Paper, Scissors, Death (22 page)

Anya looked at me dubiously. Okay, I had no credibility when it came to what a female should weigh. Even so, I was her mother, and I needed to marshal whatever powers I had to get my kid to eat.

“We’re not going anywhere until you have at least have a couple of bites.”

“Mom, don’t make me eat, okay?” Under her eyes was smudged purple. Her bottom lip trembled. We were both exhausted.

I sighed. We still hadn’t discussed my night in jail. I couldn’t even get her to look me in the eye.

“Anya, we have to—”

A knock at the door interrupted me.

“Couldn’t make it here last night with the storms an’ all. Wanted to be sure you’re okay.” Mert’s face was drawn and tired. She wore a black T-shirt short enough to display a rhinestone charm in her belly button. Stretched across her bust and outlined in sequins was the word “Queen.” Her white short-shorts barely covered her rear end. She gave me the once-over before extending her arms for a hug. I thanked her for helping Dodie to remember Bonnie was an attorney. Then I told her about the past evening’s excitement.

“No kidding? But the security lights are up!”

“And the electricity was off.”

“Rats,” said Mert.

“That’s not my biggest problem,” I added. “It’s Anya. Sheila told her I was in jail. Now she won’t talk to me.”

“Jest leave us alone.” Mert’s truck keys dangled before my eyes. “Go get yourself a cup of coffee at Kaldi’s and come back in an hour.”

“No. I can’t. This is my responsibility. I’m her mother.”

“Go on and get. She won’t listen to you right now, but she’ll listen to me. Don’t give me any lip about your re-spon-si-bil-i-tee. You think you’re the only one who loves that kid?” Mert’s mouth was set hard. “Listen. Sometimes you got to let others carry the load for you. You hear me? Now go.”

I climbed into the candy-apple red Toyota pickup. Frankie, the dead ferret whose skin Mert had draped over the rearview mirror, winked at me with tawny glass eyes. “Oh, shut up,” I said to the animal, “what are you looking at? You eat your young.” The tiny American flag taped on the dash waved jauntily as I shifted gears and pulled away from the curb. I felt guilty, and I felt relieved.

Shouldn’t I be handling this? Shouldn’t I be the one my child turned to? Was this proof I couldn’t cut it as a mother?

Then again, maybe Mert was a better choice for talking to Anya. Maybe Anya would open up to her. They’d known each other for years. I was so tired, so spent. I drove to Kaldi’s, put an espresso macchiato on my charge card, and sat on the truck running board to sip it. As I did, I prayed.

It was a pitiful ecumenical choice—caffeine and Toyota instead of Holy Communion and church—but if God really is everywhere, why wouldn’t he be at Kaldi’s? And if his eye is on the sparrow, why wouldn’t he be watching me and knowing I needed him?

I asked for help. I think he heard me.

An hour to the minute, I pulled up in my driveway.

Anya and Mert tumbled out of the front door. My daughter gave me a shy smile. “Let’s go see WE. Mert’s never seen her.”

“Sure, honey,” I said. “That sounds great.”

___

WE is a two-headed female albino rat snake which was purchased from a breeder in Illinois a few weeks after her birth. When she came to the World Aquarium, no one expected her to live more than a couple of months. But WE is unusual; both WE’s two heads connect to her stomach.

After showing her off for six years, the aquarium decided to sell her on eBay for $150,000. The bids never got close to that price, but the publicity did make WE St. Louis’s most famous reptile.

The world has since learned that WE may actually be fraternal twin snakes—male and female—sharing the same body. The aquarium plans to introduce WE to a he in the hopes of spawning wee WEs or mini-WEs.

I had sympathy for the poor snake. I’d been married to a two-faced rascal myself. I’d read the note Olivia had given me, and it was tucked safely inside my wallet until I could follow up on the misbehavior that had led to my husband’s death.

I love all living creatures, but snakes are definitely at the bottom of my list. And WE, well, she gives me the creeps. Her color, her quadruple glassy eyes, her twin flickering tongues make the hairs stand up on my arms. But Anya is fascinated by WE. We—Anya and I, that is—can’t visit that bifurcated animal often enough to suit my daughter.

As usual Anya marched up the stairs immediately beyond the City Museum foyer, past all the sparkling mosaics and glittering inlaid stones that attract other kids. She went straight to the World Aquarium on the second floor, turning right and making a beeline for WE’s glass case.

Mert followed her gamely, but the moment she saw the four-foot-long reptile, her knees buckled. “Do Lord,” she whimpered. “This is like a horror movie I once’t saw at the drive-in. Couldn’t handle it then, neither.” I led her to a nearby bench. Actually, what they need is a fainting couch. I’m sure Mert’s not the only visitor who’s felt woozy after viewing the squirming ivory body with its pair of reddish triangular heads and four beady eyes.

