Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books!

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  A sip of coffee offered the perfect accompaniment for the sugar, butter, and vanilla treat. The caffeine hit me — and with it came a sudden clarity.

  As Everbright returned to the kitchen, I faced him down. “You keep telling me you haven’t come to any conclusions, but that’s not true, is it? You’re pretty sure that Nordstrom was murdered. You’ve purposely avoided using that word — murdered — but that’s the long and short of it. You came here today to rattle our cages, George’s and mine. The point is that one or the other of us caused Sven to hit his head and die. That George and I are responsible. You blame us for our neighbor’s death!”

  He spread his hands in a placating way. “I have to consider every possibility. That’s my job. I am paid to think the worst of people.”

  Because he was so matter-of-fact, I couldn’t stay angry. What he said made sense; I couldn’t argue the point. He had a job to do. My feelings weren’t part of the calculation.

  But I did need more clarity on another point. “The other possibility, the one you haven’t mentioned, is that there’s a cold-blooded murderer out there somewhere. Maybe even living in this neighborhood. Certainly in the metro-St. Louis area. And this creep is a planner, a person who arranged this particular situation, so it would look like an accident, but Sven would definitely die. Had I not been home that day or not walked outside when I did, Sven Nordstrom would have expired right there on his lawn. We’re talking about a killer who’s methodical, organized, and cool-headed.”

  “All true. If that’s the case, the person I’m looking for is very dangerous. All killers are, but this jerk doesn’t act impulsively, which means he’s less likely to make a mistake. That’ll make him — or her — harder to catch.”

  “Then I’m in danger. So is my daughter. When were you planning to tell me that?” Anger heated my face. “You came here today hoping to pin this on my husband. Or on me. Did you appoint yourself as judge and jury? What about protecting us? Isn’t that part of your job?”

  “If I thought you were in real danger, I would tell you. Usually crimes like this are perpetrated by the victim's nearest and dearest. Or a person with a reason to be angry. Maybe a conflict at work that escalated. Things of that nature. Consequently, I don't think you're in any danger at all. In fact, I'll make you a promise. If I hear anything that leads me to believe you are at risk, I'll give you a call immediately.”

  Picking up one of Anya’s toys where it had fallen under the table, I studied it. “I’m not sure that’s good enough.”

  “It has to be. Meanwhile, you need to be vigilant. Seeing that your husband is rarely home, taking extra precautions would be sensible. Keep your doors locked. Carry your cell phone with you at all times. Keep it charged. Report any suspicious behavior to us. Don't linger in your car, particularly with the doors unlocked."

  All those suggestions frightened me, and my face must have shown my emotions.

  “How's that for keeping you safe?" he added.

  "That's...fine."

  But it wasn’t. Not really.

  46

  When Everbright left, I shut the door behind him, hard. I was that glad to see him go. Once I turned the lock, I bolted up the stairs, with my heart in my throat. I badly needed to see Anya, sleeping in her crib. I needed to know she was all right. I needed to remember what was at stake in our lives.

  The sound of the front door slamming had awakened her from her nap. Those blue eyes blinked rapidly, taking in the world. While she came to her senses, I leaned over her and rubbed her back. She took a deep breath, signaling she was now alert.

  “Mama?” She smiled at me. Seeing my daughter’s sweet face cheered me — and, just as fast, it plunged me into a spiral of fear. Who had killed Sven Nordstrom? Why was that detective trying to pin it on George and me?

  While I changed Anya, I went over my conversation with Everbright. Was he seriously suggesting that George was to blame? Or had he done it to see my reaction? Was it possible he’d given me fair warning, and my husband was being framed for murder?

  As I taped on her diaper, Anya tried to squirm away. We seriously needed to start potty-training. But that would be impossible, if I couldn’t clear a path to our toilets. Mert had told me she would get here as soon as possible. In the meantime, I needed to buckle down to the serious business of opening boxes and putting the contents away. Keeping busy would help me forget what I’d heard from Everbright.

