Killer, Paper, Cut

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Detweiler pulled me close and held me in his arms. "Sh, sh," he stroked my hair. "She's going to make it. You and Mrs. Gossage did a wonderful job of keeping her alive. If you two hadn't slowed the blood loss, she wouldn't have survived."

  He went on to tell me that the knife wounds weren’t as bad as they looked.

  "I talked with one of the EMTs. Laurel must have instinctively thrown up her arms to protect herself. The blade moved off course. Instead of opening up her throat, it nicked her collarbone. Cut her arm. And then there was the jab to her ribs," he said.

  I couldn’t believe the amount of damage that had been inflicted.

  "Knives will do that," he said with a sigh. "Has anyone thought to contact Mert?"

  Mert Chambers was my former cleaning lady and also my former best friend. When her brother Johnny was hurt helping me foil my husband's killer, she decided I was to blame. Since then, she had avoided me. It had been Mert who suggested that her friend Laurel Wilkins could come help us at the store.

  Detweiler was right. I hadn't thought about telling Mert.

  "I'll text-message her," I said. "What hospital did they take her to?"

  "South County," he said.

  I carefully drafted my message. I didn’t say there’d been a knife incident. Only that Laurel had been hurt and the EMTs had her in the bus.

  My phone rang immediately.

  "What the blue blazes? Is she okay?" Mert didn't bother to say hello.

  "Um, she's been stabbed."

  "What!" Mert yelled.

  "But she'll make it."

  Mert hung up on me.

  "Someone here must have seen what happened to Laurel," I said. "There were so many people. The croppers and the catering staff."

  "The local force will get to the bottom of it."

  "The locals? Why won't you get to the bottom of it?" I could hear the high pitch of my voice. The metro St. Louis area has ninety-one separate municipalities. Most have their own police force. Detweiler worked for St. Louis County. As I stood there, hyperventilating, it dawned on me that he couldn't work the case because this wasn't in his jurisdiction. He could only intervene as part of the Major Case Squad. A Major Case Squad was only convened when the crime was homicide.

  "Oh," I said.

  "Any idea why someone would have wanted to attack her?" he asked.

  "No! You know Laurel. She’s an absolute sweetheart. It sounds like a lame cliché, but why on earth would anyone want to hurt her?" I paused. "And why do it here? Now? Is it possible this was somebody’s idea of an ugly Halloween prank? Could it be that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

  "Anything is possible. Hadcho says that someone in the kitchen thinks she saw somebody running around behind the building. Of course, Detective Murray will check into that. Could this have to do with her personal life? Is she done with school?" Detweiler pulled me to his chest again. All around us, crafters were working on their projects, only to be interrupted and pulled away from their hobbies by officers taking statements.

  "Not exactly. She worked on a research project over the summer. I don’t know much about it except that it's finished. That's why she’s been available to help at the store."

  I didn’t say, "I know next to nothing about Laurel’s personal life."

  That was true, but I hated admitting it.

  Later, I told myself. Later, when things settle down, I’d tell him that Laurel managed to be both a friend and a mystery to me. A mystery to all of us at Time in a Bottle.

  Chapter 7

  Detweiler gave me a quick kiss. "I'll see you at home, later. You're in good hands now. Hadcho's going to hang around.

  Angela came to Clancy and me and asked about serving dessert. "We could set tables in the far back of the room and let your crafters rotate through. What do you say?"

  "Why not have Faye do her thing, too?" asked Clancy. "That should also help people feel a little better about the evening."

  "Where is she?" I asked.

  "Over there," Clancy pointed.

  Faye wasn't a crafter, so she'd opened her e-reader and made herself comfortable when the interviews began. The purple ostrich feathers that rose from the top of her Faye's Victorian chapeau fluttered slightly as people walked past her. She was still wearing her blood-soaked costume.

  "Detective Murray?" I flagged the officer down. "Would it be possible to have our actress do her thing? I'm paying her either way. Of course, I don't want to interfere with your questioning, but if she's telling her stories, the croppers won't be talking to each other."

