Dying in Style (21 page)

“No, I cannot giff you my name. I giff you her name instead, Olga Rachmaninoff. Unit Seven. I am afraid for her. She vas a young lady livink alone. I knock and I knock and she does not answer. She vas supposed to be there for me. You vill check it out, yes?”

Josie hung up.

“How did I sound?”

“Like Natasha in those old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons,” Alyce said.

Josie started laughing. Then she remembered the boarded-up door in that sad little apartment house. The police would have to break down another one. They would set loose a horde of blood-fed flies. They would find that small white hand, clutching at eternity.

That’s when Josie started to cry.

Chapter 20

Josie cried all the way back to Maplewood.

“Josie, please, stop,” Alyce said. “I know it has to be upsetting to find a body, but you didn’t know this woman. You only talked to Olga twice. You didn’t like her. You said she was a liar.”

“I know,” Josie said, sniffling into a wad of tissues.

“Then why are you crying?” Alyce said.

“It’s the hand,” Josie said.

“What hand?” Alyce said.

“Her hand.” Josie saw Olga’s small helpless hand reaching for the comfort she would never find. She started crying again.

“Would you like to stop for coffee at Has Beans?” Alyce said in her “mother has a treat for you” voice.

Josie stopped weeping long enough to say, “Oh, God, no. Josh can’t see me like this.”

Alyce took in Josie’s red nose, puffy eyes, and dirt-streaked clothes. “You’re right. Let’s get you home. Listen, Josie, once you’re inside, throw those clothes in the wash. You never know if the police can find traces of the crime scene on your jeans or shoes.”

“You’ve got a real knack for this,” Josie said, and attempted a smile.

Alyce didn’t laugh.

Josie looked at her friend. Her creamy skin was paler than usual. Her white-blond hair hung in strings around her neck. Alyce has shared dozens of shopping adventures with me, Josie thought. But this one wasn’t amusing. Alyce was not meant to find dead bodies and make phone calls at thug-ridden convenience stores. She lived in a beautifully controlled environment. Even her problems could be controlled by lawyers, doctors and well-paid servants. I belong to a wilder world Alyce has always found attractive—until today. She may be my faithful friend, but she still looks relieved to be dumping me off at my house.

“Are you going to be okay?” Alyce said. “Do you want me to come in with you? You don’t have to go to work today, do you?”

“I’m fine,” Josie said. “I don’t start shopping Down and Dirty Discounts until tomorrow. Want to go with me?”

“Uh, sorry, I’m busy tomorrow,” Alyce said, a little too quickly. “Are you going to get some rest today?”

“I’m more worried about you, Alyce,” Josie said.

“You think this was too much for the sheltered little suburbanite?” Alyce said.

“I don’t think anyone should have to find a dead body before lunch.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Alyce said. “And I want to help you. I’ll call Amy the Slut and set up that lunch as soon as I can.”

Josie gave her friend a hug, waved good-bye and started up the sidewalk. After Olga’s dingy little apartment, her home looked like a palace. She saw Mrs. Mueller’s curtains move, and waved to her, too. For once, she didn’t mind Mrs. Mueller. If Olga had had a Mrs. Mueller on her street she might still be alive.

Once inside, Josie heard her mother’s TV blaring. An announcer urged, “You have twenty minutes left to buy this. . . .” Jane had the Home Shopping Network on again. Josie slipped into her apartment and dead-bolted the front door. Her mother didn’t have that key.

Josie ran to the basement, stripped off her tennis shoes and clothes and dumped everything in the washing machine. She added soap and bleach and waited for the machine to start chugging.

Upstairs again, she took a long, hot shower and washed her hair. Josie only cried once, when she remembered the surreal moment when Olga’s hair flew away.

Josie wrapped her wet hair in a towel, put on clean clothes and ran back downstairs. Her wash was done, damp and quiet in the machine. She poured in more soap and bleach, then washed her clothes and shoes a second time. She was taking no chances.

Back in her kitchen, Josie was surprised to see it was only eleven o’clock. She made coffee and fixed herself toast. She couldn’t put strawberry jam on the toast after the dark red spatters she’d seen at Olga’s. She couldn’t get the dry toast down, either. It was like swallowing wallboard. Josie decided she wasn’t hungry.

The hot coffee gave her strength. She took a sip, loaded it with sugar, then sat at the kitchen table and thought about the dead Danessa and Olga. She didn’t like either woman, but now she was tied to them forever.

