Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books!

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  But before I could reassure her that the job was coming to a speedy conclusion, she raised an eyebrow and added, “A man like Ben won’t stay single for long. You need to snap him up, Kiki. Mark my words.”

  Fortunately, Sheila didn’t expect a reply.

  36

  After Sheila left, Anya, Rebekkah, and I had a pleasant evening. Between rounds of Bananagrams, the girls took turns caring for Martin. I was glad for the chance put my feet up and not worry about the kitten. In fact, I was so relaxed that I fell asleep on the sofa and didn’t hear Rebekkah leave. Either she or Anya kindly tucked a blanket around me and let me snooze.

  The next morning my kid was in a great mood. I dropped her off at science camp. In short order, I arrived at the store. Dodie was already in her office and stuck her head out. “Can we talk?”

  “Give me a sec, please.” I put Gracie and Petunia in the doggy playpen and set Martin’s cat carrier on my work table.

  “What’s up,” I said, sliding into the chair across from her desk.

  “I’ve been looking over our figures.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. Here it comes. She’s going to fire me. We aren’t doing enough for her to keep me on.

  “I’ve decided to give Clancy more hours. Bama has other responsibilities, personal ones, that will take her away from the store.”

  My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I thought about finding an excuse to leave, to postpone the inevitable, but what good would it do? If Dodie was going to let me go, I’d better find out fast. That way I could start job hunting right away. But what sort of position would I find? All I knew was scrapbooking! The only other scrapbook store in the area was run by a woman who hated me. How would I take care of Anya?

  I was in a real tizzy and missed what Dodie said next.

  “Excuse me,” I said with a shaking voice. “Could you repeat what you just said?”

  “I want you to handle all our crops and special events.”

  “But what about Bama?”

  “As I said, she has other responsibilities.”

  “But you could work around them.”

  “Yes, I could. However, she’s great at doing bookwork and organizing our stock, so I think I’ll have her stay focused on those areas. You have a real knack for teaching. People like learning from you. When Bama teaches them, they don’t come back.”

  I’d noticed that. Bama had this way of making you feel stupid. She’d take projects out of your hands and fix them for you rather than guide you. In my humble opinion, the best teacher is the person who convinces you that you are capable. Not the person who makes you feel like a dope. That’s easy to do, isn’t it? To tear people down takes so little effort and thought. To build them up takes compassion, attentiveness, and sometimes ingenuity.

  Dodie waited for my response.

  I liked being in charge of crops.

  Even with the recent disaster where Rebekkah hadn’t done her share, I enjoyed thinking up great projects and watching them take shape under the hands of our customers. But beyond personal satisfaction, I needed money. Cold, hard cash. I’d learned the hard way to ask the next question. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought. Talked it over with Rebekkah this morning before I came in. We think you should get a percentage of the profit from all the crops.”

  I nearly fell off my chair.

  “That would be nice,” I said, cautiously, “but until I know what the percentage is, I can’t agree to the change in responsibilities. After all, this would mean that I need to put in more hours. I’m barely making above minimum wage right now.”

  “I realize that.” Dodie named a hefty percentage. By my quick calculations, that could add a third more to my take-home pay. However, I’d learned a lot since coming to work at Time in a Bottle. Numero Uno: Jumping is for kangaroos. When given a new opportunity, take a deep breath and say, “I’ll think it over.” It’s always smart to give yourself breathing room.

  With that in mind, I hesitated. While I dithered, Dodie increased the offer by five percent.

  Again, I said nothing.

  This time she kept her mouth shut, too.”

  “Let me think about it,” I said. “I appreciate your offer, and I’ll get back to you.”

  37

  Tuesday evening…

  Since I no longer have a husband to discuss matters with, I run all my important decisions by Gracie. She’s a very, very good listener. When I rub those velvety uncropped ears of hers, she’ll sit and listen for hours. I told her about Dodie’s offer, and Gracie’s expression spoke loud and clear: Do the math.

