Dying in Style (9 page)

Chapter 8

“Josie Marcus?”

She nodded. She was too scared to talk. Her mother stood next to her, wringing her hands. Amelia was dancing on the sidelines in her robe and slippers.

The homicide detectives flashed their badges. Their ID looked more fake than the cops’ badges on TV.

The two homicide detectives were a before and after picture. Detective George Waxley wore a lumpy suit he could have borrowed from Stan next door. His tie was fat and striped. Waxley blinked a lot, as if his contacts didn’t fit right. His dome was shiny bald and almost square, but he had a wreath of wispy hair from his ears down. Josie wanted to shave it off.

Waxley wore no wedding band.

Detective Michael Yawney had a better tailor and looked like Matt Dillon. He had Oakley sunglasses and a wedding ring. Naturally.

Why am I looking at wedding bands when I’m about to be arrested? Josie thought.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” the handsome Detective Yawney said.

“About what?” Josie’s mom stepped between them, fierce as a lioness guarding her cub. “If this is about the murders of Danessa and Serge, my daughter was here with me the entire evening.”

Great, Josie thought. Mom was lying to the detectives in front of Amelia.

“How do you know we want to talk to your daughter about the murders?” Waxley the semibald cop said. Josie was even more scared now. That big square head held plenty of brains.

“Mom,” Josie said, “why don’t you help Amelia get dressed for school while I talk to the detectives?”

“Why don’t you get dressed first so you aren’t talking to strange men while you’re wearing a T-shirt?” her mother said.

Josie realized the only thing she had on was a T-shirt that said, SUPPORT YOUR RIGHT TO ARM BEARS. Did that make her look violent—or just deranged?

“We’ll have to check her room first,” Detective Yawney said.

“What for?” Josie’s mom said. Her mouth tightened into a belligerent line and her fists were clenched. Josie didn’t know whether to hug her or haul her out of there.

“It’s just a precaution,” the detective said. “For possible weapons.”

Amelia was staring openmouthed at her mother, as if she’d transformed herself into Thelma
and
Louise.

“This is an outrage,” Jane said. She looked as if she was about to start swinging at the detectives.

“Mom, let them search the room. I’ll put on some clothes and then we’ll talk.”

“You first,” Detective Yawney said. Josie hoped the T-shirt kept her decent. If these guys ever left, she was going to switch to flannel nightgowns. No, pajamas with feet.

Yawney made her stand outside in the hall while he checked her bedroom. She could hear him opening her dresser drawers and the closet door.

“What do you want to wear?” he said.

“I’ll come in and get it,” she said.

“I’ll hand it to you and you can change in the bathroom,” he said.

Josie was suddenly, furiously angry. Who was this man invading her home, inspecting her bedroom, checking her dresser drawers? She’d done nothing wrong. She was a working mom.

Don’t get angry, she thought. Your daughter is here. It won’t help her and it won’t help you.

“My jeans are on the chair by the bed,” she said.

There was a pause. Was Yawney turning out the pockets? The detective handed Josie her jeans. They were wrinkled.

“My shoes are on the floor by the bed.”

He handed those out next.

“I can’t think of anything else,” Josie said.

“A bra,” her mother shouted, and Josie blushed scarlet.

“My blouse and bra are hanging on the bedroom doorknob,” Josie said, then remembered what else was on that door. “No! Wait! I don’t need it.”

“Yes, you do,” Jane shouted.

Detective Yawney handed Josie an embarrassingly padded bra and her white shirt from last night. He gave her the clothes without comment. Maybe he didn’t see the dartboard.

“Bathroom clear,” Detective Waxley said.

“You were in my bathroom?” Josie said.

“We have to check it out so you can get dressed in there,” he said.

Josie hated that. The bathroom was her one refuge in the house. The lock on the door kept out Jane. Even her daughter wasn’t allowed in. Amelia had her own bath down the hall.

Josie had turned the big old clawfoot tub into a luxurious retreat, with lavender-scented bubble bath, vanilla candles, an inflatable pillow and a reading rack. The bath’s pink-and-black tile was so old it had been in and out of style a dozen times. The ceiling sloped down, so she had to duck to get into the tub. Josie didn’t care. This was her private space.

