Accessory to Murder (18 page)

“So you're going to see him alone?” Alyce said. “Brilliant plan, Josie. Then he can shoot you, too.”

“I'm not afraid of him. I outweigh him.”

“Not when he has a gun,” Alyce said.

“If he killed Halley, he caught her by surprise. He can't surprise me.”

“You're not going there alone,” Alyce said.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you're not. I'm going with you. Tell me what time, Josie, or I'll tell your mother.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as seeing a killer alone,” Alyce said.

“OK, ten o'clock. I'll pick you up at nine. I'm mystery-shopping Chunk-A-Chickens tomorrow, and I know you don't want to go with me.”

“Yuck,” Alyce said.

“My feeling exactly.”

Josie's cell phone rang for the third time in ten minutes. “How did I get so popular all of a sudden?” She looked at the number and winced. It was her mother.

“Where are you, Josie?” Jane said. “It's after five. You have to come home. We have trouble.”

“What kind of trouble, Mom?”

“The city inspector was here all afternoon. He says we have lead paint on the garage and it has to be repainted. It will cost a fortune. Someone complained about it.”

Older houses were vulnerable to visits from the city inspector. “Do you think Mrs. Mueller turned you in?” Josie said.

“Absolutely not. She's my friend. Besides, he gave her a citation for the lead paint on her garage, too.”

“I thought he cited us because of a complaint.”

“He did. But Mrs. Mueller said something because his car was parked in front of her house, and he wrote up her garage.”

Josie smothered a laugh. Her mother's next words wiped the smile off her face completely.

“The inspector also said the porch railings have to be replaced.”

“I'm sorry, Mom. That's expensive.”

“Someone named Skip wants to talk to you about a job at the Booby Trap.”

“The strip joint?” What was going on? Josie felt her life spinning out of control.

“I have no idea what a place like that does,” Jane said. “He sounded rough, Josie. You didn't really apply to work there, did you?”

“Of course not, Mom. It must be some kind of joke,” Josie said.

“What about the magazines?” her mother said.

“What magazines?” Josie said.

“The mailman delivered a huge stack of them. I've counted forty-two so far.”

“I'd better come home,” Josie said.

Forbes. Field & Stream. Redbook. Real Simple.
Magazines were piled waist-high in Josie's front hall.

There were magazines she'd never heard of, like
All About Beer
. Magazines she'd never need, like
European Cigar Cult Journal
. Magazines she'd never read, like
Black Men's Swimsuit Extra
. And magazines she couldn't read if she wanted, like
Cosmopolitan en Espan

˜ol
.

What joker sent her
Gourmet
? Or any of the other forty-odd magazines littering her floor? Just looking at the heaps of glossy paper made her back ache. Her mail carrier must have a hernia.

“What's going on, Josie?” her mother said.

“I don't know, Mom,” Josie said. “It has to be a mistake.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Start canceling subscriptions,” Josie said.

“Can I have this?” Amelia waved a copy of
InStyle
.

Josie handed her daughter a copy of
Inc.
“Here,” she said. “Read this business magazine first. Then you'll be able to buy yourself the clothes in the fashion magazines.”

“Really, Josie,” her mother said. “You ought to be glad Amelia is interested in good grooming.”

“I don't want my daughter to be a Barbie doll,” Josie said.

“Barbies are so twentieth century, Mom,” Amelia said.

Josie hugged her daughter. “Did I forget to tell you how smart you are?”

“No problemo,” Amelia said. It was her favorite phrase.

Sometime after the phone call to cancel
Gourmet,
but long before
Allure,
Josie heard her doorbell ring.

“I'm stuck on the phone,” she told her mother.

“I'll get it,” Jane called.

A minute later, Jane was back. “Excuse me, Josie. Did you order a lot of things from L.L. Bean?”

“No,” Josie said.

“UPS has twenty packages for you.”

“Twenty! Ohmigod. Could you refuse them, Mom? All of them. It's a mistake. I'd do it myself, but I'm on hold to the subscription department.”

“Is this another joke?” Jane said.

“No, this isn't funny,” Josie said.

After more than a dozen phone calls, Josie learned that someone had used her MasterCard, Visa, and Discover numbers to make purchases online and by telephone. The thief even had her security numbers and expiration dates.

“But I have my cards in my purse,” Josie said. “I didn't lose them.”

