Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery)

by Slan, Joanna Campbell

  “But if I’m charging an hourly rate, how is that fair?” I had said.

  “It’s fair because projects with nasty customers suck up a lot of your creative energy. They take more time because those customers are difficult to please. Even when you aren’t at the work table, I bet you’re thinking about the project, right? In your non-work hours?”

  “What non-work hours?” I couldn’t imagine any time when I wasn’t working or thinking about work.

  “See? People who are tough to please inevitably take extra time, even if it’s off the clock. You have to talk with them longer before you get started. They call you multiple times. You wind up fine tuning your work to make them happy—even if your work was perfect to begin with. I know this is the case, because I’ve watched you.” She brushed a strand of her auburn hair off her face. Clancy could have gotten work as a Jackie Kennedy double, and she dressed the part. Her looks, wardrobe, and regal bearing made an elegant addition to our store. But I prized her for her brains. She was a no-nonsense person with all sorts of practical smarts.

  Clancy was teaching me not to take guff off of anyone. She was a great role model. As was my Aunt Penny. And Margit. And of course Dodie had been, too. What I lacked in my mother, I’d found in my women friends.

  “What’s my deadline?” I asked Bernice Stottlemeyer.

  “We’re meeting with the agency and the donor this Thursday at one p.m.”

  “Wow. That’s a tight timeframe,” and I doubled my usual fee.

  “What does that rate include?” Bernice’s frown deepened.

  “Everything but the photos. The album, the plastic page protectors, the paper, adhesives, embellishments, stickers, my time, and labor.”

  “All right. I guess I need to give you this. Our family pictures are inside.” She practically thrust the box at me.

  “Thanks,” I took it from her. “But we’re not done here. You need to fill out a couple of forms for me. Or you can take them home and return them.”

  “When do you need them back?”

  I checked my calendar. “Wednesday. If you stop by at six, you’ll be there for the adoptive parent’s crop, in case you change your mind.”

  “If I’m paying you, why do I have to fill out your forms? Isn’t that part of the job?”

  “No, first of all, the forms provide raw material that I can’t provide and I can’t fake. I’ve worked with the local adoption agencies to develop a list of questions that most birth mothers want answered. Obviously, I can’t answer those for you. There’s also a list of pictures that I need, photos you might or might not have in this box. Third, I can’t identify the people in your photos. You’ll need to do that. Last but not least, I have a contract for you to sign. It also serves as your receipt. Before I begin a project like this we ask for a deposit of half up front.”

  “You’re asking me to pay in advance?”

  That was her main concern. Not a word about the contents of the album or how we might work together to put her best foot forward. Assuming, of course, that she had a best foot. So far, things weren’t looking optimistic. Unless Bernice had another side, a persona that she wasn’t sharing, I couldn’t imagine any young woman wanting to bless her with a child. In fact, I wouldn’t trust Bernice to dog sit for me.

  “Do you really insist on half up front?” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Because you’re exactly the type of customer who’ll find some odd-ball reason to jerk me around when it comes to paying your bill.

  “You are welcome to take this project to someone else,” I continued, “but as far as I know, all the scrapbook stores in the St. Louis area charge half up front for similar jobs.”

  With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a hiss, Bernice reached into her purse and said, “Will you take a check?”

  Chapter 21

  “Are your customers always so mean?” asked Anya after Bernice left.

  “Nope. Fortunately.” I walked around the store misting it with a lavender spray that we bought to purify the air of nasty vibes. We didn’t use the spray often, but today it came in handy.

  “What was her problem?”

  “I suspect she’s desperate to have a child. When people are at the end of their ropes, they usually aren’t at their best.” I pointed to my burgeoning belly. “Here I am already a mother, pregnant again, and she thinks I hold her future in my hands.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If I were a birth mother, I wouldn’t want to give my baby to her.”

  “Neither would I. Let’s play our ‘benefit of the doubt’ game, shall we?”

  This was a game that I invented when she was little. The goal was to remind ourselves not to take things personally, to extend grace to others by recognizing that we don’t know what’s happening in their lives. What started as a way to teach empathy wound up being a wonderful tool for me. Whenever people were nasty, mean, or downright rude, I returned to our “benefit of the doubt” game and imagined all the extenuating circumstances in their lives that might excuse their behavior. Over the years, Anya and I had only to say, “benefit of the doubt” to each other, and we both were more forgiving.

  Bernice’s bad attitude could either infect our day or be brushed aside. The choice was ours.

  Anya pursed her lips and thought a second. “I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt because I bet she had a bad morning. Maybe she didn’t have time to buy her favorite latte from Starbucks. Or the cat coughed up a hairball in one of her shoes. Seymour did that this morning to one of mine.”

  “Lucky you. I’ll give Bernice the benefit of the doubt because her husband sent her in to get the profile done, and she hates crafts.”

  “I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt because maybe she’s been trying to get pregnant for a long time,” said Anya.

  “See?” I put my arm around my daughter. “I feel better about Bernice already, don’t you?”

  “Sort of. Kinda.” She hugged me and then went to the restroom. I was alone on the sales floor when Rebekkah came walking in.