  He stroked his chin. "Sure. Why not? She's the one dressed like the Lavender Lady? But more ghoulish?"

  "Right."

  I walked over to Faye and tapped her on the shoulder. "You're on," I said, and I did my best to smile. I just hoped her ghost stories weren’t too gruesome.

  As if reading my mind, Clancy came over and leaned close to me. "While we were talking to Detective Murray, I told Faye to keep it low key."

  "Good." I breathed a sigh of relief.

  "She said it won’t be a problem. She has plenty of material. Her husband used to work as a history prof at one of the community colleges." Clancy smiled. "I do think you better make a statement though. From here on in, it's damage control."

  Clancy has good instincts. I stood up and rang the small bell we'd brought.

  "Everyone? Could I have your attention? Please? I know you are all worried about Laurel. Um, the good news is that the emergency techs got here quickly," I started slowly, choosing my words with care. "The bad news is, of course, that Laurel was seriously injured by her assailant. As most of you already know, none of us can leave, at least not until the authorities take your statements. If any of you saw anything, please speak up. The ladies restroom here on this floor is off-limits. If you need to use the facilities, please talk to Clancy or me, and we’ll get permission from an officer to take you to the men's room."

  Okay, now what?

  The faces in the audience stared at me expectantly.

  "Um, Angela's staff will be serving dessert. You'll rotate through, using the tables in the back of the room so that nothing gets spilled on your work."

  I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. "If you don’t mind, I’d like us to have a moment of silence. I’m sure that Laurel would appreciate your prayers."

  I bowed my head. I didn’t look to see if others followed. I assume they did. After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes and said, "Thank you. Without further ado, let’s hear it for Faye Edorra!"

  Chapter 8

  I couldn't concentrate on anything that Faye said, but her audience sure seemed spell-bound. Instead of listening, I stared off into space and worried about Laurel. The police finished up their interviews with surprising swiftness. The crime scene investigators would probably work until the wee hours of the morning. A yellow "Do Not Cross" tape cordoned off the ladies room. The croppers adjusted. After a while, no escort to the men's john was necessary.

  Hadcho walked in and out of our room, asking our guests to come with him to the interview area. More than one of our croppers seemed happy to follow him. Hadcho is part Native American, and he reminds me of Daniel Day-Lewis when he starred in The Last of the Mohicans. From the blushes spreading over our croppers' faces, I could tell he was a contributing factor to global warming.

  "I've been meaning to get caught up with you, Kiki," said Clancy, keeping an eye on Hadcho's backside and taking the folding chair next to mine. "How’s everything going at your house? We haven't talked since that pre-Halloween party at the Detweilers' farm. That sure was a lot of fun."

  I knew she was aiming to distract me. I couldn’t blame her. We both needed distracting. I couldn’t believe that we’d be coming back here tomorrow night. The thought of returning to this crime scene made me want to run screaming out of the room. But that wasn't the half of it. I had a hunch that everywhere I’d turn; I’d see Laurel with blood spurting out of her.

  "Every
thing is fine," I said, trying to turn my attention to my friend, the Jackie Kennedy look-alike. Clancy was dressed in tailored slacks and a twinset. The outfit rarely varied. Only the colors changed from day to day. Because this was a Halloween crop, she wore black pants and a bright purple sweater set. I'd worn black maternity slacks and the multi-colored peasant blouse that was now ruined.

  "Define 'fine' for me," said Clancy.

  "Really good. Brawny is tremendous. She gets up before everyone else in the house. Runs, lifts weights, comes back, meditates, showers, and makes breakfast for the whole family. After she drops the kids off at school, she goes back to the house and cleans. Does laundry. Makes dinner."

  "She's been a big help in the yarn room at the store, too" said Clancy.

  "Don’t I know it. I saw her working with Lynn Bisset on a sweater the other day. Margit would have helped Lynn, but her mother was having some problems. So I called Brawny at the last minute, and of course, she came right over."

