I absorbed this with a bit of shock. “Detweiler?”
“Yeah. He would have killed me if anything happened to you. As it is, he’s going to be really ticked.”
At Lumière we had one quick drink along with a couple of thick burgers. I asked for a Seven and Seven. I hadn’t had one in years. Hadcho downed two glasses of Jack Daniels, but he showed no signs of being inebriated.
When the waitress came for our food order, I wasn’t ready. I usually avoid meat. I wish it didn’t come from animals. (I know how silly that sounds, but it’s true.) I hate the look of flesh in a skillet. (After Bama’s beating, it might be a long, long time before I could see raw hamburger without getting queasy.) I’m not much of a carnivore in the best of times. No matter how I rationalize the act of eating another living creature, it still upsets me. But, at this particular moment I really craved the burger, and at certain times of the month, my body needs the iron.
Hadcho saw me dithering. “You need a decent meal. You look wiped out. Get some protein. Besides, you lost a little blood with that cut on your throat.”
I fingered the plastic bandage and gave in. When the food came, I was glad I had. I inhaled the rich aroma of the burger, the heft of it in my hands and relished every morsel. I also enjoyed the surroundings, especially the people watching, although I admit, I could have appreciated it more had not a blanket of exhaustion crept over me. Between the adrenaline fade and the alcohol fog, I was definitely winding down.
Hadcho called the hospital. Bama was in stable condition. They would be moving her into a regular room tomorrow. Relief swept through me. I’d worried through our meal, but hadn’t realized it until the tension fell away from my body.
On the way back to my car, which was still at Time in a Bottle’s parking lot, Hadcho turned absolutely chatty. He mused aloud about why any man would beat up on a woman. “Of course,” he sighed. “It’s no excuse but there are times when a spouse really pushes your button. There’s no misery like family misery, my dad used to say. Funny how a family member can get under your skin.”
I nodded. I thought of my mother and my sister. They both knew exactly how to hurt me, how to turn the tiniest pinprick into a stab wound. “I guess we’re the most vulnerable to the people we love. I always think about Star Trek and how they’d lower the shields on the USS Enterprise. Once they did, pow!—they could be attacked. Maybe that’s how it works with family. We lower our shields. Offer no resistance. They zoom in and …” I didn’t finish the sentence because I was lost to bad memories, nightmares I worked hard to suppress.
Hadcho was quiet for a minute. “I’ve been thinking about telling you something, something that’s probably none of my business. Certainly not in my best interest.”
This piqued my interest. I roused a bit from my stupor. “What?”
“It’s about Detweiler.”
I snapped to attention, but I tried not to show it. “Okay.”
“Not exactly about him, more like about Brenda. See, he was my first partner. Did you know that? I figured you didn’t. So he and I have been like this,” and he held up two crossed fingers. “I’ve known Brenda from the start of their relationship. They met when she was an ER nurse.”
I said nothing. I figured he was about to lecture me about staying out of their lives, about how I was making trouble in their marriage. To compensate for what I knew was coming, I stared resolutely out the side window. I didn’t want him to be able to see my face. I wanted to keep a bit of composure, if I could, and certainly I hoped to hang onto my pride.
What was left of it.
“I still can’t figure out why he married her. I think it was because they got thrown together the way people do in our line of work. When she started having trouble with drugs—”
“Drugs?” I was so tired that I had trouble following.
“Right. Brenda’s into drugs. Has been for quite a while. She turned herself in once, and the nursing union has this program where if you turn yourself in, they will help you get straightened out. No harm, no foul. But druggies usually take several tries at rehab to get it right.”
The night was so dark, the lights so sparse. A world of shadows, of hidden intent and obscured shapes, was right outside my window. How indistinct. How unknowable. Hadcho shed a light on one portion of this puzzle. One portion of my own corner of the world, a place formerly occluded from my vision. I thought I knew what motivated her. I thought I understand why Chad Detweiler had been so concerned about his wife abusing me.
