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

  We gathered around the television in Dodie’s office and watched a terminally blonde reporter explain Yvonne Gaynor had succumbed to a tainted orange scone. The newscaster held up a similar pastry for the camera. “Police say someone substituted icing mixed with aspirin for the original topping. Yvonne Gaynor was highly allergic to aspirin in all its forms. Of course, anyone who was sensitive to aspirin could have fallen victim to the contaminated food, but insiders are calling this murder because of one critical piece of evidence.”

  The yellow box of an anaphylaxis kit appeared on the screen. The reporter continued, “This is the type of Epi-Pen that highly sensitive people like Yvonne Gaynor should carry at all times. Police department sources tell us they now suspect someone traded Yvonne Gaynor’s functional Epi-Pen for an empty one.”

  Dodie switched off the television. “They did it on my watch, too.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “Let’s walk through this. Someone iced a scone with the one substance toxic to Yvonne. The tainted scone or scones found their way onto our food table. Someone knew Yvonne liked pastries, and those in particular. That same someone exchanged her full Epi-Pen for an empty one and hoped Yvonne would have a fatal reaction.”

  “See? Done on my watch.”

  I shook my head. “No. All of that must have been planned before our event started, Dodie. Portions were carried out on our watch, but it had to have been planned in advance.”

  “Why are they blaming Mom?” Roger asked.

  “Good question. Mert didn’t have access to Yvonne’s purse,” said Dodie.

  “That’s true, as far as we know, but Mert did have access to the food. Remember? She brought in everything we’d baked and what she’d picked up from the store. Roger, you even helped her.”

  “Yeah, I loaded and unloaded the truck. Then I took off because I have an early study session.”

  “Mert was there onsite and alone when we arrived,” I said.

  “But adding aspirin to icing! That’s ridiculous. Mert had no reason to hurt Yvonne Gaynor.”

  I gently corrected my employer. “That’s not entirely correct. There was bad blood between them. Mert used to work for Yvonne and something happened.”

  Dodie and Roger both glared at me.

  “Whose side are you on?” Roger’s mouth narrowed into a flat line of anger.

  “I’m on your mom’s side,” I said firmly as I put an arm around the teenager I’d known for years. He might look like a man, but he was really just a very tall and hairy boy. “She’s my dearest friend, and she couldn’t possibly have done this. But we can’t overlook the facts. If we do, we can’t help your mother or prove her innocence because the police will use those facts to build a case against her. We all need to work with the same information if we hope to solve this.”

  “You’re planning on tracking down a killer? That’s rich!” Dodie stared at me.

  “Might not be a killer who’s behind this. It still might be an accident. The police could have that part wrong.” I was trying hard to remain cool and collected. I didn’t want to upset Roger more by letting my emotions show. Truth to tell, I was worried. Plenty worried. “Hang in there. Let’s see what happens.”

  I met Dodie’s gaze, and a coded message passed between us. She knew, as I did, that it was folly to depend on others. Especially, those who were supposed to be fair and honest. Wasn’t she the one who had preached to me about being self-reliant? Didn’t she know what happened when you put all your eggs in someone else’s basket? Witness what had just happened to poor Horace.

  Roger wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and blinked hard. He was on the verge of crying in earnest. I patted his arm. “I won’t rest until we clear your mother’s name. It’s going to all be okay. I promise.”

  Spoken like a roundtable knight taking an oath, but how was I going to keep my word?

  Roger left for his classes at Meramec Community College. Dodie and I walked around the store like two zombies. After calling the police and asking about our customers’ cameras, I finally sat down to work on an anniversary album commissioned by a customer, relieved that the work was far enough along it only required the mindless task of adhering mats to photos. Although earlier, my head had been full of great ideas, now my brain felt numb. The store phone rang, and I answered it.

  A woman demanded her money back. “I expected to have a great time at CAMP. Instead, my camera is gone, and you stood by while Yvonne was murdered!”