  "It's hard to believe that you, of all people, have a nanny. I mean, I've watched you pinch pennies ever since we met. That’s pretty highfaluting stuff." Clancy gave me a little bop on the shoulder.

  "Just remember it wasn’t my idea," I said. "Detweiler brought Brawny back from California. She insisted on accompanying Erik. And his Aunt Lori is paying her wages. But I have to admit, I don’t know how we would have managed without her. She’s my new best friend. In fact, she’s with the kids right now. Thank goodness."

  "I bet having a chauffeur is a boon by itself." Clancy linked her fingers and stretched her arms. She yawned and I did, too. We’d pulled up chairs to the edge of the room, obvious enough that anyone could get our attention if needed, but out of the way of the general traffic. Despite the horrible situation in the next room, we were both getting relaxed.

  This was the first chance we'd had in days to really talk. I always enjoyed sharing with Clancy. She was such a practical, no-nonsense sort of person. I'd been meaning to update her on our newest family members.

  "The Detweilers bought us a Toyota for Brawny to drive. They called it a ‘pre-wedding gift.’ It's used, of course, but I don't care. I was never so grateful for a car in my life. Of course, Anya has her eye on it. She can’t wait to get a driver’s permit, but that’s two years away. Things wouldn't work so well if the house wasn't so centrally located. Close to the store and to the school."

  "It was critical that CALA accepted Erik as a legacy, wasn't it?" Clancy was referencing the Charles and Anne Lindbergh Academy, known locally as CALA, the swanky private school that generations of Lowensteins had attended.

  "They weren't going to."

  "You have to be kidding," said Clancy.

  "No, I'm not."

  "What changed their minds?"

  "I think the tantrum that Sheila threw made a difference." I couldn't help but laugh.

  "So she and Robbie Holmes got back from their honeymoon cruise just in time, right?" Clancy cocked an eyebrow at me.

  "Yup. At first CALA told me that because Detweiler and I weren’t married, Erik wasn’t really my son. Therefore, he couldn't be considered as a legacy. According to them, he isn't part of the Lowenstein family. Of course, if CALA didn't accept him, Erik would have had to attend a public school. I wouldn’t have minded that. Detweiler and I are both proud products of public school. But then, Erik and Anya would have different holiday schedules, different drop-off schedules, different pick up schedules and snow days, plus a host of other small problems."

  "But Sheila came to the rescue."

  "Remember my friend Maggie Earhart? She used to be a substitute kindergarten teacher and now she's full time. Well, Maggie's classroom is just down the hall from the admin office. I have no idea what Sheila said to the headmaster, but Maggie heard her screaming all the way down the hall. Something about all the money that Sheila had dumped into that place. All the fundraising she’d personally done. How her friends wouldn’t stand for this, and she intended to tell every one of them what a fool he, the headmaster, was. And that was just her opening act."

  "You have to admire her efficiency. She swoops in, attacks, and takes no prisoners. Sort of like a one-woman drone." Clancy ran a trembling hand through her bob.

  "Yup, she's deadly but effective," I said with a shudder.

  "Which leads me to this: How could someone have hurt Laurel?" asked Clancy in a voice barely above a whisper. "She never hurt a fly! I can’t believe that there’s an attacker among us, yet it must be true."

  "Not necessarily," I said. "Hadcho told Detweiler that someone in the kitchen saw a person running down the alley. The police will check out the report. It could have been a random stabbing. Maybe someone on drugs, hallucinating."

  "But why Laurel?"

  "I have no idea. None." I hesitated. "It’s weird. I text-messaged Mert. She must have raced to the hospital, but I haven’t heard back from her. Since she isn’t family, I figured they’d give her the heave-ho once she arrived. I hoped that she’d report back to us. I sure would like to know how Laurel is doing."

  "Is Mert talking to you?"

  "She spoke to me at Dodie’s memorial service. She couldn’t avoid it. Everyone was standing around, remember?"

  "So that was the first time, huh?" asked Clancy. "I hadn’t realized you two hadn’t talked before then. Boy, that woman can stay mad a long, long time. I wonder why she spoke to you at the service."

