Dying in Style (19 page)

“Marina called herself his sister, but I saw them kissing once, and I had my doubts,” Mrs. Perkins said. Again, she looked agreeably shocked. “If Marina was a sister, it was a strange relationship. She came around the house, but not often. Danessa barely tolerated her. They didn’t speak English around me.”

Josie was reeling. Serge had a possible incestuous relationship?

“Anything else I can tell you?” Mrs. Perkins said.

“That was quite enough,” Josie said. She wanted a shower.

“How about more tea and a little more tart?” Mrs. Perkins helped herself to another generous slice and more cream.

Josie’s last helping had disappeared, and she wasn’t sure how. “No, thank you. This was delicious.”

“Well, then.” Mrs. Perkins folded her hands. “Now you can help me. You know all the best places for bargains. You can tell me the best outlet malls.”

“Actually, outlet malls may not be the best places for bargains, “ Josie said. “In many cases, you’re not getting terrific discounts. You’re getting things made especially for the outlets. Ever hear of cutups?”

Mrs. Perkins shook her head no.

“The clothing makers take last year’s fabric and make it into this year’s styles,” Josie said. “Some outlet-mall clothes have things wrong with them. I bought a gorgeous white designer suit at an outlet mall. When I got it home, I saw that the lining had been patched. Because the jacket was white, the patch showed. I couldn’t wear it.”

“You don’t say,” Mrs. Perkins said.

“I do,” Josie said. “Do you have any store credit cards?”

“Never use them,” Mrs. Perkins said.

“Many stores will give you ten percent off the day you open a new charge account with them. Just remember to pay your whole bill when it arrives. The interest rates will kill you.”

Mrs. Perkins nodded solemnly, as if she was receiving the word on two stone tablets.

“You may get better buys at department stores and big clothing chains than the outlets. Many department stores start discounting their merchandise after two months or so. Some of the big clothing chains start sooner, at one month. The first markdown is usually twenty to thirty percent. If you’re hard to fit—”

“I am an ample woman,” Mrs. Perkins said.

“Then you’ll want to take the first discount. If you like to gamble, wait another month. The clothes will be marked half off. The third markdown, often two to three weeks later, is a whopping seventy percent, but by then you have little choice.”

“That is extraordinary. I’d never guess.” Mrs. Perkins looked pleased. “Do you get to mystery-shop the department stores?”

“Oh, yes,” Josie said. “Also boutiques, discount stores, restaurants, casinos and tourist attractions. I shop the big apartment complexes to make sure they are rented properly.”

“My word.” Mrs. Perkins lowered her voice again. “Now, will you tell me what you make?”

“I will, but that’s my deepest secret.” Josie took a deep breath and told.

Mrs. Perkins looked shocked. “That’s all you make—for all that work? For tramping to the ends of the earth? That’s terrible. I may as well stick to housekeeping, though it’s hard on my knees. I can name my price as a housekeeper. But not if they know I’ve been talking to you.”

Josie held up the cream pitcher. “I solemnly swear on this mother’s milk that I will never reveal your secrets if you will never reveal mine.”

Mrs. Perkins patted the fat pitcher and said, “Amen.”

Chapter 18

“You swore on a pitcher of whole cream?” Alyce said.

“Hey, a cow is a mother, too,” Josie said.

Alyce began making gasping sounds, then pulled the SUV over to the side of the road.

“Are you okay?” Josie said, alarmed.

“No, I’m laughing so hard I’m going to run us into a ditch.” Alyce’s face was red and tears ran down her cheeks.

“It’s not that funny,” Josie said. “None of it is. This is serious business. I flunked that lie detector test, remember? The cops are after me.”

Alyce wiped her eyes and tried to wipe the smile off her face. “Okay, then, let’s go about this in an organized way. I’ll be chair of the Save Josie Committee. We can hold our first meeting on Highway 40, while I drive you back to your house. What’s our agenda?”

“To find out who killed Danessa,” Josie said. “It’s the only way to get the cops off my back. If terrorists murdered her, we’re out of luck. But I don’t think so. Serge and Danessa’s deaths seem too personal and too fitting.”

“What do you mean?” Alyce said. “What’s fitting about poisoning and strangling?”

“Danessa acted like a snake with her employees and died by a snakeskin belt,” Josie said. “Serge was a rat with women and died a rodent’s death. I could see terrorists blowing him up, feeding him a cyanide capsule, or machine-gunning him. But rat poison and strangling are personal. If you ask me, one of his lovers offed him.”

