Killer, Paper, Cut

by Joanna Campbell Slan

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  TEAR DOWN AND DIE

  The first book in the

  Second Chances Mystery Series

  By Joanna Campbell Slan

  ~ DEDICATION ~

  For Sally Lippert, who believes in second chances.

  Prologue

  Late August, St. Louis

  As if he were looking out into the future, the light faded in Sven’s brown eyes, and his weight settled in my arms. A sob burst from my chest, as I whispered, "He’s gone, isn’t he?"

  The vet, a grizzled man near retirement age who had a habit of clicking his dentures, pressed the stethoscope to my dog’s chest. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

  "I killed my dog," I said to my friend Kiki, as her fingers gripped my shoulder. "I killed him!"

  With surprising strength, she grabbed me and turned me so that we faced each other. "You did not kill him. He’s been having seizures for the past eight hours. You released him, Cara Mia. You gave him peace!"

  I threw my arms around her neck and cried. I choked and sputtered and moaned and keened and all the sadness of the past six months heaved up inside me and overflowed onto the shoulder of my friend. Kiki Lowenstein simply held me, patting my back, making soothing sounds. The vet wisely left us alone.

  When I was nearly cried out, he asked, "Do you want to take your dog with you?"

  Kiki’s fiancé, Detective Chad Detweiler made a move to bundle Sven in a blanket, but I said, "No. Please cremate him. I plan to leave the area. I want to take him with me."

  The rest of the visit is a blur. The staff graciously murmured their condolences as we walked through the office. Other clients looked away. They understood instinctively what had happened.

  The tall detective opened the door for us, and we climbed into Detweiler’s big police cruiser. Kiki and I sat in the back seats so she could hold me. We’d made quite a fuss on our arrival. Detweiler had used his flashing lights to speed us through the city traffic as I watched Sven convulsing on my lap. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars for having friends who dropped everything and came to my aid at a moment’s notice. Leaving St. Louis would be hard, but I’d had enough. My parents were both gone, having died within six months of each other, and my son was off to college.

  Now this.

  "I am never, ever going to own another dog," I said. "Ever."

  For a long portion of the ride, Kiki said nothing. She stroked my hair and let me cry, leaking tears now rather than sobbing.

  When we pulled up to my house, she walked me inside while Detweiler waited for her in his car. I appreciated how he gave us a bit of privacy. After she got me settled on my sofa and made me a cup of chamomile tea, Kiki sank down next to me and said, "Now you listen to me, Cara Mia, and you listen good. Of course you’ll get another dog. Of course you’ll love again. I know you and I know that you believe in second chances. We both do. That’s what makes life worth living. And if you forget how important they are, if you start to doubt that they are worth the heartache, remember this—"

  And she pressed my fingertips to her belly so I could feel her baby kick. "Second chances," she said. "That’s what life’s all about. Don’t you ever doubt it."

  Chapter 1

  Early September...

  Sometimes you have to go backwards to move forwards. Especially when you doubt yourself and don't know what to do next. All my packing was done. I stood there, surrounded by boxes that would go into storage until I found a new place to live.

  "Where you moving to?" asked one of the men from the van lines as he flicked the butt of a Camel cigarette onto my lawn. Except it wasn't my lawn. Not anymore. So why worry?

  "Uh, I haven’t decided yet."

  That pretty much summed up my life: I haven’t decided yet. I was at a crossroads, a spot on the map between emptiness and confusion—

  and I didn't know which way to turn. So I signed the paperwork and hopped my car, the black Camry I’ve named Black Beauty, and started driving aimlessly around St. Louis. Before long I was pulling into a familiar parking lot.

  "Cara Mia Delgatto! I've been thinking about you." Kiki stood at the back door with a red dog leash in one hand.

  "Let me guess. You were on your way out the door to take Gracie for a potty break." I reached down and patted the harlequin Great Dane with the floppy ears.

