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

  Maybe Leesa and I were two sides of a coin.

  Both doing our best to get through life and feel good about ourselves.

  67

  The next morning when I woke up, George was making coffee in the kitchen. Anya was still asleep, leaving my husband and me with a little one-on-one time. As usual, he was freshly groomed, looking sharp with his white Oxford cloth shirt, striped tie, and navy wool suit. I always admired that about him. To George, dressing down was a nice pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt. He started each day with a shower and a shave. He always smelled terrific, thanks to the expensive cologne he wore.

  I told him about Brita’s visit.

  “Sounds like you had a good time.” There were dark circles under his eyes. I had a hunch he’d gotten home late. The raccoon-ish look confirmed it.

  “I did. How was your evening?”

  “Not pleasant.” He stirred his coffee with care. “I had to tell someone that we wouldn’t be interested in working with them in the future. That we wanted to end our association. It was difficult, but necessary.”

  I noticed that he’d mixed his pronouns, first saying “someone” and then “them.” It wasn’t like George to be imprecise with his grammar. He was holding back a part of his message, but the late night and wine had left me muzzy headed. I wasn’t sure how to decipher what he really meant.

  Rather than ask, I mumbled, “Bummer. That sounds like it wasn’t much fun.”

  George reached over to intertwine his fingers with mine. “Kiki, I’ve been thinking a lot about us. I want to be a better husband and father. I’m going to try to spend more time with you and Anya. You’re important to me. I mean, both of you are. The other night, when I was here alone with Anya, I realized you’re here with her all the time. It was, frankly, scary. Having that much responsibility.”

  “You’re right. I worry every minute that she’ll hurt herself. Get into something that’s dangerous, while I’m not paying enough attention. She’s cruising these days. Holding onto the furniture and walking like a champ. Before, she’d take a few steps and land on her butt. Now, she’s all over the place when she’s not in her playpen or the crib. I even feel guilty that I keep her penned up as much as I do.”

  “I can see you’ve made progress, getting the boxes moved around and unpacked. I guess there isn’t much you can do, cleaning-wise, until they’re out of the way.”

  “Yes. Some of them are your things. I have no idea what to do with your stuff.”

  “I think Mom was happy to unload as much as she could on us. I looked in one of the boxes this morning and saw toys I played with as a boy! Who knew she’d be so sentimental?”

  “Speaking of your mom, have you heard more from Robbie Holmes?” I stood up and poured myself a bowl of Grape-Nuts, before refilling George’s coffee cup and mine.

  “Not directly. He told Mom they’re closer to making an arrest. I did call an attorney, an old family friend from temple, Richard Heckman. He got back to me late last night and said I was off the hook. Your explanation of how my fingerprints got on Sven’s bicycle was a turning point.”

  That explained why he was all lovey-dovey this morning.

  But did it matter? Maybe he had needed a reminder that we were in this together. If it had come as a result of defending him, so much the better.

  A strobing red light flashed against the wall of our foyer. With cereal bowl in hand, I turned and walked toward the formal dining room.

  “Kiki?” George called after me.

  “George? You have to come and see this.”

  “What on earth?” He took his place beside me.

  Two policemen marched a handcuffed Brita Morgenstern down the sidewalk. Putting one hand on her head, a uniformed cop helped her into the back seat of the squad car.

  68

  After George left for work, I turned on the news. Every local channel carried the story of Brita Morgenstern’s arrest. Unfortunately, none of them offered clues as to why she was the suspect.

  I paced the floor, feeling more and more desperate to know her situation. If she was the killer, should I be worried about her having spent so much time in our house?

  Mert phoned around noon. “I had a cancellation. Thought I’d swing by and work at your place this afternoon, if that’ll suit you.”

  Of course it would. I phoned Sheila and asked if she could pick up Anya. “If you can help out, I can totally devote myself to getting this place picked up. I worry about Anya getting into something and getting hurt.”

