Murder Is a Piece of Cake (4 page)

Chapter 4

Tuesday, October 23

Molly Deaver’s screams were torn from her heart. “No! You can’t arrest me. I’m the
victim. What did I do to deserve this?”

She’s not acting, Josie thought. She really believes Ted loves her. She wrapped her
arms possessively around her fiancé, as if Molly could take him away.

The deluded bride shrieked again, and Josie felt Ted flinch. Josie patted his hand
and whispered, “I know this is painful for you, but the arrest is the best way to
get her the help she needs.”

“She’s insane,” Lenore said, not bothering to lower her voice. “Ted has no reason
to feel guilty.”

The large open surgery seemed crowded. Molly’s dress, suitable for a Victorian ball,
took up most of the floor. Lenore, Ted, and Josie leaned against a cabinet, as far
away from Molly as they could get. Crouched beside a counter, Bill Madfis was taping
the scene, while Rona, the producer, muttered instructions. Officer Edelson didn’t
seem to notice the Channel Seven photographer. He was trying to reason with Molly.

“You stabbed Dr. Scottsmeyer with a scalpel, Miss Deaver,” Officer Edelson said. “That’s
a felony assault. Dr. Scottsmeyer is pressing charges.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Molly said. “Tell him, Ted.” Her denim blue eyes, brimming with
tears, pleaded for his help.

The police officer didn’t give Ted a chance to answer. “I’m afraid that’s for the
court to decide,” Edelson said.

“But what will happen to Bella, my little dog?” She cuddled her pet like a baby.

“Yap!”
said the Maltese.

“We can call animal control,” the officer said.

“No!” Molly wept.

Ted started to say, “I could—,” but Josie guessed he was offering to take care of
Bella. “Don’t offer,” she said. “You’ll only enforce her delusion.”

“Don’t you dare,” his mother said. She gripped Ted’s arm.

He nodded. “You’re right,” he said.

Officer Edelson said, “Do you have a family member we can contact, Miss Deaver?”

“Yes, my sister,” Molly said, sniffling. “Emily Deaver Destin. I don’t have my cell
phone with me, but she’s waiting at the church. She must be frantic by now.”

“Officer Phillips will make the call,” Edelson said.

Molly recited her sister’s cell phone number in a shaky voice. Phillips punched it
in and retreated to an exam room to make the call.

“Ted, won’t you change your mind?” Molly asked. “For the sake of our love? Look Bella
in the eye when you answer.”

Lenore gripped Ted’s arm so hard, Josie was afraid she’d leave bruises, but Ted didn’t
seem to notice. Josie gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Be strong,” she whispered.
“It’s the only way to help her.”

“Molly, I don’t love you,” Ted said in a soft voice. “I can’t marry you. I’m marrying
Josie.”

Tears rained down Molly’s face, washing away her expensive makeup. She kissed her
dog and said, “You’re an orphan now, Bella. Daddy doesn’t want us anymore.”

“Don’t answer her,” Lenore said through gritted teeth. “You can’t win an argument
with a crazy woman.”

Ted stayed silent, to Josie’s relief.

The exam room door opened and Officer Phillips said, “Your sister is on her way to
take custody of your dog. I told her we’d leave it here in a cage.” He reached for
the fluffy white dog.

“She’s going to be locked up, just like her mommy,” Molly said, kissing Bella on her
head. More tears threatened.

Lenore gave an unladylike snort.

“It’s time to go, Miss Deaver,” Officer Edelson said gently.

“May I freshen up, please?” Molly asked. “The ladies’ room is right across the hall.”

“Officer Phillips will wait outside the door,” Edelson said.

Ten minutes later, Molly emerged, looking like she’d stepped off the cover of a bride’s
magazine. Somehow, she’d combed her blond hair and repaired her makeup. She gave Officer
Edelson a heartbroken smile and squared her shoulders.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“If you go quietly, I won’t cuff you,” he said.

She upped her smile to radiant. He put his hand on her elbow and escorted her out
of the clinic surgery. Madfis followed with his camera trained on the couple, a grotesque
parody of a wedding photographer.

He was back five minutes later, grinning. “I got the money shot—the bride getting
into the cop car, with the Bentley in the background.”

“Good work, Bill,” said producer Rona Richley. “Now, Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall, we’d like
to talk to you about that pearl-handled pistol.”

Lenore looked absurdly pleased. She checked her makeup in her compact mirror, fluffed
her already perfect hair, and pulled out her pistol.

“I always carry my weapon in my purse for self-protection,” she said. She held her
pearl-handled pistol as if it were a piece of fine jewelry.

