Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery)

by Slan, Joanna Campbell

  Robbie took two steps in the same direction as Detweiler and Hadcho before Sheila hauled him right back with a curt, “Oh, no, you don’t, buster.”

  Vincent glanced around nervously. I couldn’t blame him. A scream like that will put anyone’s nerves on edge.

  “Uh, could I have the bride and groom again?” Vincent recovered quickly and gestured to the couple.

  Sheila had hired Vincent because he was the brother of a friend. But what really cinched the deal was the fact that his photos were always picked up by a local society magazine.

  While I sat off to one side, the bridesmaids chatted with each other. They’d been cordial enough to me, but since they hadn’t seen each other in ages, they had a lot of catching up to do, so they mainly talked to each other.

  “Wait,” said Toby, a statuesque brunette who favored really big false eyelashes. “Where’s Ester?”

  “I think she ran to the ladies,” said Leah, nodding her head toward Leighton’s house. Leah was slightly plump with a ruddy complexion.

  Almost on cue, Ester came walking along on my landlord’s arm. Leighton’s salt-and-pepper gray head bent close to her sunny blonde hair as they conversed. He’s a slender, classy looking man, and Ester, an aerobics instructor for seniors, looked perfectly at ease on his arm. Once the couple came closer, the other bridesmaids clustered around them.

  The women all began talking at once, complimenting Leighton on his flowers. I could see my landlord pinking up with pleasure; his home was his palace. As an author who traveled the world, he tended this little patch of land with great reverence, as it was his touchstone. This acre and a half lot provided him with a great deal of happiness, particularly after Anya and I moved into the garage he’d converted into a small cottage. He often said that he considered us his family. That seemed pretty sad to me because Leighton had a daughter somewhere, but they were estranged.

  “Ladies? A few more pictures, please.” Vincent took a few more quick shots of the bridesmaids, all women who were aging gracefully. “Mah-vel-lous ladies. That’s a wrap for the formal shots. I’m going to break all this down and then wander around at the reception.”

  The bridesmaids and Leighton gathered around Sheila and her husband, talking happily about how well the ceremony had gone. Anya joined them. I couldn’t haul myself out of my chair. Instead I glanced over my shoulder, wondering why Detweiler and Hadcho hadn’t returned. Sheila noticed, too. She lifted an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. The guys were taking their time, but I figured they’d run into well-wishers or other friends from the police department. I had struggled to my feet and was considering hunting the guys down, when a familiar voice stopped me.

  “Yoo-hoo! There’s that photographer! Oh, Vincent!” called my mother as she trotted toward us, her large handbag flopping at her side. In her pink polyester blouse and skirt, she looked her best, and I made a mental note to thank my sister Amanda for overseeing Mom’s wardrobe. When Mom angled closer, I spotted a small flesh-colored bandage on her temple where Mom had had a pre-cancerous growth removed. Since my plate was full, Amanda did an amazing job taking care of our mother.

  “I know you’ll want to take my photo. Remember? At the Senior Center, you commented on how photogenic I am.” Mom tossed her purse to the ground and posed with one leg cocked suggestively. Grabbing her skirt in her hand, she managed to show an awful lot of leg.

  “Sorry,” mouthed my sister Amanda as she brought up the rear. I shrugged a “what can you do?” at her.

  My mother doesn’t understand that she can’t always be the center of attention.

  Vincent, bless his heart, either took the photos of Mom or pretended to. He offered a bit of direction, suggesting that my mother show off her “good side,” the one without the bandage.

  “Now I want one with my lovely daughter,” said Mom. As I started toward my mother, she gestured wildly to Amanda who rolled her eyes at me. I did feel a smidgeon of satisfaction, however, when Mom clutched Amanda and crowed, “Everyone thinks we’re sisters!”

  Amanda looked horrified. I certainly hoped Vincent had caught that expression for posterity!

  As a scrapbook professional, I should have suggested a real family portrait, but frankly, the urge to upchuck overwhelmed my feelings of familial affection. Could be morning sickness or mom sickness either one. I was betting the latter. As Vincent finished, Mom waved wildly again. “Yoo-hoo! Penny! Over here so we can take your picture.”

