Accessory to Murder (19 page)

“Mom, can we go in now?” Amelia said.

“You could have gone in anytime,” Josie said. Stan's hopeless romance was a live soap opera. Her nosy daughter would rather freeze than miss a single episode.

“Thank you again, Stan,” Josie said.

She left him on her sidewalk, staring at her front door. Josie felt sad. She should have invited him in, but that would only make Stan's unrequited love worse. She stepped over the mounds of magazines on the hall floor. They seemed to have grown.

“Mom?” Josie said. She heard the TV blaring in the living room. A big cardboard box squatted near the coffee table. Josie caught the faint odor of cigarette smoke. Jane had been hitting the cigs again. Josie decided to say nothing. She'd caused her mother enough worry today. If a cigarette made Jane feel better, let her have one.

Her mother was snoring openmouthed on the couch. Jane looked old and vulnerable, sprawled across the cushions. She woke when Josie turned down the TV.

“I didn't mean to fall asleep at eight o'clock,” Jane said. “Suddenly, I was so tired.”

“This has worn you out. Any more disasters?”

“You had two more deliveries,” Jane said. “I refused the first one, but the second box was left on the front porch while I was on the phone with the handyman. He says he'll have to repaint the old garage. He has to give me an estimate on that. The new porch railings are going to cost me more than a thousand dollars.”

Josie groaned. “I'm sorry, Mom.”

“It's not your fault,” Jane said.

But Josie thought it was. Saber's revenge was costing her mother far more than Josie.

“Look, Mom, I'll pay for the railings and the garage. It will take me a little time to come up with the money, but—”

“You'll do no such thing, Josie. This house is my responsibility. You take care of my granddaughter. That's your job. I should have had those things fixed years ago. I've been on borrowed time.”

Jane somehow managed to look defiant, sitting sleepily on the couch. Her mother was always prepared to fight, and she usually won.

“I'm afraid to ask,” Josie said. “But what was the other delivery?”

“It's right there by the door,” Jane said. “A case of California wine.”

“I'll keep it.”

“Josie! It's ninety dollars a case, plus the shipping.”

“Cheap at twice the price,” Josie said. “Where's the corkscrew?”

A pile driver pounded Josie's skull into her spine. Her stomach lurched and staggered like a seasick sailor. She managed to sit upright in the booth at the Majestic Cafe´. For that feat, Josie thought she deserved a Congressional Medal of Honor.

Alyce sat across from her. Even her friend's diet breakfast of black coffee, dry toast, and a poached egg made Josie queasy.

The Majestic was a Central West End fixture, a dark warren of rooms and booths where the servers knew everybody and everything. Alyce wore the red wig Josie had given her. The vibrant color hurt Josie's eyes this morning.

“Here,” Josie said, “have a bottle of wine.” Strange how that dignified bottle had caused such roiling havoc in her gut.

Alyce read the label. “‘Topolos Vineyards. Sonoma County. Alicante Bouschet.' I'm impressed. This is first-class wine.”

“It gave me a first-class hangover,” Josie said. The room seemed to be swaying. A private earthquake rumbled in her head. Lined up in front of her was breakfast: a cup of black coffee, a glass of water, three aspirin, and a bottle of Maalox.

“How much did you drink?”

“The whole bottle,” Josie said. “Mom didn't want any.”

“Oh, Josie,” Alyce said. “Don't you want some breakfast?”

Josie's stomach and all the nearby precincts rebelled. “No, I'll have more coffee and another aspirin.”

“Are you sure you want to mystery-shop Chunk-A-Chickens after we see Evelyn?” Alyce said. “I don't think you should go there when you feel so bad.”

Josie fought back a bilious belch. “Why waste a good day on Chunk-A-Chicken?”

“Maybe you should go home and rest.” Alyce opened her poached egg with a fork, and the runny yellow inside spread across the toast. Josie's stomach shivered. She tried not to look.

“I need the money,” Josie said. “Besides, if I went home, I wouldn't rest. I'd be dealing with more fallout from the festival of orders.”

“Has everything been returned, except the wine?” Alyce said.

