Dying in Style (18 page)

“I’m surprised the PR woman didn’t step in and insist that the stores be closed for a few days,” Josie said.

“You mean Stephanie? She’s too young to have any power,” Alyce said. “I’d like to know what she’s doing in that job.”

Alyce’s blond hair and moss green dress floated on the cool fall air. A hint of gold glinted at her ears. She was a stately woman. How could her husband say she looked like a bumpkin? What was Jake really saying? You’ve gained weight after the baby and you’re no longer a hot babe?

“Hey, this was a good trip,” Josie said. “I’m happy with what we learned. There really is a Marina.”

“Those people had to be crazy,” Alyce said. “Marina, Danessa and Serge all yelling at one another and throwing things in the stockroom.”

As she got worked up, Alyce’s stroll turned into a quick, impatient stride. It was easy for her. She was wearing flats. Josie fought to keep up in her rich lady heels. Her pinched feet hurt.

“That’s retail,” Josie said. She felt like a terrier running alongside a car. “Especially the small family-owned stores. At least Danessa and Serge kept their fights confined to the back room. I’ve been in shops where the owners have screaming battles in front of the customers over what dress to display. I’ve seen partners literally faint from rage. Sometimes the staff calls in sick to avoid the family fights.

“If there were knockdown drag-outs going on in the back room at Danessa, I’d say it’s typical of a certain kind of retail operation—even restrained.”

“Amazing,” Alyce said. “Just when you think everyone is on Prozac.”

Josie climbed into the monster SUV and kicked off her needle-nosed shoes. Ahh. Comfort at last.

“Why didn’t you ask that saleswoman if she told the police Marina was Serge’s sister?” Alyce said as she backed out of the parking spot.

“I wanted to,” Josie said, “but it would have ruined my cover as a rich suburban lady. We’re not supposed to know about the police. I’ll tell Detective Yawney if he calls me again.”

“You can count on that,” Alyce said. “But what do you have? The first name—Barbara—of a woman who doesn’t work for Danessa anymore. We don’t even know where her new job is.”

“The police are smart enough to track her down at the Galleria,” Josie said.

She leaned back on the pillow-soft headrest and felt suddenly exhausted. She had slept little last night. She’d lied to her mother and daughter yesterday, saying she’d signed a routine statement for the police. She suspected Jane didn’t believe her, and the shadows were back in Amelia’s eyes. Josie’s lies were like boulders on her back. She had to find a way to carry this burden or it would crush her.

Alyce’s cell phone rang. “Mrs. Donatelli!” Alyce said, and mouthed, “My housekeeper.

“She’ll see us? When? Now? Super. We can be there in ten minutes.

“Got her!” Alyce snapped the phone shut in triumph. “Mrs. Perkins, Danessa’s housekeeper, wants to talk with you right now. It’s eleven thirty. Is that okay?”

“It’s terrific.” Josie struggled to put aside her weariness. This was important.

“Mrs. Perkins will talk to you on one condition,” Alyce said. “She wants the lowdown on how to be a mystery shopper. I think she wants to quit the housekeeping business. Your meeting is secret and has to stay that way. She’ll tell you what you want to know if you’ll tell her all about your job.”

Josie groaned and looked down at her mall-tortured toes. “Is she in for a rude awakening.”

The SUV pulled into the long drive at Danessa’s. There was still yellow crime-scene tape and a police car guarding the main house. They took the side road back by the pool, as Mrs. Perkins had instructed. She lived in a rose-covered cottage that was bigger than Josie’s house.

Mrs. Perkins was a short, sturdy woman with blue-gray hair and smile crinkles. Josie was sure Sherlock Holmes’s Mrs. Hudson would look like her. Mrs. Perkins smelled of cinnamon and apples. She took Josie into a sunny yellow kitchen and sat her down at a blue table.

“I’ll just take a book and read by the pool, Mrs. Perkins,” Alyce said.

“Good idea, my dear. May I bring you some tea and an apple tart?”

“That will be lovely, thank you,” Alyce said.

“Cream or ice cream?”

“Neither, thank you, Mrs. Perkins. I’m on a diet.”

Mrs. Perkins clucked her disapproval. She was a born fusser and seemed to enjoy setting a pretty tray for Alyce with a Blue Willow cup and a generous slice of apple tart. She kept the teapot at her place and poured for Josie.