  Right. Like I was going to forget that a killer might be running around in our neighborhood! I laughed out loud at the absurdity of that.

  Anya laughed, too, although fortunately, she didn’t know what had struck me as funny.

  If Everbright did suspect my husband, what should I do? I could phone George and warn him. Knowing George, he would laugh and ignore my message. Besides, did I really want to have a conversation like this with him over the phone? What if someone in his office overheard?

  Another voice in my head piped up. George had been lying to me about his late night work sessions. My instincts had been on target, when I thought he acted guilty. Now I knew he’d been sneaking around. Dinner with another couple? If it had been a business meal, why would my husband have left his clients and spoken harshly to our neighbor?

  The answer was: He wouldn’t have.

  George must have had a drink before he spouted off — and he must have felt at ease enough with his dinner companions that he was willing to put aside his manners and pick a fight with Sven Nordstrom. That meant he knew those dinner companions well.

  And I knew, or rather I admitted to myself, George was stepping out on me. I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. But I could push it to the bottom of my worry list.

  More importantly I needed to focus on keeping Anya safe. Everbright had warned me to be vigilant. His warning came as an indirect admission there might be a killer loose in our neighborhood.

  Dry, clean, and sweet smelling, Anya was now happy and wide awake. “Eat,” she said.

  “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” I picked her up, handed her a stuffed toy, and carefully carried her down the stairs.

  Along the way, Anya chattered to Blue Bunny. My daughter’s innocence and her trust in me hammered home my worst fears. To protect her, I had to protect her father, George. And I vowed that I would. Even if he wasn’t being faithful to me, I couldn’t let him go to jail for a crime he hadn’t committed. On the other hand, it was hard to feel trust, when my spouse was actively lying to me.

  Was it remotely possible he had done something to hurt Sven? Maybe something that had gone horribly wrong? Could George have killed Sven, accidently? If so, how? Sven hadn’t died on the spot. It wasn’t like he’d been shot and dropped to the ground.

  Nevertheless, a cold and calculating killer had targeted Sven Nordstrom and had been successful in cutting his life short. Would he or she be successful in evading capture?

  My head hurt. Once downstairs, I put Anya in her high chair. When she was strapped in, I grabbed a couple of Advil from the overhead cabinet. Sticking my head under the faucet in the sink, I swallowed them. They left a bad taste in my mouth.

  Of course, almost everything in my life was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I was choking on my husband’s lies, the visits from the homicide detective, the mess that was my house, and my loneliness.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Doh,” Anya said, and she pointed to our foyer.

  “Right.” The last shockwave to hit my house of cards would be another visit from law enforcement. Even worse, what if a killer stood on my doorstep? My teeth began to chatter.

  “Doh! Doh!” Anya pointed with her whole body.

  I grabbed the box of Cheerios, put a handful on her tray, and left her pawing through them, while I went to take a look through the peep hole.

  There stood Sheila. For once, I was glad to see her.

  47

  Sheila being Sheila, I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. Her habit of talking without accounting for her audience could
be annoying. However, today I found it oddly comforting. She went on and on, covering in detail her irritation about Linnea needing a day off, her problems with one of the women at the country club, a strange noise coming from the engine of her Mercedes Benz, and her disappointment that George had been scarce lately.

  As was also her habit, she plucked Anya from my arms without saying hello or asking permission. In fact, she never asked, “Is this a good time?” before she barreled into my life, like a runaway ox cart. I’d learned to wait her out. Eventually, she would wind down, and when she did, I would speak up on those rare occasions that I had anything to say for myself.

  Stalking past me, Sheila carried Anya into the kitchen and eased down onto a chair, the same seat that Everbright had recently vacated.

  “What on earth is George doing? How can he possibly be so busy? Of course, I know I’ll see him for Friday night Shabbas. We’re having it here, because Linnea insists on visiting her brother just because he’s had a heart attack. Can you imagine? What did she expect? He was overweight, didn’t exercise, and ate like a horse. Yet she mopes around all teary-eyed. Poppycock. She knows I can’t do without her, but she is adamant that she take the train up to Chicago and see him.”

