Dying in Style (25 page)

“It’s going to be all right, Mom. It really is. I have the name of a good—”

“Oh, no,” Jane said, as if warding off a blow. “No shrink.”

“He’s not a shrink. He’s a priest who counsels people.”

Josie almost said that Stan gave her the name, but she stopped. Jane would be humiliated if she realized Stan knew about her shopping mania.

“Mom, please call this counselor,” Josie said. “If shopping made you happy, I wouldn’t care. But you’re not happy. Promise me you’ll make an appointment.”

“I promise.” Jane dried her eyes and put on a too-cheerful smile. “Well,” she said. “That’s that. I appreciate what you’ve done, but you’re a busy woman, Josie. You run along and I’ll watch some TV—”

She’s going back to the Home Shopping Network, Josie thought.

“Oh, no. I’m not leaving until you make that appointment, Mom. I’m also driving you to the counseling session.”

“I won’t be a prisoner in my own home.” Jane stuck out her lower lip like Amelia.

“You’re already a prisoner. When’s the last time you went out with your friends, Mom? Your life revolves around the Home Shopping Network.”

“And waiting on you and your daughter,” Jane snapped.

“Mom, I know I can’t live without your help. That’s why I want you to make that call.”

Josie started cleaning the kitchen while Jane got on the phone. She hated spying on her mother, but she picked up the extension to make sure Jane got an appointment. An hour later, the dishes were done, the floor was mopped, the living room was dusted, and the soiled slipcovers bundled for a drop-off at the dry cleaner.

“Good-bye, Mom,” Josie said.

Jane’s only answer was an angry silence. At least she wasn’t watching the Home Shopping Network. Josie carried the stinking garbage out with her. She was exhausted, and it was only ten thirty in the morning.

Mom’s taken care of, Josie thought. Now all I have to do is solve Serge and Danessa’s murders. She gave a slightly hysterical laugh.

Josie wanted to research warfarin, the drug that killed Serge. She had a perfectly fine computer at home, but Josie didn’t want to hang around the house, in case her mother was looking for a fight.

Josie went to Has Beans to use the coffeehouse computer—and see Josh, too, if she was being honest. Last night’s date with Stan had been depressing. The high point had been their conversation about his mother’s medicine. The evening struggled along until nine thirty, when it finally died. Even Stan knew there wouldn’t be another date.

As he walked her to the front porch he’d said, “Josie, this hasn’t ruined anything between us, has it? You’ll still be my friend?”

“Always,” Josie said, and meant it.

Stan embraced her awkwardly. Josie could feel his wobbly breasts under his knit shirt. She pulled away and saw the hurt in his face. It stayed with her all night, haunting her dreams, along with the staggering stacks of Home Shopping Network boxes.

Her bad date with Stan was wiped away by the sight of Josh the next morning. He looked wickedly lean. No boobs on that boy, Josie thought. No old man’s pants, either. When he bent down to get the coffee filters, his khakis cupped his rump nicely.

“Josie! What can I do for you?” Josh said and smiled.

You’ve already done it, she thought.

“Double espresso,” she said. “A big fat brownie. And your computer.”

“It’s all yours. Sit down at the computer and I’ll bring the rest over.”

Josie typed in “warfarin” and looked for the symptoms of an overdose. They included fever and diarrhea. Yuck. Even a cheapskate like Serge would get himself to a doctor if he had those symptoms. Wait, what about these? “Unusual bruises or heavily bleeding wounds.” Didn’t Mrs. Perkins say he’d bled to death from a head wound because he’d had too much warfarin?

Serge should have had bruising on his body as he lost weight. Josie went through the newspaper archives online. In the photos Serge usually wore turtlenecks and had a full beard. There wasn’t enough skin visible to show any bruising.

Josie couldn’t get the autopsy report in an ongoing murder investigation. She was a suspect. Who else had seen Serge’s body?

Amy the Slut. She’d seen Serge’s body, all right. She’d had it in her bed for a thorough examination. She’d know if he’d showed heavy bruising. Josie would ask Amy.

Josie didn’t want to drag Alyce into this inquiry. Her friend had to live in Amy’s subdivision, and the suburban siren could be malicious. I’ll call her myself and keep Alyce out of this, Josie decided.

Has Beans actually had a phone directory with the pages intact. Amy was in the phonebook—but then, she would be, Josie thought. How else could the men find her?

She took a seat on the coffeehouse couch, which felt like it was stuffed with old basketballs, and called Amy.

