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

  I reached over and took Sheila’s hand in mine. She gave me a little squeeze. Bolstered by her approval, I said, “Oh, I hardly think I have anything to offer you. Good evening, Detective.”

  47

  “The ladies’ room is over there, by where we came in.” Sheila grabbed me around the waist and set off at a brisk pace. I didn’t fight her. I needed privacy.

  After the door swung shut behind us, I spat out, “How could he? I trusted him!”

  A couple of women putting on lipstick paused to watch my little drama. No matter. I was mad as a hornet and didn’t much care who knew it.

  “You cannot and will not make a scene in public.” Sheila pulled me inside the handicapped stall, slamming the door behind us with a resounding thud. She flicked the door lock, while I paced back and forth, muttering, “He doesn’t wear a wedding ring! I thought he lived alone!” I stomped to one end of the small area, spun around, and retraced my steps. A roll of toilet paper fell to the floor, and I kicked it down the whole row of stalls. The white line of tissues stared back at me accusingly.

  Sheila leaned over the sink. Opening her purse, she withdrew a compact and powdered her nose. “He most certainly does not live alone. As you can see, Detective Detweiler is married.”

  I stopped storming long enough to lean my head against the cool metal wall. Words, images, thoughts, feelings. Suddenly, the pieces formed a pattern. I whirled on Sheila, furious and hurt. “You knew about his wife. You set me up! That’s why you wanted me to come so badly. You did this on purpose.”

  Her face betrayed no emotion as she tucked the gold compact back inside her handbag. She was utterly and totally a blank, a cipher.

  “Sheila?” I prodded her by standing so close that I practically penned her in. “I want an answer.”

  “When Anya told me about your boyfriend, of course I checked him out.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a cop with a legitimate interest in my life.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself? What do you take me for? An incompetent old fool? I did what any responsible grandmother would do. Anya has already had one loss in her life. I don’t want her hurt again. This isn’t all about you, Kiki. You might think it is, but it isn’t.”

  The blue hues of her turquoise dress contrasted dramatically with Sheila’s red and angry face. She leaned against the metal wall of the handicapped stall. Oddly, she didn’t look one bit out of place. Instead, she looked tired.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I repeated. “We’ve never gone out on a date.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s patently clear that Anya feels affection for this man. Naturally, I asked Robbie about him. Any intelligent person would have done the same. It’s my duty to protect Anya.”

  That sent me reeling. She was right. I should have asked around. Now my child would suffer for my reckless behavior. I’d let Detweiler become a part of our lives. How could I have been so stupid? So careless?

  Not only was I a sow’s ear, I was also a horse’s rear. The tears I’d been fighting prickled my eyes. I tilted my chin so they wouldn’t run down my face. “I would never, ever have willingly let my daughter be hurt. You know that, Sheila.”

  “This is not only about Anya’s feelings. It’s about you, too. How dare he try to pull one over on you? You’re a Lowenstein!”

  “I’m a Lowenstein? Gee, that’s rich. Since when did my feelings ever matter? Do me a favor and don’t insult me by pretending that you care about me. I’m Anya’s mother—that’s it, that’s all. I’m only important as a reflection on you and her.”

  Except for the flushing of a toilet, everything went quiet. I could imagine a crowd gathering outside this stall. They would be listening in and enjoying the drama.

  Sheila didn’t answer my charges. Instead, she dipped back into her handbag and dragged out a tube of lip gloss.

  Sheila hadn’t wanted George to marry me. She made that perfectly clear when I’d arrived on her doorstep pregnant. After my marriage, Sheila and George formed a united, impenetrable front with me tagging along somewhere in the rear. But my husband’s sudden death upset the delicate balance of our family dynamics. Now Sheila and I were forced to work together to raise Anya. We’d become equal partners, whether she liked it or not.

