Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery)

by Slan, Joanna Campbell

  I had one foot out the backdoor when my sweetie wandered in to the kitchen, yawning and scratching his stubble. He’s absolutely adorable first thing in the morning. “Where are you going?” he mumbled.

  I explained about Sheila’s call.

  Detweiler shook his head. “This is not good. Not at all. The ME sure got to Hyman’s body fast. Too fast.”

  I froze. “What does that mean?”

  “Prescott has been itching for a chance to push Robbie out of the way. I wouldn’t doubt if he’s behind the push to get the autopsy done quickly.”

  I wanted to hear more, but my phone was buzzing. One glance told me that Sheila was demanding that I hurry. As I climbed into the seat of my ancient BMW convertible, thunder rolled in the distance.

  We were in for a bout of stormy weather.

  Chapter 8

  Two hours later…

  St. Louis Police Department

  In damp clothes, we sat around an interview table in the St. Louis police department. From left to right, there were Sheila, me, Anya, Leah, Toby, and Ester. My motherin-law and all her bridesmaids, including me, were soggy from running through the rain. On the other side of the door, Prescott argued with Robbie. While they traded verbal blows, I picked at a sticky spot on the Formica table. It would have been impossible not to overhear their heated conversation.

  “Robbie, let me handle this,” said Prescott. Through the window in the door, I watched as he squared his shoulders and invaded the police chief’s personal space. Robbie frowned down at Prescott’s bad comb-over and chinless face.

  “You’ve been itching for a chance like this,” said Robbie. “That’s why you told the ME this was a rush job.”

  “My instincts told me something was wrong. You overlooked the signs of foul play because you’re too involved. You need to step aside on this one. You can’t turn it over to Detweiler, because you and your wife will be his future in-laws. Hadcho is Detweiler’s partner, so he shouldn’t be the lead on this investigation. You have no other choice but to put me in charge.” Prescott stared straight into Robbie’s eyes, issuing a challenge if I ever saw one.

  Behind them, Hadcho and Detweiler waited patiently. Their faces betrayed no emotion, and they said nothing.

  “I am the head of the investigations department,” said Prescott, with more than a touch of petulance.

  I couldn’t believe we were sitting here.

  I’d taken Sheila to her house only to learn via text-message that our presence was demanded at the police department. My motherin-law promptly changed out of her soft-knit travel clothes and into something suitable for the muggy weather. What had begun as a soft rain became a real downpour.The bridesmaids were up. When they heard the news about Dr. Hyman’s murder, they hurried to dress. They tried to comfort Sheila as I started a pot of vanilla flavored coffee.

  I had just poured everyone a cup when Robbie texted Sheila to ask that she and her bridesmaids appear at the station.

  This didn’t sound good to me.

  After the women went upstairs to put on their make-up, Detweiler and I talked by phone. He’d gotten a summons as well, and he’d been told to bring Anya down to the station.

  “She’s not happy about getting out of bed,” he said.

  “Welcome to parenthood.”

  I drove the ladies to the police station in Sheila’s big white Mercedes Benz. Hadcho met us at the door. He directed us to an interview room where we would wait for Detweiler and Anya. Once the bride and bridesmaids were seated, I volunteered for Hadcho and me to make a coffee run. Over time, Hadcho had become my “big brother” in the department, explaining the politics that happened behind the scenes. I knew he wouldn’t fail me today and he didn’t.

  “Prescott Gallaway has risen to the height of his incompetence,” said Hadcho, as he dropped quarters into the vending machine and punched up black coffee. The brew looked thick and unappealing. I grabbed an assortment of sweeteners and creamers to dose it. He continued, “I can’t explain how or why, but he’s managed to climb the ladder despite his lack of ability. If it were up to him, none of our cases would ever get solved.”

  “At least you have Robbie,” I said.

  “Not if Prescott has his way.” Hadcho handed me a full cup. “He’s been lobbying behind Robbie’s back to force him to retire.”

  “Can he do that?” I snapped on a plastic lid.