“Hmm. Did Mrs. Perkins tell you who those are?” Alyce said as she eased the powerful SUV in front of a semi and put her foot down on the gas. The furious truck driver blasted his air horn and speeded up. Josie saw the grill in Alyce’s rearview mirror.

“Yes, but I’m sworn to secrecy.” Josie wondered if the secret would die with her, right on Highway 40.

“Then let me guess. We start with Amy the Slut,” Alyce said. She smoothly outdistanced the truck.

“Do you really think Amy is a killer?” Josie wasn’t surprised that Alyce had correctly guessed the name. Not with Amy’s reputation.

“Normally, I’d say she’s too lazy,” Alyce said. “If Amy can’t buy a killer in Neiman’s Christmas catalog, she doesn’t want one. But Danessa really humiliated her in front of our crowd. Besides, she slept with Serge and she knows all the gossip. We need to start with her. We could have a girl-talk lunch.”

“Would she talk in front of me?” Josie said. “She hardly knows me.”

“Honey, with the news stories about the murder, she’ll probably take out a billboard,” Alyce said. “Amy loves to brag about her conquests.”

“Is Amy married?”

“Of course, she’s married,” Alyce said.

“Where’s her husband?” Josie said. “Doesn’t he care about her affairs?”

Alyce shrugged. “He may get other things out of the marriage.”

“Did he marry Amy for her money?”

Alyce laughed. “Amy’s family lost their money years ago. There are rumors her husband is still in the closet. Happens a lot in the old families. The son has to marry and produce an heir, no matter what his inclinations, if he wants to inherit the family millions. The wife gets his money and social position.

“Amy had done her duty. She has a little boy in the first grade. The family name is secure. Now she can amuse herself in one of three ways: religion, alcohol, or affairs. I haven’t seen Amy in church in some time.”

For the first time, Josie felt sorry for Amy the Slut.

“Have I shocked you?” Alyce said.

“I think so,” Josie said.

“Good,” Alyce said. “You usually make me feel like the naive one. People with money have too much at stake to worry about a little infidelity.”

Josie wondered if her friend was talking about Amy or her own husband. Josie had caught hints that Jake might have strayed while Alyce was pregnant. And now there was the nanny. Well, that was Alyce’s business. If and when she wanted to talk about it, Josie would listen.

“I’ll set up a lunch with Amy,” Alyce said. “What else do you want to do?”

“Can we talk to Olga again?” Josie said.

“The Danessa saleswoman? Why?”

“I’m convinced she lied. She’s hiding something.”

“She’s from Russia,” Alyce said. “She’s probably terrified of the immigration authorities. Do you think she’ll tell you anything?”

“She might. If I offered her money. I have two hundred dollars stashed away. I know that’s nothing for you, Alyce, but if someone is making minimum wage, it’s a week’s pay. I’ve looked up Olga’s address on the Internet. She lives in South St. Louis. We can talk to her at home. I called the store and found out tomorrow is her day off.”

“Did she agree to see you?”

“Of course not,” Josie said. “I want to surprise her at home. Nine o’clock is pretty early on a day off. We’ll get her in her robe and bunny slippers.”

Alyce shrugged. “I think it’s a waste, but have it your way. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty tomorrow. When’s D-Day?”

Josie looked puzzled.

“Date Day. When is your date with Stan the man?”

Josie groaned. “Don’t remind me. It’s Thursday night. Thanks to my mother, my love life has hit a new low.”

“What about that hot guy at Has Beans?”

“Definitely a spark there,” Josie said, “but we can’t get anything going. Every time we start a serious conversation, he has to make coffee.”

“Then ask him out for a drink.”

“Me?” Josie said. Her voice was a squeak.

“Of course you. What do you think this is, 1950?”

“I wish it was,” Josie said. “Rules were simpler when Mom was young. Women just waited by the telephone for the right guy to call.”

“I doubt that,” Alyce said. “Women have always gone after the men they wanted. You’re too young to be sitting home alone, or going on dates with duds. Promise me you’ll give that coffeehouse hottie a call.”

“Well—” Josie said.

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?”

Josie heard the threat in Alyce’s voice. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said. “In fact, why don’t you drop me off at Has Beans now and I’ll walk home? I can use the exercise after two apple tarts.”

“Good girl,” Alyce said.

