a similar rumor but couldn’t supply a name.” I snatched an hors d’oeuvre off a silver platter proffered by a waiter. It was a puny water chestnut wrapped in bacon. Just my luck to have grabbed something lightweight. My tummy grumbled in protest. When Sheila handed me a flute of champagne, I hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t. I didn’t eat much today.”
Sheila waved away my concern. “You’ll be fine. This is why I hire a driver for these things. Don’t make a fool of yourself, but enjoy it. These events cost enough—and free-flowing liquor is part of the expense. I guess the regime I set up for you was rather Spartan.”
I grinned. “I wondered if you were trying to beautify me or kill me. But I sure can’t argue with the results. You knew exactly what I needed. I won’t ever be able to thank you enough.”
A cloud passed over her face, but she held my gaze. I wished at that moment we knew each other better. Perhaps if we did, I could have translated her expression. Was it concern? Fear? An appreciation tinged with remorse for how she’d treated me in the past?
“You are my granddaughter’s mother. You must set a good example for the child. As Rabbi Sarah pointed out to me, your best interest is my best interest. At least most of the time.”
On that note, we touched flutes and drank. Good champagne tastes a lot different than cheap stuff. The golden liquid dissipates as it touches your palate, leaves no aftertaste and a lovely buzz. The intoxicating shock went immediately to my head, but I wanted more. Everything—my dress, the other partygoers, the décor, the ambience—made this a fantasy-come-true evening, and the champers put the world in a soft romantic focus.
If only, I sighed to myself, if only Detweiler were here.
Sheila craned her neck, searching the crowd. “We must find Police Chief Holmes and tell him what we’ve learned. But first we should find our table.”
Our heads nearly bumped as we walked along conferring. We compared the numbers on our cards to the ones on the tables. The noise level rose as alcohol loosened everyone’s tongues and inhibitions. I was the first to spot where we’d be sitting for the evening. The only other people at “our” table were two very, very ancient women, reminiscent of centenarian land tortoises. Their stiff brocade evening jackets formed elaborate carapaces from which their withered necks rotated this way and that slowly. The ladies seemed to be taking turns shouting at each other. One woman’s lipstick ran around her lips and up toward her left ear as though she’d slipped mid-application. It gave her a ghoulish grin the Joker would have envied.
“I cannot believe this,” said Sheila, “They put the Ryman sisters at my table. I told them they could fill the two vacancies if necessary, but I did expect the organizer to use her head. Next year I’ll have to be more specific. No one over eighty-five need apply. I do hope they have a defibrillator on hand. You never know with these old coots when they’ll hop the great divide. Even more annoying, you have to scream to converse with them. I can’t imagine why they even bother to come. Someone must clean them up, stuff them in their party clothes and send them on their way because neither is sentient enough to know where she is or why!”
Sheila paused to yell to the two old and shriveled-up women. Their gowns must have been built of steel years and years ago. Actually, I thought the sisters were pretty cute. Lively, too. Sheila introduced me several times over, despite the, “Pardon? What? Sister, did you hear that?”
After a respectful length of time we moved away. Sheila was in rare form. “Annabell left all her teeth at home and Marybell is only wearing a partial. The waiter will have to puree the meal and serve it in a sippee cup!”
I never knew Sheila had such a wicked sense of humor, and I told her so.
“You’ve also never seen me in my element,” she retorted. “Or drunk.”
I never even knew she would get drunk. It didn’t match my image of my “always-in-control” mother-in-law.
We began another trek through the crowd, with Sheila passing flutes of champagne to me and draining them herself. Man, she could knock this stuff back. I was starting to sway a little on my feet, but I felt darn good.
“Don’t worry. The expensive stuff rarely makes one ill the next day,” said Sheila, noticing my concern as I eyed my third glass. “That’s why rich people make such successful lushes. They can tie one on tonight and make multimillion-dollar decisions tomorrow. Usually based on the financial news they learned from their friends the night before.”
We came to a grinding halt when Sheila spotted a familiar face in the crowd. “Ben! Ben Novak! I promised to introduce you to my daughter-in-law, and here she is.”
