Dying in Style (26 page)

Harry had given her Triple D as a punishment. It would seem that way now without Alyce giggling and making silly comments.

Alyce regarded Triple D as another country, and in a way she was right. It was the kingdom of the poor and the hopeless, a foreign country to Alyce and Josie. In rural areas, Triple D customers were sharecroppers and dirt farmers who barely scratched a living from the land. In the cities, the store was the province of the newest unskilled immigrants.

At the Triple D she had to shop today, Josie heard every language from Russian to Spanish—everything but English.

In truth, there was nothing funny about the stores. Triple D survived on slavery. Its cut-price goods were made by Third World slaves. Its cash registers were run by minimum-wage serfs. The dispirited staff moved through the murky light of the Triple D stores like strangers in a drug dream.

The only way to get waited on was to throw yourself in front of someone wearing a Triple D vest. Even then, there was a 50 percent chance the staffer would not speak English.

Josie wondered why Triple D bothered with mystery shoppers. She always gave the stores low ratings and nothing ever changed for the better.

This Triple D was in a run-down neighborhood on the city’s South Side. The area had once been the home of house-proud Germans who’d scrubbed their steps with Old Dutch cleanser and trimmed their lawns with manicure scissors. The newer immigrants, from war-torn Bosnia and Russia, had no interest in fanatic home care. Groups of dark men sat on their peeling front porches and glowered at strangers.

Josie parked in the Triple D lot and read the first question on the mystery-shopper survey form: Does the store present a pleasing aspect?

Squiggly gang graffiti decorated the redbrick walls. The dead bushes in the planters were infested with plastic bags. Josie picked her way past a full diaper steaming in the parking lot. She knew how to answer Question One.

Inside, the store was a welter of clashing carts, blaring announcements and Muzak. Something sticky had been spilled on the concrete floor, but shoppers walked through it, tracking pink liquid prints through the store.

Josie was supposed to ask the staff about the lightbulb special. She stopped the first employee, a woman so thin and sickly she looked like she’d escaped from a chemo ward. Her name tag said KARINA.

“Excuse me,” Josie said. “Can you tell me about the Triple D lightbulb special?”

“No. I know nothing.” The woman’s voice was from a newly opened tomb.

Josie didn’t have the heart to report this specter.

Gregor, the second employee, was a hugely cheerful man with bushy black hair and red lips.

“Lightbulbs!” he said, smiling happily and rubbing his hands. “Yes. We have lightbulbs for selling to you today. Go to the end of Aisle H, make a left and then a right.”

Josie followed his directions and wound up at a concrete wall with a bulletin board. YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS it said. Dingy business cards and homemade signs in several languages were tacked on it. Two flyers caught her eye. One was in the Cyrillic letters of the Russian alphabet, the other in English. Both had the same photo of a blond woman.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN? the flyer asked.

It was Marina—the woman Danessa claimed didn’t exist. The woman Josie swore had waited on her. The woman who nearly cost Josie her job.

The flyer had Marina’s description, too, and it was just the way Josie remembered her: “Six feet two inches tall, 175 pounds, blond hair, age 30. Missing since September 16.”

Josie knew that date. It was the night of Serge and Danessa’s murders. Serge. Danessa. Olga. Marina. How did they fit together?

The flyer’s next words made Josie feel good for the first time in a week: “Last seen at the Danessa store, Plaza Venetia.”

There it was: proof that Marina existed. Josie hadn’t made her up. Better yet, someone else was saying that Marina had been at Plaza Venetia. Josie had no idea what the Russian giant was doing there. The flyer didn’t say that Marina was a Danessa employee. But she was real. Now Josie had her picture and description.

She wanted to show that flyer to the police. She wished she could shove it under that lying Danessa’s nose. Well, she’d definitely show her meat-eating boss, Harry. She had her proof that Marina was a real person. He couldn’t take her job now. Unless she got arrested.

Who was looking for Marina, Josie wondered? The flyer had no name, only a phone number.

Josie slipped the flyer into her purse and sprinted for her car. She locked the door, then dialed the number on the flyer. A woman answered. Her voice was dry and cracked. She sounded old and a little confused.

“Hi, I’m calling about the missing woman, Marina. I wondered—”

“No spik English,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak your language, either. Can I call back when someone else is home?”

