Make, Take, Murder (31 page)

Leighton showed up at
closing time. “I wanted to check on my favorite tenant.” His cheeks turned a bit pink. “If you haven’t had dinner, I thought you might like company.”

It had never occurred to me that a famous person like Leighton might get lonely. I also realized he was checking on my safety.

“That would be nice.”

Over a lovely plate of pasta at a family restaurant on The Hill, I explained to him that Anya was spending the night at Nicci Moore’s house. The Moores were leaving the next day to go skiing in Park City, Utah, and Jennifer Moore had volunteered to drop Anya off at Sheila’s the next morning. That was fine by me because I’d need to get to work early for our last hurrah.

Leighton and I talked about the incident with Ross, who was now safely behind bars. Then I encouraged him to talk to me about his life, which was fascinating. When we got home, he checked my house for me and waited while I let out the dogs before telling me goodnight.

Thursday, December 24
8th Night of Hanukkah
Christmas Eve

The next morning was Christmas Eve, as well as being the last night of Hanukkah. While there weren’t a lot of customers, a steady flow stopped by, mainly to tell Dodie hello and to wish us “Happy Holidays.”

Around eleven, Dodie excused herself. “I promised Bama I’d go say goodbye to her. She and her sister plan to leave town right after the kids open their gifts tomorrow morning.”

This hurt. I’d hoped my co-worker would forgive me. Now I realized she’d never get over being angry with me. Horace stopped by and helped his wife into the car. As the two of them drove off, Clancy came over to hug me. “Get over it, Kiki.”

“I saved her life!”

“I know you did. She does, too. But she has to have someone to blame.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you? Look, in actuality, she should blame herself.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think there were warning signs she ignored?”

“Such as? I bet old Jerald didn’t go around with a neon sign flashing ‘potential wife abuser.’”

Clancy laughed. “No, but I bet he started with coercive behavior. He probably told her she was stupid or belittled her and made fun of her. Later, he might give her a little shove or hold her down and tickle her.”

“Those are signs of abuse?”

“Yes, and they escalate. A man like that will be bossy and demanding. He’ll get jealous easily and tell the girl she caused his pain.”

“That’s a key,” said Laurel, pulling up a chair and joining us. We’d started on our sandwiches without ever formally announcing it was time to eat. That was a trait I valued in my new co-workers. There was a grand congeniality I never had with Bama. She wanted me to schedule my lunches and any breaks I took. These women seemed to share my motto of “Go with the flow.”

Laurel continued, “I had one friend who spent her entire freshman year in her dorm room. She’d walk directly to classes and come directly back. Wouldn’t participate in study groups. Wouldn’t eat at the cafeteria. Her boyfriend didn’t want her to ‘flirt with other guys.’ His words. She nearly flunked out because she wouldn’t go to the library!”

“Why? That’s just nuts! I mean, if you’re going to live like that why not move to a third-world country where women have no rights?” I threw my hands up in despair.

“Exactly,” said Laurel. “This guy went so far as to keep tabs on my friend through the GPS on her cell phone. She went to the gym one night to run around the track, and he went ballistic. Gave her a black eye. But it gets worse. Some guy in her Chem 101 lab ‘friended’ her on Facebook, and this girl’s boyfriend showed up at the dorm. He dragged her out of the common area in the dorm by the hair. The RA called security. And guess what?”

“She refused to press charges?” Clancy suggested.

“Not only that, she apologized to him! Can you believe that?”

“Wow. That’s awful.”

“Oh, no, that’s not awful. What’s awful is how the story ends.”

“Which is?” I was afraid to ask, but I couldn’t help myself.

“He decided they needed to seal their ‘love’ forever by committing suicide. He pumped her full of Ativan and then planned to drive his car off a bridge. Only he chickened out at the last minute. She was too doped up to unbuckle her belt.”

After we ate, I ran out to pick up a few last-minute presents. Between two and three, about a dozen shoppers dropped by for gift certificates. We had our own production line going. Laurel busily sealed forms worth various amounts in decorated envelopes. Clancy logged the certificates into a computer program so the recipient would get credit even if she lost the paperwork. I rang up the sales on the register.

“That e-mail blast I sent out really worked,” said Clancy while Laurel ran to the back to make us all cups of hot chocolate. “Putting a list of what a person could buy for different dollar amounts really helped.”

“Makes sense to me. I know that when I’m making a charitable contribution, if they say that ten dollars buys a meal, but twenty-five buys enough food for a family, I’m going to write a check for twenty-five, if possible.”

