Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery)

by Slan, Joanna Campbell

  My hands shook as I dialed my sister. She didn’t pick up. I grabbed my purse and raced to the back. “Margit? You have to take over. I have an emergency with my mother!”

  I dropped my keys twice as I raced to my car. When I got inside, I stopped myself. If I didn’t calm down, I would have an accident. I forced myself to breathe deeply before I turned over the key. Meanwhile, I called Amanda one more time.

  When she answered, I barreled right over her greeting. “What’s up with Mom? Is she okay?”

  “What do you mean? I dropped her off at the senior center.”

  “She’s at the county jail!”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Since Amanda works for a law firm, she promised to find a co-worker who could check out the situation—and then she’d get right back to me. Meanwhile, I hung up and concentrated on driving toward the county jail.

  All sorts of images flitted through my head. One in particular spooked me. I phoned Aunt Penny and asked, “Where’s your gun?”

  “In my purse. Why?”

  “Can’t talk now. Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Are we in danger?”

  “No.” And I hung up.

  Then I called Robbie. He, of course, had no idea what was happening with my mother, but he’d make a few calls and get back to me. As I hung up from talking with him, Amanda’s call came through. She sounded breathless as she said, “They’re arresting her for Dr. Hyman’s murder. She had the murder weapon on her.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! She doesn’t even know the man.”

  “Oh, yes, she does!”

  “What?”

  “He’s the guy who took the pre-cancerous spot off her face. He’s got some sort of agreement with the senior center that he’ll do pre-cancer screenings and treat seniors at a reduced fee.”

  I pulled into heavy traffic on 40. We were moving at the speed of toothpaste leaking from the tube. “So? That’s hardly a motive.”

  “She got mad at him.”

  “What?” I’d culled my vocabulary down to a single word.

  “She asked him to do a facelift on her. At a reduced price. She called it professional courtesy.”

  “But that’s a price that professionals offer each other.”

  “She doesn’t know that. As far as she’s concerned, she was a professional performer and he should extend her the price.”

  I groaned. “Let me guess. He said no, and she went into one of her hissy fits.”

  “You’ve got it. They called me from the senior center and asked me to pick her up. She was given a stern warning to either behave or be gone.”

  “And now he’s dead.”

  Chapter 46

  Robbie launched right into what he’d learned: “An anonymous call came in. The caller said that your mother had the murder weapon in her purse. An officer was dispatched to the senior center, although for the life of me, I can’t explain why. An anonymous call like that is pretty flimsy stuff. Before talking to your mother, the officer interviewed the staff and heard about her screaming attack on Dr. Hyman.”

  I briefly considered pulling off to the side of 40 because my teeth were chattering, and I was shaking that badly. A light rain was falling, but drivers weren’t making an adjustment in their speed. Cars whizzed past me.

  The smell of gas and diesel was making me sick. How on earth had my mother gotten into such a pickle? My stomach roiled. I worried that I’d puke right there in my car. At the same time, a portion of my mind stepped away, became very unattached, as I realized, “She wouldn’t be this concerned about you! Don’t worry yourself sick over her. Calm down and deal with this. She couldn’t have killed Hyman. She’s a whack job, but she’s not a murderer.”

  I told Robbie what I was thinking.

  “Right. Unfortunately, they found a small screwdriver in her purse. There’s blood on it.”

  “But are they sure it’s the murder weapon? Is it Dr. Hyman’s blood type?”

  “They’re testing it. As usual, the labs are up to their eyeballs, so there’s a wait.”

  Which meant it might take a while to clear my mother. “But this doesn’t make any sense! How would she have subdued the doctor?”

  “A stun gun. Remember?”

  “Did they search her for that?”

  “No, but they are getting a warrant as we speak.”

  “Don’t they think it a wee bit suspicious that there’d be a call out-of-the-blue, and wham, my mother has means and motive? Did anyone see her interacting with Dr. Hyman? Did they check her alibi? I bet she was with Amanda and Aunt Penny the whole time.”

