High Heels Are Murder (15 page)

When the waitress left, Josie said, “Look, Cheryl, I need to know what you were up to at that motel. Your mother is worried sick.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

Josie couldn’t figure out if Cheryl was angry or frightened. Her perfect face had an odd lack of emotion. She was carefully blotting her eyes. She’d managed to cry without making her eyeliner run.

“It depends on what you tell me,” Josie said.

“It’s not what you think,” Cheryl said. “I didn’t have sex with him.”

“So you read to the guy from the Gideon Bible and he paid you.” It was Josie’s turn to be sarcastic. She enjoyed it.

“Almost,” Cheryl said. She stopped sniffling. The tears dried up like raindrops after a summer storm. “We watch videos together and he pays me. His wife doesn’t like to do that.”

“That’s all?” Josie asked. “His wife hates movies?”

“Videos,” Cheryl corrected. “I think she goes to movies. I swear on my son Ben’s life that all I did in that motel room was watch a video.”

“Let me get this straight,” Josie said. “This guy pays you to watch dirty movies with him, but you don’t do anything else?”

“Oh, no.
Pretty Woman
isn’t dirty,” Cheryl said.

“That’s what you watched?”

Cheryl lowered her eyes. She tried to look modest, but her face was too hard. “He’s fixated on the movie. He’s got a thing about Julia Roberts. His wife is so sick of it, she won’t let the video in the house. He pays me to watch it with him. We sat together on the bed.”

“Fully clothed?” Josie said.

“Of course,” Cheryl said. “I took off my shoes, but that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t worry about keeping that bedspread clean,” Josie said. “There’s a lot worse on it than mud.”

Cheryl shrugged. “Look, it’s a little strange, but it’s harmless. He gives me two hundred dollars to watch a PG-13 movie with him.”

Why can’t I find jobs like that? Josie wondered. Of course, I’d have to sit on that motel bedspread.

“You’re spying on me for my mother,” Cheryl said, and her eyes grew mean. This was the Cheryl that Josie knew and didn’t love. “You tell her anything about that motel and I’ll sue your ass so bad, I won’t ever have to worry about money again.”

“Lawsuit threats won’t work on me, Cheryl. I don’t have any money,” Josie said. “You’ve got a lot more to lose than I do. Even if I believe you were only watching Julia Roberts in that scummy room, nobody else will, including your husband.”

Cheryl flushed and said nothing.

“Cheryl, listen. The police aren’t stupid. If I can find this out, they probably already know. It’s going to come out soon and it will be really embarrassing. Why don’t you let me help you?”

‘You?” Cheryl said. Her scorn could have melted
steel. “How can a loser like you help me? You didn’t take any pictures of me at that motel, did you?”

“Uh,” Josie said.

“I thought so,” Cheryl said. “Some detective. You can’t prove a thing, Sherlock. Go ahead and tell my mother. She won’t believe you. No one will. If I catch you following me again, I’ll have you arrested for stalking.” She tossed her perfect hair and walked back toward the slots.

She’s right, Josie thought, as she paid the coffee tab. Mrs. Mueller wouldn’t believe where Cheryl spent her day, even if I showed her photos. I need something more to convince her.

Cheryl was back pumping dollars into her favorite slot. The machine clanged and lights flashed overhead. Bells rang. Cheryl had won big, but the game was over for Josie.

She found Alyce lurking in the nickel slots. “Are we leaving now?” Alyce said. “I can’t wait to take off this wig. What happened with Cheryl?”

Josie told her as they walked down the wide beige casino carpet and into the oddly warm November sun.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Alyce said.

“The truth, but not the whole truth,” Josie said. “She’s lying about something. We’re not getting the full story about what happened at that motel. Mr. Minivan paid her to do something, but I’m not sure what.”

“There’s no way to check,” Alyce said.

“But there is,” Josie said. “Cheryl will be at the casino for at least another hour. Let’s go back to the motel.”

“Yuck,” Alyce said. “Another chance to catch a disease.”

“I promise you won’t have to touch the bedspread,” Josie said.

“What if someone I know sees me at that scummy motel?”

“Then they’re doing something they shouldn’t and they won’t be able to say anything,” Josie said.

Alyce parked in the mini-mart lot again. She and Josie walked to the sad motel. It looked worse in the harsh
afternoon light. The walls were cracked and the window-sills were spongy with rot.

