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

  Instead of the pep talk or the chastising that usually followed my concerns, Sheila handed me a brown paper package. “Open it.”

  Inside was the audio version of Barbara Walters’ How to Talk with Practically Anybody about Practically Anything.

  “You really think this will help?”

  “Making small talk is a skill, not a God-given talent. It’s silly for you to be nervous. You need to conquer this and be a good role model for your daughter.”

  I must have looked dubious.

  “You can and you will do this. No arguing.” To my surprise, she gave my shoulder a tiny squeeze. Her affection about did me in. Even five weeks ago, I would have never imagined this day. Sheila and I had come such a long way.

  Impulsively, I threw my arms around her. She stiffened; I turned her loose quickly and said, “Thank you.”

  “Yes, well,” she said with a sigh, “you’d better wait to thank me until after Opera Theatre.”

  34

  Fortunately, I keep a change of clothes in a spare bedroom at Sheila’s house. Rummaging around in my one designated drawer in her chest of drawers, I found a pair of jeans and a simple tee shirt I could wear instead of my muddy things. True, my hair looked like I’d stuck a finger in a light socket, but with a lot of coaxing, I managed to corral it with a scrunchie. I was so pleased with my appearance that I decided to go whole hog. I borrowed the samples of makeup that Sheila keeps in her guest bathroom. In short order, I put on mascara and foundation. The effect was worth the effort.

  After kissing Anya goodbye, I snapped leashes on the dogs.

  Sheila cocked her head, staring down at my two four-footed friends. “Why not leave the dogs here? Anya and I can take them for a walk. We both could use the exercise.”

  “Great. That’s one less job for me. Thank you.” I hopped back into my car. The drive to Time in a Bottle took no time. After letting myself in, I got the coffee maker ready and the page kits set out. Our guests wouldn’t be arriving for another hour. That gave me ample time to get everything ready.

  A vigorous rapping at the back door startled me.

  “If I had more money, and a good lawyer, I’d sue all of them,” Mert said as she stomped into the back room. “Those no-good, eraser-brain St. Louis police idiots! They’d be off my case in a hot Missouri minute. As it is, they’re bound and determined to bug the heck outta me. It ain’t my fault they don’t have any other good ideas about who killed Yvonne.”

  I opened a cold Diet Coke for her and Diet Dr Pepper for me. “Why are they concentrating on you? There were a lot of other folks around when Yvonne died.”

  A listless motion of her hand accompanied a weary voice. “It’s complicated. You know that Yvonne let me go. That’s an understatement. When she canned me, she also accused me of Class C Felony Theft.”

  “What?”

  Mert went on to explain how Yvonne had gone to the police, claiming that her cleaning lady had stolen a diamond necklace. A few weeks into the investigation, the jewelry showed up at an Illinois pawn shop known as a prime spot for Old St. Louis families to hide financial problems.

  Yvonne swore up and down that this proved Mert had tried to sell the jewelry. The cops investigated further. When the pawn shop owner shared his records with the police, they saw proof that a man, not a woman, had brought in the jewelry. In fact, they could find no connection between Mert and the mystery fellow.

  Reluctantly, the Gaynors dropped charges. Even so, the woman kept bad-mouthing Mert.

  “I had a big contract with RXAid, the company her husband works for. Yvonne put up such a stink they fired me.” Mert rubbed her face with her careworn hands. Her lashes were gummed together with molten mascara, a sure sign she’d been crying earlier. “RXAid was my biggest customer. That contract was the bulk of my income. I had to start from scratch, building my business again. It was extra hard because I couldn’t use Yvonne or RXAid as references.”

  “When did all this happened?”

  “Shortly before I met you. Almost eleven years ago.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would you wait until now to get even with Yvonne?”

  Mert turned red as a ripe cherry. Now I’d seen two things this day that I’d never expected: Sheila cussing and Mert blushing. I needed to record this in my diary!

  Her long magenta fingernails worried the seam of her black jeans. “All’s I can figure is that it’s because Johnny is back. See, my brother was sent to Potosi for robbing a convenience store.”

