Killer, Paper, Cut

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  "Aye, can you wait until after I drop the bairns off at school? You shouldn’t be driving around alone," said Brawny.

  "That’s right, Kiki," said Thelma. "Chad told me about your friend being stabbed. How about this—it’s late for me to be driving home, and Chad said he might crash at the police station. What if I spend the night and take the kids to school tomorrow. I’ll text Louis and tell him what’s up."

  That seemed like a good solution. I told Brawny where to find the blow up mattress that I keep on hand for sleepovers. Once it was inflated, and I’d loaned her some pajamas, Thelma, bless her heart, slept on the floor next to the sofa that Brawny claimed for a bed.

  "Dear God, I know it’s not right to pray for things, rather than for people, but we really need a bigger house," I said before I fell asleep.

  Chapter 50

  Tuesday…

  Kiki’s house in Webster Groves

  In the wee hours of the morning, I felt Detweiler slip into bed. "Shh," he said, as he slipped his arm around me. "We’ll talk later. You need your rest."

  He was right; I was far too tired to rouse completely.

  When the first light brightened our bedroom, I turned to him. He was awake, staring at me. "I heard you had a visitor last night. Melissa Haversham. I almost tripped over Mom on the floor."

  "Yes."

  "I need to have a talk with Leighton. This is unacceptable."

  "I agree. Thank goodness Anya and Erik were already asleep. I’m going to call Jennifer tomorrow and ask if Anya can spend a couple of nights at her house this weekend."

  Detweiler sighed. "That might be hard for Erik to be without her, although maybe he can go to the farm with Mom and Dad. They would love to have one-on-one time with him. Brawny can go to the farm with him to keep an eye out. Although I hate the thought of separating the two of them, another visit from Melissa Haversham might push both kids over the edge."

  "You can’t imagine how creepy she was! That woman was strutting around and sizing up my furniture as if she owned the place. In fact, she seems to think that everything she sees comes with the house. Good thing she didn’t set eyes on you."

  "I wish she had. I would have set her straight."

  "I tried to do just that, but I have a feeling that she plans to challenge me about my furniture. It isn’t much, but it is mine." Unexpectedly, I started to cry. "This is a nightmare! I trusted Leighton. I would have gone over and talked to him myself last night, but she informed me that he was asleep—and it was late."

  "Honey, don’t cry. Please. This is breaking my heart," said Detweiler, as he pulled me closer.

  I hiccupped myself to a stop. I couldn’t do this to him. "Your mother said she’d drop the kids off at school this morning. Brawny and I will go over to the U City house and see what furniture we can take and what we need to put in storage. Then I’ll call Jennifer."

  "While Mom’s taking them to school, I plan to have a talk with Leighton. In case there’s a problem with his daughter, I’ll have two uniformed officers here on Sunday when we do the actual move. It’s one thing for her to muscle her way into this house while you and I are away from home, but it’s another thing for her to face down two officers."

  "I’d love to see her arrested, but can you do that? I don’t have a lease! It would be my word versus Leighton’s and I’m on his property without a legal document. How could I have been so stupid."

  "You weren’t stupid. You were trusting. You might be right about the legalities, and certainly we don’t have the time or the money to hire an attorney, but I have to believe that the presence of uniformed officers will prove an intimidating factor." He rolled away from me and covered his eyes with his arm. "I just cannot believe this. It’s one thing to want to help his daughter, but it’s another to mistreat you! Especially when you’re pregnant!"

  "I know, I know. Okay, this is making me more upset. Let’s change the subject. Any progress on Laurel’s case?"

  "No. Not from a forensics standpoint. We’re sifting through all the pieces of information, trying to see how it fits. We’re also trying to get information about the mental state of those three women, but as you can imagine, that’s pretty tough sledding."

  "So what will you do?"

  "I’m not sure. We don’t have enough information to help Murray bring any of the three women in for questioning. Father Joe can’t tell us anymore. And crummy as it is, I respect his position."