Mrs. Perkins took her tea and tart with heavy cream. Josie followed her example. At the first bite, Josie wondered how Danessa had stayed so slim. She’d be built as generously as Mrs. Perkins if she ate like this every day.

“I want the rules straight before we begin,” Mrs. Perkins said, with a look that must have terrified many a maid. “Everything I say stays here. You will not tell the police or your friend outside. I can’t have loose lips flapping.”

“I understand,” Josie said. “But the silence must be mutual. I can’t be giving away my trade secrets.”

Mrs. Perkins looked pleased with her bargain. “Precisely,” she said, with great satisfaction. “What do you want to know?”

“You had a chance to observe Danessa like no one else. The media painted her as the next Martha Stewart. Was she really a shrewd businesswoman?”

“Danessa couldn’t balance a checkbook,” Mrs. Perkins said, and took a hefty forkful of apple tart. “I know, because I saw her throw one across her office here when she couldn’t get the numbers right. The real money and the business know-how came from Serge. He was her silent partner.”

“Serge? Silent?” Josie said.

“You’d never guess it the way he talked to reporters. But he kept quiet when it was important. Danessa was the beautiful front for the business. He was the money and the brains.”

“Where did Serge get the money?” Josie said. “This apple tart is wonderful.” Josie was afraid her compliment would distract Mrs. Perkins, but she took it as her due.

“He came over from Russia with tons of it. At least, that’s my understanding.”

“Do you think he was smuggling nuclear materials?” Josie said.

Mrs. Perkins looked indignant. “I never saw anything of the kind. That’s what I told those government gentlemen. I would consider it my patriotic duty to tell them if I saw foreign spies sneaking around here. I wouldn’t put up with it for a minute.”

Josie thought she’d feel a lot safer if Mrs. Perkins was working for the CIA.

“The FBI hasn’t found anything,” Mrs. Perkins said. “All those men in moon suits haven’t either, though they tore up the house and yard something terrible. I don’t know how I’m going to get it back in order.”

Josie wanted to make sure she understood. “They didn’t find any radioactivity?”

“Not a trace,” Mrs. Perkins said. “They had government agencies I’ve never heard of running around with things I’ve never seen before.”

Interesting. Josie had her first juicy bit of information.

“How did Danessa and Serge get along?” she said.

“Like cats and dogs,” Mrs. Perkins said. “Both had tempers. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they killed each other. They fought all the time. I used to look at those newspaper photos of them gazing into each other’s eyes and laugh. Their romance was all for show. But I’ll say this—their fights never left this house.”

Except when they took them to work, Josie thought.

“What did they fight about?”

“He used to switch to Russian when he thought I was around,” Mrs. Perkins said. “But there were plenty of times when he didn’t know I was there. Serge was pressuring Danessa to marry him. He was having problems staying in this country and he needed an American wife. Danessa didn’t want to marry him. Serge was afraid he’d be deported.”

“Surely he wouldn’t have a problem finding an American woman to marry him,” Josie said. “Serge was handsome, famous and rich.”

“Immigration does not look kindly on marriages of convenience.” Mrs. Perkins poured more tea and dished out another helping of apple tart. Josie didn’t want to stop her talking, so she let it stay on her plate.

“Serge thought Danessa owed him marriage after the millions he poured into her stores,” Mrs. Perkins said. “She might have gone through with it. But then she caught him in bed with a neighbor lady.”

“Amy?” Josie said. “Or Kate?”

“Both,” the housekeeper said.

Josie spilled the sugar. She figured Amy the Slut would do almost anything, but she didn’t see Saint Kate going in for threesomes.

Mrs. Perkins laughed. “Oh, not both at once, but both in the same week. There were other women, but he snuck around with those two the most. Danessa had almost forgiven Serge for Amy, because, well, everybody sleeps with Amy. But then she caught him with Kate.”

Mrs. Perkins seemed to be enjoying her delicious scandal. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were red. She leaned in over the tea things and lowered her voice. “Kate’s husband is a surgeon at St. Helen’s Hospital. He leaves at four thirty every morning. Serge would be in Kate’s bed by five. Danessa slept right through his absences. She was a sound sleeper and they didn’t share the same bed. Serge had Amy in the afternoon when Danessa was at the stores.

“Danessa caught Serge with Amy first. He swore it was over and he’d be faithful forever. Six days later, Danessa had a touch of the flu. She got up early one morning to use the bathroom and saw him sneaking across the yard to Kate’s.

