Murray and Hadcho began escorting the women to their cars. Since most came with friends, the groups moved along quickly. Angela and her staff stood in line, thanking croppers as they left.
"Okay, we’re still on to do this again tomorrow," Angela said to me. "But no stabbings, right?"
"Right," I said. "Thanks again for being so helpful."
"It’ll be okay, Kiki," Angela gave me a tiny hug. "The cops will track down the person who did this. We’ll be on our guard."
"I'm under strict orders to get you home so you can get some rest." Hadcho walked up to me. "Chad and I plan to be here tomorrow night. As your guests, not as officers on duty, since this isn't our turf. That way we won't have to worry if this doesn't get solved overnight."
"But you think it will be, right? You'll get the person who did this?"
"I should think. Laurel will probably point the finger at her assailant as soon as she's able," he put a brotherly arm around my shoulder and pointed me toward my car.
"Is she all right?" I asked him. "Have you heard what her condition is?"
"She’s stable. Bad as it was, a lot of factors worked in her favor. Mrs. Gossage's quick thinking, your quick response, the staff flagging down the bus, all of it. Of course, we'll know more tomorrow."
I climbed into my old BMW, and he slammed the door for me. The key turned in the ignition, and the engine on my ancient convertible fired right up. Clancy flickered her lights at me, a sign that she’d seen me safely into my car and ready to hit the road. I flicked mine back. Hadcho waved to us both and turned back toward the building. I couldn’t believe how tired I was, and how heavy my belly felt.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, my baby responded with a flutter kick of his own, telling me that he, too, felt the pressure on us.
"Not your fault, little man," I said, to the boy I was carrying. "Don’t you worry about a thing, hear me? Time to count our blessings. I’m welcoming you, Baby Boy, into our lives. You have a big sister named Anya. And a wonderful daddy named Detweiler. And grandparents who live on a farm in Illinois. And a cranky grandmother that lives here in Missouri, and the list goes on and on."
I paused, "You also have a five-year-old brother named Erik."
But as I drove, a shadow passed over the moon—and over my heart.
It wasn't a cloud. It was the worry that Erik wasn’t safe.
Chapter 10
Two and a half months earlier/The night Detweiler returned from Los Angeles…
Of course, I'd known that Detweiler was bringing Erik home with him. And I knew that the boy was not his biological son. But I was fine with that. Really, I was.
I hadn't expected Brawny to come with. Since she always dresses in a kilt, white blouse, and knee socks held by garters, her garb shocked me. At least a little.
Detweiler had a wild look in his eyes, an unreadable expression as he introduced Brawny as Erik’s nanny. She shook my hand gravely and thanked me for letting her come to work for us. I glanced over her shoulder to see Detweiler mouth the words, "Not now."
So from the git-go I had suspected there was more to the story.
What a wild evening Erik's first night back from Los Angeles was! Anya was thrilled to meet her new brother. He squealed with delight when he met my harlequin Great Dane Gracie. Brawny turned out to be a cat lover of the highest order. Of course, I hadn't prepared a bed for Brawny. We didn't have a spare room. So the nanny insisted she could sleep on the sofa. When it came time for bed, Erik refused to turn loose of her. "He’ll be fine," said the sturdy Scot. "Just needs a wee bit of time for adjusting."
She sat on the sofa with him and spoke to him in soothing tones. Detweiler and I retired to the only place where we could have any privacy, our bedroom.
I turned on a box fan to create white noise. We talked in low whispers.
"I am so sorry to have sprung this on you! Brawny insisted on coming. When Erik overheard her pleading with me, he threw his arms around her neck and started wailing. I didn’t expect her to come, but then Lorraine Lauber said that she’d pay Brawny’s wages as a gift to us. I didn’t know what to do! Erik was sobbing. Brawny started sniffling. Lorraine tells me Brawny's wages. The plane was ready to take off." He threw himself backwards on our bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I caved! I've never felt so out of control in my entire life!"
I couldn't help myself. I started to laugh. In fact, I laughed so hard that I nearly peed my pants. I would have, too, if I hadn’t raced into the bathroom. When I came out, I started laughing again, so heartily that I could barely stand up. So I wobbled my way over to the bed and flopped down next to Detweiler. My face hurt from laughing so hard.