  I propped myself up on one arm. "Okay, he has to abide by the sanctity of the confessional, but all three of the women originally attended the Church of Christ Our Shepherd, a non-denominational church. I know that because they were working on religious scrapbooks, and all three included photos of that particular church. Maybe the pastor there won’t be so scrupulous."

  "Worth a try."

  I told him about Mert seeing that I was tossed out of the hospital. "I can’t believe her! To think she was my best friend!"

  "I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart, except that she’s the loser. She really is. You were a great friend to her." He held me while I cried.

  Chapter 51

  Clancy was scheduled to open the store. I text-messaged her and said I’d be coming in a bit late. Next on my list was a phone call to Jennifer Moore. I badly needed a shoulder to cry on. However, I didn’t want to air my dirty laundry in front of Brawny. She didn’t need to hear that my mother was nearly impossible. Or that I hated the fact we were moving. But I did need her help with Anya.

  If I whined to Jennifer about our living arrangements, might the Scotswoman misinterpret my complaints?

  In the end, I decided the call couldn’t wait. "I have a problem," I told Jennifer. "We need to move. Leighton’s daughter is coming home, and she’s told him she wants to live in our house, so we’re basically out on the streets as of Sunday. I might ask if Anya can come spend the weekend with you. Starting with Friday night?"

  "Of course she can. Melissa? She’s back?"

  "You know her?"

  "Of course I do. I went to school with her."

  "Um, Jennifer, do you mind if I put you on speakerphone? I have Brawny here in the car with me. Last night Melissa dropped by the house. Thelma was watching the kids. Fortunately they were both asleep, but by the time I got home, Melissa was eyeballing my furniture and talking about what she wanted of it."

  "Sure, put me on speakerphone. I don’t care."

  Brawny said hello, as a courtesy.

  "Melissa is bad news," said Jennifer. "You probably already know that by now. Her mother milked Leighton for every cent she could get her hands on. Leighton only owns that house because it belonged to his parents."

  "I didn’t realize that!"

  "Oh, yes. He grew up in that house."

  "But he says he didn’t do enough for Melissa when she was growing up."

  "He’s right, of course. Here’s the thing: No one could have done enough for her. She has this unrealistic sense of entitlement. Thinks that he should pay and keep on paying. Her mother taught her that. The stories I could tell you! Melissa was always complaining about teachers. About her classmates. She’s a sociopath. I think that’s the right term. Has no conscience when it comes to other people."

  "Does Leighton realize that?"

  "I doubt it. He’s too busy feeling guilty."

  "Does she have a history of drug or alcohol abuse?" asked Brawny. "Last night when we arrived, she seemed to be under the influence of something or another."

  "Melissa drank, did dope, and smoked cigarettes in high school. She also slept with any guy who’d have her. Vandalized school property."

  "Wow. What a mess. I can’t believe she’s acting like my possessions are hers! And that Leighton is giving me the boot! I have to be out of the house by Sunday. Can you believe that?"

  Jennifer chuckled. "Let me guess. You don’t have a lease."

  I felt my face redden. "No, I don’t."

  "Listen, girlfriend. You and I are going to a tattoo parlor. We’re goin
g to get you a big old tattoo across your butt. You know what it’s going to say? ‘Trust but verify.’ I know you’re more likely to be a flaming liberal than a conservative, but Ronald Reagan was right, my friend. And the best sort of verification is a legal document signed by all parties."

  "I guess I’ll be paying for that tattoo," I said.

  "I think you already have."

  Chapter 52

  Brawny craned her neck from the passenger’s seat and took in the stately brick two-story building in U City, which is what the locals call University City. "Good lines," she said. "Easily defensible despite the fact your neighbors are rather close. No shrubs along the edges of the place. That means no one can hide in them."

  I hated the fact that our lives had come to this: How defensible is your home?

  "Do you still think Erik is in danger?"

  "The best time to overpower your opponent is when he or she becomes complacent. I refuse to let down my guard. The forensic accountant is still looking into Mr. Lauber’s finances. Until then, Miss Lorraine cannot spring her trap—and young Master Erik is at risk."

  "Um, Brawny, you remember when you met my mother at the airport?"

