High Heels Are Murder (11 page)

“Why would Mel give Cheryl money?” Josie said.

“I don’t know. Maybe she was holding it for him, keeping it safe. You must help me find out why,” Mrs. Mueller said. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

Josie knew there was no explanation that any mother would want to hear.

“Cheryl won’t talk to me or her lawyer,” Mrs. Mueller said. “I can’t help her until she does.”

Josie wanted to say, “What about her husband?” but she knew the answer. How could Cheryl tell Tom she’d been drinking with another man while he’d been working late? She didn’t even ask for him when she was being arrested.

“I’d like to help, Mrs. Mueller, but Cheryl won’t talk to me, either. She threw me out of her house today.”

“I know,” Mrs. Mueller said. “She says she doesn’t want anyone’s help, but that is when my girl needs it most. I know you can help her, Josie. You’re the same age. You grew up next door. You were school chums.”

“We weren’t real close,” Josie said. We hated each other’s guts, she thought.

“Cheryl’s back home now,” Mrs. Mueller said. “You don’t have to talk to her. I want you to follow her for the next three days. Find out where she goes. Find me a reason. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.”

It is true, Josie thought. You do turn into what you hate. I’m going to be a spy, just like Mrs. Mueller.

“Why don’t you have your nephew George do this? He’s a policeman,” Josie said.

“Cheryl knows George too well. You have all those disguises for your work. She’ll never spot you. Half the time I don’t recognize you when you come out of your house dressed the way you do. Besides, there are some
things I don’t want my family to know. George’s mother never liked Cheryl.”

“But—” Josie said.

“Your mother will pick up Amelia at school for you. You won’t have to worry about that.”

“But—”

“You can call in sick for three days, can’t you? It may take less time. You may only have to follow Cheryl for two days. Or one. Just one. I’ll cover your salary for the days you aren’t at work, so you don’t miss any income.”

“But—”

“I’ll make your mother Altar Society chair as well as Maplewood chair of the St. Louis Flower Guild.”

That’s why I’m doing this, Josie thought. Not for Cheryl or Mrs. Mueller, but for Mom. The Altar Society chair would make Jane one of the three most powerful church ladies in the parish.

“Deal,” Josie said. “But here’s my condition: You have to answer my questions. I won’t spread your information around the neighborhood, but I need straight answers if I’m going to get anywhere.”

“All right,” Mrs. Mueller said. Josie could see the woman grit her teeth. Mrs. M was not used to taking orders.

“Did the police arrest Cheryl for Mel’s murder?”

“Not yet,” Mrs. Mueller said. “They arrested her for pushing the detective and accidentally stepping on his foot. Her lawyer says once a jury gets a look at my little Cheryl and that great big detective, they’ll laugh the case out of court. The charge is totally bogus.”

Josie gulped. It was almost worth taking the case to hear Mrs. M say “totally bogus.” She wasn’t sure Cheryl would be found innocent, either. A jury of women would know sweet Cheryl was tougher than titanium.

“Cheryl is being charged with misdemeanor battery,” Mrs. Mueller said. “They booked her, photographed her and took her fingerprints. The police read Cheryl the Miranda warning and told her not to leave town.”

“Next question: Do you know your daughter uses a babysitter at least four days a week?” Josie asked.

“That’s not possible,” Mrs. Mueller said. “Cheryl is a
stay-at-home mom. That’s the agreement she and Tom had. He would earn enough for two and she would be a full-time mother.”

“That may have been the deal, but she isn’t keeping it,” Josie said.

“I don’t believe it,” Mrs. Mueller said.

“I picked up your grandson at the sitter’s house, remember?” Mrs. Mueller shook her head, but her eyes were trapped. She didn’t want to believe it.

“Cheryl has a code arrangement with the sitter,” Josie said. “It changes daily. If she’s going to be late, she calls a friend, gives her the code and has her pick up the baby. Do you know this friend?”

“No, I don’t. My Cheryl is a popular girl,” Mrs. Mueller said. “She has so many friends. I can’t believe any of this.”

But Josie could hear the doubt in Mrs. Mueller’s denial. This time, she did believe it. Her faith in Cheryl—and her own pride—were crumbling. Her face had developed seams and sags. She had lipstick on her teeth.

“What is Cheryl’s relationship with her husband?” Josie asked.

“Tom is a good provider.”

“But how is he as a husband?” Josie said.

“He never plays around, unlike some young men.”