“Happens all the time,” a credit-card-company representative told her. “You'll have to cancel them.”

Josie was on hold again when Jane returned, her forehead creased with worry. “You have fifteen boxes from the Pottery Barn.”

“Refuse them, please. What?” Josie said into the phone. “What's my expiration date? Lady, I expired a long time ago. No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's February 2010.”

“Josie!” her mother said. “Will you pay attention? What about The Territory Ahead? They've sent you seventeen packages.”

“I didn't order anything from them, either,” Josie said. “I didn't order anything from anyone.”

“How about Tiffany's?” Jane said. “You have ten Tiffany's boxes.”

“Do I look like someone who would order from Tiffany's?”

“You don't have to get snippy with me, Josie Marcus. I'm just trying to help.” Jane stomped out of the room.

The credit-card representative came back on the phone, asking for more information. “What's my mother's maiden name?” Josie said. “It's Snead. Like Sam Snead, the golfer. You never heard of him? He was before Tiger Woods. Woods. Yes. No, my mother's maiden name is
not
Woods.”

Jane came hurrying back, wringing her hands. “Josie, there is a UPS man with fourteen boxes from Victoria's Secret.”

Josie was tempted to keep the sexy lingerie. After all, she had a date with Mike. But she didn't know if it was her size. What if it was something sleazy, like crotchless panties? Or were they from Frederick's of Hollywood? Josie thought she got a delivery from that catalog, too.

“Please, Mom, just say no to everything. I'm on the phone canceling the subscription to
Fitness
magazine.”

“Maybe you should keep that magazine,” Jane said.

“Over my dead body,” Josie said, then realized that was probably the wrong answer. “I don't need
Fitness
magazine. I'll get enough exercise lifting these magazines. Hello?” she said into the phone. “What are the first six digits on the address label? Eight, two—”

The packages kept coming. Jane turned away cashmere sweaters, a flat-screen monitor, and a new computer system. Josie nearly wept when she thought of that computer going back on the delivery truck. She worked on a slow, cranky machine bought at a garage sale.

Jane refused an iPod and broke Amelia's heart. She turned away luxurious bonbons and fruit baskets from Harry & David. She said no to stylish UGG boots and skimpy bikinis.

The deliveries came by FedEx, UPS, and companies Josie never heard of.

Meanwhile, Josie's right ear grew red while she hung on the phone, canceling magazines and straightening out her credit cards.

Josie knew it was only the start of her misery. It would be months before she had all the charges removed.

When there was a lull in the deliveries, Jane came back, looking guilty. “Josie,” she said. “You know I'm still seeing a psychologist for my little shopping problem.”

Actually, it was a big problem. Jane was addicted to the Home Shopping Network.

“But I didn't order these things,” Jane said.

“I know, Mom.”

“Then who did?” Jane said.

Before Josie could answer, there was another knock at the door, and a man appeared with twenty pepperoni pizzas. Jane sent them all back.

“Couldn't we keep one?” Amelia said.

“No,” Josie said, more sharply than she intended.

Amelia's face clouded.

“GBH,” Josie said, and gave her daughter a hug. “I'm sorry. I'm upset about the packages and magazines being dumped on us, but that's no excuse to bark at you.”

“Who did this, Josie?” Jane repeated.

“I don't know, Mom.”

But Josie had her suspicions: little Saber, the seriously rude salesclerk, or her evil uncle Harry. Saber had a lot of free time now that she was unemployed.

“Mom, it's seven thirty,” Amelia said. “This is our Girls' Book Night. We have a date.”

Once a month, Josie and Amelia went to the bookstore. Amelia could buy one book for ten dollars or less. She was addicted to Lisi Harrison's nearly endless $9.99 Clique series. Amelia had gone through
Best Friends for Never, Revenge of the Wannabes,
and
Invasion of the Boy Snatchers
. Tonight, Amelia had her sights set on
Dial L for Loser
.

“I really—” Josie started to say she didn't want to go to a bookstore tonight. She was exhausted. But how many kids begged to read books these days?

She changed her mind in midsentence. “—don't want to make one more phone call. I need to get away. Mom, can you hold the fort while Amelia and I run to the bookstore?”

“Good. You need to relax,” Jane said. “You can get a latte and read a magazine while Amelia looks for her books.”

Josie stared at her mother and the heaps of magazines. “I hope that was a joke,” she said.

