Accessory to Murder (15 page)

The garage was covered in blood. Dripping gore was splashed across the front and ran down the pink pavers.

“What happened? Is someone dead?”

Then Josie realized the red was too bright, the color too uniform. It wasn't blood. It was red paint.

Someone had spray-painted
KILLER
on the garage doors.

“Red paint is a bitch to clean off mullioned windows.” Josie scratched at the thick, lumpy glass with her finger-nail. She peeled off a long strip of red paint, and it landed on her shoe.

Alyce giggled. She was so tipsy, anything—or nothing—was funny. Giggly drunks were a scandal in Wood Winds. Two days ago, Alyce would have been shocked if one of her neighbors had been spiflicated in her driveway at noon. For Alyce herself to be in that condition was unthinkable.

Now it didn't make any difference. She was a killer's wife. She could do as she pleased. Alyce was beyond scandal.

Alyce and Josie defiantly scrubbed away the
KILLER
splashed across the garage doors. Red paint had bled onto the mullioned windows and dripped on the pinkish pavers.

It had taken Josie nearly an hour and a bottle of wine to get Alyce back out to the garage. After they'd recovered from the first shock of that red word sprayed across the garage, Josie had helped Alyce into the house. Her friend had moved like a sick old woman. Josie half carried her into the kitchen, and sat her down at the granite island.

“Thank God Justin has a playdate at Hannah's house,” Alyce said. “He and Mrs. Palm, the nanny, won't be home for another three hours.”

“Alyce, I'm glad the baby is safe. But this is vandalism,” Josie said. “We have to call the police.”

“No,” Alyce said. “The reporters will find out and we'll have more bad publicity. Besides, the police will never figure out who did it.”

“Where the heck is your refrigerator?” Josie said, looking around the oak-paneled kitchen. No door handles or knobs gave away the location.

“Next to the sink,” Alyce said. “Third panel.”

Josie never understood why anyone would hide a refrigerator in a kitchen. It belonged in there. But then she couldn't figure out the herb mill, either. She rummaged through the fridge and found a bottle of pinot grigio.

“Where did you hide the wine opener?” she said.

“Wait,” Alyce said. “That wine is for Jake's dinner party next week. It's fifty dollars a bottle.”

“You need it more than he does,” Josie said. “Cheap wine gives you a bad hangover.”

“There isn't going to be any dinner party, is there?” Alyce said. She sounded dazed. “The opener is in the drawer on the left with the wine coasters and bottle stoppers.”

“Don't worry, we won't need a stopper. There won't be any leftover wine.” Josie filled a water glass with the pale gold wine and set it in front of Alyce. “Drink.”

Alyce drank, while Josie abused her friend's faithless neighbors. Alyce made excuses for them between sips.

“Renata comes from another time,” Alyce said. “She looks at life differently than we do.”

“Humph,” Josie said, and realized she sounded like Renata. “What's Betty's excuse? She's young and gutless. Hey, maybe we could make that into a soap opera—
The Young and the Gutless
.”

Alyce didn't laugh. Josie felt like a court jester trying to please a bored queen. “Keep drinking,” she said to Alyce.

Alyce took another sip. Josie downed a healthy swig. Expensive wine went down easier than cheap stuff.

Alyce was staring off into space.

“Drink,” Josie said.

Alyce was halfway through the tall glass of wine when Josie said, “I know why Renata Upton Livermore has that gargoyle over her door. It's her portrait.”

Alyce started giggling. Then she laughed out loud. “To hell with the whole bunch,” she said. “I don't need them. Let's clean that paint off right now.”

“Do you really want to go out there?” Josie said. “Maybe you should hire someone to do it.”

“No,” Alyce said. “I haven't done anything wrong. I want the whole neighborhood to see me. Come on, Josie. We'll put on some old clothes and go to work.”

They piled on layers of ragged T-shirts, old flannel work shirts, thick wool socks, and butt-sprung coveralls to keep warm. Josie rooted in her car for a pair of old tennis shoes. Alyce dug some disreputable sneakers out of her closet.

“We look like bums,” Josie said. “We are definitely lowering property values.”

“Good,” Alyce said. The giggly wine drunk was wearing off. Now she was angry and mildly hungover.

They found two scrub brushes in the hall closet, along with cleaning supplies and a big plastic bucket, and marched outside to confront the awful red word.

Vigorous scrubbing was a good way to work out their anger. Hot fury protected them from the cold wind. Soon they'd worked up a sweat. The spray paint came off the pinkish pavers with scrub brushes, cleanser, and elbow grease. Windex, soft scrubbers, and fingernails removed it from the glass.