The worst Josh can say is no, Josie told herself. It won’t kill me.

But it would hurt, a little voice whispered.

Josie squared her shoulders, opened the door to the shop and was hit with the smell of strong coffee.

Her heart gave a little leap. Damn, Josh looked good. Long, lean body, good shoulders, tight ass. She liked the way he moved—swift, sure, economical. This man didn’t dither.

“Josie!” he said, and smiled a crooked grin. His right eyebrow went up. Josie was a sucker for moving eyebrows.

“Hi,” she said.

“You haven’t been in for two days. Everything okay?”

He noticed, she thought.

“Not exactly,” she said.

“Let me fix you some coffee and we can talk,” he said. “At least until the next thirsty horde arrives. Sit down.”

Josie sat down on the hard, lumpy couch, happy to be waited on by a handsome man. Josh brought over a double espresso and two chocolate-chip biscotti. Josie took a delicate nibble, then polished off both biscotti.

There was only one customer in the store, a skinny guy in a jeans jacket sitting at the computer.

“So tell me what happened,” Josh said, and Josie did, beginning with the lie detector test.

When she finished, he said, “You’re okay, Josie. They’re playing head games. That’s all it was. The police don’t really think you’re guilty, or you’d be in jail. Sounds like you’ve got a good lawyer.”

“The best,” Josie said. That I can afford right now, she thought, mentally crossing her fingers.

“So who do you think offed St. Louis’s royal couple?” Josh said.

“One of Serge’s jealous girlfriends. She’d have a good reason to kill Serge and Danessa both. But the FBI says he was selling nuclear weapons materials, something called osmium-187.”

Josh gave a braying laugh, and the skinny guy at the computer turned and stared.

“I heard that on the news and nearly fell over laughing,” Josh said.

“Did I say something funny?” Josie asked.

“Osmium-187 is an Internet legend. It’s a scam. I can’t believe that story is still around. Reporters are so lazy. They keep repeating this same news item about a smuggler being arrested for taking osmium-187 out of Russia. They say the stuff was worth major money. They never check that story. Everyone in the sci-fi world knows it’s bogus.”

“What do you mean?” Josie said.

Josh went back for more coffee and biscotti, while Josie waited impatiently. Finally he sat down beside her. “Osmium-187 isn’t used in nuclear weapons. It’s not radioactive. It’s absolutely harmless.

“Years ago, it was used in pen points and light filaments. If it was really half a million dollars a gram, you couldn’t afford a lightbulb. But there’s this story going around the Net that in 1993 some Moscow official was caught trying to smuggle out eight grams of osmium-187 worth five hundred thousand dollars. Here, I’ll show you. Give me a minute.”

Josh went back behind the counter and pressed a red button on the espresso machine. It gave a loud buzz. The skinny guy at the coffeehouse computer jumped.

Josh hurried over to him. “Excuse me,” Josh said. “That buzz was our in-house virus detector. We have a Sector 4 virus that could do major damage. I need to remove it immediately or the whole system will crash and infect everything, including your Hotmail account.”

“Uh, okay, sure. Thanks, dude.” The guy tossed his coffee cup in the trash and headed out the door.

“I didn’t mean to chase off a customer,” Josie said.

“He needed to go,” Josh said. “He’s been here since nine this morning, hogging that computer and sucking on one cup of coffee.”

Josh typed in “Osmium-187” and showed her a long list of stories, all debunking its nuclear capabilities.

“I don’t get it,” Josie said. “What does it mean?”

“Don’t you see?” Josh said. “If Serge was really selling osmium-187, then he was scamming someone. The easiest con game in the world right now is to say you’re a Russian pushing nuclear weapons materials from the old Soviet Union. People will believe you. They think everyone with a Russian accent made it out with two or three leaky old nuclear bombs in their luggage.

“There are guys selling bags of worthless rocks, claiming they have weapons-grade uranium. Others are selling osmium-187 to gullible warmongers.”

“Why do they fall for a scam that you can find on the Net?” Josie said.

“Why do people fall for the pigeon drop, the oldest scam in the world?” Josh said. He was cute when he was sincere. “Because they want an unbelievable deal. Serge was a smooth talker. He probably fed them some line and they bought it.”

“Serge’s housekeeper says the FBI and a bunch of other agencies were testing his house for radioactivity and didn’t find a thing. So either the tip that he was dealing nuclear weapons materials wasn’t true or he was passing off worthless osmium-187.”