I was happy enough to lock up my house and leave it behind that evening. In the cold light of day, it would be easier to deal with the mess on my porch. And of course, by tomorrow, the effects of all the champagne I’d drunk would have worn off. I snapped the leash on Gracie and walked her to the Lincoln Town Car while Howard escorted Sheila.
After Howard helped my mother-in-law into the car, my pooch stepped in gracefully (as befitted her name), plopping her hindquarters on a seat next to Sheila. I got in last.
With her front paws on the floor, Gracie sat like a queen, staring out the window, watching the street lights playing hide and seek on the pavement. Sheila tapped on the window that divided us from Howard. He lowered it to hear her instructions.
“The exaggerated news of Gracie’s demise deserves a celebration. Howard? If you hurry, we can make it to Ted Drewes on Chippewa before they close.” She arched a brow at me. “I hope you don’t mind. Harry and I made it a tradition to stop by after attending social functions.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to know him better.” My father-in-law had died of cancer six months after George and I married.
With a dreamy expression, Sheila said, “Yes, it is too bad. You two would have gotten along famously if you’d had the luxury of time. Harry was an excellent judge of character. His success in business came in part because he could see talent, especially in those whom others might have overlooked.” She opened her purse to hand me a moist towelette and her compact.
“Touch up your eye makeup. It ran when you cried.”
I did as I was told, all the while thinking of the unique spot in St. Louis history occupied by Ted Drewes. Since 1929, the Drewes family has been making frozen custard. In 1941, they opened a store on the famous Route 66, and even after that major artery was rerouted, the tiny stand remains a popular destination. Their desserts are to die for. Folks spill off the sidewalks into the street nearly every summer night to buy the concoction in its pure form or in outrageous mixtures.
You could tell we were getting close because a cop stood out in the middle of Chippewa, directing traffic. He waved us carefully into the crowded parking lot, past throngs of customers wearing formal wear.
“Wow,” I said. Evidently, the Opera Theatre event didn’t so much end, as it adjourned to Ted Drewes Frozen Custard shack.
“Are you surprised?” asked Sheila. “You shouldn’t be. On any given weekend night, you can see stretch limos and town cars dropping off entire bridal parties and prom groups. Our Missouri state bird is the bluebird. Our flower is the hawthorn. And our dessert is Ted Drewes Frozen Custard.”
“Amen to that,” said Howard as he helped us out of the stretch limo.
Sheila and I ordered Terramizzou concretes, a thick concoction of custard plus chocolate, and pistachio nuts. Howard was a purist, a banana-split man, who took his treat back to the car. Gracie daintily lapped at a small paper dish of vanilla that she finished too quickly. Her interest in my treat indicated she’d gladly make a glutton of herself. Sheila suggested I drink several servings of water from the small yellow and bright green paper cups available at the water fountain.
“Part of what we call a hangover is really just dehydration,” she said. “You should also take a couple of Advil before you go to bed.”
I’ve never been much of a drinker—my initial foray into parties and Purple Passion Punch resulted in pregnancy—so I took her word on all this. We stood outside the Lincoln with my harlequin Great Dane attracting all sorts of attention. Gracie took this as her due, eying other people’s custard with a lean and hungry expression. When a giddy young woman dropped her frozen custard cone while cooing over my dog, Gracie doubled as a quicker-picker-upper. She slurped up that mess in no time.
“No more treats for you,” I said to her sad eyes as I loaded her into the limo. “I don’t need you to get sick at Sheila’s house.”
A short time later, the evening that had seemed a lifetime long came to an end. Howard escorted all three of us to Sheila’s door and made sure we were safely inside before driving off into the night.
50
Linnea had been sitting at the kitchen table and knitting. She welcomed me with a flurry of compliments about my dress.
“You should have seen it before I trampled through the mud,” I said.
Suddenly, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. “I’m going to bed.” I gave Linnea a hug and thanked her for watching Anya. The scent of vanilla and chocolate clung to her hair, reminding me that she’d probably had almost as much fun as my daughter had. As if reading my thoughts, Linnea whispered, “I’m sending her home with chocolate chip cookies. She baked them herself. Mainly.”
