Make, Take, Murder (14 page)

I wasn’t in love
with him. I did, however, find him lovable. If that sounds confusing, well, it was.

“Could I send a reporter to talk to you about that body part you found?”

That request surprised me. Ben rarely asked anything of me. I nodded quickly. Maybe he would forget about our date. “Sure. Best to have him or her call me. It’s our busy time of year.”

“Got you. Let’s reschedule seeing the
presepios
on The Hill. I thought maybe Anya would want to come along. Sheila says your daughter loves Italian food.”

My eyes narrowed. Sheila knew that Anya adored Detweiler. If my daughter also adored Ben, that would move our relationship along. It wasn’t that Anya didn’t like Ben. She did. But Detweiler had won over her heart as easily as he had mine.

“How about next Tuesday at five. We could have dinner, the three of us.”

I had to give him that. Ben was incredibly considerate. How could I turn him down? I hadn’t suggested we get together for one of the nights of Hanukkah, I kept that to myself because I didn’t want to encourage the man.

Which was stupid of me.

Ben Novak, all six-foot two-inches of him, would make a fabulous catch. After recently returning from a publishing conference in Cabo San Lucas, his dark blond hair gleamed with natural gold highlights, and those smoky topaz eyes caused my heart to flutter. Truth to tell, I wasn’t letting myself fall for Ben. Call me perverse, because I certainly am.

Ben was everything I needed in a man.

Then he proved it. “I heard Anya is struggling with her Hebrew. After the holidays, I could work with her. If that’s all right with you.”

My heart tumbled and a lump formed in my throat. Usually Ben steered clear of Anya. He was solicitous, but he kept his distance. As an only child himself, maybe he didn’t seem to know what to make of her, didn’t know how to engage her in conversation. Whereas Detweiler always exuded ease around Anya—and Gracie—Ben proceeded like a man picking his way through a minefield. Sheila once told me Ben worried about making the wrong moves. “He’s such a good-looking man, and you have a young daughter. Remember,
The Muddy Waters Review
broke the story about that St. Louis attorney who allegedly molested his pre-teen stepdaughter. Ben had a front row seat for that circus. Later, the girl admitted she was angry because her new daddy wouldn’t buy her a Mini-Cooper. Ben’s no dummy. He’s a cautious man. An upright man. He’s smart to take it slowly.”

I gave a lot of thought to what Sheila said. Mert and I discussed the situation at length. “Any woman with a young daughter oughta think twice about who she brings into her home,” Mert said. “I seen it time after time.” She was, of course, referring to her own stint in foster care. While Mert never talked directly about her past, I knew it must have been a nightmare.

Bama appeared at my shoulder. She fisted her hands on her hips as she faced me down. “You going to stand here all day or you planning to get ready for that crop? Get busy!”

“She is busy,” said Ben. To my surprise, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me soundly in front of my co-worker. Chills ran up and down my spine and my body melted into his. I caught a good whiff of his expensive cologne and thought I’d dissolved into a puddle on the spot. I have to admit, my whole body tingled. Even my sore little nose. Maybe I underestimated this man.

I kissed him back, too. My lips were nearly numb before we were through. At some point in the clinch, he lifted me off my feet.

As he set me down gently, he said over his shoulder, “You must be Bama. Are you always this rude?”

Kiki Lowenstein’s
Holiday Recipe Collection Project

Tackle this super idea with a group of friends.
You’ll all enjoy the results. Why not make a few extra to give as gifts?

1. You’ll need one empty cereal box per album. (Yes, cereal boxes make great crafting supplies!) Cut the box apart. Trim the front and back of the box to a desired album size such as 7 by 7 inches. Using sandpaper, buff off the shiny outside of the box. (Tip: This is pretty dusty work, so wear an apron and use a microfiber dust cloth to get up all the fine dust.) If you don’t buff off the shiny surface, it’s hard to get the cover paper to adhere.

