An Uplifting Murder (11 page)

Laura did look older than her years, Josie thought, and not because of her weight. Laura’s shoulders were bowed under the burden of official suspicion. Her skin sagged from worry. Her weary eyes nested in dark circles.

“What’s happening with you and the police?” Josie asked.

“Nothing good. They stop by here every couple of hours. They’ve already told me not to leave town. My husband agrees with you. He says I need a lawyer. But we don’t know any good criminal lawyers.”

“I can help,” Josie said. “Alyce, my blond friend, is married to a lawyer. She’ll know a good one. I’ll call her.”

Josie stepped to a back corner and speed-dialed her friend on her cell phone. She watched Trish come out of the fitting room with a pile of rejected lace-free lingerie, then return with more selections. Trish was still smiling, so Josie hoped the bra fitting was going well.

She was relieved when Alyce answered her phone. “Jake always says if he needed a criminal lawyer, he’d go to Renzo Fischer. Renzo has offices in Clayton near the county courthouse. He’s good but expensive. Don’t be put off by Renzo’s flamboyant dress. A good trial lawyer is part actor.”

“Flamboyant how?” Josie asked. “Does he wear pink tights and feathers? Purple caftans? Sequins and stage makeup?”

“He has a white ten-gallon hat, a bolo tie, and cowboy boots,” Alyce said.

“That’s not flamboyant,” Josie said.

“Not in Texas,” Alyce said. “But it’s a bit much for downtown Clayton.”

Josie hung up and relayed the information to Laura.

“A Clayton lawyer. He’ll be expensive,” the store manager said, and sighed. “My husband has some money. We didn’t lose as much in the Great Recession as some people. Lang is a good broker. But I’d rather use my money for this. I inherited some property in St. Charles County from my grandmother. I’ll have to sell it, but at least I have something to sell. I’ll call Lang now.”

Josie backed away to give Laura privacy. She saw Trish come out again, another load of rejects dangling from her arms. Josie thought the saleswoman’s smile might be slipping. Trish hung the rejected bras back on the carousel and selected four more, then disappeared into the fitting room. Josie was starting to feel grateful she wasn’t involved.

Laura finished her call and said, “Lang says thanks. He’s heard of Renzo Fischer. He’ll call him now.”

Josie went back to the front counter to continue their chat. “If worse comes to worst and the police arrest you—” she began.

Laura winced.

“I hope it doesn’t happen,” Josie said quickly. “I know you’re innocent, but we need to know our enemy. What else can you tell me about Frankie?”

“Nothing,” Laura said. “I had no contact with her after she got me fired.”

“Did she go to nursing school?” Josie said.

“So far as I know, yes. But I never saw her again until she walked back into the store, and I’ve lost contact with the other teachers. Wait! One of my college friends is a nurse. She used to work at Holy Redeemer Hospital. Edith Terna has stayed my friend through all my troubles. She was my maid of honor when I married Lang. Edith and I have lunch or dinner about twice a month. Edith might know where Frankie was a nurse. Edith is no gossip, but she notices people. She’ll give you good information about Frankie.”

Laura pulled out her cell, checked the digital display, and started writing on a business card. “Here’s her number. Tell her I sent you. That’s my home phone number underneath. Thanks for helping, Josie. We haven’t seen each other in years. You don’t have to save me.”

“Hey, you were there when I needed help,” Josie said.

The fitting room curtain parted and Amelia came out, holding a bra over her head with both hands like a pro wrestler’s championship belt. “Tah-dah! We have a winner.”

Trish was smiling but slightly frazzled.

“The bra is green with hearts and skulls,” Josie said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“And no lace,” Amelia said, her smile growing wider. “It’s an Ed Hardy. I’m getting the matching panties with my own money.”

“That’s nice, honey,” Josie said. No advice in her child-rearing books had prepared her for this mother-daughter moment. Her baby was wearing hearts and skulls like a biker chick.

“Are you happy with your choices?” Josie asked.

“Definitely,” Amelia said.

“Let’s ring them up,” Laura said. She sensed this conversation could go south quickly.

Josie took out her wallet and Amelia pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill to cover the rest of the purchase.

“I’ll wrap your lingerie,” Trish said.

Could you call something decorated with skulls lingerie? Josie wondered. “Thanks for your help, Trish,” she said out loud.

“My pleasure,” Trish said. “I had a nice talk with Amelia.”

“Do you know Trish wants to go to the police academy?” Amelia said. “She’s going to be a cop just like—”

Venetia Park detectives Waxley and Yawney appeared at the shop door with two uniformed officers. Amelia saw the handsome Yawney, blushed, and shoved her bra back in the bag.

Both detectives looked grim as death.

“Laura Lavinia Ferguson,” Detective Yawney said.

Laura looked as hollow-eyed as one of Ed Hardy’s skulls. She nodded.

“We’re arresting you for the murder of Francine Angela Martin,” Yawney said.

Chapter 11

Somewhere in hell, Francine Angela Martin was laughing. Josie knew it. She could practically see her former classmate wearing her missing red dress and howling amid the flames.

Frankie had succeeded in disgracing Laura Ferguson. Her ex-teacher’s arrest was the lead local story in print and on radio and television. The TV stations showed the Desiree Lingerie manager being bundled into the back of a police car like a common criminal.

In a story headlined NEW TWIST IN FORMER-STUDENT MURDER, a reporter said, “Unnamed sources revealed Laura Ferguson left her teaching job under a cloud after she sexually harassed Frankie Angel.”

