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

  “Great day in the morning,” he said. “I was just there, talking with him.”

  “So were we,” I said. “We must have left an hour or two before you did.”

  “How’d he look?” asked Honora.

  “Like he always does.” Poppy cocked one caterpillar-sized eyebrow at the two of us.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “He looked like a pompous so-and-so.”

  Without asking me, Honora got up and poured us both another cup of tea. She offered a cup to Poppy, and although I’ve never seen him drink anything hot other than coffee, he accepted. As I watched, his hand trembled when he brought the cup to his mouth. I worried he would spill it down the front of his neatly pressed knit shirt. Maybe that would be okay. Yellow definitely wasn’t his color.

  “Did the Senator say anything? Respond in any way to you?”

  “He wouldn’t even look me in the face. Didn’t say a word. Ignored me, like I wasn’t even there. Jenny Beth came roaring in, wanting to toss me out on my ear.”

  “Were you alone with him? Was LaTisha with you? Please tell me you weren’t with him by yourself.” I could hear how frantic I sounded.

  “Of course I was alone with the man,” continued Poppy. “LaTisha left to get me a glass of iced tea. Only I didn’t get to drink it because afore LaTisha served me, old Jenny Beth came stomping in. I tried to tell her that I was there to apologize, but she got all high and mighty. Next thing I knew we were screaming at each other.”

  My grandfather was like an old WWII mine that’s been forgotten for years until an amateur gardener hits it with his shovel, and then kapowie, it’s all over.

  I shook my head to clear it. “Then Jenny Beth didn’t give you a chance to apologize?”

  “No, she didn’t.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Look it. I know you’re sore at me, but ever’thing I said about Josiah Wentworth was the God’s honest truth, although I’ll admit I shoulda picked a better time to let him have it.”

  “But why’d you have to do that in my store? At my event? Surely you’ve bumped into him over the years!”

  Honora studied him, waiting for the answer. Her expression was one of sadness, although whether it was for Poppy or for me I couldn’t tell.

  He stared into his mug. “Honora? Do you remember? This week is the anniversary of Josephina’s accident. That’s one reason I came back early from my fishing trip. I always spend the anniversary of her death out at the cemetery. That’s as close as I can get to her. I thought this year might be different. But I couldn’t stand being away. I know she’s not there in that grave, but it’s as close as I can get. Leastways, while I’m still breathing.”

  “I remember her, Dick. She was a wonderful person. Beautiful inside and out. I’m sure you miss her something fierce. I know how I still miss Frank,” she said, reaching out to pat his hand. He grasped her fingers and turned bleary eyes on her.

  “It pains me every day of my life.”

  “I’m sure it does,” she said.

  Poppy rubbed his wild and overgrown eyebrows before burying his face in his hands. I’d never heard him talk about my grandmother. Never known he’d loved and lost a person so dear to him.

  As Tommy would say, I had to give my grandfather “props.” He’d tried to make amends for his behavior. Tried and failed. His timing had been both right and tragically wrong.

  “I went to make it right, Cara. I owed you that much. You gotta believe me. I knew LaTisha would let me in, because we go way back,” said Poppy. “Remember that old Cutlass she had, Honora? Honey of a car, but it kept dripping oil. The other mechanic hadn’t gotten the old gasket off properly when he changed out the filter. She’d taken it everywhere before she brought it to me. I got it squared away in no time.”

  Was it possible that Poppy’s visit had hastened the Senator’s death? I shuddered at the thought and quickly pushed it aside. Josiah Wentworth had obviously been in declining health. His demise shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me or anyone.

  But, oh, gee, golly, did our timing ever stink! We’d all been the victims of good intentions gone terribly awry.

  “You forgive me?” Poppy raised his head to stare at me sadly.

  “Yes. I appreciate the gesture you made. Too bad the Senator wasn’t in a more gracious mood.”

  My grandfather gave me a peck on the cheek. “Honora? You look after my grandbaby.”

  “Will do,” she said.

