Cut, Crop & Die (23 page)

I blushed. His touch was warm and strong, but kind. He linked a forefinger gently through mine, almost playing with my fingers but not quite. I had a quick vision of how much fun this guy would be, uh, alone. Ben Novak knew exactly how to excite a woman—and his expertise came across loud and clear. I stuttered, “I wanted justice. George deserved that.”

Oh, boy.

Ben gave my fingers a light squeeze and dropped my hand. “I hope you’ll tell me all about your quest when we get to know each other better.”

I watched Ben move away with mixed emotions. He was attractive and interested, but I already had a beau. Detweiler might be moving slowly, but he had kissed me—and we had a history. Plus my daughter worshiped the man. I just wished I knew where we—where I!—stood with him.

Sheila ushered me away. “Well, that was successful,” she summarized while brushing her hands together in a workmanlike manner. “Oh, there’s Robbie Holmes.”

We came up behind Police Chief Holmes. She tapped the big man on the shoulder. He turned to Sheila, his face breaking into a big goofy smile and his arms opening to embrace her. To my surprise, she stepped right up to him. The police chief gazed down at her with misty eyes. When they stepped apart, my mother-in-law colored. Ah, now I knew. I’d wondered where she had been spending some of her Saturday nights, and what put the spring in her step. She and Police Chief Holmes were more than friends. I watched the woman I’d thought stiff and cold lower her eyes like a shy high-school girl as Robbie put a proprietary arm around her waist.

Robbie Holmes had a face full of character, the visage of a man who’d been through the mill and out the other side. But his eyes softened as he stared at Sheila, and his mouth worked as he struggled with what to say. “Sheila, my, my. Sheila, you always are so lovely, and tonight especially so.” A rush of red colored his cheeks. Clearly he was unaccustomed to expressing his feelings.

Sheila told him what we’d learned about Perry Gaynor’s girlfriend, emphasizing Detweiler should be informed as well. As if awakening from a trance, Police Chief Holmes transitioned from smitten school boy to seasoned law-enforcement professional. As Sheila wound down, Police Chief Holmes harrumphed. He stopped. “Speak of the devil.”

I turned and found myself face to face with Detweiler. I stepped toward him involuntarily before Sheila grabbed my elbow.

A painfully thin woman moved from behind the handsome detective to slip her arm through his. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at me.

Police Chief Holmes said, “Here they are. Detective Detweiler and his wife, Brenda.”

AFTER THAT LITTLE STUNNER, I needed a lot more champagne. A magnum might not do it. I aggressively flagged down the nearest waiter, and we all took up glasses. Robbie proposed a toast—but I didn’t hear him. I held my flute with a strangled grip, staring into the bubbles and planning to get totally plastered. ASAP. Tootie sweetie. Starting now.

Sheila gave my upper arm a little pinch. “Yes, Robbie, you know Detective Detweiler is working the death of that scrapbooker. I’m sure Kiki’s inside knowledge of the industry will be very helpful.”

I didn’t deserve so much credit, but no way was I about to correct her. In fact, I didn’t trust myself to speak at all. What was there to say?

My lips were sealed while I listened to the voice in my head telling me how stupid I was. And how I never seemed to get it right when it came to men.

Police Chief Holmes picked up on my mother-in-law’s comment. “Yes, in fact, I’d like to talk with you sometime, Kiki. May I call you that? I was impressed by what Sheila told me about your forensic scrapbooking. Would like to know more about it actually.”

I gave him what I hoped was a radiant smile. “I’d be delighted to talk with you. Actually it’s amazing what you can learn from photos. Our body language often gives us away, and candid pictures can capture all sorts of emotions—love, anger, trust, and deception to name a few. We can’t always trust what people say or do, can we?”

Detweiler winced.

Sheila shot the detective a sideways glance so sharp and dangerous, it hurt to watch. “Well, Detective, doesn’t my daughter-in-law look ravishing tonight?”

