They led me into the “family” room. A similar room in our house had been the place where George, Anya, and I spent hours playing Candyland. But this room was missing the comfortable sofas and the low oak coffee table. Instead, a white leather sofa and matching chairs faced a glass and chrome coffee table. Definitely not kid friendly.
I directed Bernice to sit close to her husband on the sofa. They didn’t take each other’s hands. They barely touched. “I think you need a prop,” I said. So I went to the shelves that flanked the fireplace and tried to pull down a book.
“Don’t!” yelled Bernice.
Not that it mattered. I couldn’t move the book. It was glued in place.
“Do you have any magazines you could look over?” I asked. Eventually they remembered a copy of Forbes that had just arrived in the mail. Wesley went to retrieve it from his briefcase.
That helped. But not much.
“Okay, I think that all I need is a photo of the kitchen and the nursery.”
“Nursery?”
“Uh huh.” Seeing the confusion on their faces, I added, “Or child’s room. Where your child will sleep.”
“We’re not remodeling until we have the official word that we’ll be adopting,” said Bernice.
“Oh.” In my mind, I saw Bonnie banging her head against a wall. Honestly, Bernice Stottlemeyer was doing everything possible to make adoption impossible. One glance at Wesley’s face told me that he was concerned. Between his eyes, a hashtag formed. He seemed to be avoiding my direct stare. His body language screamed that he was uncomfortable. Did he realize how difficult his wife was making this? Had they talked this through? Clearly they were not in sync with this process.
“We have a guest bedroom that we’ll redecorate,” said Wesley. “Why don’t you show her that, Bernice?”
She led me upstairs. The space we entered reminded me of a hotel room in any major chain.
“Um, should I say you are waiting to redecorate? That when you see whether it’s a boy or a girl, you’ll change out the furniture and colors?” I asked. The room smelled of lemon-scented furniture polish.
Bernice crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. “We only want a boy. I suppose we’ll add a crib. It can go there, in the corner.”
“You’ll need a changing table,” I suggested.
But she didn’t say anything. Her face was set in stone.
Chapter 40
I thanked Bernice for her time, even though she should have been thanking me. I really was going above and beyond on this album. As we started toward the front door, she sniffed. “As you can see, this is a very upscale neighborhood. I’m sure that most of your customers don’t live like this.”
“Most don’t,” I agreed.
Most people find a way to express their personalities in their homes. No matter how meager their income, they find a way to make their décor a reflection of their innermost selves. Most people consider their homes a welcoming sanctuary, a place of comfort. This house, although large and expensive, was cold and uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to live here. I didn’t even like visiting.
She noticed my car. “BMW.”
“Yes,” I said. “An oldie but a goodie.”
“Shame about the color,” she said. “Black is so much more classy.” And she slammed the door behind me.
I climbed into my car and sat there, trying to get my wits about me. I’ve never had such mixed feelings. Wesley seemed nice enough. But Bernice? What was her major malfunction? What was she trying to do? Why go through this process if she didn’t really want a child? I remembered a woman I knew from Jazzercise, who had gotten pregnant and announced, “This baby isn’t going to change my life. I’m the adult. I’m in charge.”
Boy, had she ever been in for a shock! That baby had her wrapped around its tiny fingers in no time. And happily so.
Maybe Bernice would come around. Maybe a child would defrost her heart.
I doubted it.
As I turned over the key in the ignition, Detweiler texted me to say he loved me. It was almost as if he knew I needed him, right then and right there. Surprisingly, when I checked the time, the message had been sent late last night. But that didn’t matter, it had come when it was supposed to come. Right on the dot.
On that happy note, I swung by a Dunkin’ Donuts, picked up a baker’s dozen, and headed back to the store. Yes, I missed my old house in Ladue for its spaciousness and the nice lot. But I wouldn’t trade one second of my life then for my life now. No way!
As I walked in the back door, a rip-rip-rip sound greeted me. The store smelled like fresh plastic. Duct tape was being unrolled. Roy was helping Aunt Penny hang a heavy plastic drop cloth between the wall and our merchandise. Anya and Rebekkah held opposite ends of the sheeting as Aunt Penny fed it to Roy who had the tape in one hand.