Amy wasn’t home, but her housekeeper gave Josie her cell phone number. From the sounds when she answered, Amy was in her car and well on her way to being wasted.

“Josie,” she said. “This is a surprise. Is Alyce on the other line?”

“No, just me,” Josie said. “I had to ask you a personal question.”

“Oooh, those are the best kind,” Amy said. Her speech was slightly slurred.

“Did you notice that Serge had a lot of bruising on his, uh, his body?” Josie was grateful there were no other customers nearby.

“You mean the parts not usually on public view?” Amy said. “Come to think of it, he did have a lot of small bruises, even a couple of big ones, but I took that as a tribute to my expertise. Why do you want to know?”

A horn blared angrily in the background. Josie wondered if the drunken Amy had wandered into another lane.

“Because Serge dosed himself with rat poison,” Josie said.

“Sure did,” Amy said. “Every night at seven thirty. He even took it in his champagne, and I don’t think you’re supposed to mix it with alcohol. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Unusual bruising is one sign of a warfarin overdose,” Josie said. She didn’t say that she thought Serge had poisoned himself.

“Still investigating the murder with your trusty sidekick Alyce?” Amy said. Josie could hear the sneer.

“Of course. She’s been very helpful.”

“I bet,” Amy said. “It’s the best cover when the murderer is part of the investigation.”

“What do you mean?” Josie said hotly. “Do you think I murdered Serge?” She looked up and saw Josh staring at her. She waved and he smiled tentatively. Josie longed for an old-style phone booth.

“No, silly,” Amy said. “But your little friend Alyce had a good reason. She could tell you as much about Serge’s body as I can.”

Amy laughed nastily. “Oh, don’t look so shocked.”

“You can’t see me,” Josie said.

“I don’t have to,” Amy said. “I know exactly how a good little Maplewood girl would react. You’re so loyal.”

Amy’s contempt was like acid. “You don’t think a highflyer like Jake is faithful to Alyce the good frump?” she asked.

“Alyce is—” Josie said.

“Your best friend and you won’t hear a word against her,” Amy said in a singsong voice. “But she is a little dreary, even you must admit that. You don’t have to say it. But you are thinking it, aren’t you, Josie? Jake may complain about her clothes, but he wants Alyce to look that way. He’s an old-fashioned guy, with the Madonna and the whore syndrome. Alyce is Jake’s Madonna. Jake likes the perfect home and child, but a man needs his fun. I don’t feel too guilty when I’m with Jake because I know Alyce had her fun with Serge.”

Josie nearly dropped the phone. It can’t be true, she thought. Alyce would have told me if she had an affair with Serge. She’s my best friend. She tells me everything, including her problems with her husband. Josie wanted to hang up on Amy’s poison, but she couldn’t. She had to hear the rest.

“Serge and Alyce had a fling,” Amy said. “Didn’t you know that? Well, I guess she doesn’t tell you everything after all. I certainly don’t blame Alyce for jumping Serge’s bones. Jake was working hideous hours—at least that’s what he told wifey—and Serge came on to Alyce pretty strong at a party. I saw the whole thing. I guess Russians like strapping women. Good for working the collective farm and all that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Josie said coldly.

“To help you solve your murder.” There was another horn blast and Amy said, “Oopsy. You need a motive, darling. I’m giving you a big, juicy one. Serge romanced Alyce, then dumped her. She was furious. You don’t treat a woman like Alyce as if she’s some cheap tart. She killed him.”

“But—”

“Let me guess. You’re going to ask if Alyce knew that Serge took rat poison. Of course. All his women did. It would be so easy for any of us to increase the dose. Just another little spoonful, and it’s lights out. Knowing Alyce, she put it in a soufflé with special ingredients from Williams-Sonoma. And yes, she had access to his house. People in Wood Winds don’t lock their doors.”

“Alyce would never kill Serge,” Josie said. “That’s ridiculous.”

Was it? Josie wondered for a disloyal moment. Yes, it was. “Anyway,” she said, “why would she murder Danessa?”

“Because Danessa found out, silly.” Another blare of horns. “Drivers are so crabby today,” Amy said. “Alyce couldn’t risk a public scene with Danessa. Jake would dump her instantly. No more baby boy and custom kitchen.”

Josie’s head was spinning. This couldn’t be true. Alyce wasn’t like that. Then Josie remembered Alyce’s barb at their lunch. This was Amy’s revenge.