  To her credit, she maintained a pleasant look on her face. "Of course."

  "I hate to tell you this, but she was on her best behavior that day. I know that’s shameful. But it’s the truth."

  "Auck. You’re giving me fair notice, aren’t you?"

  "That’s one way to put it."

  "I shall do as you wish, but I could use a bit of direction, Miss Kiki. How much should I tolerate?"

  I’d been thinking about that. "I’m not sure. Come on, let’s face the dragon."

  Amanda anticipated my knock on the door and welcomed us inside. "I called work and told them I’d be coming in late. I figured this was as good a time as any to lay out the ground rules for Mom. Let’s go into the kitchen."

  My mother had taken a seat at the head of the kitchen table. Forewarned is definitely forearmed, as was proven by the glower on her face.

  "Hi, Mom," I said, trying to keep it casual. "You remember Brawny."

  "Good day to you, Mrs. Collins."

  My mother sniffed.

  Amanda poured a cup of decaf for me and a cup of coffee, black, for Brawny. She warmed her own cup. "Mom, Kiki and Detweiler are going to be moving in this weekend. They’ll be taking over the second floor."

  "It’s only temporary," I hastened to add. "We’re looking for a house to buy as we speak."

  "I know you don’t like change," said Amanda, diplomatically, "and this won’t be easy for any of us, but I want you to make Kiki and Detweiler and their kids feel welcome."

  My mother didn’t say a word. She stirred her coffee.

  "Mom?" I said. "I’d really like to try and get along."

  Still nothing.

  Catherine came in. She poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, and pulled up a chair next to Brawny.

  "Look, Mom," said Amanda. "You aren’t getting this of off to a good start."

  "A good start? What did you expect? I wasn’t consulted. My feelings weren’t considered. You three cooked this up without any regard for how I feel. None! Is that any way to treat your mother?"

  "Mom, please! The truth is that I don’t want to move in. I’d rather not. But I’m in a sort of a bind. So I’m asking you—begging you—please, just tolerate me and my family. It’s only for a short time. Only until we can find a place suitable to rent or buy."

  "This is my house," Mom proclaimed. "Do you really expect me to live under the same roof as a little black boy? Have you really sunk so low?"

  "Erik is my son," I said, and stopped for a second. Actually Detweiler and I needed to check on the legalities of that. "Erik’s not ‘a little black boy,’ and he’s as white as he is black. Just like our president! Not that it matters. I think if he can stomach living in the same house with you, you can manage to be considerate towards him. Mom, you go to church every Sunday! Haven’t you learned anything about being kind to other people?"

  "I’ve learned an eye for an eye," she said stiffly. "And that the commandments say to honor your mother and father. You wouldn’t know that, would you? You went and married a Jew!"

  My sharp intake of breath could be heard in the next county, I’m sure. My mother’s prejudices had always been covered over with a veneer of good breeding. She would be kind to people’s faces and mutter darkly about them when out of their presence. But this assault on poor dead George stunned me. I began to see why Amanda thought she was slipping a cog, because my mother had always proclaimed loudly that the Jews were God’s Chosen People. This sudden change of attitude was unlike her. Was it possible she was suffering from Alzheimer’s? Some form of dementia?

  Then I remembered something my friend Ned the Nurse told me when I was talking to him about my mom. He’d explained, "Old age exaggerates people’s personalities. So the guy who was a bit sarcastic is really sarcastic and cruel. The woman who was vain can’t go five minutes without fishing for compliments. The man who had a bad temper now throws tantrums. That’s how it goes."

  Was it possible that this was simply a by-product of the aging process?

  If so, I hoped to die young.

  "Don’t be silly, Mom. The Ten Commandments were handed to the Jews," said Amanda in a disgusted voice.

  Catherine just sat there and stared at our mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her crack her knuckles repeatedly. To my surprise, I watched Brawny put a hand on her shoulder, the sort of companionable gesture that tells you that you aren’t alone in the world. In response, my sister relaxed a bit.

