She watched the store while I took my small, mobile canine herd around the block for peeing, pooping, sniffing at, and general overhauling of the neighborhood landscape. That airhead Fluffy must have tangled her lead five times in the first five minutes alone. At one point, I could have doubled as Gulliver after being tied down by the Lilliputians, I was wrapped so thoroughly in leashes. With a lot of hopping and tripping and ducking under and over the cords, I managed to get back to the store so Bama could leave. She was on her cell by the time I put my charges in lock-down mode. Okay, call me a bad person, but I eavesdropped. I overheard her say, “I don’t know … don’t panic … think of something …”
Not very interesting stuff.
The next few hours dragged on and on. My eyes drooped and I actually almost fell off the stool once.
At 6:20 I closed out the register. Laurel hadn’t stopped by. I worried a little that she changed her mind about helping us. Maybe after hearing about our garbage fiasco, she decided ix-nay on the impromptu anatomy lesson we might offer. I couldn’t blame her.
When I checked the numbers on our cash register reconciliation form, the paltry sales figures concerned me. Where were all our customers? Had they all been scared away?
I started to awfulize, to think of the worst possible scenarios. Maybe the rest of Cindy’s body had been found. Maybe she’d left another missive pointing to me. Maybe we were the lead story on the evening news. Ho, ho, ho. That sure would put a kibosh on the old holiday spirit.
Discouraged and exhausted, I loaded up the dogs, popping Izzy into my purse and carrying him to the car over my shoulder. His apple-shaped head bobbed along as I walked.
It wasn’t until 6:35 that I pulled out of the store parking lot. It took me a few minutes to wipe all the dog slobber off the inside of the car windows.
I managed to catch the end of the half-hour newscast on the local radio station. The broadcaster repeated the story about Cindy’s disappearance, the body part, and the bloody car. Fortunately, the reporter left out our store’s name and substituted “a local merchant.” Fine by me. I got the dogs settled at the house. It was nearly seven by the time I drove over to Sheila’s house to pick up Anya.
I guess it was too much to expect that my mother-in-law might go easy on me because I’d had a tough day.
As usual, Sheila had her own agenda.
“She’s not studying her Hebrew. At this rate, Anya won’t be ready for her bat mitzvah. By the way, where’s her coat? She told me she was fine in that jacket, but she couldn’t possibly be. What about her footwear? She’s going to need boots. She can’t be wandering around CALA without something besides those silly Birkenstocks all the children wear. The very idea of slapping around in clogs. Without any back to them. And thin socks! How could you let her leave the house like that? You know she’s just courting a bad cold.” Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of colds, you have one? Stay away from me. Go wash your hands. Did you take any of that Airborne stuff ? It works. I take it all the time. Here, I bought a couple canisters and I don’t like the grapefruit flavor.” She shoved a tube into my handbag.
Over my shoulder, on my way to her bathroom, I called out, “Anya’s bat mitzvah isn’t until next May. That’s a year and a half away. She’ll buckle down. I’ll talk to her.”
I locked myself in and slumped onto the closed toilet seat. I leaned my head onto a stack of guest towels. Maybe I could close my eyes for a bit, and Sheila would go away.
Bam, bam, bam.
“Kiki? You in there? Anya asked me if you two were going to buy a Christmas tree tonight. You know I don’t approve. Not in a Jewish household. That’s just not … not …”
“Kosher?” I asked as I flushed the toilet twice. That forced her to yell over the noise. What she was saying, I couldn’t make out. Nor did I care. Instead I slowly mopped my nose and pressed a damp cloth to my eyes.
Giving her grief seemed fair enough. Sheila always seemed to know exactly when to turn the thumbscrews on me. In fact, I bet she installed an internal alarm system in her brain that buzzed loudly when my mood hovered near rock-bottom. Without fail, she’d choose the worse possible times to climb on my back, ride me around the block, and use her words to beat me senseless.
“Christmas trees aren’t … You shouldn’t … The very idea …”
I kept hitting the toilet handle and turning on the tap.
Wow. This was certainly the day for Morse code conversations. I only caught every third word, but I didn’t need to hear more. I opened the bath door and Sheila nearly toppled over.
