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

  "All righty then. I’ll dump the trash and then it's time to do laundry."

  I hate to waste water, so I decided to grab a handful of George's dirty clothes, too. That would make a nice surprise for him, as he usually does his things himself, a habit he says he formed in high school.

  "Well, old habits are made to be broken," I said. Anya was busy in her crib, playing with a toy that “talked.” At the top of George's hamper sat the shirt he must have worn last night. I snatched it up.

  Halfway to the washing machine, I stopped and sniffed the fabric. The strong scent of an expensive women’s perfume wafted up at me. As I always do, I checked the garment for spots to treat. That's when I saw lipstick on the edge of his collar.

  So he was cheating on me. Or was he?

  Did I really want to know? Not really. Not right now.

  I turned my thoughts elsewhere.

  Had Sven Nordstrom been cheating on Leesa? Or she on him? Did it count as cheating, if having sex was your job? Did Lars Larsen kill Sven because he needed Leesa for his movies? Or did Lars kill Sven, because he was in love with her?

  Had Leesa killed Sven because he came between her and Lars? Was it remotely possible that Sven had been cheating on Leesa, and her ego couldn’t take that, seeing as how she fancied herself a sex goddess?

  Did Sven deserve to die? What would drive a woman to kill her husband? I slammed the lid on the washer, wishing George was in the tub. Impetuously, I flipped the water temperature to hot. Really hot.

  An unfaithful spouse could drive anyone over the edge. Didn’t the law see crimes of passion as less heinous than a premeditated murder?

  Would poisoning your spouse count as a crime of passion? I didn’t think so. Sven had been poisoned over a long period of time. How could an angry woman disguise her fury? Why didn’t Sven realize that Leesa had something up her sleeve?

  I stared at my washing machine. Red filled my field of vision. How dare he? Especially after he’d said he loved Anya and me! The urge to throttle George was strong. Stronger than I would have ever guessed.

  But killing George wasn't my style. Not by a long-shot.

  Anya’s happy gurgle from the other room reminded me: My daughter needed her father.

  George and I had made the best of a bad bargain, my unexpected pregnancy. He had never promised me more than he delivered, and I respected him for that.

  After checking on my daughter, I ran back upstairs to the master bathroom and unloaded the hamper. In the full-length mirror, I caught a glimpse of an overweight woman with an unruly mop of curls. My reflection reminded me that I wasn't much of a prize.

  If George was straying, maybe I deserved it. Maybe I needed to make more of an effort to entice him.

  Maybe, if I saved him from a life behind bars, he would see our family was worth preserving. Because it was.

  I knew that deep down, George Lowenstein was a good man. I’d seen him holding his father’s hand, while Harry slipped from this world into the next. George had no illusions about Sheila. He’d told me bluntly, shortly after we’d decided to marry, “My mother is a force of nature. I love her, but I don’t expect you to. Just know that she’d lay down her life for me. When she gets a notion in her head, she’s unstoppable. She has incredibly high standards for herself and everyone she loves. Mom would throw herself in front of a Mac truck, if it saved me.”

  I didn’t love Sheila. She didn’t love me. But we were bound together for all time by our ferocious love of Anya. That also meant that saving George’s butt was Priority Number One, no matter what he’d done or who he was seeing behind my back.

  Hadn’t I promised myself that I would not be run over, ignored, and put down?

  Wasn’t it up to me to make a change?

  So my pants wouldn’t zip. Big deal. I could buy a new pair. I could control my eating and quit shoving food down my throat, when I wasn’t hungry, when my real goal wasn’t feeding my body but had more to do with stuffing my feelings down.

  Eating sugar was one of the many ways I tried, and failed, to cope with my sorrow. Now all those cookies had taken up residence and were building storage bunkers around my waistline.

  I found another pair of maternity pants and pulled them on. With a long tunic top, I looked quite presentable.