  I took a deep breath before responding, “We’ll be happy to issue a refund. All of us at Time in a Bottle are devastated by Yvonne’s death and shocked to hear it might have been intentional. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  As the Bible says, “A soft answer turneth away wrath.” Mollified that I agreed with her, the caller became downright chatty. “Who do you think did it?”

  “I wish I knew. We are cooperating fully with the police. Unfortunately, a lot of people had access to the scene of the crime. Do you have any idea who might have held a grudge against Yvonne?”

  The customer thought for a second. “Yvonne could be a real pill. She never bothered me, but she upset several of my friends. I’m sorry if I came on too strong earlier. I’m just upset.”

  “Hey, we all are. I don’t blame you. As for Yvonne, well, none of us are perfect. I’ve certainly ticked off more than my share of people. Now, what should I do about that refund?” By the time we hung up, the caller decided she’d rather take a rain check for the next CAMP event.

  “Goodness knows,” I said, “it can’t possibly be as eventful as that one. You probably still have pages you want to get done. I’ve asked the police when the cameras will be released. They’ve promised to get back to me.”

  That proved to be the first of many conversations with our CAMPers. In the end, only one woman demanded a refund. As distressed as the customers were, more than anything they wanted to be reassured and comforted.

  I was nearly finished with the anniversary album when I answered my cell phone to Mert’s ragged voice. “Did Roger come on by? They done questioned me, but I can’t get a hold of him. I figgered he’d probably run to you, Kiki.”

  I took that as a compliment. My best friend and her son were family by choice, not by blood. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He’s left already. He told us he was heading back to campus. Are you okay?”

  “They was just asking questions. It weren’t really bad. Wanted to know what I’d done, if I’d touched the food, and whether I hated Yvonne or not. The cops are taking a lot’a heat from some of them women who was at CAMP. You know how it goes.”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do. What did they ask?”

  “I can’t go into it now. I had to walk out in the middle of a cleaning job. I’m pulling up to my customer’s place and hoping to finish right now. I’ll tell you all about it later, when I’m done.”

  What she didn’t say, but I knew from her voice, was how the whole ordeal had exhausted her, mentally and physically.

  12

  Detweiler called immediately after Mert. I explained about the purpose of Roger’s visit and that his mother had since been released. He told me that he had been tapped for the Major Case Squad. “I might need your help. We’re constructing a timeline, identifying where everyone was. The goal is to establish opportunity.”

  “Good luck. That’ll be like trying to figure out which ant in an anthill had the chance to steal a bread crumb.” I was being truthful, and I was also stalling. Why should I volunteer information? He and his friends were already zeroing in on my best friend. I debated about whether to tell him to buzz off. As I hesitated, Dodie ambled by. One glance at her miserable face and I decided I wanted Yvonne Gaynor’s murderer brought to justice—pronto.

  “I’ll help if I can.”

  “Right now, officers are reviewing statements. We’re going through the trash cans on the off-chance we’ll find evidence. I could use more background on Mrs. Gaynor. We’re making a list of people who wanted the woman dead.”


  “Mert didn’t do it.”

  Detweiler replied cautiously. “I can’t rule out anyone at this juncture. Anyone.”

  Could he be including me? What a jerk! “That sounds like a threat.”

  “No, but it is a warning. Don’t get too emotionally involved in this, Kiki. You don’t have the training or experience to rule out suspects. Especially when one of them is your friend.”

  “We’re talking about Mert! I’d trust her with my life! She’s helped me raise Anya, she held my hand when George died, and all I need to do is call, and she’s there for me. What more do I need to know, huh? I judge people by their actions, not their education or their clothes or their status.”

  “Everyone has a breaking point. What do you know about her past? I’m warning you, Kiki, stay out of this or you’ll find yourself in jail for obstructing an investigation.”

  “That’s your idea of encouraging cooperation? A threat?” I was steaming mad. How dare he? “By the way, pal, when are our customers getting their cameras back? Or do we need to call a lawyer about your search and seizure?”