“I can’t stay. Got things to do. Thanks for picking up Anya. I’ll come get her tomorrow night after seven. You have a date with Robbie this week, don’t you?” Oddly enough, her tirade had energized me. If Sheila didn’t like an idea, I was all over it. No way was she going to tell me what I could or could not do with my own daughter. Or with my life. Or my holiday plans.
I beamed what I hoped passed for an embarrassed smile. “I think I clogged your toilet,” I lied.
I took great satisfaction in watching her turn pale.
Once I stepped out into the foyer, I hollered up the stairs. This sent Sheila right over to the dark side. She hated and feared plumbing problem, and she absolutely loathed with a passion having people yell to each other in her house. Unless, of course, the yell-ee was her.) “Anya? Yo, Anya? We need to go!”
My kid galloped down the stairs. She’d borrowed a knitted scarf from Sheila and wrapped it tightly around her throat. She also had on one of Sheila’s old coats. It nearly fit her. That stunned me. My, how my baby was growing up.
“See you, Nana,” said Anya as she scooted past Sheila, who was giving Linnea detailed instructions about unclogging toilets.
Linnea raised her hands in surrender. “I don’t do plumbing, Miss Sheila. You know that.”
Sheila stamped her foot. “Get me that plunger, right now!”
Ha, ha, ha. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas, I snickered.
Anya must have read my mind. “To the Lions Club Christmas tree trailer?”
“How’d you guess?”
But I didn’t move quickly enough.
“What about that leg you found?” Sheila stomped over to me, waving the plunger. It was dripping all over her floor. Two paces behind my mother-in-law, I saw Linnea rolling her eyes and shaking her head with dismay.
“Hey, you’re going to splash that on your clothes,” I told my mother-in-law. “Shouldn’t you be wearing rubber gloves? It’s more sanitary.”
Sheila tossed down the plunger and erupted with a string of curses. Very unlady-like. We both watched it bounce along the hallway.
“Now you’ve got, um, whatever all over your nice floor.” I pointed out helpfully.
I could see Linnea standing behind Sheila, and her shoulders were shaking with mirth. While Sheila jumped back to inspect the wet spot, Linnea and I exchanged winks. I just loved Linnea. She was such a hoot.
Sheila raced around to block my egress. One foot slipped, and I instinctively grabbed her before she hit the ground. She brushed me off and struggled to regain her dignity.
“Kiki, I demand to know about that part of a person you found. What on earth were you doing in the trash? Did you take total leave of your senses?”
“Anya, go get in the car.”
“Geez, Mom. You aren’t seriously trying to keep this a secret, are you? Everyone is talking about it. Three of my friends phoned to get details.”
Sheila blanched. “Your friends? People are talking about this? Anya, go get in the car now!”
“Not my fault,” I said when my daughter was out of range of hearing.
“Of course not,” said Sheila. “But you did happen to be at the epi-center, didn’t you? My granddaughter is at risk! Robbie told me they suspect murder. That poor Cindy Gambrowski. Murdered and dismembered. You need to be careful, Kiki. I know all about Ross Gambrowski.”
“You do? What do you know? Fill me in.”
�
�Everyone in town knows about Ross.”
Well, la-di-dah. I hated this. The “Old St. Louis” grapevine regularly sent messages to its members. What was my mother-in-law going on about?
From the driveway, Anya honked the horn on my Beemer.
Sheila leaned out her front door to shake an angry finger at my child. I was fast on her heels. What a sight she made in her gabardine suit, her pearls and a plunger for a scepter. Queen of All She Surveyed.
Sort of.
“Everyone knows what about Ross Gambrowski?” I prompted.
“He put Cindy on a pedestal. One she couldn’t get off. Set her apart. Kept her under a long protective arm. At least that’s what he called it. Had high expectations. His love for her is—”
The horn honked again. This time more impatiently.
I’d had enough. “I’ll catch you later,” I told Sheila.
What the heck did she know about love?