  After he left, Honora patted my shoulder. “Even if Dick upset him, it was Josiah’s destiny to leave this earth today. I truly believe that none of us die before our time.”

  53

  ~Cara~

  Over the next few hours, Honora and I worked up descriptions of her more standard miniature items. The exercise gave me the chance to learn more about her process. I especially enjoyed learning about the items she makes from recycled or upcycled goods.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to toss away a creamer carton, or a dental floss container, or a lid to anything,” I said. “You’re creativity astonishes me.”

  She smiled. “I like to challenge myself. Instead of throwing things away, I try to figure out how to re-use them. It’s a game I play. Keeps my mind from withering up and blowing out to sea with the gulls. When I’m working on my miniatures, I lose all track of time.”

  I understood. I felt the same way when doing a Zentangle tile.

  At three, we’d finished working on Honora’s things. MJ had gone to pick up a load of new merchandise from an estate sale. Skye was still at Pumpernickel’s, and Sid stepped out of my office to take a quick break.

  “Cara, dear,” Honora said, “if it’s all right with you, I’d like to borrow your car so Sid and I can go get my craft supplies.”

  “You drive?”

  She laughed. “For more years than you’ve walked this earth.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t go getting your exercise by jumping to conclusions, Cara, dear. Just because I prefer not to drive doesn’t mean that I can’t. I’m actually a very safe driver.”

  I handed her the keys. “I wasn’t questioning your ability. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know it,” she chuckled.

  Sid joined us. “I need to buy a USB stick at Radio Shack. Between that and a backup in the cloud, we won’t have to worry about losing all the stuff I worked on today.”

  That was all gooble-de-gook to me, but I handed over my keys.

  After they left, I took my iPad to the front of the store. Pulling a stool up to the check-out counter, I brainstormed ideas for new products. (Translation: I drooled over Pinterest boards.) I could barely tear my eyes away when Jason walked through the door.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Please don’t tell me you found another car in the lot, and it smells funny.”

  “No. With any luck that’s a once in a lifetime problem. Kathy Simmons’ funeral is Monday afternoon. I was wondering if you’re still interested in going with me.”

  I almost said, “Is this a date?” but given the circumstances, that seemed totally inappropriate. Instead I said, “Sure. That would be great."

  He drummed his fingers on a piece of furniture. “Have you heard anything from Detective Murray? I got the impression he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Not exactly a friend. Especially after the way he treated me about Kathy. When I first bought The Treasure Chest, it came with a fresh corpse. Lou investigated that murder, which means he investigated me. I thought we’d come to respect each other, but now I have my doubts. He’s here all the time because he’s sweet on Skye.”

  "The Police Chief held a press conference this morning, appealing for help." Jason shook his head. “Leads me to believe they aren’t moving ahead the way they would like.”

  Luna had been slinking around the sales floor. Now she jumped up on the dresser next to Jason and meowed at him. He reached down and stroked her. Her pleased response thrummed throughout the
store.

  “Where did you come from, pretty kitty?” he asked.

  I told him about my visit with Darcy Lahti. “I know I probably should have called Detective Murray, but still…”

  “Hey, you have a business to run. If he thought she was a suspect, he could have locked her up, but he didn’t.”

  “That’s the way I see it, too,” I said.

  From the back room came a tiny, “Yip-yip-yip” of annoyance. Jack seemed to sense that something was going on and that he was being left out.

  “Crud,” I said. “Jack needs to go out, and I’m all alone.”

  “I’ll take him.”

  “You serious?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay, that would be nice. His leash is hanging on a hook by his crate in the back.”

  I heard the crate door bang and the leash jingle. Next came the scratching of tiny nails on the floor as Jack led Jason on a race to the front door. Jack was in such a hurry to go outside that his feet barely touched the ground. In fact, it looked as if Jason was holding a wire leash with an empty dog harness on the end, like some sort of practical joke. When I held the door open for the two of them, Jack trotted past me as if I didn’t exist.

  “Why you disloyal little so-and-so,” I said.