This didn’t sound like the romance of the century. “Does he love her?” Josie said.

“Of course. Tom is a hard worker. That’s how he shows his love. He has a position at one of the biggest CPA firms in St. Louis. He has only the best clients in Ladue, Warson Woods, Olympia Park, Clayton and Frontenac. He leaves for his office at six every morning and rarely gets home before seven or eight at night. During income tax season, Cheryl hardly sees him at all. You expect an ambitious man to build his career.”

“Is your daughter lonely?” Josie said.

“Cheryl understands. She has her committees and activities,” Mrs. Mueller said.

“Do Cheryl and Tom have money troubles?” Josie said.

“Of course not. Did you see their house?”

“It’s beautiful,” Josie said. “But it must be expensive to maintain. The upstairs is nearly bare.”

“They’re furnishing it right, buying only the best. That’s what I advised Cheryl. Don’t settle for second best in men or furniture. It’s too hard to get new ones.”

Poor Tom. He was no better than a china cabinet.

“Can I talk to her husband?”

“Absolutely not. Tom has enough problems right now. I don’t want him bothered.”

Especially by any awkward questions I might ask. Mrs. Mueller would want to keep the perfect son-in-law in the dark about Cheryl’s possible marital slips.

“One last question,” Josie said. “How did the police find out Cheryl was at Mel’s? What made them go after her fingerprints? Was she involved in another crime, something minor, like shoplifting?”

“Certainly not!” Mrs. Mueller looked like she might have a stroke. A button popped on her blouse.

“It was a neighbor of that terrible Mel’s,” she said bitterly. “Some old woman in Olympia Park. She kept a diary of visitors to that house. She wrote down Cheryl’s license-plate number, description, and the time she entered and left that awful Mel’s house. The police say Cheryl was there during the time he died.”

“What time was that?” Josie said.

“Between seven and nine that night. Apparently, the old biddy had nothing better to do than spy on that Mel’s house, day and night. She’s nothing but a common snoop.”

“Imagine that,” Josie said.

Alyce groaned. “This is better than sex,” she said. “This is a food orgy.”

“Spoken like a married woman,” Josie said.

“Hah, as a single woman you can have any man you want,” Alyce said. “I’m limited to one. A good one, don’t get me wrong, but a different man would be nice once in a while.”

“Sex would be nice once in a while,” Josie said. “I’m not a single woman. I’m a single mother. I can’t have strange men waking up in my bed. What kind of example would that be for my daughter?”

“Could be a good one. Wish my mom had been a free spirit,” Alyce said wistfully. “I might be leading a more interesting life.”

“Alyce, you are perfect the way you are,” Josie said. “I can’t imagine you any other way.”

She smiled at her big blond friend with the floaty hair. “Besides, this is my whine. I’m trying to explain the trials of single motherhood. It’s okay for you to wake up with a man in your bed. It’s good for family values and all that. If I have a man stay overnight when Amelia is home, I’m a slut.”

“Can’t you leave her with your mother?” Alyce asked.

“Not when Mom’s living upstairs. I can hear my mother snoring through the furnace vents. What do you think she’d hear? I’m celibate as a nun.”

Alyce stared at her and Josie remembered the scene on her front porch with Josh. “Okay, it’s not that bad.

But it’s easier for me to invade Canada than spend the night with a man.”

“And it’s definitely overdue. You’re getting testy,” Alyce said. “When is that hot-looking Josh spending the night?”

Josie blushed. “I have a date with Josh next Saturday night. Amelia has a party at her best friend Emma’s house. She’ll be gone overnight.”

Josie didn’t want to talk anymore about her nearly nonexistent sex life, even if she had started the discussion. “Eat your lunch, or it won’t be better than anything, much less sex.”

“Okay, what do we have here?” Alyce said. She rubbed her manicured hands together in anticipation, then glided around Josie’s kitchen table, admiring the bulging boxes and bags. Josie was proud of her lunch layout. She’d even stuck a single red rose in a Fitz’s Root Beer bottle. Presentation was everything.

“This is my all–St. Louis lunch,” Josie said. “It’s my payback for all those lovely brunches you give me.” She pointed to an open pizza box, rich with grease and red sauce.

“That’s an Imo’s pizza,” she said. “St. Louis thin crust, topped with pepperoni, mushrooms and Provel cheese.”

“You gotta love that orange cheese,” Alyce said. “Can’t find it anywhere else but St. Louis. What are those brown lumps and that cup of yellow gunk?”