  I hate math. I don’t even like rulers.

  Petunia had been listening in. He agreed. He didn’t like rulers either. In fact, he wasn’t keen on pencils. I knew this because I had to take one out of his mouth when I caught him chewing on it.

  Properly assessing this new opportunity at the store would take a bit of homework. I looked over samples of past crop projects, and I scratched down numbers on pieces of paper. These notations helped me calculate the raw materials of each project and the amount we charged each attendee. If I could organize my scribbles properly, I should be able to calculate our profit on most of the projects I’d done. Because there’d been so many, there was a lot of figuring to do. And of course, those projects were now history. Even so, they’d give me a way to forecast the future. By the time that Sheila and Anya burst through the front door, carrying shopping bags filled with new school clothes, I had three sheets full of numbers, but still no handle on Dodie’s offer.

  A fashion show ensued. As always, Sheila had chosen stylish but appropriate clothes for my daughter. Anya looked cute as a button, a LaMode button to be exact. Thanks to my mother-in-law and her deep pockets, my daughter’s fall wardrobe was pretty much complete. “All I need are things to goof around in,” announced Anya as she rejoined us in the living room. “Tee shirts. Jeans. I need a new Cardinals tee to wear to school on team spirit days.”

  I had an idea where to get all those items at a hefty discount. I’d overheard Bama bragging to a customer about her ultra-cool wardrobe. Seems she shopped at Pedro’s Planet, an upscale resale shop that catered to young consumers. Since teens often outgrow their clothes, Bama claimed that many of the selections had seen minimal wear. I certainly couldn’t argue with the results. On that particular day, Bama wore an adorable black lace skirt over black leggings and a pair of chunky motorcycle boots. For a top, she’d added a thin knit sweater in a soft ballerina pink. From her ears dangled jet-black beaded earrings.

  It was too edgy for me, but I had a hunch that Anya would love shopping at Pedro’s. Fortunately, despite the fact that Sheila has given my child a taste for the finer things in life, Anya isn’t snobbish. She’s as excited about a cute secondhand blouse as one off the racks at Neiman Marcus. I made a mental note to get addresses and hours for the resale shop. Taking Anya there would make a nice surprise for my daughter, and it would definitely put points in my “cool mom” column.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Sheila,” I said to my mother-in-law as I walked her to her Mercedes Benz.

  “My pleasure. She’s an absolute delight. You’re doing a great job of raising her, Kiki.”

  Wow. Triple wow. Between Dodie’s job offer and Sheila’s compliment, I was flying high when I walked back into my house.

  “What’s this?” Anya stared at my scratchings on papers that littered our kitchen table.

  I explained what I was trying to do.

  “You need a spreadsheet.”

  “Probably, but I don’t know how to make one.”

  “Geez, Mom, it’s super easy,” and with that my wonder child plopped down, opened an Excel file, and started a spreadsheet for me. In a few minutes, we were plugging in figures. In a half an hour, I had my answer. Yes, I would accept Dodie’s offer, but I’d ask for an additional five percent. That would double my take-home pay. At the same time, I could assure her of an ongoing source of profit
able events.

  “Can you do this, Mom?” Anya turned her blue eyes on me once we’d generated our results. “I mean, don’t you worry about running out of cool ideas?”

  “Of course I do,” I said. “But I intend to eat like a hummingbird and poop like an elephant.”

  “What?”

  “A hummingbird takes in a lot of nutrients from a huge variety of sources. It eats all day long. But an elephant doesn’t. So I intend to take in a lot of ideas from as many places as possible, and synthesize those ideas, and then I’ll compress them into the best, coolest, newest projects ever.”

  Anya put her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Mom. You are something else.”