2. Cut paper with a high cotton content to one inch larger all around than the box pieces. (For example, if your final album will be 7 by 7 inches, cut the high cotton content paper to 9 by 9 inches.) Center the cereal box pieces on the high cotton content paper, wrap and glue the edges down around the cereal box pieces. (Tip: I use wooden clothes pins to hold the edges down.) Once dry, line these covers with contrasting pieces of paper one inch smaller all around. (So, as per our example, the contrasting liners pieces would be 6 by 6 inches.) (Tip: I like to use a corner rounder on the inside liners. It looks very nice.)

3. Let the covers and liners dry thoroughly. Once dry, carefully measure and punch three equi-distant holes along one side of the covers. For a 7 by 7 inch cover, the holes might be ½ inch in from the outside edge, and then punched at these intervals: 1½ inches, 3½ inches, and 5½ inches.

4. Cut double-sided scrapbook cardstock to the same size as above (7 by 7 inches) for inside pages. Punch holes using the cover as a template.

5. Print out your favorite recipes and add them to the interior pages. Add photos of the prepared foods as desired. Be sure to include the history or some interesting facts about the recipes, such as who usually cooks them and when you eat them.

6. Decorate the interior pages.

7. Use one of the interior pages as a table of contents.

8. Bind the recipes inside their cover with round metal ring binders available from office stores. Tie a ribbon around the whole album before you give it as a gift!

I staggered out of
Ben’s embrace. I mean, he has always been such a gentleman, and that’s good and bad. In our heart of hearts, every woman longs to be swept off her feet. We want to think we’re irresistible. So his politeness hadn’t served him well. See, when I met Detweiler there were all these emotions rampant: loss, fear, danger, and of course, attraction. Admittedly, Chad Detweiler intrigued me from the start. But Ben seemed too perfect. Too cool. Too calm. Too collected.

But not any more. Whew. He’d blown that image to smithereens.

My head was still spinning as he set me back on my feet. I grabbed at the lapels of his cashmere jacket.

“Oh.” (That’s all I could muster. But believe me, my senses were working overtime.)

Bama grumbled at us under her breath, but for once she was put in her place. And I learned something else though this encounter. I learned that bullies can’t stand to be challenged. They fold like cheap tents.

I walked Ben to the door. In many ways, this felt like a first date, the kind of first date when you hope he’ll call you … soon. After he left, I had a hard time concentrating on my prep work.

Around 4:30 the croppers filed in, one by one—a merry bunch loaded with loaves of homemade nut bread, plates of cookies, jars of candied nuts, scented candles, bags of gifts, and their own supplies. Laurel proved a charming hostess, taking coats, helping folks get settled.

This particular class attracted our regulars: Bonnie Gossage, Clancy Whitehead, Ella Latreau Walden, Maggie Earhardt, Jennifer Moore, Dana Churovich, Nancy Weaver, Olivia Kormeier, as well as several women who were new to our shop, including our newest shopper Daisy Touchette.

Bonnie must have been over her tummy bug, because her blouse buttoned awkwardly as though she’d gained weight. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She brought along a selection of water crackers, Ritz crackers, and a store-bought cheese ball tightly wrapped in plastic. The latter surprised me because Bonnie makes this fabulous dip with shrimp in it, and everyone always raves over her treats. Usually she brings her dip as a kindness to all of us fans.

“Your lights are out,” noted Clancy.

I cranked my head to stare at the strand along the window frame. She was right. Dang it. And I still hadn’t gotten around to putting up outside strands at home. I was definitely a dim bulb in this season of lights. Maybe instead of hanging around so many cops, I needed to find an electrician and settle down.

Bama shoved a paper into Clancy’s hand. “Heard you want to work. Can you cover these hours? If so, you can start tomorrow.”

As we watched her stalk off, Clancy said, “My, that was pleasant. Did someone do an unsuccessful makeover on her? Was she the victim of a personal stylist with a Carrot Top fetish?”

I rolled my eyes. “Beats me.”

“Explain to me how she gets to go teach scrapbooking on a cruise ship while you sit home twiddling your thumbs.”

“Oddly enough, there was a call for teachers on the Internet, and Bama sent in a response to their RFP, Request for Proposal. I didn’t see it, or I would have submitted an idea, too. Imagine hot sand and gorgeous beaches when we’re suffering through our annual ice storm. She pinned up their itinerary in the office. I guess they’re traveling along the Yucatan Peninsula.”

