Kiki Lowenstein and Too Much Squash (Short Story Excerpt)

 You can read this whole short story free if you load it on Sept. 27 (Friday) and Sept. 28 (Sat.) by going to http://tinyurl.com/2muchsquash

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Note: In the timeline of Kiki’s life, this short story comes after Picture, Perfect, Corpse: Book #7 and before Group, Photo, Grave: Book #8.

Chapter 1

A Wednesday in August…

“How’s your mother feeling?” Lottie Feister quizzed my daughter Anya.

I was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the shelving unit so I overheard Lottie’s question. I thought about getting up and answering her myself, but I’d sat down here for a purpose. I was searching for a particular sheet of embellishments. I suppose I could have made my presence known, but I didn’t feel like moving. An hour earlier I’d had a particularly nasty bout of morning sickness. Right now, sitting still suited me—and yes, I was a little curious about Lottie’s interest.

          “Mom’s fine, I guess. She gets pretty sick to her stomach, but she told me that’s normal. In fact, I went with her to the doctor for an appointment, and the physician’s assistant said that morning sickness is a good sign. That it means Mom’s hormones are changing,” said Anya.

          “I hope she can keep working throughout her pregnancy,” said Lottie. “This store is like a second home to most of us.”

          She was referencing Time in a Bottle, the scrapbook and craft store that I was buying. Now I felt glad I’d overheard Lottie’s questions. She probably represented the thinking of most of our patrons. As soon as I could, I would talk to my co-workers. Together we could brainstorm steps to take to reassure our customers. The last thing I wanted was for them to switch loyalties! Not when we’d worked so hard to become their primary source for all their papercrafting needs.

          Bless Lottie’s heart, she was a yenta, which is Yiddish for “busybody,” not “matchmaker” as people have erroneously assumed because of Fiddler on the Roof. Ever since Lottie’s husband died of pancreatic cancer, she’s a lonely woman. The store has become the hub of her social activities—and I understand that. I’ve been there myself. But sometimes Lottie crosses a line. She’s incredibly curious about me and my life, and she’s taken to pumping everyone who works here for more information. Personal information that’s not really any of her business.

          My name is Kiki Lowenstein. I’m a single mom to Anya, who is thirteen-going-on-thirty. My daughter and I are very close, especially since her father George Lowenstein was murdered nearly three years ago. This summer Anya begged me to let her work in the store rather than send her off to summer camp, which she dismissed as being “for babies.” I agreed to the arrangement for many reasons. Most of all, this might be our last chance to have a summer all to ourselves. But when I set down the rules for her “employment,” I forgot to warn her that a few of our customers might try to pump her for details of my private life.

          Clearly an oversight on my part.

          I am, after all, a bit of a curiosity. Even though my sweetheart, Detective Chad Detweiler, wants to marry me, I have declined his offer. I was pregnant with Anya when I married George, and that feeling of shame stained our entire marriage. I expected too little from George because I knew he had married me out of a sense of obligation. Not out of love. When I marry Detweiler—and I plan to do just that—I want to feel confident that he’s marrying me because he wants me as his wife, not because I am his baby mama.

          All that aside, Chandler Detweiler has told me over and over that he wants me. Me. Pregnant. Non-pregnant. Whatever. “There’s only one you in the world, Kiki, and you’re the person I want to spend my life with.”

          You can’t get much more loving than that!

          But then, there’s my growing baby bump. And my rampant hormones. I admit that some days I feel overwhelmed by it all.

          Most of the woman who frequent Time in a Bottle are a bit old-fashioned. They think I am making a mistake by waiting to marry Detweiler. They point out that my baby is his child, and therefore, my little one is entitled to legal protections offered by marriage. They also note that something could go drastically wrong when I give birth. In that case, Detweiler needs the right to step in and make decisions.

Ugh. I know they’re right, but that’s too upsetting to contemplate.

Perhaps their most compelling argument is money. As a St. Louis County law enforcement officer, Detweiler has terrific benefits. I have none. When I think about the expenses associated with having a baby, I wonder if my women friends are right.

But I made a promise to Anya that I wouldn’t marry Detweiler before the baby came. She had a little melt-down when she realized that she’s be the only Lowenstein left in our family because her grandmother, Sheila, is getting married, too.