Now the detective had pulled back her shower curtain, left his big footprint on her pink rug and looked in her medicine cabinet. Her room would never be the same. It had been invaded.

Josie closed and locked the bathroom door. Then she threw on the jeans and blouse she wore last night, which didn’t look too fresh today. She could smell Detective Yawney’s spicy aftershave where he’d touched her clothes. She promised herself she’d throw them out after he left.

Still, she felt more dignified with her clothes on. She slipped on her shoes, raked a comb through her hair, washed her face and ran to the living room. Her mother handed Josie a bright yellow mug of coffee.

“Thanks, Mom,” Josie said. Tears wobbled on the edge of her voice. Suddenly she was scared.

“GBH,” her mother said softly. Jane pointedly did not offer any coffee to the detectives. Josie appreciated her mother’s loyalty, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to offend the police.

“Would you like some coffee, detectives?” Josie said.

“No,” they said, so quickly Josie wondered if Danessa and Serge had been poisoned.

Josie didn’t drink her coffee. She just held the bright mug in her hands. She needed to feel something warm and comforting. Jane hovered anxiously nearby. She refused to leave Josie’s side. Amelia was hanging around the kitchen door taking in every word while pretending to fix herself breakfast.

The detectives’ questions were easy at first.

“How did you know Serge Orloff?” Waxley asked.

Josie thought carefully before she answered. She was not fooled by his cheap suit. It would not do to underestimate him.

“I didn’t,” she said. “I never met him. I didn’t know where he lived.”

“West County, it said on TV,” her mother added helpfully.

“We’d prefer to conduct this interview, Mrs. Marcus, unless you’d rather we talked with Josie down at headquarters,” the detective said.

Good thing the detective was bald already. Jane’s glare would have scorched his dome clean.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Josie said. “Will you take care of Amelia?”

Jane grabbed her granddaughter away from the storm troopers. “Come along, Amelia. Grandma will pack your lunch for school.”

In the kitchen, Jane slammed the cabinet doors several times in protest. Then she must have realized she couldn’t hear them talking if she made noise. After that, Jane fluttered silently in the background. Josie glanced back once at her daughter. Amelia was no longer bouncing with excitement. She looked big-eyed with fright.

I’ve brought this on my daughter with my stubbornness, Josie thought. Then she didn’t have time to worry about Amelia or her mother. The easy questions were over. Now the detectives were bombarding her with questions that had to be answered carefully. She concentrated on each word.

“Tell us about the argument over your report.” That was Detective Waxley, the sly, balding one.

Josie did. The police would move quickly on a high-profile investigation. They already had copies of the report. She figured they’d rousted her boss, Harry, and he’d told them about the fight. She might as well be straight with them.

“How long have you known the victim, Danessa Celedine?” the handsome Yawney said.

“Was this your first encounter with the victim or have you had prior dealings with her?” Yawney again.

“Where did you go when you left the Danessa store?” Waxley looked deceptively sympathetic, a kindly teacher asking after her progress.

“Give us a detailed account of your whereabouts during the time frame from when you left the store at Plaza Venetia yesterday until the victim’s body was discovered,” Detective Yawney said.

That was the tough one. Josie squeezed her coffee for the last warmth, but there was no comfort. The mug was cool.

Should I tell them that I was at Plaza Venetia again last night? They’re going to find out anyway, she decided. The chocolate lady probably saw me go into Danessa’s store. And I bought the candy with a credit card. That would give the police the time I was there.

“I went out for milk about eight o’clock last night,” she said.

“Mo-o-om,” Amelia said, “where’s the milk?”

“Have a Pop-Tart,” Jane said in a stage whisper.

“But, Grandma, you always say I need to eat a healthy breakfast,” Amelia said. “You tell me to start my day with oatmeal and milk.”

“Go upstairs to Grandma’s apartment and I’ll fix it for you,” Jane said. “I have milk.”

“Didn’t Mom buy milk last night?” Amelia said. “She said that’s where she was going.”

“Upstairs!” Jane hissed.

Amelia stomped up the steps, whining, “I’m trying to do the right thing and this is the thanks I get.”

Josie stared straight ahead, trapped and panicked, wondering what to say next.

“You went out for milk,” Detective Yawney prompted.