  “Whoa, partner! Slow down.” Jason hurried along behind Jack as they headed for the street.

  54

  ~Lou~

  4:45 p.m. on Saturday

  Stuart Police Department

  Ollie had been gone for nearly three hours when the rumbling in Lou's stomach told him it was almost time for dinner. He usually ate at Pumpernickel's on Saturday nights. Lou thought of it as a standing date with Skye, although Showalter snickered at that.

  “Really? You sit there while she waits tables. Whose idea of a romantic fantasy is that?”

  “Tell me how hanging out at a bar over a couple of drinks is better?” Lou responded to the voice in his head.

  “You’re missing the point,” Showalter shot back, “and you know it. You don’t go out of your way to make her feel special, buddy. And we both know the reason why.”

  “Because I’m busy,” said Lou.

  “Because you’re a coward. The idea of putting your feelings on the line and getting shut down terrifies you.”

  “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Lou frowned. “She and I are kaput. Finished. The end.”

  “You can’t have an ending to something that never had a beginning,” said Showalter, determined to get the last word. “That reminds me. Forget what I said about a dozen red roses. At the rate you’re going, you’ll need to buy her a truckload.”

  Instead of getting real food, Lou shoved coins into the vending machine and filled his pocket with peanut butter and crackers, a bag of M&Ms, and a suspicious looking “apple pie” that felt like more crust than fruit filling. He’d hit the button for a cup of coffee when Davidson stuck his head around the corner. "There you are. We need to talk. My office in five."

  Davidson looked harried, unfocused. Usually the police captain was a laser beam, intense and singular in all he did. Coupled with his outward implacability, Davidson could seem downright scary. Lou had never known a person who could channel his energy with such pinpoint accuracy.

  After washing down the crackers with coffee, Lou peeled away apple pie wrapper. He took one look at the thick clump of dough and pitched it into the garbage.

  “So much for a nourishing meal,” said Showalter.

  Lou took the seat across from his boss and waited while Davidson got off the phone. When he hung up the landline, Davidson scrubbed his face with his hands. "Do me a favor? Could you get me a cup of coffee? Black?"

  "Sure," said Lou, puzzled by the request. Usually Davidson did for himself. He wasn’t the kind of boss who expected others to kowtow.

  When Lou returned with the coffee, Davidson was sitting in his chair, perfectly still, his eyes closed, and his arms relaxed at his side. Either this was a yoga pose or the man was in a trance. Unsure what to do, Lou set the coffee on the desk and waited quietly.

  Davidson's eyes snapped open. "Thanks. I’ll owe you a cup. I needed a minute to collect my thoughts. Could you close the office door?"

  "Should I go find Ollie?" asked Lou. "He should be back by now. I haven’t seen him, but he’s probably on his way. If this is something new about the Kathy Simmons' case, he’ll need to be here."

  Davidson laughed. "Right. Don’t bother. Ollie won't be back. He has the measles. As do three other members of our department."

  Lou felt his jaw fall open. "You’re joking, right? That's for kids! Didn't he get a shot?"

  "No he didn’t get a shot. Like a lot of other parents, the Andersons convinced themselves that measles were extinct," explained Davidson. "Apparently, they weren’t alone. The whole country is suffering from the worst measles outbreak since 1996. You might not have heard about it, because the virus is just now hitting Florida. Hard.”

  Suddenly, Lou remembered Skye saying that two waitresses had called off because their kids were sick. If servers themselves came down with the measles that meant that customers had been exposed, too. Lou could see how the problem would grow rapidly.

  “What a time for us to be short-handed."

  "It gets worse," said Davidson. "I asked you to close the door, because I’m still thinking through how to handle a delicate situation. I just came back from the hospital. Senator Wentworth is dead. No surprise, given his age and health, but Jenny Beth Wentworth demanded that they phone me because she claims her husband was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Lou couldn’t process what he’d heard. “What makes her say that? Did he die at home?”

