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

  By the time MJ arrived, the plate of nachos I’d ordered had arrived. We placed our dinner orders and ate and laughed and talked.

  “Time to head to the concert,” said Skye.

  I grabbed for the bill and paid it. Dropping a dime out of my pocket as I did. Out of habit, I bent down to pick it up.

  MJ frowned at me. "You aren't really that hard up, are you, Cara? Scooping money off a dirty floor. If you are, we can pay for our own.”

  "Habit. I was taught that if you pass up money on the floor, it will pass you up in real life. Silly, but I've always been this way."

  We ambled down to the RiverWalk, an outdoors ampitheatre on the banks of the Intracoastal. Its concrete steps double as seating. Finding a spot we liked, we settled in while the band finished setting up on the small stage.

  Although the group didn’t play anything original, it was still fun to listen. Most of their tunes were cover songs from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. By the time the performance ended, I was in a wonderful mood. Darkness settled in like a cat finding a warm spot in the window.

  Because I had Jack under one arm, Skye helped me to my feet. The three of us headed back to the store. I hummed “My Brown Eyed Girl” and snapped my fingers. Jack must have liked the song, because his little tail beat time with the music.

  "Are you happy you came, Jack?" I asked him. He responded by licking my chin.

  “Nice night,” said Skye. “Chilly for Florida.”

  “This is the kind of evening that makes you grateful to be alive,” I said, stopping myself before adding a gloomy thought: Kathy Simmons wasn’t here to enjoy herself.

  "No bugs,” said MJ. "Love that. Have you thought about getting a little sweater for Jack?"

  “He needs one,” I said, snuggling Jack closer. “I never realized the weather could get so cool here in Florida! It's just perfect, isn't it? No wonder all those snowbirds flee the frozen northern states and come down here for the winter. In the seventies during the day and near fifties after dark."

  "I love living downtown,” said Skye, as a streetlight lit up her face. “We’re so close to all the action. The Lyric theatre, the RiverWalk Park, the shops, and the restaurants.”

  “Don’t forget the farmers’ market on Saturday," I said, with a sigh of contentment. But I didn’t add that I would rather live someplace with fewer people. I like my solitude.

  "Thanks for buying us dinner, Cara. You didn’t need to pick up the check,” said MJ.

  “She’s right. That was kind of you,” said Skye.

  “Thank you both for coming with me,” I said. “I needed a night away from the store. We’ve all been working so hard.”

  We rounded the corner to walk down the dark alley behind The Treasure Chest, as I continued, “I promise both of you that I’ll take better care of myself. I plan to start by getting over Cooper and moving on.”

  “Why doesn’t he dump Jodi?” asked Skye. “It’s clear he loves you.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, slowing my pace, walking with more care because it was dark. “He stopped in over the holidays when no one else was around. He told me that he loves me, but he also said that he’d made a mistake. A big one. Jodi knows about it, and she’s holding it over his head. According to him, she could ruin him.”

  “How positively Victorian,” said MJ. “Ruin him? He used those exact words?”

  “And there’s nothing he can do?” asked Skye.

  “That’s the impression I got.”

  “I bet it has something to do with his work. He’s an architect,” said MJ, stretching out one arm so her fingertips brushed the bricks of a neighboring building. “If he loses his license, he’s sunk.”

  “He didn’t share any details,” I admitted. “Frankly, I thought he’d get it straightened out by now.”

  “Let me guess,” said MJ, with a smirk. “He asked you to wait for him.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Typical. And you bought that?”

  “I did,” I said, as we were three storefronts from my parking spaces.

  “Take it from someone who’s been married five times,” said MJ. “Six if you count marrying the same guy twice. Men don’t like making commitments. They run away like cockroaches do when you turn on the light. Once they do make a commitment, they hate breaking it because they can’t stand drama. He’s toast, Cara. Jodi Wireka is a barracuda. She’s sunk her teeth into him, and she’s not going to let go.”