  “That’s good thinking on your part. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  My mother-in-law pulled in right as the cleaning lady parked her truck. Anya squealed with delight at the sight of two of her favorite people.

  “George phoned me to say you’d watched them load that murderer in the police car.” Sheila used her chin to point at the Nordstroms’ house.

  “I don’t think Brita did it.” I reached down to pick up Anya’s diaper bag and hand it over.

  “Of course she did.” Sheila sniffed with irritation, while she slid the diaper bag over one shoulder. Because it was blue and green, the satchel went well with the navy slacks and sweater she was wearing, picking up the colors in the silk scarf at her neck.

  “Brita was up in Minnesota, until after Sven died. How could she have done it?” I spoke passionately. I hated the idea that I’d been entertaining a killer. More importantly, I was not about to dump the rest of the lingonberry torte. No way. And, if Sheila knew that Brita had left food for us, she would have stood over me while I tossed out the dessert. I knew she would. She was food-resistant, while I clung to it like Velcro.

  “She must have put something in his food or his shampoo to kill him over time,” Mert said, leaning against a doorframe. “That’s why poisoners are so hard to catch. They can do it, walk away, and wait.”

  “But you two don’t know Brita, and I do.” I bit my lip rather than explain that she’d been here last night, eating with me. That might send both Sheila and Mert into a tizzy.

  “You only think you know her,” Sheila said. “Waving to a person across the street isn’t exactly what I’d call a relationship.”

  “Okay, maybe we aren’t bosom buddies, but we have spoken to each other frequently.”

  The three of us adults had inched our way into my house. Even in the dim light, Sheila’s worry lines were pronounced. Mert also had a concerned expression on her face. Their glances at each other confirmed they were worried about me.

  “Look, Brita has a beautiful black Lab named Zoe. Anya’s crazy about animals.” I shrugged. “It was natural I’d get to know the woman.”

  “Sounds like that dog is about ready to become homeless.” Mert crossed her arms over her chest.

  “It’s not Brita. She is very, very nice. Sven was her baby brother. What motive would she have had for killing him?”

  “Life insurance.” Sheila lifted her chin and looked down at me. “He’d taken out two policies. One paying his wife and the other paying his sister. Those women will be rolling in the dough. That’s what Robbie told me.”

  Her quick answer felt like a punch to the gut. All the air whooshed out of my mouth. “Ahhhhh.”

  “Let’s go, Anya,” Sheila said, picking up my daughter. “Would you like to spend the night with me? Hmm, darling?”

  How like Sheila not to ask me first. I briefly considered dressing her down, but what was the point? All I’d accomplish would be a waste of energy.

  I kissed my daughter goodbye. “Thank you for doing this, Sheila.”

  She scowled. “George deserves a nice, clean house.”

  “Right.” Because I was annoyed at her about Brita, I added, “So do I.”

  69

  “That there mother-in-law of yours is a piece of work,” Mert said, when we took our first break.

  She had hauled in a cart full of cleaning supplies and gone at the place with a speed that rivaled a tornado. Starting at the ceiling fans, she’d dusted
each room from top to bottom, finishing by vacuuming up what she’d disturbed.

  She’d also brought along a portable air filter. “I got to thinking about how much of this here dust we’d be spreading. We want to trap it, and this’ll do just that.”

  Most of the containers were half-filled and stuffed to the brim with paper. The movers had charged us by the box. Using a lot of these made sense from their standpoint. It also insured less breakage. Once the boxes were broken down, there really wasn’t that much to put away. I’d opened a box in the great room and quickly pulled out piles of books. The open shelves on either side of the fireplace would make a lovely spot for them.

  Mert and I sat down to re-heated pasta. We both dug in. She wielded her fork like a lethal weapon, attacking the food. Although I felt slightly guilty about it, I didn’t offer to share the lingonberry torte. Instead, I kept it tucked away in my refrigerator, my personal stash of happiness.

  Of course, my conscience wouldn’t go stand in a corner and shut up like a good girl. Over and over, my thoughts returned to the dessert. From there it was a short hop to Brita and our conversation.

