Accessory to Murder (5 page)

Harry paused for several slurps. Was he licking crab butter off his fingers? She tried to push more pictures of Harry's self-grooming out of her mind.

“This is better discussed in person,” Harry said. “I'll talk to you in the morning. And don't worry.”

That did it. Now Josie knew there was trouble.

“Please leave a message.” Alyce's recorded voice was soft and untroubled, sounding so different from the frightened woman Josie was trying to reach.

Josie snapped her cell phone shut in frustration. Where was Alyce? This silence was unnatural. She'd already left two messages this morning. She made this third call sitting in rush hour traffic at the world's longest red light.

Josie could always reach her friend after seven thirty in the morning. Alyce had a baby. Even with a nanny, she didn't have the luxury of lying in bed. Baby Justin demanded a diaper change and breakfast by six. Jake was up and out by seven. By eight o'clock, Alyce's day was in full swing.

It was nearly nine now. Something was wrong. The more Josie thought about Alyce's hasty, interrupted conversation last night, the more it alarmed her.

“The police were here, asking a bunch of questions about Halley,” Alyce had said. “But why would they ask me about—” Then the garage door had rumbled open and Alyce had slammed down the phone.

Last night, Josie thought her friend was following her unwritten rule: no yakking on the phone while her husband was home. That was family time.

Today, Josie wondered if there was another reason: Alyce didn't want Jake to hear her conversation. Was she hiding something from her husband?

Couldn't be. Alyce wasn't having an affair. She didn't have the time. She didn't have money problems. Jake made big bucks as a corporate lawyer. She didn't drink, drug, or gamble. Her only addiction was Williams-Sonoma gadgets.

But the police had asked her questions. What could a Wood Winds homemaker know about a carjacking?

Nothing. Josie was sure about that. She'd seen her friend's face when the news of Halley's death had flashed on the TV. Alyce was stunned. You couldn't fake that kind of surprise.

Josie thought there was a reasonable explanation for the police interest: They were putting together a time line, asking the neighbors when they'd seen Halley leave for her fatal trip to the mall.

“But why would they ask me about—” Alyce's unfinished question hung in the air.

She's worrying about nothing, Josie thought. But she couldn't shrug off her friend's distress. That would be disloyal and condescending. She wouldn't treat Alyce like a silly housewife. If Alyce was worried, she had a good reason. Josie wished she knew what it was.

Unfortunately, she had her own fears to face this morning. There was Harry and his mysterious “little question.” Josie wasn't fooled. There was a big problem with her report or her boss would have discussed it over the phone.

Josie pulled into the potholed parking lot at Suttin Services and checked her watch again: eight fifty-five. She had to see Harry the Horrible in five minutes. She redialed Alyce's number and left a third message. “It's me, Josie. I have a meeting with Harry. I'll have my cell off for about half an hour. I'll call you as soon as I get out. I hope everything is OK.” She couldn't help adding that.

Josie pulled an old gray cassette recorder out of her purse and checked the batteries. That battered little machine was her job insurance plan. She flicked on the
RECORD
switch and dropped it back in her purse. She was ready for her meeting.

Suttin Services was in a dreary industrial row off Manchester Road. These businesses were struggling to survive, like the weeds growing between the aging brick buildings. Their paint was peeling and blistered. Their faded signs were streaked with rust. Torn awnings were whipped by an odd, unseasonable wind that blew hot and cold at the same time. It was too warm for December.

Tornado weather. Josie studied the sky anxiously, looking for the greenish black clouds that signaled a serious storm. So far, the scudding clouds were only a threatening gray.

Suttin Services was even more depressing inside. Dusty miniblinds blocked the light. The furniture looked like it had been swiped from the city dump. Most of the employees weren't in until nine thirty. Josie passed their paper-piled and coffee-ringed desks and wondered how they survived in there all day.

She never wondered that about Harry. He belonged in his cave, thriving in the grime and the gloom. Harry looked like Jabba the Hutt, except he had more hair. Every inch of Harry's visible hide was hairy, except his dome. Mother Nature had a perverse sense of humor.

Josie had grown used to the hairy clumps in his ears and on his knuckles. Now she saw little patches peeping out between the buttons on his too-tight white shirt.

Harry was munching microwaved sausages, piled on a grease-slick platter. He held a half-gnawed sausage in one hand, like a cigar.

“Hi, Harry.” Josie sat on a chair with a crooked leg. It wobbled when she moved, but the other chair had a broken back.

“Wanna sausage?” he said.

“No, thanks,” Josie said.

“You need to eat more protein,” he said. “I bet you didn't have any breakfast.”

“I can't face food in the morning,” she said.

“How are you going to stay healthy like that?” Harry chomped the rest of the sausage, then glugged half a liter of diet soda. He wiped his lips with a paper napkin, an oddly delicate gesture for such a gross man, and selected another sausage with a connoisseur's concentration.

“Uh, I read your Pretty Things report.” Harry held the sausage like a pointer. “Listen, Josie, I know she's a pain in the ass, but could you go easy on that salesgirl?”

“How easy?” Josie asked.

“Could you forget what happened? Leave the incident out of your report?”

“You want me to change my report?” Josie said, in case the tape recorder didn't pick up his illegal request. “Harry, she took nearly four minutes to wait on me. She insulted a customer. I can't forget about it.”

“Aw, come on. Saber's just a kid.”

Saber. He knew her. “OK, Harry, who is she?”

“What do you mean?” Harry tried to look innocent and failed.

“St. Louis is a big small town. Saber has to be a friend or a relative.”

Harry grinned, showing teeth like tombstones. “You got me. She's my sister's kid. Just cut her some slack. She keeps getting fired.”

“She should be fired, Harry. She doesn't belong in retail.”

