Make, Take, Murder (22 page)

Clancy came in an
hour after we opened. “Dodie called me,” she said. “You okay?”

I gave her a curt nod. “I guess.”

Clancy reached for me and gave me a long hug and whispered, “You saved her life. Bama should be thankful to you.”

That almost brought me to tears. “But I told her ex where to find her!”

“No, you didn’t. He was searching for her, and when her photo appeared in the paper, he knew where she was. That photo wasn’t your fault. You didn’t dump a body part in your own trash, did you? So you’re okay, and she’s alive. Thank goodness for small favors, right. Now, what I can do for you? Make you coffee? Brought you a Kaldi’s vanilla latte.”

“That’s perfect. I could use a heaping dose of caffeine to help me make it through the day.”

“So will a spoonful of Sally Sunshine. Laurel’s on her way. Your phone must be turned off. She wanted to come help out. I filled her in on what happened.”

Dressed in black jeans tucked into tall black boots and topped off with a cherry red turtleneck, Laurel looked like the type of helper Santa would have if the North Pole switched places with the Playboy Mansion. Threaded through her earlobes were tiny gold bells, much like Mert always wore. In fact, she was a lot like Mert in her mannerisms as well. Laurel gave me a more restrained hug. “It’s going to be all right. We’re here now.”

The three of us worked as a well-oiled team. Both Laurel and Clancy proved resourceful and good at up-selling. At 1 p.m. we took a quick break for lunch. Clancy passed out sandwiches she made at home the night before. I sure appreciated her thoughtfulness. We caught each other up on what we’d sold, and Laurel took a quick inventory. “I’ll restock the shelves, but I figured it’s best if we direct people to the items we have plenty of.”

Smart thinking. She came back right away with bad news: Two Cricut cassettes were missing. Clancy muttered a curse word, then called Detective Hadcho. “They have a warrant for the stolen materials,” said Clancy as she hung up. “Sounds like they’ll be picking up our shoplifter later today.”

“Not a moment too soon,” said Laurel. “I could have sold one of those cartridges an hour ago.”

When the mid-afternoon lull hit we were back on the floor, working hard. I was restocking paper when Detweilers Junior and Senior walked through the front door, with Anya in tow. I was shocked to see my daughter with them, but I didn’t get a chance to ask what was up.

The first words out of Detective Chad Detweiler’s mouth were, “Stan Hadcho said you were all right. I wanted to see for myself. That was a close call.”

“I’m okay,” I said tentatively. My neck was getting stiffer by the hour, and my shoulder muscles were starting to hurt where I’d hit the floor hard. Clancy had learned that Bama was in a regular hospital room, which indicated she was on the road to recovery of sorts. Her sister Katie was with her. I took all that as a good sign.

The nearness of Detweiler suddenly caused me to feel weepy. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and sob, to tell him how scared I’d been and how bad I felt about the beating. But the presence of Detweiler Senior and my own child fortified my own sense of propriety. Whatever I knew about his wife, it didn’t give me permission to overrule their marital vows. Sure, he had a problem. A problem named Brenda, and she was engaging in risky, illegal behavior. But that didn’t mean I could throw caution to the winds and assume he’d leave her.

In fact, knowing Detweiler, it meant he’d stay until the bitter end. He wasn’t a quitter. His loyalty was both his strong suit and his stumbling block. If she was getting help—and I prayed she would because I’d seen firsthand how an addiction could ruin someone’s life—he owed it to her to be supportive.

So instead of following my heart, which hung on his every glance, which waited for a sign that he’d welcome my hug, I straightened my shoulders and took a step away from Detweiler.

I was processing all this when I realized that my daughter was also hanging back, looking everywhere but straight at me. Usually she greeted me with a hug.

What was going on?

“Anya, I thought you were with Nicci Moore,” I said. “When I called earlier, Jennifer said she’d dropped the two of you off at the mall.”

“May I speak to you in private?” asked Detweiler Junior.

Uh oh. I recognized his tone of voice. We had a problem.

Anya’s lower lip stuck out a good yard and a half. She cast a baleful look his way. “Let me come, too.”

“I want to speak with your mom away from her customers. Since this concerns you, you are welcome to listen in,” said the hunky detective.

We all marched back to the stock room. Detweiler Senior followed in tow, carrying a large white plastic garbage bag with a cylindrical bulge. “I have this gizmo for your dog’s tail. Could one of your friends hold her head while I tape it on?”

I stuck my head out the stock room door, waved Laurel over, and asked her to help him.

Inside the small office with the door closed, Detweiler seemed uncomfortably large, his long legs bumping the front of the desk as he sat down. He wore a cranberry red v-neck sweater and a pink button-down collar shirt with a simple pair of slacks. His expression was anything but cheery.

What in the world was up?

Anya took a seat next to him, but I noticed she leaned as far from him as was humanly possible while defying the laws of gravity. I swallowed hard. Any problem involving my kid worries the heck out of me.

“Dad and I were shopping at the mall when I saw Anya. She and her friend Nicci were being teased by a group of boys. I know it’s not really my place to interfere, but the boys were being inappropriate. They might have been teasing, but they were disrespectful and—”

“Excuse me? You’re talking about disrespect? You’re the one who’s married and who kept hanging around my mom!” She hopped up out of the chair and pointed at Detweiler. “You’re telling me how to act? Huh? That’s a good one.”

I gripped the arms on my chair to keep from falling off. I couldn’t believe what my daughter had just said. “Anya, apologize right this minute. You don’t speak to an adult like that.”

“I won’t apologize!” she yelled.

Merry Christmas. What a nut cluster this was turning into.

“Kiki, this is my fault.” Detweiler rubbed his chin, as a tired expression crept over his face.

