Make, Take, Murder (29 page)

Tuesday, December 22
6th Night of Hanukkah

My herd of hounds
spent twenty minutes sniffing around to find the exact right spot for bowel and bladder evacuations the next morning. I remembered seeing a Consumer Reports survey showing that “dog poop” was #6 among the top ten things Americans griped about. Maybe that’s why dogs are so picky about where they pooh.

All I can say for sure is that my canine crowd obviously put credence in that old real estate saying: Location, location, location.

After everyone’s tank was on empty, I fed and loved up Monroe. His agile lips fluttered my cheeks with a kiss. “So you hate anything white, buddy. Must be a real panic for you when it snows. Hmm?”

Finally, I checked Gracie’s tail. I’ll admit I held my breath while I unwrapped the wiffle bat casing, but then I exhaled with gusto and a whoop of joy. The sore spot definitely showed signs of healing. I made a mental note to send another thank you card to Louis Detweiler.

Upon arrival at the store, I checked the clock and seeing I had time, I pulled out the shawl I was crocheting for Dodie. I sat at the crafts table and finished it by working in the loose strands before tucking it into a gift bag. All the books suggested blocking my work, but I didn’t have time for that. I held up the piece, and admitted to myself Dodie would probably like it a lot. Not bad for a beginner!

My face fell when I recognized Horace’s voice coming from the back. (I felt a little bad about our last interaction.) But he greeted me happily and handed over a nicely wrapped box. “It’s rugelach for you and Anya. Don’t share it with Sheila. She has her own box.”

“My friend Stacey’s grandmother’s recipe,” Dodie explained. “There’s a secret ingredient—cream cheese. Here take a piece.”

The pastry was flaky and rich, in contrast to the sweet filling of raisins and cinnamon. In short, heaven in my mouth. “Wow,” was all I could manage. Any vestiges of upset with Horace or Dodie disappeared quickly as I took my second bite.

If world leaders sat down over rugelach instead of booze, the world would be a much nicer place. We’d have world peace licked in no time. Trust me on this.

“Bama showed me the financial statements,” said Dodie as she sank down into a chair. My friend’s color was pale and her voice raspy, but the bright light of her eyes told me that Dodie was on the mend.

“How are we doing? You heard about the shoplifter, right?”

Dodie nodded. “Good job catching her. I saw that you gave Rita a gift certificate. I’m thinking we might post a sign to the effect that anyone turning in any shoplifter will be rewarded.”

I nodded. “Actually the pilfering is much worse than I expected. I mean, I never knew so much stuff walked out of here. I thought all our customers were our friends!”

Horace shook his head and said something in Yiddish.

“Beware of your friends, not your enemies,” Dodie translated.

“What’s the bottom line? I know we’ve had to hire more hourly people. I think our classes have gone well, and the crops have been full. How’re we doing?” What I didn’t say, specifically, was the uppermost question in my mind: “Are you sure we made enough that I’ll take home a bonus?”

Horace and Dodie shared a smile. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. I opened the flap and the tight band around my heart eased. The extra amounted to an entire month’s salary.

“That’s the upside. Here’s the downside. Bama and her sister have decided to move back to Huntsville, Alabama. They have family there, and only left because they were trying to run from Bama’s ex. Since he’s in jail and he’s assaulted another law enforcement official, they don’t need to worry about him following them.”

“So her portion of the business is for sale.”

“Yes.”

I said nothing more. There was no way I could conjure up another portion. I was still building a savings account. My car would need to be replaced soon. I needed to repay Sheila for the security deposit she had given Leighton for my house. “So, like, can just anyone buy her share?”

“No. We have to have a co-owner we can work with. One who understands this business.” Dodie smiled. “I have a few ideas. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine. You have a big date today, right?”

I nodded but I had one more question for my boss. “Do you think … I mean … You suppose I could see Bama? I want to tell her I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure that you have any reason to apologize,” said Dodie. “But I’ll talk to her. If she doesn’t want to see you, don’t take it personally. Remember, Sunshine, just as you were jealous of her, she was jealous of you. In fact, she was more jealous of you than you were of her by a long shot.”

I sighed and got up to begin my chores straightening up the store. While my hands rearranged stock, my mind skipped around. “Maybe if she’d known me better,” I muttered to myself. Of course, she had pointedly shut down any attempts I’d made to become friends. Maybe, just maybe, the whole situation was doomed from the start.

After Dodie settled into a chair at the front of the store, I went to the back, ostensibly to check stock, and called Detweiler.

“What’s up with Ross Gambrowski? Is he in jail yet?”

“I can’t comment on our investigation other than to say we don’t have enough information to make an arrest.”

That put me in my place, and strengthened my resolve. This relationship had hit its final bump in the road. I was ready, willing and able to type “THE END” across Detective Chad Detweiler’s forehead.