“Please wait a minute, Kiki. I want to be sure that Linnea gets to her car all right. Then I’d like to chat with you,” said Sheila.
We lingered by the kitchen window, watching Linnea climb into her Oldsmobile and listening for the engine to turn over. After the sound of the motor died away, Sheila poured a glass of water for me and got a bottle of Advil out of her kitchen cabinet. I accepted both gratefully.
I had purposefully reserved my last ounce of energy for thanking my mother-in-law. As we walked toward her walnut staircase, I gave her a hug and breathed in the scent of her Joy perfume.
“Sheila, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. You’ve been very kind and generous. My gown, the accessories, and this special evening. Gosh, it’s all been so glamorous. As for the day at the spa, I guess I needed sprucing up, didn’t I?”
“That’s one way to put it.” Her eyes drooped with fatigue. The excitement of the evening was over. The adrenaline rush caused by finding the fake Fido had worn off; exhaustion hit us both simultaneously.
“I can’t let the night end without telling you,” and I choked up. I had to swallow hard to get the words out, but I continued, “I saw a side of you I’ve never seen before, and as much as I’ve always admired you, I’m even more impressed now. I’ve never known anyone as worldly as you. There’s a lot I can learn by watching you, and I’m particularly pleased that Anya will have you to guide her into womanhood.”
Those denim blue eyes that could be hard as pieces of glass softened. They actually gleamed with moisture.
But I wasn’t done. “I also am grateful for how you acted about Gracie. Thanks for letting her come here. I know you don’t like dogs —”
“Pardon?” Sheila tilted her head and snapped to attention. “I don’t like dogs? What nonsense.”
“You’ve never warmed to Gracie.”
“If you remember, Gracie growled at me once. Although I’ll admit, she had just cause. Take a seat.”
I had no choice but to obey. As Sheila sank down into a leather wingback chair, I took a spot on her sofa. Gracie plopped down at my feet.
“There’s so much we have yet to learn about each other. For the record, I love dogs. Before you met George, I had a darling Bichon Friese we brought over from England. You couldn’t get them here at the time. No one was breeding them. Scooter and I went everywhere together. He slept with me, sat at my feet as I ate, walked right at my heels. Then the vet found a cancerous tumor on his lungs. It broke my heart to have him put to sleep, but I couldn’t let him suffer.”
“I’m so sorry. How awful for you.”
“The timing of this conversation is curious. Rabbi Sarah and I talked about Scooter just the other day. She encouraged me to get another dog, a rescue animal. The rabbi says God gave man dominion over animals, but animals have dominion over our hearts. So, it all evens out.” This last sentence was given extra emphasis by a wave of her slender hand.
“I never knew you liked dogs. In fact, I have a hunch there’s a lot to you that I don’t know.”
“We’ll have to correct that, won’t we?”
Almost on cue, Gracie walked from me to her. Stopping beside the older woman, my dog initiated a low, slow wag of her tail. Sheila and Gracie were face to face. Gracie lowered her big head, pressing her m
uzzle into Sheila’s open palm. My mother-in-law responded by rubbing the big dog’s muzzle. Gracie lifted her nose and sniffing Sheila’s face gently, in that probing way dogs have. To my surprise, Sheila raised both hands and began to massage the base of Gracie’s velvety ears, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from my dog.
“Scooter was my baby. Losing him just about killed me. Of course, losing Harry and George was terrible, too, but with people, even those you love, there are misunderstandings and disappointments. Scooter never gave me a moment’s trouble. Never a cross word or a disagreement. No complaints. He adored me. How could I not love him in return?”
“You understood why I was so panicked about Gracie.”
“Of course I did.” She yawned. “My, my, what an exhausting evening.”
“Goodnight, Sheila.” I got up and slapped my thigh to signal for Gracie to join me. “Thank you again. For the most part, this was evening felt like being a princess in a fairy tale. Except my handsome prince turned out to be a toad.”
