Ready, Scrap, Shoot

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Peyton wore her hair in a boyish crop, tucked behind her ears with multiple piercings. She hid in baggy shirts that hung off her slender frame. Every photo showed the girl in cargo pants. On her wrist was a Swatch watch.

  I tried to put myself in her shoes. She obviously felt uncomfortable with girly togs and the affectations associated with femininity.

  I decided to call Jennifer. She answered cheerfully and told me she was actually en route to the store.

  “I give. What were you trying to tell me about Peyton?”

  “As you can see, Peyton isn’t the typical CALA student. She absolutely refused to attend the May Day ceremony. Said it was barbaric, which it is, in a way.”

  “Right, so I heard.”

  “Edwina threatened to cut her off. Told her she’d have to pay her own way through college. Said she wouldn’t inherit so much as the dust bunnies rolling under the beds.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around. Fortunately I don’t have any money, so I guess Anya won’t ever have to worry about me threatening her like that.”

  “I think you’re both lucky. I hope that Sheila never tries what Edwina did. What a huge riff ! Deanna and Peter found themselves stuck in the middle. They tried to get Peyton to change her mind, but she wouldn’t. After one particularly nasty battle, Edwina marched into the alumni office and said she would cut off funding to CALA if they didn’t force all the girls to participate.”

  “But they couldn’t do that, could they? Remember, Bonnie Gossage said there was an attorney who took the case and supported the students’ civil liberties.”

  “That’s right. Guess who it was who found that lawyer?”

  “Peyton?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “That’s quite a story, and then Edwina gets shot at the very ceremony she insisted the school have. How’s that for irony?”

  Jennifer laughed. “Edwina and her granddaughter were evenly matched, huh? Two tough cookies. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and all those other clichés. That reminds me. I’m hungry.”

  I groaned. “Me, too.”

  “I can run by Bread Co. and pick you up a sandwich.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “My treat,” said Jennifer.

  “One more question. Since Peyton didn’t participate in the May Day ceremony is it remotely possible she could have been the shooter?”

  “Whoa,” said Jennifer. “No way. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Kiki. The kid’s a vegan. She doesn’t believe in killing anything, not even to eat. Besides, she has the perfect alibi.”

  “What?”

  “She was at my house with Stevie and a group of CALA students. They’re hoping to start a Gay/Straight Alliance Group at the school. They asked me if I would start a PFLAG chapter for parents and friends of lesbians and gays. You know how I feel about families forcing kids into molds that just don’t fit.”

  I did, indeed. She’d lost a brother because her father forced him to be someone he wasn’t.

  “Hey, I’m almost at Bread Co. Let’s talk more when I get to the store. Since I’m spilling the beans, I might as well tell you about Peter’s job. Or lack thereof.”

  Seventy-eight

  As eager as I was to see Jennifer, I admit I had another reason for wanting to chat with her before the crop this evening. I suffered from nerves. My anxiety was at an all-time high.

  As the clock wound down, and my fake kidnapping grew closer, I became increasingly edgy. Worse yet, I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Mert and I weren’t on speaking terms. Johnny and I were keeping our distance. Detweiler was busy with case work and dodging Brenda.

  The more I thought about it, the more comfortable I felt with the idea of carrying my Kel-Tec. In the backroom, we had an old gun holster, the kind that slid on your belt. Dodie’s husband, Horace, had brought it in for me to use with my glue gun. Sounds corny, I know, but the tip of the glue gun gets really, really hot. Slipping it into the holster kept me from burning myself several times over.

  I found the holster and threaded my belt through it. Lately I’ve been wearing loose blouses because I’ve gained weight, and this proved to be advantageous because the extra fabric totally concealed my holster.

  Robbie said I would never be in any real danger. Even so, someone had been sneaking around in our parking lot. Who had it been? Why hadn’t the police kept a better watch on me then, huh?

  How I missed calling Mert! She would have consoled me or set me straight. The loss of her friendship made a huge hole in my heart.