Madfis, the Channel Seven photographer, pointed his lens at the shining silver gun.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked. “Pretty deadly. I don’t carry this for looks. It’s
a weapon—a snub-nose thirty-eight.”

Lenore was a natural for television. The bridal invasion at the clinic had been dramatic
and potentially deadly, but Lenore seemed unruffled. She faced the camera, relaxed
and comfortable, looked it right in the eye, and smiled at it like a lover.

The camera loved her back. Josie could see Lenore on producer Rona Richley’s monitor.
Television gave Ted’s mother an actressy glamor and newfound youth. She barely looked
forty on the small screen. It was a tribute to her style and her second husband’s
plastic surgery skills.

Lenore pointed to the pistol’s inlaid-pearl grip with a manicured nail. “These are
my initials in silver.
LSH
—Lenore Scottsmeyer Hall. My son, Dr. Ted Scottsmeyer, says I use too many monograms,
but I want everyone to know this is my weapon.”

Ted, standing next to a cabinet, winced at the mention of his name. Josie patted his
hand and he smiled at her. She thought he was too pale. The blood spot on his shirt
collar had dried and his thick hair stuck up. Josie smoothed it back into place.

“Don’t underestimate this little beauty,” Lenore was saying. “It’s small but deadly.
This thirty-eight is a self-defense handgun for close quarters, designed to be easily
concealed. It fits right in here.”

Lenore held up her black Chanel purse with the signature double
C
s. “If necessary, I can fire right through this,” she said. “But I’d hate to ruin
a good purse.”

She laughed, dismissing her deadly skill as a charming eccentricity. Rona smiled at
her. The Channel Seven producer was crouched behind Bill, the photographer, nodding
encouragement to Lenore. Rona had explained that she’d ask Lenore questions, but they
would be edited out of the actual TV interview. She didn’t need to ask many. Lenore
almost interviewed herself.

Josie thought Lenore gave her gun lesson with professional polish, except she ignored
the most basic safety rule: Never point a gun at anyone. Lenore aimed her thirty-eight
straight at Bill. The photographer didn’t flinch.

“A short-barreled revolver like this is useful for its speed,” Lenore said. “I can
draw, sight, and fire by the time an attacker with a long-barreled gun is still trying
to get me in his sights.”

She stuffed the snub-nose back into her purse. “I’m licensed to carry concealed and
I practice religiously. I can empty my weapon into a pie plate at seven yards in five
seconds—including the time it takes to draw it from this purse. I practice, practice,
practice. I have to. That’s the mistake most people make. They buy a gun and then
don’t practice. That laziness will cost you your life.

“I practice point shooting, too. If I’m threatened and have to fire at close range,
I may not have time to align the sights. I can pull out this gun, look over the top
of it, hopefully get the front sight on the target and shoot.”

Lenore whipped the gun out of her purse and once again pointed it at the camera. Josie
winced and backed away. The photographer moved in closer. Bill was either fearless
or foolish.

“I prefer the sighted fire method,” Lenore said, “but I’m prepared to defend myself
when I don’t have that luxury. I believe self-protection is an important women’s issue.”

The chunky Rona nodded and her dark hair danced. Bill kept the tape rolling as he
focused on the .38.

“I carry my pistol in a purse instead of a holster, but it’s just as deadly as any
man’s long barrel,” Lenore said. “Maybe deadlier, because I can open my purse quicker
than he can unsnap his holster. Besides, I’m an expert shot.”

Josie didn’t think Lenore was bragging, not from the confident way she handled that
pistol. Ted stifled a groan. Rona nodded like a dashboard dog. Josie wondered if the
frizzy-haired TV producer was as enthusiastic about concealed weapons away from Lenore’s
spell.

“Why do you carry a gun?” Rona asked her.

“Because I live in South Florida,” Lenore said, as if that were an explanation. “Protection
is important everywhere, not just Florida. Today’s problem with that, uh, unfortunate
person is a prime example. We were in a clinic in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded
by decent people. There was even a large dog, but he was no use.”

She glared at Festus, who’d come out from under the table to watch. Ted’s Lab wagged
his tail.

“None of that made any difference when that deluded woman burst in here,” Lenore said.
“No one stopped her. She would have killed Dr. Scottsmeyer if I hadn’t had this weapon.”

Lenore brandished the pistol and gave a dazzling smile. The producer applauded. “Perfect!”
she said. “Now could you twirl your pistol and blow on the barrel as if you’ve just
fired it?”

