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

  “Let her look at them first before you order anything.”

  The next two hours passed quickly. The mail came. Amidst the normal bunch of bills and solicitations I found another letter addressed to me. This was labeled, so I hoped it wasn't another anonymous threat.

  But it was. Again, I read what a miserable excuse for a person I was. The writer suggested that if I didn't sell out, the building might catch on fire with me in it.

  I fed this letter to the paper shredder and tried to ignore it.

  At one o’clock I realized that I hadn’t had any lunch. I was pulling leftovers out of the refrigerator when Honora took a chair and sat down.

  “LaTisha just called. You’re never going to believe this,” she said. “Shortly after we left the Wentworths’ house, the Senator had a seizure. At least, that’s what they think happened. Jenny Beth and LaTisha were in the kitchen when they heard a series of thumps and a groan. The emergency crew got there in minutes, but it didn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The Senator is dead.”

  48

  ~Cara~

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. The news about the Senator shook me to my core. Sure, he’d seemed off-kilter, but I would have never guessed he was on death’s doorstep.

  Honora was even more upset than I. She sat there at the table, staring off into space and twisting a handkerchief in her hands. We both needed a strong cup of tea. After putting on the kettle, I joined her at the small folding table that had become our natural gathering place.

  “I don’t know why this has me rattled,” Honora said. “It’s to be expected. At our age, every day is a bonus. Josiah wasn’t aging well. His mind was clearly going. He’d shrunken over the years, but still…”

  “I would have never visited unannounced if I’d known he was on death’s doorstep,” I said, as I poured the hot water into our cups. Suddenly, my leftovers didn’t seem very appetizing.

  “No, of course not. He must have taken a sudden turn, or LaTisha would have suggested that we postpone our visit, but she didn’t.” Honora frowned at her cup and said, “Cara, dear, I have a bad feeling about this. The timing is all wrong. Think about it. The Senator looked fine at your open house. Although he seemed a bit confused today, his color was good, wasn’t it? He was up and about. Dressed. Not lying around in bed.”

  “True, but maybe he was worse off than he looked. Maybe that’s why his wife was so testy. Could be that she knew he wasn’t doing well, but LaTisha didn’t.”

  “I doubt that. She didn’t act worried about the Senator. Not at all. She would have ordered us out of the house. Trust me. Jenny Beth doesn’t mince words. Like a lot of women who marry powerful men, she’s grown accustomed to people jumping when she says, ‘Boo, pea, turkey.’”

  “Boo, pea, turkey?” I repeated.

  “A Southernism,” explained Honora. “Meaning ‘zilch.’ Point being that Jenny Beth has been spoilt by her husband’s status. She’s taken on the luster of his title, and she uses it for her own purposes. Did you notice that she barely let Josiah finish a sentence? Hardly the epitome of the adoring little woman, is it?”

  We sat in silence for a while.

  “On another subject,” I said. “Sid ran out to get a surge protector. I’ve asked him to help you put together a workspace. Why don’t you go online to try to find a table and a good lamp that would work for you? You can use my computer. Do you know how to do a search?”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “Sid taught me.”

  I grabbed a clipboard and got to work on Skye’s Spa Goodies. A short time later, MJ walked in.

  “Good news. I sold one of those big paintings by Will Daniels. This is for you,” she said, handing over two shopping bags full of kitty accoutrement. When I tried to pay her back, she shook her head. “All the men I date know I love my fur-babies, so they’re always bringing me this and that. I shove it all in a closet. Usually it goes to the no-kill shelter, but lately The Treasure Chest has become a no-kill shelter.”

  I laughed, but it was true. Sort of.

  “Congratulations on the sale,” I said.

  MJ smiled. She loved selling our cache of Highwayman paintings. "After I write up the paperwork, I’ll give Luna a bath, so she smells better. I noticed that she has a few fleas. I’ll put flea powder, but you'll want to get a product from the vet to keep her bug free."

  “No problem. Why two cat litter pans?” I asked, as I rummaged through the bags.

  “Maybe you could give Luna the run of the store. Why not put one litter pan down here and one up in your apartment?”

  I did as MJ suggested and then introduced Luna to her new bathroom facilities. She knew exactly how to put them to good use. I praised the cat and gave her a kitty treat for being so fastidious. As she chewed on the small morsel, I put on my reading glasses and used this opportunity to examine the tag on her collar. Actually, there were two tags on the same jump ring. The first verified her shots were up to date. On the second tag, which was red and shaped like a heart, Kathy had inscribed a cell phone number and the phrase, “Darcy+Kathy4Ever.”

  Luna studied me with lemon yellow eyes.

  “I’m sorry Kathy is gone,” I said, as I stroked her head. “I know you miss her.”

  Luna rubbed her face against mine.

  “Sorry, baby,” I said. “So sorry.”

  MJ went back to calling people who'd expressed an interest in vintage Florida merchandise. Honora and Sid bent their heads over graph paper to plan her new work space. I used the time to check my emails, finish paperwork, and wait on customers.