Anya chattered on about the upcoming holiday sock hop at CALA, Charles and Anne Lindbergh Academy. “What I really want for my big gift is a pair of Uggs. All the girls have them. I could wear them to the party, and to school and when I go out.”
I nodded. Go out? I never let the kid out of my sight. Personally, I thought the Ugg boots a wizard combination of ugly-cute. On spindly teenage legs, I had to admit, they were darling. But they were also out of my price range. Hanukkah is eight days long. That means a week and a day of gift-giving. George adored shopping for us. Every evening we lit the candles on the menorah, sang the song about the dreidel, played the game, and ate brisket and latkes. I actually mastered the art of a mean latke. The secret is instant potato flakes. George said mine were even better than Sheila’s. (Um, Linnea’s, actually. Sheila doesn’t cook. She occupies the command post.)
After we celebrated, George would proudly hand both of us a package in a signature robin’s egg blue box. Every Hanukkah, he gave me a gift from Tiffany’s on the first day. On successive days, he alternated books (hard-cover bestsellers), Godiva chocolates, scarves (He loved shopping for scarves; ironic wasn’t it?), and finally, on the last day Anya and I would each receive a totally outrageous big gift.
I always bought George the same gift for Day Eight: nail clippers. This was a standing joke between us. He lost nail clippers like some people pop off buttons. So every year, I bought him a new pair, and he’d say, “Kiki, sweetie, you shouldn’t have.”
Ours was not an ideal marriage, but there are all sorts of love, and we certainly loved each other. He was my best friend. Sort of. I could depend on him. He knew he could depend on me.
That’s why I had been so willing to put myself in jeopardy and solve his murder.
But that didn’t matter now. I was officially out of the murder inquiry business. I shook my head and yanked myself back into the moment.
We pulled up into the darkened lot a few store fronts down from a big Dierbergs grocery store. There sat a tired white trailer, festooned with old fashioned large bulb Christmas lights. Under an awning, a wood-stoked fire blazed in an old oil barrel. A group of men wearing hunting jackets, thermal overalls, and those hats with ear flaps stood warming their hands over the fire. Their work gloves stayed tucked under their armpits until we approached closely.
“Hey ya, Mrs. Lowenstein! Miss Anya! How you’ve grown, young lady,” said Elmer Peters.
I gave Elmer a big hug. He was a fixture at this particular Lions Club temporary location. George, Anya, and I started buying our trees here when she was only a toddler. I stepped away from Elmer and watched my daughter give the big man a happy embrace. As time went by and George’s memory faded, I hoped that times like this would remind Anya of outings with her dad.
“What’ll it be this year? A Scotch pine? A Douglas fir? A Colorado blue spruce? Let me show you some beauties.”
I squirmed a bit. Live trees aren’t cheap. Elmer pulled on work gloves and dutifully walked us up and down the aisles. Rows of fresh cut trees rested against wooden A-frames. Anya was drawn, of course, to the biggest and most expensive trees. I had to remind her we were on a budget. My nose ran profusely as the night grew colder. Under the artificial lighting, the trees took on a magical quality, but with each trudge of my feet, a deeper sadness weighed on me. Why wasn’t I earning enough to satisfy my child’s needs? I knew that millions of parents the world over shared the sentiment.
Anya fixated on one particular tree, returning to it after exploring other options. I knew the money went to charity, but I still was having trouble justifying the expense. How could I let my daughter down? She didn’t ask much, but this was more than a stupid tree. It was a memory. It was our tradition. It was something her father would have done for her.
My vision clouded with tears that I managed to mop up before they spilled. While I held the tissue to my face, a voice boomed, “Elmer? Load that tree up for them. Add it to my bill.”
I turned to face a tall man in a black cashmere coat, his face framed by an expensive Burberry scarf. “Ross Gambrowski. You’re Kiki Lowenstein, right?” and he squeezed my hand in a painful grasp. “I hope you don’t mind. I followed you here.”
“Anya? How about you go with Elmer to make sure the tree’s tied down.” I had no intentions of letting a stranger pay for our purchase, but I didn’t want my daughter to overhear this conversation.
“What can I do for you?”
“Cindy was my whole world.”
