Photo, Snap, Shot (17 page)

“Back up a minute. You never told me Sissy was pregnant.”

He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Doesn’t make any difference.”

I sighed. “Vicky Ventner suggested that Jennifer Moore killed Sissy because Sissy came on to her son. We both know that’s nonsense. Vicky also thought Danny Gartner was worth investigating for his temper. But, none of this makes any difference now. Corey is dead. Sissy is dead. Corey as much as admitted he was involved in her murder.”

The back door flew open. Bama froze, half in and half out, and stared as we jumped apart. “Am I interrupting something?”

Detweiler and I both reddened. “No,” I said. “The detective came by to update me on the, um, murder that Anya stumbled onto. We were finishing up.”

Bama nodded. Her eyes moved from the detective to me and back again. The “gotcha” look I’d feared wasn’t there, though. I braced myself. Something was up. She stepped inside, and paused as she stood with her back against the door. “I heard. It’s all over the radio. The guy committed suicide, right? Well, sorry about that, but it’s a good thing that’s over, because we have a new problem. I tried to get through to you earlier, Kiki. Dodie has cancer of the larynx. It showed up in some of the tests after her biopsy.”

“That’s a shame about
Dodie,” said Sheila. “I suppose you need me to pick up my granddaughter, right?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll keep her overnight, too. Have you called Ben yet?”

I squirmed. “I was planning to call him next.”

“See that you do. I hope you’ve chosen a nice outfit to wear tomorrow night. That blue suit I bought you would be appropriate.”

I sighed. Ugh. I hated that blue suit. Yes, it was expensive and fit me well, but as Mert said when she saw the outfit, “That’s SO not you.” Every time I wore it, I broke out in hives. I’d have to pop a Benadryl before I took off for Sheila’s place. That would cause me to nod like a daffodil over my meal. Oh, joy. I’d be a real stimulating conversationalist, and Sheila would have a new complaint.

“I’m sure you’ve forgotten that CALA has early dismissal tomorrow. The afternoon is when families gather for the bonfire and pep rally.”

“Right,” I said as if I had any idea what she was talking about. Bonfire? Pep rally?

“You need to go to the pep rally. It’s a tradition.”

“I have to work. I already owe the store a ton of hours.”

“Part of being a member of the school community means attending special functions. I pay for the tuition. The least you could do is show up once in awhile.” And she hung up.

I spent a very, very long day at Time in a Bottle.

___

Friday morning I drove through McDonald’s and treated myself to a sausage-egg burrito. Plus an orange juice. At this rate, I’d eat away—literally and figuratively—at the money coming to me from Dimont Development. Still, as the cheese and spices melted in my mouth, I reflected that this was the only way I could fortify myself for what lay ahead: a massively crummy day. The “confidential” project was coming along, but slowly. Horace and I had talked the night before. Dodie would begin her treatments this upcoming Monday. “My zaftig sweetheart is in good shape with her weight. They tell me she will suffer from terrible burning in her throat and sores in her mouth. They do believe they can kill her cancer, but they warn me she may not feel like eating.”

I shivered. The whole routine of tattooing her so they could precisely aim the radiation and having her sit for hours while toxic chemicals dripped into her veins struck me as horrid. But if it would save her life, we would all stand up and cheer for modern medicine. Although I suspected that someday these methods of curing cancer would seem as antiquated and barbaric as bloodletting.

“I have dropped off more photos for your project. They are in the bottom drawer of Dodie’s desk,” said my boss’s husband. “Kiki, you are keeping your silence, yes?”

I assured him I was.

“This is good, very good.”

I got the dogs settled and dipped into my new batch of confidential photos. These were of jewelry. Whoever my client was, she obviously had a lot to lose. The photos of her travel had evoked jealousy in me, more so than any pictures of her home and wardrobe. Someday, I promised myself, I would see the world.

I put in a good two hours on the secret album, before starting on what would be the centerpiece of our Saturday night crop. Bama came in shortly before lunch. I was shading punch art of pinecones and cutting paper to resemble pine needles when Patricia Bigler walked in carrying a thin grocery bag from which a corner of her album protruded. I managed to introduce her to Bama without falling prey to a mnemonic mistake of saying “Patricia Bigger.” I cleared the punches away and settled into helping her select a few nice journaling stamps and suitable ink.

