By the time the mums were in place, I was covered in dirt. A long hot shower was in order. Scrubbed clean, I pulled on an old pair of maternity pants and one of George's out-grown, long-sleeved Henley shirts that he'd put aside for Goodwill. There was a bit of a nip in the air, perfect weather for starting a fire in our new fireplace.
George had purchased a load of wood from a scruffy man, who'd pulled up in a battered truck. Most of the pile sat outside on the pavement at the back of the driveway, but he'd thoughtfully put a half dozen logs in the garage, so they'd be dry and ready to use. I chose three nice ones. Now, I needed a way to encourage them to catch fire.
I dug around in our trash, pulled out a handful of dryer lint, stuffed that into an empty toilet paper roll, and put that under three logs to get them started. After the bark caught, I closed the glass doors and admired the baby fire. All my years as a Girl Scout had paid off. My fire-making skills were admirable, and the lint and TP roll trick was working perfectly.
Back in the kitchen, I pulled out a small saucepan to heat a cup of apple cider. After adding a cinnamon candy, I stirred the golden liquid gently.
I figured I had a good hour or so to myself, but the baby monitor alerted me to the fact that Anya was awake. I could have left her, hoping that she’d fall back asleep, but I also heard a strange crinkling sound. Better safe than sorry. After turning the burner to low, I ran up the stairs to retrieve my daughter.
In the middle of her crib sat Anya, bare-bottomed and proud, waving a soaked diaper over her head. She'd also managed to soak her sheets.
“Okay, young lady, let’s rinse you off,” I said as I whisked her into the bathroom for a quick bath.
She was totally undressed when the smoke alarm went off.
29
The gizmo shrieked at a decibel that sent me staggering around the bathroom. Anya was buck naked, so I grabbed the towel and swaddled her. All my hurrying and the loud noise upset her, and she began to cry.
To add to the din, the doorbell rang.
I clutched my child to my chest and trooped down the stairs. Without looking through the keyhole, I opened the front door to find a man on my front step. He was short and stocky, under a mop of bright red hair.
"I’m Detective Everbright from the Ladue Police Department. Do you always open your door without checking to see who's out here? That's not a good idea."
I could barely hear him over the shriek of the smoke alarm. As he spoke, he pulled a wallet from his coat pocket and flipped it open. I glanced long enough to see he was who he said he was.
Anya clamped both hands over her ears and buried her face in my shoulder.
"Pardon?" I thought I heard what he was saying, but I couldn’t be sure.
"Sounds like your smoke alarms are going off. Do you need help?"
The smell of smoke had gotten intense. A coughing fit made it hard for me to spit out the words, "My fireplace..."
Detective Everbright pushed past me and ran inside. I followed him far enough to see a cloud of smoke billowing out of the fireplace. I intended to offer my help, but Anya’s cough changed my mind. My eyes watered so badly that it was hard to see. I stumbled my way back to our foyer.
With my body, I propped open the front door. Fortunately, the smoke was not getting thicker. Then came the scrape and clang of metal on metal. The cop reappeared and took me by the elbow.
“Let’s get you out in the fresh air. The vent was closed. I assume it's new? You'd never used it? I found a pot on your stove. The contents had boiled over. I opened up your back door, turned on the fan in your kitchen. This place should be aired out in no time.”
“Thank you.” Hugging Anya closer to me, I shivered.
The cop gently wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. "Let's go sit in my car. Give it ten minutes, and the place should be habitable again."
I followed him to the unmarked police cruiser. "Are you going to give me a ticket?"
"For what?"
"The fireplace? And the stove?"
"No, ma'am. I'm not even going to lecture you. Seems to me you have your hands full. I remember what it was like, when my two girls were small. All hands on deck, 24/7. Is your daughter all right?"
I suddenly remembered that Anya was wearing a towel. "I think so. She had wet herself. That's how I got distracted. I was going to give her a quick bath. Of course, I didn't realize the vent on the fireplace was closed. Stupid me."
