Group, Photo, Grave (A Kiki Lowenstein Mystery)

by Slan, Joanna Campbell

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll take it from there.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean? What do you intend to do?”

  “What I should have done in the first place. I’m going to solve this crime if it kills me.”

  That was exactly the sort of thinking that worried me.

  Chapter 57

  My head started to throb before I could hang up the phone. Right outside the office, boards clattered and bonked. I could hear Roy talking with my construction crew about where the wood should go. The rustle of crisp paper suggested they were looking over the plans he’d drawn up.

  I knew that I should tell Anya about Sheila’s arrest, but she was happy right now, working alongside Aunt Penny. With any luck, I’d hear back from Robbie after Sheila was “sprung.” If the bad news could wait until then, it wouldn’t be nearly so traumatic. I finished looking over the P & L statement, vowed to find a way to do more business, and headed to the worktable. I needed to prep for the crop this evening.

  At quarter past eleven, Hadcho walked through the front door. The sky outside had turned dark. His jacket was dotted with raindrops that he promptly brushed off. He’s really too good-looking to be a cop, and he’s very particular about his appearance. But Detweiler has told me that there’s no better man in a fight than Stan Hadcho. I guess when it came to knocking heads, he didn’t think twice about his appearance.

  “Mrs. Holmes is out on bail,” he said as he reached into his jacket pocket and set a photo on the desktop between us. “Robbie text-messaged me as I pulled into your parking lot.”

  “She okay?”

  “Shook up. She got a black eye from another jailbird.”

  “What!”

  “Someone attacked her. They had to pull the other woman off of Sheila.” He grinned. “Although I did hear that your motherin-law gave as good as she got. She knocked out one of the other woman’s teeth. Sheila got a whale of a gash on her right knuckles for her trouble.”

  “But she was attacked! And her collarbone isn’t even healed all the way!”

  “I know it. Robbie was taking her to the ER when he called me. Believe me, he was steaming mad. That’s got me worried. I’ve never heard him so angry. That creep Prescott left her with the general population. He should have locked her in an individual cell for her protection. But he didn’t. Claimed he couldn’t give her special protection. Said that would be cronyism.”

  “What a total jerk.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  I glanced at the photo of the envelope found in Dr. Hyman’s trash and started shaking my head. “Nope. No way.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m positive. Look.” I reached under the worktable and found a box labeled LOWENSTEIN, SHEILA. It was actually a clean and empty pizza box. We’d found them perfect for storing projects in progress.

  My fingers quickly seized the envelope that I’d kept for Anya’s memory book, an album I updated all the time for my daughter.

  “Notice the flowers in the upper left corner. There aren’t any on the envelope in your photo. Next, look at the postal stamp. I bought four hundred Forever Stamps with flowers on them. Yours has a picture of the American flag. And there’s the lettering. Yours is typed. I hand-addressed all the envelopes.”

  From a back pocket, Hadcho pulled an empty evidence bag. “May I have yours?”

  “I hate to give it up, but I know it’s important.”

  “You bet it is.”

  Chapter 58

  Hadcho glanced at his watch and ran a nervous hand over his perfectly cut hair. “After Robbie got Sheila taken care of, they were going to meet with Jim Hagg and talk strategy. At least, Robbie was, if Sheila wasn’t up to it.”

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  In the distance a crack of thunder split the heavy rain. Gracie howled in the back room. Like a lot of dogs, she hates thunderstorms.

  “Usually Detweiler and I go over all the case details, but he’s not here. I can’t talk with the other detectives because I’m not supposed to be working on this. But Prescott doesn’t know what he’s doing. He keeps the detectives off-balance, running one way and then the other. No real progress is being made.”

  I closed up the pizza box and waited for him to get to the point.

  “I was thinking that maybe you and I could discuss the case.”