  “I’ll get on it,” he said. “But Kiki, my options here are limited. You know that. Prescott is under pressure to produce results. Even if he can’t make this stick, he’ll be more than happy to throw your mother under the bus. That way he can have a triumphant press conference and be a hero. You’re smart enough to see what’s what here.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I can.”

  Amanda beeped through. I took her call and told her what I’d learned from Robbie.

  “One of my co-workers will go with me to the jail,” she said. “There’s no way they can hold Mom. I can provide an alibi. Aunt Penny can, too. My colleague and I will discuss whether to allow them to search the house.”

  “You know better than that!” I said. “If someone was sharp enough to call and set Mom up, they’ll just as easily have planted a stun gun. It doesn’t even have to be in the house. It could be on the grounds.”

  “I know. I said that my colleague and I would discuss it. Where are you?”

  “Um, Highway 40 at Big Bend.”

  “Turn around and go back to your store.”

  “Why? She called me. She’s expecting me,” and I didn’t add, “And she blames me.”

  “Because we’re two blocks from the jail right now. There’s no need for you to be here, too. I’ve got this under control.”

  “But—”

  “Kiki, if you are here, she’ll only make a bigger scene and blame you. We both know how she operates. Go back to your job and leave this to me.”

  Although I hated to admit it, Amanda was right. I took the exit at Big Bend. I drove the back way to Ted Drewes. I parked my car and ran through the rain to the front window where I placed my order for the biggest Terra Mizzou concrete they sold. Slogging through the rain, I climbed back into my car and took my time spooning up the ice cream.

  Then I drove back to the store

  Chapter 47

  Back at Time in a Bottle, I toweled myself off, wiped the chocolate smears from my mouth, and called a quick meeting with everyone to let them know what had happened. I didn’t really need to include Rebekkah, but it seemed silly to leave her out. In truth, I only wanted to go over the bad news once, and I needed to warn everyone that reporters might descend on the store. They should be very, very cautious about what they shared.

  “I told Lucia that her temper was going to get her in hot water.” Aunt Penny shook her head. “Speaking of water, you’re dripping wet.”

  “No kidding?” I said, as I used a paper towel on my hair. “Amanda’s on top of the situation. She’s got an attorney with her. They’ll have Mom out in no time, I bet. But now you all know what’s up—and how desperate Prescott is. Just realize that representatives of the media might stop by. If they do, say nothing. Also, don’t talk about this to the customers. I mean, that goes without saying.”

  “You’re shaking,” said Rebekkah. “You okay? Or just cold?”

  “I’m upset.”

  “I think there’s chamomile tea by the microwave. Let me make you a cup,” Rebekkah offered.

  Anya went back to chipping away at the concrete blocks. My mother was not very nice to my daughter, but Anya knew I still expected her to be respectful toward the older woman. That didn’t mean Anya had to like Mom.

  I didn’t like Mom.

  Besides Aunt Penny, who did?

  Around half past four, my construction crew s
tarted to pack it in for a day. They’d filled two big black plastic bags with pieces of drywall, insulation, and dust.

  “Not much more to do but bang this down,” said Aunt Penny.

  “Good,” I replied. They’d kept to their promise not to hammer and make noise after lunch, but I still found their presence distracting. Every customer who walked through our door began by asking a million questions about the work. The wall was morphing into the Black Hole of Calcutta, vacuuming up every particle of energy that was usually reserved for creative endeavors.

  “What happens next?” I asked, as I looked over the broken bits of concrete and wood.

  “Roy’ll be here first thing tomorrow to check out what we’re doing. He’s got the plans. He’s ordered the lumber so we can frame in the walls of your new hallway. Then the drywall can be attached.”

  I picked a piece of drywall paper off her tee shirt. “How are the girls doing?”

  “They’re both good workers and seem to enjoy this,” she said. “There’s nothing like taking a hammer to a wall to vent your frustrations. You want a turn?”

  “No. The chamomile tea worked wonders for me.”