  At noon, I dragged everything out of the refrigerator so we could polish off the rest of the open house leftovers. I was toasting bread for bruschetta when Poppy rapped on the back door. When I opened it, he gave me a big hug. As first I felt stiff, but I can never stay mad at Poppy for long.

  “Come join us,” I said. “You’re in time for lunch.”

  “Sorry about the other night.” Poppy pulled up a chair. “My temper got the best of me. I drove over to Jupiter Island earlier to set things right with Josiah Wentworth. LaTisha let me in. She and I go way back. Guess I just missed you by seconds.”

  "What?" My stomach did a slow twist and wound up in a knot. “You were there? Right after we left?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I spoke to the Senator while he sat there in the lanai. Just us two, but I didn’t get to make a proper apology because Jenny Beth came roaring in like the Wicked Witch of the West. She had that handyman of theirs come and throw me out. Make me so dad-gum mad I almost put my fist right through their front door.”

  Honora’s mouth quivered. I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was—and it wasn’t good.

  “Please tell me you got right back in your car and came here,” I said, although I was clutching at straws. “Poppy, you didn’t hang around, did you? Did you say anything you shouldn’t have?”

  “Might have. I stood there on their doorstep and told Jenny Beth that for the wife of a murdering thief she had a lot of nerve. I told her I’d intended to apologize, but now she was the one who ought to be trying to make things right.”

  “Please tell me that no one overheard you.”

  “Of course folks heard me. While I was setting her straight, the Jupiter Island police showed up. Jenny Beth musta called them even before she got that handyman involved. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” I said, although my voice was little more than a whisper. “I certainly can.”

  “What happened next?” asked Honora.

  “Nothing.” Poppy looked very pleased with himself. “Who do you suppose fixes the engines on the Jupiter Island police cars? Huh? None other than yours truly. Once they called in my name, those two whippersnappers in uniform backed down real fast. Then I delivered my coup de grace.”

  “Your coup de grace?” I had to repeat the term because he’d mispronounced it as a “coop-dee-grace.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, ma’am. I told them that I had as much right to be on that island as Tiger Woods or Celine Dion or even Greg Norman.”

  “Right. But they’re property owners. You aren’t.”

  “The heck I ain’t.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Honora shot me a look that suggested I was postponing the inevitable. I needed to tell Poppy about the Senator’s death. But I was too intrigued by my grandfather’s assertion that he owned property on Jupiter Island. That just didn’t seem possible, given how expensive those places were.

  “I mean exactly what I said. I own property on Jupiter Island,” he said.

  Was it possible that his insulin pump wasn’t working? Was he being belligerent and confused because his blood sugar was off? He didn’t seriously think he owned property on the island where the median home value was $2.8 million, did he?

  Poppy gave me his most self-assured smile. “I used to fix stuff for the widow Fingersmith all the time. Her son and I were in the service together. When she died, she up and left me her house on the island. I didn’t want to take it at first. But her son thought it was fine for me to have the house. He got plenty in her will—and he never wanted to see the ocean again after his stint out in the South Pacific. I've kept the place rented out ever since.”

  “Did I ever go there? To the house on the island?” I searched my memory and came up blank.

  “Of course you did. We used to go all the time. You called Mrs. Fingersmith, ‘Beautiful,’” added Poppy.

  “Beautiful?” A fuzzy picture of an elegant lady inviting me to play UNO emerged. I recalled her serving me vanilla wafers. Cold milk. I described that mental picture to Poppy.

  “That’s right. She treated you like you was her own kin.”

  “But she died, and left you a house? You own a place on Jupiter Island?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “What’s so surprising about that?”

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Dick,” said Honora, clearing her throat, “we have some bad news for you.”

  49

  ~Lou~

  Shortly after noon on Saturday

  Pumpernickel’s Deli in Downtown Stuart

  Lou crossed his fingers as he walked into Pumpernickel’s. The deli was always busy around lunchtime. With any luck, Skye would have gotten over being angry with him. If not, he hoped she’d be so busy waiting on customers that she’d forget how mad she was.

  Things seemed to be going his way because his usual seat, the booth in the far right corner, was empty. So he took it.

  “I bet it’s a hamburger medium rare on a whole wheat bun with mustard, pickles, and American cheese kind of day,” Skye said, with a smile. “Instead of fries, you want a fruit salad.”

  “How’d you guess? Don’t suppose you have a break coming up.”

  “As you can see, we’re pretty busy. But I’ll ask Dora to cover for me. Give me five minutes to put this in,” and she grinned at him. Her cute little ponytail bobbed along as she moved from table to table.

  In short order, she returned with a large iced tea for him and a glass of water for herself. Taking the bench seat across from him, she asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Lousy. This murder case is driving me nuts. The lab is taking forever to get back to me. Summer vacations. Short-handed.”

  “Yeah, same here. Plus, we’ve got two waitresses at home with sick kids. That leaves me working all day. I don’t mind, except that I’d rather be crafting stuff for the store. We sold a ton of my jewelry and spa items.”

  “Good for you. That reminds me,” said Lou, “I really enjoyed myself at the VIP Open House. Sorry I couldn’t stick around longer. What you did with those plastic bags was interesting.”

  “Thanks. The place was packed, wasn’t it?”