  I could start by tossing away that open package of Oreo cookies. With that stern directive in mind, I grabbed Anya and went downstairs into the kitchen.

  “Anya, I have to get rid of all the sweets in our house.”

  She blinked at me with those incredible denim blue eyes. When I reached for the bag of Oreos in the cabinet, she looked at me quizzically. “Coo?”

  “Cookie?”

  “Coo?”

  I got rid of the Oreos by eating the rest of the bag.

  61

  By blocking the threshold with boxes, I was able to let Anya crawl around on great room carpet. George had set up the TV first thing after we moved, so I put on Dora the Explorer. Anya stared at the globe-trotting cartoon character. Fueled by sugar from the Oreos, I buzzed around, opening boxes, tearing away packing paper, and sorting through contents.

  Around noon, George phoned to see how we were doing.

  I did my best to sound unaffected, but I could hear the stiff formality in my voice. I assured my husband that we were fine. He politely asked what I was doing. I told him, “Unboxing boxes.”

  “Um, it turns out that I’ll be late tonight.”

  “No kidding. That’s a surprise.” The sarcasm in my words was sharp enough that Anya’s head whipped around to stare at me.

  “I thought we’d do something fun this weekend. Maybe go to a local park or go for a drive?”

  “Right.” I wasn’t about to hop up and down with delirious joy, because he thought he could see his way clear to spending time with us.

  “I know it’s been hard for you, what with me working such long hours and the house being in such disarray. I promise things are going to change.” George hesitated, giving me an opening that I didn’t take. He went on, “I talked with Robbie Holmes this morning. He had nothing but praise for you.”

  The compliment did take a little starch out of my britches. “Oh?”

  “Yes, and he reminded me what a lucky guy I am. To have Anya...and you.”

  “Oh.”

  “He says there’s been a breakthrough in the case. In fact, I got the impression that you might have pointed him in the right direction. Get this — Sven drank the poison over a period of weeks! It was probably in one of those sports drinks he was always chugging.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Seems he kept a refrigerator full of them both at home and at his office. That’s ironic, isn’t it? Here he thought he was doing all this healthy stuff, but he was slowly poisoning himself. Taking those long rides in the morning must have made him drink more. In turn, that put more poison in his system.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Robbie told me you knew Leesa apart from her being our neighbor. You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t tell you that, because it’s not true. Strictly speaking. My partner and I built the unit that houses the, uh, photography studio where she works. Remember? It’s that strip mall over in Florissant? One of the first projects Bill and I ever completed.”

  “Yes. Sort of.” I vaguely remembered the place he was referencing. It had been finished two weeks after Anya was born. I’d been so busy with motherhood that the whole job was a blur in my head.

  “The guy who runs the studio kept calling us over and over, complaining that his power was out. I drove over to see if I could figure out what was happening. Turns out he’d plugged a bunch of power strips into one another. They aren’t meant to be used that way, and they kept tripping the breakers.”

  “You knew her,” I repeated. “Leesa. You never told me.”

  “She was there when I made the site visit. She had on a ton of makeup and a wig. I didn’t recognize her, and frankly, I was too busy dealing with the problem
at hand to pay her much attention. I told the guy in charge that we’d re-wire the unit. I figured it was a better option than letting the entire strip center burn to the ground. He was a total moron. I did my best to put the incident behind me.”

  “But you met Leesa and you never said anything!” I sounded petulant, because I was. George’s round-about explanation had irked me. Why couldn’t he just say, Yes, I met her?

  “You aren’t listening, Kiki! I didn’t know who she was. She was all done up. I didn’t pay attention to her because I was busy crawling around and looking at all the electrical sockets. I wasn’t there to meet people. I was there to do my job. You have to understand. The day I showed up she was wearing a wig with short dark hair. Plus tons and tons of makeup.”

  “Were you introduced?”