“Honey, why don’t we show Mert the rest of the City Museum?” I suggested. “I bet she’d like the Everyday Circus and the crafts area.”

“Or the jets on the roof,” Anya said.

“Or the architectural relics.”

Mert whined, “Anything that ain’t moving on its belly. Please!”

___

That night I tucked Anya into bed.

“We need to talk.”

She looked down at the tented mounds that were her feet. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know. I always knew.” She sighed. “I just get tired of hearing Grandma tell me how bad you are. After a while, I start to feel confused.” Her cool hand slipped into mine as she continued, “And I know you and Gracie will protect me, and that you would never hurt anybody. Honest, Mom. But sometimes I miss our old life, and then …”

“Then it’s easy to blame me?” I kissed her fingers and gave them a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Her eyebrows peaked in a dubious question mark. “How come I do that? And how did you know?”

“It’s natural to want to find someone to blame when things go wrong.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and added, “And since parents are supposed to make everything better for their kids, it makes sense that I’d be the one to blame.”

She rose up to hug me hard. Her hair smelled of baby shampoo. “But I know I shouldn’t.”

I whispered to her hair as I held her. “Part of growing up, sweetie, is finding out that parents aren’t perfect. We’re just people. Bigger. Older. Sometimes smarter. Sometimes not. So try not to blame me for everything, okay? Please, sweetheart, try not to.”

___

Monday morning Anya seemed fine. I took her to school and walked into the store determined to finish my computer alterations to the photos. Maybe today I would discover whether the downloaded images held the answer to Roxanne’s murder. I fingered the note Olivia had handed me at Antonio’s. The sooner I finished the bridal shower albums, the sooner I’d be able to interrogate the mystery woman my husband had eaten lunch with the day he died.

Around one thirty, Detweiler popped through the front door. In his dark suit, white shirt, and tie, he was a man on a mission. Each step slapped the floor hard. He pulled a chair up next to me. He half-threw himself into the seat. “I heard about the break-in and your trip to jail. I can’t believe it,” he rubbed his face with both hands. “I was only gone two days!”

“What happened the other night was no big deal.”

“No big deal!”

“Not really. But I did want to talk to you about my trip to the slammer.” I hit SAVE and twisted to face him. “I think you told them to take me in. You wanted to see if I would crack.” I kept my voice even. My eyes never left his face.

“What?” He was mad. Sparks flew from the hard set of his chin. He grabbed my elbow. “I don’t play games. Get it? Not now. Not ever. Especially not with you. I know what you’ve been through. You deserve better.” He leaned toward me, his face nearly touching mine. “I can’t believe you’d think that.”

I pulled away. “Why wouldn’t I? Why should I trust you? Or anybody? You have to admit the timing was pretty convenient.”

“Yeah, I do. And I’m worried. There’s something going on, and I want to get to the bottom of it. But I wasn’t involved. I would never hurt you. Never.”

My eyes got watery. I pulled my arm away from his grasp and faced the screen again, sniffling a little. I wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “But you had my alibi. You knew I was at Jellystone.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I knew you said you were at Jellystone—and I put that in the file—but the security videos won’t be available for viewing until this afternoon. That’s how they justified taking you in.”

Okay, so that was his story. Could I trust him? More importantly, did I want to trust anybody ever again? No, no, and no.

He said, “When I left town, you were in the clear. Someone with a whole lot of clout put pressure on the Chesterfield P.D. and did an end run. Trust me, I am not happy about this. And I will get to the bottom of it. The system works, but … people can be …” he hesitated “… can do the wrong thing.”

“Wrong thing, huh? That’s what you call throwing innocent people in jail? Making me sleep all night on a bench surrounded by goodness-knows-who? Or what?”

“What? All night?” He jumped up and paced, his hands jammed into his suit pants pockets. “Why didn’t you call someone to get you out?”

“There wasn’t anyone to call.”

“Family?”

“No one nearby.” I didn’t add we were on the outs anyway. Rats, I still hadn’t called my mother. I slapped my forehead.

“Your mother-in-law?”

“Sheila. Right. She thinks I’m guilty.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything.”

“She didn’t send help?”

“Nope.”

“She’s family and she didn’t help you? With all her money?”

“No,” I rubbed my face. “I’m on my own. Except for friends.” I pushed back from my work to study him. His jaw was set at an angle and his eyebrows met in the center of his forehead. A vein pulsed along his forehead. He was seriously ticked off.

