thirty-eight

Saturday morning, Day 5—after the shooting

I woke up at six and ran to the john where I spent the first five minutes of my day tossing my cookies. After nibbling on a handful of crackers and sipping a glass of ginger ale, I felt human again. Anya grumbled when I tried to wake her. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to sleep in. With her sleepy permission, I left my daughter in the house with Gracie and ran over to Kaldi’s to get a latte and breakfast. I thought I owed myself a treat.

After all, I’d had a rough week. As usual, there was a long line at Kaldi’s, because the brew is superb. Kaldi’s is a local chain that roasts their own beans and bakes great pastries. While waiting my turn in line with other customers, we inched our way toward the newspaper rack.

Detweiler’s arrest was front-page news. With trembling hands, I picked up the paper—my rule being if I read what’s visible, well, that’s to be expected because that’s how they hook you, but if I pick it up, I should pay for it—and wrestled the big sheets open so I could see the “jump” to the inside. My mug shot stared out at me. I’d been wrongly accused two years ago, and I intended to try and get my photo out of the system. But that hadn’t been Numero Uno on my “to do” list.

Now everyone in the world could see a picture of me with a booking number under my chin.

I groaned.

The woman behind me said, “Say, aren’t you … ?”

“No! I’m not!” I said sharply. “Mind your own business.”

I never, ever speak to people that way. Chalk it up to a queasy tummy, no caffeine, anger, and a sense of general disgust. What had I done to deserve this? Nothing!

After paying for my latte, the newspaper, a huge iced cookie, a blueberry muffin, and a scone, I scuttled to the one empty table in the back and near the restroom. There I read more of Milton Kloss’s accusations, including such memorable phrases as, “Mrs. Lowenstein apparently doesn’t care whether she’s broken up a happy marriage or not. She always gets her man. Even if she has to shoot him!”

Of course, he was equally hard on Detweiler. “He swore an oath to protect and defend. But breaking his word comes easily. After all, he was cheating on my daughter. Breaking his marriage vows. So it wasn’t much of a leap for him to toss his conscience aside and shoot my poor baby when she tried to keep their marriage together!”

I stuffed every crumb of food in my mouth, trying to push away my feelings of embarrassment, guilt, and anger. When I finished, I walked to the front counter for more food. On my way, I saw a copy of The Muddy Waters Review, the newspaper owned by the family of my old boyfriend Ben Novak. I read through it while ordering an omelet, a side of bacon, and a potato latke. I would have hoped that Ben might ignore my plight and take the high road, but no-ooo. Although Detweiler and I hadn’t made the front page, Ben had drop-kicked both of us to the curb in an editorial with the nasty headline, “Killer Cop Deserves Life in Jail.”

Instead of waiting for my order, I bolted. I ran to the bathroom as fast as my scuffed up Keds would take me. Then for the second time in less than an hour, I heaved my guts out.

“Poor baby,” I said to my bump as I rinsed out my mouth. “You’ve had a real rollercoaster ride, haven’t you?

My eyes water when I vomit, so I stood there blinking and trying to get my digestive system under control. As I did, I looked into the mirror. I saw a woman who had definitely had ENOUGH!

“I’m going to make all of you pay for this. Milton Kloss, watch your back. Ben Novak, you’re going to eat crow. A whole flock of them. You two bullies have picked on the wrong woman. My name is Kiki Lowenstein. I repeat it as a prayer. Lowenstein, Lowenstein, Lowenstein. And you both better start praying, because it’s payback time.”