  “I don’t remember. I was too busy trying to make sure the building didn’t burn down. I have a feeling that ignoring her really honked her off. The first day after we moved in, she blocked me from backing out of the garage. When I rolled down the window, she asked why I hadn’t asked for her autograph back at the studio. I still didn’t recognize her. But then it clicked. I explained I wasn’t into that sort of stuff, autographs and all. That really made her mad. She really flew off the handle. Man, does she have a temper. I told Robbie that I could see her killing Sven. He promised to look into it. Have you seen any activity over there? Paddy wagons pulling up and making arrests?"

  "It's not like on TV. Mert told me as much.”

  "No, I imagine it's not. Let's keep our fingers crossed they solve this and there isn't a murderer in the neighborhood. Just think what that would do to our property value."

  That made me laugh. Whatever else stood between us — or whoever else, as the case might be — George had the ability to crack me up.

  After I said goodbye, I counted our shared chuckle as a point in the win column.

  62

  Around noon, I stopped unboxing long enough to feed Anya her lunch. She and I ate Vienna sausages with Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Since a cloud cover threatened a rainstorm, a quick walk was in order, lest we miss a chance for appreciating the pretty red sugar maples on the next block. If the winds picked up, most of the vibrant leaves would be stripped from the branches.

  We’d no more than gotten out the door when Anya screamed, “Doh!”

  Coming out of the Nordstroms’ open garage was dear Zoe, wagging her tail as she caught sight of Anya. Brita stuck her head out from around Sven’s parked car. The older woman waved and beckoned for us to wait.

  “Rain is in the forecast,” she said, squatting down to tell Anya hello. Zoe had greeted my daughter with a lick to Anya’s face that sent my baby into fits of giggles.

  “Yes, I figured we’d better get our walk in now.”

  Brita fell into step with us. We admired the foliage all the way to the corner.

  “Aren’t you worried about leaving the garage door open?” I hated to be so blunt, but I was concerned. “Is the house locked up? Have they caught the person who killed your brother?”

  “No, they haven’t. Unless it’s happened and they haven’t notified me. Zoe is a good watch dog. I doubt anyone will break in during broad daylight. Besides, that silly garage door seems to go up of its own accord.”

  “I’ve noticed that. I wonder what’s happening. At first we thought that Sven and Leesa left it up on purpose. Then I asked, and that made your brother upset at me.”

  Brita’s sad smile reminded me she was still grieving. Shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her jeans, she nodded. “Yes, I thought they’d done it on purpose, too. I figured that Leesa was being careless. Maybe I’ve misjudged her on that, as well as on killing Sven. The police haven’t found enough evidence to charge her. Not yet at least.”

  “Doesn’t it scare you to be under the same roof as her?”

  “No. She has no reason to hurt me. With Sven, there was a life insurance payout and her career to gain. I am nothing to her, other than a minor irritant. If she did hurt me, her actions would surely incriminate her. Besides, Zoe will protect me. Leesa’s a little scared of her, and I’ve done nothing to ease her fears.”

  “Do the police have a suspect?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m still waiting for Sven’s body to be released. As I told you, Leesa insists that he be cremated. I want to take him to Minnesota and bury him in the family plot.”

  I couldn’t think of an appropriate response so I simply said, “Of course.”

  “At first, I thought her insistence on cremation would make her more suspicious to the police. After all, if you poisoned someone, wouldn’t you naturally want the body destroyed? But at this point, I doubt it matters. Assuming they’ve run all the tests they can on his...corpse.”

  A shiver seemed to overtake the woman, and she pulled her sweater around her more tightly. Either she was wearing the same jeans and sweater, or she had several nearly identical versions. In the harsh sunlight, Brita looked older and more tired than when we’d first met. With a start, I realized she must be nearly as old as Sheila. However, my mother-in-law would never let herself go like Brita had. Even after George’s death, she had always appeared perfectly groomed and stylishly dressed.

  The temperature was dropping, a prelude to the rain. Without conferring, we headed back the way we’d come.