  Once they had most of the mess cleaned up, Anya took Gracie out for a piddle. We walked to our cars. Out of force of habit, I waited to see that Rebekkah’s car started. This was a safety tip Detweiler had drummed into all of us. “Don’t just drive off. What if you leave and your friend is sitting there in the lot? She’d have to go back into the store alone or sit alone in her car until help comes.”

  Sure enough, he’d been right. Twice now Margit had left on her headlights, draining her battery. This time, it was Rebekkah’s car that didn’t start. Fortunately, Margit was leaving the store as Rebekkah struggled to turn over the engine. I stuck my head out my window and yelled to her.

  “Could you do me a favor and take Aunt Penny home? That way I can take Rebekkah home. While I’m there, I’ll stop in and see Horace. Just to check on him. I’ll ask if there was anything I could do.”

  “Ja, I had been meaning to show your aunt my collection of Hummels. Penny? Would you like to have dinner with me at my house before I take you home?” asked Margit.

  “Sounds super!” Aunt Penny hopped out of my car and into Margit’s.

  “Either my battery is dead or my starter needs to be replaced,” said Rebekkah. “Dad is usually right on top of car problems, but…” She didn’t have to say anymore.

  “Anya, honey? Why don’t I drop you and Gracie off at home? I know you’re tired. You need a shower, and the cats will want to be fed again.”

  As I drove to Webster Groves, Rebekkah and Anya talked happily about their progress. Clearly, the girls were enjoying themselves, but both were tuckered out. Neither had believed herself up to the demands of knocking down a wall, so their prowess surprised them. The prospect of framing in a new hallway thrilled them. Not only was Aunt Penny saving me money, but she’d found a way to keep both young women busy, involved, and happy.

  At our house, I opened the back door and did a quick walk through to assure myself that Anya and Gracie were safe. Giving my daughter a quick kiss, I headed back to my car and she to the shower. Of course, I locked the house up as I went.

  Rebekkah had to guide me to her house because I’d only visited there twice for errands and once to sit shiva. The Goldfaders lived in a neighborhood that had originally been part of a vast Spanish land grant given in 1798. All the homes looked similar, row after row of brick bungalows with a sort of gingerbread appeal. The Goldfaders home had been built in the 1930s, and Dodie loved its beautiful molding and hard wood floors. The last time I’d visited, a neat row of marigolds marched along the sidewalk while red geraniums bloomed in pots on the stoop.

  Today the house shouldered the weight of Dodie’s passing. Unlikely as it seemed, the place sagged with sadness. The awning over the front door listed to one side. The mailbox rested crookedly alongside the screen door. The welcome mat was worn down and dirty.

  I was struck anew by how much the world missed my friend Dodie.

  A big knot formed in my throat as Rebekkah turned the key in the front door. When it swung open, a bad smell assailed me. I nearly gagged on the scent of dirty hair, garbage, and funky body odor.

  Chapter 48

  Rebekkah led the way, calling out as she moved deeper into the house. “Dad? Dad? I’m here with Kiki. My car wouldn’t start. She gave me a ride home.”

  The living room was dark and the shades were drawn, so it was hard to see, especially after coming in from the bright sunshine.

  Horace shuffled out of a hallway to greet us. On his feet were worn house slippers lined with a sheep skin matted into a felt pad. He wore a thin seersucker shirt, buttoned crookedly. His pants might have been jeans, but I couldn’t tell because only the legs showed. He’d hiked his britches high up under his shirt, presumably with a belt. Gray stubble gave his face the appearance of smeared dirt. His eyes were crusty with sleep.

  Dodie would have been appalled at the sight of him.

  I sure was.

  Horace had always looked dapper, especially when compared to his wife. They’d always made such an interesting couple, visually dissimilar but totally synchronized when it came to their intellect and emotions. What a pair of lovebirds! But the man before me was a shadow of his former self. His face was gaunt and drawn. His hair greasy and sticking out every which way.

  What does a lovebird do when its mate dies?

  I shuddered to think. But the answer stood right there in front of me. The man was lost. Totally adrift on life’s rolling seas.

