Cut, Crop & Die (36 page)

I woke up to Mert and Sheila arguing. Anya was sitting in a chair in a corner watching them with an anxious expression on her face. The place smelled like burned popcorn and rubbing alcohol. The sheets were so stiff, they hurt like sandpaper. An institutional TV hung from the wall. At my side stood a stainless steel tray and a pole holding a bag of fluid. I figured I was in a hospital, and I was right.

“She’s coming home with me, and that’s final,” said my mother-in-law. Her lipstick was faded and her hair was all askew. Mert didn’t look much better, and she was six inches from Sheila’s pursed mouth, spoiling for a fight. “No way. I’m taking care of her. I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

Anya saw my eyes open. She jumped to my side. “Mom! You’re awake!” Very cautiously, she leaned against the bed to kiss me on the cheek. “You’re okay. The doc said it would be a good sign if you woke up fast. I was worried about you.”

Mert and Sheila stopped arguing long enough to see that I was, indeed, back to the world of the living.

“Great Jehoshaphats. Gosh darn it, girl, you had us scared,” Mert’s face was creased with worry lines. She was wearing her work uniform. Her mascara was smeared, and she looked tired.

Sheila motioned to Anya. “Call a nurse. Tell them your mom has come around.” She paused, “Thank goodness you are all right. Robbie Holmes told me to call him the minute you woke up.” She touched my shoulder gently, leaned as if to kiss me, stopped herself, then stepped away and out the door.

“Johnny was beside himself,” Mert said in a low voice, patting my hair. “He blamed himself for not watching you closer. He’s been miserable as a dog with a double case of pinworms. I’m going to tell him you’re right as rain, and I saw it with my own two eyes.”

I tried to smile. Talking was difficult. I rasped, “So … every-one … got … out? And … Nettie?”

She took my hand and put a cool palm to my forehead. Her skin was rough from work, but her expression tender and caring. “Hold off, Sweet Pea. The doc says your throat’s in perty rough shape. That woman nearly strang—” she stopped herself and shivered. She took a quick glance to see if Anya had returned. “Iffen it weren’t for you and my baby brother, a whole passel of folks’d be jest little bitty pieces by now.” She offered me a sip of water from a glass with a straw. “That stupid Ellen Harmon was a fussing and carrying on to high heavens about you was purposely ruining her get together. But the police done set her straight how you saved her bacon. Believe you me, they was right short with her and her nonsense.”

Under her eyes were bags of worry, and her nose was red and chafed. In her expression was a mixture of tension and relief, as though she scarcely dared believe I was all right.

Robbie Holmes came barreling in with Sheila two steps behind. The crisp creases of his uniform matched the sharp intensity of his gaze. “I know you can’t talk,” he pushed Mert to one side brusquely, “but if you can write, your answers will help us gather evidence to build our case against Mrs. Klasser.” A nurse appeared at his elbow.

“Sir, she needs rest. She’s had a shock.” She scolded him.

“Let … me … take … care … of … this,” I managed. “Then … rest.”

His cap was tucked under his arm when he handed me a clipboard and a pen. At first, my hand didn’t cooperate and the writing instrument rolled onto the faded cotton blanket. Sheila retrieved it and carefully folded my fingers around it. Her hand trembled as she did, and she gave my fingers a small, encouraging squeeze.

“How did you know it was her?” Chief Holmes’ face turned quizzical. “Johnny Chambers and Clancy Whitehead told me about the gas leak. What gave it away that Mrs. Klasser was the murderer?”

This is what I wrote:

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You’re telling me—and you expect me to believe—that a scrapbook contest was that important? With all due respect, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Anya stepped to the foot of my bed. She lifted her chin and spoke with patient authority. “No, it’s not, Chief Holmes. You haven’t met these women. Most of them have very busy lives taking care of kids, their husbands, and their homes. Thankless jobs, mostly. You don’t know how important a little recognition is. Or how much effort these ladies put into making beautiful pages. And that particular contest has launched a lot of careers. Hasn’t it, Mom? So, of course the contest was important.”

That was my girl. A bona fide daughter of a scrapbooker. She knew her stuff, and I was proud of her. I nodded. “Ow.” That hurt.

Mert put an arm around Anya and added, “That’s the long and short of it, Chief Holmes. Jest because something don’t seem important to you or your cop buddies don’t mean it don’t mean the world to someone else. Besides, it weren’t just that there contest setting old Nettie off. Mainly, it were all about being betrayed by a friend.”

Chief Holmes shook his head. “If you say so. I’d have never guessed this … this motive. I’ve got to hand it to you, Kiki. You are really something.”

Sheila’s house was a good place to recover. Linnea loved fussing over me, making me soups and purees, plumping my pillows—a service I’d always read about but never experienced. Gracie and I had our normal “guest” room, but I suspected Sheila now considered it ours because she purchased a dog bed and water bowl that matched the room’s décor. While I was healing, the whole world trooped through my bedroom doors.

Dodie stopped by to tell me how much she appreciated me solving the mystery and redeeming the good name of the store. Ellen’s lawyer advised her to apologize to us and she did, publicly. Scrapbookers were showing up at Time in a Bottle in droves, praising me for saving lives and wanting “the straight scoop.” The newspaper was full of how Minnie, Johnny, Clancy, and I managed to evacuate Memories First without incident. Dodie also shared her own news—Horace accepted a job in Chicago and would be commuting. I asked about the lump in her breast, but she evaded my question with all the finesse of a bull in the streets of Pamplona. Frankly, I didn’t have the energy to press the issue. My body was covered with bruises, one of my ribs was cracked, and my throat muscles hurt whenever I talked.