“The open seating area is no place for someone like you. We get clowns waiting to be arraigned. Weirdos coming down from dope. Folks off their meds. You name it. You shouldn’t have been there. They could have at least put you in a cell.”

“A cell?”

“To keep you safe.” He slapped his fist into a palm. “They should have called me in Springfield. Geez, there are times when I hate this town—and my job.”

I smiled to myself. He was being protective, and that felt good. Then immediately, I stopped myself. Was I nuts? I was doing it again. Falling for him. Could I trust him? Maybe this was all an act. Maybe he hadn’t been out of cell phone range.

He must have read my mind. “I didn’t get your phone message until this morning. I drove straight here after testifying. I was out of cell range until I hit the Mississippi.” His earnest expression made me go all soft and gushy. His face was very close to mine. Very, very close. A pleasant tingle, a feeling I’d forgotten, began.

“Okay.” There was a catch in my voice. Talking to him, seeing him looking strong and capable, seemed to give me permission to break down.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had my child to think about. I turned back to the monitor. “This has been hard on Anya. She doesn’t know what to think.”

His big hands clenched in fists. “Now we know. Someone is convinced you know something important. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to put you in jail.”

“I still think all this is related,” said Detweiler. “I’m just not sure how. Have you had any time to work on the photos?”

“I’m doing that now.”

“By the way, I went to the pond yesterday at my parents’ farm and scooped up a few tadpoles. I figured Anya might enjoy watching them turn into frogs.”

Other women get flowers. Or diamonds. I got tadpoles. And I liked it. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thanks. I know she’ll be thrilled. I hear Gracie’s tail thumping all the way out here. You better go pat her. If she gets to swinging it too hard, she’s liable to do some damage.” As he walked to the storeroom, I noticed how strong his shoulders looked, how beautifully his suit hung on his body. He was a dangerously good-looking man.

Careful, Kiki, I warned myself. The last time you felt this way, you wound up pregnant and part of a love triangle. I turned my attention to the computer screen.

Detweiler came back grinning. “Man, she’s a great dog. Sloppy, but great.” He wiped his hands with a cloth handkerchief.

“Hence the name.”

“Great Dane. I got it. You all right with slimy critters in the house? Tadpoles don’t bother you?”

I grinned, recalling our visit to WE. “I’m fine with tadpoles and frogs. Anya will be in seventh heaven. She loves any sort of creepy crawly thing.”

He pulled his chair closer to mine. “I’m not kidding when I say I’m worried. I’ll follow up on your latest break-in. Any idea who might have called in a favor to get you locked up?”

I shook my head. “Whoever she was, she thought I still owned the Lexus. Lucky for me. Proved she was lying.”

He stretched his long legs and rocked back in the chair. As he’d done in my kitchen, he linked his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling.

“Could you hazard a guess? Who knew you once owned a Lexus?”

I shrugged. “Anyone who knew me before George died.”

Dodie hustled over to us. She put two meaty fists on her hips. “Hey, buddy, you planning to make these visits a habit?”

Detweiler and I both turned red.

“You missed all the action, pal. A jail break and a break-in. It’s been a real exciting couple of days. You’re lucky she’s even speaking to you. Kiki tends to look on the bright side.” She gave a menacing leer, “Whereas I tend to hold grudges. Whose side are you on anyway? You’re sure not much use. At least not so far. Anyway, we’re on the case. Just call me Sherlock.”

Dodie winked at me. “Watson and I had a thought about those photos.” She explained our idea about matching Roxanne’s vacation pictures to shots in scrapbook magazines. “Maybe that’ll give us a bead on the locale. They usually print commentary with a place name next to the scrapbook pages.”

“That’s a great idea,” Detweiler told Dodie. “Kiki, would you be willing to look over Ms. Baker’s albums? Think you could tell anything from them?” He seemed hopeful.

“I might. I’m not sure what.”

“Forensic scrapbooking,” said Dodie. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

“How about we go to Ms. Baker’s apartment so you can see them? The place has been locked up since the murder. Our people glanced through the albums but didn’t come up with anything. You might interpret them differently.”

“What would I be looking for?”

Detweiler shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is if there’s anything weird in them, you’d be the person who’d notice.”

“I can’t help you until later. First I have to run by Dimont Development. And I have to pick up Anya from school. Since we’re on the subject, did you find Roxanne’s camera?”

The detective shook his head again. “No luck. At least not yet. It wasn’t in her car, or her purse, or at her apartment.”

If she was a keen scrapbooker, she probably had her camera with her at all times. That led me to suggest, “Maybe her killer has it.”

Detweiler rose and stared down at me. “Or your home invader. The first one.”

“Maybe,” said Dodie, “maybe those are one and the same. Kiki, you better be careful.”