  23

  ~Cara~

  “Oh, Cara! You can’t give up on him! You two are perfect for each other,” said Skye.

  “There is no one perfect match,” said MJ. “Trust me.”

  She would know.

  “Don’t be such a cynic,” said Skye. “Cooper is perfect for Cara. He’s romantic, he’s handsome—”

  We were one store away from The Treasure Chest, when I saw a light shining through the glass panes of the back door. It traveled from spot to spot with haste, a spectral flash of brightness. “Whoa!” I threw my arm in front of Skye and MJ, to stop them in their tracks. “Don’t move.

  “What is it?” MJ asked.

  “Someone’s in the store. There’s a light inside, and it’s moving.”

  At that moment, Jack’s ears perked up. He stared at the store and growled.

  “I think it’s your imagination,” said MJ. “Or maybe it’s Essie Feldman, coming back to check out her store.”

  “Can’t be a ghost,” said Skye. “Ghosts don’t carry flashlights. That beam is bright and focused.”

  “Right,” I said. “Let’s go where there are people.”

  We hustled back the way we'd come, jogging along until we reached the corner of the municipal lot. Along the way, Skye whipped out her phone and dialed nine-one-one. After reporting what I’d seen and the address of the store, she gave them my name and phone number, explaining that I’m the store owner. The dispatcher cautioned Skye (and the rest of us) to stay clear of The Treasure Chest.

  “Right, like I’d be stupid enough to barge inside and try to defend my property,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s all replaceable.”

  “Except that it’s not,” said MJ sadly. “With our big event tomorrow, we can’t afford to have bare shelves.”

  That added to the tension, as the three of us plus Jack huddled under a streetlight. Concert-goers were still leaving the RiverWalk, climbing into their cars, and chatting with each other in a leisurely way. The swirl of the crowd around us felt mildly reassuring.

  “This means somebody must have been watching us,” said Skye.

  “What makes you think that?" MJ raised her eyebrows.

  “This is the first evening that Cara and I have been away from the building at the same time. Usually one or the other of us is upstairs.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Oh, gosh.”

  "Then we were lucky,” said MJ. “Because either one of you could have walked in on our visitor.”

  I thought I was going to get sick.

  24

  ~Lou~

  Early evening on Thursday

  Kathy Simmons’ apartment in Stuart

  Lou peeled off his latex gloves and shoved them deep in his pockets. The damp apartment that Kathy Simmons shared with Darcy Lahti depressed the heck out of him. Their "sofa" was a thin pad on two pallets shoved up against a wall. A cardboard box served the two roommates as an end table. A cheap composite trunk, like kids took to college, doubled as a coffee table. A double-bed mattress in the only bedroom had a deeply sagging middle. Mildew stains marred the ceiling, forming a ring around the light fixtures.

  The clothes in their shared closet revealed the size disparity between the roommates. Both young women were tall, but Kathy was big-boned and fleshy, while Darcy was thin enough to look emaciated. A cheap plastic dresser held a few more clothes, including a handful of tired looking undergarments.

  Lou and Ollie performed their search, accompanied by the sounds of Darcy sobbing as she sat in one of two plastic l
awn chairs.

  While Ollie went through the books on the makeshift boards and concrete blocks that formed a bookshelf, Lou asked Darcy a few questions.

  “How would you characterize your friend’s emotional state?” He put it to the sobbing young woman gently.

  “Excited and worried.”

  “Could you tell me more about that?”

  “She called me from that store. Said things were going to be different. But she didn’t say how or why.” Darcy blew her nose on toilet paper, straight from the roll.

  “What was Kathy worried about?”

  Darcy shrugged.

