Murder With All the Trimmings (25 page)

“That woman is a menace,” Alyce said. “What are you going to do about Mike?”

“What can I do?” Josie said. “I can’t beg the guy to love me.”

“No, but I bet if you found the killer, things would go back to the way they were.”

“I wish, Alyce, but I don’t think it will work that way. We’ve got serious problems. I love Mike, but I can’t stand his daughter, and she’s a troublemaker. Amelia comes first in my life. I made that choice ten years ago.

“Besides, what good would it do for me to look for the killer? I don’t have the police resources, their training, or their investigative technique. I can’t flash a badge and make people talk to me.”

“But people don’t talk just because a police officer flashes a badge,” Alyce said. “Sometimes they clam up. The police don’t have your mother and Mrs. Mueller, two of the best detectives in Maplewood. The police are bound by the law and rules of evidence. Your investigation isn’t. Mrs. Mueller has ways of getting information out of people that would get the police sued. You have your own advantages. All you have to do is find the killer.”

“That’s all?” Josie asked. “How can I do that? We don’t even know why Nate and Sheila Whuttner died.”

“Then we’ll have to find out. Who has the best reason to kill Nate?”

“The police think I do, because Nate was threatening to kidnap Amelia and take her to Canada. Mrs. Mueller heard him yell it to the whole block. Plus, I’ll get a hundred thousand in insurance money, though Nate wanted it to be used for Amelia’s education, and that’s fine with me. But it still looks like a motive when I have sixty-three dollars in the bank.

“Then there’s Mike. He bought antifreeze right before the poisonings, and they think he wanted to eliminate Nate as a rival, but that’s ridiculous. Nate and I were over years ago. Nate had some scummy friends from his drug-dealing days, but I can’t see them poisoning him.”

“So we don’t know who wanted to kill Nate or why,” Alyce said. “But you and Mike are off my suspect list.”

“What about Mrs. Whuttner?” Josie said. “Mom says she was happily married. It doesn’t sound like her new husband wanted her dead.”

“Let’s check out the daughter, Lorraine,” Alyce said. “I’ll get her address from directory assistance.”

Alyce fiddled with her cell phone for a few minutes and then said, “Lorraine lives in an apartment about ten minutes from here. I have some extra time. Jake doesn’t come home until nine, and the nanny works late. Should I call Lorraine?”

“No, let’s surprise her,” Josie said.

Lorraine lived in Whispering Willows Apartments. The complex was nowhere near as pretty as its name. It was a brick shoe box surrounded by acres of gray asphalt.

Josie and Alyce knocked on Lorraine’s door. Then they pounded—hard. No one answered.

“I wonder if she can hear our knocking over the next-door neighbor’s television,” Josie said.

“There isn’t much whispering going on at this place,” Alyce said, “unless you count the traffic from the highway.”

The door next to Lorraine’s apartment opened suddenly. A bag of wrinkles in a flowered housecoat said, “She isn’t home.” A cigarette dangled out of the old woman’s mouth. Josie was fascinated by the network of lines on her face and the way her red lipstick crept into the crevices.

“Do you mean Lorraine?” Josie asked.

“Lorraine isn’t good enough for her, though that’s the name her mother gave her,” the old woman said. “She wants everyone to call her Lori. Thinks it’s more lah-de-dah. She says ‘Lorraine’ sounds like a truck-stop waitress, though why there’s anything wrong with making an honest living is beyond me. You from the police?”

“Have the police been to see you?” Josie asked.

“Hell, no, and they ought to. The things I could tell them. What are you, lawyers or something?”

“Ah,” Alyce said, anxious to tell the truth.

“Alyce represents me,” Josie said, which was as close to the truth as she wanted to get.

“You aren’t working for the lawyer she hired to sue that poor Elf House lady, are you? I could tell them a thing or two.”

“Definitely not,” Josie said. “And we’d love to hear what you have to say.”

“Well, step right in. My name is Myrtle, and that’s not a lah-de-dah name, either. I’ve got plenty to tell you.”