She walked with me to the staircase, and we climbed it in tandem. “It’s too bad about him being married. I can certainly see the attraction. He is gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous and taken,” I said.
“Here, let me unzip you.” Her cool fingertips danced down my spine. With a pat, she said, “Goodnight, darling.”
She’d never called me that before. Gracie followed me into the guest room. Once the door clicked shut softly behind me, I threw myself onto the big bed, burrowed my head into the pillows and cried until my eyes were raw.
Gracie’s cold nose nudged along my legs where they dangled off the bedspread. She snuffled her way up and down my bare skin, whining softly. I knew I should reach down and comfort her, but I couldn’t peel my hands away from my face. My life was spinning out of control. Without the pressure of my fingers on my skin, small parts of me would break off and fly away.
I’d managed to hold it all together for most of the evening. Now I abandoned myself to well-deserved bout of misery.
“Dang him! Darn that Detweiler!” I pounded on the bedspread. “How could he?” I slugged the bed and then the pillow over and over again.
I got up and stepped out of my dress. Next, I fought World War 3 with the Spanx, eventually deciding it would work best to roll it down my body and off my feet. I should have poked around in the dresser for an old tee shirt to sleep in, but I was way past that. I stripped naked, tunneled under the covers, and zonked out.
51
I awoke with a start when Gracie pressed her cold nose against the back of my neck. She had to go potty. I wanted to go back to sleep. She was insistent. I was tired. But the thought of a Great Dane-sized puddle on Sheila’s carpet proved a powerful incentive.
I crawled out of the big bed and tried to grab a housecoat from the closet. Unfortunately, the room was spinning. I missed the housecoat first grab. Caught it the second.
With a firm grip on the handrail, I followed Gracie down the stairs. At the base, I had to get my bearings. Whoa, the floor seemed to tilt under my feet. I kept one hand on the wall as I headed to the kitchen. Gracie patiently waited for me to gulp a glass of water and swallow two Advil before leading her outside.
Sheila’s pool shimmered in the lemon-yellow dawn. Emerald green dragonflies buzzed back and forth, landing lightly on the surface of the water.
Mr. Sanchez had created a retreat for Sheila by using lattice to build a privacy fence around the pool. At intervals, the gardener had attached pots, turning the wooden mesh into a vertical wall of blooming flowers. At the top were the airy plants, lobelia, ferns, and asparagus ferns. In the middle, the plants were dense where he’d used begonias and petunias interspersed with mint. Toward the bottom were heavyweights like geraniums. On the other side of the barrier, he’d planted climbing Knock Out® Roses. And so, without using a heavy hand, he’d turned the pool area into a fragrant oasis of calm.
I rested on a lounge chair and enjoyed the back and forth call of two flame-red male cardinals. Gracie finished her business and strolled to my side, parking herself with a hearty sigh.
I decided I could think about Detweiler for twenty minutes and no more. That was all he deserved. After that time passed, I planned to get on with my life.
Detective Chad Detweiler and I had met when George died. Law enforcement officials always suspect the next of kin first, and, therefore, Detweiler watched me closely. Although my marriage to George hadn’t been perfect, he deserved justice. When the investigation into his death stalled out, I used my job at Time in a Bottle to do a little snooping around.
Gracie interrupted my thoughts by reaching up and pawing at me, begging to have her ears rubbed. I smiled, remembering how Detweiler’s whole demeanor had changed from tough guy cop to the little boy, when he met my dog. He’d also become an instant big brother after meeting Anya. In fact, bit by bit, the detective had become an important part of my life. Chatting with me about raising Anya. Stopping by the store. Showing up at our house with a pizza. Checking whether the killer contacted me. Finally, he had kissed me.
And now…
A tear leaked down my face as I realized with a jolt I was in love with the man.
I loved his beautiful green eyes, his body (or what I knew of it), and most of all his devotion to what was right. How could a man with such high morals have tricked me? Better yet, why had he lied?