After she’d stamped a few lined embellishments, I encouraged her to write her thoughts about the sports booster event. “Here’s a photo of Ella giving Coach Bosch the commemorative stone,” she said. “What else can I write? I wasn’t able to attend. They needed me in the kindergarten.”

Most folks have problems with journaling. I excused myself and retrieved a journaling handout I’d put together.

Patricia accepted it sweetly. “This is great. Hmm. I think I’ll make a list of everyone who was there.”

My heart slammed about in my chest. That was the information Detweiler had needed desperately. Then I remembered: Corey Johnson is dead.

And I sank down into my chair like a quickly deflated balloon. “Using the list of attendees is a great idea. It will help round out your pages. You may want to copy the names in pencil first to be sure you have the right amount of room. I always do that. Otherwise you can have a word squished or have to re-do the whole project.”

Patricia grabbed a pencil and printed her journaling in perfect block lettering. I ran to the back to get us both a cold cola. “I do this three days a week with kindergarteners. I help out at CALA,” she said, popping the top and slurping quietly. “I love children, I really do.”

I nodded and reflected on her miscarriages. Life wasn’t fair. Here was a woman who had the means and the desire for a house full of babies, but only able to have one child. I noticed Patricia was staring at me expectantly.

“I like kids a lot, too. I wish …” and I stopped.

“Elizabeth loves golf. Does Anya?”

“She does.”

From what I’d heard, Elizabeth couldn’t connect with a golf ball if they replaced it with a baseball on her tee.

“Is Anya going to the field hockey game tomorrow?”

“No, she’s spending the night at Jennifer Moore’s house. The girls usually wake up late. I’m glad. It gives me time to myself.”

“You and Maggie are good friends, aren’t you? She talks about you a lot. I did a good job, didn’t I?” Patricia held up the copied names. She was trying to recover a bit of pride. I’d seen this before: people both wanted guidance and resented it. I understood.

“You’re already well on your way. See how that journaling box adds to the page? How about another cola?” I still wanted to get a copy of that list. Maybe, maybe if I filled her bladder with cola, she’d be forced to leave her project and I could photocopy it.

Leave it alone, Kiki, I castigated myself. It’s over. Sissy is dead, and so is her killer.

I sighed. Now I’d have no reason to stay in communication with Detweiler.

Ben Novak is a gorgeous, eligible man, and he’s interested in you, said a voice in my head.

Maybe the problem was I wanted what I couldn’t have. I sighed again. Patricia tapped my elbow. “That Coke? Could you get one for me?”

I retrieved another drink from the back. I put a little check mark on the tally Bama had “thoughtfully” suggested to our boss. Thus, we could each be called upon to “repay” the cola bank. I sighed as I shut the refrigerator door. I was tired of being broke. I wanted my old life back. The one where I didn’t have to think twice about the money I spent.

A pox on you, George, I groused and shook my fist at the sky. On second thought, I bent over and repeated my curse to the Underworld. That’s where he belonged after all he’d done to Anya and me!

I served the cold beverage and settled into finishing the paper table ornament we’d be doing for our Saturday night crop.

Saturday night! Crud. That was the night of the party for Nurse Selsner.

Bama, I’d noticed, was in a particularly good mood when she came in. “Good news. Horace talked to the specialist. Dodie’s prognosis is great. Sure, we’ll both have to work a lot of extra hours, but I can use the money with the holidays coming up, can’t you?” She stepped away humming and ticked off boxes as part of a new order for our paper. “Mert can help with some of the hours we’ll need. But we could really use part-time help. Sis and I wanted to see a movie next Friday, but I’m scheduled to work.”

Bama had occasionally mentioned her sister, Katie, a single mom with kids. I had the impression they all lived in one house, but Bama had never been forthcoming.

I had an idea. I left the table and Patricia, who was laboring over her printing.

“Bama? I know I owe you a bunch of hours, but how about if I give them to you in a lump sum? If I could have this afternoon, tomorrow, and Sunday off, I’d work the next two weekends for you. How would that be?”

Bama stared at me. I willed my face to be still. If she knew how badly I wanted tomorrow night off, she’d probably shut me down. On the other hand, a full weekend off, much less two, would be a rarity. I held my breath. Would she go for it?