  38

  Wednesday late afternoon…

  We kept digging deeper and deeper into the Marla Mess. Each peeled away layer brought to light a new level of disgust. The only way I could make it through the day was to remind myself of the pot of gold that sat at the end of this particular rainbow, the extra money. Having it put aside in savings would take away a lot of my stress. Since George died, I’d been living hand to mouth, worrying every day that I wouldn’t be able to cover my bills, especially those once in a while occurrences that are part of life, like new tires for my car.

  Although my back ached and my head throbbed, I could see we were making obvious progress. To keep myself from whining, I counted my blessings. This job had brought us Martin, extra cash, and a fresh desire to purge our house of any unnecessary junk. At the end of a day of hard physical labor, I had two new items for my gratitude list: I had a relatively cushy job, in that it didn’t require brawn, and I could use my creativity in my work. Another add was my relationship with Rebekkah. It appeared to be back on course, and we seemed closer than ever. In fact, when she learned I’d be working at Marla’s, she’d offered to take care of all the animals for me today. I wasted no time in saying yes. True to her word, she’d come by first thing in the morning and picked up my furry crew.

  As I cuffed the sweat from my brow, I added their absence to my gratitude list. Today was beastly hot. Running home to let the dogs out and feed Martin would have meant climbing into a hot car. Rebekkah had saved me from further discomfort.

  By the time Mert whistled us to a halt on Wednesday, I was staggering around. Even her scheduled water breaks weren’t enough to keep me from dehydration.

  “I can see you all are exhausted. Iff’n we keep at this, one of us will get hurt, sure as shootin’, so I’m calling it quits for the day.” Mert leaned against the trunk of the maple tree and savored what little shade it provided.

  “Sis? Are we going to make Mrs. Timmons’ deadline?” Johnny asked.

  “If we keep hitting it hard like this, I’d say our chances are 50-50,” she answered. “Now go on and git out of here.”

  After leaving Marla’s place, the last thing I wanted to do was sit in the heat and the dust, watching a soccer game. But I wasn’t about to let Anya down, so I raced home for a quick shower. As I rinsed off, I thanked my lucky stars that Jennifer Moore had offered to take the kids all the way out to the flats in Chesterfield, a suburb of St. Louis.

  Even with her help, I’d be cutting it close to get to the fields before the game started. Because I was hustling along, I almost didn’t pick up when Detweiler had phoned me as I was leaving the house.

  “I hate to make this call,” he said.

  “Has Marla died?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What’s up? Did you find —” and I started to name my husband’s killer, but Detweiler cut me off.

  “It’s Brenda. My wife.” He nearly choked over that last word. “She heard that I dropped by your house. She’s furious, and she told me that she has spies everywhere. I suspect she’ll have people watching to see if we talk to each other at the soccer game.” He paused. “You are coming aren’t you?”

  I gritted my teeth. There was no way I was going to give up attending my kid’s soccer games just to make Brenda Detweiler happy. She’d shown up once at the store, and I’d been cordial, considering how rude she was. The second time she appeared at the door demanding to talk to me, Dodie sent her packing. I had no idea what was going on in the Detweiler marriage, but from an outsider’s perspective, Brenda sure looked a lot like a whack job. I’d done everything I could to avoid her husband. Why was she so obsessed with me? I wanted to say to Detweiler, “Can’t you control your own spouse?”

  I, of all people, knew how silly that was.

  I understood why he’d called. Anya couldn’t be counted on to avoid Detweiler. She thought of him as a family friend. Therefore, he’d called because I needed to be warned so I could be pro-active.

  How was I supposed to do that? Tell my kid to ignore Detweiler because his wife was jealous? Hot fury washed over me. I was not going to ask my child to change because Brenda Detweiler had a bug up her blouse.

  In my silence, Detweiler continued. “I am very sorry, but Brenda doesn’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us, bub.” I pressed the “call end” button.