I took a dozen photos. With each one, I grew more and more excited. Using duct tape on a scrapbook page is my idea of fun, and I couldn’t wait to plan with the silver tape and these shots! It would make a great “make and take” class. In fact, I got so enthralled with the idea that I almost forgot about the box of donuts, until Margit carried them from the backroom into the construction zone.
“How did your visit with the Stottlemeyers go, Mom?” asked Anya, as she took a bite of a cake donut with pink icing.
“Uh, okay,” I said. I was determined not to allow Bernice Stottlemeyer’s negativity to spread by sharing my experience.
I allowed myself one chocolate cake donut and then went back to work on the custom album. My first task was to print up the Stottlemeyer photos.
They weren’t bad, although they were stiff. Really, really stiff. The uncomfortable expressions on the couple’s faces didn’t help their cause.
Choosing embellishments proved an easy task, because every aspect of their home was neutral. I started with a simple brown faux leather album. For the pages themselves, I chose ivory paper, a darker khaki lettering and a scrolled corner embellishment. I took a quick photo of the elements and sent it to Bernice. She approved the colors via email. Each photo was matted in both ivory and the dark khaki. The look was elegant and expensive, although usually my albums for adoption profiles are more playful. I really regretted the lack of a nursery photo, because those are typically the most fun of all! Now that I had all the photos I needed, I finished the form I’d begun for the Stottlemeyers, scanned it, checked off the boxes for the new pictures, and sent the finished paperwork to Bernice via email.
Waving a jelly-filled donut in one hand, Roy was talking to my construction crew, going over how to tear down the wall.
I didn’t want to take any chances of bringing Bernice’s bad vibes into this space. Especially when my daughter, aunt, and friend were going to be doing dangerous work. I rummaged around in Dodie’s big desk until my fingers seized upon a smudge stick. I carried it to the front of the store and lit it, letting the sweet smell of sage wander through the open area. When I thought I’d chased away the lingering Stottlemeyer cooties, I took the stick back to the bathroom and set it carefully in a tin can so it couldn’t start a fire.
From his accustomed spot in his glass bowl, Danforth, the red-eared slider that Rebekkah had brought to the store winked at me. He was a sweet turtle, a quiet guest who never failed to bring a smile to my face. As I watched, he dove off his rock and paddled around in the water. In honor of Dodie, I gave him an extra pinch of turtle food. Why couldn’t everyone be as serene as Danforth?
After leaving the bathroom, I checked my computer for message. “Do your job! This is what I’m paying you for!” read the note from Bernice. “Quit wasting my time sending me emails!)
“Lovely. Just lovely,” I muttered.
On days like this I sorely missed the Wendy Ward Charm School, of which I am a proud graduate.
“Wendy Ward, I summon your spirit. Come and knock sense into this boorish woman, Bernice Stottlemeyer!”
I grabbed a black candle from under the front counter and lit
it. As I did, I muttered to myself. “Go away, you negative cootie-bugs. Let me finish this project so I can get that woman out of my life.”
Chapter 41
I didn’t notice when Roy left. My crew went at the job with a vengeance. After an hour and a half, the banging and clanging of hammers against drywall and concrete started to give me a headache. At noon, we all took a lunch break. Rebekkah offered to fix peanut butter and banana sandwiches on Ezekiel raisin-cinnamon bread, much touted by her as being “sprouted.” I wasn’t sure why that was so cool, but she sure seemed gung-ho, and it tasted good to me.
After the break, the crew cleared debris while I sorted photos for Sheila’s wedding album. Months earlier, I had ordered a wedding gift for them, a custom album in ivory faux leather, engraved with Sheila and Robbie’s names. I was eager to fill that memory book with wonderful pages.
When it comes to putting together an album, it’s all about the organization. I have a pretty good method, a sort of twist on “speed scrapbooking.”