  "Uh-huh. Care to come with? You can tell me how you've been."

  We hadn't gone halfway around the block when I broke down and started crying uncontrollably. Kiki and I rested our butts on a low concrete block restraining wall so I could sob while Gracie sniffed and peed. Kiki put her arm around me, and I wet her shoulder with tears while she patted my back and murmured, "Get it all out, Cara. You'll feel better."

  When I'd cried me a river (the Mississippi, I'd guess from the muddy look of it), we started back to the shop. Once inside, Kiki put Gracie in the doggie playpen and grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper for me and a bottle of water for her.

  "It’s done. Everything’s going into storage. I couldn’t stand being in that big house night after night by myself," I said. "I don’t want to see the restaurant again, either. It doesn’t matter whether it's called Cara Mia's or not. That was our place, our family place. Now that Mom and Dad are dead, and Tommy’s left for school, there's nothing to keep me here in St. Louis. Besides, winter is coming and I've always hated cold weather!"

  "Time to make a new plan and move on down the highway." Kiki smiled at me, her curls framing her round face. One hand rested protectively on her belly where her baby bump was beginning to show.

  "But I'll be leaving so much behind."

  "Yes, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Come on back to the store. I have a little gift for you.”

  Once I was seated at her work table, she handed me a gift bag filled with tissue paper. I reached inside a scrapbook, a memory album of my years in "the Lou."

  "This is just grand," I had said, as I paged through the album. "I could have never done anything like it."

  "We all save our memories in different ways. You are just as sentimental as I am, Cara. Look at you! I bet those are Tommy's old jeans you're wearing, right? Your son grew out of them and now they're yours."

  "That's right. Since I've always had to dress up to work at the restaurant, I like being casual the rest of the time." Tugging on my white tee-shirt, I added, "This is one of his Hanes v-necks that he outgrew. I also have on his red Converse high tops. My belt was once my father's, but I had it shortened to fit. These rings on my right hand are my mother's engagement and wedding rings."

  "What about that cute red bracelet you're wearing? Where'd it come from?"

  I extended my arm so she could see the red rolled-leather band. "This was Sven's puppy collar that I shortened. The charms are all his tags. I saved them through the years."

  "May I remind you of all the redecorating you did at the restaurant, and how you came in under budget?" Kiki grinned.

  "You helped."

  "Only a bit. In addition to all that, you always smell like sandalwood," Kiki said. "I bet there’s a memory associated with that fragrance, as scent is the most powerful way we evoke remembrance.”

  "Sandalwood brings back good memories of summers in Florida. My grandfather lives down there in Stuart. My parents used to rent an apartment for us above an antique store. The place was always stocked with bars of sandalwood soap."

  "See?" Kiki said. "We're both into saving memories. You're more of a recycler while I'm a papercrafter. You've
been so busy raising Tommy and working at the restaurant that you haven't had the chance to explore your crafty side."

  I managed a weak smile. As she had predicted, that long crying jag had been cathartic. "You might be right about that. I'm pretty handy with a glue gun."

  We walked to Kiki’s car where she reached in and handed me a heavy shopping bag. "There's a surprise inside for you to enjoy on the road so you'll think of me."

  "Like I could ever forget you!" I took the sack and thanked her.

  "I expect you to stay in touch. Oh, and don't forget to send postcards!"

  Scrapbookers. You gotta love them.

  I waved once more and pulled out of the parking lot. The hardest part of my journey was just ahead, as I'd have to drive past the Arch, that magnificent silver rainbow in the sky. It had always been a talisman, a welcome mat.

  But this time, it seemed to wave good-bye.

  Tear Down and Die will be available at Amazon on November 9, 2013.

  A Halloween Close Call

  A Kiki Lowenstein Novella

  By Joanna Campbell Slan

  A Halloween Close Call: A Kiki Lowenstein Novella © 2010 by Joanna Campbell Slan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author's Note: In the timeline of Kiki Lowenstein's life, this comes after Group, Photo, Grave (Book #8) and immediately before Killer, Paper, Cut (Book #9).