Gracie whined and put a heavy paw on my arm. In her own way, she was trying to comfort me. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll get through this. You will, too. We’ll both miss him, won’t we?”
Okay, I told myself, enough. I glanced at my watch. My twenty minutes was up. This pity party had been a waste of time. I needed to move on and focus on the future. Figuring out who killed Yvonne Gaynor would go a long way toward improving my life.
Right! I laughed out loud and startled Gracie. “I need to bone up on crime fiction, don’t I?”
As a kid, I’d been a big fan of Nancy Drew. In fact, I’d read every book in that series. Time to level up my game.
All right. Maybe I could do this. What were the three pillars of any investigation? Motive, means, and opportunity.
As for motive, I had several avenues to pursue. I couldn’t imagine Dodie killing Yvonne. Not at a crop. She had more sense than that. And Mert? She would never have hurt someone at a Time in a Bottle event. No way. Both my friends weren’t worthy of consideration as suspect. Serena Jensen had pointed the finger at Perry Gaynor and a mystery woman. That meant that either Perry or his girlfriend could have iced the scones. More likely, it was the woman—and possibly she’d even been one of our guests at the crop. That made sense. That was worth pursuing.
The means had been the scone. The police confirmed as much. Of course, the big question was, who had tampered with the food? Thinking back on all the people who’d been milling around at the crop, I couldn’t venture a guess. When it came to opportunity, there was no shortage of suspects.
Of course, it was possible that the aspirin-laced icing had actually been intended for someone else — but Yvonne’s killer had also tampered with her Epi-Pen.
“Gracie? I need to know who had access to Yvonne’s Epi-Pen. The first person that comes to mind would be…her husband. What is it with men behaving badly?”
52
“How’s your head?” Sheila buttered an English muffin. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as the coffeemaker did its thing.
Linnea bustled around, fixing me scrambled eggs for “my condition.” I had a hunch that Sheila had filled her in on all the alcohol we’d consumed the night before.
“Not too bad. My sense of balance is a little off. I’m glad I don’t have to head home right away.”
“Yes, well, we need to talk about your house. Your neighborhood isn’t safe. You’ve already had two break-ins and now this.” Sheila spooned a glob of boysenberry jelly out of a jar and spread it on her English muffin.
I found an old plastic container in Sheila’s recycling and rins
ed it out. The size would be perfect for Gracie’s kibble.
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Did you notice no one even stuck a head out to see what was happening when I was screaming Gracie’s name? That’s just wrong. In another area of town, someone pulling a mean stunt like last night would have been spotted and reported. I’ve thought about moving before, but my monthly rental is all I can afford. Especially since I need a place close to Anya’s school and the store.”
“Drink this.” Linnea slid a large glass of tomato juice next to my plate. I obeyed without question.
“That’s the hold up?” Sheila scoffed. “Don’t be silly. When I die my money will go to Anya anyway, so it should help her now. I can contribute to suitable housing for both of you.”
“I don’t want to be beholden to you. I need to keep my independence.”
Linnea spooned a generous helping of fluffy scrambled eggs onto my plate. She did the same for Sheila. With quiet efficiency, she cut another English muffin open and popped it in the toaster.
“Is your pride more important than your safety? More to the point: Is your pride more important than Anya’s safety? Don’t be stupid.” She scooped up a fork full of eggs and put them in her mouth.
“You know the answer to that, and I’m not stupid. I’m proud, I like my independence, but Anya comes first in my life.”
“What are you planning to tell her about the detective?”
Linnea put a mug in front of me. A delicious, spicy steam rose from the cup. “Peppermint tea with ginger and honey. Good for your tummy. Your English muffin should be ready right about now, too.”
Evidently, Linnea had a whole bag of tricks for coping with hangovers. Maybe that had been another reason Sheila invited me to come home with her. She knew I’d need Linnea’s thoughtful care.
“I don’t see that I have any choice but to tell her the truth. Otherwise, Anya will wonder if his absence has anything to do with her. Knowing her, she’ll ask me how the evening went. I’ll mention seeing him … and his wife.”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 38