Two rotund men stood between me and Sheila. I steadied myself for being introduced to Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum. But Sheila surprised me. She pulled my arm and gently shoved one of the big boys out of the way. I nearly stumbled into the arms of a gorgeous man. Ben Novak was six-feet-two. His dark-blonde hair was shot through with the lighter streaks brought about by natural sunlight. His eyes were a smoky bronze, his chin strong and masculine, and his overall face a chiseled masterpiece of strong planes. Ralph Lauren was missing a model, and I’d found him.
Oh, Lord, a rush of hormones powered by alcohol brought a light sheen to my skin. I couldn’t believe I was feasting my eyes on the second highly desirable man of the day. Whatever cosmic alignment caused this surfeit of male pulchritude, I thanked God for it. And I blessed Sheila for getting me in the kind of shape that let me hold my head high as Ben and I stared at each other.
Sheila said softly, “I thought you two might have a lot in common.”
We both colored. Ben seemed to fight a smile.
Yeah, I thought. What we have in common is lust!
Sheila continued, “Kiki likes to be creative with colors and shapes when she scrapbooks, and Ben has always loved to draw as well as write. His father publishes The Muddy Waters Review.”
Ben suddenly realized he was staring—as was I—and he gave my mother-in-law a small nod and added, “I’m Dad’s chief lackey. Not a glamorous title, but an accurate one. Low man on the totem pole, but at least I’m on the right end of the stick if you care to extend the metaphor. Mrs. Lowenstein has told me a lot about you. But her descriptions didn’t do you justice.”
No, I thought, I imagine not. After all, until today, neither of us knew how good I could turn out with a little polish. I forced myself to smile, which was hard because nervousness made my mouth dry. “You are very kind.”
Sheila stepped forward with, “That reminds me, Ben, how is your father? I’ve been meaning to invite your family over for dinner. Does he still eat brisket? Will your mother let him, is what I should ask. He always loved the way I prepared it.” She turned to me and said, “Ben’s mother, Leah, is quite the Tartar when it comes to her husband’s health. I wish I’d been as smart as she. Harry might still be alive.”
Ben nodded and tore his eyes away from me to address her. “Dad would be happy for an evening’s respite from his diet. I’m sure we can slip this past Mother. We’d be delighted to come, Mrs. Lowenstein.” A small smile curled the corners of his lips as he stared at me. “It would be a pleasure.”
The way he drew out that last word caused heat to flood my newly denuded lower half. Wowee. I needed a splash of cold water and fast.
Sheila responded with a courtly nod. “Then consider it done. I’ll make arrangements with your parents.”
Ben cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mrs. Lowenstein, if memory serves me, you have a granddaughter, right?”
Sheila answered proudly, “Yes. Anya is the daughter of Kiki and my late son, George. Don’t get me started about how lovely she is, or I’ll show photos and we’ll be here all night.”
Ben nodded to me, not to her. I caught a whiff of a trés expensive cologne, a spicy scent with masculine undertones. “I see. That’s no surprise though, is it? Good looks obviousl
y run on both sides of the family.” I started to turn away, but he reached for my hand. “I hope I’m not being forward, but Sheila told us how you refused to accept your husband died of natural causes. You are a remarkable woman.”
I blushed. His touch was warm and strong, but kind. He linked a forefinger gently through mine, almost playing with my fingers but not quite. I had a quick vision of how much fun this guy would be, uh, alone. Ben Novak knew exactly how to excite a woman—and his expertise came across loud and clear. I stuttered, “I wanted justice. George deserved that.”
Oh, boy.
Ben gave my fingers a light squeeze and dropped my hand. “I hope you’ll tell me all about your quest when we get to know each other better.”
I watched Ben move away with mixed emotions. He was attractive and interested, but I already had a beau. Detweiler might be moving slowly, but he had kissed me—and we had a history. Plus my daughter worshiped the man. I just wished I knew where we—where I!—stood with him.
Sheila ushered me away. “Well, that was successful,” she summarized while brushing her hands together in a workmanlike manner. “Oh, there’s Robbie Holmes.”
