Paul shook his head and winked at me. “Come on now, Patty. I’ve voted Republican a number of times. We vote for the candidate not the party, so she and I usually cancel each other’s vote out when it’s all said and done. What do you say we get this food inside?”
The GPS tracking device, better known as an ankle bracelet, bulged under Detweiler’s pants leg. The hem caught on a thick plastic band that held up a box about the size of a large pack of cigarettes. When he noticed me looking, Detweiler smiled sadly at me. In response, I hugged him, and we stood there arm in arm.
“May I help?” my daughter asked Paul, and he handed her a large glass bowl.
“Is this your corn pudding?” my daughter asked Patty. “Emily told me she hoped you’d bring it.”
“It sure is, Sweet Pea. Do you like corn pudding?” Patty asked Anya.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” With that, we started toward the farmhouse.
The Detweiler family home, a white clapboard two-story, had been built in the mid-1800s by Helmut Detweiler, a German immigrant. After five long years of working the land alone, he brought his intended, Enid, here from Stuttgart. They married under an oak tree that still stood in the middle of the cow pasture. Few changes had been made to the outside of the house, although the floor plan had seen many alterations. The entire setting with the red barn at our back, the wrap-around porch with rockers, and the American flag flapping at the top of the pole in the center of the circular drive smacked of wholesome, patriotic values. Under twin maple trees in the side yard, three picnic benches with red and white checkered oilcloth coverings beckoned us. Blue and red coolers were positioned between the tables, as was a large aluminum trash can with a black liner. To the coolers, Thelma had taped signs written in bold black marker: Sodas, Water, Beer. I planned to come back outside and take a photo later, as I itched to create a scrapbook page memorializing the scene.
The screen door slapped shut behind us as we entered the house. The noise reminded me of my childhood, when only the wealthy had air-conditioning. Thelma hurried over to help us situate the food and to dispense hugs all around. The rich aroma of the pot roast caused my mouth to water.
The crunch of gravel outside announced the Volkers had arrived. Anya raced out the backdoor to grab Emily and make a dash for the barn. Chad and his mother helped Ginny and Jeff find places for the food they’d brought, two loaves of still warm bread, fruit salad, and freshly picked green beans cooked with ham pieces and new potatoes. A part of me felt guilty for arriving empty-handed, but Thelma had text-messaged me earlier, “I know you’ll be coming straight from work, so don’t fret about bringing anything. There’s always too much to eat.”
As I helped Thelma empty ice cube trays into glasses, Ginny put the men to work carrying place settings to the picnic tables on the lawn. The kitchen was buzzing with activity when Chad disappeared for a minute. He returned and tilted his head toward the front of the house. “Pop’s in the front room with Mr. Schnabel. I want you to meet him before we go eat. He’d like to speak to all of us. Patty? Can you round up the guys?”
I hadn’t known John Henry Schnabel would put in an appearance, but I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised. Surely, I should have guessed when I saw the Mercedes in the driveway. I wanted to thank the man. Already he’d accomplished a near miracle by getting bail for Chad. As for working pro bono, could we ever repay his kindness? Following my honey into the Detweilers’ cozy living room, I waited my turn as the super-star criminal attorney gave us each a quick handshake and curt “hello.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said.
He waved my appreciation away. His brisk style suggested he had an agenda, but what?
The big old sofa wooshed as Detweiler and I sank into it. The springs beneath it had long since given out. We made ourselves comfortable and settled in. Detweiler put his arm around me and pulled me close to his side, so close, in fact, that I could feel his heart beat.
Thelma’s decorating style could best be described as tasteful hodge-podge. She favored shades of moss green and pinkish rose. Antique walnut end tables bookended the sofa. Patty brought in the guys, so Detweiler and I scrunched together to make room. The couch we perched on had been covered with a stretchy material in moss green that disguised the piece’s original color and pattern, but the lumps told me it was old as the hills. Crocheted pillows in shades of rose and pink punctuated every piece of furniture in the room. Detweiler told me his mother bought armloads of skeins of rose yarn on sale, and his father challenged her to use them up before moving on to another project. That explained why all the bathrooms proudly displayed pink crocheted tissue box covers.
The Detweiler menfolk looked curiously out of place in such an unabashedly feminine room, but most incongruous of all was the tiny balding hero of the hour, a knight not dressed in shining armor but instead wearing a blue seersucker suit, a white shirt, and a blue tie with bright yellow polka dots. One look at our guest and I started thinking about that movie where Philip Seymour Hoffman stars as Truman Capote.
“Sit down, everyone. This will only take a moment. Thelma assures me that dinner can wait, but her pot roast sings a siren song to my taste buds, and I’m liable to drool like a mastiff if we don’t eat soon,” said Mr. Schnabel, in a high-pitched voice.
“As you know, Mr. Kloss is attempting to try this case in the media. That works well for us, because if we go to trial—and please note the operative word ‘if’—we’ll be able to get a change of venue with no problem. That said, I am aware that the media has contacted several of you in a bid to get your side of the story. Mrs. Lowenstein, I believe they showed up at your place of work? Right. Do not talk to them. Not under any circumstances. Anything you say might cause trouble for us later. If you have a question, call me. I’m passing my card around now. That’s my private cell phone number. Use it. If the media hectors you, contact me.