  Chapter 1

  Two and a half weeks before Halloween…

  A suburb of St. Louis MO

  "If it’s spooky or scary, count me out," I said, shaking my head no for emphasis.

  Detective Chad Detweiler grinned at me before planting a quick kiss on my lips. "Even if I’m there to hold your hand?"

  My honey and I were meeting with our friends, Clancy Whitehead and Johnny Chambers, to discuss how we would celebrate Halloween.

  "But I thought Halloween was your favorite holiday!" Clancy shook her head at me. She's one of my favorite people, my co-worker at Time in a Bottle, the scrapbook and craft store that I now own.

  "It is my fave holiday. I love the colors. Orange. Purple. Neon green. Black. And all the darling images."

  "And the candy," said Detweiler, laughingly.

  "There's that, too," I admitted. "But the scary stuff? Not so much."

  What an interesting picture we must have made. All four of us were very different. Leaning against the doorsill in my office was the oh-so-classic Clancy, a dead-ringer for Jackie Kennedy, right down to the dark auburn bob. Sitting on the corner of my big desk was Johnny, who has Bad Boy written all over him, with that sort of Cool Hand Luke. And then there was my wonderful Knight in Shining Armor, Detective Chad Detweiler, with his long legs and amazing green-gold eyes. And me? Well, I look like a demented beach ball because I'm seven months pregnant with a head full of curly, dishwater blond hair. I was sitting at my desk in the big black leather chair, and Detweiler was standing next to me.

  To underscore how adamant I was, I crossed my arms. Or tried to. I couldn't exactly fit my arms over my baby bump. Right now, Alfred Hitchcock and I were sharing a profile. "I love Halloween, but I draw the line at being frightened out of my mind. I get enough crummy surprises in my daily life, thank you."

  No matter how hard I try—even when issuing a warning about scary stuff—I can’t look stern for long. Especially not when I'm around my friends.

  "Wooo, tough talk from the little lady." Johnny winked at me, and I giggled

  "Kiki, when you draw a line, it's usually to start a new craft project," said Clancy, with a chuckle. "How about if I give you a giant eraser and you start over? Don't be so negative, girlfriend. It wouldn't be Halloween if we didn't do something at least mildly woo-woo."

  "She's right, Kiki. Clancy and I want to have a little fun this Halloween," added Johnny. "And we'd like to do something fun with the two of you."

  "How about we sit at home and carve pumpkins?" I asked. “I need to get my jack-o-lanterns done.”

  "That's so…you." Detweiler took my hand and kissed my fingers. I turned and stared into those amazing Heineken bottle green eyes of his.

  My name is Kiki Lowenstein, and I’m the original Mrs. Nice Guy. I like butterflies and rainbows, puppies and kittens, sugar and spice, sweet smelling flowers, chocolate, and paper. Lots and lots of paper.

  Vitamin C, otherwise known as “cute,” is a life enhancing supplement. All of us need our daily quota. You can never have too much “cute” in your life.

  Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  "So the woman who stared down a murderer is a great big ‘fraidy cat." Johnny smirked at me.

  "Ah, but remember, dear friend, cats have nine lives," I said. "There's a reason for that, Johnny. Cats know when to run away and when to fight another day."

  "No fighting," said Detweiler. "Just loving. Come here, you."

  He pulled me to my feet and hugged me. Safe in the shelter of his arms, I relaxed by listening to the soft lub-lub-lub of his heart. All was well in our world.

  Our baby was due on January 15th. My daughter Anya was thirteen going on thirty and so excited about Halloween she couldn't talk about anything else. And our family had been enlarged by the addition of Erik, a child from Detweiler's first marriage (sort of), and Brawny, the nanny who came along with the boy. (It's a long story. Trust me!)