Meanwhile Brenda Detweiler examined me the way a boy does a fly before he rips the wings off. One edge of her lip curled in a bit of a sneer.

“Uh, yes,” said Detweiler. “Kiki, uh, you are … Uh, you look wonderful.”

I lifted my chin and skewered him with my eyes. “Why, thank you. That’s so very kind of you.” I chugged my champagne and scanned the room for a waiter, all the while telling myself I had nothing to be embarrassed about. He did. If I hadn’t been holding the glass flute, I would have reached over and dope-slapped him. Instead, I turned to his wife, a gangly thing wearing what I assumed was once a prom dress—something very much like I would have worn without Sheila’s interference—and said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Detweiler. Brenda, is it?”

Detweiler ran a finger under his collar.

I hope it feels tight, buddy, I thought. Think of it as a noose, you idiot.

He seemed to be signaling me with a roll of his eyes, a plea to meet later and talk, but I didn’t care what he had to say. Or what weirdo motions he could do with those fascinating green eyes. I was not about to seek him out for a chat. As far as I was concerned, if he dropped dead right there and then, I’d step over his body to get more bubbly. Scratch that. I’d have stepped
on
his body to get the bubbly, grinding my stiletto heels into certain vulnerable parts.

Sheila tapped Robbie Holmes on the shoulder. He leaned down so her lips nearly touched his face. She gazed up at him, saying worlds of loverly things with her expression. “And now, dear Robbie, Kiki and I must powder our noses. Please share what we’ve learned about Perry Gaynor with your
subordinate
here. I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Detweiler caught the inference. The detective jerked his head sharply backward as if he’d been smacked up the side of the face. His eyes blazed in anger.

Good. He deserved it.

As though reading my thoughts, his countenance immediately fell. I steeled myself against his hangdog expression, turning away, trying to clear my head with a little shake. Sheila put a hand on my waist and steered me.

She threw one more jab over her shoulder. “Besides, there are so many lovely single men here that I want my daughter-in-law to meet. We really need to keep moving.”

Detweiler blinked fast and hard. “Mrs. Lowenstein, I need to talk with you later about Mrs. Gaynor,” he called after us.

Sheila paused, “I don’t know who you are talking about.” She challenged him with her eyes.

“I meant the other Mrs. Lowenstein,” Detweiler said weakly.

I paused, turned slowly and smiled, dropping my chin just a little, tucking my butt under, sucking in my gut, licking my lips, and jutting my hip forward. My mother-in-law and I stood shoulder to shoulder as I said, “Oh, I hardly think I have anything to offer you. Good evening, Detective.”

Once inside the ladies’ room, I spat out, “How could he have? How could he? I trusted him!”

A couple of women putting on lipstick paused to watch my little drama. No matter. I was mad as a hornet and didn’t much care who knew it.

“You cannot and will not make a scene in public.” Sheila pulled me into the handicapped stall, slamming the door behind us with a resounding thud. She flicked the door lock, while I paced back and forth, muttering, “He told me he was divorced! He doesn’t wear a wedding ring! I thought he lived alone!” I stomped to one end of the small area, spun an about face, and retraced my steps. A roll of toilet paper fell to the floor, and I kicked it down the whole row of stalls. The white line of tissues stared back at me accusingly.

Sheila touched up her blush while leaning over the handicapped sink. “He doesn’t live alone. As you can see, he’s married.”

I stopped storming long enough to lean my head against the cool metal wall. Words, images, thoughts, feelings. Suddenly, the pieces formed a pattern. Click, click, click. I whirled on Sheila, furious and hurt. “You knew! You set me up! That’s why you wanted me to come so badly. You did this on purpose!”

Her face betrayed no emotion. She was utterly and totally a blank, a cipher. With her finger pointed accusingly at my heart, she said, “When
my
granddaughter told me about
her
mother’s boyfriend, of course I checked him out! What do you take me for? An incompetent old fool? I did what any responsible grandmother would do! I care about my grandchild! She’s already had one loss in her young life. I don’t want her hurt again! This isn’t all about you, missy.”