  Lou wondered if Darcy simply lacked the vocabulary to adequately describe her friend’s feelings. Even before Darcy opened her mouth, Lou had pegged her as underprivileged. He’d be hard-pressed to explain his conclusion in court. People called the United States a classless society. But nothing could be further from the truth. Darcy’s slumping posture, her chipped nail polish, her cheap shoes, her obvious lack of dental care, the way she picked at her face, her inept grammar, all nailed her firmly to a bulletin board labeled: Lower Middle Class.

  Lou hated himself for his cavalier assessment of her.

  “You’re an elitist snob,” chuckled Showalter. “Who’d have thunk it? It’s not like you grew up all high and mighty.”

  “No,” Lou agreed. Lou’s father had been a barber. His mother took in laundry and ironing to make ends meet.

  What made him different from Darcy?

  Aspiration.

  Lou’s parents had taught him—drilled into him—the desire to aspire to a better life. His mother was a stickler for proper word usage and grammar. His parents took him to museums and art exhibits. His father taught him to stand when a lady entered the room, to pull out her chair for her when she went to sit down, to hold open doors for people, and to remove his hat when he entered a building.

  Lou could imagine Darcy’s upbringing. She’d probably been left to her own devices for most of her life, with no one to watch over her or take an interest in her development.

  Could she have killed her roommate?

  “Sure, she could have,” said Showalter. “Maybe Kathy saw her as an albatross. Dragging her down. Maybe they argued over a guy. Or money. Darcy regretted it after the fact, so she called in the missing person’s report out of guilt. Heck, she even called The Treasure Chest on the pretext of looking for Kathy. Could have all been part of an effort to avoid the naked truth: that she killed her friend.”

  “Anything is possible,” said Lou, talking to himself.

  “Finished,” said Ollie, stepping out of the bedroom.

  “Did you see an old black and white photo anywhere?” asked Lou.

  “Nope. Why?" Ollie had a smudge of raspberry filling on his upper lip.

  "It's a loose end. I don't like loose ends. As far as we know, Kathy didn’t swing by the apartment after the media event. But that’s only supposition on our part. We could be wrong. We can’t account for every minute of her time, right? If she did drop by before going to the newspaper to write up her article, the photo could be here.”

  “Yes, but we’ve gone over this place once. The only thing on the walls is a cheap poster," said Ollie. “We didn’t find any photos anywhere.”

  Lou shook his head. “But that picture was important to Kathy. Important enough that she stuck around and bullied Cara into selling it. So why hasn’t it turned up?”

  “Could it be at the newspaper office?” asked Ollie.

  Lou shrugged.

  “Maybe the burglars took it,” said Ollie. “Or she could have hidden it somewhere. Dropped it in a mailbox?”

  “Ms. Lahti?” Lou squatted next to the young woman. “Do you know if Kathy came home after the media event? Did you see any indication she’d been here? We’re wondering what might have happened to the photo she bought. Maybe she came back and dropped it off at the apartment before going to the newspaper office.”

  “It isn’t here,” she said.

  “Could your burglars have taken it?”

  “No,” she said. “It isn’t here, and it wasn’t here.”

  “You know that how?” prodded Lou.

  “I just know,” said Darcy.

  Not helpful, thought Lou. “Ollie? Out in the hall.”

  The two men stood head to head, speaking in low whispers.

  Lou shook his head in disgust. "We've got nothing. No phone. No picture from The Treasure Chest. Just an empty frame No witnesses. No evidence. No motive. Nothing!”

  “Not true,” said Ollie. “I’ve got Ms. Simmons’ notebook computer. She used it at home for any freelance work. The articles for the Shoreline News were written on the computers there. I need to go through her little Dell and see what I can find.”

  On his way back to the station, Lou talked over the case with Showalter. “What I really need is to interview Mr. Green and the others at the newspaper office.”

  "See if you can shake any peaches out of his tree," said Showalter.

  “Oranges,” Lou said.

  “Oranges?” Showalter repeated.

  “We’re in Florida now. Peaches grow up in Georgia.”