  “Look,” I said. “George called to say he won’t be home for dinner. Why don’t you come over and eat with me? You can keep me company, while I unpack. Of course, Zoe is welcome, too.”

  We set a time and said goodbye. As I unlocked our front door, Brita and Zoe walked back into the Nordstroms’ garage. Their arrival flushed out Bartholomew. The fluffy black cat shot out from under Sven’s parked car, like a black bat out of a cave. Bart raced across the street and took cover in the overgrown lot.

  “Bar?” Anya pointed at the disappearing feline. “Bye-bye?”

  “Yes, honey. He’s disappeared again, hasn’t he?”

  63

  The rest of the afternoon hurried by. Dinner would be easy. I’d planned a light version of “Hay and Straw” with a recipe I’d found in a magazine. The colorful pasta dish was close enough to macaroni and cheese to satisfy Anya, but adult enough to work for a guest.

  I’d unboxed nearly all of the kitchen, which meant I could lay hands on the blender and pot. Having Brita’s visit to look forward to lifted my spirits. Slowly, I was building friendships. First Maggie, then Mert, and now Brita. Of course, Sheila would have been quick to point out that Mert was a paid employee and that Brita would return home to Minnesota, but for a while, I could block out my mother-in-law’s imagined put-downs. Instead, I let myself enjoy the fact that three new women had come into my life.

  I’d hoped to make more friends in the neighborhood, but Leesa and I were never going to find common ground. That much was certain. That said, maybe Mrs. Bergen and I would get along. The next time I saw Mr. Bergen, I’d be more direct. I would suggest that he take me home and introduce me to his wife. After a face-to-face meeting, I could phone Alma Bergen and invite her over for coffee.

  Yes, Maggie had been a practice run. Mert and Brita were successes. My new experiences were giving me much needed confidence. I planned to conquer the world, or at least part of it!

  “Alma Bergen, prepare yourself. You’re about to make a new friend,” I said, staring out my kitchen window, as I rinsed off two dinner plates.

  When the phone rang, I answered it absent-mindedly.

  “You will not believe what just happened to me,” George practically barked in my ear. “That stupid detective dropped by the office and wanted to talk. Here. In front of Bill and my staff.”

  “Robbie Holmes?”

  “No. That twit who’s been talking to you. Everwatt.”

  “Everbright.”

  “Ever-whatever. They’ve gotten the toxicology reports. They know what was used to poison Sven.”

  “What was it?”

  “Something commonplace. He wouldn�
�t tell me exactly, but he hinted around. Asked me if I did my own car maintenance. Is that a bunch of baloney or what?”

  “Car maintenance?” Visions of flat tires danced in my head. What on earth would car maintenance have to do with Sven Nordstrom being poisoned?

  “Right. I threw him out. I told him either he could arrest me or leave. He said he could come to the house with a search warrant. I have half a mind to call a lawyer.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  A shocked silence answered me. I added, “Mert was telling me that cops can twist a person’s words around.”

  “Yeah, she’s probably right. That’s probably a good idea, about getting counsel. I’ll talk to Mom. She’ll know who I need to call. She’s got a lot of contacts through the country club.”

  64

  Before hanging up, George reminded me that he wouldn’t be home for supper. Once again, he brought up the idea of spending quality time together over the weekend. “Sure,” I said, although my voice didn’t hold much enthusiasm. “Whatever you want.”

  However, he was too distracted by his own problems to catch the flat intonation I’d used. Instead of biting on the bait I’d thrown out, he rattled on about visiting a park or even driving over to St. Albans, a darling nearby community.

  “Right.” I rinsed out two glasses. While the newsprint wrapping probably kept everything clean, I couldn’t count on it. At last, I was having an adult dinner party. I hoped everything would be perfect for Brita’s visit.

  Promptly at five thirty, she rang the doorbell. Zoe sat patiently at her side. One ear was cocked with curiosity, but, otherwise the dog was as composed as any human guest might be.