“Okay.”

Patricia squinted up at me, with the Sakura pen clutched in her hand. “Are you going to the bonfire later today? It’s tradition for parents to come. Your daughter will be so disappointed if you don’t.” She was carefully recopying the list of names she’d penciled in.

“Another Coke?” I offered Patricia a beverage.

“The whole school can go back to normal now that Sissy’s murder has been solved.” She started recopying her printing.

“I don’t know. I can’t help but wonder if Coach Johnson really shot himself.”

Her head jerked up. “He couldn’t live with the guilt.”

“But he’d been cleared. Mr. Beacon was drinking coffee with him at the time the murder must have occurred.”

Patricia cocked her head. “That so? Where’s your restroom?”

I pointed Patricia in the right direction.

Her list sat there, staring at me. Not that it really mattered now. Still, it couldn’t hurt to copy it. I took it over to the scanner and made a quick duplicate. I put the paper back carefully exactly where I’d found it. Then I noticed, I’d replaced it upside down.

I reached to rotate the sheet counterclockwise 180 degrees when the door minder rang. Detweiler came striding in, his long legs leading the way. He pulled me outside so we could speak privately. His face wore a jumble of emotions. “Corey didn’t kill himself. The coroner found a partial fingerprint on a bullet in the magazine, and the angle of the entry wound was all wrong. Corey was murdered!”

The bonfire was terrific
as far as bonfires go. The flames licked at a September sky, vivid tongues of orange and yellow lapping up the blue. A chill settled over Ladue. I couldn’t get warm, and when I neared the blaze, I was equally uncomfortable and too hot. Anya and her friends ran, squealed, and jumped like nimble goats, playing a form of tag and generally showing off for the boys who stood in clutches with their bored, slumping posture. An ash drifted my way and I flicked it off my sleeve. A gaggle of cheerleaders in school colors—royal blue and gold—chanted their way to the center of the quad, where they stopped and screamed for the incoming team as they ran through the middle of the crowd.

Around me, voices roared approval. Men wearing bright blue sweaters, and no doubt carrying their AARP cards, yelled and clapped. Women old enough to need walkers raised withered fists and squawked, causing their bright corsages of mums festooned with ribbons to quiver on drooping bosoms.

Verily and truly, I was in a black funk because normally I would have taken a zillion photos. The combination of old and young, raising their voices and praising the team, reminded me of the send-off Romans gave their troops going into battle.

Detweiler’s announcement worried me. The news wasn’t public yet, and I feared that whoever killed Sissy and shot Corey was wandering among the gathered throng and enjoying being an invisible part of the festivities.

Meanwhile, I could only stand on the sidelines and fear for my daughter’s life.

Next up was dinner at Sheila’s. I knew I should be looking forward to formally meeting Ben Novak’s parents—we’d bumped into each other a couple of times as services let out in temple—but I simply couldn’t muster up the energy. This was a look-see. They’d evaluate me, give me a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down, and on the basis of their appraisal Ben would continue to see me or dump me.

Not that he’d said as much. He had assured me that I would love his parents and that they were already pre-disposed to like me.

I’d heard that before and wound up having a mother-in-law who was my sworn enemy.

___

I swallowed the Benadryl and changed quickly at my house, all the while shouting to Anya to “hurry up.” Her presence was requested—no, demanded, by my mother-in-law—so that my darling offspring could be shown off, I presume as proof I could make pretty babies.

“Why are you so grouchy?” My lithesome child asked as she ran a brush through her hair.

“Do you have everything you need for the sock hop and to spend the night at the Moores’?” I had shifted from scurrying about on my behalf to running around like a squirrel chased by a cat on hers. I grabbed her usual overnight bag, a Tumi on wheels which Sheila had insisted Anya needed, and which Anya and I both loathed, and piled clothes, iPod, pre-braces retainer, and toiletries inside. “When were you planning to do your homework? Remember, there’s the homecoming game Saturday night, and I expect you’ll be really tired and sleep late Sunday—”

“Mo-om. Quit nagging me!” sniped my darling. She turned and fixed me with a beaming smile. “But could you get my social studies book from my backpack, please? And the notebook? I wasn’t really paying attention in class, and Nicci always takes good notes.”