"What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"
Here was this big, strong cop. An excellent marksman. A gym rat who bench presses 152 lbs. A fine physical specimen who can run an eight and a half minute mile. A man’s man. A homicide detective of the first order.
But when confronted by a crying five-year-old boy and two crafty middle-aged women, he’d been outflanked, outranked, and outmaneuvered.
"Honestly, babe," he said, "I had no idea what to do. All I could think about was getting home to you!"
I quit laughing long enough to kiss him.
"You aren’t too mad at me, are you?" he asked.
I could tell by the way the words rushed out of him that he’d been panicked about my response.
"Hmmm. Let me get this straight. You went to Los Angeles to pick up the son you’d never met. You agree to bring home a boy who’s not your biological child. And you pick up a Scottish nanny along the way and drag her home, too. Complete with a kilt and sporran."
"Sporran? Oh, yeah, that dead badger pelt that hangs from her belt, right? Uh, yeah, something like that. What on earth happened to me? Was it something in the air? I got to California and acted like a dope!"
"I’d say you got hornswoggled, my darling Detweiler."
"I got what?"
"Bamboozled. Tricked. Deceived."
"I’m a fool, aren’t I?" His amazing green eyes clouded with doubt.
"No, no, no, my love. You’re a wonderful, compassionate guy, and I adore you."
Chapter 11
Two and a half months earlier / Very early in the morning
The day after Detweiler returned from Los Angeles…
I awakened to the smell of bacon and coffee. But Detweiler’s arm was still thrown around me. Anya isn’t a morning person. So what? Who?
Someone was in my kitchen.
It had to be Bronwyn. Our new nanny.
I crawled out from under Detweiler's arm. As quietly as I could, I padded down the hallway and into the living room. Erik was sitting on the sofa, with one cat on each side. He was watching the National Geographic channel and chewing on a piece of toast.
"Hey, sweet boy," I said. "How are you?"
Since he didn’t really know me yet, I resisted the urge to grab him and give him a kiss. Instead, I settled for smiling at him. After a tick, he smiled back at me. "Kiki," he said.
"That’s right, honey."
"Coffee, ma’am? I made you a cup of decaf." Brawny had set the kitchen table. She was making pancakes. Already she had a leg up on winning Anya’s heart, because pancakes are my daughter's favorite food. When I took a sip of the coffee, she nabbed my heart, too.
"Great stuff," I said.
"Aye, me mam taught me how to add a few wee eggshells to the brew. Gives you extra calcium, too. Now canna make you a pancake? There’s bacon on that plate."
"What's that wonderful smell?" Detweiler wandered in, looking sleepy-eyed and hungry. Brawny fed both of us with a practiced efficiency.
"I hope the sofa wasn’t too uncomfortable," I said.
"Not at all. I grew up sleeping with my brothers and sisters on a thin mattress. In the service of the Crown, I often slept on a cot, if I was lucky. ‘Twas actually a bit of heaven to sleep on your sofa. One of the cats joined me early this morning, the yellow tom?"
"Mar
tin," I said. "Consider yourself complimented. Martin is my cat, and he’s not interested in other people. If he sought you out, you are special indeed."
"Animals know," said Brawny, as she began a vigorous scrubbing of my sink.
I sank a little lower in my chair, because I knew how dirty my house was. I'd just been too busy to tackle the grime.
"Aye, with animals, their sense of character is unparalleled. That dog of yours? Gracie. What a smart hound she is. She got up several times and paced the house, checking for intruders. I bet nothing gets past her. Fearless, she is. But she’s also been a sweetheart to Erik. He’s enchanted!"
Hearing his name, Erik climbed down from the sofa and wandered in to see what we were doing. "Annie?" he asked.
"She’s still sleeping, big guy," said Detweiler, lifting the boy to his lap. Someday I would be able to do the same, but for now, I knew it was best to go slowly and let Erik decide that I was worthy of his trust.
Small rant: Encouraging a child to accept a strange adult is a sure way to override the child's natural defenses. It sets the child up to be molested. We need to teach our children to honor their gut feelings. Our job is to reinforce a child’s sense of security—and that comes from trusting ourselves at the deepest levels. Rant over.