Maybe Brenda Detweiler had been high when she shook me. I hadn’t exaggerated the situation. In fact, I’d minimalized it. She could have killed me or any other patient in the hospital. She hadn’t been in her right mind! She shouldn’t have been walking around, seemingly giving us care. Having access to more drugs! No wonder Detweiler had told me I shouldn’t have covered for her.
I hadn’t done anyone any favors.
Not myself. Not Brenda. And certainly not Detweiler.
Saturday, December 19
3rd Day of Hanukkah
Monroe and I definitely were falling in love. The big-eyed donkey nickered appreciatively when he saw me coming. In turn, I always took the time to scratch him around his long ears. This morning, I’d visited him before the sun was up. He pressed his forehead into my hand and snorted. I took that for a “Glad to see you. How’s tricks?” I told him all about Bama and the horror of the night before. I lay awake most of the night rehashing the fight. The effect of the alcohol wore off quickly, leaving me despondent and headachy.
Hadcho had lingered at my doorstep. Not willing to encourage him, I hurried inside after mumbling a “thank you.” Only after his car roared away did I remember I was wearing the man’s coat.
Stupid, Kiki, I told myself. Here you were thinking he was angling for a kiss and all he wanted was his jacket.
I arrived at Time in a Bottle early. After I got the dogs settled, I cracked a can of Diet Dr Pepper and tackled the bloodstains in the backroom. I had to stop a couple of times and splash cold water on my face so I didn’t upchuck. I was there on the floor on my hands and knees when Horace walked in. He studied what was left of the stain, covered his eyes, pinched his nose, and said, “Cleaning up after Bama, right? I told Dodie she needed to tell you of her situation. We argued about it. My darling won, but now Dodie’s embarrassed to face you.”
“Tell me what?” I rocked back on my heels. With scrub brush in hand, the scene brought to mind that one from Snow White. All I needed to do was burst into that “ah-ha-ha-haaaaaa” aria, and I’d be mimicking one of the most disastrous heroines of all time. I mean, really, she’s the heir to a throne and instead of hiring a good lawyer, she scrubs and sings in the courtyard. Foolish, foolish girl. I have a hunch she encouraged a whole generation of women to act like victims.
Horace pulled up the stock stool and perched on it. “Dodie is part of a network called WAR, which stands for the Women’s Aboveground Railroad. These volunteers help abused women find new lives.”
“Bama was one of their, um, projects?”
“Oy, vey.” His tears were wet. “This monster has pursued her throughout five states. Threatening their children. Beating her and leaving her for dead.”
So I was right. RJ, Harley, and Virginia were Bama’s kids, not Katie’s.
“Dodie gave her a job and helped her settle here?”
“Yes. My darling did all this. I told her that you deserved to know. She felt it was risky.”
“She worried that I’d let it slip. That I’d blab about Bama.”
He turned his gaze away, and he twiddled his thumbs, rotating them rapidly one around the other.
I started to get angry. I could see where this was going. “Or worse. Dodie thought that because I didn’t like Bama, I’d be careless. That I’d tell others about her fix. Isn’t that it, Horace? Dodie didn’t trust me!”
He spread his fingers wide. “She took the situation very seriously. They all take a vow not to share detail
s, because a leak could be fatal. These are women in flight, women whose lives are overshadowed by relentless pursuit. Families at risk. Endangered by the very men who are supposed to cherish and care for them!”
The implication was clear: I couldn’t be trusted to keep my mouth shut. Heat spread around my collar. I pulled at it with my fingers, parting my blouse where today’s collar rubbed against the abrasion from the night before.
“What happened to you?” Horace said. “Your neck, it is hurt?”
“What happened to me was Bama’s husband.”
Horace muttered in Yiddish. I didn’t understand most of it, but I caught meshugana and a few other words. “Tell me what happened last night. All we know is that Mr. McCallister attacked his wife again. That a detective happened upon the scene. You were here? Involved?”
As calmly as I could, I rewound and replayed the scenario. With each word, Horace’s shoulders drooped more heavily. Finally, he covered his eyes and shook his head. “A nightmare. A catastrophe. Kiki, I am so sorry that you were involved.”