  Rather than break into a huge grin, I bit my bottom lip. This was so totally cool! I felt like I’d been admitted to some sort of exclusive boys’ club. Then the seriousness of his request hit me…hard. For Hadcho to turn to a civilian meant he was really, truly desperate. Although Detweiler had never admitted as much, I knew that Hadcho had given him grief about sharing his work with me. Especially since we weren’t married, and I could be called to testify against my fiancé.

  Wow. Talk about your stormy weather.

  “I’ll help in any way I can, and you know I’ll keep my mouth shut. What do we have?”

  “Let’s go over the basics: means, motive, and opportunity.”

  “Start with means,” I said. “My mother is nuts, but she isn’t a killer. The blood on the screwdriver found in her purse was definitely Dr. Hyman’s?”

  “We don’t know yet,” he said.

  “So you might not have the murder weapon.”

  “That’s right. Let’s continue as if it is.” Hadcho tapped a manicured fingernail against the top of the worktable. “Any idea how it got into her purse?”

  “A hunch. Amanda told me that Mom’s always forgetting her purse. I figure she walked off and left it somewhere, and the killer noticed.”

  “Where might that have happened?”

  “Probably at the wedding.” I thought a minute.

  “So it could have been anybody, and since there was a lag time between the murder and the discovery of the screwdriver, it could have happened any time after the killing,” said Hadcho with a sigh.

  “You don’t have any idea who made the phone call suggesting that my mother was the culprit?”

  “None,” he said. “Moving right along. As for opportunity, I can’t rule anyone out who was attending the wedding. There were too many people milling around. Sure, we took statements. I’ve been over those. Usually Robbie has us re-interview everyone involved. Then we draw a diagram. Who was where and who might have seen what. That’s not going to happen here. Not this time.”

  I reached under the work table to where I’d stashed a pack of Saltines. I nibbled on one. “Let me grab some paper.” Using cheap copypaper, I drew a sketch of the three tents erected on Leighton’s property that day: a middle-sized tent for the ceremony, a small tent for the caterers, and a large tent for the reception festivities, which never happened. The catering tent was right up against Leighton’s house so that the servers could also make use of his kitchen. The reception tent was parallel with his house.

  To the left of Leighton’s house, in the eleven o’clock position, was my house, Monroe’s pen and the shed. Running along the right hand side of Leighton’s house was a narrow alley that separated his home and its large acreage from other houses on the same block.

  The middle-sized tent was set at a forty-five degree angle to his house, facing his new gazebo. Parallel to the gazebo, but about fifty feet to the right, was the new water feature, the goldfish pond that Leighton had recently installed. The photographer had driven up the alley and parked close to the water feature, because of all the equipment he had to haul. The only cars allowed in Leighton’s circular drive that day had been the catering trucks, one of which had been driven by Cara Mia.

  “Great map, doesn’t tell us squat,” said Hadcho.

  “I agree,” I said with a sigh. “What’s the time of Hyman’s death?”

  “The ME says he died shortly before his body was found. The caterers confirm that timeframe because they unloaded their stuff from the vans, and then stayed together, as per Cara Mia Delgatto, the owner of the catering business. Wh
en someone noticed your dog in the ceremony, they all had an attack of the ‘looky-lous,’ and moved to the edge of the guest seating. They stood there together in a group until the ceremony was over. The entire service took about twenty-five minutes, as you know.”

  “That means the doctor died about fifteen minutes into the vows, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “How did Dr. Hyman get to the wedding?” I asked. “Did he ride with someone?”

  “No,” Hadcho reached into his jacket pocket again for his Steno pad. “He drove himself. One of the valets parked his car with all the other guests’ vehicles at that nearby school lot. We verified the license plate and corroborated the valet’s statement.”

  “So he definitely did arrive late,” I said, tapping a pencil against my teeth. “That’s weird. Most people try to get to a wedding either early or on time. Have you checked the time on the doctor’s invitation? If someone dummied up an envelope, maybe they also monkeyed with the invitation.”