“Oh, Josie, look at your nails,” Alyce said. “They look like you've manicured them with pinking shears.”

“They'll grow back,” Josie said.

The hardest task was getting the gore off the white garage doors. After nearly an hour of scrubbing, Josie said, “It's mostly gone, but I can still see the faint outline.”

“Maybe we can paint over it,” Alyce said. “We have matching paint in the basement.”

They spread out a drop cloth on the freshly cleaned pavers and set out their paint cans, trays, and brushes. Josie liked the strong, clean scent of the paint.

“Thanks for helping me,” Alyce said. “I didn't want Jake to see this when he comes home. He has enough to deal with.”

Josie thought Jake should see what he'd done to Alyce. If he'd been her husband, she'd paint the garage with a big scarlet
A
.

“Is he coming home?” she asked. “Does your lawyer think he'll get bail? This case has had a lot of publicity.”

“Andy has high hopes and we have an ace in the hole. The judge is a golfing buddy of the senior partner at Jake's law firm.”

“Won't the judge have to recuse himself?”

“In St. Louis? Those good old boys stick together. At worst, Jake may have to wear a thingie around his ankle, like Martha Stewart. But Andy is pretty sure Jake will be released on bail.”

“When's the arraignment?”

“Tomorrow morning. Please don't come, Josie. I'll be fine. I need to be there and play supportive spouse.”

“You
are
a supportive spouse.” And a better wife than Jake deserves, Josie thought.

After that, the only sound was the whistling wind and the soft shush of their brushes as they painted the garage doors.

Wood Winds was unnaturally quiet. No SUVs cruised by. The Mercedes station wagons, Jaguar sedans, and Lexuses stayed in their driveways. No one walked a dog or ran behind a sports stroller. Josie thought she saw curtains twitch and miniblinds quiver, but she was never sure.

Eeriest of all was the streetwide response to the mail. In any neighborhood, rich or poor, people came out to get their mail. At twelve twenty, a letter carrier drove down the street, stopping and stuffing each ornamental mailbox with envelopes and catalogs. The letter carrier waved and smiled at Alyce and Josie, then turned the corner. No neighbors came out for their mail. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Their doors stayed shut.

“I feel like we're the survivors of some weird disaster,” Josie said. “You subdivision is never this quiet.”

“They don't want to come out and have to see me. Let's stay out here all day,” Alyce said. “They'll go stir crazy.”

They painted the garage doors three times, until Josie was nearly snow-blinded by the white paint. After the third coat, Josie stood back and took an appraising look.

“I can't see any red paint, Alyce,” she said.

Alyce followed her down the drive, then pointed at the door. “There,” she said. “I can still make out the letters. See the
K
, the
I,
and the two
L
s?”

The letters were gone, buried under a blizzard of white paint. But Josie knew Alyce would always see the hated red word. The accusation was burned into her brain.

“Let's paint the doors one more time,” Josie said. “Then we'll go inside. I'm cold. I need to warm up with some coffee. The wind has shifted and I have more paint on me than the doors.”

They finished the last coat in silence. The subdivision's unnatural quiet was getting to both of them. Nothing moved. No doors opened. No one dared to come outside, pick up the mail, and wave to Alyce.

My friend is a pariah, Josie thought. This is so unfair. Alyce is so kind and generous. How dare these twerps turn on her?

“You know the worst part?” Alyce said, as if she'd heard Josie's thoughts. “This attack had to be done by one of my neighbors.”

“Kids do stupid things,” Josie said.

“The kids are at school,” Alyce said. “An adult did this.”

All morning long, Josie had paced and fretted and made a zillion calls to Alyce's cell phone. In between, she cleaned house, hoping to burn off her frustration.

Alyce had her phone turned off. That meant she was either in court or with Jake's attorney. Josie kept speed-dialing every fifteen minutes. She had to know how the arraignment turned out.

She found out at noon, when she turned on the news. The TV cameras showed Jake entering the courtroom. Josie thought he looked arrogant, emotionless, and guilty. Alyce looked like she was going to her own execution. She was pale and determined, her head at a proud angle. She wore a dowdy, high-collared black dress.

Josie wondered if the dress was deliberate. Alyce had to look like a good wife and mother, not a voluptuous woman. She also wondered if Jake's lawyer was sending a sly message: “See why her husband stepped out, folks? He didn't kill anybody, but can you blame him for his affair?”

How could Alyce endure the intrusive publicity? How could Jake expose her to such public shame? Josie called and called, hoping her friend would say she was surviving. No, that she was mad as hell.

At least the news cheered Josie. Jake was free on bond.

Alyce was in her own personal prison, suffering the subtle tortures only suburbia could inflict.