And I intend to keep my promise to my daughter. I owe her that.

So I’m anticipating the costs of having a baby. I’ve been pinching every penny that comes my way. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got a smear of copper on my fingertips.

Meanwhile, I need to stand tough while people question my decisions. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered the impact of my choices on Anya. It’s just that I didn’t realize how bold people would be in pestering her with questions.

To Read the Whole Story...Click on this link 2MuchSquash

         

Kiki Lowenstein and the Bad Day (Part 2)

Note: I asked my Facebook peeps to suggest starting sentences for a Kiki Lowenstein short story. There were so many terrific ideas that I have decided to try to incorporate more than one -- and write a progressive short story. You'll be reading this as I create it! Wish me luck!

Note: This short story comes before Ready, Scrap, Shoot—and Kiki is six weeks pregnant.

In last week’s installment—Kiki walked into Time in the Bottle only to discover papers scattered everywhere. Detective Chad Detweiler arrived to pronounce the store “safe,” but Kiki’s still wondering what’s up. Now her friend Margit has shown up for work.

Margit Eichen, my co-worker, blinked at me from behind her sparkling cats’ eye glasses and solemnly looked around at the strewn papers. “What a mess!”

“You’ve got that right,” I said as I ushered Gracie into her doggy play pen. “How about if you open and I’ll clean this up. I have a feeling some of these are ruined. If so, I need to know how badly.”

Margit nodded. “Maybe you can do something with the ruined pieces, ja?”

“Right,” I said, trying to maintain a positive attitude. Between saying prayers for my unborn child and listening to my snoring oversized dog, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Even with a full eight hours of shut-eye, this situation would be perplexing. As tired as I felt, I really wasn’t prepared to take on this unexpected challenge. *

A few of the papers looked fine, but many had suspiciously shredded edges, almost as if they’d been ripped as they sat in their thin plastic bindings. I sorted the papers into two groups. Because our culprit had chosen to destroy rainbow packs, I stared down at a damaged and an undamaged pile of bright yellow, bright blue, bright red, bright orange and bright green papers.

Hmmm. I knew from experience that if I let my subconscious work on the problem, it would come up with a solution, so I turned my attention to a project that Margit had accepted for me: a customized baby album. Since the child’s gender was unknown, the parents had requested that I create the album in shades of yellow and white. Starting it would be easy. The hardest part about doing a baby’s scrapbook is where does one stop? With the birth? The baptism or naming ceremony? You had to draw a line somewhere!**

There was also another new custom project set aside for me to tackle. These photos screamed to be put on a layout. But what paper? What design? I’m usually creative, but this one stumped me. ***Riffling through the pictures, I saw one image after another of a wedding ceremony held deep in a forest. I thought to myself, “What a perfect setting for a wedding!”****  

But most of the wedding-themed papers we sell are white or cream and very formal--and that would overwhelm these pictures. This bride wore a simple tunic-like dress and a sheer veil pinned to her auburn hair with a wreath of flowers. Her groom’s shirt, jacket and slacks were white linen, while his tie repeated the greens and browns of the scenery. It got me thinking about my own wedding. Would Detweiler ever officially propose? I mean, we’d talked about getting married. But in my romantic heart, I was hoping for him to go down on bended knee and ask.

My face must have given away my longings, because when Margit walked past me on her way to the restroom, she said, “Too many thoughts, ja?”

“Ja,” I agreed and I started pacing. I looked over at Gracie in her playpen. Those expressive brown eyes begged for a dog biscuit, so I fed her one and shared with her my “to do” list.  “First things first. I need an idea for an upcoming crop.”

When she didn’t respond, I rubbed Gracie’s big head. “You know, girlfriend, for the first time in a very long time, everything is finally going right in my life, except that I worry about how Time in a Bottle will run while I’m on maternity leave.” *****

Of course that was many months away, so again, I forced myself to tackle things one at a time. We needed a crop idea for the first week in May. Something new. Everyone does May baskets and May Day celebrations. I want us to go boldly where no scrapbook store has gone before!