  “By giving Dr. Hyman the wrong time, the killer would have a window of opportunity. Everyone else would have been seated and watching the ceremony.”

  “Right,” I said. “So the killer would have been someone who wasn’t in the tent watching the service. Because the murder happened during the service. Smack-dab in the middle of it.”

  “And how did the murderer connect with Dr. Hyman?” I tapped the pen against the wipe board. “The murderer had to intercept the doctor on his way to the tent where the ceremony was held. Either someone reported Hyman’s arrival to the killer or—”

  “Maybe Dr. Hyman had been instructed to call someone when he arrived,” said Hadcho, flipping back through his notebook. “One of the investigators was checking on Dr. Hyman’s cell phone. I’ll track that down. If Dr. Hyman called someone—”

  “That person is probably your killer.”

  Chapter 59

  By the time Hadcho got up to leave, the rain beat a steady drumroll against our glass display window. I walked him to the front door. The bang-bang-bang and clatter from the construction of my new addition assured me that the workers were too busy to listen in on our conversation.

  “Be careful,” Hadcho said in a low voice as he put a hand on my shoulder. “That goes without saying, but…”

  Hadcho has become an unofficial big brother to me, explaining the backstory of all that happens at the police station.

  “You want to borrow an umbrella?” I asked.

  “Sure, if you have one.”

  He waited while I dug up a pink umbrella from under the cashier station.

  “Right,” he said.

  At least it would offer his silk tie a little protection. Detweiler told me that he often gets teased for caring about his appearance. Personally, I find that charming. All of us are quirky, if the truth be known. Most of us work hard at hiding our bizarre foibles from the world at large. The more I get to know Hadcho, the more I appreciate his steady nature and, of course, I appreciate his friendship.

  “Especially with Detweiler out of town, you need to watch your back.” He stopped and began again with, “Robbie’s in a vulnerable position. That means that all his minions—and that includes you—are at risk.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, giving him a tiny fist bump on the shoulder. “You’re the only person on the force that I’m talking to. Besides, I’m too busy to poke around.”

  “Right. But you always find a way.” He smirked at me.

  “What can I do that you can’t?”

  “If you get the chance to talk with the bridesmaids that might be helpful.”

  “What are you thinking for a motive?” I asked.

  Hadcho stared hard at me before bursting out with short laugh. “Resistance is futile, isn’t it? You like snooping around.”

  “Yup. When people I love are at risk.”

  “I haven’t got a motive. No one at the station seems to have one either. Hyman’s wife died ten years ago of a stroke. They had one son, who died in an auto accident when he was a teenager. Got into a car with a friend who was drunk.”

  “What about his finances? His private life? His practice?”

  “Closed his practice six years ago. Updated his will after his wife died. Left everything he owned to the temple. Endowed a chair at Washington University. Had no private life to speak of, or so it seems. Looks like he was one of those sad old guys who retires, moves into a condo, and spends the rest of his life in a La-Z-Boy recliner, watching television in his boxer shorts. Doesn’t get out much except for the work he does at the senior center to keep his hand in.” Hadcho fingered his car keys. “Oh, and he liked to eat dinner at the country club once a month. Seems like the only enemies he had in the world was your mother and your motherin-law.”

  “Goodie-goodie. Just what I wanted to hear.” I glanced out the display window. “It’s letting up. You better make a run for it.”

  He raced out of the front door right as Aunt Penny joined me. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder and watched Hadcho make a dash for his car. “Great day in the morning. That is one fine, fine specimen of male pulchritude.”

  I nodded. “Good-looking, too.”

  Chapter 60

  Hadcho timed his exit just right. The rain started coming down in buckets. You couldn’t see two feet ahead of you. Our big display windows turned into waterfalls.

  “Great weather for an indoor picnic,” said Aunt Penny.

  “Yup,” I said. “That it is.”

  I changed the sign on the front door to read GONE TO LUNCH. Not that I expected anyone to stop by.