The woman hung up.

Someone wants Marina as much as I do, Josie thought. That’s why this flyer exists. She would keep calling that number.

Josie checked the time. It was twelve thirty. She had to take her mother to the counselor in half an hour. She hadn’t seen Jane since their confrontation yesterday. Josie wondered if still more Home Shopping Network boxes had arrived and where Jane put them.

When she pulled up in front of her house, Josie was surprised to see her mother standing on the front porch. Jane wore her pink pantsuit, but now it was spotless. Her hair still straggled, but she’d made an effort to style it. She had on gold earrings shaped like stars and a matching pin. Josie hadn’t seen them before. She wondered if the new jewelry was from the Home Shopping Network stash. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Jane yanked open the car door and plopped down heavily. She held her big black pocketbook on her lap like a shield. Her jaw was set in the bulldog position.

“I’ll go this once,” Jane said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“Fine, Mom. That’s all I ask.”

The counselor’s office was in a medical building next to the hospital. Jane and Josie entered a waiting room just big enough for two chairs and four
Smithsonian
magazines. Josie hoped the man wasn’t treating anyone for claustrophobia. Jane looked like she might jump out of the chair and bolt for the door. Josie paged through a
Smithsonian
magazine from 2000. Both women were afraid to say anything.

They heard the counselor’s office door open, and then the door to the waiting room. A tall, stooped man with thinning white hair and a long, pale face smiled at them. Josie was relieved to see his Roman collar. Jane could tell herself she was seeing a priest.

“I’m Father Fellows,” he said.

Jane stood up, squared her shoulders, and followed him into his office. Josie thought her mother’s straight back looked both brave and pathetic.

Josie was reading a
Smithsonian
magazine from 2001 when her cell phone rang. She wasn’t sure if the tiny waiting room was soundproofed, so she stepped into the hall.

“Josie, it’s me, Alyce.”

“Alyce!” Josie said. “How was your meeting?”

“We’re still debating whether to have surf and turf or stuffed chicken breast. I slipped out to the ladies’ room to give you a call. Bunny Zarris is here, and she gave me more gossip about Amy the Slut.”

Who? Josie started to say, and then remembered. She’d heard Alyce mention Bunny’s name before. She was one of the interchangeable little blondes who infested the subdivision. Bunny had two sons and a chirpy disposition. She was a joiner, a team player, a committeewoman.

“Bunny says Amy had a real hang-up about Serge.”

“She was in love with him?” Josie said.

“I don’t think that’s the right word. Amy has the emotional depth of paint,” Alyce said. “She’s slept with half the men in West County. But she’s always in charge. She starts it, she finishes it. She really gets off on the control. But Bunny says Serge broke off the relationship with Amy. She didn’t get to end it this time. He dropped her. That’s when Amy started stalking Serge.”

“How does Bunny know this?” Josie said.

“She overheard them at the country club. It was a few days after Danessa’s slapping session there, but this time it wasn’t so public. Serge apparently caught Amy spying on him and dragged her into the coatroom. Bunny heard the argument. She just happened to be passing by.”

Right, Josie thought. And she just happened to glue her ear to the door.

“Serge was vicious. He told Amy to stay away from him, it was over and he didn’t want to see her skinny ass again. Those were his words. Serge said Amy should go back to her husband, if she remembered which man he was.”

“Oooh. That was cruel,” Josie said.

“You bet. Serge was brutal. Amy wasn’t used to that. It would be easy for her to kill him. A spoonful of rat poison, and he’d be dead. She’d have no problem getting into his house.”

“Right,” Josie said. “Serge didn’t lock his doors. Amy told me that. She also said she had an airtight alibi.”

“But she doesn’t,” Alyce said. “She was at the Wood Winds Mothers Club meeting. It lasts until almost midnight, but the meeting breaks into subcommittees about seven o’clock. Nobody checks to see if all the committee members are in their sessions after that. Some women leave for a while to set out refreshments, get coffee or check their cell phones. Amy could have slipped in and out and no one would have noticed. Serge’s house is five minutes away.”

Josie was silent for a moment.

“Are you still there?” Alyce said.

“What about Danessa? Why would Amy kill her?”