  A litany of “what ifs” crowded my mind. What if Bill hurt Johnny? What if Bill got wind that Johnny was a spy? What if a scrapbooker or another worker was here at the store and that person got hurt? What if my decoy didn’t look enough like me?

  I locked myself in the bathroom and took my gun out of my purse. I turned it over and over in my hands. I never thought of myself as a person who owned a gun. I never joined the NRA. I never shot anything in my life. Heck, I once released a field mouse who had gotten his tail caught in a mousetrap at our house in Ladue.

  What was I doing with a gun?

  What sort of man gives his girlfriend a gun?

  Would I ever use it? I mean, if push came to shove, could I fire this thing?

  Seventy-nine

  I splashed cold water on my face, put the gun in my holster, and gave my reflection a stern lecture: “Stop it. Grow up. You’re perfectly able to defend yourself. Carry the stupid gun. When this is over, you can stash it away. But for now, do like a Girl Scout and be prepared!”

  Thus fortified, I started sorting die cuts for tomorrow night’s crop. We planned to make Mother’s Day cards, so I’d cut flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

  Edwina Fitzgerald wouldn’t be getting a bouquet this year. I remembered the blood blooming on her chest and shivered. Had I really been the target? I doubted it.

  The door minder interrupted my depressive musings. Jennifer breezed in, bringing the fresh scent of a floral perfume, the rich aroma of a turkey sandwich, and an air of happiness that filled the store with light.

  She started exactly where we’d left off. “Succession is a common problem with family-held businesses. Often the entrepreneur won’t turn over control, but the kids expect to maintain their positions or to be promoted to run the company. When there’s a board involved, those people can be expected to rubber stamp succession.”

  I swallowed my iced tea impatiently. “What does this have to do with Poor Peter Fitzgerald?”

  “He’s been singularly ineffective and he certainly doesn’t have the skills necessary to run the family business.”

  “So, he’ll inherit money and keep his old job, right?”

  “No, he’ll inherit stock, he’ll become the majority stockholder, and he’s probably convinced he’s in line for a promotion. If he takes the helm, I think the company will go under. It’s a tough economic environment, and an inexperienced CEO is a recipe for failure.”

  “But he never wanted to be a businessman. From what I’ve heard, he always wanted to be an artist! Why doesn’t someone go talk with him? Offer to buy him out?”

  Jennifer smiled, “That’s good thinking. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, but I guess I’ve been listening to board members gripe for so long that the straightforward approach eluded me.”

  “Hey, if he’s not good at business or bookkeeping or whatever it takes, he won’t want the job. If you are honest with him, you can point out that he’s been neglecting his real talents all these years. If he doesn’t fight you, if you can put an experienced CEO at the helm, Peter will have plenty of money without all that stress.”

  Jennifer flipped open her phone. “Peter? How you doing? Back from church? How’s the leg? Hey, could I stop by? I thought m
aybe we could talk about, well, stuff. Would it be possible for us to speak in private? Great. I don’t want to hurt Deanna’s feelings, but I need to know I can talk candidly with you. Right. I’ll be over in five minutes.”

  Jennifer picked up her purse. “You don’t owe me anything for this lunch. If I play my cards right, I might owe you lunches for the rest of your life.”

  Kiki’s floral fantasy

  Flowers are hot, hot, hot in the craft world. They add so much color and texture to your paper projects. Fortunately, they are also simple to make. They look great placed solo on a card or bunched together in bouquets. It’s easiest to make a lot of them at one sitting and keep them in reserve for other projects.

  Here are a few of my favorite ways to create flowers:

  Simple Punch Flowers

  1. Punch multiple flowers the same size out of different shades of paper. Stack. Pin together with a brad. Curl the petals.

  2. Punch multiple flowers of varying sizes and shapes. Stack. Pin together with a brad. Curl the petals. (Tip: Use a sharpened pencil and curl the petals around the lead tip.)