The aquamarine dress contrasted dramatically with Sheila’s red and angry face. “What else could I do? My grandchild is mourning her father. Then she tells me how nice this man is. How she doesn’t miss her daddy quite so much. It’s patently clear she’s starting to feel affection for this … this man. And you! You let him into her life! You fell for him! Of course I asked Robbie about him. Any intelligent person would have done the same. It’s my duty to protect Anya.”

I took a giant step back. She was right. I should have asked around. Now my child would suffer for my reckless behavior. I’d let Detweiler become a part of our lives. I grabbed the handrail and eased myself onto the lid of the toilet seat. How could I have been so stupid? So careless? I stared at the tile floor.

Not only was I a sow’s ear, I was also a horse’s patoot.

“I would never, ever have willingly let my daughter be hurt. You know that.”

She huffed. “This was not only about Anya’s feelings. How dare he try to pull one over on you? You’re a Lowenstein!”

The anger I felt at Detweiler mixed with the hurts I’d endured from her. “A Lowenstein? Gee, that’s rich. Let’s be honest here, hmm? What’s it to you? Since when did my feelings ever matter? Do me a favor and don’t insult me by pretending that you care about me. I’m Anya’s mother—that’s it, that’s all. I’m only important as a reflection on you and her.” I delivered this salvo to my mother-in-law’s upper arm as she smoothed on more lip gloss.

Sheila hadn’t wanted her son to marry me. She made that perfectly clear when I’d arrived on her doorstep pregnant. After my marriage, Sheila and George formed a united, impenetrable front with me tagging along somewhere in the rear. But my husband’s sudden death upset the delicate balance of our small family dynamics. Now Sheila and I were forced to work together to raise Anya. We’d become equal partners, whether she liked it or not.

Sheila snapped her purse shut. I felt her eyes on me. “Is that so? Has it ever occurred to you that the way people treat you might be your fault?
You
misrepresent yourself. You lead with your insecurities. You lull people into underestimating you. I sure did. If I’d known you then like I know you now, we might have gotten along better from the start.”

That knocked the fight out of me.

By golly, she was right. Maybe if I would put forth a little more effort, maybe if I were more honest, maybe if I didn’t feel so comfortable playing dumb … well, who knew how my life might change?

Sheila said, “Don’t you dare cry. You hear me? That
putz
isn’t worth it. You will lift your chin and carry on. Never waste your time crying for a man. Ever. Men fall for women who don’t need them, not for women who do.”

I sputtered, “But you knew! You knew he was married! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You listen and you listen good, young lady. Don’t you think I worried over this? Wondered what to do? What were my choices? Tell you? ”

I thought about it. “It would have been better than standing there face to face and—”

“And looking gorgeous? And looking like a million dollars and making him drool? Making him want you? Letting him know you are beyond his reach? Putting him on the spot? Now he can never, ever worm his way out of this. You caught him red-handed! What can he say? ‘Oops? Sorry!’ His position is untenable and his behavior is inexcusable.”

I blinked. Tears gathered, but I blinked hard and—for the second time that day—dabbed them away. I stood and splashed cool water on my wrists. The cloying smell of bathroom spray deodorizer made me a little nauseated. I needed solid food.

I considered what Sheila said. I allowed as how she might be right.

“Think about it,” she stood behind me, speaking to my reflection. “Wasn’t this best? He couldn’t deny her. He couldn’t pretend they have an understanding! He had to face you and eat crow. Have you taken a good look at yourself? You’re absolutely stunning. Would you rather have learned from a friend at the store? Or bumped into the detective and his wife one day when you were tired and sloppily dressed? Or … like this? When you are at your best?”

I watched her image waver. What was wrong with the mirror? Suddenly, I realized she was trembling. Clearly, she was speaking from experience. The words were too hard won. Her face was etched with pain.

Ah, I thought, at least that’s something. At least she didn’t take joy in this.