“One other thing. Do not under any circumstances communicate with anyone in writing or via text messages about this case. Those could be misinterpreted and used against us. I would also suggest you don’t talk about the case to anyone except family members and then only in person. Any questions? No? Because if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person, I will hold you personally responsible for Chad being found guilty of murder.”
He jumped up and clapped his hands. “Now, let’s eat!”
forty-six
Although I didn’t doubt the man was right, I hated having a good meal spoiled by a warning. The speech came across like a threat. I took my place near the back of the food line, just in front of Detweiler. Mr. Schnabel had been invited to go first and fill his plate. The little girls were second. We all took our seats in the picnic area under the big maple trees, where a nice breeze cooled us and tried to steal our paper napkins.
“I saved a seat for you two,” said Mr. Schnabel, patting the wood-en bench beside him. “Mrs. Lowenstein, come sit next to me.”
Great. My first moment alone with Detweiler and I had to share
it with a lawyer.
The rest of the Detweiler clan appeared to be avoiding this particular table.
With a quick glance my way, John Henry Schnabel read my thoughts. “I apologize, Mrs. Lowenstein. I am certain that you and Detective Detweiler would have liked some time alone. Rest assured my actions are completely necessary. You will have to forgive me for being so intrusive. However, it has come to light that you, Mrs. Lowenstein, have acquired a reputation as an amateur detective with a talent for getting yourself in hot water. In this situation, your machinations could be very harmful. In fact, you might even cost Chad his freedom. I strongly urge you to leave the driving to me, as it were. Especially in your weakened state. I see you are barely recovering from Brenda Detweiler’s shot across your brow.”
His pun was intended to ease the tension between us.
>
It didn’t.
“Police Chief Holmes called me about an hour ago. You’ve already poked your finger into one of the weaknesses in the state’s case against your fiancé. By the way, please do make it a point to always call Chad by that endearment, won’t you? Fiancé sounds so much more official than boyfriend. It adds an air of legitimacy to your relationship. As such it will be a positive step toward rebuffing Mr. Kloss’s insulting remarks about your character.”
Thanks a lot, pal.
I nodded and put a piece of Thelma’s delicious pot roast in my mouth rather than snipe at him. A petty part of me wanted to turn to Detweiler and say, “In the immortal words of Beyoncé, you need to put a ring on it.” Yes, I wanted to marry him, but he owed me a formal request. Of course, one could argue that a baby is a much bigger deal than a diamond, and it is. But still. Call me a romantic, but I still had daydreams about a diamond. These were spurred by the beautiful gem from Mary Pillsbury that Robbie had purchased for Sheila. I daydreamed about one like that. Even if my version was smaller, I knew it could be just as pretty.
In the back of my head, Laurel shook a finger at me and cautioned against being such a whiner.
“To keep you both up to speed, although the casings were not from Detective Chad Detweiler’s current firearm, their presence at the crime scene is still, shall we say, problematic?”
“Huh?” That didn’t make sense. Here I thought that I had eliminated one of the most important pieces of incriminating evidence!
Chad Detweiler looked at me with sad eyes. “It’s true my old 9 mm is out of commission, but instead of letting them retire it, I bought it from the department. I keep it in my car. The Sangamon County District Attorney was tipped off by Robbie’s inquiry, so he got a search warrant. They found the gun in my glove box. Bullets from it match the casings found near Brenda’s body.”
I set down my fork. “Then someone must have planted those! You were here with your parents. You have an alibi!”
Mr. Schnabel shook his head. “Not much of one. Most parents would gladly lie to keep their son from life imprisonment. You see, the time of Brenda Detweiler’s death works against us. According to the coroner’s report, she died between seven and eight the morning after the altercation with you. And the detective went out for a run at that time.”
I swallowed. “But his parents would have heard if he came back for his car.”
“This is a big house, Mrs. Lowenstein. His police cruiser was parked on the other side of the barn. They might not have heard him start it up.”
My mouth went dry and the pot roast lost all appeal. Since Schnabel himself could so easily refute Detweiler’s alibi, and since the bullet casings still matched a gun in his possession, how did he plan to defend his client?
A dull roar began in my head. I wanted to blurt out that Brenda had been discovered suspiciously close to Patty’s house. I wanted to tell Mr. Smarty Pants Lawyer that both Patty and Paul had cause to want to see her dead. I wanted to scream that Ginny should be factored into the murderous equation. That she, too, had been angry with Brenda.
Instead I stabbed a chunk of carrot and stuffed it into my mouth. By the time I chewed it and washed it down with ice tea, I’d regained my composure.
“What are you going to do? How do you propose to defend Detweiler?” I asked the attorney point-blank. “You’re telling me that he has no alibi. At least not one that will save him. That he owns a gun that produces empty bullet casings like those found at the scene of Brenda Detweiler’s murder. What’s your plan? How do you intend to save him?”
Mr. Schnabel beamed at me before taking my hand in his and stroking it. “I like spunk. I have a lot of it, and I find it an admirable quality. Please call me John Henry. That’s what my friends call me, and if I may, I’d be honored to call you Kiki.”