  Circle Flowers

  1. Punch circles of paper in descending sizes. (Tip: This looks particularly nice with patterned paper and even newsprint!)

  2. Stack the circles in descending sizes.

  3. Adhere in the middle with a brad.

  4. Ruffle the edges by running the open blade of scissors along the outside of the circles.

  Sweet Peas

  1. Punch two sizes of hearts out of contrasting paper.

  2. Fold the hearts in half vertically.

  3. Roll the right lobe of the heart in toward the center. Repeat with the left. (Tip: Wrap the lobes around the point of a pencil.)

  4. Glue a small heart inside a larger one and add to a stem of wrapped floral wire.

  Eighty

  Monday, May 10

  “I’m not going to school until I find Seymour.” Anya planted herself in the foyer and crossed her arms over her chest. With a sniveling sigh, she added, “I know something’s wrong, Mom. He loves his breakfast. He nudges me if I don’t get up and make it for him.”

  “Okay, sweetie, let’s think of the house like a grid. That’s what they do in the mystery novels. We’ll start in this corner.”

  “But I already looked there!” her voice cracked. A tear leaked down her cheek.

  “The grid is 3-dimensional. We’ll look up and under stuff. Maybe he’s blocked in,” I said, as I removed several cushions from Sheila’s sofa.

  “He could cry, couldn’t he? I mean, he’s got a loud mew.”

  “Right.” I didn’t want to share what I was thinking. After my mother put Seymour into the microwave, I’d had unhappy visions of finding him in a toilet or in the trash can.

  Face it, Kiki. She’s nuts. You need to get her to a doctor. At least you’ll know what you are dealing with. If you take her in for the bladder issues, maybe the doc can also check her reasoning.

  I moved through the living room like a whirling dervish. I tossed pillows, I pulled out furniture. I called, “Here kitty-kitty-kitty,” until my throat was hoarse. Finally, I dropped to my knees and looked under the sofa.

  There he was, lying on his side, barely moving. I slipped both hands under his tiny body and pulled Seymour out. I quickly realized how cold he was to my touch. He blinked at me. I pulled back his lips. His gums were white, which I knew to be a very, very bad sign.

  “Anya? I’ve got him.”

  She bounded down the stairs. “Seymour, where—”

  A strangled cry escaped Anya. “Mom, is he—? Is he dead?”

  “No. But we need to hurry.”

  Fortunately, Gracie was already waiting in the car. I moved the seat so Anya could climb in the back. She held Seymour carefully, gently. I noticed a trickle of blood streaking her blouse, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from, and there didn’t seem to be any point in mentioning it to my sobbing child.

  I flew out of the driveway, revving the car as fast as it would go in reverse.

  “Buckle your seat belt,” I yelled to Anya.

  I knew exactly where the animal emergency clinic was, a mile and a half up the road. I also knew the back way there, because that was an alternate route to CALA. I paused at stop signs. I ran the tail end of a yellow light. I managed to dial 411 and get the operator to connect me with the clinic.

  “Emergency. Our five-month-old kitten was found lethargic. He is cool to the touch. There’s bleeding. Gums are white. We’re on our way.”

  “Bleeding?” Anya wailed.

  “Shh. Don’t upset Seymour. It will only make it worse for him. You have to be strong, Anya.”

  At the clinic, I double-parked, tossed my seat back, grabbed Seymour, and flat out ran. A woman in scrubs met me as I raced in. She took Seymour out of my hands.

  After I got Anya and Gracie settled, I gave the receptionist my information, what we knew about Seymour, and my credit card. Wordlessly, the receptionist handed me a sheet with costs on it. When I saw how much they were charging, my legs turned to instant pudding.

  But I wasn’t about to let that kitten die. I’d find a way to pay the charges, no matter what it took.