Right then the door minder rang, so I trotted out front to greet our customer. Teresa Alvarez gave me a huge one-armed hug as I approached her because in her other hand, she carried a big bright pink shopping bag. “I have a special gift for you,” she said shyly. Teresa’s family came here illegally, and we’ve been cheering her on as she navigates the tricky waters to citizenship. “This is to celebrate. On May 5, I become US citizen!”

“Hurrah!” I cheered. “But what’s in the bag? Is it for me? Really? Can I open it now?”

 MORE TO COME...

Thanks to:

*Karen M. Rushton 

**Barbara Tobey

***De-Anne Trasker

****Stella Carsten
*****Mary Patricia Kennedy

PS Stay informed and get involved. Join us on my Facebook page http://www.Facebook.com/JoannaCampbellSlan

A Halloween Close Call--A Kiki Lowenstein Novella

Need a Kiki fix? For less than a cup of coffee, you can read the most recent adventure of Kiki Lowenstein, “A Halloween Close Call.” Kiki Lowenstein is invited to a Halloween Party at Detective Chad Detweiler's parents' farm. But mysterious happenings around St. Louis have everyone on edge--and Kiki has a close encounter that leaves a surprising clue behind! This entertaining 10,000+ word novella is only $1.99 and available at A Close Call.

Here's a sample:

Chapter 1
“If it’s spooky or scary, count me out.”
Detective Chad Detweiler grinned at me. “Even if I’m there to hold your hand?”
“Sorry. I don’t do scary. I love Halloween but I draw the line at being frightened out of my mind. I get enough crummy surprises in my daily life, thank you,” and to underscore how adamant I was, I crossed my arms over my chest. But I couldn’t look stern for long. Not when I was around my friends, so I spoiled the impact by smiling. I know I did.
See, my name is Kiki Lowenstein, and I’m the original Mrs. Nice Guy. I like butterflies and rainbows, puppies and kittens, sugar and spice, and brightly colored flowers. I always make sure to get my daily quota of cute. You can never have too much cute in your life. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
“So the woman who stared down her husband’s murderer is a big ‘fraidy cat.” Johnny Chambers winked at me. Johnny has Bad Boy written all over him, whereas anyone can see that Detweiler is a Knight in Shining Armor.
I shrugged and stared off into the metal shelves where we kept excess merchandise for the scrapbook store where I work, Time in a Bottle. My friends and I were holding an impromptu get-together here, in the stockroom of the store, to discuss our plans for celebrating Halloween. But walking through a “haunted house,” one of those converted warehouses complete with “zombies” and “ghosts” and “monsters” did not appeal to me one bit. “I did what I had to do to survive. This is different. You all are talking about getting your wits scared out of you as a form of recreation. If that’s your idea of a good time, have at it, go ahead, love you to bits, but I’m taking a pass.”
I know I sounded a bit whiny. I couldn’t help it. Years ago, I learned the hard way that I have a very poor tolerance for spooky stuff. I’d gone with my late husband to a screening of Carrie, the movie made of the Stephen King book by the same name. That last scene where Carrie’s hand shoots up out of the grave had me so terrified I almost went into shock. My teeth chattered and I shook like the leaves on a maple sapling before a tornado hits. It took me weeks to calm down.
I was not interested in submitting myself to being jumped at, touched, or grabbed in the dark by people I didn’t know. Especially if they’re dressed like Frankenstein or the Mummy or even Count Dracula. Ugh.
No sirree. I’m not interest in paying to be shocked and surprised.
Detweiler laughed and pulled me close. “Come here, you.” He hugged me. I relaxed into his arms, a place where I always felt safe. Listening to the soft lub-lub-lub of his big heart reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this world. “If you don’t want to visit a haunted house, we’ll find another way to have fun on Halloween. No problem.”
I stayed in Detweiler’s arms, but rotated slightly so I could see my friends. Clancy and Johnny were joined by Laurel Wilkins and her fiancé Pastor Joe Riley. What a cute couple those two are. Joe and Laurel both are in their late twenties. When they walk by, people turn and stare because they are two exceptionally good-looking people. I mean, you feel like you’re in the company of Hollywood stars when you’re with the two of them. And nice? Shoot. You couldn’t find two sweeter people.
Clancy and Johnny aren’t really a couple, but they are pals, so they occasionally accompany each other rather than sit home alone. It’s an arrangement that suits both of them very well. Clancy could easily be mistaken for Jacqueline Kennedy, she’s got those dramatic, classy looks. And Johnny, well, Johnny is a scamp. There’s a roguish side to his personality that comes through with every move he makes.
I hated disappointing all of them. They had their hearts set on celebrating this Halloween by all of us doing something special.
The question was, what?
Now that I’d put the kibosh on going through one of the many “haunted houses” that regularly sprang up this time of year all over the metro-St. Louis area, what would we do for fun?
“Look, I don’t want to be a party pooper. You all should go without me. I’ll be fine passing out candy at my house.” Of course, I didn’t mean a word of that. I would hate to be left out, but it did seem like giving everyone else permission to carry on was the gracious thing to do.
“Mo-om,” moaned Anya, my thirteen-year-old daughter, who had just joined us. “I’m too big to trick or treat. Sitting home on Halloween will be, like, totally boring. Geez.”
“I didn’t quit trick or treating until I was sixteen,” said Laurel. “But I understand what you mean, Anya. Don’t worry. We’ll think of something fun to do.”
. “Kiki, we wouldn’t enjoy ourselves if you don’t come,” Clancy Whitehead patted me on the back as I pulled free from the big detective’s embrace. “And Anya’s right. Sitting at home would be a drag. So, we’ll make another plan. I’ve never been overly fond of haunted houses either. Some of them are okay, but I was in one where this hand reached out and--”
“La-la-la-la-la,” I stuck both fingers in my ears and sang. “Don’t want to hear it!”
“Geez, Mom,” said Anya. “You are being such a baby about all this.”
“Anya-Banana, it’s okay. Your mom is just being honest with us. We’re all friends here. That’s the way good friends operate. They take each others’ wishes into account,” said Detweiler. He was the only adult officially authorized to call my darling daughter by her old nickname. The hunky detective and my daughter had a wonderful relationship. He was very careful to be totally respectful and clear about boundaries with her, and he was teaching her that sticking up for her rights and feelings was important. He’d seen too many teens talked into stupid stunts by their peers. And worse, he’d handled a grisly abuse case where the stepfather was molesting his stepdaughter. Detweiler, Anya and I had even discussed the situation over the dinner table one night, with him emphasizing that she should never hesitate to tell the authorities if someone acted inappropriately toward her or her friends. No matter how powerful the perpetrator seemed to be.
I could see that he was supporting me in nixing the haunted house to help Anya realize that friends don’t push friends into uncomfortable situations.
I have to admit, my heart was overflowing with love for my daughter and my new beau. I’d heard a lot of horror stories about women with kids getting involved and bad outcomes. But so far, the three of us had been able to discuss frankly any hiccups along the way to becoming a family.
One of those hiccups was melding with Detweiler’s parents, Louis and Thelma, as well as his sisters, Ginny and Patty. Since Detweiler and his wife Brenda were only officially separated, and not yet divorced, I wasn’t sure how the Detweiler family would feel about me. I thought I remembered hearing that Patty and Brenda were good friends. But I was afraid to ask.
Maybe Johnny was right. I can be a ‘fraidy cat. I know I sure do stick my head in the sand sometimes, so maybe I’m more like an ostrich.
“Don’t worry, Kiki. I’ll come up with something fun for us all to do on Halloween,” said Detweiler, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “That includes you, Anya. My niece Emily has been asking about you. She wants to hear how your kitten is doing.”
Anya’s face broke into a huge smile. “Seymour is getting big. Wait ‘til I tell her about how Gracie picks him up and carries him around.”
Hearing her name, my wonderful harlequin Great Dane started to thump her tail happily. Gracie is totally besotted with Detweiler. She had managed to lean her entire body weight against his leg while we were all talking. Now she was looking up at him with moony brown eyes.
Yeah, no doubt about it. My life was full of love and happiness. This wonderful support system of friends gave me all sorts of self-confidence. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve never been more happy or secure.
But I still wasn’t willing to visit a haunted house.
Huh uh.
No way.

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Copyright 2010, Joanna Campbell Slan