  Sheila snapped the lip gloss tube shut and tucked it back into her purse. I felt her eyes on me. “Has it ever occurred to you that the way people treat you might be your fault? You misrepresent yourself. You lead with your insecurities. You lull people into underestimating you. I sure did. If I’d known you then like I know you now, we might have gotten along better from the start.”

  That knocked the fight right out of me.

  By golly, she was spot on. Maybe if I would put forth a little more effort, maybe if I had been more honest, maybe if I didn’t feel so comfortable playing dumb … well, who knew how my life might be different?

  I ripped off a long section of toilet paper and dabbed my eyes.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” Sheila said. “You hear me? That putz isn’t worth it. You will lift your chin and carry on. Never waste your time crying for a man. Ever. Men fall for women who do not need them, not for women who do.”

  I blew my nose and sputtered, “But you knew! You knew he was married! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Don’t you think I worried over this? Wondered what to do? What were my choices? What if I had told you?”

  I thought about it. “It would have been better than standing there face to face and—”

  “And looking gorgeous? And looking like a million dollars and making him drool? Making him want you? Letting him know you are beyond his reach? Putting him on the spot? Now he can never, ever worm his way out of this. You caught him red-handed! What can he say? ‘Oops? Sorry!’ His position is untenable and his behavior is inexcusable.”

  I blinked hard and blotted the tears from my eyes.

  “Splash some cold water on the inside of your wrists. It will help,” Sheila suggested.

  I did as she told me to do. The cloying smell of bathroom spray deodorizer made me a little nauseated. After all that champagne and the bombshell of Brenda Detweiler, I badly needed solid food.

  As I let the water run over my wrists, I considered what Sheila said. I allowed as how she might be right.

  “Think about it.” She stood behind me, speaking to my reflection. “Wasn’t this best? He couldn’t deny her existence. He couldn’t pretend they have an understanding. There was no way for him to worm out of it. He had to face you and eat crow. Have you taken a good look at yourself? You are absolutely stunning. Would you rather have learned about his marriage from a friend at the store? Or bumped into the detective and his wife one day when you were tired and poorly dressed? Or was it better to hear about it like this? When you are at your best?”

  I watched her image waver. What was wrong with the mirror? Suddenly, I realized she was trembling. Clearly, she was speaking from experience. The words were too hard won. Her face was etched with pain.

  Ah, I thought, at least that’s something. At least she didn’t take joy in this.

  “Don’t expect me to thank you.” I wasn’t going to concede her victory so easily. “I don’t know what you could have or should have done, but there had to be a better plan. Some other kinder way.” I wiped my nose with a tissue and tossed it into the trash. I straightened my posture. I would go on. After all, there was food just around the corner. And champagne. And wine bottles on the tables. And several full-service bars with assorted hard liquor. Lots of it.

  “Actually, I count it a win that you are still speaking to me.” She paused, fighting a grin. “Did you catch the look on his face?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said and giggled. “He was stunned.”

  “As well he should be,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  Arm in arm, we walked out of the stall, out of the bathroom, and through the crowded tent, passing Robbie Holmes’ table. Out of the corner of my e
ye, I saw Detweiler rising out of his seat to intercept us. Police Chief Holmes put a hand on the detective’s arm, and Detweiler sat down abruptly, obviously chastised.

  “Police Chief Holmes knew?” I whispered to Sheila as we took our seats next to the Ryman siblings.

  “Yes. Robbie knew, and believe me, he was not pleased.”

  “Good,” I said, as I slid into the seat a waiter held out for me. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  I gave one of the Ryman sisters a great big smile and yelled, “How’s the salad?”

  48

  “Don’t go to your house tonight,” Sheila said, as Howard guided the limo through the winding streets of Webster Groves, a St. Louis suburb. We’d been almost the last to leave, and now it seemed as if a magic spell had been broken—and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

  Time to return to reality.

  The leather seats in the Lincoln were as comfortable as a recliner. I slipped off my shoes and rested my feet on the empty seat across from me. All that booze suffused my world with a soft, gentle glow. I was happy for the gauzy drape over reality. “Why shouldn’t I go on home?”