"Could have happened to anyone. Especially since it looks like you were using it for the first time. Just glad I came by, when I did."
"I’m lucky you heard the fire alarm and stopped.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That’s not what happened. I'm following up on your neighbor, Sven Nordstrom. You're the person who called 911. Is that right?"
"Yes. I hope he's okay. My husband says he’s an ace biker, but that’s the second time I’ve seen him take a tumble. One other time, he nearly ran into Anya while she was in her stroller.”
Anya made a grab for the cop's pen and tried to wrestle it out of his hand.
“It’s okay. Let her play with it.” He clicked the ballpoint into hiding and gave the pen to her. “I think your house should be fine now. Would it be all right, if I ask you a few more questions?”
30
Anya and I waited in the car, while Everbright checked the status of the house. He came back carrying the afghan from our sofa for me to use as a cloak. After I handed him back his jacket, he wrapped Anya and me in the crocheted throw. I found his kindness oddly touching. Instead of laughing at my predicament or chiding me, he’d been nothing but nice.
I’d always heard you shouldn’t talk to cops, not without an attorney. Everyone says it’s just too easy to have your words twisted. But Everbright had rescued me and my baby. Surely I owed him the courtesy of answering a few measly questions.
Once we were all three back inside and a nice fire roared in the fireplace, I asked if he’d mind waiting for me to rinse Anya off and put her back down for the rest of her nap. I had a hunch that, after her long and eventful day, she’d sleep straight through to dinner.
While I finished getting her settled, Everbright had made himself comfortable at my kitchen table and even poured himself a cup of coffee. “Hope you don’t mind. Let’s go back to the beginning and tell me everything. That might seem tedious or silly to you, but I hope you’ll bear with me. Sometimes I’ll seize upon a bit of information that seems insignificant to you but meaningful to me, especially when I put all the pieces together. So, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like you to tell me everything. From the moment you first became aware of the Nordstroms to this very minute, right now. Can you do that, Mrs. Lowenstein? And by the way, is your Christian name Kiki? Or is that a nickname for Catherine?”
“It’s just plain Kiki. That’s it; that’s all.”
Outside the dying leaves rustled on the maple tree. The wonderful fragrance of freshly ground Kaldi’s coffee beans scented the air, but there was also the scent of burned apples and wood. I plated the last of the Kaldi’s iced cookies and pushed them closer to the cop. “Sure. Why not. But it’s kind of a long story.”
“Take your time.”
Turning on the oven, I set it to bake.
“Do you mind if I work while we talk? I sort of have a mess going here.”
“No problem.” Everbright had that shabby, unkempt Columbo look about him, as though he’d cultivated such a disheveled image on purpose. His leather belt held up his pants, and the hems hovered above his shoes, allowing an inch of his socks to show. One jacket button dangled precariously from a fuzzy thread. His cuffs were worn and threadbare.
But he must be very, very good at his job, or the powers-that-be in Ladue wouldn’t have put up with him. In fact, he didn’t match my expectation of a Ladue cop at all. Ladue is the priciest suburb in the metro-St. Louis area. Lots here typically start at a half-a-million dollars and go up. Ladue likes its image as the best of the best, and no one meeting Everbright wo
uld think him to be top-notch. At least, not if appearances were all that counted.
After I filled a second cup of coffee for him, the detective sipped his drink, had a couple of cookies, and took copious notes. I put a tray of slice-and-bake chocolate cookies in the oven and unpacked boxes marked MISC. while I talked for what seemed like forever, explaining how we’d moved into the house before it was really done, how the Nordstroms complained about the mess our workers made, how Sven nearly ran over Anya in her stroller, and, finally, how I’d really truly made an effort to charm them, but Leesa had been horrible. Just awful.
Each time I thought we were done, he’d ask another question. At last I said, “That brings us to the present. Would you like another cup of coffee? The chocolate chip cookies are almost cool.”
“No, thank you,” Detective Everbright said. He’d eaten three of the iced cookies I’d gotten from Kaldi’s, but I decided not to hold that against him. When he stood up, his eyes bored a hole in me, the way a collector pins a bug to a corkboard. “If there’s anything else you remember, I would appreciate a prompt phone call.”
“Isn’t this a lot for a simple tumble off a bike? I’ve fallen off my bike before, and no one seemed to care. Of course, I didn’t need an ambulance, but...” I paused as I realized why Everbright was so very, very interested in Sven’s accident. “Does this mean you think Sven Nordstrom’s accident wasn’t really an accident after all? Was he drugged or something, when he fell off his bike?”
31
There was a shrewd closing up of the detective’s face. His changing expression suggested he was totally aware that he didn’t look overly bright — and that he used this misdirection to his advantage. Carefully, he weighed his words.
“It means that Mr. Nordstrom’s accident is under investigation. I’m talking to you now, Mrs. Lowenstein, because all the details are fresh in your mind. You’re the person who found him lying there on the ground. You called the ambulance. You’re the best eyewitness I have.”
“But that word — eyewitness — it implies a person who saw something important. Something worth reporting in detail. Are you telling me that Sven Nordstrom has been seriously hurt?”
“No.”
“Is he sick? Is it contagious? Should I take Anya to the doctor?”
“No. Mr. Nordstrom is not contagious, at least not to my knowledge.”
Everbright reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Call me if you happen to remember —”
I bit back a sense of irritation. I’d spent nearly an hour with this cop, going over every detail of our lives since we’d moved into this house, and he was giving me the brush-off. That didn’t seem fair. “Rather than waste time with me, why don’t you just ask Sven what happened?”
“I wish I could,” Everbright said in a wistful way, “but he’s unable to talk. He’s pretty out of it. You’ve been very kind, Mrs. Lowenstein. I am sorry that I’ve taken so much of your day. Especially seeing as how you’ve got so much work to do.”
“Whoa! This card says homicide investigator! You didn’t tell me that! Is Sven dead?”
Everbright shook his head slowly. “No, and with any luck he’ll be just fine. See, when a person has a suspicious accident, we often ask a lot of questions at the start. That way, if things go south, we have the sort of information we need to proceed successfully.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Things go south? You’re trying to tell me that Sven won’t make it.”
“I didn’t say that, and please don’t jump to conclusions. We are simply being cautious. That’s all.”
After Everbright left, I continued to put away linens and pots. I knew I should tackle the big box labeled DINNERWARE, but I couldn’t face the task. Suddenly, I felt totally depleted.
I knew why. Everbright had come and gone, and he’d left me with the worrisome possibility that Sven’s fall off his bike had been something much more sinister than a loss of balance. Okay, I felt sorry for Sven, and maybe a little sorry for Leesa, too, but, mostly, I was scared. Not for me, but for Anya.
And it occurred to me, once again, how alone I was. I tried to call George and got his voicemail. I phoned his office and was told by his secretary, Brandi, that he was out. I thought about calling Sheila but discarded that idea nearly as fast as I considered it.
I had nowhere to turn.
When we had left college, I’d intended to make new friends, once we’d gotten settled, but our first apartment was in a highly transient community. While we waited for this place to be finished, we lived in an extended stay hotel, housing that by its very name explained it was short-term. Thus, we’d moved here with high hopes. Now our closest neighbors had effectively slammed their door in my face.
Or I suppose you could say that the ambulance driver had slammed his door in my face, and Sven had simply been lying there with an IV in his arm.
Details aside, the point remained the same: I badly needed to make new friends.
32
Typically, we spent Friday nights with Sheila, lighting the candles and having our Shabbas ceremony. But shortly after Everbright left, she phoned to say she wasn’t feeling well. “I had my flu shot, and I’m running a fever.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.
“No. I’ve already phoned George to explain I had to cancel.”
I told her I hoped she’d feel better, and we said our goodbyes.
That evening I stayed up as long as possible, hoping to share with George the news of Everbright’s visit. Eventually, I fell asleep on the sofa.
My husband must have crept in sometime after three a.m. As a consequence, he decided to sleep late that morning.
I did my best to keep the noise level down. Rather than play Anya’s favorite CD full blast on the stereo, I turned it low. Instead of emptying her diaper pail, I waited, since her room was right next to the master bedroom.
Around eleven, I took Anya outside for a quick walk. We ran into Mr. Bergen at the corner. “My, my. It’s that pretty little girl and her pretty little girl.”
The compliment brought a blush to my face. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“I’m looking for Bartholomew. He slipped past me this morning, when I stepped out to get my newspaper. That animal is such a rascal. Faster than a car at the Indy 500.”
“How old is he?”
“Ten. Bought him for Alma from that pet shop they used to have in the mall. Poor thing sat there by his lonesome, meowing and acting pitiful. Alma begged me to rescue him. I’d never wanted a cat. Don’t like ‘em. They’re sneaky creatures. But I could never say no to Alma. I gave in.”
“Where do you think he went?”
“Not far. Probably one of these houses nearby. Bart likes to explore, but he’s too old to tomcat around.” With that, Mr. Bergen cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Bart? Where are you, you old rascal? Bart?”
“Anya and I will keep our eyes open for you. If you give me your phone number, I’ll call you, if we see him.”
Mr. Bergen rattled off a local number and I keyed into my phone. After testing it, I told him goodbye and pushed Anya around the block.
We’d completed our circuit and wound up facing the Nordstroms’ house when a plane flew overhead.
“Bird!” Anya pointed toward the sky.
Shading my eyes, I looked up. “Plane, honey. That’s an airplane.”
“Bird,” she repeated.
I pushed her past the Nordstroms’ garage. Sven’s bike had disappeared. However, you could still make out the broken blades of grass where he’d fallen. That shook me to my core. I sent up a prayer for his recovery.
“Bird,” Anya insisted defiantly as the roar of the plane overhead grew louder.
“Okay, sweetie, if you say so.” I concentrated on getting her over the slight hump where the Nordstroms’ driveway met the sidewalk. Because I worried about overturning the stroller, I took every lump and bump slowly.
A flicker
of black appeared on the edge of my peripheral vision. I stopped, scanned the Nordstroms’ bushes, and looked again at what appeared to be a moving shadow.
But it wasn’t.
It was Bart, intent on chasing something in the grass. The black cat was total focused on his prey. He paid no attention as I snuck up behind him. With a swoop, I scooped him up. At the same time, I heard a metallic creak. It startled me and the cat. Bart squirmed in my arms, jumped to the ground, and took off running.
To my surprise, the Nordstroms’ garage door creaked open.
I stayed put, expecting to see a car pull up. Bart disappeared in the overgrown weeds at the edge of our lot.
Even though I waited, no vehicle approached. No cars were on the street. No person stood nearby, pointing the opener at the gaping hole.
But the door had definitely gone up.
“Did you see that, Anya?” I took my accustomed place behind her stroller. “The door went up all by itself. Either that, or I’m losing my mind.”
33
As I settled Anya in her high chair for a late lunch, George wandered down the stairs. His hair was wet. He smelled like he’d freshly showered. He puttered around in the kitchen, brewing himself fresh coffee. He avoided eye contact with me, but he did give Anya a cuddle. After hugging her and depositing her in the highchair, he asked, “Have you unpacked the rest of the coffee mugs, Kiki?”
This was a bit much for a man who had stayed out all night and slept until noon. Admittedly, my feelings were prickly. I’d been burning to share my visit with Detective Everbright. Considering that George didn’t do anything around the house, how dare he hassle me about missing coffee cups?
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 8