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, I’d put a down payment on this building. I’d rolled the metaphorical dice and taken my chances.

  Had I made a huge error in judgment? Had I put too much faith in my entrepreneurial abilities?

  Jack sensed my mood. He pawed at my leg and I picked him up. Once in my arms, he licked my chin. His concern touched me. “You won’t go hungry, Jack. I promise. I won’t toss you out of a moving truck either.”

  Take it one step at a time, I reminded myself.

  I couldn’t do anything about Tommy’s tuition problems right this moment. I needed to get through the VIP event tomorrow night. Then I’d think about how to handle this. I would begin by going through my father’s papers. Usually he kept meticulous records of his business dealings and any agreement he’d made with Dom (on my behalf) would be there in the pile.

  Unless it wasn’t.

  He’d met with Dom right after Mom had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Had my father actually gotten Dom’s agreement on paper? I vaguely recalled Dad working with Ed Wilson, our family attorney, to craft a document. Had it been properly signed and witnessed?

  Then a fierce anger bubbled up inside me. Why did I even need to find that piece of paper? After all, Dom had given his word.

  How could I encourage Dom to keep it?

  With a sinking heart, I knew the answer…he wouldn’t.

  If Tommy was to continue college, I’d have to come up with the money.

  The question was: How?

  19

  ~Cara~

  When I put Jack back in his crate, MJ was still on the phone. Honora had finished her cup of tea so I gave her a quick tour. As we walked side-by-side, I caught a whiff of lavender and lily-of-the-valley. From her ears dangled clip-on pearl earrings that matched a strand around her throat. Although her shoes were orthopedic, they’d been polished to a high gloss.

  We worked our way from the back of the display floor toward the big windows, pausing for her to admire two large chests of drawers that I’d stenciled with what was now our signature starfish design. I was explaining how I’d come up with the idea when Skye popped in through the front door. "Things are kind of slow right now, so I took a short break. I figured you would forget to eat," she said.

  Glancing at my watch, I realized it was nearly two.

  "Thanks so much,” I said, as I took the foam clamshell from Skye. “Honora? This is Skye. Wait until you see the fabulous jewelry that she has made. She’s also the brain behind our spa recipes."

  “Of course I know Skye. She’s my favorite waitress. How are you, sweetheart?” Honora gave Skye a big hug.

  “Glad you managed to get here today,” said Skye, avoiding my eyes. “We can sure use your help.”

  So MJ and Skye had conspired together to add Honora to our merry band of misfits. I felt miffed, but when Skye shrugged at me, I couldn’t stay angry. My friends were only trying to help.

  Honora and Skye discussed display options for her miniatures. We had turned stray dresser drawers into shelf units by hanging them flat against the wall. These would be perfect for showing off Honora’s merchandise.

  On my way back to my office (the space formerly known as the storage closet), I bumped into Sid. “That woman called again. Darcy? She’s called twice a day every day since Monday. She asked if any of us have heard from her roommate, Kathy Simmons.”

  I swallowed hard. Lou had asked us to lie, and I would, but it didn’t come easily. “No, I have not heard from Kathy Simmons. Have you, MJ?”

  She turned toward us, hesitated, and then shook her head. “No.”

  “Geez,” said Sid. “That Darcy chick gets more and more frantic every day. I wonder what the scoop is.”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” I said honestly.

  Eating didn’t appeal to me, so I put the bag from Pumpernickel’s inside the refrigerator. MJ came over to grab a bottle of cold water. She said, “I know you are worried about money, but it’s great that Honora will be working with us. You’re going to be thrilled with her, so you can start thanking me anytime.”

  “You and Skye conspired together to bring Honora onboard?” I said in a slightly “Et tu, Brutus?” tone of voice.

  “Mainly me. But I ran the idea past Skye and she agreed.”

  “Thanks, I think. Will that miniature stuff really sell?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Especially once Sid gets the shopping cart on our website up and running. Collectors from all over the world will make purchases from us.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Miniatures are big business, especially overseas. Go online and check it out. Actually, the market for quality miniatures is even bigger internationally than it is domestically. It’s a win-win.”

  “I don't remember seeing any tiny pieces in the shop when Essie owned it.”

  “Honora didn’t consign merchandise with Essie until ten years ago. That was during the years you quit coming to Florida,” she said.

  “Why are you so hot on having her come to work with us?” I asked.

  “In France they train pigs to find truffles. On the Treasure Coast we have Honora to uncover hidden treasures. She once went to a mah-jong game and came back with two Chippendale chairs. Another time, she was playing bridge and called me to come and pick up a Hoosier pie safe. She has contacts galore. She’s friendly with all the other seniors. They trust her. When they decide to sell a piece of furniture, Honora will suggest that they call us. She has friends who frequent the club on Jupiter Island, so she’s over there a lot. Really, you can’t lose.”

  “I’m going to run down to the copy shop to get these handouts for the VIP event made,” said Sid, as he rushed past us.

  "This is the second time this week that he’s come in late," I said, as he slammed the door behind him.

  "He's having trouble sleeping because his roommates party all night," said MJ.