  I gasped as Morticia Addams walked toward us.

  My Aunt Penny wore that iconic black gown, complete with gauzy trailing sleeves, and ribbons crisscrossed under the bust. Fortunately Sheila and her friends were so busy talking to well-wishers that none of them noticed the wedding had become a Halloween party.

  “What on earth are you wearing?” I grabbed Aunt Penny by the arm. My goal was to get her out of Sheila’s line-of-sight before the bride threw a wonky, as the Brits say.

  “Sorry, Kiki,” said Amanda. “I was so busy helping Mom that I didn’t check on Penny until it was too late.”

  “Like it?” asked my aunt, spreading the gauzy black skirt. Okay, she’s not a blood relative, she’s my mother’s best friend, and we’ve adopted her because she’s the nearest thing to a real relative we have.

  “Where? Why?” I stuttered.

  “Remember? Those guards at the Mexican border confiscated my luggage.”

  “That happened because you were packing heat,” added Amanda. “What were you thinking? You can’t carry guns in and out of the country.”

  “It slipped my mind. That gun was just a little bitty thing I picked up in a shop, but they made a huge fuss about it. Took everything! All my dang clothes were in that suitcase. Lucky for me I found myself a Halloween shop going out of business.”

  “She dresses with her eyes closed,” muttered Amanda.

  “Not too picky about the fit either,” I added.

  “Family photo!” called Vincent.

  My sister grabbed me by one arm and Morticia by the other and dragged us over by Mom.

  “Is this your family, Kiki?” asked Vincent as he fussed with a setting.

  “Yes. Mom, sister, and aunt. Could you hurry that shot? I’d rather Sheila not see us.”

  Two seconds later, Vincent said, “All done!”

  Amanda started herding cats, that is, moving my mother and aunt to the reception tent. They were ten feet away when Vincent called, “You forgot your purse!” to my mother.

  Amanda racewalked back and thanked Vincent. “Mom’s always misplacing this.” She waved toodles with her fingers toward me and caught up with Aunt Penny and Mom.

  “That’s a wrap for the posed shots,” said Vincent to no one in particular.

  Sheila was chatting with Sharon DiPrima, a pretty woman with hazel eyes hidden behind glasses. Sharon was bubbly and warm, always ready with a hug and a big laugh that instantly made Sheila want to befriend her when they met at a silent auction fundraiser. Robbie had been standing by and listening in when he withdrew his phone from his pocket. His relaxed posture changed and he started swearing under his breath. Sheila noticed, too. He tilted the screen of his phone so she could read it.

  Her hand flew over her mouth. “No, no, no.”

  “Anya?” Robbie reached around two bridesmaids to tap my daughter on the shoulder. “Could you escort your grandmother over to the head table for me? I have an errand to run. I’ll be right back.”

  Sheila didn’t want to let him go. Even as Anya took her grandmother’s arm, Sheila kept her grip on Robbie. “Can’t someone else handle this?”

  “Just let me check it out. Probably the unfortunate result of the heat and humidity, but better safe than sorry,” he said, before he headed in the direction of the scream.

  Chapter 5

  We were halfway to the reception tent when Sheila crooked her finger at me and whispered, “Kiki, would you go check on what’s happening? And report back to me?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed my purse and sta
rted in the direction that Robbie had taken. With every step, my kitten heels punctured the turf and threatened my balance. After a few wobbly steps, I slipped them off. The grass blades felt cool and delightful between my toes. I made a semi-circle from the fish pond in the back all the way around to the front quadrant of Leighton’s huge Victorian house. I was almost within sight of the catering tent when the sirens whoop-whoop-whooped in the distance.

  “Uh-oh.” I picked up my pace and caught sight of Detweiler. He hurried toward me and folded me into his arms.

  “You don’t need to see this.” He blocked the view of the area between the tent and Leighton’s house.

  “I love it when you act all manly,” I said. “It makes me feel so cherished.” Ever since I’ve become pregnant, he’s very protective.

  “You are cherished.” He stared down at me with those amazing Heinken bottle green eyes.

