High Heels Are Murder (17 page)

The higher they went, the narrower and more twisted the stairs became.

“We’re here,” Zinnia said, just a little too brightly. The older woman was enjoying Josie’s uphill struggle. “It’s down this hall.”

The hall was painted white, carpeted in beige and lit with brass scones. It looked ordinary, even innocent.

Why was Zinnia showing me Mel’s deepest secret? Josie wondered. Did the housekeeper owe Mrs. Mueller a favor? Had she, too, been promised the committee of her dreams? Or was it simply a relief to let another woman into her late employer’s weird world? Zinnia must have spent her days at Mr. Mel’s searching for dust specks, but overlooking huge problems.

And what was Mel’s fantasy? Josie tried to imagine the room’s decor. Did Mel go in for fur and smoked mirrors? Black leather and whips? Beds shaped like golden swans?

The double doors at the end of the hall gave no hint of what was behind them.

“This is it.” Zinnia threw open the doors with a flourish. Josie expected almost anything except what she saw: a near-perfect copy of the Soft Shoe showroom.

“It’s the shoe store,” Josie said.

There were the same pink leather chairs for customers, the shoe mirrors, pink padded footstools and pale carpet. The shoe displays were swathed in the same pink tulle, but the little Lucite stands were empty.

“Mr. Mel kept his favorite shoes there,” Zinnia said. “The police took them all.”

Pink curtains led to what Josie guessed was a storage room. “Did he keep shoes in there?”

“Yes, but the police took them, too.”

Josie peeked around the curtains. She saw a few empty shoe boxes and lots of empty shelves.

“He and his friends used to party up here, right?” Josie said. “This is where they drank the champagne?”

“Yes. It was where they were happiest. Sometimes
Mr. Mel brought in young women so the men could play shoe salesman, but I wasn’t here for that.”

Of course not, Josie thought. You kept your eyes firmly shut to Mr. Mel’s games.

“May I ask you a favor?” Josie said. “Could I sit on one of those footstools?”

“Suit yourself,” Zinnia said, and shrugged. She stood by the door, arms folded across her chest, back rigid. Mr. Mel’s fantasy room made her uncomfortable.

Josie sat. The footstool seemed slightly lower than the one in the Soft Shoe store. Josie realized why: It was a better angle for looking up skirts. Ick. She shifted to a customer chair and put her foot on the stool’s pink padded oblong. It felt slightly harder than the one at the store.

“He had these footstools specially made, didn’t he?” Josie said.

“Oh, yes. Mr. Mel had particular ideas. Anything else you want to see?”

Josie wanted to see Mel’s bedroom and the rest of the house, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask. She’d already had more of a tour than she expected. If she pressed too hard, she wouldn’t be able to come back when she had serious questions. Josie thought Zinnia might somehow be the key to unlocking Mel and Cheryl’s secrets. But she’d have to ease out the information without Zinnia knowing it.

“Thank you, Zinnia,” Josie said. “I appreciate your time. I have to go back to work.”

“And where’s that?” Zinnia said.

“A shoe store,” Josie said.

Zinnia sighed softly. “Poor Mr. Mel will be with you in spirit,” she said. “He so loved shoe stores. It was a cruel day when he was fired. It was a misunderstanding with some crazy women’s libber. The things she said about Mr. Mel were dreadful. I told him it was a mistake and once Soft Shoe realized it, they would take him back in a heartbeat. He was their best salesman.”

“I’m sure he loved his work,” Josie said.

She set a new three-county downstairs slalom record,
hoping to reach the front door before Zinnia figured out that she was the one who got Mel fired from his beloved job.

Josie waved good-by at the door, and plopped down in her car with relief. She checked her watch. It was ten thirty. She had two Soft Shoe stores to shop that day. A week ago, they would have been plum assignments. Now Josie felt nervous and uneasy. She no longer looked at shoes the same way, thanks to Mel. He’d ruined the carefree innocence of shoe shopping for her. Worse, he’d waited on her, then died that night. Was there a connection? Josie felt like mystery shopping’s black widow.

At the first Soft Shoe, a thin, stylish woman brought out the shoes for Josie to try. That was a relief. Male shoe salesmen made her feel skittish.

At the second store, Josie was waited on by an older, white-haired salesman. He was perfectly polite, but when he tried to put a black spike heel on her foot, she rudely grabbed it from his hands and slipped it on herself. She didn’t want him touching her. The salesman’s eyebrows shot up into his snowy hairline, but he said nothing.