“Danessa threw him out of the house, but he wormed his way back. She needed his money until this big Creshan deal went through. Then I think she wanted to dump him. She refused to marry him, even to save his immigration status.”

“Do you think Danessa poisoned him?” Josie said.

The housekeeper laughed. “She should have, but Serge took that rat poison himself. He needed a blood thinner, Coumadin, and he was too cheap to pay for it. His doctor said Serge was a candidate for stroke. Serge said the price of that medicine was what would give him a stroke. He thought American prescriptions were too high.”

“I remember when he said that,” Josie said. “My mother read it to me in the paper.”

“Coumadin is warfarin, the same ingredient in rat poison. That’s how the rats die. They bleed to death, you know.” Mrs. Perkins had the same delightfully shocked look as when she discussed Serge’s double infidelity.

“That’s how he died. He hit his head and bled to death. You won’t see that in the papers. I heard the FBI talking in this very kitchen. The poison killed him—but he bled to death on the living room floor. Just like the rats.” She nearly smacked her lips in satisfaction.

“Serge thought he’d save money, so he took rat poison,” Mrs. Perkins said. “He carefully calibrated his weight compared to that of a rat, and mixed the poison in his orange juice. When someone wanted to get rid of that big rat, Serge, she simply increased his dose. Easy. Simple. Safe.”

“Except for him,” Josie said. “He was a multimillionaire. Couldn’t he afford the medicine?”

“My dear, you have no idea how cheap the rich can be,” Mrs. Perkins said. “One of my past employers was going on vacation. He had half a ham in his icebox. He charged me for it. I’d worked for him fifteen years, and he made me pay seven dollars for a used ham. Serge was that kind of millionaire. He was killed by someone who knew his cheap habit and upped the dose.”

That made Danessa the chief suspect, except she was dead and the police weren’t acting like she’d killed her lover. Josie bet Danessa wasn’t the only woman who was mad at Serge, if he was hopping in and out of beds like a Russian rabbit.

“Who do you think killed Serge, if it wasn’t Danessa?”

“One of his women,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I didn’t tell the police that, because I may want to get another position in this area.”

“I understand. Who killed Danessa? Do you think it was the same person?”

“I do not.” Mrs. Perkins was emphatic. “They had enough enemies for two people. I think one of her employees murdered her. Danessa was mean. She made that hotel lady, Leona Helmsley, look like Employer of the Year. She knew better than to mess with me. Good housekeepers are too hard to find. But she’d take it out on the store staff. Danessa would show up at the shop and start ordering people around. She cut people’s pay and kept the stores short-staffed. She liked to brag about it. She didn’t care if a sales clerk quit. There was always another.

“When your mystery-shopper report came out, she went crazy. I thought it was her own fault. She didn’t hire a cleaning staff. She made her employees clean the store. It was a mistake. When the sales staff got busy, they didn’t have time to wipe down those Lucite stands, and they show every fingerprint. I could have told her that.

“Also, most of the staff didn’t know it, but they would be losing their health insurance when the new company took over. That was the one benefit they got working there, but Creshan never gave their employees insurance. Olga tumbled to that.”

“You mean the saleswoman at the Plaza Venetia store—small, dark, spiky hair?” Josie said.

“That’s her. She’s their top sales associate. She was a good friend, too. She spent the night here sometimes. Olga loved this house, maybe even more than Serge and Danessa.”

“Was Olga one of Serge’s lovers?” Josie asked.

“No.” Mrs. Perkins stopped to consider the idea. “I really think she was just a friend. Serge seemed to find her company restful for that reason.

“Olga called Danessa at home two days before she died. Olga was so mad, she was screaming and calling Danessa a bitch. That’s what she said to me, ‘Mrs. Perkins, is that lying bitch in?’ She threatened to punch Danessa. Olga has a heart condition. She needs her health insurance.”

“How do you know that?” Josie said.

“I accidentally left the phone off the hook after I fetched Danessa.”

Josie looked at Mrs. Perkins’s bland face. She was a sensational liar.

“I did tell the police about Olga,” Mrs. Perkins said. “It was my duty.”

Thank God, Josie thought. It was probably the only thing keeping me out of jail. Olga had a good reason for leaving my fingerprints on that blasted snakeskin belt.

“Did you know anyone called Marina—a tall blonde with a Russian accent?” Josie said. “Was she Serge’s sister?”