  I called CALA and told them Anya would be late. I left a message on the phone at Time in a Bottle, explaining I would be late. My daughter and I read old magazines for more than an hour. When we weren’t reading, we were pacing. We must have walked a mile and a half, going from one end of the clinic waiting room to the other and back.

  Finally the stainless steel doors swung open. A man in white scrubs pulled a white filter mask from his face.

  “That was close,” he said, craning his neck and making that awful popping sound. “Your little guy is going to make it but we’ll have to keep him overnight at least. Who’s the numbskull who left Advil out where the cat could get them?”

  “I’ll kill her,” hissed Anya. “I’ve seen her drop pills on the floor twice. Gran and I both asked her to be more careful.”

  I put a staying hand on her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it tonight. Let’s get you to school.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Some people shouldn’t be pet owners.”

  Eighty-one

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “Excuse me? How dare you! My daughter is a terrific pet owner. Unfortunately for all of us, my aging mother is living with us temporarily. And she’s the numbskull who dropped the pills on the floor. It’s certainly not my daughter’s fault! If you had any compassion, any decency, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, you—”

  A nurse came scooting out from behind the desk. “Dr. Lazarus, um, why don’t you go grab a cup of coffee?”

  After she pushed him behind the swinging doors, she turned to us. “I am so, so sorry. He’s a phenomenal doctor. Really he is. But he’s awful with people. Just horrid. I can’t apologize enough.”

  Anya’s mouth trembled. “I hate my Grandmére. Hate her. She’s mean and nasty and now she almost killed my cat!”

  The nurse shook her head. “Believe it or not, Dr. Lazarus saved your kitty’s life. He’s an absolute genius with animals. He says things like that because he gets so emotionally involved with his patients. That doesn’t make it any easier, I know.”

  “What makes him so sure the kitten ate an Advil?” I asked.

  “A portion of the bright blue gel cap was stuck to the inside of his teeth.”

  I gritted my teeth. I knew my mother had an enormous bottle of the liquid painkiller capsules. And yes, they were all bright blue.

  I put my arm around Anya and pointed her to the door. I stopped halfway there. I turned and spoke to the nurse. “You tell him that if he ever, EVER, ever speaks to my child again, he’ll be talking an octave a
bove soprano. I will personally reshape his future and his profile with my own two bare hands. There’s no excuse for his rudeness. None. As for our cat? He better be just fine or I’ll hunt Dr. Lazarus down. I’ll make him pay. He’ll have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from me. You tell him that.”

  “Ye-ye-yes, ma’am. I’ll be sure to tell him.” The nurse nodded vigorously.

  After hustling Anya into the car, I turned over the engine. My daughter stared at me with big blue eyes. Anya said, “Mom? You okay?”

  “I am perfectly fine.” I backed out of the lot carefully. “Sort of.” Then I bumped us down the curb and onto the road, scraping the bottom of my bumper as I went.

  “Um, how about if we stop and get you a latte from Kaldi’s? Or whatever. I mean, I know caffeine ramps people up, but, uh, I’m thinking you need something. A Diet Dr Pepper? What would help? Are you feeling okay? Do you need an aspirin?”

  “Anything but an Advil,” I said.

  Eighty-two

  “You are two hours late! This is unacceptable!” Margit shook a finger in my face.

  “Family emergency,” I said. Before I dropped Anya off at school, I’d given her an extra long hug. Despite Robbie Holmes’ protests that I was totally safe, that the sting operation would go without a hitch, I felt terribly vulnerable.

  “Kiki, honestly. Why didn’t you call?” Dodie turned a mournful head toward me. “We’ve been running around like crazy. That Mother’s Day class started a run on flower-making materials. You can’t imagine how tough it’s been to cover the floor and do paperwork!”

  I had called. I’d left a message on the machine in the back because I called early. I could only assume that neither woman had arrived at her appointed time either.

  “I could not wait on them all. You were supposed to be here!” Margit’s voice climbed a notch. “That is your job, to wait on customers. If you cannot do your job, you can be replaced.”