  “But I’m also curious,” I said, as I leaned to one side to see what was going on. An ambulance pulled into Leighton’s circular drive, and a crew of EMTs hopped out. Right behind it was a police cruiser with its red lights strobing. An unmarked car pulled up. A policewoman jumped out with a roll of yellow crime scene tape.

  “Yes, you are that, too,” he agreed.

  Despite Detweiler’s strong arms, I pulled away to stare. Hadcho was writing in a Steno pad. Where he’d found one, I couldn’t guess. He appeared to be interviewing one of Cara’s servers, a young woman, mopping her eyes and trembling.

  “Someone trip and fall?” I asked.

  “It’s a bit more serious than that. One of the catering staff members found a dead guy, face-down in the grass with a punch bowl on his head. He was between Leighton’s house and all those coolers they unloaded.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Any idea who it is?”

  “Hadcho’s checking the guy’s pockets. Looks like he just keeled over. Might have been the heat. We figured Robbie or Sheila will know him. He’s obviously a guest. Do you still have a copy of the list?”

  “In my purse.” Since Sheila had added names several times a day, I kept the list with me at all times. I worried that otherwise I might scribble down a name on a scrap piece of paper and forget to create the invitation, envelope, and name tent.

  “Hang on to it.”

  I turned to see Robbie talking to Hadcho. They waved over a medic and pointed to the ground.

  “Looks like they’ve got this under control. Hadcho is calling the crime scene unit. We can’t get sloppy even though I’d lay odds the man died of heat prostration. Let’s go get you under the shade and off your feet. You’ve been working too hard lately,” Detweiler said.

  He was right. The news that Detweiler had a son he’d never met, a five-year-old boy named Erik, caused us to rearrange everything. Anya had been adamant that she didn’t want to move. With a new brother and a baby on the way, Detweiler and I decided to tough it out rather than add more stress to her life.

  To create a small bedroom for Erik, I’d emptied out a small room where I’d been keeping my crafting supplies. Consequently, I worked all day at the store and came home at night to a mess. As Detweiler and I walked back to the reception tent, I looked forward to a relaxing meal and some dancing.

  But that never happened.

  Chapter 6

  Robbie arrived right as Detweiler and I took our seats. He leaned close to Sheila and whispered in her ear. She went white, then red, and finally pink with anger.

  “I did not!” she said. Although she was keeping her voice low, the tone was unmistakable as she and Robbie went back and forth. Finally, she nodded sadly and squeezed his hand. Robbie kissed her forehead, hugged her, and walked over to the microphone. The leader of the dance band they’d hired stopped the music with a curt motion of his baton.

  “Hello? Testing? Can you hear me? Sheila and I want to thank you all for coming and making this such a special day for both of us. Unfortunately, we have a situation here. Nothing to worry about, but it’s a bit of an inconvenience. Did any of you come with Dr. Morrie Hyman? Ride with him? Bring him as a plus one?”

  No one raised a hand.

  “Okay, thanks,” said Robbie, as he stepped away from the band podium.

  “Dr. Morrie Hyman? That name sounds familiar, but I’m pretty sure he’s not on the guest list. Here,” and I handed my list over because I had a copy in my computer.

  Robbie’s eyes widened as he stared at it.

  Sheila leaned in close. “See? I told you. And no one is claiming him as their date. I’m telling you, Robbie, that man crashed our party.”

  “I think we can forgive him for being a crasher,” said Robbie. “Now that he’s dead. Probably had heat stroke. Or a heart attack. What is he, eighty? Nearly ninety?”

  Sheila’s lower lip trembled as she reached for her water glass. “I guess.”

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” said Robbie with a nod toward Detweiler. “Are you ready to start the toasts?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed as a pleasant blur. Detweiler’s toast was short and sweet. The food was incredible, especially the red sauce and the toasted ravioli. The band played quietly until the dessert was served, and then the band director (who was also the keyboardist) tapped the mike and said, “Now for the first time anywhere, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Robbie Holmes to the dance floor!”

  The new couple waltzed for a while before circulating among their guests. I noticed that Captain Prescott had disappeared right after the ceremony. Hadcho had finished up with the crime scene investigators and, after reporting to Robbie, sat down to a well-deserved Bud Light and a meal.