Myrtle shooed them in like a flock of chickens. Josie had to fight to keep from wrinkling her nose. Myrtle’s tiny apartment smelled like an ashtray, with top notes of tomato soup. The living room was barely big enough for a faded maroon couch, a black Naugahyde recliner, and an ancient Philco television. The TV’s rabbit-ear antenna was topped by aluminum-foil flags for better reception. Josie hadn’t seen one of those since she was a kid. The white lampshades were yellowed by cigarette smoke.

Myrtle walked over and turned off the loud TV.

“Is Lorraine—I mean, Lori—at work?” Josie asked.

“Work? Don’t make me laugh. She’s seeing her lawyer. She aims to win that lawsuit against the radio station and get her mother’s prize money. That’s all she cared about, the money.”

“Do you think she poisoned her mother?” Josie asked.

“I’m no fan of little Miss Lori, but there’s no way she could have killed her mother. Lori was up in Chicago the day her mom got sick, so she couldn’t have put the poison in that chocolate. Ted, Sheila’s new husband, called Lori with the bad news. She came tearing back to St. Louis in four hours and rushed into the hospital, crying and screaming that her mother had been in perfect health.

“It wasn’t true. Sheila only had six months left to live, if she was lucky. The woman told me so herself. Sheila had a bad heart. I’ll tell you who has the bad heart—her worthless daughter. That girl is man crazy. Runs after anything in pants. Now that she’s coming into some money, she may be able to keep them longer.”

“Do you think Lori was trying to hurry along her mother’s death?” Josie said.

“Honey, I’d love to see that girl behind prison bars, but I don’t see how she could have. Why take the risk? Lori was going to inherit everything anyway. When her mother decided to marry Ted after a decade of widowhood, Lori carried on like she was robbed.

“Sheila caved and signed a prenup. Lori gets her mother’s money and the house in Maplewood. Prices are rising in that area, you know. Maplewood real estate is suddenly hot. Sheila’s little two-bedroom brick is worth about three hundred thousand now, and Lori can’t wait to sell it. I’m surprised she hasn’t put Ted out on the street already. Lori claimed she couldn’t work, but there was nothing wrong with her except she was bone-lazy. Her mother paid her an allowance and Lori wasn’t too disabled to cash those checks.”

“Whose idea was the radio station diet contest?” Josie asked.

“Lori’s. Her mother always wanted to be thin, and Lori talked her into it because of the big prize. When it looked like Sheila had a chance at winning, Lori watched that poor woman the way a snake watches a rabbit. Nagged her night and day. Made her eat that diet food. Tasted like cardboard in my opinion. Watched her like a prisoner.

“Sheila finally reached her goal weight plus a little less. Lori went off to Chicago to celebrate. Probably spent her mother’s winnings before she even got them. Sheila sneaked off for some chocolate cake while her daughter was out of town. It killed her, poor thing.”

“Is Lori heavyset?” Josie asked.

“Skinny as a snake, with a mop of dyed blond hair and a port wine stain on her face. Ugly inside and out, that one. She claimed that birthmark kept her from working, but it was her own nasty personality. Believe me, if Lori had walked into the Elf House, that Elsie would have remembered her.

“Well, ladies, it’s been nice talking to you, but it’s time for my program.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Josie said.

“You call me if you need anything more,” Myrtle said. “I’m glad Lori’s leaving the complex at the end of the month. She had the nerve to complain that my TV was too loud. Can you believe that?”

Myrtle turned up the television sound to rap-concert level.

Chapter 27

“Josie, open your fridge. There’s a little surprise in it,” Jane said.

“Let me get my coat off, Mom. I just got in the door,” Josie said.

She threw her coat on a kitchen chair, hunched her shoulder to hold the receiver, and opened the fridge. The milk, meat, cheese, and a lone tomato were piled in a corner. The fridge light was filtered through enough beer and wine coolers to stock a bar.

“Wow, Mom, that’s what I called a full refrigerator. There’s barely room for the milk. What’s going on?”