  “Think of this as a giant chess game. If Robbie moves the wrong piece, and if Prescott plays his best game, who knows?”

  Hadcho and I loaded our pockets with sweeteners and creamers. Between us we had four cups each, plus a hot chocolate for Anya. I swiped an extra handful of stirring sticks because they make great glue spreaders. When Hadcho glared at me, I shrugged. “Might as well get some benefit from this early morning interrogation. I’m not doing this for my health.”

  As Hadcho and I walked slowly toward Robbie and Prescott, I heard Prescott say, “Of course, there’s also the matter of the cruise. You can’t be on a boat and run an investigation.”

  A vein bulged in Robbie’s neck.

  Prescott rocked on his toes, trying to seem bigger than he was. As if to face Robbie down.

  “Take over the command,” snarled the Chief of Police. “Hurry up and ask your questions. I still want to go on a honeymoon with my bride. We’ve already missed our plane, but if we’re lucky we can catch another flight.”

  “Already on it,” said Prescott. “I’ve sent officers out to interview some of your guests.”

  You could almost hear the glee in his voice.

  Chapter 9

  Robbie worked his jaw as if chewing on a big piece of gristle. Seeing his boss was ready to go ballistic, Detweiler grabbed Robbie by the arm. He led the chief down the hall and away from Prescott.

  Where and how did Prescott get a copy of the guest list? I wondered. Surely Robbie hadn’t turned over the one I’d given him! So how did Prescott know whom to interview?

  I filed those questions away. This wasn’t the time. Robbie was at his boiling point.

  Detweiler has often said that he admires Robbie. Not just for his police work, but also for his political savvy. Now I glanced his way, and Detweiler’s eyes told me that he was trying to keep his mentor out of trouble. Eventually Robbie reluctantly walked away.

  A smirking Prescott stepped into the interview room, letting the door slam behind him even though Hadcho and I stood there with hands full of hot drinks. Fortunately, Anya had been watching for us, so she let us in.

  As Hadcho and I dispersed coffee, Prescott strode manfully to the head of the table. “I’m in charge here. Mrs. Lowenstein? Come with me.”

  A collective gasp went up from the bride and bridesmaids. Sheila turned deathly pale, the color of the creamer I held in my left hand.

  “Okay,” I said. I didn’t mind answering Prescott’s questions. After all, I’d never met the man who died.

  “No! Not that Mrs. Lowenstein. The other one!” shouted Prescott, as he pointed his index finger at Sheila. It was a gesture both rude and threatening.

  “She is Mrs. Holmes. Mrs. Robbie Holmes,” I said. “I am Mrs. Lowenstein.”

  If Prescott thought he could overlook Sheila’s newly enhanced status, he had another think coming.

  “Right. Robbie’s second wife.” Prescott coughed behind his hand. A jerk of his chin indicated he expected her to follow him.

  Poor Sheila. She’d obviously not gotten much sleep the night before, and from the way she winced, as she got to her feet, I could tell that her collarbone was acting up. It had been broken during the shootout, and it was taking its sweet time about healing completely.

  Prescott didn’t offer to help her with her chair. Despite her erect posture, Sheila seemed defeated and sad. Hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d beamed with happiness less than twenty-four hours ago.

  At the doorway, she turned toward me, her denim blue eyes filled with misery. “Robbie,” she mouthed to me.

&nb
sp; I didn’t get it. Robbie wasn’t in any danger. Neither was she. What was the problem? What was she so worried about?

  Then it hit me—and I realized why Morrie Hyman’s name was familiar. Sheila had gotten into a fight with him last week at the country club.

  Chapter 10

  I needed a break. I wanted to think through what I would and wouldn’t tell Prescott. “Um, I’m feeling a bit under the weather. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” I asked as I took a seat in the next interview room.

  “Not until we’re done,” said Prescott.

  “You do realize that I’m pregnant,” I said.

  “The whole county knows you’re pregnant, Miss Lowenstein. Your exploits were all over the news.”

  “That’s Mrs. Lowenstein,” I snapped at him, “and if you keep this up, I’ll just wait for my lawyer.”