“Yep, we did that last night. Mom was a big help. I couldn't have done it without her. It was pure torture sending some of those things back, especially the cashmere sweaters and UGG boots. My winter boots are so old, the black polish doesn't cover the salt stains anymore.

“I hated returning that new flat-screen computer, too. And Amelia really wanted the iPod. Whoever did this knew how to torment me twice: first, with all the cancellation calls, then with all the things I can't have.”

“Somebody really wanted to get you,” Alyce said.

“It has to be Saber or her uncle Harry.”

“Harry already got you,” Alyce said. “He's giving you every wretched assignment he can dream up. I don't think Saber would do this. It's too much work. She's lazy. You saw how she draped herself along that counter. She hates to move. She'd have to log major time on the phone to pull this off.”

“Who else could it be?” Josie said. “I haven't given any other stores bad reports lately.”

“I think it has to do with our investigation,” Alyce said. “Someone is trying to stop you.”

“Couldn't they just slash my tires?” Josie said. “This mess will take weeks to straighten out, even if I don't get any more deliveries.”

“That's what they want. To keep you tied up so you can't help me.”

“What help?” Josie said. “The only thing I've found out so far is I can't drink a whole bottle of wine.”

“You're making people nervous, or they wouldn't do this.”

“How did they get my credit-card numbers?” Josie said.

“There's all sorts of ways to steal credit-card information, Josie.”

“All three cards?”

“They can hack into your computer. They can pull your statements out of your trash.”

“I tear them up,” Josie said.

“In how many pieces?”

“Two. Or four.”

“Too easy to piece together,” Alyce said. “Look, Josie, I don't know how it was done, but someone got your credit cards. Someone wants to stop you.”

“Well, they're not going to,” Josie said. “This makes me angry.” She swallowed the last aspirin, took another swig of Maalox, and gulped her coffee. Her head was throbbing and her gut was lurching.

“It's quarter to ten,” Alyce said. “We might as well walk to Evelyn's. It's just around the corner.”

“Better check the meter first,” Josie said. “They ticket like crazy around here.”

Alyce stashed her wine in the back of Josie's car. Josie dutifully fed the meter, and they started walking toward Evelyn's apartment. Soggy dead leaves blew across the sidewalk, and a sharp wind rattled the tree branches. Josie felt better in the cold air.

Evelyn lived on the edge of the West End, where it slid from beautiful to blighted. His Beaux Arts building must have been fashionable once. Now the bricks were covered with a century of grime and the trim needed paint. The art-glass door was missing a pane. The hole was covered with taped cardboard.

“Nice repair job,” Alyce said.

“The brown cardboard doesn't clash with the red and yellow glass,” Josie said.

The dingy lobby was littered with newspapers and junk mail. The marble tile was gray with dirt.

“Evelyn is on the second floor,” Josie said.

“I don't trust that elevator,” Alyce said. “Let's take the steps.”

Climbing the stairs helped clear Josie's head. A hand-lettered sign tacked over the bell by Evelyn's door said, “Please knock.”

Josie did. Evelyn didn't answer. She pounded on the door until her head hurt. Still no answer.

“Are you sure you had the right time?” Alyce said.

“Positive,” Josie said. “I wouldn't forget that.”

Alyce tried the ornate brass handle. “It's open. He must want us to come in.”

“Maybe we'd better call the police,” Josie said, pulling out her cell phone. “I don't like this.”

“Why? We never lock our doors at Wood Winds,” Alyce said.

“And look where it got you,” Josie said. She instantly regretted her outburst. Alyce looked like she'd been slapped.

“I'm sorry, Alyce. But most people do lock their doors, especially in this neighborhood.” Josie pulled her gloves off and wiped down the doorknob with them. “At least, wear your gloves if we go inside.” She put her gloves back on.

“You're being ridiculous,” Alyce said. “Hangovers make you paranoid.”

“Shh,” Josie said. “Evelyn will hear us.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You're the one who said I shouldn't see a murderer alone.”

“You don't really believe Evelyn is a killer, do you?” Alyce said.