  “Detective Detweiler might stop by to explain himself.”

  “What’s to explain?”

  “You really are a babe in the woods. Let’s see. There’s the ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ line. And the ‘we live separate lives’ routine. ‘We have an agreement’ is also quite popular. Trust me. He’ll find one way or another to explain away the small matter of his wife.”

  I shifted my weight and continued to stare out the window.

  “Come home with me,” Sheila said. “Tomorrow, you’ll have your wits about you. If he shows up at the store or your door, you’ll have had time to think of an appropriate response.”

  “How about ‘drop dead?’”

  “That might work. But what if he’s insistent?”

  She did have a point.

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I have to go home and take care of Gracie. Dodie and Horace dropped her off after the store closed. Mert was going to go by the store and pick up Guy. That leaves Gracie all alone in the house. The Goldfaders will have fed her, but she’s been cooped up for nearly five hours and probably should go out.”

  Sheila fiddled with her purse. “Bring her to my house.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I think I’ll take you up on the offer.”

  Sheila told Howard about our change of plans. He murmured, “Very well, madame.”

  I reached into my handbag and grabbed my house key.

  If my rundown neighborhood surprised Howard, he never let on. Curiously enough, the security lights I’d installed weren’t working. No matter. I’d been instructed by my landlord to take them down as soon as possible, but I planned to stall until after my move. The Lincoln’s headlights caught my front porch in their triangular periphery. I squinted at something draped over the bannister.

  Sheila saw it, too. She put a staying hand on my arm. “Howard, please move the car so that your lights shine directly on the house. I can’t make out what’s on the front steps.”

  He did as told, repositioning the car. The headlights made a cone shape on top of the walkway and the steps. The bright light did not quite reach the porch railing. I could make out something draped over the banister, but what was it?

  Without waiting for Howard’s assistance, I threw open my car door. As he called after me, I ran up the drive and cut across my grass. My heels sank into the dirt, throwing off my gait. Midway, I stopped and pulled off my shoes. Carrying them in the same hand with my key, I ran toward my tiny porch. But even when I was nearly standing over that limp shape, I still couldn’t make out what it was.

  Howard hit the high beams.

  The shapeless mess was wet. Red liquid dripped into puddles on the floor of my porch. Over the railing hung a pelt. I could discern a body, legs, and a head. Black and white fur. An animal? A dog—

  “Gracie! Oh, no! Gracie!”

  “Stop! Don’t touch it, miss!” Howard rushed past me.

  “No!” I screamed. “No! Not my dog!”

  Sheila ran and grabbed me around the waist, holding me back, physically restraining me as she shouted into her cell phone. “Emergency? We’re at 756 Gunterman. Hurry! Send the police!”

  She held onto me. I fought her as I tried to get closer to the limp shape on the railing. She’s taller than I, but I was more determined. I tore away from her, but she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back.

  Howard leveled a flashlight at the black and white mess.

  “Gracie!” I shrieked. “Gracie! Someone killed my dog! My dog!”

  Sheila patted my back. “Shhh. The police are on their way. You can’t do anything for her. Not now.”

  I smelled the heavy scent of roses on her skin, and buried my head in her shoulder. A loud sob escaped me. How could this be? Gracie was my best friend, my constant companion. She’d saved my life when my home was invaded. Who would have hurt her? And why?

  “No, no, no!” My nose was running, and I was crying too hard to speak. Why had I gone to that stupid event? If I’d been home, she’d have been with me! Did she suffer? Was she frightened? My poor, poor dog!

  Porch lights snapped on around us, but no one stuck a head out to see what was happening. This wasn’t the type of neighborhood where people said, “Hello.” It was transient, secretive, dark, and brooding. A siren wailed in the distance.