  If he was on the task force, he might have better luck retrieving our customers’ cameras than I would.

  “Their cameras should be released tomorrow afternoon, but in the meantime, we have other priorities. As much as I ca—” and he stopped himself before he said “care.” “As much as I think highly of you personally, I have a job to do.”

  Hello! Didn’t he realize how important the cameras were to our customers? The longer he withheld them, the angrier the CAMP attendees would be with us. And that quick avoidance of saying he “cared.” What was with that? I was sick and tired of not knowing where I stood. He gave off signals like he was interested, and then he’d beat a fast retreat.

  He cleared his throat. “I realize you have a stake in this, and your friends may or may not be involved, but I need to bring a murderer to justice. Do you understand? Are we clear here? Because I can repeat myself if necessary.”

  “Detective Detweiler, I’m so glad to hear you are on the job. That’s good news. We can all sleep easy at night. If you recall, last time you were on the job I had to solve the murder for you, bucko.”

  “Solve the murder? Ha! You bumbled your way into a dangerous situation.”

  I mouthed air. I was speechless. “You jerk!” I popped my hand over my mouth. I couldn’t believe I said that.

  “Stay out of this, Kiki. Your mother had a point when she named you after her cat. You’ve already used up one of your nine lives!”

  “Right! No thanks to you, pal. You want to talk to me? Fine. You can come by the store and talk in front of witnesses. Got it?” I snapped my phone shut, stood in the middle of the empty sales floor, and screamed.

  13

  Fifteen minutes later, Detweiler stormed in the front door. His Heineken-bottle green eyes with those dancing gold flecks were dark with fury. I clamped my jaw shut and didn’t greet him. I didn’t even get up. I ignored him while I double-checked my work on the anniversary album. This book of memories paid homage to sixty-five years of love and trust between two people. Not all of us could focus on death and destruction. Some of us had to applaud the living.

  I could feel the heat of Detweiler’s body as he stepped behind me, nearly hanging over my chair. I peeled up a photo that appeared to be crooked, and in doing so, I tore the background paper.

  That just capped it.

  “Kiki.”

  I ignored him, keeping my gaze on the work. Trying to figure out how to fix what I’d ruined. “If you are here on official business, my name is Mrs. Lowenstein. I’m busy with my work right now, so you’ll have to wait.”

  Next thing I knew, he pulled my chair away from the desk. It felt like that obligatory scene in an earthquake movie where the furniture hops around. I grabbed the edge of the table, but Detweiler slipped between me and the album. I stared at him in shock. Both of us glared at each other.

  To my horror, a nearly irrepressible urge to laugh bubbled up inside me.

  Then I remembered he’d made it clear he didn’t care for me. He’d gone out of his way to avoid saying that he cared. My lower lip trembled. A lump formed in my throat and my heart hurt. Against my will, tears threatened and my mouth trembled.

  “Oh, honey,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?” His expression softened as he searched my face. Those eyes! Those gorgeous eyes. I got lost in them. He reached for me. Before I could catch my breath, we were kissing.

  14

  “Kiki?” Dodie voice floated over the racks of paper. “Another unhappy scrapbooker just left a message the phone while I was on the other line! Call her back for me please!”

  Detweiler and I jumped away from each other.

  I ran to the back room, woozy with desire. Inside the bathroom, I put down the toilet lid and sat for a while. When I regained control of my body, I splashed my face with ice cold water.

  For good measure, I grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper and chugged it. When I returned to the sales floor, Detweiler and Dodie were talking about the CAMP set up, the placement of tables, food, and so on. Dodie held a piece of paper in one hand. It turned out to be the list of attendees. She went through them, offering whatever she knew about each person. From time to time, she set the paper down and consulted her file labeled CAMP.

  My face still burned. My legs wobbled like cranberry jelly. I felt as though I’d been ravished, and all of me was aglow with the tingling sensation of arousal.

  “I’m still trying to put together a timeline and nail down sources.” Detweiler’s tone was friendly. “Here’s what we’ve got so far.”