The stores passed their shopping tests with high marks, but Josie was shaking when she left the last Soft Shoe store, at the Galleria. Maybe Mel really was with her in spirit. The stores felt haunted. Josie fled the mall as if his ghost was following her.

I’ll do my paperwork later, Josie thought. I need coffee. Oh, heck. Who am I fooling? I need Josh. I hope he’s at the coffeehouse on a Saturday afternoon.

He was. Josh looked as hot as ever. His goatee was styled into sharp, neat lines. His hair was newly cut. He was wearing new clothes. Also, cool shoes, although Josie was currently turned off by that topic.

“Just in time,” Josh said. “In about fifteen minutes, two rabid cappuccinos will come through that door. Right now, the place is ours.” He kissed her soundly.

“Mmmm. I like the service here,” Josie said.

“How soon can I see you alone?” he said, kissing her neck and shoulder.

“Next Saturday,” she said.

“That’s a whole week away. There’s no one in the back storage room,” he said.

“Is that what you think I am? A backroom quickie?” She pushed him away. Anger flared up, although Josie wasn’t sure if she was angry at Josh, Mrs. Mueller or Cheryl. All three were frustrating her.

“Josie, I’m sorry,” he said. His kiss was different this time, sweeter, more respectful. “I shouldn’t behave that way. You’re just so hot. This hurts, you know?”

He looked deep into her eyes. “I’ll behave. I promise. What can I get you? Espresso?”

She nodded. I should ask Josh about his problems with the police, she thought. No, I’ll wait till he trusts me enough to open up and tell me.

And what if he never does? whispered an evil little voice. She hushed it up by asking, “Want to hear the latest on Mel’s murder and not-so-perfect Cheryl?”

It was the one subject that could distract him—and her. When Josie finished her story, Josh handed her a double espresso and said, “Cheryl did it.”

“I don’t like her,” Josie said. “But I can’t see her as a killer. She would get blood on her designer outfit.”

“She can afford a new one,” Josh said. “For the sake of argument, let’s say Cheryl didn’t kill Mel the shoe molester. Then who did?”

“Some other woman whose toes he molested?” Josie took a sip of espresso and winced. Way too hot.

“That’s hardly a motive for murder,” Josh said.

Josie remembered how she’d felt when Mel had finished with her foot. She’d wanted to kill him. “It’s a good motive,” she said. “But no man on the jury would believe it. How about one of Mel’s kinky friends?”

“Why would they kill Mel? He was the main access to their favorite fetish,” Josh said. “Here’s another question we can’t answer: Where did Cheryl get the forty-eight thousand dollars?”

“From Mel,” Josie said. “His fingerprints were all over the money bands and shoe boxes.”

“Then why did she go to the motel with that guy for money?” Josh asked. “Mel couldn’t have arranged that meeting. He was dead.”

“He could have given her the guy’s name beforehand and expected a cut of the money,” Josie said.

“So you think Mel was a pimp?”

“I don’t know what I think,” Josie said. “Zinnia, his housekeeper, says Cheryl was a good shoe customer, period. She says Cheryl was always well behaved and so were the other women who came to Mel’s house.”

“And you believe her?” Josh said.

“Yes. At least, I believe they didn’t do anything while Zinnia was in the house. Ever think that money could be legitimate? Mel worked on Wall Street. Maybe he invested it for Cheryl because she was a good customer. She could buy more shoes if she had her own stash.”

“And she kept forty-eight thousand dollars in a shoe box?” Josh said. “The wife of an accountant?”

Josie tried another sip, and nearly cooked her tongue. She was dying for caffeine, but the espresso was still four-alarm hot.

“Just because her husband is careful with money doesn’t mean she is,” Josie said. “Cheryl and Mel were involved in some kind of business deal. Remember what the housekeeper said? Mel asked Cheryl if she wanted to make another one, and she said she needed a larger percentage of the profits. What do you think that was about?”

“She made a dirty movie,” Josh said.

Josie laughed. “Cheryl? A shoe-porn queen? I don’t believe it.”

“Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have believed she was a gambler,” Josh said. “Well, she is. She loses big time. She blew twelve hundred bucks on slot machines in two days.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t seem real,” Josie said.

“You saw her go to a motel that rents rooms by the hour,” Josh said. “She met a guy there. She admits he paid her two hundred dollars, which she gambled away. Cheryl is a housewife hooker, pure and simple.”