“If I had known, I might have prevented it. I might have called the cops the first time he came by. Horace, if I hadn’t left behind my wallet, Bama would be dead today. This mess? You can’t tell it now, but there was a lot of blood. All over. And the situation could have been even worse. Her husband turned Detective Hadcho’s gun on him!
“Yes, my neck is hurt. He tried to slice my throat. I guess you two didn’t hear about that, did you? Well, that was what happened before Jerald McCallister tried to load us in his van and take us goodness knows where. Great plan Dodie had. You can tell her I said so. We could have all been killed. But trusting me was a problem? Let’s recap here: I can be trusted with your business, I can trust you with my money as a minor partner, but I’m not to be trusted about Bama’s past. Nice!”
He stood to apologize, his hands waving in the air, but I couldn’t take any more. “Please go,” I said. “I have to finish cleaning up this mess, and I’m responsible for the store today, of course. I appreciate that you are trying to be kind to me, Horace, but I’m pretty upset and I’d like some time alone.”
Two years ago when my husband died, I would have never had the courage to ask someone else to leave. I guess I’ve learned a bit about taking care of myself. I’ve learned that it’s my duty to say when I’ve had enough, when I can’t go on. It was smarter and better for me to ask Horace to leave than for me to struggle any longer.
I kept my head down and concentrated on the stained linoleum. When I stood up again, Horace was gone.
Clancy came in an hour after we opened. “Dodie called me,” she said. “You okay?”
I gave her a curt nod. “I guess.”
Clancy reached for me and gave me a long hug and whispered, “You saved her life. Bama should be thankful to you.”
That almost brought me to tears. “But I told her ex where to find her!”
“No, you didn’t. He was searching for her, and when her photo appeared in the paper, he knew where she was. That photo wasn’t your fault. You didn’t dump a body part in your own trash, did you? So you’re okay, and she’s alive. Thank goodness for small favors, right. Now, what I can do for you? Make you coffee? Brought you a Kaldi’s vanilla latte.”
“That’s perfect. I could use a heaping dose of caffeine to help me make it through the day.”
“So will a spoonful of Sally Sunshine. Laurel’s on her way. Your phone must be turned off. She wanted to come help out. I filled her in on what happened.”
Dressed in black jeans tucked into tall black boots and topped off with a cherry red turtleneck, Laurel looked like the type of helper Santa would have if the North Pole switched places with the Playboy Mansion. Threaded through her earlobes were tiny gold bells, much like Mert always wore. In fact, she was a lot like Mert in her mannerisms as well. Laurel gave me a more restrained hug. “It’s going to be all right. We’re here now.”
The three of us worked as a well-oiled team. Both Laurel and Clancy proved resourceful and good at up-selling. At 1 p.m. we took a quick break for lunch. Clancy passed out sandwiches she made at home the night before. I sure appreciated her thoughtfulness. We caught each other up on what we’d sold, and Laurel took a quick inventory. “I’ll restock the shelves, but I figured it’s best if we direct people to the items we have plenty of.”
Smart thinking. She came back right away with bad news: Two Cricut cassettes were missing. Clancy muttered a curse word, then called Detective Hadcho. “They have a warrant for the stolen materials,” said Clancy as she hung up. “Sounds like they’ll be picking up our shoplifter later today.”
“Not a moment too soon,” said Laurel. “I could have sold one of those cartridges an hour ago.”
When the mid-afternoon lull hit we were back on the floor, working hard. I was restocking paper when Detweilers Junior and Senior walked through the front door, with Anya in tow. I was shocked to see my daughter with them, but I didn’t get a chance to ask what was up.
The first words out of Detective Chad Detweiler’s mouth were, “Stan Hadcho said you were all right. I wanted to see for myself. That was a close call.”
“I’m okay,” I said tentatively. My neck was getting stiffer by the hour, and my shoulder muscles were starting to hurt where I’d hit the floor hard. Clancy had learned that Bama was in a regular hospital room, which indicated she was on the road to recovery of sorts. Her sister Katie was with her. I took all that as a good sign.
