“We’ll be cramped. There’s only one bathroom. But Anya doesn’t want to move. Since we’re asking so much of her, Kiki and I have decided that we’ll wait a bit, then bring up moving again.”
“Why doesn’t Anya want to move? I should think she’d value her privacy and want a bigger place with more bathrooms.” Lorraine seemed genuinely concerned.
He laughed. “My sisters would be the first to agree with you. However, this little house is special. Particularly to Anya and Kiki. The landlord is an author named Leighton Haversham.
“Really? The man who wrote The Everland Trilogy? Those fabulous suspense novels! How fascinating! I didn’t realize he was from St. Louis.”
“Yes. He grew up out in the country in Southwestern Missouri, but he went to school at Washington University, in St. Louis. You see, he built out his garage intending it to be his office. But once he finished, the view was so terrific, he couldn’t get any writing done. And it’s way too big to be an office, so he decided to rent it out. Kiki’s house is on the edge of his property, in a picturesque St. Louis suburb called Webster Groves. The place also comes with a donkey named Monroe. Frankly, I think the donkey is as much of the charm for Anya as is the scenery, a large wooded lot that Leighton has filled with flowers.”
Lorraine laughed out loud. “A donkey?”
“Yes,” said Detweiler. “I think Leighton rescued Monroe. He also has a pug named Petunia. When Leighton travels, Kiki and Anya watch his pets for him. We’re all animal lovers.”
That led to talking about Gracie, Seymour, and Martin. By the time he’d finished his meal, Detweiler felt talked out.
“Kiki is buying a scrapbook store?” Lorraine seemed content in her role as interviewer.
“Yes, she’s extraordinarily talented.” Detweiler reached inside the backpack and withdrew the album Kiki had made for Erik. While handing it to her, he signaled the waiter to bring him the check, a subterfuge that Lorraine didn’t notice.
As he slipped the man his credit card, Lorraine turned the pages of the book slowly. He couldn’t help but feel proud of the memory album. Kiki had done a wonderful job of showing off his family, his home, her home, the animals, and Anya. In short, the book was an accurate representation of the loving world that Erik would be entering.
As she closed the book, Lorraine lifted her cloth napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
“This is beautiful.” Her voice was husky with emotion. “A paradise for a little boy. What a lovely family! I didn’t realize there’s so much to see and do in St. Louis!”
“We want to do everything possible to help him make the transition,” said Detweiler, reaching once again into the backpack. He pulled out a thin three-ring binder. “Kiki sent questions to ask you, Erik’s teacher, his doctor, and anyone who matters in his life. I’m under strict instructions to tell her what she can buy or do to make him feel at home as quickly as possible. Whether it’s singing endless rounds of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ or buying SpongeBob SquarePants sheets for his bed. I’m to report to her tonight so she can be organized for his arrival.”
Lorraine sat back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied Detweiler. “You really have given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. We have. We know it won’t be easy for him. We can’t bring back his parents. That is, we can’t replace Gina and your brother. But we can make this transition as seamless as possible. He’s my son. I’ll move heaven and earth to make him happy. I can promise you that.”
Chapter 28
Lorraine was shocked to learn that Detweiler had paid their bill. “I’m unaccustomed to having my guests pay, and you are my guest. That was totally unnecessary,” she said as she text-messaged Orson to pick them up.
“Ma’am, where I grew up, the gentleman always picks up the check.”
“Well,” she said slowly, “that’s utterly charming of you and completely unexpected. Thank you very much.”
She tried to push back her chair but found it troublesome. Detweiler noted her struggle and went to her aid. Using both hands, she pushed down on the table to lever herself into a standing position.
“Could you open my walker and hand it to me?” she asked, her head peering up at him from an odd angle. In the blare of the sunlight he hadn’t noticed the dowager’s hump that forced her neck to jut out at an awkward angle.
Her hands grabbed the walker, clenching it until her tendons stood out in stark relief. One foot shuffled forward slowly. The other followed painfully. Moving was a chore for Lorraine. Her final configuration was a stiff right angle, a geometric shape that seemed likely to topple over at any moment.
Detweiler held his breath, worrying about her. No wonder she couldn’t keep Erik. An active child would find his life severely limited by Lorraine’s handicaps. For a boy, this would be devastating. She could never keep up with him. She could only hold him back.
Orson pulled up in the big black Escalade. Before the driver could hop out, Detweiler moved to open the passenger side door for Lorraine, but she pointed to the back seats. “I was hoping we could sit side-by-side so we could continue our conversation.”
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you’d like. Don’t forget that the running board on this car pops out. I hit my shin on it this morning.”
She laughed. “That’s why I’ve taken to wearing pants. I can’t tell you how many bruises I’m sporting.”
After they were seated and belted in, she turned to him. “Detective Detweiler,” she started before he suggested that she call him either Chad or Detweiler, “I have a letter for you. It’s from Gina. She made me promise to hand-deliver it, if need be. I hope you won’t mind that I haven’t offered you more privacy. However, once you read it, I think you’ll understand why I haven’t.”