  “You got something to hide?” He sneered at me.

  “I have nothing to hide, but I know enough about the legal process to have the utmost respect for…” and I paused “…criminal defense attorneys.”

  “I would think you’d be happy to talk so that Robbie and your motherin-law can get going on their cruise.”

  Well, there was that. Sheila had talked about nothing else in the days leading up to the ceremony.

  “Let me have that drink of water, and I’ll answer your questions,” I said.

  “Get it yourself. You know where the ladies room is. This isn’t your first visit to the station, is it?”

  Boy, was I ever tempted to wipe that smile off his face. He knew darn good and well that several years ago, I’d come to this station only to learn that my husband George had been found naked and dead in a hotel room. But a reaction was exactly what Prescott wanted, so I was determined not to let him get the upper hand. Instead, I took my time walking to the bathroom where I stuck my face under the faucet. After enjoying the cool water on my skin, I sucked up several mouthfuls of it and went back into the room where Prescott was sitting.

  As I made my little excursion, I tried to remember exactly what Sheila had told me about Morrie Hyman. I’d been working on her invitations at the time, and my thoughts were preoccupied with an upcoming scrapbook event. So I hadn’t been paying strict attention. Instead, I’d made soothing noises while Sheila blathered on and on about that “stupid fool” she’d run into at the country club.

  “Morrie Hyman did my nose. The first time. When I was sixteen. He did everyone’s noses as soon as they turned sixteen. Wouldn’t touch us before that. Said we weren’t done growing. He made a pile of money at it, too. But that hack messed me up. My friends’ noses, too. I’ve been in for corrective surgery twice.”

  This was a surprise to me, and I said as much. I didn’t know she’d had a nose job. Furthermore, forty years had passed since she was sixteen.

  “What caused you to get so upset at the country club?” I asked her.

  “Ever since his wife died two years ago, he’s been moping around like a lost dog. Trying to get back into people’s good graces. He says he’s lonely. No one here wants anything to do with him. At least he could have the good sense to make himself scarce. But no. No, he has to have a few too many and then bump into me. He hit me so hard that I dropped a full glass of Malbec down the front of that new St. John Knit suit I bought! Can you believe it? And I special ordered that suit! I wanted to take it on our honeymoon!”

  Of course, Sheila being Sheila, she wouldn’t accept the man’s apology or his offer to buy her a new suit. Nope. Not when she’d been waiting for years to give the doctor a piece of her mind. So she let loose on him. The fact that she’d been drinking contributed to her loss of inhibitions.

  Although I had never thought of Sheila as a drinker, she really did enjoy her liquor. Over the years, she seemed to gradually be drinking more, and drinking more often. Since I didn’t run in her circles, I rarely saw her at places where liquor was free flowing. But I knew from comments she made that she imbibed liberally.

  Fortunately that night at the country club, Robbie was there to intervene, although it couldn’t have been easy. Eventually he steered Sheila away from the doctor and toward the front door, where he instructed her to wait while he brought up the car.

  Two truisms of life: Hope springs eternal, and booze will make you stupid. Putting both ideas in one pea brain can lead to tragedy. That’s what happened.

  Dr. Hyman got it into his head that he might still be able to apologize to Sheila and get back in her good books. So even after Robbie separated Sheila and the doctor, Morrie Hyman came back for more.

  Not a smart idea.

  “I was feeling no pain,” said Sheila, “and then Morrie Hyman walked up.”

  While pulled his car to the front door, the Hyman/Lowenstein fight entered Round Two. It must have been a heavyweight title bout because a crowd gathered. By the time Robbie managed to stuff Sheila into the passenger seat, she was hollering, “Morrison Hyman, if I ever see you again, I’ll fix your nose for you for free! You can count on it! You’ll wish you were dead!”

  Country club members who didn’t see the battle heard about it later.

  “Honestly, Sheila,” I had said while I stamped romantic bouquets of flowers on her envelopes. By this point, she had my full attention. “Didn’t you go a bit overboard? All that fuss about a suit?”