Lenore did more stylish moves while Bill, the photographer, taped the glamorous gunslinger.
He even climbed on a chair to shoot her from another angle.

“Do you have enough tape for your interview?” Lenore asked.

“More than enough,” Rona said. Josie noticed the producer’s ecstatic smile and felt
uneasy.

“Good,” Lenore said. “What’s going to happen to my son’s show? Are you going to finish
taping it?”

“Uh, we’re meeting about that later at the station,” Rona said. She avoided looking
directly at Lenore.

Josie’s heart sank. The producer is dodging the question, Josie thought. Molly not
only wounded Ted; she’d killed his TV show.

“I hope you won’t abandon a useful program like
Dr. Ted’s Pet Vet Tips
,” Lenore said. Josie thought she was trying to frown, but the Botox injections had
left her smooth forehead immobile.

The producer gulped. “Right now we’d like to interview Dr. Ted about today’s incident.”

Ted shook his head. “I’d rather not,” he said. “I’m hoping Miss Deaver can be cured
of her . . . problem. She is a former patient. No, I mean, Bella’s my patient. That’s
her dog. Well, not my patient. Dr. Chris took over her case. But Miss Deaver is a
client. I want to give her a chance to recover.”

“Ted, you should talk to the TV station,” Lenore said. “Any TV time is good.”

“At least give us a statement about today,” Rona said. “We need something for the
record. Stand over there by the table, where you were with the cat.”

Ted obediently got into place. Josie tried unsuccessfully to straighten his white
coat and the rumpled blue shirt underneath.

“You stand over here,” Rona said, and pulled Josie over near Lenore.

“We’re rolling in one, two, three,” Rona said.

“Were you engaged to Molly Ann Deaver?” she asked Ted.

“No! Never,” Ted said. “I went to her home to check up on her dog, Bella. I’d spayed
her Maltese. Miss Deaver misunderstood my visits. She thought I was calling on her.
She began to make excuses so I’d see her—I mean, her dog—more often.

“There was nothing wrong with Bella. I even sent her to a specialist who confirmed
my diagnosis. It seemed wrong to take Miss Deaver’s money and subject Bella to blood
tests, X-rays, and other procedures when the dog wasn’t sick. I discussed the situation
with my partner, Dr. Chris, and we decided that she would handle any future appointments
for Bella and we’d treat the dog only if Miss Deaver brought her to the clinic. After
she ambushed me in the hall and gave me an expensive watch, we declined to treat her
dog at all.”

Ted was sweating. Big drops ran down his forehead and splashed on his bloodstained
shirt. He kept running his fingers through his hair and it was standing up again.
Josie longed to give him a fresh shirt.

“So you never planned to marry Molly Deaver today?” Rona asked.

“Not today or any other day,” Ted said. “I’ve never dated her. I’ve never met her
family. I am engaged to Josie Marcus and we’re getting married in a month, the day
after Thanksgiving. Josie—not Molly. She’s my bride, my real bride.”

Ted had seemed so sure of himself when he talked about how to trim a cat’s nails.
Now he was tongue-tied. It was painful to watch him stumble over his words. Festus
seemed to notice his distress. The black Lab bumped his big head against Ted’s leg,
and the vet absently scratched the dog’s ear.

A worried Festus jumped up on the table next to Ted and licked his neck. The vet tried
to calm his dog with reassuring pats. Festus was not fooled. He leaned protectively
against Ted.

“Dr. Ted,” Rona said, “you didn’t answer my question. Where did Miss Deaver get the
idea that you wanted to marry her?”

“I don’t know,” Ted said, his voice sad. He scratched his head.

Festus threw back his head and howled.

Josie wanted to join him.

Chapter 5

Tuesday, October 23

“I’m so sorry your mother couldn’t make our little luncheon,” Lenore said.

Josie knew she wasn’t. Lenore and Jane had met once and disliked each other instantly.

“I am, too,” Josie said. “Unfortunately, Mother had a previous engagement. But she’s
looking forward to seeing you at the Blue Rose Tearoom tomorrow.”

Jane had a church committee meeting today—and no idea she’d been invited to this lunch
at the Ritz-Carlton. Josie didn’t dare bring her fierce little mother. She knew when
Lenore started hinting that her son could have found a better bride, Jane would leave
blood on the white tablecloth.

When the polite lies were out of the way, the server took their orders and delivered
their drinks—white wine for the women and a beer for Ted.

“Well,” Lenore said, “this morning was interesting, wasn’t it? I’m glad that woman
is locked up.”