  When I’d last seen Dodie’s daughter, she was twenty pounds heavier. She’d long been wanting to lose weight, but grief was not a healthy weight loss tool. I hugged Rebekkah and asked how her father was.

  “Not good. He wanders around like he’s lost. He won’t eat. Doesn’t sleep.” She paused and brushed the tears from her eyes.

  “How can I help?”

  Anya came out from the back. She took one look at Rebekkah, rounded the worktable, and gave the other girl a big hug. The affection between the two delighted me, as I’m a firm believer that every kid needs all the positive influences that he or she can muster. Rebekkah needed Anya, and Anya needed Rebekkah right now. Their lives were changing. Rebekkah’s family had shrunk, and ours was growing. Both girls were forced to make adjustments.

  “I’m not sure how anyone can help my dad,” said Rebekkah.

  “Have you talked to Rabbi Sarah?” I asked, thinking back to how our rabbi had helped me after the shooting. “She’s wonderful. I bet she can help him.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Look, why don’t I call the rabbi for you? Maybe she can drop by and see your dad.”

  Rebekkah nodded. “That might work. I think he needs help. I’m trying to cheer him up. Honestly, I am, but…”

  “Honey,” I said, “there’s only so much you can do. You’ll always be his little girl. Rabbi Sarah has training in grief counseling. I’ll tell her what’s happening. Meanwhile, how are you?”

  Her smile was weak as she said, “Okay. Sort of.”

  “If you’d like to be on the work schedule, I could use your help. We’ve missed you. And it goes without saying that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Rebekkah. I promised your mother I’d look after you, and I keep my promises.”

  Anya hugged Rebekkah again. “I’m here for you, too. You’re a big sister to me, Beckkah. You k
now that.”

  “I know. It’s…it’s just so hard.” She pulled away from my daughter. “I thought that after my mother died, we could move on, but we can’t. It’s like I walked through something sticky, and it’s pulling at my feet. Whenever I laugh, I feel guilty. When I quit thinking about her, I feel like I’m a bad person. I worry that I’m going to forget her.”

  “You won’t. But you will go on with your life, and that’s what she wanted for you. No mother would want her child to be sad forever. That’s not a memorial to anyone. That’s self-indulgence. Self-pity. When you are constantly sad, you are negating the joy that person brought to your life and to this world. What sort of remembrance is that?”

  “But it seems so weird. I look for her, I expect to see her, and she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “That doesn’t mean she isn’t nearby,” I said. “Can you see Alaska from here?”

  “No.”

  “But you know it’s there, right? And you can’t see your heart, but you feel it beat, right? That’s what faith is about. We believe in what we can’t see. Instead, we look for signs. Like this store. It’s a sign your mom was here, that she’s still here, and her life force brought—and keeps—all of us together as a family.”

  Rebekkah thought about this. “I’m glad you mentioned signs. There’s something that’s been happening. It’s faintly creepy, but comforting. Do you remember how she liked turtles? Well, that turtle nightlight she bought me keeps turning on. By itself.”

  “After George died, I found a message from him on my cell phone. I have no idea how it got there.”

  “I found a Scooby Doo video that Dad bought me in the VCR,” said Anya, “a whole month after the funeral. And I hadn’t played that video for years! In fact, I thought we’d given it away, but there it was!”

  “Did you know that the word ‘angel’ means ‘messenger’?” I asked. “It’s true. So there have always been messages and messengers from the other world doing their best to communicate with us.”

  “I guess.” Slowly, Rebekkah smiled. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Kiki. She’s trying to tell me everything is okay. When I got in my car this morning, for some reason I opened the glove compartment. There was a flyer there about how to save sea turtles. I sure didn’t put it there.”

  “See, honey? She wants you to continue her good works. You’ll be okay. I just know it,” I said. But then I bit my tongue. Dodie had been Rebekkah’s rock, while Horace had been a good father, but a bit of an absent figure. How would Rebekkah cope without that firm foundation? My mother was more like gravel. The kind of gravel that flies up and chips your windshield. I would never know how it felt to lose someone who had your back, someone who had loved you your whole life. Worse luck, I couldn’t even really imagine it. So how could I honestly reassure Rebekkah that she’d be fine?

  I had to have faith. Just like I’d counseled her.

  “I can’t imagine what you are feeling,” I said to Rebekkah. “But I miss her too, and that I’ll do everything I can for you. You will always be welcome at our house. I hope you’ll think of us as extended family.”

  Once more, I hugged her. Rebekkah had lost a lot of weight. She was still a big girl. She would always be bigger-boned and taller than I, but she definitely must not be eating well.

  When I let go, she and Anya ran to the back to let Gracie out for a piddle. Through the display window, I watched as the two girls chattered happily while Gracie tugged them down the street.

  Thank you, God, for unexpected joys. For the simple moments in life that make me smile. For the precious gift of loving friends and pets

  Chapter 22

  While the girls were walking Gracie, I struggled to get my emotions in check. I checked my phone, but there weren’t any messages from Detweiler. A quick trip to the bathroom gave me the chance to splash cold water on my face. I longed for a Diet Dr Pepper, but I’d decided that colas with artificial sweeteners might not be good for my baby. I contented myself with an iced tea sweetened with Truvia.