  Except for the dead guy outside of the catering tent, Sheila’s wedding had gone according to plan.

  When a white Rolls Royce pulled up across from the reception tent, Captain Robbie Holmes swept his bride off her feet and carried her to the car. As tin cans clattered behind them, they took off for the Ritz Carlton where they would spend the first night of their honeymoon. Tomorrow they would fly to New York City, and from there to the port in Europe where they’d embark on a month-long cruise, Robbie’s wedding gift to Sheila. Her lifetime dream had been to take a luxury journey through parts of India, through the Maldives, and winding up in northern Africa. She was nearly as thrilled about the cruise as she was about her wedding.

  While the Holmes were honeymooning, the bridesmaids would bunk up at Sheila’s house. Since the three old friends hadn’t been back to St. Louis for years, they’d taken Sheila up on her offer to let them stay in her place long enough for a proper visit.

  As for me and my little tribe, we were happy to see Sheila and Robbie off. Tomorrow was Sunday, our traditional family day, and I was looking forward to spending alone time with Detweiler and Anya before our lives changed in a big way. On Monday, Detweiler would fly to Los Angeles to meet his son. Soon after he would bring the boy home. In about five months, our small family would grow yet again with the birth of our child.

  “Alone at last,” said Detweiler, as he kissed the back of my neck. “Sort of.”

  “At least we’ll get a break from Sheila,” I said.

  Looking back, I think I jinxed us.

  Chapter 7

  Sunday/The day after the wedding…

  Kiki’s house in Webster Groves

  The Detweiler-Lowenstein household likes to sleep late on Sundays. For brunch, we whip up a big batch of pancakes, bacon, and fruit salad. After filling our tummies, we take Gracie for a walk in the park or play board games if it’s too hot or rainy. Our Sunday mornings are sacred. Everyone knows not to bother us until noon.

  On this Sunday, the clock had barely struck eight when my phone rang. I tried to roll over and ignore it, but the noise started again. The caller was certainly persistent.

  Detweiler groaned and lifted his head. “Did I miss my flight?”

  Although he was trying hard not to show it, because he didn’t want Anya to think that she or the new baby didn’t matter, he was terribl
y excited about meeting Erik. Twice I’d caught him rearranging the clothes in his suitcase and fretting over what he’d packed.

  “No, sweetie,” I said. “You don’t leave until eight this evening. Remember?”

  “Oh.” He snuggled back under the covers while I answered the phone.

  Before I could spit out, “Hello,” Sheila started swearing like a sailor. For someone as prim and proper as my motherin-law, her salty vocabulary always comes as a bit of a shock. Without preamble, she had launched into a series of colorful descriptions of Prescott Gallaway’s parentage.

  When she paused for air, I said, “Good morning to you, too. Just think! In half an hour, you’ll be at the airport and ready to fly to New York.”

  “We’re not going on our cruise,” she screeched. “We’re not leaving town. Come pick me up here at the Ritz. Pronto.”

  “What?” I wondered if the marriage was already over. I wrestled free of the covers and pushed to a seated position.

  “Morrison Hyman was killed. The Medical Examiner says that someone rammed something long and thin up his nose. Since his body was found at our wedding, and since the ME put the time of death at fifteen minutes into our service, Robbie and I can’t leave town. In fact, my husband has gone off to work, leaving me here alone!”

  “Oh, Sheila. I am so sorry.” Then it hit me: The cost of their cruise was non-refundable. Not only was Sheila missing out on a great adventure, this little hiccup was going to cost her and Robbie a bundle.

  “Get over here! Come pick me up!” And she hung up on me.

  Normally, I’d have told her to stick it where the sun wasn’t shining. It had taken me thirteen years, but I finally decided that I wouldn’t tolerate Sheila’s abuse anymore. Whenever it happened, I called her on it. But I decided to make an exception in this case. She had been hystErikal, and I couldn’t blame her.

  After I threw on my clothes and let Gracie out, I scribbled a note for Detweiler and Anya. Our cats, Martin and Seymour, petitioned me loud and long for food. I hesitated because the smell of their canned food always provoked a bout of morning sickness. But that couldn’t be helped. So I fed them, vomited, rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, and considered my morning officially begun.