Ted’s mother was fresh and prettily flushed after her television triumph. She glowed
in the sunlit softness of the restaurant.

Ted still looked bedraggled, even after he’d stopped at home to change into a fresh
shirt. He refused to wear his white doctor’s coat, even after Lenore begged him.

“She’ll be out on bond soon, Mom,” Ted said.

“And then the judge will put her away,” Lenore said. “That nice policeman said her
attack on you is a second-degree felony assault. She’s looking at five to fifteen
years in prison.”

“I don’t think so,” Ted said. “Pretty blue-eyed blondes don’t get maximum sentences.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lenore said. “She’s out of the way.” She dismissed mad Molly
with a wave of her hand.

“Josie, you already received my wedding guest list weeks ago,” Lenore said. “We’re
expecting some fifty friends and family members to attend Ted’s wedding. He’s my son
and I want to make this an occasion.”

Josie felt a jab of fear when Lenore said “Ted’s wedding” and “make this an occasion.”
Josie and Ted wanted their wedding to be a celebration, not a circus.

“Our guests have received their invitations,” Lenore said. She produced one from her
bag and tapped the heavy cream-colored paper with her fingernail.

“These aren’t engraved,” she said. The frost in her voice could have chilled their
wine.

“No,” Josie said. “But we chose the best paper, one-hundred-ten-pound cotton stock.
They look engraved.”

“But everyone knows this isn’t real engraving,” Lenore said. “If only you’d let me,
I could have helped you. The invitation says the ceremony is at the Jewel Box. What’s
that?”

“Wait till you see it, Mom,” Ted said. “It’s an art deco greenhouse in Forest Park—that’s
the big city park—with these incredible palm trees and tropical plants. The Jewel
Box was built in the 1930s. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places. The
out-of-town guests will see something really cool.”

Ted brightened as he described the Jewel Box, his enthusiasm overcoming his lost look.

“We were lucky to get it,” Josie said. She managed a lopsided smile and fortified
herself with a sip of wine. “Our timing is perfect. Our wedding is at the start of
the winter poinsettia show and hundreds of them will be on display, ranging from white
to deep ruby. It’s dazzling. I have a photo of the Jewel Box in my wedding plan notebook.”
She leafed through it and found the page.

“Here,” she said. “Not only is the building gorgeous, but there’s lots of free parking.”

“Very nice,” Lenore said. A historic building seemed to meet her exacting standards.
“What about music?”

“We’ve picked some lovely CDs,” Josie said. “We chose music that meant something to
both of us.”

A shadow crossed Lenore’s face. Was that an attempted frown on her Botoxed forehead?
Josie wondered.

“I was thinking of a string quartet for the ceremony,” Lenore said.

“Mom, that’s not in our budget,” Ted said.

“I’ll give it to you as a gift,” Lenore said.

“That’s very generous,” Josie said, and meant it. “I’ll get the names of some local
quartets and you can choose one.”

“Oh, you hire one,” Lenore said. “Just send me the bill.”

Well, that was easy, Josie thought. Maybe I’ve misjudged her.

“Will you have the reception at the Jewel Box, too?” Lenore asked.

“No, we’ve only rented it for two hours,” Josie said. “There’s another wedding after
ours. But we have the reception at a nice banquet hall, the Royal Saint Louis.”

Lenore frowned at the photo of the hall.

“Is that a public banquet hall?” she asked. Her tone implied it was a public toilet.

“A good one,” Josie said. “The food is delicious. See. Four stars.”

“In St. Louis,” Lenore said. Her collagened lip curled. “I was hoping we could have
the reception here at the Ritz.”

“That’s—,” Ted said.

Josie cut him off before he could say “out of our price range.” “Taken,” she said.
“That date has been booked already.”

Josie had no idea if that was true, but she’d already signed the contract for the
Royal Saint Louis.

“Of course,” Lenore said. “I should have known. For your wedding reception, I was
thinking of booking Peter Duchin.”

“Peter Duchin?” Josie said. Wasn’t that old people’s dance music?

“Surely you’ve heard of his orchestra,” Lenore said. “He plays at the White House,
premier charity galas, and society weddings. I doubt if we’ll be able to get Peter
himself at this late date, but any of the bands booked by his organization are top
notch.”

“We already have a band,” Josie said. “A good one. We’ve got the Smash Band. It has
ten members.”

“Smash is playing all the wedding reception favorites,” Ted said. “‘Proud Mary,��
‘Raise Your Glass.’”

“We even paid an extra hundred dollars for the twist contest,” Josie said.

“A twist contest!” Lenore looked like she’d bitten into a lemon.