We came up behind Police Chief Holmes. She tapped the big man on the shoulder. He turned to Sheila, his face breaking into a big goofy smile and his arms opening to embrace her. To my surprise, she stepped right up to him. The police chief gazed down at her with misty eyes. When they stepped apart, my mother-in-law colored. Ah, now I knew. I’d wondered where she had been spending some of her Saturday nights, and what put the spring in her step. She and Police Chief Holmes were more than friends. I watched the woman I’d thought stiff and cold lower her eyes like a shy high-school girl as Robbie put a proprietary arm around her waist.
Robbie Holmes had a face full of character, the visage of a man who’d been through the mill and out the other side. But his eyes softened as he stared at Sheila, and his mouth worked as he struggled with what to say. “Sheila, my, my. Sheila, you always are so lovely, and tonight especially so.” A rush of red colored his cheeks. Clearly he was unaccustomed to expressing his feelings.
Sheila told him what we’d learned about Perry Gaynor’s girlfriend, emphasizing Detweiler should be informed as well. As if awakening from a trance, Police Chief Holmes transitioned from smitten school boy to seasoned law-enforcement professional. As Sheila wound down, Police Chief Holmes harrumphed. He stopped. “Speak of the devil.”
I turned and found myself face to face with Detweiler. I stepped toward him involuntarily before Sheila grabbed my elbow.
A painfully thin woman moved from behind the handsome detective to slip her arm through his. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at me.
Police Chief Holmes said, “Here they are. Detective Detweiler and his wife, Brenda.”
EIGHTEEN
AFTER THAT LITTLE STUNNER, I needed a lot more champagne. A magnum might not do it. I aggressively flagged down the nearest waiter, and we all took up glasses. Robbie proposed a toast—but I didn’t hear him. I held my flute with a strangled grip, staring into the bubbles and planning to get totally plastered. ASAP. Tootie sweetie. Starting now.
Sheila gave my upper arm a little pinch. “Yes, Robbie, you know Detective Detweiler is working the death of that scrapbooker. I’m sure Kiki’s inside knowledge of the industry will be very helpful.”
I didn’t deserve so much credit, but no way was I about to correct her. In fact, I didn’t trust myself to speak at all. What was there to say?
My lips were sealed while I listened to the voice in my head telling me how stupid I was. And how I never seemed to get it right when it came to men.
Police Chief Holmes picked up on my mother-in-law’s comment. “Yes, in fact, I’d like to talk with you sometime, Kiki. May I call you that? I was impressed by what Sheila told me about your forensic scrapbooking. Would like to know more about it actually.”
I gave him what I hoped was a radiant smile. “I’d be delighted to talk with you. Actually it’s amazing what you can learn from photos. Our body language often gives us away, and candid pictures can capture all sorts of emotions—love, anger, trust, and deception to name a few. We can’t always trust what people say or do, can we?”
Detweiler winced.
Sheila shot the detective a sideways glance so sharp and dangerous, it hurt to watch. “Well, Detective, doesn’t my daughter-in-law look ravishing tonight?”
Meanwhile Brenda Detweiler examined me the way a boy does a fly before he rips the wings off. One edge of her lip curled in a bit of a sneer.
“Uh, yes,” said Detweiler. “Kiki, uh, you are … Uh, you look wonderful.”
I lifted my chin and skewered him with my eyes. “Why, thank you. That’s so very kind of you.” I chugged my champagne and scanned the room for a waiter, all the while telling myself I had nothing to be embarrassed about. He did. If I hadn’t been holding the glass flute, I would have reached over and dope-slapped him. Instead, I turned to his wife, a gangly thing wearing what I assumed was once a prom dress—something very much like I would have worn without Sheila’s interference—and said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Detweiler. Brenda, is it?”
Detweiler ran a finger under his collar.
I hope it feels tight, buddy, I thought. Think of it as a noose, you idiot.
He seemed to be signaling me with a roll of his eyes, a plea to meet later and talk, but I didn’t care what he had to say. Or what weirdo motions he could do with those fascinating green eyes. I was not about to seek him out for a chat. As far as I was concerned, if he dropped dead right there and then, I’d step over his body to get more bubbly. Scratch that. I’d have stepped on his body to get the bubbly, grinding my stiletto heels into certain vulnerable parts.