The nearness of Detweiler suddenly caused me to feel weepy. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and sob, to tell him how scared I’d been and how bad I felt about the beating. But the presence of Detweiler Senior and my own child fortified my own sense of propriety. Whatever I knew about his wife, it didn’t give me permission to overrule their marital vows. Sure, he had a problem. A problem named Brenda, and she was engaging in risky, illegal behavior. But that didn’t mean I could throw caution to the winds and assume he’d leave her.
In fact, knowing Detweiler, it meant he’d stay until the bitter end. He wasn’t a quitter. His loyalty was both his strong suit and his stumbling block. If she was getting help—and I prayed she would because I’d seen firsthand how an addiction could ruin someone’s life—he owed it to her to be supportive.
So instead of following my heart, which hung on his every glance, which waited for a sign that he’d welcome my hug, I straightened my shoulders and took a step away from Detweiler.
I was processing all this when I realized that my daughter was also hanging back, looking everywhere but straight at me. Usually she greeted me with a hug.
What was going on?
“Anya, I thought you were with Nicci Moore,” I said. “When I called earlier, Jennifer said she’d dropped the two of you off at the mall.”
“May I speak to you in private?” asked Detweiler Junior.
Uh oh. I recognized his tone of voice. We had a problem.
Anya’s lower lip stuck out a good yard and a half. She cast a baleful look his way. “Let me come, too.”
“I want to speak with your mom away from her customers. Since this concerns you, you are welcome to listen in,” said the hunky detective.
We all marched back to the stock room. Detweiler Senior followed in tow, carrying a large white plastic garbage bag with a cylindrical bulge. “I have this gizmo for your dog’s tail. Could one of your friends hold her head while I tape it on?”
I stuck my head out the stock room door, waved Laurel over, and asked her to help him.
Inside the small office with the door closed, Detweiler seemed uncomfortably large, his long legs bumping the front of the desk as he sat down. He wore a cranberry red v-neck sweater and a pink button-down collar shirt with a simple pair of slacks. His expression was anything but cheery.
What in the world was up?
Anya took a seat next to him, but I noticed she leaned as far from him as was humanly possible while defying the laws of gravity. I swallowed hard. Any problem
involving my kid worries the heck out of me.
“Dad and I were shopping at the mall when I saw Anya. She and her friend Nicci were being teased by a group of boys. I know it’s not really my place to interfere, but the boys were being inappropriate. They might have been teasing, but they were disrespectful and—”
“Excuse me? You’re talking about disrespect? You’re the one who’s married and who kept hanging around my mom!” She hopped up out of the chair and pointed at Detweiler. “You’re telling me how to act? Huh? That’s a good one.”
I gripped the arms on my chair to keep from falling off. I couldn’t believe what my daughter had just said. “Anya, apologize right this minute. You don’t speak to an adult like that.”
“I won’t apologize!” she yelled.
Merry Christmas. What a nut cluster this was turning into.
“Kiki, this is my fault.” Detweiler rubbed his chin, as a tired expression crept over his face.
I have to admit, I was a bit shocked and curious about what he meant. I leaned forward as he continued, “Anya’s got a point. Sit down, Anya, because I owe you an apology first, then I owe one to your mom. You see, my wife had left me when I met your mother. I intended to tell your mom what was up, but I lied to myself. I kept my mouth shut and I should have been more honest. That was disrespectful, and I’m sorry for it. Your mother didn’t tell you what happened because she was keeping a confidence after I explained it to her. That put her in a tough spot. You both have every right to be upset with me. That said, Anya, I hope you’ll still think of me as a friend. I wouldn’t let anyone talk that way to one of my sisters, and it made me mad to hear them talking that way to you.”
“You think of me like a sister?” Anya’s eyes were bright as she sank back down into the chair. With her gangly legs in purple tights, her cute black mini-skirt and her big turtleneck, she seemed more like an adorable pixy than a real, living child.
Make, Take, Murder Page 17