“But I didn’t buy any,” Josie said. “I was distracted and tired. Instead I drove around for about an hour and forty-five minutes. Then I found myself at Plaza Venetia. I treated myself to some chocolate at that little shop on the second floor—the Queen of Chocolate. I bought some for Amelia, and my mom. Then I went across to the Danessa store and got Mom an autographed photo. She’s a big fan. She’d strangle me if I didn’t come home with a photo of her idol.”

Detective Yawney’s perfectly arched left eyebrow jumped when she said that.

“Why didn’t you get a photo while you were there as a mystery shopper?” he said.

“Because they were out of photos. I put that in my report. I’d had a fight with my mom after dinner last night. The photo was a peace offering.”

“You’ve had a lot of fights lately,” Yawney said.

“It was a bad day,” Josie said.

“What did you fight about with your mother?”

“My mom doesn’t think being a mystery shopper is a good career for me. I went for a drive to cool off. I called her from the mall about ten o’clock last night to check on Amelia. I told my mom I’d lost track of the time and I was on my way home.”

“What do you know about a red snakeskin belt?” Detective Waxley said.

“The twenty-seven-hundred-dollar one?” Josie said.

Waxley nodded. Now he wasn’t blinking like a guy with bad contacts. His eyes bored into her and they were scary.

Why would the police care about that belt? Josie wondered. Had it been stolen? She tried to remember if it had been on display last night, but she couldn’t.

“When I mystery-shopped the store yesterday morning, the snakeskin belt was on a Lucite display stand. I tried on the belt and asked the salesperson, Marina, some questions about it.”

“Can you describe this Marina?”

Josie did.

“According to the people at your office, the victim said there was no one who looked like that working at any Danessa store.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t make up a six-feet-two blonde with a Russian accent.” Josie laughed. The cops did not. Her nervous laughter strangled in her throat and died. Josie shivered and clung to her cold coffee cup.

“Can we send a technician to take your fingerprints?” Detective Waxley asked.

“Sure,” Josie said. “But if you’re taking fingerprints at the Plaza Venetia store, you should know that it didn’t look the way it did in my mystery-shopper report. I wrote that the store was a mess, and it was. Fingerprints were all over the place, especially the display stands. One even had pink bubble gum stuck on it. But when I went back at ten last night, the shop had been cleaned. All the stands had been wiped down.”

Detective Waxley said nothing.

“I don’t know if that makes a difference,” Josie said. Her words trailed off lamely.

Shut up! Josie told herself. You’re babbling. The three of them sat in a deafening silence, until the handsome detective spoke.

“One more thing,” Detective Yawney said. “We’d like to photograph your dartboard.”

Chapter 9

“Mommy, are you going to jail?”

Josie gathered her daughter into her arms, saw the cinnamon sprinkle of freckles on her nose and felt her heart break.

“No, no, no,” she crooned as she rocked the sturdy little body. “Nothing like that. They wanted to ask me some questions because I talked to Danessa, the lady who died.”

“But they said you had a fight with her,” Amelia said. “And then she got murdered.”

“So? I had a fight with your grandma, too, and she looks pretty healthy. I haven’t killed her.”

“So the police won’t put you in jail?” Amelia would not be put off with Josie’s jokes. She wanted a proper answer.

Jane charged into the conversation. “Don’t even think such a thing, Amelia. Don’t say it. Don’t talk to anyone about the police being here. Don’t tell your teachers, your friends at school or the neighbors. Don’t tell anyone, understand?” Jane’s arms were stiffly at her sides, her hands balled into angry fists.

Maybe I should have said I haven’t killed Grandma
yet,
Josie thought. Poor Jane. You could count on her to come out fighting. It was her greatest virtue and her worst fault.

Now Amelia needed more serious soothing. Each “don’t” from her grandmother made her more anxious. Amelia’s eyes were clouded with fear.

Josie held her daughter closer, smoothed her hair and smelled her little-girl fragrance. “Amelia,” she said, “it’s going to be all right. I did not hurt Danessa. I’m not saying that to make you feel better. This is a pinky swear.”

Josie crooked her little finger. Amelia crooked hers. They shook solemnly. Pinky swears were sacred. You couldn’t lie when you locked little fingers.