High Heels Are Murder (20 page)

Josie snorted.

“Now what’s so funny?” Alyce said.

“Giving Hal the boot and tying him up sound pretty kinky,” Josie said.

“Guess I have a one-track mind.” Alyce laughed, but there was no joy in it.

“Did Jake ever ask you to walk on him?” Josie said.

“My husband? No way,” Alyce said. “We never did anything exotic with shoes, handcuffs, knotted handkerchiefs or silk scarves tied to the headboards. We didn’t need them. Jake and I had nonstop sex on every surface in the house, from the hall floor to the kitchen counter.”

Had
. Josie heard that word, as if their hot sex was in the past.

“I mean, have,” Alyce corrected quickly. She turned a deep red. “Jake works late now. And things are different
with a baby and a nanny. But we made up for lost time on our cruise to the islands.”

Josie could hear her friend’s sadness and longing. She was sure none of Alyce’s Williams-Sonoma gadgets would be swept off the kitchen counter in a fit of passion anytime soon. She was sorry she’d asked such a nosy question.

“Hey, I sure don’t know,” Josie said. “My sixty-eight-year-old mother gets more romance than I do.”

Alyce started the car’s engine and the old brown bomber rumbled into life. “I wish today never happened. How am I going to face Hal? I see him at the supermarket. He goes to our church.”

“He should be worried, Alyce. He’s the one who’s done something wrong, not you.”

“But I’m embarrassed,” Alyce said. “I feel sorry for his wife. What am I going to do?”

“Nothing. Believe me, Mattie doesn’t want to know. Maybe he asked her to walk on him and she said no.”

“I wonder what I’d do if Jake asked me,” Alyce said. “Some days, I’d like to stomp him into the ground. Other days, I love him to death.”

“Most women feel that way about the men they love,” Josie said. “Hal may be doing the smart thing, paying Cheryl. At least it’s nothing personal.”

Alyce laughed, and this time it was genuine. “Thanks, Josie. I feel better. But I want to go home and take a long hot bubble bath. I’ve had enough of Cheryl and her freaky friends.”

“I need to think about what we’ve learned,” