Sheila told Sylvia we’d “think about it” and dropped the real estate agent off at her car.
“Would you mind swinging by Goodwill?” I asked my mother-in-law. “It’s on your way back to the store. I have an idea for a project for work.”
Sheila did not look happy, but she did as I asked. I ran in, found what I needed, and got back into the car. We drove past a gardening center. The plastic pots of azaleas formed a gay fence of color along one edge of their lot.
“I met a man who can help you while Mr. Sanchez is out of town. I bet he could even get rid of your moles.” I gave Sheila Johnny’s phone number.
“I’ve tried everything,” my mother-in-law sighed. “Who knows? Maybe this guy has the magic touch.”
I thought about how sensual Johnny was and stifled a giggle. Instead, I said, “That’s entirely possible.”
Sheila steered her Mercedes into the parking lot at Time in a Bottle. “Let’s talk more about the houses later tonight. It never pays to be too eager.”
Unfortunately, I was already decorating House Number Three in my head.
67
Later, I’d call it a stroke of genius. The idea had hit me while Sheila, Sylvia, and I were scouting out rental houses. Everywhere we went, we passed women going about their day, all of them looked stressed. Back at the store, I looked up the statistics. According to Labor Department statistics, on an average day, women do three times as much housework as men do and more than twice the amount of food preparation and cleaning. Wasn’t every woman a working woman? And how about all the women who had worked in the garment trades, even going back to the time of Charles Dickens when poor women sewed by candlelight?
Accordingly, while Sheila waited in her car, I ran into Goodwill and bought ten well-used Simplicity patterns. By photocopying and using these elements in various ways, I hoped to create truly memorable Labor Day layouts, ones with both a historical bent and an eye toward the contributions of women today. In fact, I was totally engrossed in my efforts when Ben Novak walked in. My heart did a little flutter-step when he pecked me on the cheek and asked, “How have you been?”
In a button-down shirt and a tight pair of jeans topped with a well-made navy gabardine blazer, he was everything a man should be and more. Bama left her spot up at the front cash register to give him the once-over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her staring at his backside.
“Ben! How nice to see you.”
“How are you? You’re looking marvelous. How was the rest of your weekend?”
Okay, it was banter, but his eyes locked into mine and he seemed to really care about my life. I told him briefly about the party at Mert’s, although I left out my dive into the flower pot. I wanted to know what kind of guy Ben was. Was he too sophisticated for that sort of fun? Was an outdoor barbecue and Johnny Cash too low-rent for someone like him?
“I love barbecues and country music. Sounds like you had a terrific time. That’s one of the reasons I like living in St. Louis. It’s a place with multiple personalities. Think of how artistic and hip U-City is. Compare that with the scrubby Dutch of the south side. Then there’s the Italian area, the Hill. All around us, there’s so much history.
His effusive manner was infectious. This was a man who obviously knew and took pleasure in exploring his surroundings.
He colored and said, “Hey, listen to me. I’m going on and on. Point being, this is a great place to live. I regard St. Louis as one of the best-kept secrets in the world.”
“I agree,” I said. “Come talk with me while I work.” I needed to get cracking on my sample albums for the photographers. I’d carefully selected simple 8 by 8 inch albums. Now the challenge was to fill them in a way both interesting and flexible.
“Tell me about what you’re doing.” As I explained my work, he asked questions. I liked Ben, really liked him. But I’d already made one mistake since George died. I needed to slow down before I made another. I knew that the office for his newspaper was in Soulard, so I asked, “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I’m mixing business and pleasure. We have a valued employee who’s retiring, and I convinced Dad we needed a special gift for the man. I figured that an album covering his time with the newspaper might be nice. Is that the sort of project you’d take on? If I coaxed you?” Ben’s eyes were golden in the light.
“You’ve come to the right place,” I said. “Let’s see what you have.”
“I managed to find a few photos and clippings from news articles about our retiree, but I suspect you’ll need more.”
He handed me a small manila envelope. I examined the contents. “Actually, I have a form that you can fill out. There are questions that will guide me as I put together the album. There’s also a list of stuff that would be helpful. Let me grab one for you.”
Ben gave the paper a quick once-over. “I’m sure we can pull this together. Best of all, filling it out will give me a reason to come back and see you again. For lunch maybe?”
“Let’s plan for it.”
We consulted our calendars. Talk about how different we were! Mine was a photocopied stack of papers while his was a Blackberry. However, both had the days of the month, and we quickly found a mutually convenient time to get together.
Ben said goodbye, taking my hand in his cool, slim fingers for a handshake that was more than a handshake “By the way, what in the world happened to the side of your building. Sorry, but the reporter in me is curious. I noticed that there are two colors of paint. One looks newer than the other.”
I explained about the graffiti. Ben switched gears faster than a sports car. “When? Tell me exactly what happened.”
I did.
“That’s odd, we had a window broken at the newspaper. Someone through a brick through it. Two weeks ago we had graffiti spray painted on the side of our building. It doesn’t make sense that we’d have such similar problems at two locations miles apart. This must have nothing to do with our respective neighborhoods. I’ve heard rumors about an anti-Semitic cell, one that targets Jewish store owners. Who owns this shop?”
“Dodie Goldfader.”
“Goldfader? I used to know a kid named Goldfader. Is she here?”
Under Bama’s watchful gaze, I walked Ben into the back room.
“Dodie?” I stuck my head inside her door while Ben politely waited a few paces behind. “I have someone who’d like to meet you.”
While Ben chatted with Dodie in her office, I went back to the worktable. My cell rang. Bucky from Artist Supply said, “Hey, you owe me for this one—”
“No problem-o. The next time we need art supplies, I’ll come to you. If you want, we can even distribute your brochures with your business card.”
“That would be terrific. I’ll mail you some. Here’s the scoop. Bama never worked here. Ever. But her sister, Cali, used to work for us. That was a long time ago. Cali got fired by my dad after a customer reported seeing Cali taking drugs.”
“Any idea who that customer was?”
“Yes, I’ve got it right here. Just a last name. It’s Gaynor.”
I hung up and tried to process what I’d heard. Bama’s sister had gotten fired because of Yvonne. Could that possibly be the same sister who now worked for The Catering Company? If so, she would have had all sorts of access to the scones we’d served at our crop.
“Kiki?” Dodie’s voice interrupted my musing. She was standing, arm in arm, with Ben. On her face was a huge happy smile. I hadn’t seen her so joyful in weeks.
“Guess what? Ben knew my son, Nathan. They were in youth group together. Can you believe that?”
Yes, I did. The Jewish community is interconnected in many ways, large and small. That’s how minority cultures safeguard their existence, by relying on each other.
“Mrs. Goldfader told me about the threats she’s gotten at home. They sound suspiciously like the messages my father has received. We called Police Chief Robbie Holmes. He thinks all this might be the work of Strahle
nd Weiss. The name translates literally into Spotless White. They’re a local group dedicated to upholding the purity of the white race.”
“What happens next?” I asked.
“Robbie will take it from here.”
The light was back in Dodie’s eyes. Whether or not the police chief found anything, thanks to Ben’s visit, she’d regained her footing. For that, I was grateful. Ben bade us both farewell.
Dodie followed him to the front door. She stood at the big picture window and looked after him longingly. “He knew Nathan,” she repeated over and over. The friendship seemed a sign, a talisman she rubbed her hopes against. “My boy. My son! I miss him so. But now I’ve met someone new, someone else remembers him. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.” Dodie wasn’t afraid of cancer, and she’d long since coped with Nathan’s death. But the fear that clouded her days, the one that tore at her soul, was the fear that her dead child would be forgotten. Nathan’s time on this earth had been short. He hadn’t been granted enough days to amass wealth, to make a lasting contribution, or to sire his own child. All Dodie had left of her son was her memories, and with each passing day these faded a little more, leaving her with nothing but the faint impressions of the boy she loved. Ben had darkened the lines, refreshing the image, and reviving the child who’d died too soon.
Heartened and pleased, Dodie wandered back toward her office. That left me to decide what to do with the information I’d learned from Bucky. There seemed to be no way around it. I needed to phone Detweiler. I did and left a message in his voicemail.
68
Bama came over and stood next to the worktable. “I need to take inventory in the back.” She stretched her neck so she could look over my shoulder at the work I was doing. “I hope you’re ready for the crop tomorrow.”
“I am.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been out flirting with that guy, so I wondered if you’d gotten your work done.”
I counted to ten. Otherwise, I would have picked up an album and banged it over her head. What right did Bama have to monitor my behavior? Who died and named her queen?
“Excuse me?” I squinted at her. “That’s pretty rich considering you’ve hardly been here.”
“I have other priorities.”
“Yeah, I bet. And guess what? Keeping tabs on me is not part of your job!”
“Really? Well, somebody needs to keep an eye on you.” She leaned across the tabletop. “I wonder if Dodie has any idea —”
“Ahem.”
We both turned to see Johnny standing on the welcome mat. “Hey, girl, I hope you don’t mind me visiting you here.”
“Of course, not,” I said, although it was totally ironic that he’d shown up in the midst of Bama lecturing me. “Bama here was just asking me to assign her a job, because she doesn’t have enough work to do. Bama? Here’s the headline I’ll be using tomorrow night at the crop. We need twenty-five copies of all these letters. You do know how to use the die cut machine, don’t you, dear? If not, I can show you.”
“I know how to use it.” Each word was punctuated with anger. That put a big smile on my face. “Good, then please go get it done. When you’re finished, I’ll have another task for you, sweetie.”
My use of saccharine-coated endearments must have really bugged her because I thought her eyes would pop out of her head. Today she was wearing a short gray dress over black leggings and Doc Martin shoes. As Anya would have put it, Bama was “rocking that tough girl vibe.” But she stormed off acting more hot under the collar brat than super-cool chick.
Johnny picked up on her body language right away.
“Somebody is not a happy camper.”
“No kidding.”
“Hey, I wanted to say thanks for giving my name to your mother-in-law.” From behind his back, he pulled a single, perfect pink rose.
“Isn’t that sweet of you? Thank you so much, Johnny.” I filled a bud vase and gave the flower a place of honor on my worktable.