“Of course.”
Skip to the chase, buddy, I wanted to scream. My palm ached to smack him.
However, slapping the sass out of this nice man who was working pro bono was not in my best interests.
“What I’d like to do is to start by asking you a favor.” John Henry’s smile turned tentative, shy even.
“Anything! I’ll do anything. Anything to help.”
“Good. I’d like you to marry Chad Detweiler as soon as possible.”
forty-seven
“Anything but that.”
“What?” Detweiler’s jaw dropped. He set his iced tea down so hard it jarred the table. “Kiki, I love you. You’re carrying my baby. I’ve asked you to marry me! I mean, we’ve talked about it. What are you saying? Now you don’t want to marry me?”
I did not like being put on the spot. This was our private business. To my mind, John Henry Schnabel had overreacted. Trying to collect myself, I stared down into my plate. This would be a whole lot easier to explain if the pressure wasn’t on me. All three pairs of family members at the other tables had quit talking to turn and stare at us. One by one, they resumed their conversation. But I said nothing. The emotions roiled inside me. By turns I was angry, hurt, disappointed, bitter, frustrated, and overwhelmed.
“Of course, I want to marry you. I just don’t want to do it now. I mean, right now. Before the baby comes.”
John Henry’s quizzical look turned to one of deep interest. “Perhaps if I explain my reasoning, you’ll change your mind. You see, wives can’t testify about their husbands. Although Chad hasn’t done anything wrong, your union would guarantee me that you couldn’t become a wild card, an unknown quantity during a trial, should this get that far. My second reason is to take the wind out of Mr. Kloss’s sails. He’s portraying both of you as a Bonnie and Clyde couple, a twosome willing to shoot your way out of any impediments. However, a wedding with you in white or cream and a photo of your delightfully wholesome daughter, will go far to dispel his suggestions. Third, I would like a reason to relocate Chad to St. Louis until the trial takes place. I don’t trust the Illinois State Police. They have a grudge against Chad and, as you are well aware, this entire state is rife with cronyism. If I can go before a judge and say, ‘This man needs to live with his wife, she’s expecting their child, and she can’t leave her job,’ then I stand a good chance of getting his ‘house arrest’ under your roof. So you see, my reasons are imminently practical.”
“Mine is, too. I promised my daughter that this baby will be born a Lowenstein.”
“I’ll talk to her,” volunteered Detweiler. “I know it’s a concern for her, but she’ll get over it. Sooner or later, we’ll all be Detweilers. I’ve intended to ask Anya if I can be her legal father. There’s never been the right time. You know how much I love you both.” He leaned in and kissed me.
“Even so, I made Anya a promise, and I’m sticking to it.”
“But you’re her parent! You have to decide what’s best for her. For us!” The astonished look on Detweiler’s face finished his sentence for him. He was wondering if my daughter’s disappointment was more important than his incarceration.
This felt like an ambush. And my face burned with fury. “That’s right. You’ve got it. I am the parent. You are not. Nor have you made the commitment to be a part of our lives permanently. And until then, you have no say.”
“No say?”
I amended my comment. “Well, not much. Look, I love you, but you weren’t around when George died. Oh, you worked on the case, but you weren’t living with my daughter day by day. You can only guess at what my kid went through. What I went through. She and I are a team. We will stay that way. When we marry, you’ll join the team. But until that moment, I’m keeping my word to her.”
A variety of emotions played out on Chad Detweiler’s face. One
of these was anger. Another was hurt. My words wounded him deeply.
I lowered my voice.
“Everything changes when you become a parent. Everything! You can’t imagine that now, and
I’m really sorry for the trouble you’re in, but that has to do with you and Brenda. I didn’t bring this on you. You should have gotten rid of her a long time ago, but you didn’t! And even though she’s dead, she has reared up out of her grave and bitten you on the butt, hasn’t she? Now you’re asking me to compromise my relationship with my child so you don’t have to pay the consequences of your wife’s bad behavior—and the answer is, ‘NO.’ Sorry. I love you, but my daughter comes first. When you’re a parent, you’ll understand what I mean.”
“Of course she comes first, but we were planning to marry anyway. And this will be good for all of us!”
“Maybe. But not if I break my promise.”
“Wow, Kiki,” said Patty.
But I wasn’t about to hear her complaint. I stood up and faced the stunned family. Of course, they’d overheard all this. “You all got yourselves into this, you can all get yourselves out of it. I am sick of having my life revolve around Brenda Detweiler. I’ve already faced her down in one unfair fight and I’ve got the scar to prove it. I’m not interested in going a second round. Come to think of it, I’ve done more than my share already!”
With that, I tossed down my napkin. I stepped away from the bench, knocking over my iced tea, but not bothering to sop it up.
“Anya? We’re leaving. Now.”
“Kiki, wait!” Detweiler grabbed for me.
I yanked my hand out of his. I had nothing more to say. Whereas once I’d admired the Detweilers for their loving, cozy family, today I was sickened by their lassitude. If they had stood up to Brenda, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
Picture Perfect Corpse Page 15