  I forced myself not to show surprise.

  “I guess the cops think now my little brother is out, he’s encouraging me to get on the wrong side of the law. Who knows?” She continued, “Maybe because Johnny’s on parole, my whole family is on their radar. All I can say is, my brother made a bad choice as a young man, and he’s paid dearly for it. Ever since his hearing, our whole family got tarred with the brush Johnny was carryin’. It about killed me.”

  She took a deep swig of her drink and glanced around. “You got another?”

  I pulled out a second cold can and handed it to her.

  “Johnny’s five years younger than I am, so naturally, I’ve always looked out after him. I was on his case like flies on roadkill when he fell in with a wild crowd. He’d promised me he’d quit hanging around with them rowdy friends of his. And he did. Then one night he went and had a couple of drinks at a bar. He knew better than to hop in his car and drive off, because he’d get himself a DUI. A couple of them friends — including a cop’s son, mind you — offered him a ride home. He said yes. He was trying to be responsible. He didn’t have sense enough to wonder why they’d up and offer to drive him out of their way. Johnny thought they was just being friendly. Well, them boys had other plans. Plans that included my dumb brother. They swung by a convenience store. Parked the car. Told him they was running inside to pick up more beer. Next thing he knows, they’re inside whooping, hollering, and waving guns in the air.

  “Johnny hopped out of the car. He was planning to try to talk sense into them. Instead, they turned the guns on him and forced him back into the car. The cops picked them up afore they’d gotten two miles away. The other two boys lawyered up. They blamed everything on Johnny.”

  Mert shook her head. “The other two boys got their hands slapped. Johnny got sent to Potosi. I been meaning to tell you about Johnny’s past. Especially before you and Anya came to my party. I’ll understand if you don’t want to come over on Sunday.”

  I didn’t know how to answer. Mert rambled along, saying, “Actually, I reckon you might want to drop me as a friend. Much less as a business association. I was meaning to tell you all about this so’s you could make up your mind. I wasn’t meaning to trick you or ruin your reputation. I’d never do that.”

  Rather than look me in the eyes, she concentrated on a chipped fingernail, peeling away the magenta polish.

  My heart said, “Support your friend.”

  My brain said, “Are you nuts?”

  My mouth said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I look forward to meeting your brother and attending your party.”

  35

  Mert left, passing Dodie on her way in. Bama came trailing along behind our boss.

  “My office. Quick meeting.”

  What a study in contrasts Bama and Dodie were. My boss wore a pair of polyester pants that had once been brown, but faded to a streaky tan. Her flesh-colored top had a hole under one arm. Bama wore jeans rolled up at the hem, a navy-and-white striped top, and a tiny red and blue scarf at her throat. She totally looked the part of an artist. I resolved then and there to find a way to upgrade my wardrobe.

  I took a seat nervously, knowing Dodie was going to tell us how her meeting with the other CAMP store owners had gone. If they dumped us, would Dodie blame me? Was I about to get fired?

  “The store owners are divided about whether Time in a Bottle should remain part of the group,” Dodie said. “Ellen Harmon is pressing them to dump us. Yvonne’s death gave her a bi
g bargaining chip. She’s got all their sympathy. Ellen’s milking it for all its worth. She even told one owner she’s needed therapy to sleep at night. She invited the other stores to participate in a memorial crop. Evidently, she’s struck up a friendship with Wendy Smithers at Your Scrapbook Store. The two were acting cozy when I first arrived. It wasn’t much of a surprise when Wendy suggested that until the murder is solved, our name should be excluded from any ads or events sponsored by CAMP.”

  “How’d you respond to that?” I asked.

  “What options do I have?” Dodie rolled over her hands in a gesture of surrender.

  I couldn’t believe it. Dodie let them walk all over her. I said nothing, but my expression must have given me away.

  “You don’t understand,” Dodie continued. “There’s nothing I can say. Or do. Ellen started the meeting by handing me a list of fifteen of her customers demanding refunds. She said one customer was consulting an attorney about damages. The woman claims she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress brought on by witnessing Yvonne’s death.”