  25

  ~Cara~

  Thursday evening

  A few blocks away from The Treasure Chest

  Two patrol cars flew past, heading in the direction of my store. They had on their bubble lights but didn’t use their sirens.

  “Maybe they’ll catch the creeps in the act,” MJ said.

  “Crud,” I said. “I now officially declare this A Totally Rotten Day.”

  “Except for dinner together and the concert,” said Skye. “That was terrific.”

  “Don’t forget that hunk who carried you up to your sofa and spent time in your bedroom,” said MJ.

  “Jason was in your bedroom?” Skye’s eyes grew big. “I didn’t hear about that.”

  “Just to grab a pillow and towel to put under my legs,” I said, waving away her excitement.

  “Right. If he’d been in my bedroom,” said MJ, “I would have—”

  “Whoa! Down girl,” I said. “We better start walking back toward the store.”

  The three of us were quiet, except for Jack, who growled as if he were an attack dog.

  “Hush, little fellow,” I told him. “You are not big enough to throw your weight around. I know you think you are, but you aren’t.”

  “Wow, we’ve had ringside seats to two crimes in one day. This has to be some sort of a record,” said Skye.

  “And most people don’t think retail is that exciting,” said MJ.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I said in a grumpy voice.

  “Cara, the whole point of this evening was for you to step back and put things into perspective,” Skye reminded me.

  “Could be worse,” said MJ. “Could be raining.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “You do realize that rain is in the forecast don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh,” said MJ.

  We took our time walking to a spot across from The Treasure Chest, thirty feet from the front door of Pumpernickel’s. From there, we could see the right display window, or what was left of it. Shards of glass hung loosely from the molding. I knew what the replacement would cost and inwardly groaned. Sure, I have insurance, but there’s still a deductible, and claims can drive up your rates.

  A female police officer in uniform stepped out of the front door of The Treasure Chest and started snapping pictures on her phone. After clicking off a few, she unrolled yellow “Caution” tape, taking it out as far as the streetlight on the corner.

  I crossed the street. “Hello?”

  “Miss? Stay clear, please. This is a crime scene.” She waved me back.

  “Unfortunately, it’s my crime scene.” I reached into my back pocket and withdrew a business card. “I’m Cara Mia Delgatto. This is my store. Those two women? Across the street? Those are MJ Austin and Skye Blue. They both work with me. I live in one of the apartments upstairs and Skye lives in the ot
her unit.”

  The officer glanced at my card before nodding. “Okay, but I can’t let you interfere with what we’re doing to secure the scene. All three of you need to wait in my patrol car. It's around back. I'll walk you there.”

  She got her partner to come and watch the front of the store while she led us, Pied Piper style around to her police cruiser. I took the hump, and the three of us sat shoulder to shoulder on the back seat, saying nothing, in the dark and the quiet. Fortunately, Jack didn’t make a peep either. The way we were huddled together reminded me of a slumber party, only without pajamas and a Ouija board.

  My last thought as I fell asleep was, I sure hope there’s something left for us to sell.

  26

  ~Lou~

  “No one’s been hurt, sir, except for the burglar who is presently at large. He cut himself going through the front window. The location has been cleared,” said Officer Valerie Blaze, her gray-green eyes bright with adrenalin.

  “Brief me on the situation.” Lou had been at the station doing the inevitable paperwork that followed any investigation, but seemed endless when there was a homicide. When he heard the dispatcher say there was a break-in in progress, at The Treasure Chest, he’d dropped everything and raced to his car.

  “I was the first responder, sir,” said Valerie. “Officer Ensign here was my back up. We pulled up in time to see an individual rummaging around in the back room. The beam from his flashlight was visible. The back door was his entry point. I shouted a warning as we entered. I called for the perpetrator to halt. He went racing through the front of the store. I pursued him, but he had a head start. I heard the sound of glass breaking. He must have broken the plate glass window and then crawled through it to escape. When you go inside, you’ll see there’s a copious amount of blood on the glass and surrounding window frame.”