  “You’re awful quiet.” Mert stared at me.

  “Yup.”

  “You okay? Worried about your neighbor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wanna turn on the news? We can watch it from in here, right?”

  “Right.” I found the remote control and pushed one of the few buttons I knew how to use, the On/Off switch. Next, I tampered with my other fave, the Volume control. Sure enough, we quickly learned that Brita was in custody. She would stay there, because she’d told the court that she couldn’t post bond.

  “That’s it!” I jumped out of my seat.

  “What?” Mert regarded me through narrowed eyes.

  Without answering her, I grabbed my cell phone and called Robbie Holmes. Mert listened while I explained to him about Brita’s visit the night before.

  “She told me that she would have to cut back her expenses and take money out of savings to ship Sven’s body back to Minnesota. According to the news report, she couldn’t make bail. Doesn’t that prove she isn’t expecting a windfall? Wouldn’t she have been less concerned about spending her savings, if she was sure she was Sven’s beneficiary? Think about it, Robbie. It doesn’t make sense. Anyone who felt financially secure wouldn’t think twice about borrowing from savings to post bail. Who’d want to spend a night in jail? I sure wouldn’t! I’d pay to get out, wouldn’t you?”

  Robbie didn’t interrupt. When I paused to take a breath, he said, “That’s an interesting point. As I told you, this isn’t m jurisdiction. For all I know, Everbright has a lot of solid evidence.”

  “What if he doesn’t? What if he’s looking in the wrong direction? A friend told me that once cops get a theory, they don’t give up easily.” I shot a quick look at Mert. She nodded her agreement.

  “That’s because we’re usually right. If the creep didn’t do what he’s accused of, you can bet he’s pulled another stunt and should get locked away.”

  “But you’ll talk to Everbright? Share with him what Brita told me? Robbie, you have to realize this was after two and a half glasses of wine. She had no reason to lie to me. None.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

  “Then let me add one other point. You said that the person who killed Sven had ongoing access to him. Brita hasn’t been here for months. She was last down here a year ago at Thanksgiving time. Sven paid for her gas.”

  “Maybe she was too smart to keep coming down and visiting,” Robbie said. “Maybe she didn’t want to leave a trail. Poisoners are not generally impulsive. They are planners. Maybe she tainted something and left it behind for Sven to ingest.”

  “That’s pretty random, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not sure that the evidence backs you up. We deal in cold, hard facts. That’s what we have to present to a judge or jury. However, I do see your point.”

  I hung up feeling slightly better. I’d gotten Robbie to question whether Brita was guilty.

  “Ready?” Mert raised an eyebrow at me. “If you’re done playing Nancy Drew, let’s get back to the task at hand.”

  70

  By four o’clock, I’d had enough. All my muscles hurt. My hands were rough and cracked from smoothing out sheets of newsprint. A damp film of perspiration covered my torso. We’d worked steadily without a break.

  Mert was wiping her forehead on her sleeve, a sign that she too was tired.

  “Got anything else we can eat? I need a snack,” she said. “Something to tide me over?”

  When I opened the refrigerator door, she peered inside. The lingonberry torte sat front and center. Even half-eaten it was gorgeous. My mouth began to water at the magenta berries coupled with the scent of almonds.

  “Is that what I think it is? A lingonberry torte? Where on this green earth did you dig one of them up? I ain’t had that in ages.”

  “Really?” I rummaged through the drawers and pulled out a soggy bag of baby carrots, a stiff slice of American cheese, and a package of turkey lunch meat well past its expiration date. There was no help for it; I’d have to share.

  Mert couldn’t take her eyes off the treat.

  “Years ago, I lived next to a bakery run by a bunch of Swedes. They used to make lingonberry tortes once’t a week. Man, oh, man, I loved them. Where’d you buy that?”

  Getting two plates out of the cabinet, I cut and deposited two slices. “Um, warm?”

  “Just enough to take the chill off.”