“But she needs the job.”

“Not that job,” Josie said. “I'm sure Saber is talented, but her talents don't include dealing with the public. She'd be happier away from customers, maybe in a job like computer programming.”

“She doesn't want to be stuck at a desk all day,” Harry said. “She likes the discount she gets at this store. She's just a kid, Josie. She's only twenty-five.” Harry made it sound like she was in school with Amelia.

“Her mouth is certainly all grown-up. She says cruel things to customers,” Josie said. “You read that report.”

“It's not her fault,” Harry said. “My sister, Jackie, stuck her with that stupid name. Who calls a kid Saber? It's from a romance novel or soap opera or something. Kid's bound to turn out weird. You can't believe what she had to listen to. In school, guys would say, ‘Saber, baby, let me show you my sword.' If she'd been called Sarah, she'd be fine.

“It will take you five minutes to rewrite that report, Josie, and it would make a big difference in the kid's life.”

“Harry, I'm sorry. I can't do it.”

“You're not going to change your report?” Harry dropped the uneaten sausage on a stack of paper. Josie watched the grease stain slowly spread across the top page.

“No,” Josie said.

“You're shittin' me. You won't do this one little thing for me?”

“I can't, Harry. It's against the rules. Once I turn in a report to this office, I can't change it.”

His bald dome burned red with anger. “You want rules? I could fire you for not following orders.”

She reached in her purse and held up the cassette recorder like a cross before a vampire. “No, you couldn't, Harry. I have this conversation on tape. The home office wouldn't like it.”

The red
RECORD
button glared at him like an angry eye. Harry went pale as a boiled chicken.

“You wouldn't,” he said.

“Harry, she's your niece. I understand why you'd want to protect her. You're a concerned uncle. I'm willing to forget your request, if you are.”

Josie popped the tape out of her recorder and dropped it in her purse. He knew she'd hang on to her insurance policy.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Destroy the kid's life. But don't ask me for any favors. We clear on that?”

“Yes,” Josie said.

Harry picked up the phone and started dialing. She was dismissed. The crisis was over. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Harry would take his petty revenge by giving her a couple of rotten assignments, but there wasn't much else he could do. She had the goods on him, and she was his best mystery shopper. A lot of regular customers requested Josie.

Josie had to force herself not to run out of Suttin Services. Outside, a cold rain hit her in the face, and drops spattered her clothes. As she ran for the car, Josie was grateful that she was mystery-shopping Supertime Supermarts. She had on jeans and loafers. The rain would have ruined her Fashion Victim outfit and pointy-toed Pradas. Better yet, today she'd be buying groceries instead of useless scarf rings.

Josie popped in a CD and sang along to U2. When she warbled “New Year's Day,” she sounded like a stepped-on cat, but in her mind Josie was onstage, bringing her own special pathos to the ballad. She loved that song. She'd even downloaded it for her cell-phone ring tone.

Josie pulled into the first Supertime Supermart lot on her list and tried to call Alyce again. No answer. Her message was short, almost rude: “It's me. Are you OK?”

Alyce wasn't, or she would have picked up the phone. If she didn't answer by noon, Josie would drive out to her house. She turned off her phone and pulled out her shopping list. She was ready to work.

St. Louis had beautiful supermarkets. The big chains competed with exotic items and displayed food like works of art. Josie even took out-of-town guests to see her local supermarket. “It looks like the food court at Harrods,” a well-traveled friend once told her.

Josie passed green-lipped mussels and stone crab claws bedded on crushed ice with parsley, lemons, and decorative seashells, and sidestepped the pyramids of Asian apples and Greek figs. She was supposed to buy bulk-bin cashews with an outdated coupon. Then she had to order two double-thick, cut-to-order pork chops in the meat department. Next, she had to buy organic romaine lettuce and a case of bottled water.

Josie could use all that food. Sometimes, she had to figure out what to do with the things she couldn't use. Last time, it was green tea, which Josie thought tasted like boiled grass, and a thirty-pound sack of dog food. Both went to her mother's church food drive. Josie knew poor people had dogs to feed, but she thought green tea only added to their misery. Jane claimed some people liked it.

Josie dreaded one duty. She had to put the bottled water underneath the cart and “forget” it. It was a checker test. If the checker missed the water, she'd lose points, maybe even her job. Josie didn't like that part. Reporting rude clerks like Saber was one thing. Going after overworked checkers was another.

Today, the checkers found the case of water at all three stores. They rang up all the items correctly, and refused to redeem the bad coupon. The stores were clean, the restrooms had paper, and the parking lots were free of runaway carts. This was a good day.

Josie was pulling out of the third Supertime lot when her cell phone rang. It was Alyce. Josie parked and opened her phone. She couldn't handle this conversation in traffic.

Alyce sounded almost as panicked as she had last night. “Something's wrong,” she said. “The police had a long talk with me yesterday. I've spent all morning trying to find out if the other neighbors had visits from Dorchester homicide.”

“And did they?” Josie said.

“Yes, but the cops talked with me the longest.”

“Maybe you were the most informative,” Josie said.

“I don't know anything,” Alyce said.

“This is a high-profile murder,” Josie said. “They're under a lot of pressure. They have to talk to the neighbors.”

“Yes, but why would they ask me about Jake?”

“Jake, your husband?” Josie had met Alyce's husband only once or twice. He was handsome, careful, and conventional. She couldn't imagine him committing a white-collar crime, much less a murderous carjacking. The idea was so absurd, she almost laughed.

“What could Jake possibly have to do with Halley?” Josie said.

“Nothing,” Alyce said, too quickly.

What was that about? “So what if the police asked you about Jake?” Josie said. “They've already caught the killer.”

“Haven't you been listening to the news?” Alyce said.