A week ago, Danessa had been a remote figure in the newspapers. Now she threatened everyone Josie loved. A week ago, she’d never heard of Olga. Now the little saleswoman would haunt her dreams until Josie died.

How had Josie’s life gotten so out of control? She was supposed to have her own house and husband in the Estates at Wood Winds.

It had started with a pitcher of margaritas more than a decade ago.

Josie was twenty-one, a junior in college. She was working on her degree in marketing, but she was really in college to meet the man of her mother’s dreams. Jane wanted Josie to get married, live in the best burbs and join the country club.

“It’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one,” her mother had said.

Josie never stopped to think if that was the life she wanted. She had loved a rich man, but she didn’t love the way he’d made his money.

“You need to marry a good provider,” her mother had said again and again. He’d provided adventure and excitement. No man had ever made Josie feel that way again.

She was still staring at her cold, sugary coffee when the phone rang.

“Josie, it’s Alyce. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Josie said and realized she probably was.

“Can you meet me at the Woman’s Exchange? Amy says the only time she can have lunch with us is today.”

Josie nearly choked. “You’re meeting her in a tea room? They don’t even serve wine. And they do good works.”

“That’s why I want to go there,” Alyce said. “It may be the only way to keep her in line. Amy can be a trial. Are you up for it?”

“Sure.”

“Good. See you in half an hour.”

Josie threw on another Rich Suburban Lady outfit, the camel pants with a beige twinset. She felt like she was auditioning for the role of June Cleaver. She considered a string of pearls but decided she’d toned herself down enough.

Josie never knew what it was about the Woman’s Exchange that set her off. Something about its politely hushed perfection made her feel like an interloper. The staff was considerate. Their special salad and lemon meringue pie were delicious. But when she walked through the door, her hem fell out, her stockings ran, buttons popped off her clothes, and JOSIE FROM MAPLEWOOD flashed in neon on her forehead.

For Alyce, the Woman’s Exchange was a second home. Today, standing beside her cool blond friend, Josie thought she could almost pass as one of them. Besides, Amy was such a scandal, no one would notice Josie in her boring beige. She wanted it that way.

Amy sauntered in beside Alyce, wearing a black dress that was too short, too tight and way too stylish for that crowd. Disapproving eyebrows went up like flags. Alyce seemed older and slower as she settled herself at the table. Josie had to admit that next to the hormonal Amy, her friend did look like a frump.

Amy dropped into her chair and ordered a double martini. Her voice was just a shade too loud, and Josie guessed it wasn’t her first drink.

“I’m sorry,” the soft-voiced waitress said. “But we don’t serve alcohol.”

“Shit,” Amy said. “I was afraid of this. I’ll have a lemonade.”

When her lemonade arrived, Amy took a deep drink, then slipped a slim silver flask from her purse and topped off her glass with a generous dollop of a clear liquid. Vodka, Josie guessed.

After a good-sized gulp, Amy was eager to give too much information about Serge, including the fact that the deceased was “hung like a Clydesdale” and loved it “doggy style.”

Josie could hear forks dropping all over the room. She wondered if any of these conversations ever got back to Amy’s husband.

“Serge was quite the hound,” Amy said. She took a deep drink of her doctored lemonade and smirked. “I think he had half the women in our subdivision.”

“It could be a motive for his death. Did you tell the police?” Alyce asked.

“Of course. I had a long”—she drew out that word so even the dimmest diner knew what she meant—“and thorough interrogation by Officer Friendly. Detective Yawney is one of the city’s finest.” Amy winked.

Josie was fascinated. She didn’t know any women who bragged about their affairs like boys in a locker room. Alyce was right. Amy would proclaim her fling with Serge on a billboard.

“Wasn’t Detective Yawney’s partner at the interview?” Alyce asked. Josie let her friend ask most of the questions. This was her world and she knew how to talk to Amy.

“The first time,” Amy said. “But Yawney gave me his card and said to call him if I thought of anything else. I thought of a lot of things.”

Another wicked wink.

“You slept with him?” Josie knew she sounded hopelessly middle-class.

“No sleeping went on in that bed.” Amy touched her pointed chin with a French-manicured fingernail.

“You’re a suspect in a murder case,” Josie said.