“Pretzel sandwiches from Gus’ Pretzels. Bratwurst wrapped in soft pretzel dough. I got the honey mustard dip, too.”

“And what’s that?” Alyce pointed to a puffy, pointed brown oblong.

“A Gus’ specialty pretzel. It’s shaped like a Rams football.”

“Oh, yeah, now I see it,” Alyce said.

“Gus’ also has wedding pretzels, birthday pretzels and First Communion pretzels,” Josie said.

“I’m afraid to ask what a First Communion pretzel is,” Alyce said.

“It’s made in the shape of a cross,” Josie said.

“Isn’t that sacrilegious?”

“Absolutely not. A Gus’ pretzel is a sacred St. Louis institution.”

Josie continued her tabletop tour. “Over here, we have dessert. Those are Dad’s Cookies—Scotch oatmeal. The hard ones that don’t dissolve when you dunk them in coffee. That’s Ted Drewes Frozen Custard in the yellow-and-green cups. And to drink, Schlafly Pilsner and Fitz’s Root Beer, both made in St. Louis.”

Josie plunked the bottles on the table. Her meal seemed a little casual, even with the flower. It certainly didn’t look like Alyce’s carefully planned confections served on crystal and china. Maybe I should have put the food on real plates, Josie thought. But I don’t have any pretty wedding china. Besides, I don’t have to wash paper plates.

Alyce didn’t seem put off by the spread’s lack of style. She picked up a pretzel brat, pulled off a piece of orange pizza with stringy cheese, and plopped them on a paper plate.

“There’s not a healthy thing on this table,” Alyce said. “I’m sick of salads with low-fat dressing, tired of taste-free low-carb bread, bored with root vegetables, seeds and berries. Life is a banquet. Eat and enjoy.”

Josie felt better. Alyce always said the right thing. It was one of the reasons they were friends. They’d met a couple of years ago on a multi-community Clean Up the County committee. Josie had volunteered in a fit of civic responsibility. After two endless, useless meetings, she would have quit if she hadn’t been sitting next to Alyce. The big blonde’s barbed remarks about the do-nothing board and her “let’s quit talking and do something” attitude made Josie realize they were sisters, despite their economic differences. They managed to help clean up a large section of Manchester Road and remain good friends.

Josie started packing her own plate. “I can’t tell a garlic press from a bench press, but I know my calories, cholesterol and grease.”

The two women sat side by side in reverent silence, broken only by respectful smacking. They quickly demolished the pizza and the pretzel brats, then slurped
down the beer while they pulled salty, doughy pieces off the Rams football pretzel. Somehow, they managed to save room for the Ted Drewes dessert.

Alyce scooped up creamy frozen custard with a Dad’s cookie. “Did you ever notice how the old St. Louis businesses have real people’s names?” she said. “There really was a Gus who made pretzels, a Ted Drewes who sold frozen custard, and a Dad who dunked cookies. Real people make real food here.”

“Yeah,” Josie said. “Real fattening food.” She was feeling guilty now that the lunch was almost gone. Her table looked like it had been attacked by marauding bears. “I’d better remove the evidence before Mom gets home or I’ll get another heart-healthy lecture.”

“Why hide it? Your mother will see the pizza boxes and frozen-custard cartons when she takes out her garbage,” Alyce said.

“Nope. I’m dumping this junk in Mrs. Mueller’s trash.”

“So what’s going on with your nosy neighbor and her not-so-perfect daughter?” Alyce said.

“That’s why I invited you here for lunch,” Josie said. “Mrs. Mueller made me an offer I can’t refuse. We’re going to become busybodies. Want to do surveillance with me for the next three days?”

Josie told Alyce about Mrs. Mueller’s visit. Alyce listened carefully, her intelligent blue eyes sizing up Josie, hearing what she wasn’t saying as much as what she was.

“How are you going to follow Cheryl?” Alyce said, when Josie had finished. “She knows you.”

“Only as a brunette. I have a closet full of wigs and disguises.”

“What about your car? Won’t Cheryl recognize it?”

“Nobody ever notices my car. I can’t even find it half the time,” Josie said.

“Don’t underestimate that little witch,” Alyce said. “Cheryl isn’t stupid. She’s been getting by with all sorts of shenanigans for years. If she’s doing something wrong now, she’s going to be extra cautious. We’d better take my SUV. She hasn’t seen it.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Josie said.

“I can’t wait to find out what she’s up to,” Alyce said. “It will make my day.”