  “Dad? When was the last time you ate?” Rebekkah tugged at his sleeve.

  “Don’t know.” He stared past her.

  “Have you showered?” Rebekkah asked.

  I could have answered that.

  “Rebekkah?” I said to her and beckoned her to my side. “I think you need to get him to a doctor. He looks just awful!”

  “I think so, too,” she said. “I keep thinking he’ll snap out of it, but instead, he’s been getting worse and worse.”

  “Dad, did Rabbi Sarah drop by? To talk with you about missing Mom?”

  He stared at his daughter and said nothing. He simply shuffled over to a recliner and stared out into space. “Dodie?” he said.

  The room was littered with paper and dirty plates. Rebekkah had moved home to help her dad. But clearly, this was beyond what she could manage. Horace needed more help than Rebekkah could provide. Especially when Rebekkah wasn’t her energetic self either.

  “Horace?” I spoke to him gently. He didn’t answer. I walked over to him. He didn’t even turn to look at me. Very gently I plucked at the back of his hand. As I suspected the skin tented and stayed there, a sure sign of dehydration.

  I’d made three promises to Dodie: 1.) Keep the store open. 2.) Take care of Rebekkah. 3.) Check on Horace. No, I actually made four. She had asked, “Would you pray for me? I hope I’ll go quickly without a lot of pain.”

  Recalling my commitments, I made an executive decision. “Rebekkah, help me get your father into my car. We’re taking him to the hospital.”

  Chapter 49

  I dropped Horace and Rebekkah off at the Emergency Room entrance so I could go park. We’d gotten lucky with the timing. No one was in line in front of us. While they did intake on Horace, I called my sister. I quickly explained where I was, in case my call was interrupted by news from the doctor.

  “Mom’s home,” said Amanda. “She’s fine. We can talk later. Sounds like you have your hands full.”

  Rebekkah and I settled in for a long wait, but the physician actually came out quickly. Horace was, indeed, severely dehydrated. As a result his other levels were off. They wanted to keep him overnight and run tests on him. They suspected an arrhythmia of his heart, and possibly malnutrition, but they were confident he’d be released the next day. I mentioned that he had recently lost his wife. “He seems severely depressed to me.”

  The doctor
asked Rebekkah a few questions about her dad. “I’d like to have him talk to a psychiatrist before he leaves. Your father might need to be on anti-depressants. Is he sleeping well? Regular hours?”

  “No. I find him wandering the house at all hours of the night,” said Rebekkah.

  “Then we definitely need to get him checked over,” said the doctor. “Your insurance policy is pretty good. I say we should keep him, check him over thoroughly, let a psychiatrist talk to him, and get him re-hydrated before we let him go home.”

  After the doctor left, I asked Rebekkah if she’d like to spend the night at our house.

  “Could I?” she said. “I don’t like going home. It’s a mess there. I’ve tried to keep up, but…”

  “It’s more than you could handle by yourself,” I said. “Don’t forget, you’ve lost someone, too. I doubt that you have a lot of extra energy, especially in your parents’ house. You’re always a child in your parents’ house.”

  I picked up a bucket of KFC so we’d have something to eat. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d let the Colonel do the cooking. After I pulled away from the drive-up window, I realized that I’d chosen the red and white bucket for totally irrational reasons. KFC always reminded me of my long-deceased grandmother and summers at the beach. Some part of my psyche wanted to be a kid again, sitting next to Nana on a splintery wooden park bench with the rougher wood of a boardwalk under our feet and the sunshine beating down on my head.

  I was tired of responsibility, and there was more of it on the horizon.

  Tired of the drizzle, too.

  Mainly I was just plain old tired and hungry. Life always improves on a full tummy.

  I keenly missed Detweiler.

  While we idled at a stop sign, I reached for my cell phone and called Detweiler. His phone went immediately to voice mail. Doing a quick calculation in my head, I realized I’d called at dinnertime. Given that five-year-olds get pretty cranky when they haven’t eaten, I could reasonably assume that Erik and Detweiler were having a meal together. In sunny California. By a beach.