  Howard was taking his time, staring at the carcass on my porch. The noise of the sirens grew louder — and they distracted Sheila. I pushed her away, twisting out of her grasp, and ran up next to Howard. I shoved him to one side and reached for the long black and white tail. It slipped through my fingers, leaving me empty-handed.

  “Gracie,” I sobbed. “My poor, poor Gracie.”

  49

  “This can’t be your pet.” Howard moved the flashlight beam left and then right, up and down the bloody pelt.

  “W-w-w-hat?”

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but it can’t be your pet. Isn’t possible. See? This is fake fur.”

  I reached out again, hesitating, then touching the pelt. Grinding the fur between my fingertips, I realized he was right. Definitely not real fur.

  “But who? Why? Wha—?”

  I stood shaking my head, trying to take it all in. If that wasn’t Gracie, then … what was it?

  I stumbled through the dark at the side of the house, as I headed for the back door. Of course, it couldn’t be Gracie! How could I have been so dumb? Horace and Dodie would have fed her and put her in the house before locking it up. There were no signs that someone had broken into my home. Therefore, Gracie should be safe and sound inside the house.

  Without the added height from my shoes, I tripped over my hem on my way up the back stairs. Pulling myself to my feet, I tried to fit the key into the lock, but my hand shook too badly.

  “Let me,” Sheila joined me on the stoop. She was carrying Howard’s flashlight. “Get hold of yourself. The police have just pulled up. Howard will deal with them.”

  With the help of the flashlight, I slipped key into lock. My efforts were rewarded with the comforting snick of tumblers. But when I tried to open the basement door. It resisted.

  I knew why.

  A heavy thump, thump, thump told me my dog was right behind the door, her heavy tail wagging. “Gracie? Gracie! Move! Move, baby!” A shuffling noise and the clicking of nails on the stairs followed. I pushed the door again and it opened into darkness. A cold wet nose pressed into my face as Gracie put her paws on my shoulders.

  “Oh, my sweet girl!” I hugged her close. She sniffed me. Her rough paws caught on the chiffon shawl around my shoulders. Belatedly, I thought about my beautiful dress. By now it was probably totally ruined.

  But some things are much more important than clothes. My dog was definitely one of them.

  I flipped on the kitchen light. While the lazy metronome of her tail beat a rhythm, I examined
every inch of the Great Dane’s body. I ran my hand around her muzzle, down her sides, across her backbone, down each leg, and under her tummy. She was fine. I crouched eyeball to eyeball with my dear pet. She’s not much of a licker, but Gracie leaned against me and whined.

  “Thank heavens,” said Sheila, sinking into a kitchen chair. “Anya would have been devastated.”

  “Ma’am? Everyone all right?” Howard’s head appeared inside my back door. He took everything in, glancing from me to Gracie and then checking to see that Sheila was okay.

  “Yes.” Sheila sighed. “As you can see, the dog is unharmed. Are the authorities here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They are examining the mess and the note. I’d best get back to them. Tell them that the dog’s all right.”

  “Note?” I sank down into a kitchen chair across from Sheila.

  “A handwritten message tacked to a banister,” she said. “It’s a threat. The Richmond Heights Police will handle this. It’s probably the work of that horrible person who killed my son. That monster!”

  Howard escorted two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, into my kitchen.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions while our crime scene officers do their work,” said the male officer.

  The interview went quickly. I explained where we’d been, Sheila told them when we’d arrived, and Howard chimed in with what we’d found. They took down Dodie and Horace’s number and planned to call them tomorrow. I explained about the hate crimes at the store and conjectured this cruel prank was tied to the death at our crop. Sheila pointed out it could also be the work of her son’s escaped killer.

  While the officers queried us, Gracie leaned hard against me. I took great comfort in the pleasant weight of her trust, all one hundred and twenty pounds of it. Good old Gracie. How could I imagine life without her?

  Finally, the interview was over and the crime scene investigators were done. Grabbing a plastic bag, I scooped out enough kibble to serve the dog her breakfast the next day.