“I think he has good reasons to murder Halley,” Josie said. “But he won't hurt us. He wants your money. From the look of this place, he needs it.”

Alyce quit arguing and put on her gloves.

“Evelyn,” Josie called as she opened the door.

No answer.

“Maybe he went to get coffee,” Alyce said. “I'm glad you made me wear gloves. This place is so dirty, I don't want to touch anything.”

The dark, narrow hall was nearly blocked by a spindly table littered with bills. Josie parted the pile with a gloved finger. The rent, electric and phone bills were past due.

Black socks were drying on a tilted lampshade. Alyce wrinkled her nose at the yellowing underwear piled in a corner, and delicately stepped over the thin, rucked-up rug.

“Has this apartment been ransacked?” Alyce said.

“I can't tell,” Josie said. “He could just be a sloppy housekeeper.”

Evelyn used his living room for a studio. Near the majestic bow window was a clutter of brushes and paint tubes. Impatient, discarded sketches littered the floor. A half-finished oil sat on an easel. More canvases were stacked against the wall. Josie thought the paintings were the work of a depressed man. Dark gray, charcoal black, and dirt brown were applied in angry, slashing strokes.

Alyce opened another door. “Ick,” she said. “Have you seen the mold on his shower curtain?”

Josie surveyed the dark speckles and black streaks. “Looks like one of his paintings,” she said. “Maybe it's his inspiration.” She started giggling. So did Alyce.

“We've saved his bedroom for last,” Alyce said. “I'm sure it's the highlight of the tour.”

“If he's in there, we're going to be really embarrassed,” Josie said.

She stood outside the closed bedroom door and called, “Evelyn!”

“Maybe we should just leave,” Alyce said. “He's not here.”

“No, I have to see where Halley conducted her torrid affair,” Josie said.

“How could she stand it?” Alyce asked. “How could she stand him? This is so grubby.”

“People will put up with worse than this for the kind of success Halley had,” Josie said. “Besides, the bedroom door might be closed for a good reason. The living room is his work space. The bedroom could be the fantasy he created for his lovers. What do you bet? Black satin sheets? Fake-fur bedspread? Mirror on the ceiling?”

“Please,” Alyce said. “You're painting pictures I'd rather not see.”

“They can't be any worse than Evelyn's,” Josie said.

“Oh, yes, they can,” Alyce said. She seemed suddenly anxious and uneasy.

Josie was enjoying herself. Her hangover had vanished in the burst of adrenaline. She got a tingle from walking through Evelyn's apartment when he wasn't there. She had to see more.

“Josie, let's go,” Alyce said. “Evelyn isn't here. He's not going to help Jake. You were right. He's a con artist.”

“In that case, he'd try to talk you out of that fifty thousand dollars. He was drunk last night. I bet he's passed out on his bed with a bad case of wine flu. Either that or he went out for some hair of the dog. He probably left a note somewhere in this chaos, maybe on his refrigerator. We haven't seen the kitchen, either.”

“OK,” Alyce said. “A quick look around the bedroom and the kitchen and we're out of here. Promise?”

“Promise,” Josie said. She knocked on the bedroom door and called again, “Evelyn!”

No answer.

“Here goes,” Josie said, and opened the door. A torn shade blocked most of the light. It took a moment to adjust to the dim room.

“I can't imagine Halley here,” Alyce whispered. “This is beyond sordid.”

“It's not that bad,” Josie said. “It looks like a college crash pad.”

Now Josie could see a fat ginger-jar lamp squatting on a chipped brown table. On the floor was a mattress and box spring piled with limp sheets and dirty laundry. Blooming in the center, like a flower on a trash heap, was a Halley-blue scarf.

“This place stinks,” Alyce said. “He could at least air it out. Why does it smell like old diapers? Isn't he a bachelor?”

“He was,” Josie said. She approached the bed cautiously. The pleasant tingle had escalated into sharp stabs of fear.

“He got married?” Alyce stayed in the doorway. She would not enter the bedroom.

“He got dead,” Josie said. “That's not a pile of old clothes. That's Evelyn.”