Sheila tapped Robbie Holmes on the shoulder. He leaned down so her lips nearly touched his face. She gazed up at him, saying worlds of loverly things with her expression. “And now, dear Robbie, Kiki and I must powder our noses. Please share what we’ve learned about Perry Gaynor with your subordinate here. I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”
Detweiler caught the inference. The detective jerked his head sharply backward as if he’d been smacked up the side of the face. His eyes blazed in anger.
Good. He deserved it.
As though reading my thoughts, his countenance immediately fell. I steeled myself against his hangdog expression, turning away, trying to clear my head with a little shake. Sheila put a hand on my waist and steered me.
She threw one more jab over her shoulder. “Besides, there are so many lovely single men here that I want my daughter-in-law to meet. We really need to keep moving.”
Detweiler blinked fast and hard. “Mrs. Lowenstein, I need to talk with you later about Mrs. Gaynor,” he called after us.
Sheila paused, “I don’t know who you are talking about.” She challenged him with her eyes.
“I meant the other Mrs. Lowenstein,” Detweiler said weakly.
I paused, turned slowly and smiled, dropping my chin just a little, tucking my butt under, sucking in my gut, licking my lips, and jutting my hip forward. My mother-in-law and I stood shoulder to shoulder as I said, “Oh, I hardly think I have anything to offer you. Good evening, Detective.”
Once inside the ladies’ room, I spat out, “How could he have? How could he? I trusted him!”
A couple of women putting on lipstick paused to watch my little drama. No matter. I was mad as a hornet and didn’t much care who knew it.
“You cannot and will not make a scene in public.” Sheila pulled me into the handicapped stall, slamming the door behind us with a resounding thud. She flicked the door lock, while I paced back and forth, muttering, “He told me he was divorced! He doesn’t wear a wedding ring! I thought he lived alone!” I stomped to one end of the small area, spun an about face, and retraced my steps. A roll of toilet paper fell to the floor, and I kicked it down the whole row of stalls. The white line of tissues stared back at me accusingly.
Sheila touc
hed up her blush while leaning over the handicapped sink. “He doesn’t live alone. As you can see, he’s married.”
I stopped storming long enough to lean my head against the cool metal wall. Words, images, thoughts, feelings. Suddenly, the pieces formed a pattern. Click, click, click. I whirled on Sheila, furious and hurt. “You knew! You set me up! That’s why you wanted me to come so badly. You did this on purpose!”
Her face betrayed no emotion. She was utterly and totally a blank, a cipher. With her finger pointed accusingly at my heart, she said, “When my granddaughter told me about her mother’s boyfriend, of course I checked him out! What do you take me for? An incompetent old fool? I did what any responsible grandmother would do! I care about my grandchild! She’s already had one loss in her young life. I don’t want her hurt again! This isn’t all about you, missy.”
The aquamarine dress contrasted dramatically with Sheila’s red and angry face. “What else could I do? My grandchild is mourning her father. Then she tells me how nice this man is. How she doesn’t miss her daddy quite so much. It’s patently clear she’s starting to feel affection for this … this man. And you! You let him into her life! You fell for him! Of course I asked Robbie about him. Any intelligent person would have done the same. It’s my duty to protect Anya.”
I took a giant step back. She was right. I should have asked around. Now my child would suffer for my reckless behavior. I’d let Detweiler become a part of our lives. I grabbed the handrail and eased myself onto the lid of the toilet seat. How could I have been so stupid? So careless? I stared at the tile floor.
Not only was I a sow’s ear, I was also a horse’s patoot.
“I would never, ever have willingly let my daughter be hurt. You know that.”
She huffed. “This was not only about Anya’s feelings. How dare he try to pull one over on you? You’re a Lowenstein!”
The anger I felt at Detweiler mixed with the hurts I’d endured from her. “A Lowenstein? Gee, that’s rich. Let’s be honest here, hmm? What’s it to you? Since when did my feelings ever matter? Do me a favor and don’t insult me by pretending that you care about me. I’m Anya’s mother—that’s it, that’s all. I’m only important as a reflection on you and her.” I delivered this salvo to my mother-in-law’s upper arm as she smoothed on more lip gloss.
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