I love how all-consuming my work can be. While my construction crew worked to pull nails and sort through rubble, I explored different ways of showcasing Sheila and Robbie’s journey as a couple. The images and colors were so lovely that I could almost forget that the wedding had been marred by a murder investigation. All that was missing were Vincent’s professional photos and a photo of the original five Jimmy Girls, as well as an explanation for where they’d gotten their odd nickname.
At two o’clock, Clancy came in to take my place. Usually she’s scheduled from noon on, giving me half a day off, but she’d text-messaged me earlier to ask if she could come in late. I knew Margit had been itching to debrief me about the Monday evening crop, but I badly needed a breath of fresh air. The weather outside was beautiful, but only for a brief while. Rain, rain, and more rain was in the forecast. I really needed a chance to stick my head outside for a while.
“Margit? Could I just take a break, please? Could we debrief when I return?” I asked. “I need to grab some fresh air and run an errand.”
The lenses of her cats’ eye glasses magnified her irises so that her eyes looked like twin goldfish in bowls. “Ja,” she said, in a grumpy tone.
My crew had gone from pulling nails to cleaning up the dust and tearing off drywall by hand. Aunt Penny assured me that she would keep a watchful eye on the girls. Anya turned to smile at me. “Mom, I didn’t think I could do this, but look! And it’s fun. I’m stronger than I thought.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the look of satisfaction on Aunt Penny’s face. As a single woman who’d never married, her circumstances had forced her to be self-reliant. A firm believer in mens sana in corpore sano (a healthy mind in a healthy body), she often surprised me with her physical strength. Combined with her sharp mind, she planned to live in her 100s, I was sure.
This had been her goal: teaching the girls how strong they were. Pretty sharp cookie, that Aunt Penny. None of us had realized this was a lesson disguised as a building project.
“I’m very, very impressed,” I said. “Looks like I need to keep supplying the donuts, huh?
Clancy joined me. “Mainly, all I see is one heck of a mess.”
“You always say that about my projects. Can you keep an eye on my construction crew?” I asked Clancy. “I’d like to run over to Sheila’s house. I’ve told Margit we can debrief when I get back.”
“Is there a problem? With Sheila?”
“Other than an ongoing murder investigation being carried out by a man who wants Robbie’s job, no. No problem at all.”
“You haven’t been listening to the local news, have you?” She raised an eyebrow at me as we stepped away from the dust and chaos.
“What’s up?”
“That man. Preston?”
“Prescott.”
“Should be Press-con. He’s held a press conference.”
“Saying what?”
She glanced away from me. “Saying nothing. Implying all sorts of things.”
“Such as?”
“That unsympathetic members of the department with competing agendas are working to stonewall his progress.”
“Holy guacamole,” I said. “Talk about a knife in the back.”
“That’s how I saw it, too,” she agreed. “He’s suggesting that the department has become complacent. That the investigators are not as skilled as they should be. ‘Cronyism’ was the word he used.”
“That could come back to bite him on the rear end considering that Robbie is his brother-in-law.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Clancy grinned.
Chapter 42
After hearing about the news conference, a trip to Sheila’s house seemed imperative. I climbed into my car, a simple daily activity that was getting harder and harder given my changing shape and center of balance. I’d only just put my backside on the seat when I felt something hard under me. I stepped out of the car and stared.
Sitting on my seat was that silly toy turtle that Dodie kept in her desk.
“Listen, bub, this is my spot. I claimed it first,” I said as I scooped him up and slipped him into my purse.
I had no idea how he’d managed to make it from his home in the drawer to my driver’s seat.
Was he a message from Dodie? If so, what was she telling me? Go slow? I laughed to myself. That was pretty silly stuff.
As I headed toward Sheila’s house, I noticed the mature flowers in her upscale neighborhood. St. Louisans seemed to compete when it came to dressing up their yards. Witness Leighton and his freshly landscaped flowers. The old plants surrounded his house had been just fine, to my way of thinking, but he hadn’t been content. His weigela with its merry goblets of pink and white, his hydrangeas in bright blue, and his bushes of pinkish orange honeysuckle delighted my senses and filled the air with sweet fragrance. However, he pointed out that in their maturity, they produced fewer blooms. So away they went. New varieties replaced the old.