  “I suspect that Ellen is stirring the pot,” said Bama.

  For once, Bama and I agreed. The behavior Dodie described was unheard of. By and large, scrapbookers are lovely people.

  “Of course, she’s egging folks on,” Dodie nodded. “That said, she also has a point. This investigation is giving scrapbooking a black eye. I had a call last night from a Chicago television station asking me if this hobby is hazardous. Can you believe it? No wonder everyone wants to distance themselves from us.”

  The door minder sounded. Bama excused herself to wait on a customer, who had arrived early for the Friday night crop.

  I took this as a golden opportunity. “Dodie, I know this is hard for you, but you can’t just lie down and let them run all over you. Have you heard any word from the attorney about Horace’s job?”

  “Not yet, but we have an appointment to talk.”

  “How about I take some muffins over for the Gaynor family? I could make a sympathy call.”

  Of course, that wouldn’t be my only purpose for a visit. While I was in the Gaynors’ neighborhood, I planned to nose around and ask a few questions.

  “It couldn’t hurt, and I guess it might help,” Dodie said, but her voice lacked enthusiasm.

  “I could do it Monday, if Bama’s scheduled to work.”

  “She is. By the way, I know you have a big day planned tomorrow. Given the nasty threats we’ve been fielding, I would feel much more at ease if we had Gracie here at the store. Her bark is enough to put a scare into people. I hope no one shows up to misbehave, but you can never be too careful.”

  “That would be great, but I still have Guy. Is it okay for him to come, too?”

  “He’s no problem. I’ll swing by your house and pick them up bright and early. Seven should do it.”

  “That’ll work. He’s supposed to go back to his owners sometime on Saturday, but I still haven’t heard anything definite.”

  “Tell Mert that I’ll be taking care of him at the store on Saturday. She can always come and get Guy from me, if necessary. After we close, I’ll drop both dogs off at your house.”

  “That should work. I’m glad you’re here, Dodie. It’ll be nice for you to say hi to a few of our regulars. Vanessa Johnson told me she and her pals are excited about working on the paper bag album I’ve planned. They’ve been awfully sweet about taking our side.”

  Bama stuck her head inside the office door. “I’m ready.”

  Ready? What did that mean?

  “Not tonight, Sunshine. You’re on your own. I’m going home, but first I’m dropping Bama off.”

  My boss marched past me. Bama followed her like a duckling waddles after its mother. I was still standing in the office with my jaw on the floor when I heard the back-door slam.

  36

  Our Friday night croppers examined their individual stacks of paper bags curiously. The women were far too polite to ask if I’d made a mistake. The brown lunch bags were clipped together with alternating open and shut ends. I let our guests puzzle over the mess for a moment before holding up my sample paper bag album. Using the brown bags as background, I’d created a super-cute album filled with photos of dogs I’d kept for Mert.

  “Holy Moly.” Vanessa Johnson pointed to my work and waggled her bags in the air. “I can’t believe that was once this.”

  Mardi Hamilton shook her head. “This is just amazing. I can’t wait to show my grandchildren.”

  “I’m trying this with my scout troop,” said Angie Guinness. “They’ll love it!”

  Nettie Klasser laughed out loud. “Wait ’til old Ellen Harmon hears about this. She’ll be copying your project faster than you can use a paper trimmer. Probably get a class going before that phony memorial service takes place next week. Or whenever Ellen schedules it.”

  Her comment sent the group into a frenzied discussion about Yvonne’s death—and Ellen’s obvious attempt to use the crisis as a way to drum up business.

  “Ellen doesn’t care about Yvonne Gaynor—it’s all about making the cash register ring.” Angie threaded a needle with dental floss. Using the template I’d made, she marked a series of dots vertically in the middle of the bag on top. When sewn together, this line of dots would become the spine of the album.

  “Rena and I were talking yesterday,” Nettie said. “She thinks the world would have been a better place if Ellen was the one who died.”