That was Frankie’s new nickname. She was nearly thirty, never was and never would be an angel—except in the media. Some even used her high school photo in the stories and called her a “former student.” All the news stories painted Laura Ferguson as a predatory closet lesbian seducing a sweet student.

The day after Laura’s arrest, Desiree Lingerie announced that Laura Ferguson was no longer in their employ. A company spokesperson formally apologized to their customers for hiring Laura. “This would have never happened if Mrs. Langley Ferguson had not concealed part of her previous employment history.”

TV stations endlessly replayed the grainy gray video of a lumpy figure in a print scarf and dark coat opening the Plaza Venetia restroom door. An “expert”—in what field was never clear—declared the “killer’s head scarf” was the same type as the one worn by Laura the day Frankie was murdered.

Josie thought the person in the video could have been Laura Ferguson. Or Josie’s next-door neighbor, Mrs. Mueller. Or any large, dowdy woman. She taped the video and decided she’d study it later.

With a sinking heart, Josie watched the morning-show news video of Laura arriving at her arraignment. Her ex-teacher looked defeated and guilty in her drab dress. Her lawyer, Renzo Fischer, strutted at Laura’s side, loudly proclaiming his client’s innocence. Even in high-heeled cowboy boots and a white Stetson, Renzo was shorter than Laura. He probably weighed less, too. Could this little clown save Laura?

Josie had her doubts. She said so to Alyce, when her friend called after the news report.

“Trust me, Josie, Renzo is the best,” Alyce said. “Short lawyers are tough. They have a lot to prove.”

“What if he fails?” Josie asked. “Missouri is a death penalty state. I have to save Laura.”

“Why?” Alyce said. “Because she used to be your gym teacher ages ago?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “She helped me when I needed it. The other teachers let Frankie and her friends do what they wanted. Those girls were bullies. Even teachers were afraid of Frankie.”

“For good reason,” Alyce said.

“Laura was the only adult who stepped in and helped me, and Frankie used that to ruin Laura’s career. So I do feel obligated. The police won’t investigate the case anymore now that Laura’s been arrested and charged. It’s up to me.”

“It’s up to Renzo,” Alyce said.

“Renzo can handle the legal side,” Josie said. “But we were there the day Frankie was killed. So were the two saleswomen, Trish and Rosa, Cody John Wayne, and that shy woman who stood in the doorway.”

“Don’t forget Kelsey in the wheelchair,” Alyce said.

“I’ll never forget her,” Josie said. “She’s the reason I found Frankie’s dead body.” She shivered at the memory.

“I realized last night that Jake has a connection with Frankie,” Alyce said.

“He does?”

“A business connection. A distant one. Her late brother, Charlie, was a client at Jake’s law firm. I met him at a firm party. He was as obnoxious as his sister. Charlie owned the big Mexican restaurant on Page Avenue, Fiesta San Luis.”

“Wasn’t there a fatal holdup there at Christmas?” Josie asked.

“That’s the one. Charlie was shot and killed. I’m not giving you privileged information. Charlie got drunk and told everyone at the party. He’d gotten in trouble several years ago for hiring illegals at his restaurant. After that, he used Jake’s firm to vet his new hires. The firm turned the information over to their in-house private eyes. They did the actual investigative work. Charlie bragged that it was still cheaper than the government fines.

“Charlie said that an older man—maybe in his seventies—tried to get hired at his restaurant. The man’s name was Hector Maria. Charlie thought it was hilarious that a man would have Maria as a middle name.”

“What a jerk,” Josie said.

“An ignorant jerk,” Alyce said. “Men in Italy, France, Spain, and other Catholic countries have Maria as part of their name. You know what Charlie’s middle name was? Darwin. Anyway, just a thought. And here’s another one: Remember the last time you meddled in a murder. Please, be careful.”

“You got yourself a really cute dog named Bruiser,” Josie said. “How is he?”

“Don’t change the subject, Josie Marcus,” Alyce said. “You were nearly killed. You have a daughter to consider.”

“I’m not doing anything dangerous,” Josie said. “I’m just going to talk to a good friend of Laura’s named Edith Terna. Laura said to call her if I needed more information about Frankie. Edith is a nurse. If anyone hurts me, I’ll have medical attention right next to me.”

“What if this Edith is the murderer?” Alyce asked.

“I doubt it. Anyway, I’m meeting her soon at Chris’ Pancake House on Southwest Avenue,” Josie said. “That restaurant is always packed. There will be a crowd to protect me. Gotta go.”

At ten thirty that morning, Chris’ breakfast crowd had dwindled to two gray-haired couples shoveling in pancakes and a table of six businessmen all talking at once. A sturdy waitress was refilling their coffee cups.

Sitting alone in a booth was a slender woman in her fifties. She smiled tentatively when Josie entered the restaurant, waved, and said, “Miss Marcus?”

Edith Terna inspired confidence, Josie thought. Her hair and nails were short and sensible. Her manner was brisk. Josie would want this woman at her bedside if she was in the hospital.

Josie ordered pancakes and drenched them in syrup. Edith had the fruit plate and coffee. “No grapefruit,” she told the waitress. “I take Zocor.”

Josie wolfed down her pancakes. Edith ate her fruit plate carefully, slicing each piece with surgically precise cuts. She finished her food, positioned her fork and knife at three o’clock on her plate, and said, “Now, what can we do to help Laura?”