  "Yup. Maybe hearing Rabbi Sarah talk about the meaning of friendship got to Mert. Warmed her heart. I hope it did. Life’s too short to carry grudges, and she has a whopper of a grudge towards me."

  She nodded. "Yes, Johnny told me as much when we were driving to the Detweilers' farm. He says he's been on her to mend her fences. What happened wasn't your fault, but she's having trouble backing down. Johnny says Mert reminds him of a cat that's climbed a tree and can't figure out how to get back to solid ground."

  "I knew she had a temper, but I never realized she is so stiff-necked. Unforgiving of others."

  "Usually when people don’t forgive others, they can’t forgive themselves," said Clancy.

  Boy, she had that right.

  Chapter 9

  Later that same evening…

  At half past eleven, Detective Murray stepped to the front of the room and asked for our attention. He said that the interviews were over, but he reminded my guests that their statements might need to be revisited. The ladies restroom was still off limits. The crime scene investigators were combing it for clues.

  "However, you are all free to go," he said.

  Nobody moved.

  "You can leave," he repeated.

  "Um, this crop is scheduled to continue until two a.m.," I said.

  "Really?" He looked at me as if I were nuts. And I am. Then he handed me his business card. "Well, I'm leaving. Keep in touch."

  The next two and a half hours dragged on and on.

  Promptly at the stroke of two, everyone started packing up. Usually there's a great atmosphere after a crop. Crafters feel revitalized. Happy. Productive.

  But not tonight.

  There was a real sense of incompleteness. While they'd been busy with their projects, our guests had been distracted. Now that they were getting ready to go home, their thoughts returned to the tragedy that had befallen us.

  They stared at me, waiting for me to make it all better. And I felt totally helpless. I had no idea what to do or say. My energy level was at an all-time low. Between the bites on my neck and my pregnancy, I was already scraping the bottom of the barrel. But now, I felt totally depleted. All done in.

  Clancy looked to me; I looked to her and shrugged. Hadcho stood across the room, leaning against a wall, studying the crowd. His mind was already turning over everything he had learned. But what would he discover? Would Murray be up to the task of finding Laurel's assailant? Would she live? And if she died, should I feel guilty? It was my fault that she'd been here.

  I got up to make some sort of good-bye speech. My m
outh was so dry that my lips stuck to my teeth.

  "Uh, everyone? Uh, I wanted to say, uh…this evening…uh…" I couldn't spit the words out.

  Bonnie Gossage was sitting two feet away from me. I felt her eyes on me as I tried to put a good spin on the evening. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet.

  "Hey, Hadcho? Can I have my photo taken with you? I want to make my husband jealous. If you have any extra business cards, I’ll use them to make a scrapbook page."

  Of course, Bonnie knows Hadcho. She's worked with him before on cases. And he knows her. So he knew she was teasing him. See, he has a bit of a rep because he's sort of a clotheshorse. He’s more than a little vain. A broad grin split his face. He didn’t really mind being objectified.

  Not by Bonnie.

  Then he glanced my way.

  I saw them exchange pointed looks. They both knew how upset I was.

  So they'd rushed to my rescue.

  Her comment brought a twitter of laughter from the other women. After turning beet red, Hadcho agreed to pass out his business cards and let the croppers take photos. A few of the women hammed it up, pinching his bicep and hanging on his arm.

  "You are a doll," I whispered to Bonnie. "You've got them thinking this was some sort of totally bizarre special event that they can scrapbook. Something different from the usual pages of trick-or-treaters."

  "Hey, what are friends for," said Bonnie. "Besides, we pregnant ladies have to stick together."

  "You’re expecting again? That’s fantastic!" I said.

  "Shhh. My husband doesn’t even know yet."

  I mimed the action of zipping my lip and gave Bonnie a long hug. "I owe you one. You've been such a good friend to me."

  "Since you have a nanny and I don’t, you’ve been bumped to the top of my best friend list," she giggled.

  "Hey, if you need help, my nanny is your nanny. We working moms have to stick together."

  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.