“I forgot,” Jane said. “What do you want me to do while you're gone?”

“Just say no,” Josie said. “No matter what it is, send it back. I didn't order it.”

It was a relief to get out of the house, away from the endless mountains of magazines. The night air was clear and crisp. Amelia chattered about her best friend, Emma, and her plans to redecorate her bathroom. Josie had given Amelia permission to repaint after the water disaster.

“I'm thinking purple, Mom. What do you think?”

“If that's what you want.”

“That's my fave color. Emma's, too. Emma wants to do her whole bedroom in purple, but her mother said it's a very tiring color. She won't allow it.”

“Her mother's right,” Josie said.

“Then why are you allowing me?”

“It's your bathroom,” Josie said. “It's going to stay purple for a long time.”

She thought her daughter should learn to live with her mistakes, at least the small, easily fixable ones. It was good training. Mistakes only got bigger when you got older. There was no way Alyce could paint Jake out of her life.

“Cool,” Amelia said. “Is that a cop on your tail?”

“I'm going two miles below the speed limit,” Josie said.

The car was filled with strobing red and blue light.

“Sugar,” Josie said.

“It's OK, Mom. You can say the real word,” Amelia said. “You're entitled.”

The cop who swaggered over to the car was boyishly cute. He had a cowlick, short brown hair, and a dimple on his chin. Josie thought the long arm of the law looked good.

“May I see your license and registration, ma'am?” Officer Cutie said.

Ma'am? Josie's heart sank. She'd been hearing that too often lately. Store clerks used to call her “miss.” Now she was “ma'am.” Her fantasies about Officer Cutie went out the window as she handed him her driver's license.

“Do you realize that you don't have any brake lights or rear license plate?” he asked.

“You're kidding,” Josie said. “I mean, of course you're not kidding, Officer. But this is the perfect end to a rotten day. Somebody sent truckloads of items I didn't order to my house, along with forty or fifty magazines, and—”

“Twenty pizzas,” Amelia said. “Somebody sent us twenty pizzas and Mom wouldn't let me keep even one pepperoni.”

“My credit-card numbers were stolen and I'm being harassed,” Josie said.

“Whoa,” the cop said. “Back up there. And go a little slower.”

Josie recited her tale of woe once again, ending with, “Now you tell me my license plate and brake lights are gone.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's true.”

“Are you going to give me a ticket?” Josie said.

“I think your day has been punishment enough,” the cop said. “But you'd better get that fixed first thing tomorrow morning, miss.”

Miss. She's been upgraded to “miss.”

“You're going to have to make a report on that missing license plate,” he said.

“Could you do it for me here, right now, please? I don't have time to make any more calls tonight. It's all I've done for hours.”

“She's really stressed-out,” Amelia added. “She yelled at me for nothing.”

The cop took the report. “Remember what I told you. If I see you driving around without those brake lights tomorrow, I will give you a ticket. Now, go straight home. You can't be on the streets at night without brake lights.”

Josie went home. Her neighbor Stan the Man Next Door was waiting in front of her house with a flashlight and a toolbox.

“Josie, do you know that your brake lights are out?” he said.

“The police just stopped me,” she said. “I'll get them fixed in the morning.”

“I'll look at them now,” he said.

Stan wore a shapeless hooded jacket pulled tight around his face, making him look like the Unabomber.

Josie sighed. Stan had such a good heart. If only he were as handsome outside as he was inside. She'd tried to give him a makeover, but he refused. Stan was too stubborn to change and she was too shallow to accept him as he was.

“Josie, open the trunk so I can get to work,” Stan said.

Josie started to refuse. It would be cruel to take advantage of Stan's crush on her. But her credit cards were canceled, and the new ones wouldn't arrive until after ten thirty tomorrow. She'd have trouble paying a mechanic. Besides, Stan liked to tinker as much as Alyce liked to cook. It was recreation. She couldn't deny the man a little fun.

“Sure, Stan,” she said. “Thanks.” She popped the trunk.

“Hold the flashlight,” he said. Stan poked and prodded inside the trunk and underneath the car.

“Someone did this deliberately,” he said. “The wires have been disconnected. I've hooked them back together.”

“Thank you, Stan,” Josie said.

“I didn't do anything.”

“You were there when I needed you,” Josie said.

Stan blushed to the tips of his large ears.