  Life was good. Really good, as life always is when you're surrounded by family and friends.

  "Tell me," said Johnny. "What's got your tail feathers in such a twist, little birdie?"

  "It's that crop," said Clancy, shaking her head. "That's all Kiki's been thinking about."

  "What's so special about this one? You do one of them, crop-thingies, two times a week, don't you? It's like a quilting party, but y'all work on your scrapbooks, right?" Johnny scratched his head.

  "Sort of," I said. "But this one's a really big deal. It's a special pre-Halloween crop to raise money for diabetes."

  "That's good," said Johnny. "Really good. What a purely awful disease."

  "Right," said Detweiler, "but she's driving herself crazy working and working too hard. That's why I suggested that we do something fun."

  I nodded. “But I'm not interested in being jumped at, touched, or grabbed in the dark by people I didn’t know. Especially if they’re dressed like Frankenstein or the Mummy or even Count Dracula. Ugh."

  "But dressing in a costume has a certain appeal," said Clancy.

  "Some," I admitted.

  "Just think," said Johnny. "You could dress up like Annie Oakley. Especially since you're such an expert with a gun."

  I don’t like being teased, especially about the fact that I shot my husband's murderer in the head. It hadn't been pretty. It hadn't been empowering. I didn’t get a rush like I did when I heard Dirty Harry say, "Make my day." No, all I felt was sad.

  To get through the experience, I reminded myself that it had been necessary. Otherwise Johnny and I wouldn’t be standing here today. I didn't like thinking about it, and Johnny was getting on my nerves.

  Detweiler sensed this and put one hand on my shoulder in solidarity.

  "I did what I had to do so we could survive," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "This is different. You all are talking about getting your wits scared out of you as a form of recreation. If that’s your idea of a good time, have at it, go ahead, love you to bits, but I’m taking a pass."

  "Down girl! Don't get all het up," said Johnny.

  "It's the stress talking," said Clancy. "She's been working like a fiend on that charity
crop."

  "True," I said.

  "All the more reason to plan something fun," said Johnny.

  "Also true."

  "As much as I hate to cut this short, I also need to get to work," said Detweiler. "Kiki, if you don’t want to visit a haunted house, we’ll find another way to have enjoy the holiday. No problem, babe."

  Yeah, but it would be a problem. I was being a real party pooper, and I knew it.

  Paper, Scissors, Death

  (Book #1/Agatha Award Finalist)

  Every scrapbook tells a story. Memories of friends, family…and murder? Mousy housewife Kiki Lowenstein has two great loves: scrapbooking and her young daughter, Anya. But her happy family album is ruined when her husband, George, is found naked and dead in a hotel room. As Kiki tracks down George's murderer, she discovers his sordid secret life. Supported by her loyal friends, along with a little help from Detective Chad Detweiler, can Kiki cut her husband’s killer out of the picture and design a new life for herself and Anya?

  http://tinyurl.com/oo26sgk

  Cut, Crop, Die

  (Book # 2)

  All it took was one scone. When the hot-tempered (and widely hated) hobbyist Yvonne Gaynor eats a tainted pastry at Kiki's scrapbooking crop party, it triggers an allergy that leads to Yvonne's death. Soon, the scrapbooking community pins her murder on Kiki and her friends. Despite help from the handsome yet annoyingly coy Detective Detweiler, Kiki has her work cut out for her in solving the crime.

  http://tinyurl.com/oecmjsy

  Ink, Red, Dead

  (Book #3/Revised October 2013)

  Her plans to hold an offsite scrapbooking event get trashed when Kiki discovers that the hostess, Marla Lever, is a hoarder with a human corpse in her freezer. Although Marla clearly has bats in her belfry as well as a house full of cats, Kiki is the one who gets the cold shoulder from the angry members of Marla’s family. Meanwhile Detweiler struggles with an ice cold case. Could the resolution put a chill on their relationship?