He opened the plain security envelope. The message was printed in Gina’s strange scrawl, a script unmistakably hers. It read:
Dear Chad,
I had worried that something like this might happen, and it must have or you wouldn’t be reading this. I wish I could answer your questions, but I can’t. I’m not even sure that I have all the answers.
Remember how you always told me that sometimes things aren’t what they seem? That you wanted to be a detective because you liked solving puzzles? Getting to the heart of a situation?
Keep that in mind. The minute you see Erik, you’ll have to make a decision. You’ll have a choice to make. You’re the only person I can trust to do what’s right. The only person I can trust with my child. As you can see, Lorraine’s health precludes her caring for my boy.
I should have talked to you right away and taken responsibility for my actions as soon as I learned I was pregnant, but I was ashamed. I couldn’t face you or your family. Not when they’d been so kind to me. And when I heard the news about Trevon Jackson, I got scared. Really scared. If someone had known I was pregnant, with Trevon’s child, who knows what might have happened next.
So I told you that I was leaving because I hated Central Illinois and being a cop’s wife. That was unfair to you. I know that now. But back then, I was in a panic. It was cruel of me to let you think any part of this was your fault. That’s a burden I’ll carry to my grave. I hope you’ll forgive me.
You can see why I didn’t sign the divorce papers right away. This way no one will ask you to take a paternity test. Everyone will have forgotten about Trevon by now. Certainly, they won’t connect me with him.
I can imagine how hurt and angry you might be. You have a right to be mad—but I hope you can get over it. Erik Chandler Detweiler is a wonderful little boy, and I named him after you because you always wanted a son. What I did was wrong, but I didn’t see any other way.
You don’t have to worry about my parents. We’re still estranged. But from what I’ve heard, Dad’s had another stroke; Mom has been hospitalized. Her Alzheimer’s is much worse.
I met Van the first week I was in LA. My car broke down. You remember that old Ford Es
cort I had? Always overheating? There I was on Santa Monica Boulevard with smoke billowing out and cars honking behind me. Van stopped to help. He was so kind. He kept checking on me, and our friendship led to something more.
I told him everything. I had to. I had learned the hard way what one little secret can do to a relationship. Since Van couldn’t have children of his own, he was delighted about Erik. He treated him like his own son.
As you probably know by now, Van has plenty of money, but he’d also been burned several times. I signed a prenuptial agreement. Not that it mattered. Van’s been very generous to me and to my son. I have lived a good life. I was even able to buy a policy and put a little money away for Erik’s education. That should make things easier on you.
I heard through the grapevine that you’ve moved to St. Louis. I also heard about what happened to Brenda. I’m sorry about that, but it’s probably for the best. My friends tell me you’re engaged to a wonderful woman. Good. That will make the transition easier for both Erik and you.
Lorraine has been my best friend. She was happy that I made Van happy—and she’s been wonderful to Erik. I hope you’ll find a way to keep her in your lives.
Please apologize to your parents for me. And to your sisters. I hope that they can forgive me.
I hope you can, too. If not for my sake, for Erik’s—
I know you’ll make a wonderful father, and I trust you to do what’s best.
Sincerely,
Gina
PS I really did love you, but it just wasn’t going to work.
Detweiler shook his head and read the letter a second time. Then a third. Instead of asking Lorraine all his questions, he stared out the window. Trevon Jackson? And Gina? No wonder she fled. Trevon had been running an internal affairs investigation when he was found shot to death outside a bar. Everyone knew what happened, but no one could prove anything. Trevon’s death was one of the many reasons that Detweiler wanted to get out of Illinois and join the St. Louis police force.
But Gina had been having an affair with Trevon? The man who’d been his friend and mentor? An instructor at the academy?
He closed his eyes. Snippets of scenes came to him.
Yes, he could see it now.
A fresh pain began in his chest. How could she have done that to him?
And then, he realized he had to let it go. She was gone. So was Trevon.
Only their son remained.
A boy without a home. No mother. No father. No one.
Lorraine studied him quietly. Her eyes were wild with worry. She seemed smaller and more broken than before. “If you don’t want him, I can try to care for him. There’s always adoption.”
“You’ve talked to her parents?” he asked. “Gina’s father?”
“She asked me not to, but I made contact.”
“And?” He tried to sound calm, although what he wanted was to punch a hole in a wall. Or two.
“When I told her father that his daughter had died, he interrupted to say, ‘I have no daughter.’”
Detweiler shook his head. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever cutting him out of their lives.
“You have every reason to be angry with her,” said Lorraine. She was staring down at her hands.
“I am.”
“But there’s a child involved.”
“Who is blameless.”
Lorraine nodded slowly. Her eyes were wet. “Yes. Blameless. And adorable. Will you at least meet him? Before you decide?”
Chapter 29
Same day…
Metro St. Louis
Anya clutched the sonogram images in her hands. “Wait until I show Nicci. She’s going to flip.”
I smiled at that. Nicci Moore was Anya’s best friend. Because Jennifer Moore’s sister needed her help, Nicci and her brother Stevie were with their mother in Seattle. However, thanks to the wonders of social media, Nicci could still see the images of my baby. The sonogram tech offered to email images to us.