  "Then he needs to find a new home.”

  "He can't. He's not old enough to sign a lease by himself, and he has no credit. Plus he wouldn't be able to come up with the down payment and security deposit."

  The whole world seemed to be chronically short of money. Me included.

  “I know that expression,” said Skye, poking her head in the back room. “That’s your worried look. You haven’t eaten your lunch have you?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Look, Cara. Don’t be silly. Your emotional tanks are empty. Most of the time you run around being hungry, angry, lonely, and tired. That’s not helpful. Not to you, not to us, and not to the store. What you need is a break,” said Skye. “Something to take your mind off your troubles. Tell you what. There’s a concert tonight down at the RiverWalk Park. What do you say to the three of us going? A girls’ night out? You, me, and MJ? How about it?”

  I hesitated and then said, “Sure. Why not?”

  20

  ~Lou~

  Thursday late afternoon

  "Captain Davidson wants to see you," said the department secretary, by way of greeting Lou as he walked into the police station.

  "Close the door." The older man gestured with his hands, indicating the need for privacy.

  "Where are we on the DB?"

  "I just got back from taking the roommate, Darcy Lahti, to identify the body. She was so distraught that she couldn’t string a sentence together. Here’s what I’ve got: Katharine Marie Simmons, age twenty-three, born in Tallahassee, graduated from various community colleges, currently working as a part-time reporter. Her mother is Mary Eberly Simmons, currently of Gainesville, Florida. As you know, Ms. Lahti called in early Tuesday morning with a missing person’s report, when Kathy didn't come home Monday night. According to Ms. Lahti, she had tried to call Kathy several times, but the phone went straight to voicemail. The roomie said that was unusual. Says they’d made a pact to always answer each other’s calls.”

  “And this is the same Ms. Lahti who phoned us because her apartment had been broken into,” said Davidson.

 
; “Right,” said Lou, as he pulled his notebook from his pocket and consulted it. “The call came in at eleven-o-five on Tuesday night. Uniforms arrived to take a statement. Nothing appeared to be missing.”

  "Interesting," said Davidson, as he rocked back in his big black chair. Despite his receding hairline, he was a nice looking man, or so the women in the station seemed to think. Lou had overheard them speculating on why he was still single. Five years ago, when Lou joined the Stuart Police Department, Davidson had just buried his wife. Gossip had it that Rita Davidson had been a real pill, which might explain why Nathan now seemed uninterested in female companionship. Maybe he’d decided that one bad marriage was enough for a lifetime.

  “What have you got for a timeline on Ms. Simmons?”

  “She visited The Treasure Chest, for a media event, Monday evening. Went back to the Shoreline News office to file her story. Called from there to speak to Cara Mia Delgatto later that night. Turned the phone over to her boss, Adrian Green, who had a few questions. She goes missing. We found her body this morning in the trunk of her car.”

  “Where’s her cell phone?”

  “Missing. I’ve requested records of her phone calls from the phone company.”

  "What are you thinking?" Davidson’s hazel eyes turned more green than brown when he was curious, worried, or angry. Right now, they were nearly the color of emeralds.

  "It's ugly.” Lou explained Faraday’s theory that Kathy had been drugged, kept in the trunk, and then suffocated.

  “Have we notified the next of kin?” asked Davidson.

  “Ollie Anderson has notified the authorities up in Gainesville. They’re en route to share the bad news with the mother. That's it, that's all."

  “Your next step?”

  “Checking out a list of known associates and firming up the timeline. Because the roommate was pretty shook up, I’ll need to talk to her again later. Ollie and I plan to talk to Ms. Simmons’ co-workers in the Shoreline News office.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s early,” admitted Lou. “The roommate is a suspect, of course. She could have concocted the missing person report and the break-in to throw us off.”

  “You must have a couple of ideas of leads besides the roommate. Anyone have a beef with Ms. Simmons?”

  “Cara Mia Delgatto did.”

  “What?” Davidson leaned forward suddenly. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. Kathy Simmons insisted on buying an expensive item from The Treasure Chest, but Cara didn’t want to sell it until later. Supposedly the picture was for Kathy’s mother’s birthday. The two had words because Kathy threatened Cara.”

  “Threatened?” Davidson’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Kathy was overheard telling Cara that if she didn’t sell the picture that night, the news article on the Old Florida Photo Gallery would include things Cara doesn’t want made public.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Things like the fact she went to jail for hitting that louse of an ex-husband over the head with a frying pan. That she stumbled over a fresh corpse the same day she bought The Treasure Chest. Kathy even brought up Cooper Rivers in some sort of a veiled threat.”

  Davidson frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Last I heard, he was engaged to Cara’s sister.”

  “Right. But Kathy still mentioned his name. She wanted that picture in the worst way, and Cara dug her heels in, so Kathy pulled out all the stops.”

  “We’ll need to explore that angle.”

  “You’re thinking that Cara was involved in the murder?” Lou couldn’t believe his ears.

  “No,” Davidson laughed. “Not hardly. But I’m wondering why Kathy used Cooper Rivers as leverage. More importantly, how she used him. What does she have on the architect?”