From the safety of Detweiler's lap, Erik cast curious glances at me. I smiled at him. "Where’s Gracie?" I asked the boy. "Have you seen her? She'll need her breakfast, won't she?"
He shrugged.
"Should we go find her?" I extended my hand to him.
Cautiously, he climbed off of Detweiler’s lap and tagged along with me. We knocked on Anya’s door, and I instructed the boy, "We always knock first, right? That’s the polite way to ask if we can enter a room."
"Yeah?" Anya responded sleepily while we waited in the hall.
"Erik and I request permission to come visit you," I said. "Is Gracie there?"
A loud thump-thump-thump rewarded my inquiry.
"Come on in," said Anya. "Gracie was roaming around last night, so I closed her up with me."
I opened the door. Anya sat in her bed with her arms outstretched. "Erik! Come here, buddy! How are ya?"
That little guy let go of my hand and barreled into my daughter, throwing himself against her. She helped him scramble up onto the bed. Gracie got to her feet and ambled over from the rag rug. Pressing that big black nose of hers into Erik’s cheek, she sniffed the boy.
My new son roared with delight. "It's cold! Her nose is cold!"
"Let’s go watch cartoons!" said Anya. "What do you say?"
In a jumble of bedclothes and pajamas, they hopped out of the bed and ran past me into the living room. Gracie brought up the rear.
A big lump formed in my throat. I wasn’t so silly as to think that they’d always get along. I knew there would naturally be quarrels and petty disagreements. All siblings tussle and jockey for their rights. But seeing Erik’s hand rest so securely inside Anya’s fingers, I prayed that they'd always have affection for each other. I took a mental snapshot of them that would be forever locked in my mental vault. This was a new beginning for both of them. They’d been lonely onlies, sort of. I had a hunch that the link being forged between them would never be broken.
Deep down, my gut told me that this couldn't possibly be as easy as it seemed right this moment.
Chapter 12
My sixth sense was confirmed all too quickly. I walked back into my kitchen to see Brawny standing ramrod stiff.
"Is there somewhere that I talk to you both? Privately?" she asked. Her face looked drawn and worried.
"Gracie needs to go outside," I said.
"Let me just serve the young Miss her pancakes," said Brawny. "And a cuppa hot chocolate."
As she catered to my daughter, Detweiler said, "We could take our drinks and sit on the picnic bench under Leighton’s oak tree. Would that work for you, Brawny? Anya? We’re going outside to enjoy our coffee. We're taking Gracie. Keep an eye out for Erik, will you?"
"No problemo," she said, as she dove into those pancakes.
"Look how cute they are," I said to Detweiler.
Erik was leaning up against my daughter as she ate. Their two heads were close together, hers with white blond hair and his auburn curls. She was wearing a pink brushed cotton pajama set that Sheila bought her, and he had on blue PJs with trucks on them. As soon as she finished her pancakes—and that took no time at all—he’d snuggled into her lap. Anya wrapped her arms around him. Their attention was riveted to the TV screen as they watched a group of penguins waddling down to the sea.
My gosh but they looked adorable.
"Aye, they're going to get along just fine," said Brawny.
Detweiler whistled to Gracie, and she bounded over to his side. I have no illusions. She loves him best. I watched as she looked up at him adoringly. He snapped the leash onto her collar. The three of us stepped outside. The air was crisp, with a warning of cooler temps to follow.
My sweetie helped me by holding my arm as I stepped over the bench of the picnic table. One acorn rested on a cluster of brown leaves, forming an impromptu centerpiece on the wooden surface.
"Thank you for letting me come here to St. Louis with you, Detective Detweiler," said Bronwyn. "Mrs. Lowenstein, you are as fine a lady as I was led to believe. Greeting me with such warmth. Taking me into your home. 'Twas a mean trick we pulled on the both of you, but there was a good reason behind it. A very, very good reason."
Despite her clear articulation, her Scot's heritage blurred her speech. "Very" was pronounced "verra." I found it charming.
"As you might of suspected," Brawny continued, "there’s more to my presence than meets the eye. Miss Lorraine couldn’t tell you all the details. Her house is bugged. Every room but one. So's her car."
"What!" I nearly spit out my decaf coffee. "You’re kidding!"