“How’s your neck feeling?”

“A little sore, but fine. What eases my pain is the mental image of Ross Gambrowski being carried into the ambulance.”

“I think they call that rough justice,” said Clancy.

Laurel held out a tray full of hot beverages. “What sort of sentence do you suppose he’ll get?”

“Death penalty,” said Clancy.

“You’re kidding!” I nearly spilled the cocoa all over me. “I hate the death penalty. It never made sense to me. I mean, what are we saying? You killed someone and that’s wrong, so we’re going to kill you and that’s right?”

“That’s a pretty simplistic view,” said Clancy.

“Maybe but recently that big think tank on the death penalty disbanded. Even the best of the best had a hard time rationalizing the way we dole out the ultimate punishment. They said it was tough to standardize the penalty and allow judges discretion at the same time.”

“I can see where it’s questionable in a crime of passion or a so-called ‘stupid crime,’ but in Ross Gambrowski’s case, he’s responsible for more than just Cindy’s death,” said Laurel. “Remember, she lost all those babies. You could argue he’s a serial killer.”

“Except that ‘serial’ is misleading and doesn’t apply in this situation. It doesn’t mean one murder right after another. It means ‘serial’ as in the old-fashioned serials on radio or TV where each episode upped the ante. The typical serial killer hopes for a bigger and bigger experience with each murder.”

“How do you know so much about this, Clancy? Ugh.”

“I read crime fiction.” Without missing a beat she added, “That’s how I relax.”

Kiki Lowenstein’s Last-Minute Gift Ideas

One of the simplest ways to turn any ordinary item into a special
gift is by personalizing it. This technique will work on serving
trays, cups, clipboards, or any smooth surface. If the surface
is multi-colored or patterned, so much the better.

1. You’ll need enough letter stickers to spell your recipient’s name or a message. (Tip: Stickers with a clear backing or stickers that are a silhouette of the letters work best.)

2. You might also add stickers of flowers or any other designs. For example, if your gift is intended for a teenage girl, stickers showing cell phones or hearts might be appropriate. For a boy, skateboards might be cool.

3. Carefully clean the surface of your gift with a bit of rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.

4. Adhere the stickers as desired.

5. Coat the stickers with clear nail polish. Make sure to especially coat the edges of the stickers as this is where they are most likely to peel up.

(Tip: Tell the recipient not to soak the item in water when washing it. While the nail polish makes a great seal, you don’t want to risk letting water get underneath.)

Dodie walked through the
back door. She was holding hands with Horace. “Sunshine, we need to talk in my office.”

Even if I do own a part of the business, this still sounded suspiciously like a summons from on high. I got up reluctantly and gave my two co-workers a mock salute.

“We who are about to die, salute you,” I said.

“Right,” Clancy laughed. “Kiki Lowenstein, you are such a card.”

I didn’t feel much like a card. I felt like a little kid trooping off to the principal’s office.

I sat next to Horace, and Dodie made herself comfortable behind the big desk. The day was wearing her down. Her color was fading and the dark circles under her eyes were more prominent. Still, she sat up straight and tall, so I knew she was on the mend.

“I visited Bama.”

“Right.” Tell me something I don’t know, I thought.

“I told her that you wanted to visit her. She still doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry. Just so you know, it wasn’t the photo of her in the paper that tipped off her ex-husband.”

“Right.” I didn’t much feel like contributing to this conversation.

“No. In fact, I doubt that he even saw the picture in the paper. He was already hot on her trail because it was so unusual that three kids whose ages matched those of his children exactly were enrolled in the soccer program here about the time Bama and the kids disappeared. And his kids loved soccer. The school system actually has a protocol for protecting the children of abusers, but as a law enforcement official, he had a good idea what that protocol was. He visited one school after another and got nowhere. But then he posed as someone from a national soccer association, and well, he knew what to say and how to say it.”

Dodie grabbed a bottle of water from her purse. The treatments dried up her saliva, and she was never without a liquid to sip on. “Sunshine, I asked the counselor to talk with Bama. It can be very difficult for an abused woman to see clearly who is on her side—and isn’t. I probably should have pushed her harder—”

Horace stopped her. “Kiki, the truth of the matter is Dodie hasn’t been thinking straight. There’s an aftereffect to these treatments. They call it ‘chemo fog.’ The patient’s brain isn’t as sharp as usual. What I think my darling is trying to say is, she’s sorry.”

“That’s right. I am. I’m partially responsible for putting you at risk, and I apologize.”