Alyce finally turned her phone back on at two o'clock. She answered with a small, mouselike, “Hello.”

“How are you?” Josie asked.

“OK.” Alyce sounded like she'd been beaten.

“What's the matter?” Josie asked, then wondered if there was an award for Dumbest Question of the Year.

“I feel like a Mafia wife,” Alyce said. “I was on TV at the arraignment.”

“Only for twenty seconds,” Josie said.

“The whole city saw it,” Alyce said. “Now everyone stares at me, but no one says anything. After I took Jake home, I went to the supermarket. My neighbors cut me dead. I've known them for years. I've been in their houses. I've watched their children. I've gone to their parents' funerals. Today, they ignored me.

“I was in bulk foods when Anne came by, pushing her cart. She looked through me like I was a window. Betty turned her back on me in produce. Jessica locked her car doors when I passed her in the parking lot.”

“That bitch,” Josie said.

“That's not the worst,” Alyce said. “Hannah's mother canceled her playdates with Justin. My baby is an outcast. I don't care what they do to me, but how can they hurt my innocent child?”

“You don't want your son associating with people like that,” Josie said.

“He's too young to understand why he can't play with Hannah anymore. How could I live in Wood Winds as long as I did and not know these people?”

“Has everyone turned on you?” Josie asked.

“No, Joanie's been by twice, bringing deli trays,” Alyce said. “She left enough food to feed a high school football team, but she didn't stay. She doesn't seem to know what to say. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I don't know what to say to her.”

“Food is Joanie's way of showing she cares,” Josie said.

“It's a big help,” Alyce said. “The more she brings, the less I have to brave the supermarket.”

“See?” Josie said. “Joanie doesn't talk much, but she knows what to say.”

“Linda was here, too. Linda Dattilo. She was Halley's best friend—but Linda came by to say hello. The conversation was awkward, but at least she tried to talk to me.”

“Did she mention the garage doors?” Josie asked.

“No. Neither did Joanie. They both acted as if the incident never happened.”

“Maybe they don't know,” Josie said.

“Everyone in Wood Winds knows,” Alyce said. “Besides, Linda would have heard about it at the meeting.”

“What meeting?” Josie said.

“Linda told me there was a secret meeting of the homeowners' association. They want to buy our house,” Alyce said. Her voice trembled with shame and shock.

“Under the Wood Winds association rules, they can do that if we are criminals and unfit to live here. Mrs. Livermore wanted to throw us out now, but the lawyers for the association said the homeowners would have to wait until Jake was convicted. Then they can press for a buyout.”

“Those bastards.” Josie grew more foulmouthed as Alyce's troubles worsened. “I'd sell your house to a drug dealer right now.”

“We can't sell,” Alyce said. “We put up our house when we made bail. I don't think Jake will lose this case, but our lawyer warned us that juries are unpredictable.”

Andy Cole was preparing them, Josie thought.

“What's Jake say?” Josie asked.

“I haven't bothered him with it. I didn't tell him what happened at the supermarket, either. He has enough to worry about. Josie, if Jake is convicted, we'll be homeless.”

Josie started to say, “You could live with me,” but she looked around her kitchen. The old white fridge and the chipped porcelain sink would depress Alyce. Josie didn't even own a decent set of steak knives.

“Alyce, you shouldn't be alone now.”

“I'm not alone. I have Jake.”

Fat lot of good he is, Josie thought. “I'm sure he's exhausted,” Josie said. “I'm on my way over.”

“Who'll pick up Amelia at school?” Alyce asked.

“Mom,” Josie said. “After I went out with her dream date, Granby, I can do no wrong. What can I bring?”

“Just some milk. I thought I had enough for Justin, but Jake's drinking it, too.”

“Better than booze,” Josie said. It was the only good thing she could say about Alyce's husband right now.

The evergreens at Wood Winds were precisely barbered. The lawns were raked and ready for winter. The mulch around the spindly trees was mounded to perfection. The homes gleamed with fresh paint. Especially the new paint on Alyce's garage doors.

Josie hauled several grocery bags into Alyce's kitchen. “Milk, wine, and chocolate,” she said. “Emergency supplies.”

“No wine for me,” Alyce said. “I had enough yesterday. I'll make us coffee. But I'm definitely ready for chocolate. What do we have here?”

She pulled the gold-foil box out of the bag. “Ohmigod. Bissinger's. The dark-chocolate assortment. Did you ever have their chocolate-covered blackberries? Good thing they're only available for a few weeks around Labor Day, or I'd weigh four hundred pounds.”

“I ate myself into a stupor once on the chocolate-covered raspberries,” Josie said. “I'm not kidding. I had a whole pound and practically passed out in ecstasy.”