But here in Sheila’s section of town, Old Money dictated restraint. Houses were still surrounded by encampments of flowers, but the stems were sturdy with age, giving the landscaping a look of unplanned elegance.
I pulled my convertible into Sheila’s driveway behind Robbie’s police cruiser. With a baby coming, I’d need something else to drive, aka the dreaded Mom Car. I kept my fingers crossed we could find a car in a pretty color. Yes, it was silly of me, but despite Bernice Stottlemeyer’s nasty comment, I’ve loved this shade candy apple red. On dreary days like these, it never failed to cheer me.
“Good to see you,” Robbie said, as he met me at the door. “And with a smile on your face no less. Sheila’s in a foul mood. The cruise company refuses to refund our deposit or apply it to another trip. Instead of privacy with my bride, I’m living under the same roof with four post-menopausal women. This isn’t how we intended to spend our first week of married life.”
No, I imagined it wasn’t.
“That said, they’re happy enough for me to do the cooking and cleaning up. I’m making steaks tonight. Sheila is hungry for raw meat. Preferably a piece of Prescott’s backside.”
“At least she gets to spend quality time with her friends,” I said. Just call me Little Suzy Sunshine.
“Huh. She’s embarrassed about all this. They’re actually taking Prescott’s demands pretty well since they’d planned to visit old haunts anyway. But Sheila, well, you know Sheila.”
“Maybe this will help.” I pointed to the tote bag on my arm. “I have part of your wedding album done.”
He cocked his head and stared at me. “Where did you get the photos? Vincent told Prescott that his shots aren’t developed ones yet.”
“I left spots for photos from Vincent,” I explained. “The book starts with your early years and ends with the wedding ceremony. I’m working in reverse chronological order. Remember when I asked you for those old pictures? The black and whites? That’s what I have so far, plus the candid shots I took, and blank spac
es. I’m just checking to make sure that Sheila likes this before I go any further. Any idea when Vincent will have your pictures done?”
“End of the week at least. He uses film.”
“You have to be kidding me!”
“Nope. Prescott demanded that he drop off the canisters, but Vincent pointed out that it’s simpler for him to process it, since he’s worked with us before developing photos for the station. In the old days, we used Fox Photo. I’m not even sure they’re still in business, but short of taking the film canisters to Walmart, I’m not sure how we’d handle developing film. Not these days. Everyone uses a digital camera.”
I stood there with my mouth catching flies. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Letting anyone other than a police technician touch that film was, in my humble opinion, a big mistake. Even though I’m not well-versed in PhotoShop, I can still monkey with a picture. So can just about anybody with a lick of sense.
“Robbie, what’s to stop Vincent from altering a photo?” I asked.
“He’d have to convert it to digital to change it, wouldn’t he?” The big cop rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“No. He could use light techniques to make changes. They call it dodging and burning,” I said. I knew this because those were the terms that PhotoShop used, and I had looked up where they came from.
“Yes. I see what you mean. But that would have to happen in the printing process, when he transfers the images to paper. I’ll suggest that we ask him for a copy of his negatives.”
I still wasn’t satisfied and my face betrayed my emotions.
“Kiki, this whole situation is out of my hands,” said Robbie. “Believe me. This is not how I would have handled the investigation.”
Sheila stuck her head out of the family room. “Why are the two of you still standing in the foyer?”
Robbie nodded a goodbye and took off for the small butler’s pantry off of Sheila’s kitchen. She’d converted it to a sort of “man cave” for him, since she’d never really used it as a place for storing extra serving pieces. This had been a big compromise for both of them. Robbie wanted her to sell her house so they could buy something together. Something much, much smaller. Sheila resisted that. She loved having one of the biggest houses in Ladue. Furthermore, the real estate market had not fully recovered in the metro St. Louis area, and she complained that they wouldn’t get top dollar. I thought her priorities were all wrong. This house had been Sheila’s and Harry’s. Of course Robbie wanted a place without the ghost of Sheila’s first marriage.
Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery) Page 14