This took a while to sink in. I mean, to my mind, Dodie was infallible. All wise. All perfect. Sure, on one level, I knew better, but on another, I’d pegged her as Super Woman. Even though Super Woman never existed, even in comic lore.

“Where do we go from here?”

“She gave me a note for you.”

Kiki—

I’m still not letting you off the hook, but here’s the deal, I can’t do the cruise. My face is a mess and my fingers on my right hand are broken. The boat leaves on January 5. You know the materials. I want you to take my place.

(signed) Althea Vess McCallister

Althea Vess McCallister. As I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, I realized I never even knew Bama’s real name.

“She told you what’s in here?” I asked Dodie as I tapped the envelope against the desk.

“Yes, and I’ve got the store covered. After everything you’ve been through recently, I thought the trip might do you good. Sheila’s agreed to watch Anya, if you wish.”

I nodded. How like the two of them to go behind my back.

“You’ll need this. It’s the contract Bama signed. She’s sent them a letter designating you as her surrogate. There’s a copy of that as well. Here’s a brochure about the cruise.”

Dodie cleared her throat. “Please, try to forgive her. And me.”

Her voice sounded so raspy, I couldn’t stay mad.

Looking at the colorful photos, a warm glow started inside me. I’d never been on a cruise. I hated cold weather. This was going to be cool.

I could understand Bama not wanting me to see her. After all, she had been pretty badly beaten, and I knew from working with her that she was very fussy about her appearance. But, for her to send me on a cruise was an unexpected perk. I mean, I thought to myself, she must like me, right? Otherwise she would have never shared her largess with me.

A rap on the doorframe caught our attention.

“It’s four o’clock, and we’re officially closed. If you don’t mind, we’d like to pass out a few gifts before we hit the trail,” said Clancy.

Horace popped a bottle of champagne. We all toasted the fact we’d gotten through the holiday season.

Dodie loved the shawl I’d crocheted (with a little help). I gave Clancy a cafetière because she loves coffee. Although we kept a pot at the store, we filled that workhorse with whatever brand we could find on sale. Clancy, like me, loved Kaldi’s, so with the cafetière, she could brew up a cup or two for herself. Laurel had noticed my love of java, and she’d given me a gift card for Kaldi’s. I’d given her a new paper trimmer by Fiskars. “If you’re going to be a crafter, this is indispensable. In fact, I’m not sure how any household can be without one.” (And that’s the truth.)

Clancy gave me a simple but elegant pair of silver hoops. “Silver is great with pinks, purples, and anything with a blue tint,” she said, by way of explanation. “You have those nice gold hoops, but these will round out your accessories.”

All in all, a very satisfying exchange. My friends confirmed they knew me well, and isn’t that the joy of getting a gift? I mean, it’s not about the money or the item, it’s the thought. Okay, that’s a cliché. But the thought needs to reflect that the other person really understands you and considered what you might like, need, or use.

That circuitous path led me back to Ben. As I walked the dogs to my car, Clancy said, “You have a bit of a glow about you these days, my friend. Things go well with Ben?”

I nodded. “Very well. Better than I expected. In fact, I did something totally out of character for me.”

With the tension of the work day behind me and a little bubbly in my veins, I felt positively chatty.

“Why? You’re a grown woman. You’ve been widowed for more than a year. Nearly two. You never dated much before you married. As long as you took precautions—”

“Which we did—”

“What’s wrong with getting physical? Especially if you think he might be the one.” She said “the one” in a dramatic voice that mimicked Morpheus from
The Matrix
.

That sent us both into gales of giggles.

“You know, I’ve kept him at arm’s length waiting for Detweiler. But that’s silly, isn’t it? Detweiler’s married. I don’t want to break up a marriage. I’m not interested in playing games. Besides, he’s proven to me that he’s not interested.” I didn’t go into details on that last charge.

Clancy studied me. I noticed for the first time the tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes, those creases that were signs of maturity, not old age. “We haven’t known each other long, but we’ve been kindred spirits from the start. I think you are wise to move on. If he does split with his wife, he’ll come with baggage. You’ll wonder if you were the cause. He’ll wonder if you were the cause. But with Ben, you have a clean slate. True, the good detective has that ‘bad boy’ thing going for him because he’s a cop. So what? You’re not a high school girl trying to rebel against her parents. You’re a woman ready for the commitment of marriage.”

She pursed her lips. “Was he any good?”

I blushed. “Oh, yeah.”

“All the more reason to move on down life’s highway.”