“If there wasn’t any identification, maybe Marla really thought the cat had been dumped.” I cracked an egg against the side of the mixing bowl.
“That’s another problem with her story. Other neighbors remembered Mrs. Newcomber going from house to house asking after her cat. In fact, according to at least one neighbor, Mrs. Newcomber was incredibly persistent about knocking on doors and checking for her lost pet. Mrs. Newcomber stapled color posters with pictures of her cat to nearby telephone poles. At the very least, you could say that Mrs. Lever didn’t bother to look hard for cat’s owner.”
“But Marla turned the cat over when she found out it belonged to Mrs. Newcomber, right?”
“No, she did not. Mrs. Newcomber knew Marla Lever had a house full of cats. That was common knowledge in their neighborhood. She kept stopping by Mrs. Lever’s house, asking if she’d seen the lost pet. On her third visit, when Mrs. Lever opened her door, Mrs. Newcomber’s cat came flying out, trying to get to her owner. But Mrs. Lever was faster than Mrs. Newcomber. Marla Lever snatched up the cat and refused to give the animal back to Mrs. Newcomber. She claimed the animal had been abandoned and that she’d rescued it.”
I mixed the batter, putting a lot of muscle into the process. This story was getting worse and worse by the minute. Sure, I’d known all along that Marla Lever was odd. But I never figured her for a liar and a thief. Was it possible that she was also a murderer?
“Did I mention that Mrs. Newcomber’s cat was wearing a collar with a tag attached when it first ran off? That tag was engraved with Mrs. Newcomber’s cell phone number.”
I stopped my stirring. “You have to be kidding.”
“No, I’m not. The cat was still wearing the collar when an Animal Control Officer went to the house and retrieved the animal.”
“I bet the fur started flying over that.” I glanced at my kitchen clock. “Time for Martin’s ten o’clock feeding.”
“Martin?”
“A kitten. He landed on my head while I was cleaning, and I decided to keep him. He has to eat every four hours.”
“Do you seriously expect to get up again at two?” Detweiler asked. “And then again at six? How will you function at work? Especially after spending all day working in that house in this heat?”
“I have no idea.” I excused myself and walked past him to my bedroom where I retrieved the cardboard cat carrier. Gracie paid no attention to the kitten when I came back, because Detweiler was rubbing her ears.
Petunia had fallen asleep under the table and didn’t even look up as I set the carrier on my empty seat.
“Actually, I’m not as worried about how I’ll manage at work as I am about getting Martin to poop. I’m supposed to dampen a cotton balls and rub his kitty bits until he feels the urge.”
“Kitty bits? Cotton balls?” Detweiler doubled over laughing.
“Ha, ha, ha. When you are old and having trouble pooping don’t come crying to me, buddy. You’ll be alone and on your own.” I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.
“Kiki? We need to talk about Brenda, my wife.”
I shook my head violently. “No, we do not. That topic is off the table. Seriously. You’re a married man and that’s that. You’re here tonight because I might have information that can solve a murder case. That’s it; that’s all. When this is over, we go our separate ways.”
“If that’s what you want.”
My voice broke as I said, “That’s what I want, what I expect, and how it has to be.”
24
“I guess I better get going. I have files I need to review for a cold case we’re investigating.” Detweiler stood to leave, but he hesitated, glancing over at Martin who was squirming in my hands. “Have you done this before?”
“Fed and taken care of a baby cat like this? Nope. Mert doesn’t expect Martin to live, so I hope I’m doing everything the right way.”
“My mom used to do this with animals on the farm. When we got old enough, we’d take a turn, too. How about if I heat the formula for you?”
“That would be a big help,” I admitted. Even though Gracie was disinterested and Petunia was oblivious, Martin smelled the dogs, and he was scared. Mewling loudly, he sank his tiny needle-sharp claws into my arms as he tried to climb up, up, up and away.
Detweiler turned on the tap. Checking the water temp, he held the tiny plastic bottle beneath the running water. As I waited, he rotated the bottle left, then right, and left again.
“Care to talk about your cold cases?” I asked. “I’m a good listener. Besides, it’ll take Martin a while to drink his formula.”
“I don’t want to share too much with you,” he said. “It’s the stuff of nightmares.”
“You won’t tell me anything? Even if I bribed you with a brownie for the road?”
“A brownie for the road sounds like a fair trade. All I can tell you is what’s been reported in the news.” After testing the temperature of the milk on the inside of his wrist, he handed the bottle to me. Then he sank back down into the chair he’d recently vacated. “For ten years now women have been disappearing all around St. Louis County. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern. Often they’d gone out to eat or to a movie or to the mall or shopping. Their cars were found empty. Their purses were there, untouched. There’s no sign of a struggle.”
“That means they went with someone willingly.”
“Or they were overpowered quickly, so that they couldn’t fight.”
“If they were overpowered, isn’t it more likely that would have happened outside of their cars?”
“Yes.”
“Then their purses would have probably been missing, too, since most of us wear purses over our shoulders.”
“Right.” He watched as I sat on the floor and put Martin in the diamond formed by my legs. Before I could feed the kitten, I needed to warm him up, which I did by lightly massaging him. I also put a few drops of formula on my fingers and rubbed this onto his lips to stimulate his appetite.