“Nice try, Amy,” Josie said. “But I’m not buying that story. You’re mad because Alyce mentioned your little encounter with Danessa. That bitch-slapping scene was better suited to a Festus trailer park than the Wood Winds country club.”

Josie decided it was time for a payback. “Besides, I heard Serge asked Kate to marry him.”

“That horse-faced simp?” Amy shouted. Josie heard the rage in her voice. Score one for the good girls, she thought. “Never. Serge would never marry her. Kate lives in a romance novel. She was a pity fuck, that’s all. She meant nothing to Serge.”

Suddenly horns blared again. There was a screech of brakes, then a loud silence.

“Amy?” Josie said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not good at staying on the straight and narrow. People get so upset.”

Josie wasn’t sure if Amy was talking about her driving or her life.

“Now, where were we?” Amy said, malice dripping like honey. “Oh, yes. Your little friend Alyce—except she’s not really so little, is she?”

“Enough,” Josie said.

“I admire loyalty,” Amy said. “Even misplaced loyalty. Well, all right, since you think I’m a biased bitch, I’ll give you another candidate to consider. The PR child. The one who followed Danessa around like a baby duckling. What was her name? Sandy? Stacy? Oh, yes, Stephanie. Such a long name for a little nothing. Why does Stephanie buy her suits two sizes too large? Does she think she’ll grow into them? Serge got her out of them fast enough. I gather it was fairly easy. What better way to have revenge on an evil boss than to screw her lover? I don’t blame the PR child. Danessa was her first major client at a big-deal public relations firm, and she had to be a horror show. Stephanie had so much more to lose than the rest of us. If she was discovered, Danessa would make sure that Stephanie never wrote another press release.”

Josie wouldn’t give Amy the satisfaction of saying that this scenario made sense.

“There. You have two to think about, but I still say Alyce is the best. Tell me this, Josie. Why did Alyce act as your lawyer? Detective Yawney told me she came running to the police station with a briefcase. Her husband’s, no doubt.”

“Alyce said there was a big lawyers’ conference,” Josie said. “She couldn’t find an attorney for me on short notice.”

“In Wood Winds? Sweetie, we grow them here like crabgrass.”

Amy’s long, loud laugh was drowned out by a hellish chorus of horns.

Chapter 25

“Amy said what!? I had an affair with Serge? I love it,” Alyce said.

“You do?” Josie said. Was there something wrong with her cell phone? She shook it.

Alyce was still talking when Josie put it back to her ear. “Oh, Josie, do you know how long it’s been since anyone thought I was anything but Justin’s mother? I’m so boring. Do you know why I can’t go mystery-shopping with you this afternoon? I’m on the wives’ dinner-dance committee at Jake’s law firm. We’re trying to decide if we should spring for chair covers for the hotel ballroom. How dull is that?”

“Doesn’t the firm have secretaries to do that?” Josie said.

“Secretaries are too important for that kind of work,” Alyce said. “Wives are not. Please, please say I’m a scarlet woman. Makes me feel like a hottie. Do you think someone will tell Jake?”

Her voice sounded sad and hopeful at the same time. Any lingering doubts Josie had about Alyce were gone. Only an innocent woman would act this way.

“What do you think of Stephanie, the PR woman?” Josie asked. “Could she be a killer?”

Josie was glad she’d moved to her car before she called Alyce. She sure couldn’t ask that question in Has Beans.

“You can talk to her if you want. But Josie, if Amy lied about me, she’ll lie about Stephanie, too. Amy’s whole life is one big falsehood.”

“But isn’t that what Stephanie does for a living?” Josie said. “She lies professionally. She was paid to make that nasty Danessa look good. Besides, Amy was right about Kate.”

“That’s the problem with drunks,” Alyce said. “They’re so unreliable. Gotta run. I’m so sorry I’m not going to Down and Dirty with you. Say hello to the fish sticks for me.”

You could buy anything from fish sticks to fake legs at Down and Dirty Discounts.

The artificial legs hung in rows from the ceiling, right next to the fake arms. The fish sticks were easy to find, too. You followed the stink. It overpowered the odors of motor oil, dust and hot popcorn.

Josie wished her friend was along on this assignment. “I think those fish sticks are older than I am,” Alyce would say when they entered a Triple D.

“Somebody must buy them, or they wouldn’t keep them in stock,” Josie would say.

Somebody bought the purple toilets and the bile-green bathtubs stacked in the parking lot. Somebody purchased the mustard-yellow paneling and the orange wallpaper. That never ceased to amaze Alyce, or Josie, for that matter.