  This was over the top, and all the scrapbookers went suddenly quiet. Fortunately, Nettie had the good sense to add, “Rena’s upset. That’s all. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Merry Madison reached for my finished sample. “What an absolutely amazing project. I can use up all those bits and pieces of paper I’ve been saving.”

  Stacy Czech and her friend Marla Lenzen were excited as well, and Stacy passed the album to Bonnie Gossage.

  Bonnie turned the project round and round in her hands. “I love this. Kiki, you are the most creative person I know. I’m teaching a Sunday school class, and this will be a perfect project. Finally, something inexpensive that the kids can’t goof up.”

  This was the part of my job I loved best. “Okay, now you’ve seen what you can do with ordinary brown bags. Take a gander at what I made with colored paper bags.”

  “Where did you get these?” Nettie asked.

  “In the party aisle at Kmart.” I pulled out my pièce de résistance, “and here we have a project using fancy gift bags as the basis for an album. Would these make cute bridesmaid gifts?”

  The corresponding “ooohs” and “aaahs” thrilled me. As I’d hoped, the women were excited by what I’d made.

  “Can we do one of those fancy ones next time? Oh, please!” Rita Romano nearly jumped out of her chair. The guest she’d brought, a woman named Emma Delacroix Martin, was equally enthusiastic. I’d met Emma before. She had kids who attended CALA, my daughter’s school. But this was the first time Emma had come to one of our crops. Together she and Rita plotted all the fun they could have with the elegant gift bag album idea. The stunned silence that had greeted my initial handing out of the brown paper bags was now a loud buzz.

  At the end of the evening, Vanessa stood up and rapped her knuckles on the work table. She handed me an envelope. “Kiki? I wish Dodie and Bama were here, too. We all want you to know that we’re sad about Yvonne’s death, but we’re also confident that none of you are to blame.”

  The card inside the envelope had been signed by sixty of our best customers. The sight of all those names filled me with hope. I choked up but managed to say, “Your friendship and support means the world to all of us. This card will go up by the register where we’ll see it every day. Thank you.”

  I gave Vanessa a big hug and passed around discount coupons to all our guests. When the crop ended, Vanessa volunteered to hang around with me and walk me to my car. She even waited to see that my engine turned over before she pulled out of our parking lot.

&nbs
p; I drove from Time in a Bottle directly to Sheila’s. My mother-in-law came to the door in her favorite bathrobe. “Anya’s already asleep,” she said as handed me the dog leashes.

  “Thanks for taking care of her and the dogs,” I started to say, but Sheila had already shut the door in my face.

  Later, when I was at home, staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom, I said to the Universe, “All in all, this was a pretty good day.” In response, Guy snored loudly and Gracie licked my hand. My daughter was safe at her grandmother’s house. I hadn’t been fired. Not all of our customers were angry with us. I felt a nearly overwhelming sense of gratitude. “Thank you, God.”

  37

  True to her word, Dodie knocked on my front door the next morning at seven. Before I could even greet her, she said, “I talked with Mert last night. She plans to come and pick up Guy at the store. That means I’ll just bring Gracie back here tonight. Got a spare key I can use?”

  I pulled one out of my junk drawer and loaded Guy’s things into a paper shopping bag. Once I was finished, I handed the dogs’ leashes and the key to Dodie. Gracie balked a bit at being led away by my boss, but Dodie wisely enticed her with the promise of a treat.

  “Thanks heaps, Gracie,” I said as I watched from my window. “The price of your loyalty is a dog biscuit? Gee whiz.”

  A white Lincoln limousine pulled into my driveway promptly at eight. The huge vehicle felt too grand for the likes of me, but I squared my shoulders, locked the front door behind me, and introduced myself to the chauffeur, whose name was Howard. He was dressed — and shaped — like a skinny penguin, with the addition of a bright red bow tie. But the real shocker was his flat-topped black hat that was trimmed with gold braid. It looked like part of a Halloween costume, but the slight furring around the edges suggested it was a well-worn part of Howard’s uniform.