“I heard about the idea she proposed. Sounds like a rip-off of that journaling class you do.” Clancy shook her head. “That should have been you.”

I kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t agree more. What could I do? Bama had filled out a lengthy proposal form. I hadn’t. Yes, we’d worked together on the journaling class, and yes, it would have been nice for her to at least give me some credit, but she hadn’t. There was nothing for me to do but be gracious and move on.

Jennifer Moore came over and asked me about my holiday plans. She wondered if I planned to buy Anya a pair of Uggs. “That’s all Nicci talks about. That and bugging me to go to the mall. I think our daughters are learning the joy of shopping early.”

I tried to laugh light-heartedly, but instead I worried about how I’d pay for those silly Austra boots. I knew Anya and Nicci talked Jennifer into dropping them off at Galleria now and then. I also knew Sheila and Anya made frequent stops there, although Sheila was strictly a Frontenac shopper, because that was where all the “old money” in St. Louis made their purchases. There and downtown Ladue.

Mert strolled in. “Heard there’s a shindig here tonight. I can sure use myself a little girlfriend time. Just don’t ask me about what happened with my court case, okey-dokey?”

Right about then, someone unwrapped the cheese ball. The pungent smell filled the air. Bonnie turned green as a sprig of holly and raced to the backroom. When she returned, Mert eyeballed her. “When’re you due?”

“In June,” said Bonnie.

A general hurrah went up from the crowd. Bama paused while ringing up purchases to sigh. “I remember that first trimest—”

With that she shut up and concentrated on the cash register.

I stood there with my mouth open. Here I thought she’d never had children!

After the slip about her own pregnancy, Bama stayed in the backroom. She finally showed her face ten minutes before the crop ended. “I need you to finish up,” she said. “Don’t goof anything up. You miscounted the change last night.”

The croppers looked at her in shock.

“Bama, may I speak to you in private?” I asked with a pleasant smile plastered on my face.

Once we stepped into the backroom, I let go. “Your behavior is totally out of line. I’m sick of it. Don’t you ever, ever treat me like that. Did you see the expression on our customers’ faces? They were shocked and horrified. You made a fool of yourself.”

She staggered backward.

“Message heard?” I persisted. “You are more than free to go. In fact, you don’t even need to come back if you’re going to be a horse’s rear end.”

“It’s your fault. You got everything stirred up. Got the media to come here. Just when things were going right for me, you ruined it!”

“Oh, yeah. My fault. I purposely decided to find Cindy Gambrowski’s leg in our trash. I planned to go Dumpster diving. Which reminds me, you neglected to cut me another check. Please do it first thing tomorrow. I don’t think the police will be returning anything from our trash anytime soon. By the way, have you listened to yourself ? You are just downright nasty.” I shook my head. “It’s pathetic.”

Her face changed from defiant to thoughtful. “Maybe I do need a day off. The schedule I handed Clancy gives me tomorrow off. Between her, you, and Laurel, the floor will be covered.”

“We’ll handle it.” I felt myself softening. “Go do something fun. You need a break. I’m truly sorry about the hassle. It’s not my fault, but I still wish it hadn’t happened. Ross Gambrowski stopped by my house this morning, and—”

“What did he say?”

“He was pretty upset. He thinks Cindy’s still alive. For some odd reason. Says he got a phone call from someone who saw her.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded. “I hope she is all right. Maybe the police have it wrong. Maybe she’s okay. Look, I’m just trying to compartmentalize. You need to, too. Whatever we think about each other, we have to get through this holiday season. I feel bad about Cindy, but what can I do? Except pray. And I do plenty of that.”

“Did you know her well?” Bama shivered again, and so did I.

“That’s the weirdest part. I swear, I barely knew the woman. Why would anyone bother to involve me? I mean, if I knew something, don’t you think I’d tell the police?”

“Maybe you want to string this along so you can get attention from that detective friend of yours.”

“You can’t be serious. I can’t believe you said that!”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. Better yet, I’ve seen how you look at him. It’ll take more than his wedding ring to keep you two apart. That poor guy who kissed you in the store today hasn’t got a chance.”