“It’s fun,” Josie said. “We have a cool trophy for the winner.”

“I was hoping my son’s wedding would be small but tasteful,” Lenore said.

“That’s what we want, too,” Josie said. “That’s why we decided not to have a dollar
dance.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Lenore said. More frost.

“It’s a bridal tradition,” Josie said. “The bride and groom dance with guests who
pay for the privilege. The money usually goes to the honeymoon fund.”

“I should think not!” Lenore said. She clutched her wineglass and took a stiff drink.
“At least I’ve heard of that song, ‘Proud Mary.’ But what is ‘Raise Your Glass’?”

“A song by Pink,” Ted said. “It’s a wedding favorite for . . . uh, my generation.”

“This Pink,” Lenore said. “That isn’t Pink Floyd, is it? I heard one of their songs,
something about a brick. It’s loud and depressing.”

“I agree,” Josie said. “‘Another Brick in the Wall’ isn’t wedding music. Pink is a
rock star. She won a Grammy.”

“I don’t know her,” Lenore said, as if that were a failing on Pink’s part.

Josie was relieved. That meant Lenore hadn’t heard of another Pink hit—“Fuckin’ Perfect.”

“And I’m quite sure none of our guests have heard of this Smash,” Lenore said. “But
they definitely know Peter Duchin. He plays all the time in Boca Raton.”

Lenore drawled Boca Raton as if it meant something more impressive than “mouth of
the rat.”

“If they haven’t heard of Smash, they should have,” Josie said. “He was an MTV DJ,
and he’s been on national television and radio stations all around the country. Since
he moved here, he’s become a St. Louis institution.”

Lenore sniffed. “Half of our out-of-town guests haven’t heard of St. Louis,” she said.

Josie pressed her lips together, forcing herself not to answer back. She looked around
wildly, hoping the server would appear with their lunch, but saw no sign of approaching
rescue. She wished Ted would defend their choice, but he was scanning the horizon
for signs of food.

“We’ve already signed a contract,” Josie said.

“I’ll buy it out,” Lenore said quickly. “With a thousand-dollar bonus for this Smash
person.”

Josie tried counting to ten to keep her temper. She quit at four. “No, thank you,”
she said “We want Smash. Amelia asked for him.”

“You’re letting a ten-year-old dictate your wedding choices?” Lenore didn’t hide her
disbelief.

“Amelia is eleven,” Josie said. “She’s happy that Ted and I are marrying, but our
marriage will be a big disruption in her life. She asked for Smash, and Ted and I
were happy to go along with that. Smash is our choice, too.”

She looked at Ted, waiting for him to support her.

“Yum,” he said. “My Reuben sandwich with duck fat fries is on its way.”

“What are duck fat fries?” Lenore asked.

“Potatoes fried in duck fat,” Ted said.

Lenore shuddered delicately. She’d already banned the bread basket and wanted her
salad served with the dressing on the side.

There was a lull in the conversation while the server set down their meals.

Josie inhaled the fragrant steam from her soup. “Mm. This tomato bisque smells delicious,”
she said, hoping to keep the topic safely on food. “How’s your lunch, Lenore?”

Ted’s mother brushed aside Josie’s question like an annoying fly and said, “Will Amelia’s
father be at your wedding?”

“No,” Josie said. “Nate is dead.” He was murdered, but Josie wasn’t giving Lenore
that detail. “But her grandfather, Jack Weekler, will be flying in from Toronto.”

Duck fat must have had amazing powers of revival. After three fries, Ted perked up
and said, “The rehearsal dinner is the groom’s responsibility. Maybe we could have
that at the Ritz.”

Josie gave her fiancé a relieved smile.

“What a splendid idea,” Lenore said. “I’ll make the reservations right after lunch.”

Ted had rescued the difficult meal. They chatted happily about safe subjects after
that: Josie’s colors—red, white, and pink—to go with the Jewel Box flower display.
The dinner table decorations would be big pots of poinsettias. “My best friend, Alyce,
will be my matron of honor and Amelia is my junior bridesmaid.”

“Very sensible,” Lenore said. She glanced at her watch. “Well, if you two don’t mind,
I’ll get the check and then make the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner. Josie,
I’ll meet with you and your mother tomorrow.”

“I’ll take Ted back to his car at the clinic,” Josie said.

“I’m glad that Molly Deaver won’t be lurking in the parking lot,” Ted said.

“Oh, she won’t bother you again,” Lenore said. “That’s all taken care of.”

Josie hoped her future mother-in-law was right.