“She’s not pure and I don’t think it’s simple,” Josie said. “All she did was watch an old movie with the man. That’s what Cheryl says and the motel maid backs her up.”

“The maid didn’t exactly back her up,” Josh said.
“The maid said it didn’t look like they were having wild sex. Nobody pays you to watch old movies. Otherwise, I’d be a millionaire.”

“You look like a million bucks,” Josie said. He did look good in his sleek new clothes. Stan the Man Next Door should study Josh’s wardrobe. No wash-and-wear shirts and pocket protectors for Josh.

Josh refused to be distracted by compliments. Josie liked that. “Cheryl had forty-eight thousand dollars in cash,” he said. “The easiest way to earn that kind of money was as a hooker.”

“But Zinnia said Cheryl wasn’t one,” Josie said.

“The housekeeper is a nice, churchgoing woman. She left Mel’s every afternoon. What if Cheryl and her friends came back for his foot-freak parties? Would Zinnia know?”

“She washed Mel’s sheets,” Josie said. She tried another sip. Still too hot. What did he make it with? Molten lava?

“Um, Josie, I don’t know how to say this, but if a guy is doing funny things with shoes he may not need sheets. Besides, a man as rich as Mel could throw out the sheets.”

“Shut up!” Josie said. “Let’s not go there. Here’s another reason why Cheryl wouldn’t be at Mel’s nighttime parties. She had a husband and a child. If she was MIA from home in the evening, she’d have to cook up some explanation for Tom and get a babysitter for Ben.”

“Tom worked late,” Josh said. “He might not even know his wife wasn’t home. You can check with the sitter and see if she ever watched Ben in the evenings.”

“So I could,” Josie said. “I could also return that car seat and get my twenty-dollar deposit back. There was another way to get that forty-eight thousand in cash. What if Mel was blackmailing his freaky friends?”

“Why would Mel give the money to Cheryl, unless she was in on the scheme?” Josh said. “She’d still be mixed up in it. The police could say she was blackmailing Mel. No matter how we twist this, everything points toward Cheryl as the killer. You need to find some other suspects.”

“Who?” Josie said. She wished she didn’t sound like a big owl.

The bell rang and two women, twitchy as heroin addicts, came through the door. “It’s the rabid cappuccinos,” Josh said. “Gotta go.”

“Not until you tell me how to find those other suspects,” Josie said.

“Keep watching Cheryl,” Josh said. “They’ll come to her.”

“Why would they do that?” Josie said.

“They have to know if they can get away with murder.”

“Can we get some service here?” the skinnier woman said.

Josie left her espresso cooling on the counter.

“I can’t believe we’re back watching Cheryl again,” Alyce said. “And on a Sunday morning, yet.”

“How else can we find out anything about her?” Josie said. “Does your husband mind you doing this today?”

“He’s out of town,” Alyce said. “He doesn’t know and the nanny won’t tell.”

“I’ve hit the wall,” Josie said. “I couldn’t get anything useful from Mel’s housekeeper.”

“I thought Zinnia gave you some names of Mel’s other women customers,” Alyce said.

“They’re not listed in the phone book,” Josie said. “Either that, or I’m spelling them wrong. I’m not a detective, Alyce. If Mrs. Mueller wasn’t paying me, I’d be walking the malls this morning. Maybe Josh can help me with an Internet search.”

“Oh, come on. You can do your own search,” Alyce said.

“Josh is better,” Josie said.

“At what?” Alyce said, and grinned.

Josie ignored that question. They both knew the answer. “I suspect Mel was some sort of pimp,” Josie said, “but I can’t prove it and Cheryl’s mother won’t believe it unless I find proof. Even if I do, that information sure won’t help Cheryl. Besides, if Cheryl was one of Mel’s girls, she still had to get home to fix supper for her husband. What kind of hooker is that?”

“A housewife hooker,” Alyce said. “It’s a tough job. Those other hos have it easy. They get to walk the streets in bunny-fur jackets. They don’t have to worry
about menu planning, lawn services and committee meetings.”

“What’s got into you?” Josie said.

“It’s this stupid wig,” Alyce said. “What if someone recognizes me?”

For today’s surveillance, Josie gave Alyce a wig with short, springy brown curls. It was in constant motion, like a million Slinkies.

“Alyce, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you,” Josie said. “Episcopalians don’t have curly hair.”

“I’m not worried about Mother. She’s dead, so I can’t embarrass her. I’m concerned someone from Jake’s law firm will see me.”