  I struggled to concentrate on the chart he handed to me. “As far as I can remember, this is right.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dodie said, and she dug around in her file. “Here’s the caterer’s order form and the grocery receipt. Your medical examiner is sure that Yvonne ate a scone? We didn’t order scones. I’m almost positive that Mert didn’t buy any either. She didn’t turn in a receipt for them, and they certainly weren’t on my list.”

  “Any of the scrapbookers could have brought them or the caterer might have thrown the scones in as a bonus,” I said. “Maybe they were a substitution. In which case, they could have been tainted beforehand. Messing with them after the fact would have been harder, nearly impossible.”

  “Who worked with the caterers?” asked Detweiler.

  Dodie flipped to the last page. At the bottom was Bama’s signature. “But that doesn’t mean anything,” she added. “Bama ordered the food and signed the form. Big deal. Did you check all the trash cans for packaging? You did take all the garbage with you so the crime scene guys could go through it?”

  Dodie was a fan of police procedurals and true crime novels. She watched every forensic show on television.

  “We’re doing that as we speak.”

  “Kiki, please make a copy of the list of goodies people told us they were bringing,” Dodie said. To the cop, she explained, “Customers signed up and put their contributions next to their names.”

  I did as I was asked and handed over the list to Detweiler. “Of course, there’s no way of knowing if people actually did bring what they said they would.”

  “Right.” Detweiler let out a long exhale. The list made it clear he’d need to interview most of our CAMPers.

  “Like I said, the lab is going over everything we found. The caterer has been very accommodating. All of their chefs and servers have volunteered to take polygraphs, probably at their employer’s urging. As you can imagine, they’re eager to prove this didn’t happen in their kitchen.”

  “And the Epi-Pen?” I tried not to look directly at Detweiler. It felt too intimate. “How about it? Any fingerprints?”

  “None besides Mrs. Gaynor’s. Not even a partial,” Detweiler admitted. “We got all excited when we found some empty syringes in the trash. Looks like there’s glue in them.”

  “That’s right,” said Dodie, “Using a syringe
keeps the adhesive off your fingers and helps get glue into tight areas. I prefer using a toothpick, but each to her own. Since a tube is nearly airtight, the adhesive won’t dry out like in a bottle.”

  Detweiler chuckled. “Precision gluing, hey? That’s a new one on me.”

  The door minder rang, and Mert walked in. Her face was pale under her sunbed tan, but otherwise she seemed fine. Dressed in her work uniform of white-collared knit shirt, black pants and black Reeboks, she approached with a subdued walk. I met her halfway with a big hug. Her shoulder muscles were hard as rocks, but she quickly relaxed under the warmth of my affection. I pulled back and gave both her hands a squeeze of encouragement. “Don’t trust him, Kiki,” Mert stared over my shoulder at Detweiler. “I done thought he was different, but he ain’t. He’s a sleaze ball like all the rest.”

  Detweiler’s face turned bright red.

  15

  I couldn’t stick around because I needed to pick up Anya at my mother-in-law’s house. Actually, I was sort of glad to have an excuse for leaving. Time in a Bottle had always been my escape. A place I could go and forget my troubles by getting lost in creative activity.

  But all that had changed. The tension in the air at the store was electric. When I left, Dodie stood in the middle of the store with her hands fisted on her hips. Mert and Detweiler were glaring at each other.

  As much as I’d hated the ugly scene at the store, I still felt blissed out by Detweiler’s kisses. He kissed me. He kissed me. I kept repeating that over and over in my head, dumbstruck with wonder and amazement.

  My romantic fog evaporated as I turned onto Sheila’s street. My mother-in-law knelt on the lawn with her back to me. After I parked the car in the shade and tied the dogs’ leashes to a tree, I discovered Sheila was surrounded by empty Kosher Dill pickle jars.

  Yellowish stains and blotches of mud had splashed her ivory linen slacks. I was afraid to ask what she was doing. Fortunately, I didn’t have to ask.