Amelia's father, Nate, bought them for me, she thought. My life was filled with little luxuries then. Chocolate-covered raspberries, champagne, scented candles, silk sheets. And a man who loved me.

“St. Louis chocolate is the best,” Alyce said. “Too bad Bissinger's isn't well-known outside the city.”

“That's good,” Josie said. “Leaves more for us.”

She studied the rows of chocolate in the box. Josie hated crème centers. If she had a darning needle, she'd try a discreet probe on the underside, but she only did that at home when Amelia wasn't around. She was pretty sure the square one was caramel.

“How's Jake?” Josie bit into the square chocolate. Yum. She'd guessed right.

“Taking a nap. He didn't sleep well in jail. Justin's curled up next to his daddy. He missed him.”

Alyce picked her chocolate with equal care. “A crème center. I love those.”

Did you miss Jake? Josie wanted to ask. But she didn't have the nerve. Instead, she sipped Alyce's hot coffee and studied her friend. The dark shadows under her eyes looked like bruises. Her hair was more flyaway than floaty. She had a big red pimple on her nose.

Alyce and Josie both politely picked through the chocolate box, searching for the right one. They both got what they wanted: another crème for Alyce and a caramel for Josie. If only we were as good at picking men, Josie thought.

“We need to get our investigation going again,” Alyce said, between neat bites.

Josie didn't think it had ever started. But maybe it would distract Alyce. It couldn't hurt to talk to people.

“We won't get anywhere in this subdivision,” Josie said. “But there are a couple of ways we can go. We can look for Ramsey, the great American novelist.” She found a truffle in the box.

“Why should we talk to him?” Alyce ate the bear claw.

“He knew Halley when she was restless, before she got famous. Maybe she did something desperate then that led to her murder.”

“You mean like hook up with Evelyn the artist?” Alyce said.

“Exactly. We should talk to him, too. Then there's Halley's husband, Cliff. I still think he could have killed her.”

“Shouldn't the police be doing this?” Alyce said.

“They should, but they aren't,” Josie said. “Jake is their chosen bad guy. They can't say, ‘Oops, we screwed up again. It's really the husband.' They're going to do everything they can to prove Jake was the killer.

“There's one more potential suspect: Granby Hicks.”

“The lawyer? Are you kidding?” Alyce said.

“Do you know how gleeful he was when the homicide detectives talked to Jake? He practically did a happy dance in Tony's. He thinks he'll be the next partner if Jake is out. Granby wants that partnership so bad he'd sell his soul on eBay.” Josie found another square chocolate. It had to be more caramel.

“Let me get this straight,” Alyce said. “You think Granby murdered Halley to ruin Jake's career.”

“Yes,” Josie said. “The carjacking was designed to frame Jake. Granby used his inside knowledge about Jake's”—Josie put on the brakes before she said “affair”—“dealings with Halley.”

Alyce carefully chose an almond toffee. “Josie, I've never had a good word to say about Granby, but that's crazy.”

“You didn't see Granby's face when he talked about Jake's downfall,” Josie said. “He's eaten with ambition and envy. Does Granby know where you live?”

“Of course,” Alyce said. “He's been here on business often.”

“When was the last time?”

“Three days before Halley died. He had to talk to Jake about a client. I think he brought some papers, too. What's that got to do with anything?”

“He had access to Jake's unlocked car. He could have taken the gun when he was here.”

“I don't think so, Josie. Even if it's true, how are you going to prove it?”

“I'm going to do some computer snooping,” Josie said.

“We don't have a computer,” Alyce said. “The cops took it, remember?”

“I can do a search at home,” Josie said. “I've already made another date with Granby.”

Alyce shuddered. “I'd take the veil before I went out with him. If you really think he's a killer, you don't want to be alone with him. Josie, don't do that for me.”

“I'm doing it for me,” Josie said. “I want our old life back. You're too notorious to go mystery-shopping with until this cools off.”

Suddenly, Alyce looked infinitely weary. “Do you think I'll ever have a normal life again?” she said.

“You will. I promise. I'll do everything I can to make it happen.” Josie looked at the gold box, piled with empty frilled cups. So far all she'd done was help Alyce eat chocolates.

“We can't hang around here any longer,” she said. “Let's go into the Central West End. They're more tolerant in that part of town.”

“Not to the wife of an alleged murderer,” Alyce said. “That's what they called my husband on TV, an alleged murderer.”

“Don't worry. They'll call him innocent soon.” Josie reached into her purse and pulled out a wig. “Here. Wear this. You'll make a killer redhead.”

“Alleged redhead,” Alyce said.