  For days like this, I kept a red and white gingham checked vinyl tablecloth in a basket on top of the refrigerator. With a flick of my wrist, I spread the checked cloth on the floor. Anya and Rebekkah washed up while I grabbed the jars of peanut butter, almond butter, strawberry, and blueberry jams from the refrigerator along with a loaf of Ezekiel sprouted raisin cinnamon bread. Aunt Penny poured glasses of cold water, Rebekkah toasted the bread, and my daughter set the tablecloth with paper plates.

  Deep in the back of the refrigerator, I found a bowl of fruit salad left over from the Monday night crop. One of our customers had donated the leftovers.

  The hardest part of lunch was lowering myself to the floor. But once I got there, it felt perfect to be sitting in a circle with my construction crew, listening to the rain while we were snug inside. Anya and I sat knee to knee, in a comfortable pose.

  “I was wondering. What if we had a memorial ceremony for Dodie?” Anya had kept her hard hat at her side. I could tell she didn’t want it out of her sight. She turned to Rebekkah and said, “I know your mother only wanted a graveside service, but so many of our customers didn’t really get to say goodbye. I feel like I didn’t. And I’m not thinking about something sad. I’m thinking something happy, because she always called my mom, ‘Sunshine.’”

  I waited because I didn’t want to rush Rebekkah into responding.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that, too,” she said, as she put down her sandwich. “Mom, kind of underestimated how much people thought of her. She loved this store. She didn’t want Dad to have to go through a big service and deal with people. But I think he’d enjoy hearing their memories. I think he needs that. He’s so lost! And I’d like to hear it, too. Kiki, would you be willing to plan something?”

  “I’d be honored. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Well, I have another idea,” said Anya. “Dodie loved turtles, why not have the memorial ceremony at one of her favorite spots?”

  “Where’s that? The zoo?” Aunt Penny asked.

  “Close, but not quite. Turtle Park. Right off of 40 in Dog Town,” I said.

  “Wait until you see it, Aunt Penny,” said Anya. “It’s the coolest place ever. There are these huge concrete statues of turtles. You can climb all over them.”

  “And here’s another idea,” I said. “What if we name this new room we’re building after Dodie?”

  “I think Mom
would have liked that,” said Rebecca. A hint of a smile showed.

  “Anya? How about if you make a few notes about what you think would be a good way to proceed? After you get your ideas on paper, we can talk them over with Margit and Clancy. I want them to have input, too.”

  Rebekkah finished her food and went into the office where she could call the hospital and have a bit of privacy as she asked about her dad. Aunt Penny was uncharacteristically quiet while we ate. I tasked Anya with getting Gracie to go outside for a piddle, a chore that would be difficult given the rain. However, the sound on the roof suggested there’d been a bit of a let up.

  “If you take Gracie out right now, she might do her business before the thunder starts up again. Otherwise, she’s going to fight you. Last time I dragged her outside in the rain, she waited until I wasn’t paying attention and then bolted for the backdoor.”

  “I remember,” said Anya with a giggle. “You should have seen her, Aunt Penny. Mom lost her balance and landed in a big mud puddle. She came in looking like someone from one of those tug-of-war competitions. Someone on the losing side!”

  “Go through the front door and change the sign to OPEN, please,” I told Anya.

  As my daughter walked with Gracie, I turned to my aunt and asked for help getting to my feet. “What’s wrong? I can tell something is bothering you.”

  “I’m feeling plum sorry for myself,” she said as she hoisted me to a standing position. “That daughter of yours is a peach. So is Rebekkah. I rarely wish I had children. I figure if the Lord had wanted me to be a mother, he could have worked his wonders. But seeing these girls, watching them with you, I get to thinking about what might have been, and I get weepy.”

  Aunt Penny used the back of her sleeve to mop her eyes. “I don’t know why your mother can’t see what she’s got. How God’s blessed her. But she can’t. She’s got some sort of grudge against you. She doesn’t treat Amanda much better. And Catherine’s given up—”