“Anything else? Any other similarities?”
“The women were all between the ages of thirty and fifty. All had dark hair. None of their bodies have turned up.”
“What color hair did Sandra Newcomber have?” Detweiler watched as Martin settled down to do serious work on his bottle. The kitten looked adorable with a dab of milk on his chin. His tiny paws kneaded my leg rhythmically as he drank his dinner.
“Dark.”
“Are you thinking another woman lured them into a car?”
“I don’t know how the women were overpowered, but I will say this: You need to be careful, Kiki. Never park next to a van with a sliding door. Always stay aware of your surroundings. Have your keys ready when you go to your car. Get in, lock the door immediately, and then fuss with your seatbelt. Too many people get in, forget to lock the doors, and take their time adjusting their seatbelts and mirrors in an unlocked car.”
“You really think Marla Lever was involved in this?” I looked up into those amazing green eyes of his and saw doubt. “You don’t, do you?”
Martin was done with his bottle. I held him against my shoulder like I used to hold Anya. With tiny pats to his back, I encouraged him to burp.
Detweiler shook his head. “I don’t, but I could be wrong. She’s still unconscious. When she comes to, if she comes to, she’ll have to go through rehab to regain her ability to talk or write. Who knows how long it might take for her to respond to our questions? If she ever does.”
“But she couldn’t have done all that herself.” Now I needed to play Mama Cat and give Martin a quick bath. Using a fresh washcloth, I wet it with warm water, wrung it out, and wiped down the kitten. Next I dried him with a gentle massage, using a fresh dry washcloth. After stimulating his kitty bits, and getting the desired result, I cleaned him again before carefully drying him.
“You’re putting a lot of time and attention in one little guy who may or may not make it,” Detweiler said.
“Isn’t that what life is a
ll about? Taking chances? Giving time and love and attention to people, things, and situations that might not pan out? That’s the definition of hope, and without hope, life would be too bleak for me.”
It was more revealing than I would have liked, but once the words were out there, I couldn’t take them back.
I wrapped a chunk of brownies for Detweiler. “Getting back to Marla Lever, I can’t figure out how she would have shoved a body into her freezer. You didn’t say how big Sandra Newcomber was, but Marla couldn’t weigh more than 140. Her arms were flabby. It wasn’t like she worked out and could bench press her body weight.”
“She wouldn’t be the first killer to pair up with a man. Or even another woman. History is full of killing duos. Usually the dominant personality persuades the weaker one to join in.”
“That might have happened, but I don’t see it. Marla acted like a loner. To me, she seemed like a harmless cat lover who’d gone cuckoo for coconuts. But I guess that’s why serial killers are so lethal. They blend in, right?”
Detweiler’s smile was tight. “I hope she’s just a harmless older woman with a hoarding problem. That would be bad enough. Because if she is part of a murderous twosome…”
I finished his sentence for him: “The other half is still out there.”
25
Detweiler’s departure was abrupt. He stood up quickly, like a jack-in-a-box pops up when the lid is released. “I’ll be going,” he said, and he beat me to the front door.
After his taillights faded in the night, I realized we’d both come to the same conclusion: We couldn’t be trusted alone with each other. That scared me. A lot. I crawled into bed and stared at my ceiling for a long, long time.
The next morning before Jennifer Moore dropped off my daughter, I invited her child, Nicci, to stay overnight and spend Sunday with us. Jennifer happily agreed to the plan, and two hours later, she pulled up in her blue Mazda Miata to let the girls out.
The pre-teen girls squealed with excitement when I told them about Martin.
“A kitten! Oh, Mom! Is this one from that animal hoarder?” Anya shrieked with joy.
“Yes. This little guy actually landed on my head. He’s just a baby, so we have to go slowly introducing him to Gracie and Petunia. That’s why he’s still in his carrier box and back in my bedroom. I’ll show you how we need to take care of him. Also, I have to warn you that he might not make it. He’s had a tough start in life.”
“He’ll make it.” Anya leveled determined eyes at me. “I’m sending him love and good vibes.”
I hoped that would be exactly what Martin needed.
The girls were fascinated, watching Martin suck on his tiny bottle. Anya asked to hold him, but Nicci wasn’t interested. My kid is nutty for critters, while Nicci is a budding fashionista who’s more interested in mall shopping. Even so, the girls are good friends.
“The bottle’s empty; it’s time to burp him like a baby. After that, I need to get his insides moving.” In preparation, I dampened a cotton ball.
“Totally gross.” Nicci made a face.
She was right, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t make a difference to my daughter.
“He’s so cute!” While Anya watched me stroking the kitten, she told me all about summer camp. “We’re doing these cool black and white drawings. It’s to learn about optical illusions. I told our teacher about your Zentangle art, Mom. Could you come to class and teach us how?”
“Of course. Zentangle makes a larger than normal tile called The Apprentice that’s perfect for kids.”