A cart was parked in front of room 117. A thin African American woman was carrying a stack of even thinner towels into the room. The whites of her eyes were deep yellow and her dark skin was grainy.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Josie said. “May I ask you a couple of questions?”

“I ain’t testifying in no divorce, no matter how much you give me,” the maid said.

“I just want information,” Josie said.

“That’s what they all say.”

“In this case, it’s true.” Josie handed the woman a twenty and followed her into the room.

The sagging bed was covered with an avocado green spread. The carpet was dirty yellow shag. A picture of a sad-eyed clown was bolted to the wall. Alyce stayed close to the door, ready to run if the dangerously ugly furniture grabbed her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Josie said.

“It ain’t no cold,” the maid said. “I ain’t passing it around. State your business and go.”

“This room—117— Did you change the sheets after that couple left?”

The maid shook her head. “Nope. No need. Never used them. Never messed around on the bedspread, either.”

“What did they do?” Josie asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know. They watched that TV. It was warm on top.”

She pointed to an ancient Zenith bolted to a stand, then carried her towels into a tiny white-tiled bath. “They used two of these here hand towels for their hands only. Weren’t no nastiness on them. There was nothing in the wastebaskets. Used almost a whole box of Kleenex, but they either took those with them or flushed ‘em. Didn’t unwrap the soap, but that’s no surprise. People in a place like this don’t use the soap. Don’t wanna smell like they’ve been showering someplace besides home.”

“That’s all that went on in this room?” Alyce opened her purse and brought out another twenty.

The woman took it and said, “I don’t know what happened in here. All I can tell you is it didn’t look like much to me. Far as I can tell, the only thing that got hot in this room was the TV.”

“Thank you,” Josie said.

A red SUV pulled into the lot. Alyce ducked behind the door like a guilty wife until the driver opened room 121.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alyce said. She almost ran to her SUV. “I guess our Cheryl surveillance is over. We’ve blown our cover.”

“I’ve blown mine,” Josie said. “She doesn’t know about you. We still have work to do. Let’s wait a few days until Cheryl thinks I’ve forgotten about her. Then I’ll get a new disguise and go back to watching her.”

“Are you going mystery shopping in the meantime?” Alyce asked.

“Yes, but I’m also going to keep at this, if I get the okay from Mrs. Mueller. I have an idea how to get more information. The late Mel had a housekeeper. I want to talk to her. I need an introduction to the woman.”

“Sorry, I don’t know anyone in Olympia Park,” Alyce said. “Too rich for my blood.”

“The housekeeper lives in Maplewood,” Josie said. “That’s what it said in the paper. Mrs. Mueller or my mother probably know her. I’ll talk to them.”

“Are we going home now?” Alyce sounded plaintive.

“It’s two thirty,” Josie said. “Let’s wait in the casino lot and make sure Cheryl comes out at three.”

Josie put on her blond wig while Alyce drove back to the Prince’s Palace. It was two forty-five when they entered the stately drive. Alyce cruised the parking lot twice, then pulled into a spot where they could see the valet parking. At 3:08, Cheryl came out. She did not look happy. Josie wondered if she’d lost all her video-watching money.

Alyce followed Cheryl’s SUV to a supermarket. Cheryl came out, piled an armful of grocery bags in the
backseat, then drove to the sitter’s house. Finally, Cheryl turned into her subdivision. She was going home with her baby son. It was four thirty in the afternoon.

“The perfect wife and mother heads home after a day at the casino and the hot-sheet motel,” Josie said.

“Dinner’s ready, dear,” Josie’s mother said.

Josie never thought she’d hear those words when she unlocked her front door. Not from her mother, two nights in a row. Jane was a good cook, but she didn’t bother logging much time at the stove anymore, especially not for her wayward daughter.

Jane came out of Josie’s kitchen wearing a dress and an apron with white ruffles, a combination Josie hadn’t seen since her father lived with them. Josie caught the perfume of expensive broiling meat. This meal was far more elaborate than last night’s stew.

“Medium-rare filets,” Jane said. “And twice-baked potatoes.”

“Eeuuw. I don’t like blood,” Amelia said.

“I know, sweetie,” Jane said. “That’s why Grandma made you hamburgers. We also have green beans amandine. For dessert, I have a homemade chocolate cake.”

I have the Stepford Mom, Josie thought. God help me, I like it.