  I fumed the whole way to Chesterfield. I had pretend arguments with myself. But by the time I got there, I’d calmed down. “It is what it is,” I mumbled, as I found a seat off by my lonesome at the end of a bleacher, feeling totally sorry for myself and hating the feel of grit on my skin. The soccer fields are nestled in a valley next to the levees of the Missouri River. In August, when everything is blooming, the pollen and the gritty dirt blow around in a circular pattern, restrained and contained in the bowl of the valley. When you sneeze, you realize how much dust you’ve breathed in.

  I’m not a big soccer fan. Because I never know when to cheer, I try to follow what the other CALA parents do. If Jennifer’s around, we sometimes sit together. Today, she had dropped off the girls and left. Unlike practices, soccer matches were well attended by parents, grandparents, and teachers from all over the St. Louis area. Minutes after my arrival, the bleachers were packed. School would be starting in a couple of weeks, and this gathering was an opportunity for a huge gossip-fest. Parents could swap tales about their children’s teachers and commiserate about class schedules. I didn’t join in. I had no desire to chat with the others. None at all. Thinking about Detweiler’s call, I’d never felt so lonely at a game as I did now.

  Detweiler stood at the other side of the field, his eyes scanning the kids restlessly, but I could tell he paid particular attention to Anya. Once as she was coming off the turf, she glanced his way and I saw him give her a thumbs up.

  I wondered if anyone else noticed.

  Even before Detweiler had called with his warning, I knew Brenda was keeping an eye on me. Once I found my mailbox filled with human excrement. Another time, all the air was let out of my tires. Recently my car was egged (what a waste—I was all out of eggs and would have gladly eaten them!), and my windows were soaped while I was in a local library teaching a class on journaling.

  At first I chalked these incidents up to mischief by my husband’s killer, but these pranks were more childish than menacing. As time went on, I grew more and more confident that Brenda was behind the misbehavior. Just thinking of her spies watching my every move made me sick. Or maybe it was the heat. The setting sun beat down on us. The seats were hot on the back of my legs. This time, thanks to Detweiler’s last minute call, I forgot to bring a bottle of water.

  Big mistake. I wiped sweat off my brow as Detweiler came in from his position out on the margins of the field.

  During a break, I peeled myself off the hot metal stands and my legs buckled. I’d have gone down if I hadn’t grabbed the bleachers.

  In a flash Detweiler was at my side. He offered me his bottle of water and I took it.

  “Did you work at the Lever house today?” One of his arms supported me.

  “Yes.”

  “Thought so.”

  “Any progress on that cold case?” I asked between gulps.

  “Not much. Althoug
h we do have a few good leads. All of the women disappeared within a radius of five miles around Ladue.”

  That shocked me. Ladue is the most exclusive suburb in St. Louis. The police presence there is above average, because wealthy citizens chip in to pay for extra security patrols.

  “That’s just weird.” I handed him the empty bottle. “Thanks. Sorry I drank it all.”

  “No problem.” He steadied me. “You okay?”

  “Yup.”

  “Be extra careful when you are out and about. There’s enough to discern a pattern. Worse luck, the disappearances are happening more frequently. Whoever this creep his, his needs are escalating.”

  “Got it.” I returned to my seat on the bleachers. Despite how hot the metal was on the back of my bare legs, I shivered as I thought about what I’d learned.

  39

  Anya wasn’t the strongest girl on her team or the toughest. However, in a mad scramble I didn’t understand, she scored the winning point for her team. When it happened, Detweiler raced to my side, grabbed me, and gave me a spontaneous hug.

  The other parents were cheering, but a few of them glanced our way. I tried not to worry about it, but I did.

  Detweiler set me down, turned toward the field where the team was congratulating Anya. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Woohoo! Way to go, Anya!”

  A grin split her face from ear to ear.

  Detweiler was filling a hole in her heart and mine. I could feel happy about that. But I also couldn’t stop it. Our lives were intertwined; I couldn’t turn back the clock.

  We walked toward the car, the three of us. A woman bumped me hard with her shoulder and hissed, “Slut.” The impact caused me to stumble. Detweiler had been talking with Anya, and his hand shot out to steady me.