  I kept my back to her while I popped hers in the microwave. With any luck, she would quit worrying about where the pastry came from. I knew in my heart that Brita wasn’t guilty, and I had no fear of eating the dessert. After serving the warmed slice to Mert, I heated mine slightly, too.

  “Man, oh, man. This is good. Who baked it?” She was licking her fork.

  “Uh...” Sinking into my chair, I closed my eyes and savored the sweet tang.

  “Kiki?”

  The inflection warned me. Mert was onto my secret. She repeated, “Kiki? I asked you a question.” This time her voice was more insistent.

  “Yeah?” I had been magically transported to another planet. I was not about to let Mert spoil this for me.

  “Did Brita make this?”

  “Um...she brought it over last night.”

  “You have to be kidding me! Your neighbor is a poisoner, and you’re eating her food? Are you TSTL?”

  “What on earth is TSTL?”

  “Too Stupid To Live!”

  “No, but I do have a sweet tooth, and I’m hungry.”

  Crash! Mert slammed her fist against the tabletop, causing the plates and forks to shiver as if a train had run past. “Are you nuts?”

  “Brita didn’t do it, Mert,” I said. “I know she didn’t. I ate part of this dessert last night, and I feel just fine. I trust her. And, if you don’t trust her, slide your plate over here. I don’t want this torte to go to waste.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I think we’ve established that my grip on reality is precarious.”

  “And you fed this to me?”

  “I didn’t want to. I wasn’t planning to share.” I reached for her plate.

  She slapped my hand and nibbled a tiny piece of torte. “I’m thinking; I’m thinking.”

  “Better kick it into overdrive, or I’m going to grab your dessert and make up your mind for you.”

  She growled at me.

  “Look. I am not crazy. Trust me. Brita is not guilty.”

  71

  The ringing of my phone interrupted my impassioned defense of Brita and the lingonberry torte. I hunched over my plate to keep Mert away while I answered the call.

  “Kiki? I need a favor.” Brita sounded breathless.

  For one scary heartbeat, I thought that maybe she’d made a prison break. What would I do if she asked me to drive her over state lines? Loan her money or my car? Instead,
she barreled ahead with a perfectly reasonable request. “Zoe is all alone. She’s old. I don’t think Leesa will want take care of her properly. I’m worried about my dog.”

  “Sure, sure, no problem. Brita, are you okay? Have they treated you fairly? I’ll see to Zoe, but do you need a lawyer?”

  “I have called my minister up in Minnesota. He is seeing what he can do. But my poor Zoe. She is —” and Brita’s voice cracked before she whispered, “alone.”

  “Of course I’ll take care of her. Nothing would give me more pleasure.” Realizing how that might be taken, I amended what I said with, “Under the circumstances, I mean.”

  “I am very relieved. You have taken an enormous load off my shoulders.”

  “Brita? I know you didn’t do it. They’ll have to let you out.” A feeling of helplessness washed over me.

  “I hope so. This isn’t a very good spot to be in. Not at all.” A sob broke through the distance between us.

  “Do you want me to find a lawyer?”

  “No. I trust my minister. He’ll know what to do. He is making calls. If you could help with Zoe that would take a load off my mind.”

  “Of course.”

  An authoritative voice in the distance told her that she needed to cut our call short.

  “Brita, don’t worry about Zoe. Anya and I will take good care of her. I promise.” Reluctantly, I said goodbye.

  Mert had been watching me curiously, while eating every bit of her torte. I explained what I’d heard. “I bet that poor dog hasn’t been out all day.”

  “Then you got yourself a perfect reason to walk across the street and play Sister Snoop.” Mert chuckled.

  “I’m not a snoop.” Blood rushed to my face. “If you’ll recall, I’ve been dragged into this. Three cop visits in less than a week.”

  “Whatever.” Mert grinned at me. “I love reading about amateur sleuths.”

  “What can an amateur do that a professional can’t?” I grabbed my house keys and shoved the last bite from my plate into my mouth.