“I want to give a little Christmas party for the neighbors,” Jane said. “I got the beer and wine coolers on sale.”

“Isn’t it a little soon after Nate’s death for a party, Mom?”

“It’s just a gesture to mend fences,” Jane said. “A little food, a little music. You and Nate had those terrible fights on our porch. Having the police and ambulance here didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry about the fights, Mom. Our good neighbor Mrs. Mueller reported the details to the police—and the rest of the block. The detectives questioned Mike and me the day of Nate’s memorial service. We have her to thank for that.”

“Josie, I’m trying to calm things down and restore your reputation.”

“My rep is gone, Mom, and I’m too old to care. But I am grateful for the wine coolers. If I start drinking now, I should be calm enough by the party to say hello to Mrs. Mueller without punching her out.”

“Josie Marcus!”

“I was joking, Mom. When is this shindig?”

“Next Saturday. It’s going to be at your place. Some of our neighbors are too old to climb the stairs to my flat.”

“Mom, when am I going to have time to clean my home?”

“Amelia and I will handle that. She’s helping me bake now. She’ll be downstairs in about ten minutes.”

“How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected, considering.” Jane’s voice was crisp as new lettuce.

“So who’s invited, besides the usual suspects? Mike, I hope.”

“Yes, and he can bring that daughter of his, too.”

“I’ll put up with Heather for Mike’s sake. But Doreen is not invited, Mom.”

“Of course not, dear. I wouldn’t think of it. But your friend Alyce can come, especially if she brings a dish. She’s a wonderful cook.”

“I’ll tell her the price of admission,” Josie said. “Mom, it’s almost seven. I need to pick up something at the store. Can you keep Amelia for an hour?”

“Of course.”

“Wait! There’s a knock at the front door. I’ll be right back.”

Josie peeked out and saw a meek little man holding a plain white envelope. He sported a dyed black comb-over and a white down jacket that made him look like a snowman. The guy seemed harmless. She opened the door and said, “Yes?”

“Josie Marcus?” the man asked.

“That’s me.”

He handed her the envelope. “Consider yourself served.” He said it so fast it sounded like one word. He ran off.

Served? She was being sued? Who would do that?

Josie opened the envelope with shaking fingers and read through the legalese. She was supposed to appear in civil court on February 19. Josie and Suttin Services, her mystery shopping company, were being sued by Doreen for damages to her business, Naughty or Nice. Doreen wanted five hundred thousand dollars for Josie’s inaccurate, libelous, and biased report.

“Over my dead body,” Josie screamed. She’d better call Harry.

She found the phone dangling from its cord in the kitchen. “Josie?” her mother said. “What’s wrong?”

“Doreen is suing me for my mystery-shopper report.”

“Can she do that?” Jane asked.

“She can and she did. Will she get anywhere? I doubt it. I had Alyce for a witness and I’ve kept the cake slice with the cockroach. I have to call Harry, Mom. Then I’ll leave for my errand and be right back. I promise.”

Josie hung up on her mother and called Harry. Her awful boss sounded disgustingly cheerful. “Oh, yeah, the lawsuit. I wouldn’t worry about it, Josie. She can’t win. Our lawyers will handle it.”

And if they can’t, I’m out of work, Josie thought. Which would suit you fine. “Harry, I have a witness,” she said. “And I have the gingerbread cake with the roach in it.”

“Save it for the lawyers, Josie. See you in court.”

“Wait, Harry. Is there any work for me?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea under the circumstances,” he said. “But don’t worry. It will all be over in February—one way or the other. Merry Christmas.”

He hung up.

Merry Christmas, indeed, she thought. How am I going to pay the bills when I’m out of work for almost two months? Well, it won’t do any good to stand in the kitchen and fume. Josie threw on her coat again and ran for her car. One crisis at a time, she told herself.

It was six thirty when she arrived at the Naughty or Nice shop lot. The store was locked and dark. There was no sign of Doreen’s ancient VW Bug. The picketers were gone.