I have to admit, I was a bit shocked and curious about what he meant. I leaned forward as he continued, “Anya’s got a point. Sit down, Anya, because I owe you an apology first, then I owe one to your mom. You see, my wife had left me when I met your mother. I intended to tell your mom what was up, but I lied to myself. I kept my mouth shut and I should have been more honest. That was disrespectful, and I’m sorry for it. Your mother didn’t tell you what happened because she was keeping a confidence after I explained it to her. That put her in a tough spot. You both have every right to be upset with me. That said, Anya, I hope you’ll still think of me as a friend. I wouldn’t let anyone talk that way to one of my sisters, and it made me mad to hear them talking that way to you.”

“You think of me like a sister?” Anya’s eyes were bright as she sank back down into the chair. With her gangly legs in purple tights, her cute black mini-skirt and her big turtleneck, she seemed more like an adorable pixy than a real, living child.

“Of course, I do. I’ve always been overly protective of my sisters. Listen, kiddo, you can’t let guys talk that way to you. Even if they are seniors and have cars. Make them treat you right. Guys will like you more for it. Trust me. On this, I’m an expert.” With that he threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender and gave her a goofy, heart-melting grin.

“I’m not sure that I agree.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “You think about it. And pay attention. You’ll see that I’m right.”

She smirked that devilish smirk of hers that always preceded a smart remark. “You sure put a scare into those seniors.”

He hooted with laughter. “I sure did. They’ll think twice about talking to any girl the way they did to you and Nicci.”

She drew a line on the floor with the toe of her new Uggs. “I have to say, I didn’t like it much. I mean, I didn’t like the things they were saying. I think they were just showing off to each other. That’s how rappers talk. But when you really, really listen, it sort of gives you the creeps.”

Detweiler reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Trust your gut, Anya. There’s a reason you didn’t like it. If stuff doesn’t feel right, pay attention. Now, let’s see how my dad is doing with Gracie.”

Detweiler the Elder stepped
back to admire his handiwork. A length of white plastic tubing about a foot long covered the sore spot on Gracie’s tail. The edges of the plastic sheath were taped to her skin with duct tape.

“Eh-yeah, inside there’s sort of a lightweight foam donut serving as a bumper or spacer. I taped those down first. I split this old wiffle ball bat I found in the grandkids’ toys lengthwise and wrapped it around the tail. I think it’ll absorb the banging and give the skin a chance to heal. The young lady here—” and he gestured toward Laurel “—cleaned up that nasty spot with warm towels. She was a big help holding your dog’s head so I could mess about with my invention.”

Laurel smiled, looking every bit as beatific as an angel on the top of a tree.

I thanked her and Louis Detweiler profusely. Like his son, he was wearing a v-neck sweater, but his was navy. When the two Det-weilers stood side-by-side, you could tell they were father and son, an older and younger rendition of the same basic facial features.

Laurel excused herself to wait on customers.

Detweiler Senior cleared his throat. “You know, Anya, I’ve got a granddaughter same age as you. Her name’s Emily. She’s having a sleepover tonight at the farm. I took the liberty of asking, and you’d be welcome to join her and her friends. In fact, we could even bring your friend Nicci if you’d like. I checked with my wife and she said the more the merrier. Since my little girls have grown up, I miss the sound of their laughter in our house. My wife does, too.”

Anya hesitated. She’s not really shy, but she can hang back as I often do.

Louis Detweiler noticed her reticence and threw in the coup de grace: “My wife said one of our barn cats will probably have her kittens tonight. You don’t suppose you’d like to see those babies, would you? They’re small as mice and blind as fence posts, but they’re still pretty dang amazing.”

That was all she wrote. If Anya noticed the bandage on my throat, she didn’t say anything. I was grateful. She didn’t need to know what had happened here the night before.

I imagine she was just self-absorbed. That was certainly age-appropriate behavior. It was also a reminder that someday soon, she would be grown up, off to college, and no longer a part of my daily routine. I fought back those thoughts and listened in as Anya called Nicci to issue the extended invitation. I spoke to Nicci’s mom, Jennifer Moore, and everything was settled. The girls would go home to Illinois with the Detweilers this evening and come back to town late tomorrow night. Chad Detweiler would be attending the memorial service for Cindy Gambrowski, but Louis Detweiler was coming back to St. Louis anyway and would be happy to drop Anya off.

There was just the matter of a change of clothes for Anya. The Detweiler men would take Anya by our house to pick up a few things and then drop by the Moores’ house to pick up Nicci.

“Mr. Detweiler, tonight’s the third night of Hanukkah,” said my daughter. “Would you mind if I lit the candles and said a prayer at your house? I mean, you don’t have to pay any attention, and I could just go off on my own. I missed doing it last night because of the school dance, but my dad and I always did it together, and …” her voice turned husky, “I miss it.”

My throat tightened with an indescribable pain wholly unrelated to the rough treatment I’d received last night from Jerald McCallister. In the hustle and bustle of working so many hours, I’d let my daughter down. I’d lost track of the days, and I hadn’t set aside time to light the candles. This was one of the traditions she and her father loved most, and I had dropped the ball.

I’d been too busy earning a living to live my life.

I covered my mouth with a trembling hand. How long could I go on like this? My kid needed me, and I was spending every waking hour trying to hold body and soul together. Dodie’s illness, Bama’s injuries, the holidays, all combined to keep me here selling supplies for other people’s memories. Meanwhile, I was neglecting making my own.

I felt indescribably sad. My child needed me and I was missing in action. Detweiler the Elder’s smile toward her was so kindly, so genuine that I knew he was speaking from his heart when he said to Anya, “Young lady, I’ve always wanted to know more about that holiday. I’d be proud for you to tell us all about it. Can you do that?”