“I had an ironclad alibi,” Amy said. She ran her hands through her long silky hair with actressy gestures. She was the star of her own little play. “I was at the Wood Winds Mothers Club meeting doing good works.” Amy’s tone was mocking. “We were planning the charity winter gala. It went on until eleven that night—long after Serge and Danessa were both dead.”

“Did you know any of Serge’s other lovers?” Josie said. She was trying to keep her promise to Mrs. Perkins and hint around about Kate at the same time. “Were there any surprises?”

“Well, well. I didn’t think anyone but me knew that Saint Kate had fallen off her pedestal.” Amy delighted in Kate’s supposed sin. She did have enough grace to drop her voice so that no one at the nearby tables could hear.

Alyce nearly spilled her iced tea. She definitely didn’t know about Kate.

Amy threw back the rest of her lemonade and said, “Saint Kate thought she was better than the rest of us. But she tumbled into bed when Serge crooked his little finger. That was a dangerous game for her. Serge knew I was only interested in recreational sex. I think it’s good for the complexion. But poor Kate took it seriously. She convinced herself she loved Serge. Women like that always do. It makes them feel moral when they’re cheating on their husbands. And Kate was cheating on Dr. Big-time I-Don’t-Believe-in-Abortion-or-Divorce Catholic. Personally, I think he made those statements because he works at a Catholic hospital. They’re bound to help his career. The two sets of twins won’t hurt, either.”

Amy crossed her legs, revealing even more thigh, and waved the server over for another lemonade. “Kate cried buckets when Serge died. You’d think she was the widow.”

The malicious gleam in her eye wasn’t entirely due to the booze. Amy hated Kate. Could the golden, glamorous Amy be jealous of homely, lank-haired Kate?

Amy’s drink arrived. She took a long gulp, then poured in a healthy slug from the flask. The woman drank like a sailor on leave. So far, Josie didn’t see the signs in her face, but she wondered how long before booze blossoms ruined her delicate skin.

“You know Kate’s house went up for sale right after Serge died?” Amy said. “I mean the next day. Kate and her husband will take a big loss. You can’t sell a place when the feds are crawling all over claiming this subdivision glows in the dark. And if you’ve ever been in Kate’s house, it’s going to take a special buyer. Not many medieval monks can afford ten-bedroom mansions.”

Alyce laughed. Josie, who hadn’t seen the inside of Kate’s house, didn’t get the joke.

“Anyway, I do have one bit of news for you lady sleuths.” Amy drained her new drink and ordered another. She was drawing the moment out, making her audience wait.

The delay made Josie crazy. She drummed the tabletop. Alyce tore a muffin apart and piled the shreds into a pyramid on her bread plate.

The new lemonade arrived. Amy slowly sipped it down, then carefully unscrewed the cap on her flask, and topped off her drink. At last, she finished. Amy delicately wiped her lips, took a healthy swig and said, “I saw Kate burying something by her FOR SALE sign in the front yard the night after Serge died. I think she was crying. It was after midnight. The FBI and the moon suits had all gone home.

“I watched her dig for a while with a garden spade. Then she buried something. I don’t know what it was, but it was small and wrapped in a blanket.”

Chapter 21

Something small wrapped in a blanket.

Amy’s words gave Josie the shivers. “Do you think it was a baby?” Josie pushed her salad aside. She felt too heartsick to eat any more.

“I don’t know what it was,” Amy said, sipping her lemonade and gleefully observing the havoc her bombshell had caused. “It was a moonless night. But it was the right size. I know Saint Kate couldn’t get it taken care of early on. Not in St. Louis. This city is a big small town. Someone would tell her loving husband.”

Josie saw the scene. A baby, born dead or worse—murdered at birth—buried on a moonless night. Kate wept lonely tears as she lowered her nameless child into an unmarked grave. The baby had outlived his father by only one day.

“It’s horrible,” Alyce said, and finished her iced tea in one gulp.

Amy shrugged. “What’s a mother to do?” she said. “Saint Kate was trapped. Her husband could chase nurses all over the hospital and he’d be a stud. She wasn’t so lucky. Apparently she couldn’t pass that baby off as her husband’s. They’d been on the outs for some time. We aren’t as broad-minded as we like to think we are. Suburban society will permit a girl like me to have a little fun”—she licked her lemonade glass salaciously—“but they have different expectations for good girls like Kate. She’d be branded with a big scarlet A.”