“I’ve already been by to see Mrs. Lowenstein’s lawn,” he continued. “She’s certainly made a mess of it. Trapping them moles is an art. You have to determine which tunnels are active and place the traps exactly right. Believe it or not, I’m apprenticing with the best mole killer in the area. If a trap springs and doesn’t catch a critter, that there expert makes me study where I set it so I don’t make the same mistake twice. It’s worth the trouble ’cause this dude alone nabbed more than eight hundred of the little buggers last season. His company charges $69 a mole.”
I made a mental calculation. Clearly, I was in the wrong line of work! “You are kidding me, right?”
“Nope. You saw what your mother-in-law did to try to get rid of them. People who care about their lawns get frantic when they have mole infestations. Those critters can turn a beautiful green lawn into a map of raised brown furrows. Since them moles keep multiplying, the problem only gets worse. Of course, having babies and partying is what God intended them to do.” He winked at me. “Actually God intends all his creatures to go forth and multiply— that’s why he makes it so much fun. Burrow, eat, and make babies. That’s the circle of life.”
Johnny leaned on the worktable to watch as I hand-sewed bias binding to a scrapbook page. The trim was the perfect accent to the tissue paper pieces of dress pattern. Next I planned to add buttons.
“The moles aren’t the problem. Not really. We are. We’re encroaching on their land,” Johnny spoke softly.
How odd, I thought. This didn’t sound like a man who could easily hurt anybody — any living creature — much less take part in a crime.
“Ah, but Sheila has become obsessed with those moles. You’ll have to keep her away from them if you want to repair the damage done to her yard. How do you propose to do that?”
But before Johnny could answer, the door minder buzzed yet again, and in walked Detweiler. Speaking of animals, the detective took long strides like a cougar on the prowl, eyes focused, jaw set, and every step filled with aggression. I started to introduce the men, but the cop waved me away, training his sights on Johnny and saying, “We’ve met.”
For a long moment, the two stared at each other. Neither spoke. Detweiler glanced over at me, as if to chastise me, and his gaze fell on that single rose.
I couldn’t help myself. “Johnny brought me the flower. Isn’t it lovely?”
Detweiler’s eyes turned the yellow-green of an unripe apple. Testosterone thickened the air. Any minute now, this could get ugly.
Johnny took advantage of the fact that Detweiler was definitely on the back foot. He stepped closer to me. “Actually I came by to ask if you’d like to go with me to a concert at Riverport Friday night. Why don’t I call you and we’ll work out the details?”
“Great. I’d like that a lot. We had such a super time the last time we went dancing together.”
If calling my frantic gyrations at his sister’s party “dancing together” surprised Johnny, he didn’t show it. Instead, he swooped in and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Take care, babe. I’m still dreaming about your dancing.”
I fought laughter. Dreaming about my dancing? What a hoot. “Talk to you soon,” I said, “and get the details.”
“I’ve got your number.” With a wink, Johnny headed for the door.
As soon as it slammed shut, Detweiler wasted no time launching into a rant. “Have you lost your mind? You’ve got to be kidding. You can’t date that man. He’s a felon. He’s on parole. Use your head, Kiki. Think about Anya!”
“I have thought about Anya,” I said. “Believe me, I think about what’s good for her all the time. What I do in my private life is none of your business. Now are you interested in information I have or not?”
He flinched and sputtered.
“Let me go grab Gracie. She’s due for a potty break.”
Once we were outside, I told him what I learned about Bama’s sister getting fired after Yvonne Gaynor told the Artist Supply owner that she wa
s taking drugs. I also told him what I’d learned from Clancy, on the off chance that Robbie hadn’t shared my new information.
Detweiler wrote all this down in a notebook. When Gracie leaned against him, he bent low to pat her. I suspected he was hiding his emotions.
Well, that was just fine and dandy. He could emote until the cows came home and left big, stinky patties in his field. I was not going to let him get to me. I headed us back toward the store.
Dodie had ambled out from the back room. She took one look at Detweiler, and her face creased into an angry scowl.
He blocked her with his body and directed his comment to me. “I’ve been told that Yvonne Gaynor’s scrapbooking pages are on display over at Memories First. How about you ride over there with me, Kiki? Maybe you’ll see something on those pages that’ll help us close this case?”
Is it possible for the human heart to be torn into two pieces while still in your chest? It felt like that. Honest it did.
“No,” I said. “That won’t work for me.”
As hard as it was, I couldn’t let myself fall for that. Detweiler wanted the chance to get me alone. He wanted to explain away his dishonest behavior. He’d probably also deliver another warning about Johnny.
And I couldn’t handle being in the same car with him, alone.
“There’s no need for me to do that. Yvonne’s winning pages have been posted on the magazine’s website. I’ve been meaning to check them out, but I’ve been busy.”
A few feet away, Dodie bustled around, moving containers of glitter from one rack to another.
Detweiler leaned close and whispered. “Kiki, we have to talk. It’s not what it looks like. You need to let me explain.”
I wanted him to explain. I really did. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted to drink in the scent of him. I wanted to fall into his arms and tell him I loved him. —
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 43