  “Yes, he did. In fact, he was in extremis when the medics got to him. The attending doctor didn’t see any signs of foul play, and he was ready to go with natural causes when Mrs. Wentworth began bellowing that her husband had been poisoned.”

  “She bases this on what?” Lou asked.

  “Immediately before Josiah Wentworth died he had two sets of visitors. They showed up one right after another, unannounced.” Davidson exhaled, loudly, as though tired by what would come next.

  Lou pressed forward. “Who?”

  “Cara Mia Delgatto, Honora McAfee, and Dick Potter.”

  55

  ~Lou~

  “Let me back up and fill in the details,” said Davidson. “Shortly after twelve noon, nine-one-one received a call from the Wentworth household on Jupiter Island. The medics arrived to find Senator Wentworth having convulsions on the floor of the lanai. The man was lying in a pool of vomit. At first, they thought he was a victim of alcohol poisoning. The staff at Martin Memorial told me the Senator had been brought in several times for similar events. But this time, he quickly became unresponsive. They tried to stabilize him, but he was dead on arrival. His wife insisted that they try to revive him. She even went so far as to physically attack the ER doctor when he pronounced Josiah Wentworth dead.”

  “That’s not all that unusual,” said Lou. “I’ve seen family members badger medical personnel into working on cold corpses.”

  “True,” agreed Davidson. “The doctor explained to her that the Senator was gone, and that no amount of effort would revive him. That’s when Mrs. Wentworth demanded to see me. I ran over to Martin Memorial, thinking it was just a courtesy call, a way of offering support to a grieving widow. When I arrived, George Fernandez was there. George is Director of Jupiter Island Public Safety.”

  Lou knew that “Director of Public Safety” was the title given to the Jupiter Island Chief of Police.

  “Mrs. Wentworth hit us with her agenda right away,” said Davidson. “She wants us to launch a murder investigation. She’s convinced that the Senator was poisoned."

  "Based on what?" asked Lou. Poisoning could be hard to diagnose, even when trained medical examiners were looking for it.

  "According to Mrs. Wentworth, the Senator was perfectly fine this morning. She admits that he’s slo
wed down, his memory is iffy, and he tends to nap at odd moments. But she says that their doctor at Johns Hopkins told her that her husband could live to be one hundred. ‘He has the constitution of an ox’ were her exact words.”

  “Let’s see,” said Lou, doing the math. “He’s what? Seventy-something now? The doc gives him thirty more years?”

  “About that,” said Davidson, as he peered down into his empty coffee cup. “Mrs. Wentworth handed Fernandez a drinking glass in a plastic baggy. She claims that Cara Mia put poison in the Senator’s iced tea and handed it to the man. According to her, Cara’s fingerprints are on the glass. Mrs. Wentworth thinks we’ll find traces of poison inside.”

  “How could she know if the Senator was poisoned? That would have to be pure speculation unless she’s the one who did it.”

  “She says she worked as nurse’s aide when she was younger. Her story is that her husband showed all the classic symptoms.” Davidson picked up a pen, moved it an inch to the right, and then back to the left. “She sort of has us over a barrel. Somehow the media was alerted immediately when the Senator had died. They started arriving at the hospital in droves. I don’t know how they got there so fast. If we didn’t promise to follow up on her accusations, she threatened to walk right out and tell them we were ignoring her concerns. It was a no-win situation.”

  “Why did she call you? I can see why she called the Fernandez.”

  “Because she knew that Cara Mia, Dick, and Honora all live in Stuart. She said she wasn’t sure about jurisdiction. Fortunately, Fernandez and I work together well. No turf issues. So he got a search warrant and sent a team of people to the Wentworth’s house to look for poison. Not surprisingly, they didn’t find anything.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Lou. “Her husband is dead how long and she does this?”

  “I know, I know. It seems weird that she’d have the peace of mind to wrap up the glass that fast. When I asked, she said that LaTisha Johnson—she’s the maid—hadn’t loaded the dishwasher yet. The dirty glasses were sitting there on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Wentworth claims she knew which one was which.”