  “The St. John knit wasn’t the point,” she informed me. “This had nothing to do with my outfit. It was all about the pain and suffering he caused my friends. I’ll never forgive him for that. Not ever.”

  Chapter 11

  I quickly came to a decision that Prescott Gallaway was too stupid to live. He asked me not once but three times to tell him where I was during the wedding ceremony. Duh! I gritted my teeth and said, “Standing beside Sheila at the chuppah, the canopy. You know that, Prescott. You saw me!”

  “That’s Captain Gallaway. Can you describe what you saw? Start with the date and time, please, for the record.”

  I did, repeatedly. I went over every part of the ceremony.

  “How well do you know Mrs. Lowenstein’s bridesmaids?” asked Prescott.

  “Do you mean Mrs. Holmes’s bridesmaids?” I said. “I’d never met any of them until this week. Their names are Ester Frommer, Toby Pearlman, and Leah Ginsberg.”

  “I know that. I’m asking if any of them have grudges.”

  “How should I know? I only met them two days ago. Wait. Three.”

  He grunted. “They all had nose jobs. Dr. Hyman did them.”

  “That a fact?”

  “I don’t like your attitude, Mrs. Lowenstein.”

  “I don’t like yours either, Captain Prescott. Er, Gallaway.”

  That pretty much summed up our interaction. After going around and around in circles, Prescott decided he was “done” with me. Of course, I couldn’t go home. Nope. I was forced to wait in the interview room while he talked to the other bridesmaids, one-by-one.

  When he got to Anya, I put my size seven Keds down. “No. Not without an attorney. She’s a minor, and you have no reason to harass her.”

  Grumbling, he threw up his hands. “I guess I have no choice then.”

  “No choice in what?” I demanded.

  He gave a heavy sigh. Never was a man so put upon. “I’ll just have to explain to Mayor White that all of you were uncooperative. That Mrs. Holmes and her friends and family appear to be stonewalling the investigation.”

  Chapter 12

  Same day…

  Sheila’s house in Ladue, Missouri

  “Well,” said Sheila, after we arrived back at her place. “That’s one good thing at least. The other is that Robbie and I are already married.”

  “Huh?”

  “My husband can’t testify against me.”

  “Why would that be an issue?” I asked. Sheila leaned hard on me for support. Between the waltzing and whatever gymnastics ensued at the Ritz, she’d irritated her collarbone. Now she walked stooped over with pain.

  “Sheila, wha
t’s that about your husband testifying against you?” I prompted her again, but she turned away from me.

  “Hadcho filled me in,” said Robbie as he pulled up a kitchen chair. He’d driven right behind me as I took Sheila and her bridesmaids back to her house. “The cause of death was a long thin instrument shoved up Hyman’s nose and into his brain. As a weapon, it was quick and effective.”

  “Why didn’t he fight back?” I asked.

  Sheila stared down at a placemat.

  “Because the perpetrator first hit him with a stun gun. Otherwise the murderer wouldn’t have gotten close enough to do the deed.”

  Ugh.

  Robbie’s cell phone rang. He covered the microphone long enough to tell us, “It’s the mayor,” and then after putting a finger to his lips, switched the call to speaker phone. “Hello, Mayor White.”

  “First, let me offer hearty congratulations on your marriage. That said, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. As a member of the police commissioners’ board, it is my duty to take you off this case,” said Mayor White. “I can’t have any whispers of impropriety, and obviously, you’re too close to this situation to be objective.”

  “I understand, sir,” said Robbie. “I have already turned the investigation over to Captain Gallaway.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Mayor White.

  “Yes, well,” Robbie cleared his throat. “The transfer of authority made sense. As you know, Captain Gallaway was already tapped to take over while Sheila and I were on our honeymoon cruise.”

  “Scratch those plans,” said Mayor White. “I can’t have you leaving town when your bride is under suspicion of murder.”

  “Excuse me?” Robbie’s face puckered into an angry scowl. “My wife has been accused? By whom? Of what?”