She grinned. “Well, sunshine. I’m planning on your new celebrity status counteracting all that bad P.R. that Ellen heaped on us.”

Bama came by with a basket full of how-to books. She also brought me a calligraphy kit and coached me in making the letters. The secret is letting the pen turn in your hand. Who’d have guessed? Clancy came by several times. She brought me a book on tape she thought I’d like. It was about an amateur sleuth, and she handed it over with a warning, “Don’t get any bright ideas. That sure was a close call.”

Ben Novak sent a dozen pink roses. He brought me a book on the history of St. Louis and joined me in a dinner Linnea made for us—and Sheila orchestrated. We ate off trays by candlelight although he joked that he’d checked all the water heaters first. He had steak, and I had soup and other slimy food designed to put minimal stress on my throat. I was embarrassed to think how bad I must have looked. Sheila refused me a hand mirror, and she covered the mirror in my bathroom, so I knew it couldn’t be good. I could feel how puffy my face was and I imagined a lurid purple and green necklace of bruises around my neck. Ben’s expression was not one of disgust, but of admiration. “I can’t believe you. This is the second time you’ve managed to outwit a killer. I mean, I understand about adrenaline, but that—that woman—outweighs you by sixty pounds at least. She had the advantage.”

“No … I have Anya.”

He shook his head. “You are amazing.”

I tried to shrug but it hurt too much. Muscles I’d never met were issuing formal complaints. I said, “A child changes everything.” And I thought someday I might tell him exactly how my child changed my life’s journey.

“Sheila told me about the rental house in Webster Groves. The owner is Leighton Haversham, an author and a friend of my father’s. Turns out, Leigh has a pug and another pet that occasionally need babysitting while their master is on book tours. If you are interested, the monthly rent can be reduced in return for being on call to watch Petunia and Monroe.” Ben named a negotiated rental fee.

“Petunia?” I whispered. “Monroe?”

Ben laughed. “Can you believe it? And Petunia is a he who’s scared spitless of his own shadow. That’s one reason Leigh doesn’t like to leave poor Petunia at the kennel. He comes back sick … as a dog. Monroe is a donkey. I guess it’s hard to find someone to come over and feed Monroe. Is it a deal?”

As if on cue, Gracie ambled over to stare at my guest. Tentatively, he patted at her, and she leaned against him, before putting her head on the side of my bed. Ben smiled an uneasy smile. Lord knows, the man was trying hard. And Gracie is a good judge of character. She liked him even if he was unsure about her.

I was thrilled about the author’s offer. It put the converted garage within my budget. All I needed now was deposit money, which I could repay Sheila over time. Ben entertained me with snippets about a program he heard on NPR and an article he read in the
New York Times
. I liked hearing how his mind worked, and how big his world was.

As he was leaving, Ben kissed my forehead, and then leaned closer, his lips brushing mine. It wasn’t a kiss so much as a promise. “I’ll be back. I don’t want to tire you out, and we have all the time in the world.”

Or not, given my ability to attract murderers.

I should have been delirious with joy. But I wasn’t. I felt mildly depressed.

Johnny stopped in with a bouquet of white daisies mixed with orange, red, pink, and yellow zinnias. He’d taken Clancy to Riverport once they’d gotten word I was all right. I didn’t mind at all. It was silly for him to waste the tickets—and given his limited resources, that was a lot of money. He talked a mile a minute about the evacuation, Ellen’s wild accusations, the crowd’s initial angry rumblings, and finally their appreciation.

“I can’t ever forgive myself for not keeping an eye on you. I was so focused on helping everyone else. Mert liked to kill me. And I feel like a real dope that you got hurt. If I’d caught up with that hag before the police did, well …” And he stopped.

I was left wondering exactly what he might have done. My best friend and her brother both displayed alarming propensities for retribution, a trait I needed to consider more carefully at a future date.

On the other hand, Johnny’s killer instincts for tracking down moles pleased Sheila to no end. She kept a tally of dead furry bodies with permanent marker on the new scoreboard in her garage. Mr. Sanchez decided to stay on in Mexico indefinitely, clearing the way for Johnny to care for Sheila’s yard in addition to his regular job. “I need to repay Sis for her help with my legal fees from before. The money’s real helpful, and there’s a lot to be done here to get it prettified. A whole lot, if you catch my drift.”

No doubt. Sheila had pretty much torn up every inch of her grass with her mole removal antics.

“Listen to this. I found two adult toys planted out there in the lawn! I asked Mrs. Lowenstein about them, and she told me the craziest story.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s awful hard to credit.”

He too kissed me when he left.

I know I should have been thrilled. Not one, but two available men were vying for my attention. I was going to move into a nice house in a better neighborhood. TinaB was back to ringing up sales. Bama seemed to have forgiven me.

But mainly I was sad.

I stayed at Sheila’s house for a week. I appreciated the visitors, I really did, but I missed more keenly the visitor who didn’t come. The last time I’d suffered trauma like this, Detweiler had been there, sitting beside me for hours. I knew this was for the best, but still … the ache in my heart hurt more than my neck, shoulder, and ribs put together.

And broken hearts can take forever to mend.

I WAS LEADING GRACIE into the store when a woman hopped out of a Subaru and ran toward me. The hairs rose on the back of my neck and my stomach fluttered. Gracie froze, her ears pricked in alert. The killer I’d tracked down was still free, and who knew but that Nettie Klasser had relatives vowing to avenge her? Around my dog’s neck, a ruff of angry fur stood
en garde
. A low growl rumbled deep in her chest.