I laughed. Welcome to Hormone Heaven. One minute it was “go away” and the next it was “come snuggle.” I remembered she dropped her backpack on the floor of the kitchen, despite every effort I made to get her to hang it on the hook. We’d gone back and forth about it, and finally I threw up my hands in surrender.

With a grunt, I lifted it onto the kitchen table, pulled out everything, and rummaged through.

That’s when I found a bright pink sheet of paper with a stick-figure person. The eyes were Xed out, clearly proclaiming the character was dead. Curly hair covered the figure’s head. Underneath was a handwritten scrawl: “Tell your mom to back off, or she’ll be next.”

___

I was positive Anya hadn’t seen the paper. If she had, she would have told me. Ever since what happened to George, Anya knows better than to keep secrets. But I needed to know. I gulped air. Took a long drink of water. Returned to her bedroom.

“Anya, did you happen to see a bright pink note in your backpack? It had a cartoon drawing and a note about me?”

“Nope.”

“Did you have your backpack with you all day?”

“Mom! You saw me at the bonfire. We all left our backpacks in a pile by the auditorium door. A couple of parents offered to watch them for us.”

“Which parents?”

“I dunno. There were a bunch of them standing around. I didn’t take roll.” She gave me an elaborate shrug. “Parents are parents. Why? Did someone steal something from my backpack? That never happens at CALA. Never.”

It never happens because no one at CALA goes without. So they don’t need to steal.

I willed myself to stay calm. “Okay, just wondering. You ready to go?”

With wobbling knees I led the way to my car.

___

I’d met Leah and Alvin Novak at temple several times, but only long enough to say, “How do,” as my nana would put it. Leah’s eyes, bright as a wren’s and sharply focused, swept me up and down. The creases at the corners smiled even as her mouth curved generously. Leah was nobody’s fool. We studied each other quietly, each wondering if we’d get along long-term. Alvin, clearly, took a backseat to his wife, but that didn’t mean he was a weak man. I knew that in some marriages, the husband deferred to his wife’s judgment of, uh, horseflesh. Especially mares.

I thought about opening my mouth and pulling my lips back so they could get a better look. I was thinking all this when Leah shamed me. “Kiki, I’ve seen a few of your scrapbooks. Your talent amazes me. Rabbi Sarah says you positively glow with spirituality. And of course, Dodie Goldfader thinks you are terrific. I’m glad to have the chance to get to know you better.”

Okay, I’m a jerk.

Chief Holmes walked in and Sheila introduced him around. While everyone else discussed the upcoming High Holy Days, I managed to catch his eye. I said, “I need a glass of water, anyone want anything?” He followed me into the kitchen. With shaking hands, I pulled the nasty note from my pocket. He surveyed it and harrumphed. “Detweiler is right. This isn’t over. Mr. Johnson was killed with a service revolver,” and with that he rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a bad feeling about all this. I guess I don’t need to tell you to keep this quiet.”

At sundown we lit the candles and said our prayers. Sheila took the lead, which I expected. I’ve never caught the hang of the glottal “ch” sound that ends the first word of the prayers, “baruch.” It comes out “barook,” and as often as she’s corrected me, my pronunciation simply gets worse over time. We sat down to an elegantly prepared roasted chicken. My daughter fidgeted in her seat, finally asking to be excused so she could call Nicci Moore and get a ride to her friend’s house. Chief Holmes walked Anya to Jennifer’s car and talked briefly with the woman, out of hearing of the girls. He’d called backup to double-check the Moore’s house, but they already had a high-level security system.

I tried to make sparkling conversation, I really did. The Benadryl made me so drowsy, I struggled just to keep awake. Ben slipped his hand into mine, and I turned to see those bronze eyes, steady and ready to love me.

“You sure seem tired. But then you’ve had a rough week, haven’t you? I noticed Anya seemed to be doing well, considering.”

I agreed. Considering.

I wished I could tell him about my fears, but I couldn’t. They seemed to mark me as a weirdo. I understood this was my choice—not to open up. With Chief Holmes nearby, he’d back up my worries and concerns, but everything I’d been tackling over the last week seemed wildly out-of-place in the tapestry-filled, needle-pointed- pillow-plumped living room that belonged to my mother-in-law, and the cozy, protected life she loved.

A protected life that did not extend to me.