“Thanks. Thanks a heap. Merry Christmas to you, too, bucko!”

With a quick punch of my thumb, I severed my relationship with Detective Chad Detweiler.

Stacey’s Grandmother’s Rugelach

This treat is pronounced “ruh-guh-luch.” That last “ch” is sort of a gurgle. Fortunately, you don’t have to pronounce it correctly to make it!

Basic rugelach dough:

1 bar of cream cheese, room temperature

2 sticks of butter, room temperature and cut into small pieces

¼ c. sugar

2 c. flour

Filling:

½ c. of walnuts, chopped fine

½ c. of golden raisins, chopped fine

¼ c. granulated sugar

¼ c. packed light brown sugar

½ tsp. ground cinnamon

A jar of any preserves or jam (apricot or raspberry are nice)

Plus: A plate of cinnamon sugar for rolling the cookies in before baking

Process the butter, cream cheese, and sugar either in a food processor or with a stand mixer. Add the 2 cups of flour after the dough starts to come together. Make sure all of the ingredients are incorporated. You will have an
annoying,
sticky, thick buttery dough.

Make 6 individual balls with the dough. Flatten them by hand into 8-inch discs and wrap each disc in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for 2 hours.

Take out of refrigerator. Slice into 8 wedges, just as you would divide up a pizza.

Mix together the walnuts, raisins, sugars and cinnamon.

Spread some of the preserves on the slices. Sprinkle with chopped walnut, raisin, sugar, cinnamon mixture.

Roll each slice into a crescent shape, starting with the large end and ending with the point. Roll each little crescent (rugelach) in the plate of cinnamon sugar to coat. Place on parchment-paper-lined cookie sheets.

Bake around 30–25 minutes at 350º F.

What more was there
to say? Detweiler had his job to do. I wasn’t a part of his life or his world. It was time to move on. Maybe even, past time. In my case that meant going into our tiny bathroom and alternately crying and splashing cold water on my face. Not a smart idea because I ended up looking like a pink raccoon with a red nose. Sort of like a kid might color at a restaurant when he’s only given two crayons. I stepped out of the john to grab my purse and my makeup kit. Since Ben was meeting me at five, and since customers might take one glance at me and run for the hills, I needed to make repairs.

I bumped right into Laurel. “Whoa doggies,” she said, in a voice I could have easily mistaken for Mert’s. There we stood: the beauty and the beast.

“I was just going for my makeup kit.”

That was really a bit of a joke. I carried a lip gloss and undereye concealer. Big whoop.

She tilted her head to survey me. “Hey, how about if I do your makeup? I once worked at a cosmetics counter. And I’ve got a bottle of Visine in my purse. A new one, unopened. We’ll start by getting those red eyes cleared up.”

Whatever. I mean, I frankly didn’t care but she seemed excited by the prospect. Besides, with her standing over me I couldn’t burst into tears, right?

I took a seat on a stool and Laurel set to work. In ten minutes, she was done. A quick trip to the bathroom with its big mirror told me I’d made a wise choice. Laurel had skillfully brought out the best in my features. By filling in my eyebrows, Laurel added symmetry and emphasized my eyes. They sparkled. (Thank you, Visine, Goddess of Red-Out.)

“That lipstick shade you’ve been wearing is all wrong,” said my new stylist. “Try this one.” She pulled out a small tube, slicked it on my lips and admired the change.

Again, she proved right.

“Take it. I get free samples all the time.”

I just bet she did. If I sold cosmetics, I’d want Laurel handing out my stuff. She was the next best thing to a walking, talking sales pitch for better beauty through chemistry.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Dodie called old customers on the phone to say, “I’m back,” which resulted in a steady flow of people through our front door.

“I guess I’ll have to sign up for chemo and radiation again next year,” she laughed.

That wasn’t funny at all.

Precisely at five, Ben Novak waltzed through the door with Anya in tow.

“I called Sheila and offered to pick up your daughter rather than have you make an extra trip,” he explained. “I hope that was okay.”

I could tell by Anya’s posture that she’d been fine with the switch.

“By the way, you look great!” His eyes were approving. “I have a gift for you. You might want to open it now.”

From behind his back, he pulled a large gift box wrapped in silver and blue paper with matching ribbons. On the top was a card.

“The card might be better read in private,” he blushed.

Inside the box was a luxurious shearling coat (faux fur, of course!) in black with a two-way zipper down the front. It fit perfectly.

Anya stepped up and handed me another box. “From me, Mom.”

Inside was a pair of red leather gloves lined in Thinsulate and a matching red scarf.

“This is from my sweetie and me,” said Dodie, as she pulled a small box from behind the counter.

Inside was an enameled pin in the shape of a poinsettia.