  “Beats me.”

  “You need to find out,” said Davidson. “Maybe Kathy was in the habit of blackmailing people. It’s possible she also threatened Cooper, and that backfired. Either way, there’s plenty to keep you busy. Let me know what you find out.”

  21

  ~Cara~

  Late afternoon on Thursday

  The Treasure Chest

  Skye left to go back to work. MJ ran out to call on a customer. Honora busied herself getting familiar with the store. Sid was still working on my computer.

  That left me to finish prepping food for tomorrow’s VIP event. Alone in the back room with my thoughts, I realized that Skye had been right: My emotional tanks were empty. I’d done little or nothing for myself lately. In fact, I rarely left the store except to take Jack for a walk outside.

  I knew that my behavior wasn’t healthy. When times get tough, I tend to buckle down and work harder, not necessarily smarter. In fact, I’m more likely to work myself into a frenzy. Or wind up coming down with bronchitis.

  When my parents were alive, they’d been my ballast. Mom and Dad helped me sail through rough seas. They’d schedule me for time off at the restaurant. Mom would suggest we go and get our nails done. Dad would ask me to take a drive with him.

  After they died, I turned to my friend Kiki Lowenstein. Her scrapbook and craft store in my hometown of St. Louis had become my second home. Working on a project, I’d totally lose track of time. I walked away refreshed. There were also times when all I needed was to vent. Sharing with Kiki helped me put life into perspective.

  Yes, that was the ticket. A call to Kiki would definitely help. Setting aside the strawberries I’d been stemming, I grabbed my cell phone and punched in her number.

  She answered quickly. A baby cooed in the background.

  "I haven’t talked to you since the baby was born. I've missed you," I said. "How is Baby Ty? What is he, two weeks old?"

  "Two weeks today. He’s great. Before I forget, thanks for the terrific gift. An adorable porcelain piggy bank from Tiffany’s? You shouldn’t have. As you can guess, life has been crazy. How are you doing, Cara? It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve talked. Your timing is perfect. I just put Ty down for his nap."

  "Where do I begin?" I started blabbering like a fool. Kiki interrupted occasionally to ask for clarification, but mainly she listened. When I finished, she didn’t say anything for a long, long time. In fact, I was beginning to think she'd hung up on me.

  "Cara, sweetie, that's a lot to have dumped on your plate all at once," she said.

  "I haven’t been handling things well. I've been so down."

  "Then apologize and change. But here's an idea. Bear with me, okay? I want you to stand on one foot."

  I stood up and shifted all my weight to one foot.

  "Now hit yourself repeatedly."

  "Huh?"

  "Just do as I ask."

  I tried, but failed because I was falling all around. "What's this supposed to prove?"

  "That you can't catch your balance while you're beating yourself up. Quit berating yourself for the past. It's over. You reached your limit, and now it's time to move along life's highway. You need to schedule fun into your life. Have you been doing any Zentangle®?”

  She was referencing a sort of meditative drawing technique that she’d taught me up in St. Louis.

  “No,” I admitted. The supplies were simple: a pen, a pencil, and a square of good paper, called a tile.

  “This might be an excellent time to work on a tile or two.”

  "I couldn’t concentrate on tangling! I don't know what to do about all these extra expenses!" I wailed.

  "Yes, you do. You’re selling stuff right? You’ve moved a lot of big ticket items that are still on the floor. A website is important in this day and age, and you need more counter help, so Honora sounds ideal. As for Sid, you can deal with the lateness; you've dealt with employees’ problems before. You can’t run a business without inventory. Sounds like the miniatures and the soft goods are exactly what you need. It’s one thing to be careful about spending money, but it’s another to be penny-wise and pound-foolish.”

  I couldn't believe
how stupid I'd been. “You’re right of course. Why couldn't I see all that?”

  "You're overloaded. You're reacting rather than thinking things through. You're overly tired. Oh, and your heart is broken. You are grieving. Cooper's indecision has caused you to doubt everything, especially since you were so sure about him."

  I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "And Kathy Simmons is dead."

  "That isn't your problem. She didn't die on your property or your watch. You have a case of the Jessica Fletcher Syndrome, just like I do. We seem destined to trip over more dead bodies than the average person does."

  Laughing, I agreed. "Poor Jessica."

  "Yeppers. No wonder she became an amateur sleuth. What other choice did she have?"

  22

  ~Cara~

  After my talk with Kiki, I ran upstairs, washed my face, changed my clothes, and spritzed on cologne. The floral fragrance lifted my spirits. I felt ready to take on the world as I hurried downstairs. The store was empty, except for Skye who had ended her shift at Pumpernickel’s. She stepped out of the restroom by my office and gave me her report.

  “Honora’s daughter came to pick her up. MJ ran home to change into jeans,” she said. “She said she’ll meet us at whatever restaurant we choose. How about if we eat outside? That way Jack can stay with us.”

  Sounded great to me.

  Many downtown Stuart eateries spill out onto the sidewalk with seating. Skye and I found a nice table outdoors, one that Jack approved of, where we could people-watch.