  As Sheila paused long enough to unclip an earring, rather than let Anya yank it from her earlobe, I managed to slip in the odd phrase calculated to get her attention. “A cop came by. He thinks George murdered our neighbor.”

  “What?” Sheila dropped the earring and nearly let Anya do a backward flip out of her arms. “What? I could not have heard you right. Repeat what you just said.”

  “Okay, but let me get Anya’s lunch started.”

  Once again, I dragged out the skillet and cooked up a grilled cheese sandwich. This time, after letting it cool and tearing it into small pieces, I fed it to my daughter.

  Sheila would never eat a grilled cheese sandwich. She has coffee for breakfast, salad for lunch, and a lean meat with veggies for dinner. The scant amount of flesh on her bones is testimony to her alcohol consumption, which seems to be considerable and frequent. Without asking, I poured her a cup of coffee. While she sipped it, I slapped together a grilled cheese for myself and told Sheila about the visit from Everbright. To her credit and my surprise, she listened carefully, not bothering to interrupt. When I explained about George getting into a public argument with Sven at Antonio’s, Sheila did stop my narrative, quickly waving away any hint of impropriety. “Yes, yes. A working dinner, I’m sure. He’s closing a big deal, a lot of parties involved. Wining and dining clients is part of his job.”

  “Uh-huh. Anyway, he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me a lot. His excuse was that the lab hasn’t processed all the evidence they’ve collected from the site. I guess it’s not like on TV, when they get answers right away. But I have to tell you, Sheila, I’m scared.”

  “How dare you suggest that George was involved?”

  “That is not what I said. Don’t you dare misquote me.” I slapped my grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate. “You are being totally unfair, Sheila. I defended George to the hilt, even though I had no idea he wasn’t at his office all night the evening he went to Antonio’s. I stuck up for George, I totally did, but it might not have made one iota of difference. I don’t believe Everbright thinks I’m credible. He even hinted that I could be the guilty party.”

  “What on earth? How totally unprofessional of him! I have half a mind to call an attorney and sue him for libel.”

  “Slander,” I said. “Libel is printed word; slander is spoken. Everbright’s comment doesn’t qualify for either. Just so you know.”

  “Whatever. He has no right to toss around accusations. What sort of person makes comments like that? It’s irresponsible. He needs to be more careful about people’s reputations. Just thinking about what that man said about George makes me furious.”

  I noticed she didn’t seem upset about him blaming me for murder. But, then, I wasn’t her child, and George was her son, her little boy. Since having Anya, I understood better how motherhood changed your world view. I saw everything in relationship to my daughter. Would it hurt her or help her? She was the lens through which I interpreted my life. And when you sat back and thought about it that made sense. If we didn’t care for our children with every atom of our strength, how could they survive? Anya was incapable of doing for herself. I had to be her champion.

  “It was your responsibility to set that awful man straight,” Sheila interrupted my thoughts. “Why on earth did you even let him into your house? And talk to him? So what if George ate at Antonio’s? My son is a businessman. He has meetings with clients, when they’re available, not at his convenience. Why didn’t you say that to Everbright? You should have explained that to the policeman and helped him to see that George’s behavior was perfectly normal. Don’t you have any sense? You should have told that man you weren’t going to say anything without an attorney. Nothing! And when he started talking about George, you should have terminated the interview immediately.”

  “Detective Everbright told me he was collecting information; that’s all. Look, Sheila, if I hadn’t talked to him, I wouldn’t have known they’re probably investigating a murder. Then where would I be? So, sure, I’m worried about him blaming George, but I’m even more concerned that there’s a cold-blooded killer on the loose in our neighborhood. George didn’t kill Sven Nordstrom, but somebody did. Who’s the guilty party? What if he strikes again? Think about it. I’m here all alone with Anya, most of the time! We could be at risk! How can I protect my baby?”