Nicci smiled indulgently at Anya. Crafty stuff wasn’t her bag. I wondered how long they would remain friends. In many ways, large and small, they were very different. However, in one big way, they were the same—they both loved their mothers. Nicci’s dad was a jerk, to put it mildly. But Nicci and Jennifer were close. Very close. Maybe that would be enough of a common trait to nurture the girls’ friendship.
I had been keeping one eye on the kitchen clock. “Time for soccer practice.”
The kids changed into their practice duds quickly, while I grabbed cold bottles of water from my refrigerator. I’d taken to saving glass bottles with plastic lids. Unlike plastic bottles, these could be sterilized between uses, filled with water, and then the process could be repeated. I felt good about recycling and saving money.
We loaded the dogs into the car. It was a bit cramped, so Petunia sat on Anya’s lap and Gracie perched regally in the front passenger’s seat. When I pulled up to stop lights, other drivers did a double-take at the massive black and white head next to mine.
Detweiler showed up at the practice field with two tall plastic cups of iced green tea from Bread Co. and a couple of pumpkin muffies for us to share. Muffies are the tops of muffins. Originally they were sliced off, but now you can buy pans with shallow indentations and bake muffies yourself. If you like the crispy outside of a muffin more than the moist cake inside, you’ll find muffies to be the perfect solution.
“Your brownies were great. I figured I owed you,” he said, with a grin. “Since I’d noticed the practice schedule you had posted on your refrigerator with certain games highlighted in pink, I was pretty sure you’d be here.”
“How can I complain about your prying eyes when you bring me food and drink?”
“I’m being used?”
“You know you are. Welcome to the world of being objectified. How was your day?”
“This cold case work is slow going,” he said as he reached into a back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I’ve listed all the traits the women have in common. Dark hair, same general body type, roughly the same age. Otherwise I can’t find any common denominators. I re-interviewed one victim’s best friend. You can read the report. Maybe you’ll see something I missed. It might be that I need a woman’s take on this mess.”
Julianna Rossini, a forty-four-year-old teacher, could have been any one of my scrapbookers. Newly single. Divorced. Mom of two. Loved line-dancing and country western music. Had two cats. Liked mysteries and romances. Went to the movies every Saturday with a friend.
A totally unremarkable life, in that sense of the word that implied nothing to call attention to her existence.
Detweiler added another sheet of folded paper to the one in my hands. “Here’s the interview Hadcho did with another victim’s sister.”
Leesa Gainer had been a thirty-nine-year-old secretary. Married. Three kids, a dog and a cat. Worked downtown. Liked to knit. Taught Sunday School. Then one day she was gone, baby, gone.
“You haven’t found any sign of them? No bodies?”
“Nada. It’s like — poof — they disappeared into thin air.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. We’ll all leave this earth one day, but how sad it would be to miss out on the chance to tell your loved ones goodbye. Worse yet, how horrible to be the one left behind, wondering if that other person was somewhere, hurt or suffering, and you couldn’t help them. The unknowing would be incredibly painful.
“What’s your working theory?”
“I’m stumped.” As he rubbed the back of his neck, the clean scent of soap wafted my way. He always smelled like Safeguard soap with a hint of masculine cologne. Unlike a lot of men, he didn’t drench himself in scent. “I keep thinking that as we go over the interviews, something will pop out at us. That we’ll see some common thread that we can track down. Today I’m going to lock myself in the evidence room and comb through all the pieces we’ve collected. People think this is an exciting job, but most of it is tedium. I once solved a murder by realizing four numbers on a paper napkin were part of a phone number. That led us to a guy, and the thread unraveled from there. I owe it to these women’s families to keep banging my head against the wall until I see the light.”
I wouldn’t have guessed about the tedium, but once he explained, it made sense. Going through the ephemera—tickets, receipts, canceled checks, lists, fliers, stubs, and so on—brought in by my scrapbo
okers certainly told me a lot about them and their lives. I could see how revisiting the evidence collected regarding each missing woman might do the same for Detweiler. By viewing my clients’ paper trails, I learned where they shopped, how often they ate out and what they ordered, the kind of money they spent, and their habits in general.
“Would you like to look at the stuff Marla gave me?” I asked. “There might be something in there of interest. I planned to bundle everything up and return it to her daughter, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get it back.”
“What sort of materials are you talking about?”
“Photos, calendars, checkbook stubs, bills.” I explained how most of my students couldn’t put their hands on such ephemera. “However, Marla was a champ. Man, oh, man, did she have tons of paperwork to draw on. Er, I don’t mean drawing as in scribbling, I mean, as in using as a resource.”
“That might be helpful.”
For the next hour, he and I sat on the bench and cheered for the girls. During one break, Detweiler raced to Anya’s side where he whispered in her ear. As a result, she scored two goals. Clearly, he’d offered her a little coaching that she’d taken to heart. Not for the first time did I regret that my daughter might grow up without a father. Especially one like Chad Detweiler. He whooped and hollered from the sidelines with the same intensity as the other dads in attendance, even though this was just a practice session and as such was sparsely attended. Most of the parents dropped their kids off and left. But a few stuck around. I liked practices because they were low key, and I used the time to get a little fresh air. Gracie sat diligently at my side, casting loving eyes at Detweiler, while Petunia snoozed under the bleachers.
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 55