  I phoned Rabbi Sarah and left a message on her answering machine about Horace’s state of mind.

  After all that was done, I dialed Sheila to check how she was doing.

  “Hadcho called us on the QT. That no good piece of garbage Prescott isn’t making one bit of progress. He’s told my bridesmaids they shouldn’t leave town, and if they do, it’ll look bad for them. He’s strutting around the police station like he owns the place. He even moved into Robbie’s office, claiming that he needed privacy for this investigation. How dare he use this murder to further his career at the expense of my husband!”

  As is typical with Sheila, her reaction seemed over-blown. Sure, she had reason to be put out, but asking the bridesmaids to hang around didn’t sound unfair to me. He hadn’t ordered them to stay, after all.

  I wondered if she’d been drinking. On occasion she had a mimosa or a Bloody Mary before lunch.

  “Is this a real imposition on your girlfriends? Or is it an inconvenience for you, because they’re in your house?”

  “I can’t very well kick them out, can I? They had planned to stick around and catch up with family. The flight schedule in and out of Lambert isn’t what it used to be, so they figured they’d take advantage of being here because it’s not like they can pop in and out of town.”

  “How’s Robbie taking all this?”

  “Not well. He wants to be involved in the investigation in the worst way. He’s apologized twenty times for not flying out for our cruise, as if it’s his fault. But mainly, Prescott has nipped at Robbie’s Achilles Heel. My husband has been wondering if it’s time for him to retire. Please don’t go blabbing that to anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I have no idea how that loathsome doctor wound up at our wedding! He’s not on the copy of the guest list that you handed to Robbie. Did you add him?”

  “Of course not. I don’t know the man.”

  “But you sent him an invitation.”

  “No, I did not.” I reminded her that I had carefully crafted each and every invitation and its matching envelope. As we talked, I pulled up the list in my computer and checked it again. I’d used a program that alphabetized names as a way to keep organized. Sure enough, Hyman wasn’t on the list. “I kept my own copy of the list to mark off the names as I worked my way through the project. I’ve just double-checked it and his name isn’t there.”

  “But Hadcho told us they found an invitation in Dr. Hyman’s pocket.”

  “Then whoever sent that is the murderer.”

  “But right now, the only people who could have sent it are you or me,” she said.

  “You know that old Sherlock Holmes saying. Something about when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. It was impossible for me to send the invitation. Impossible for you, too, because I made them and you didn’t have any extras. That means the invitation is a forgery.”

  She was quiet for a long time before adding, “Or someone re-used an invitation. My poor husband. Marrying me has already brought him grief. All right. I have to go. Robbie's calling for me.”

  The backdoor to the store flew open, and Aunt Penny marched in.

  “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, but I couldn’t take Lucia’s griping one more minute. Law’s a-mighty. Your mother sure has become a sour puss,” said Aunt Penny. As she talked, the lace bobbed on her Little Bo Peep costume, a blue gingham dress with puffed sleeves. On her feet, she wore white socks with lace trim and black patent leather shoes. A mob cap sat crookedly on her white curls. Over one shoulder was a tote bag that screamed “Mexican tourist.”

  “You’re always welcome in the store, but how’d you get here?” I asked. U City was an easy ten miles from where we stood, and several highways crisscrossed the path, so you couldn’t hoof it even if you tried. Aunt Penny didn’t have a car here, at least not that I knew of. Mom didn’t either. Amanda had taken away Mom’s driver’s license after
she backed over a neighbor’s metal trashcan and didn’t even notice. Amanda couldn’t have driven Aunt Penny because she was at her job at the law office in downtown Clayton.

  “I hitchhiked.”

  “You WHAT?”

  “Hitchhiked.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Probably not. But who’s going to arrest an old woman for sticking her thumb in the air?”

  “You could have been killed,” I sputtered. “Murdered. Did you know that St. Louis is the second most violent city in the country? In terms of murders?”

  “Yes,” she said solemnly. “That’s why I took hitchhiking in Detroit off of my bucket list.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Aunt Penny, do not do that again. Please, promise me! I’ll come get you. I’ll do whatever it takes. You can’t put yourself at risk like that.”

  “Pshaw. No one is going to mess with me. I’m packing heat.”

  This was too much. I sank down on a stool and braced myself against the worktable.

  “You must have forgotten. I told you that I had one while we were eating pancakes at IHOP. You are starting that placenta brain pretty early in the pregnancy, aren’t you?”

  I put my head down on the worktable and hoped the store would quit spinning.

  “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about this. I never shot anybody. You’re the only dead-eye Dora in this family.”

  I snapped to attention, ready to defend myself, but I stopped when I saw the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “Actually, I’m durn proud of you. You saved yourself, your baby, your motherin-law, and that hunky brother of Mert’s. How is he, by the way?”

  “Even though Johnny is much better, his sister still hasn’t forgiven me.”

  “Forgiven you for what? Saving his cute little bacon? Last time I saw that young man walking away from me, I thought I’d have to roll up my tongue to stick it back in my mouth.”

  “Let’s not go there.”