“I know you can’t have them around the house because they’re poisonous for dogs, but there’s no reason you can’t enjoy one that’s costume jewelry,” said my boss. “Besides, red is your favorite color and when Anya told me about her gifts, I thought this would be a nice embellishment.”

A sense of relief flooded through me. I’d worried about how I’d stand the cold while we visited The Hill. I’d brought my stinky coat in a plastic garbage bag, and I’d shoved another sweater into a second bag as well. But neither would have been attractive choices.

Ben’s thoughtfulness surprised me. How had he known what I needed?

Sheila must have told him. That was it. He cast around for gift ideas, and she supplied a suggestion or even helped him pick out the coat because the size and style were perfect.

“We have reservations for dinner at Trattoria Marcella’s,” said Ben. “They have a fabulous dish I order off the menu, lobster risotto.”

After a comfortable ride in Ben’s car—his black Lexus had heated seats which were divine—we arrived, ate a yummy garbanzo bean dip with bread, and then savored the lobster risotto, which was to die for with big chunks of lobster meat and a wonderful creamy cheese flavor. Absolutely heavenly! After our meal, we wandered The Hill, enjoying the
presepios
that twenty-five shop owners and bakeries displayed in their windows. Illumination by spotlights gave the scenes an extra dose of magic.

“The Italian Club of St. Louis organizes this Nativity Walk every year,” said Ben. “Most of the scenes come from Italy, but a few were made locally by Wash U instructors.”

“So Washington University teachers actually contributed these?” I asked for clarity. “They’re marvelous!”

Ben explained that a variety of materials could be used: clay, terra-cotta, papier-mâché, and wax. Each scene charmed me, whether the workmanship was intricate or crude.

“Elephants!” shouted Anya pointing at a window. “This scene has elephants!”

“The ones from Naples include shopkeepers, tradesmen, farmers, and children. But it only counts as presepio if images of Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus are included,” explained Ben. “The Italians tuck scenes like these into hillside indentations along the Amalfi coast. The townspeople keep the statues out all year, tending the figures and adding to them.
Presepio
comes from the Latin word for enclosure, which is what the manger did. It enclosed or protected the Baby Jesus,” said Ben.

My daughter laughed. “Here we are viewing Nativity Scenes with a Jew for a guide.”

Ben laughed, too, and for a moment I could imagine us as a family. If Ben was reticent around my teenager, maybe that was for the best. How many stories had I heard about stepfathers who were inappropriate? But watching these two together, I noted a new ease, a sort of camaraderie. My reverie was interrupted by Anya’s cell phone ringing loudly.

“Mom, Nicci got preview tickets to that new vampire movie. Can I go? I’d have to be there in half an hour? Huh? Puh-leeze! I can spend the night at her house. We only have a half-day tomorrow, and mostly it’s a school meeting in chapel. Come on, Mom!” My child hopped up and down like a bunny, temporarily forgetting her new mission in life was portraying extreme boredom at all times.

Ben smiled at me, “It’s cold out here. If she wants to go, we can drop her off and go back to my place.”

Sounded like a plan to me.

I’d never been in Ben’s loft before. In fact, I avoided going there. Weird, I know, but visiting a guy’s condo seemed like a step toward single-dom that I wasn’t ready to make. Usually I used the dogs as an excuse, but this time Ben pre-empted that by offering to swing by my house and help me with them. While he watched them, I checked on Monroe. Although Ben has always been awkward around Gracie, he found three-legged Jasper fascinating. Jasper, in return, took a special shine to Ben. By that I mean, Jasper attached himself to Ben’s side as though Velcroed to his pants’ leg.

That solved another concern in my mind: I worried that Ben didn’t like animals. Turns out, he does, he just found Gracie’s size intimidating.

Ben’s place astonished me. He explained how he loves reclaiming demolition materials and using them as furniture and decorative objects. His loft used to be a warehouse, so he left the walls with exposed brick showing through. Very cool. The coffee table made from four short chimney pots totally thrilled me, as did his fireplace, an Arts and Crafts piece complete with glazed tiles.

Can you fall in love with a man because of his décor? Beats me.

“You might want to look at your card now,” suggested my host.

I withdrew a beautiful full-color image of two people holding hands set against a white background. Inside the legend read: “My holidays are happy because I’m spending them with you!” And in his careful script, Ben added, “You complete me. Love, Ben”

As I swallowed the lump in my throat, Ben popped the cork on a bottle of Prosecco, poured some into a flute, dropped in a strawberry, and toasted, “L’Chaim,” then paused and added, “Specifically l’chaim with you. I want to marry you, Kiki.”

They say women are like crockpots, taking a long time to heat up. All I know is that suddenly, my temperature spiked. When Ben wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, I melted. When he kissed me, pressing against me with his whole body, my resistance slipped away.