  "Whatever," said my mother in a pale imitation of my thirteen-year-old daughter. "I am not willing to let Kiki and her boyfriend move into this house to carry on their tawdry affair. I’m not interested in having two children under foot. I especially don’t want the mess and fuss of animals, stinking up the place."

  I literally saw red.

  Since the day I left for college, I’d asked nothing of this woman. Nothing! She hadn’t given me a penny, hadn’t helped with babysitting, and hadn’t even offered me a shoulder to cry on. Now I was in a tough situation. I was asking her to help my family, even though it wouldn’t be any skin off her nose, and she was flat out refusing!

  "These are your grandkids!" I said.

  "Huh," she huffed.

  Catherine popped to her feet, turned her chair backwards so she could lean against the rungs, and got two inches from my mother’s face, "You let my father throw me out. You let him act inappropriately with my sisters. Amanda is kind enough to let you live under the same roof with her, despite what a mean despicable woman you are. You don’t want to live with my sister, fine! Let’s take a vote. There’s three of us and one of you. I vote that we toss you out onto the street."

  Chapter 53

  I could feel Brawny bristling. I didn’t even need to turn and look. The hairs on my arm, the one resting nearest her, prickled with energy.

  Catherine’s lower lip trembled as she paused for air. "You are some unnatural excuse for a parent."

  Brawny jumped to her feet. "Out. All of you. Leave now."

  "Pardon?" Amanda looked up at the Scotswoman, who towered over where my sister was sitting.

  "Ladies, I’m asking you to leave me to talk to your mother. Alone."

  "Why?" asked Catherine, her voice trembling.

  "Trust me, please. I’ve had a wee bit of experience with such things."

  I was so sick of my mother that I quickly agreed. "If you think you can talk sense into her, go right ahead, because I give up."

  "Don’t do that, Miss Kiki. No giving up. Not when your cause is just," said Brawny, as she stepped next to my mother. My mom stared up at Brawny, pouting at the nanny, until dismissing the woman with a "huh."

  "You want all of us to leave?" asked Amanda. "You aren’t going to hurt her are you?"

  "No," said Brawny. "I’m simply going to talk sense into
her. She needs an attitude adjustment, you see. I’ll help her with that. Sort of like a Vulcan Mind Meld."

  "I should have guessed you’re a Star Trek fan," said Catherine with admiration. "Come on, guys. We need to talk among ourselves anyway."

  "You all go first," I said, pointing to the door. Once they were out of hearing range, I said to Brawny. "Promise me you won’t hurt her."

  "Isn’t that the way of it? This woman has abused you, attacked your family, and impugned your reputation, but still you worry about her? Does it look like she’s worrying about you?" Brawny sounded puzzled.

  I could answer that without glancing at my mother. "I know she’s not."

  "You should be," said Mom. "If you and your sisters weren’t so selfish, you’d care about my feelings."

  "I do care," I said. "That’s why we held this meeting. I care and I want you to be happy and I want you to get along with my family."

  "That’s a lie," said my mother, rolling her eyes. "You want me out of your way so you can do exactly what you want with no concern about me or my needs."

  "Mom, can’t you meet us halfway? Couldn’t we find a middle ground? I really, really need a place to stay. So do my kids. It’s only temporary. I’d be happy to do what I can for you. Take you shopping. Watch movies with you. Brawny here would cook for you. But I need your assurance that you’ll be civil to Detweiler and to the kids."

  "I am always civil. I am the most civil person you’ll ever meet. Everyone knows that."

  "You don’t sound civil when you refer to Erik as ‘that little black boy.’"

  "What else would you call him? A mulatto? A mixed breed? A mutt?"

  One step forward, two steps back. I couldn’t believe her bigotry. At the same time, it struck me, hard, that I’d overcome such prejudices. I’d met wealthy folks who were nice and some who were mean. I’d met Jews who were nice and Jews I didn’t like. Ditto Baptisms, Moslems, Jehovah’s Witnesses, members of the Amish community, Mennonites, Christian Scientists, Hindus, Mormons, and others. Certainly I’d met blacks and Latinos who were charming as well as those who were jerks.