"No, sadly, I am not. We sweep the front room regularly, but we leave the others alone so they don't realize she's on to them. She’s known about the listening devices for some time. That’s why she insisted on meeting you at various places, Detective Detweiler, sir. She didn't want to tip her hand. She'd done her homework. Had you both investigated thoroughly."
My jaw dropped. Detweiler's grip on my hand tightened, but his expression didn't change.
"I can see that shocks you, Mrs. Lowenstein, but remember, she was handing her much loved nephew over to you both. It was the only way she could be sure that he'd be safe. Checking you out and all."
It did make sense.
"Why didn't she tell me about the bugging?" asked Detweiler.
"She couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t give it away. She didn’t know you well enough to trust that you’d be a good enough actor not to reveal her secret. See, it’s because she knows that it’s happening that she can plan around it."
Detweiler’s face turned grim and his mouth flat lined. I wondered how much more he could take. From that first call, telling him that Erik existed right up to this moment, there’d been nothing but treachery and trickery. Detweiler’s first ex-wife, Gina, had disappeared while she and he were still married. Just up and vanished one day. A year later, she’d asked for a divorce. She had told him that she was living happily in California, that she would never come back to him, and that the matter was settled in her mind.
Fast forward to the present, five years later. Detweiler gets a call that Gina and her wealthy second husband Van Lauber are dead. They died in a car crash. Oh, and she left behind a son, Erik. According to the caller, an attorney for the Laubers’ estate, Erik is Detweiler’s biological child. So he flies to Los Angeles to pick up the boy. But first he must meet with Lorraine Lauber, Erik’s aunt, and Van’s sister. Of course, Detweiler is eager to see his son. But Lorraine keeps delaying their meeting. Finally she hands him a letter from Gina, in which she admitted that Erik was not his biological son. No, he’s the product of an affair that Gina had with another man, an African-American. Nevertheless, Gina begs Detweiler to t
ake the boy and raise him as his own. Since Erik was born before the divorce papers were signed, in the eyes of the law, he is Detweiler’s child.
Lorraine loves Erik, but she has a form of MS that gets progressively much more debilitating. She wants to know if Detweiler will be able to love this boy?
Of course, he can. One look and he does.
When he asks me how I feel, I say, "Bring him home with you."
And so, Erik Chandler Detweiler came back to St. Louis with Detweiler. As did Brawny, the nanny who’d been with the child since birth.
I shifted my weight and tried to get comfortable on the hard picnic bench. There was so much that I wanted to ask, but I kept my mouth shut. Detweiler deserved the chance to have his questions answered first. But I couldn’t sit still. I drummed my fingers against my leg impatiently as I waited to see what we’d learn next.
What else had Lorraine and Brawny hidden from Detweiler?
"The long and short of it is simple. Miss Lorraine thinks that her brother and Gina were murdered," said Brawny. Her gentle gray eyes hardened to the color of cold steel. "She’s sure that someone paid off the California Highway Patrol to keep the real facts quiet."
"What makes her think that?" asked Detweiler. A coiled energy had infused his posture, the precursor to him taking action.
"This and that along the way. But after it happened, Miss Lauber paid her own investigator to go over the facts, such as they were. He came up with different results. When she went back to the CHP and pressed the matter, it appeared that certain key pieces of evidence were no longer available. They’d gone missing from the evidence lockers."
"Oh," I couldn’t help myself. "That’s awful!"
"Aye, and it gets worse. See, you never asked, so she never told you, but Mr. Lauber put money in trust for Erik. I don’t know how much. ‘Tis none of my business. Even Miss Gina didn’t know about it. Mr. Lauber did it under the table, sort of. His first three wives took him to the cleaners, I guess that’s how you say it, so he didn’t much fancy letting Miss Gina know all his financial dealings. Can’t blame him, can you? There’s money there in trust for the wee fellow. I’d imagine it’s a fair sum. But it can’t be released without Miss Lorraine’s say so. Hers and Mr. Thornton, who’s an attorney. Only Miss Lorraine doesn’t trust Mr. Thornton. Never has. So she figured it was best not to say a peep to you. That way you couldn’t let on that you knew about her doubts. She also decided that getting Erik out of California was safest for the boy."
Killer, Paper, Cut (The Kiki Lowenstein Mysteries) Page 4