I stared at his red-rimmed eyes. The man’s nose had been broken and never set properly, and he towered over me. His shoulders proclaimed him a linebacker, and I could easily imagine him with black greasepaint on his cheekbones. Even in the near dark, his skin glowed with a healthy tan. I seemed to recall Cindy talking about the tanning bed they had in their home.
“I don’t know what I can do.”
“You found her leg.”
“Are they sure? I mean, it could have been—”
“It was hers. I recognized a scar on the inside of her right ankle. She tripped a lot. For a woman so beautiful, Cindy could be very clumsy. She was always falling over her own feet.” He raised a beefy hand to his eyes to shield them. His lower lip trembled. “I told her not to go places without letting me know. I worried about her. Didn’t like her friends. They were undependable. But Cindy could be very willful. She didn’t always listen to me like she should. The minute I saw that leg, I knew it was hers.”
We stood in silence. He added, “I just have to trust God that she’s all right.”
“You don’t know where she went? Where did she say she was going?”
“I thought she was at the house. Or at Bible studies. I even got a text message from her. I figured she went to church services. That’s where she was supposed to be on Sunday. She knew better than to take off without telling me. I just got home late Friday night because of a business meeting. I figured she was in the other room. Sometimes she liked to take a sleeping pill and get a good night’s rest. I thought we’d just missed each other. Have you seen our house?”
I shook my head. I caught a whiff of his breath. Alcohol.
“I built that palace just for her. Over by the Ladue Country Club. Fifteen thousand square feet. More with the finished basement. No other builder in this town could top it. Heated floors. Indoor pool. Sauna. Jacuzzi tub. You name it. Even built a craft room for her so she wouldn’t have to run to those what-you-ma-call-its? Crops. I wanted Cindy home with me.” He grabbed my shoulders. “The cops think I did something to her. My Cindy. After all I’ve done to protect her, to keep her safe. You don’t know where she is, do you? Please?”
His grip tightened on my jacket and he squeezed enough for me to murmur, “Ouch.”
Then his nostrils flared and he let me loose. “What’s that smell?”
Saved by the cat pee, I thought as I took a step away. “Um, I don’t know Cindy well enough to help you.”
“But she told me all about that class she took at your store. I gave her permission to go. I saw her writing about all th
e happy parts of our life. How you encouraged her to get down her happy memories. She even showed me that contest entry.”
I nodded. We’d put one of her pages on display so our customers could vote on a favorite in the All about Me Contest. In fact, that reminded me I needed to clear space on our crop tables. Which meant, I’d have to clear the tables and reset them for the evening event. By myself. I sure hoped Bama would get on the stick and hire Laurel or Clancy to help.
But that sidecar quickly derailed. Ross Gambrowski grabbed my hand out of my pocket. One of my good gloves had gone missing, so all I was wearing was a thin pair of mittens. “Tell me where she is. I only want to help her. She can’t be dead. I’d know it. I’d feel it here,” and he tapped his heart. “We’re connected. Soul mates. Have been since the day we met. I told her we’d never be apart, and I meant it. I have to find her!”
I glanced away. Anya stood beside our car, blowing on her fingers.
“I’m sorry but I can’t get involved.”
“How can you say that? Don’t you see what it’s doing to me? How am I going to manage? Can’t you see how hard this is on me?”
I’d been in his situation. I knew exactly how hard it was. I gulped and tried to push my own sad memories out of my mind. I couldn’t afford to drag myself, my child, or my store into a potentially dangerous spot. Still, there was something I could do. Something small and safe. “I’ll ask the other scrapbookers if they’ve seen her.”
“Tell me you’ll look for her. That you’ll call me.” He pressed a business card into my fingers. “Anytime, day or night.”
I fished one of my cards from my pocket and handed it over.
“You lost your husband didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“George Lowenstein, right? We played golf together. So you get it. You know what I mean. I can’t live without her. At the holidays? What will I do?” He dragged the back of his hand over a set of fleshy lips. Ross Gambrowski would never be called a handsome man, but from him came a raw masculinity which I’ll admit was very attractive. He was a guy’s guy.
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