  “Did Cara do what she’d hoped? Did she sell a lot?”

  “I think so. She’s doing an inventory. We won’t know until she’s finished. You'll never guess who dropped by to see Cara this morning. Kathy Simmons' roommate. Darcy Somebody.”

  “Really? What’d she have to say?”

  “Beats me. But she did leave Kathy’s cat with Cara.”

  “Why?”

  “Uh,” Skye drew a circle on the table with her index finger. “She didn’t want the animal.”

  “Probably can’t afford it,” said Lou. “Pets can be expensive.”

  Skye nodded and looked over at the counter, watching Dora serve and take orders.

  “I wonder why Darcy dumped the cat on Cara?”

  “Kathy told her what a nice person Cara is.”

  “That so?” Lou took a long gulp of his tea. “Still, it seems like a stretch. There have to be other people that Darcy knows who might take the animal.”

  “Evidently not,” said Skye, quietly, as she looked away from Lou.

  There was something there, something Skye was chewing over, worrying with. Lou knew her well enough to read her hesitation. He pushed, saying, “But why leave it with Cara? A woman she’d never met. Why not take the cat to the animal shelter?”

  “Because she didn’t want it put to sleep,” said Skye, quickly. “And that’s what they do. They only keep cats a short while. There are too many of them. More than they can ever find homes for. They’re like…like plastic bags, you know? Everywhere you turn. Darcy didn’t want the cat on her conscience. She wanted to make a clean break—”

  “A break? What sort of break?” A bubble of panic floated to the top of Lou’s consciousness. “A leaving town sort of break?”

  “Well, yes, now that you mention it,” said Skye. Her expression was bleak, as though she’d been caught out.

  “Darcy was leaving town? Cara didn’t try to stop her?”

  Skye frowned at Lou. “That’s not exactly Cara’s job, is it?”

  “Come on, Skye!” He set his glass down too hard. The bump was loud. The diners at the table next to them turned and stared. Lowering his voice, Lou leaned in. “Cara isn’t stupid. She must have known I wouldn’t want Darcy to leave town. Not in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “Right.” Skye raised her finger and traced a circle around the rim of her water glass. Her movements were dreamy, trancelike. “But I repeat, it wasn’t Cara’s place to tell her to stick around.”

  “Cara should have called me,” Lou said. He felt himself getting hot under the collar. His stomach growled loudly.

  Skye cocked her head and stared at him. “That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s all about you and your job. We aren’t really people to you. We don’t have our own needs and problems. We’re a means to an end.”

  Lou heard her, but he didn’t hear her, because he didn’t want to consider what she was saying. He’d been a cop long enough that he’d discussed this with his colleagues. When did you quit being a cop? When did you let things slide? When did you put your friends first and the law second? How did you deal with the pressure that came with being the big, bad voice of authority in the room every minute of every day? Could you ever relax your guard? And how did that spill over in your private life?

  He couldn’t go there. Not today. Instead of seriously considering what she was asking, he tried an end-run around Skye.

  “Can you hear yourself? There’s a killer loose on our streets, and Cara Mia Delgatto could have helped us, but she didn’t because she has other priorities?” He knew he was being unreasonable. He was angrier with himself than with Cara, but he charged right ahead.

  “You’re being totally unfair,” said Skye. She spoke very slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “To Cara and to me.”

  “Not true,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I’m trying to do my job, and I expect members of the community to care at least as much as I do. Cara should have called me right away. Or you could have.”

  “I could have called you?” Skye leaned forward and planted her palms on the table. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t rat out my friends. Not ever. If your only interest in our friends
hip is to use me to spy on my friends, then buddy, you are barking up the wrong tree.”

  The force of her anger surprised him. “No need to get all huffy. I’m just doing my job, Skye,” Lou said, as he spread his fingers wide.

  “Really? That’s a good reminder that I need to get back to mine.” She scooted off the end of the bench.

  “Hey.” He grabbed her by the arm—and then immediately let go when she winced. What he had intended as a gentle touch must have felt more like a pinch.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said, whirling on him.

  “Skye! You know me better than that!” He half-rose out of his seat.

  “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t." She stood there shaking with rage. He’d never seen her so mad.

  “Come on. After all we’ve been through—”

  “We? You and me? Where were you when I was sitting in that jail? Huh? Or when I was getting beaten by my husband?” Her face was white with fury. “What were you expecting, Lou? Payback? That I’d owe you and you could collect whenever you want? That you could use me like a doormat? Well, guess what, pal? Doormats get stepped on. They get wet. People wipe their shoes on doormats, and I don’t intend to be one for you or for any man ever again!”

  She picked up her glass of ice water and poured it in his lap.

  50

  ~Lou~

  1 p.m. on Saturday

  Stuart Police Department

  On his way back to work, Lou swung through the drive-up window at McDonalds. He wolfed down his food. At the station, Lou made a beeline for the men’s room. First he rubbed paper towels over his pants. The result disgusted him. Little globs of paper clung to his thighs, making the whole mess look worse. Next he tried standing on tiptoe under the hand dryer. Each time another man came in, Lou had to pretend to be drying his hands.