“I don’t know, Josie,” Alyce said. “That’s all I know. I better get back before they choose something with goat cheese. One more thing. There’s a memorial service for Danessa and Serge tomorrow at the Chapel at Wood Winds. All the neighbors have been invited. We can bring a guest. Jake can’t make it. Would you like to go with me?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “I’d like that very much. And Alyce, thanks. This is really helpful.”

Now Alyce and Amy were even: They’d each accused the other of murder.

Amy had a good motive to kill Serge. She was the woman scorned. Josie suspected she’d been following Serge and had seen him with Kate. That must have been bitter for Amy. She’d been ditched for a woman Amy considered no match for her. Amy had raged at the mention of her rival’s name.

Amy might kill Serge. It would be easy, as she told Josie.

But would she kill Danessa, too? Maybe. Danessa had publicly humiliated her. The Wood Winds public, anyway. But what about Olga? Did she try to blackmail Amy? Could you blackmail the town pump? Only if Olga saw her drop an extra dose of rat poison in Serge’s drink. And if Olga let Serge swallow the rat poison, then she was as liable as Amy was.

Besides, Josie wasn’t sure anyone had killed Serge. There was a good chance he’d killed himself, thanks to his own cheapness.

Josie tried to solve the puzzle of Serge, Danessa and Olga. But she couldn’t make the pieces fit. Maybe the key was Marina, Serge’s sister—or lover—or sister-lover. Where was she? Why did she disappear? Would she inherit Serge’s fortune? Was she dead, too?

Then Josie had a brilliant thought. The idea was so bold it zapped through her brain like an electric shock. What if Amy killed Serge and someone else killed Danessa?

Who would have a better reason than Stephanie, the PR child, as Amy called her. Poor little Stephanie, with her owl glasses and oversized suits. She had to know an affair with a client’s boyfriend was a career wrecker. If Danessa found out, she’d blacklist Stephanie. But how was Josie going to get the young PR woman to admit she’d had an affair with Serge?

Josie thought she knew.

She called Stephanie’s office. Reichman-Brassard was the biggest firm in St. Louis. Stephanie was at her desk—but then she would be. It was one p.m. and minions at her level didn’t get long lunches. Stephanie answered her own phone, more proof that she was at the bottom.

“It’s Josie Marcus,” she said. “You remember me. Your late boss barged into the Suttin office and threatened to sue me. We need to talk. I’ll meet you at the bench by the fountain in front of your building. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be there. I know about you and Serge.”

There was a short, frantic silence, then a scared gulp. “What time?” a small voice said.

Guilty! Josie thought.

Chapter 26

“I don’t want to discuss it,” Josie’s mother said.

She marched out of the counselor’s office with her bulldog jaw at its most belligerent angle. Josie saw tear-stains on Jane’s face and a wad of tissues in one clenched fist.

Poor Mom, she thought. She must have had a rough first session.

“I’m entitled to my privacy,” Jane said, as she climbed into Josie’s car.

“Of course, Mom,” Josie said.

“And I’m perfectly capable of driving myself to my next visit.” Jane slammed her door.

Yes! Jane had another appointment with the counselor. Josie tried not to sound pleased. “If that’s what you want, Mom.”

“It’s exactly what I want,” Jane said. “What are you doing on Spoede Road?” She pronounced it “Spay-dee” in the St. Louis manner. “This isn’t the way home.”

“I have to pick up your granddaughter at school.”

“Well, don’t sit at that STOP sign all afternoon, or you’ll be late.”

“I’m not sitting, Mom. This is called stopping. It’s what you do when you see those red signs with the white letters.”

“You don’t have to get sarcastic, Josie. I don’t know why you park at STOP signs. You must get that from your father. You’re going to get rear-ended driving that way. Real St. Louisans don’t stop. They sort of slide on through at an intersection. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“You must have picked up a baby from Minneapolis at the hospital,” Josie said.

“I’m serious, Josie,” her mother said. “Look out! Watch that black car there. The driver is making a right turn, but he doesn’t have the signal on.”

“If he had his signal on, I’d know something was wrong,” Josie said. “St. Louisans don’t use that, either.”

Josie listened to her mother correct her driving all the way to the Barrington School and bit her lip to suppress a smile. Jane was seeing a counselor. She was going to be okay. Life was good.