“Can I forward the images to Gran?” asked Anya.
“Sure,” I said, knowing that Sheila would enjoy them. “Why don’t you compose the email and send it to all our family members?”
“Yup. You’re having a son!” said my daughter in what sounded like a cheer.
My son.
Our son.
One of my two sons.
Wow.
Aunt Penny was unusually quiet.
I was driving her back to my mother’s house, taking the most scenic way possible, winding through the streets of Ladue so she could see the grand houses. Our convoluted route also took us past the St. Louis Cathedral. I found a parking space nearby and suggested we see if we could go inside.
“Since when did you become Catholic?” asked Aunt Penny.
“I’m not,” I said. “But I certainly am an admirer of great art and beauty. Wait until you see this.”
From the street, we craned back our necks to follow the curve of the green-tiled dome that rises 227 feet. “Remember what you see from here when you get inside,” Anya told Aunt Penny.
Built in the Byzantine style, the church is impressive from the outside. However, it is the interior of the cathedral that I wanted to share with my aunt. We moved quietly through the entry hall, and I paused with my hand on the central door to the Cathedral. “Prepare to be amazed,” I said.
And she was.
Aunt Penny is a world traveler, but she’d never seen mosaics that matched the splendor of those in the St. Louis Cathedral. With her mouth open and her eyes wide, she stared at the glorious images covering 3,500 square feet, some of the finest mosaics in the world.
Slowly we worked our way down the aisle until we were nearly beneath the central dome. “Half of the churches in the country could fit under this,” Anya told her aunt. “I remember that from the guide book.”
“Notice the windows?” I said, as I pointed out the sixteen stained glass windows that circled above us. “Remember the outside?”
Aunt Penny nodded. “There weren’t any openings in the dome.”
“That’s right,” I said. “The windows are fake.”
Next, we moved to the northwest corner of the building and visited Our Lady’s Chapel. There I knelt at the altar rail and prayed for my unborn baby and for little Erik. When I rose to my feet, Anya beckoned us toward the All Saints’ Chapel. From the ceiling were suspended several red hats. “Those belong to the Cardinals,” explained Anya. “They say that whenever one of the hats disintegrates, a Cardinal is admitted into heaven.”
The interior of the southern dome of the Cathedral is devoted to local history. The mosaics show four saints who served in the United States. “That’s Mother Philippine Duchesne.” Anya pointed to the woman for whom one of the local private schools was named. “She became a missionary at age 70.”
We ended our tour by stopping to view the statue of a young King Louis IX, the medieval ruler who tried to bring justice to all his people, including those who were poor. “He’s the patron of the Cathedral,” said Anya, as we paused to stare at the young man wearing a crown and holding a sword, “and the namesake of our city.”
With that our sightseeing was concluded. But back in the car, Aunt Penny seemed unusually quiet. “What’s wrong?” I asked her when I stopped for gas. Anya had hopped out to buy three bottles of water so the time seemed right to query my aunt.
Her smile was wistful. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just feeling overwhelmed at seeing so much beauty, and such a miracle as that little baby floating around inside of you. Thank you for letting me share this day with you.”
I hugged her tightly. “Thank you for being here with us. That means a lot to me and to Anya.” And it did, especially since my own mother had never accompanied me to any of my appointments.
Anya chattered happily, coming up with a list of possible boy’s names.
“Detweiler will have some say in this, you realize,” I told her.
“I know. But I thought I could help,” and she bent
her head to add yet another name. Suddenly she looked up at me. “Mom? I’ve been thinking.”
“You have?” I grinned at her. “By the size of that list, I can tell.”
“No, I mean thinking about you getting married.”
I glanced at my rearview mirror. Aunt Penny was watching the scenery go by. I prompted Anya, “What’s up? You getting cold feet? Thinking I should ditch Detweiler?”
“If you do, I get first dibs on him,” said Aunt Penny. “He’s my kind of man.”
Anya blushed. “Of course not. I mean that I’ve been thinking about whether you should wait or not. You’ve said all along that you wouldn’t marry him before the baby came. You promised me.”
“That’s right. I did. I intend to keep my promise.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
I nearly stood on the brakes.
“Geez, Mom, you’re going to kill all of us.” Anya had one arm out to brace herself against the dash.
“Sorry. Not my fault. You surprised me. You okay, Aunt Penny?”
“Never better.”
I eased off the brake pad. “Anya, did I hear you right? What are you saying? And more importantly, why are you changing your mind?”
“While you were getting dressed, I asked the tech how much it cost to have a baby. It’s really expensive. I asked how much all your doctor visits would cost. That’s a lot of money, too. If you were married to Detweiler, his insurance would cover you, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not going to marry him for the insurance benefits. There’s money owed me from your father’s business. They actually called me to say they’re ready to release some of it. That should cover my hospital and doctor costs.”
“But we’re going to need that money for the store,” said Anya. Those beautiful denim blue eyes of hers, the same shade as Sheila’s, blinked at me.
“It’s not your job to worry about money, sweetie.”
Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery) Page 10