“Thank you, Mom. This is a nice surprise.” Josie kissed her mother on her soft cheek.

“You’re doing important work,” Jane said. “You need to eat right.”

Josie looked into her mother’s eyes and saw her hunger. Jane had craved those two committees all her life. Now they were within reach, thanks to Josie. I’ve got to succeed for Mom’s sake, Josie thought. I’ve failed at so much.

“Now sit down and I’ll bring in your dinner,” Jane said.

Josie sat. Jane bustled off to the kitchen.

“Is Grandma feeling okay?” Amelia whispered.

“If this is an illness, I don’t want a cure,” Josie said.

“She’s acting weird,” Amelia said.

“Being nice to me is not weird,” Josie said.

“Yes, it is. Grandma always says you should grow up, get a job at the bank and quit wasting your time mystery shopping,” Amelia said. “Now all of a sudden, you’re perfect.”

“I’ve always been perfect. She just realized it,” Josie said.

“Huh,” Amelia said.

Jane came back carrying two plates. Josie’s had a medium-rare filet, a twice-baked potato with a luscious cheese topping, and crisp green beans sprinkled with thin-sliced almonds.

“Omigod,” Josie said.

“Please, Josie, don’t blaspheme at the dinner table,” her mother said.

“It was a prayer of thanksgiving,” Josie said.

Amelia rolled her eyes, but seemed to relax. This was the grandmother she knew.

Josie shrugged off her mother’s sharp words, as she always did. She savored every bite of her dinner. “This filet is exactly the way I like it.”

“I think it’s important to have things right,” her mother said. “For instance, with the Flower Guild, I’m thinking we should change our rules on perennials—”

Josie let her mother talk about the improvements she would make as the Maplewood chair. She enjoyed watching her mother talk, hands sketching grand plans in the air, eyes bright and optimistic. Jane had gone through a rough time not too long ago, locking herself away and ordering hundreds of useless items—from ankle bracelets to frilly dolls—from the Home Shopping Network. This Jane was a different woman: lively, interested in the future, connected to her community.

“And I told the committee, I thought a berm in the garden we maintain on the west corner by St. Philomena’s
Church would be an interesting addition. Don’t you think so, Josie?”

“Right, Mom. I’ve always thought we needed more berms.” What’s a berm? she wondered.

Jane put a cup of hot coffee and a chunk of chocolate cake the size of a paving stone in front of Josie.

“What’s a berm, Mom?” Amelia asked.

Caught, Josie thought. She was relieved when the phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Amelia said, assuming all calls must be for her.

“I’ll get it,” Jane said, still in Stepford Mom mode. She picked up the phone first.

“Why, Mrs. Mueller, how are you?” Jane said. “What a nice surprise. You want to speak to Josie? She’s right here, finishing her dinner. Don’t keep her too long or her coffee will get cold.”

She handed Josie the phone like a respectful secretary. Mrs. Mueller barked like a demanding boss. “Did you find out anything today?”

“I learned something interesting, but I’m not ready for any firm conclusions yet,” Josie said.

“Well, I’m tired of being stalled. What was Cheryl doing all day? I tried to call, but her cell phone was off.”

“I can tell you some of it, but you can’t mention anything to her yet, or it will ruin the investigation. Do you promise?”

“What is it? What do you know?” Mrs. Mueller said.

“Do you promise?” Josie insisted.

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. M said impatiently. “What is it?”

Josie took a deep breath. She remembered Cheryl’s warning: “Go ahead and tell my mother. She won’t believe you. No one will.” Josie could hardly believe it herself. Yet the signs were there, if she wanted to see them: the secret babysitter, the husband who was hardly home, the forty-eight thousand bucks in the shoe boxes.

Here goes, Josie thought. “Cheryl is gambling at the casinos.”

Josie heard two gasps, one from Mrs. Mueller and then another. Jane must be listening on the bedroom extension.

“Ridiculous!” Mrs. Mueller said. “Cheryl doesn’t gamble.”

“I personally saw her lose twelve hundred dollars in two days,” Josie said.

No gasp from her mother this time. Either Jane contained her surprise or she was too stunned to react. “You’re wrong. It must be someone else. Someone who looks like her.” Mrs. Mueller’s voice did not sound quite so strong.

“There’s no mistake. I followed Cheryl from her home to two different casinos,” Josie said. “She used cash to gamble. She plays the slot machines.”