  The tears I’d held back now flowed freely. Anya stared up from her tray, and her lower lip trembled. “Mama?” She looked semi-comical, with a yellow dribble of cheese stuck to her chin.

  “Mama is fine, honey.” I smiled at my daughter and flicked away tears that trailed down my face.

  “I’m here, too, darling.” Sheila leaned over to plant a kiss on Anya’s head.

  All the haughty anger had drained from my mother-in-law’s face. Those blue eyes that had crackled with fury now swam in a pool of silvery tears. With a brisk wipe of the back of her hand, she knocked them aside. Sitting straighter in her chair, she squared her shoulders. “I am not about to let my family get hurt. Mark my words. No one is going to lay a hand on my granddaughter. We’ll get this solved — and get it done quickly. I know just the man to call.”

  “Who?” I tore off a piece of paper toweling and dabbed my eyes. Anya went back to picking at her sandwich.

  “An old boyfriend of mine. A man well-placed in the St. Louis County Police Department. He’s the assistant police chief right now. His name is Robbie Holmes.”

  48

  The doorbell rang, cutting short any more conversation about Sheila’s old beau. My mother-in-law and I froze, staring at each other, hearing the echo of the ring, and silently wondering if murderers introduced themselves with such propriety.

  “Doh?” Anya pointed helpfully in the right direction.

  The bell rang again; this time more insistently.

  “You stay with Anya,” I told Sheila. “I’ll go see what’s up. Do you have your cell phone?”

  She raised it and flashed it at me.

  “Good. I’ll holler, if you need to dial 911.”

  “Wait.” Sheila stood up, walked away from the table, and reached into my knife block sitting on my counter. That bulky wooden object had been inside the first box I’d unpacked that was labeled KITCHEN. While Anya and I watched, Sheila pulled out the biggest cleaver I owned, a wedding gift that I’d thought strangely inappropriate at the time. Brandishing the weapon, she said, “Now you can answer the door.”

  Being armed and dangerous seemed perfectly logical under the circumstances. I reached past Sheila to grab a paring knife. “Good thinking. This ought to slow him down.”

  “Yes.” Sheila’s eyes held an incredibly scary glint.

  Anya paused while finger-painting her tray with the last of her grilled cheese sandwich. Her eyes traveled from h
er grandmother to me and back again. “Doh?” she asked hopefully.

  Hiding the knife against my leg, I forced myself to walk through the short hallway and into the foyer. On tiptoes, I looked out the peephole. My vision was blocked by a heavily mascaraed eyeball staring back at me. It blinked and a voice said, “Kiki? You okay in there?”

  It was Mert. I opened the door and fell into her arms. She hugged me back. When she stepped away, she spotted the knife I gripped in my right hand.

  “Holy-moly. Have you lost your mind?” All her earrings shook, as she recoiled from me.

  “Nope. Come on into the kitchen. I’ll tell you what’s happening.”

  I introduced Mert to Sheila. Of course, Anya needed no introduction, and she crowed with happiness at seeing her favorite bracelet donor.

  “I had a break between jobs, and I figgered I’d come by here and see what I could get done,” Mert said. “At least, I can give you an estimate. At best, I could help you rearrange these boxes so you’ve got space to move around. If this ain’t a good time, I can leave.”

  “No, no, you’re fine. Can I get you coffee or tea or lunch?”

  “Nope. I ate on the way.”

  “If you two are going to tackle cleaning up, why don’t I take Anya home with me? She’ll be safe at my house.” Sheila put a proprietary hand on my child’s shoulder.

  Actually, that was a great idea. Without Anya underfoot, Mert and I could make real progress. “Sure,” I said, stuffing the paring knife into my back pocket. “Let me get her changed and cleaned up.”

  We were outside, loading Anya into Sheila’s Mercedes Benz, when a plane flew overhead.

  “Bird!” said Anya, pointing to the sky. The crisp fall weather put an extra touch of pink in her chubby cheeks.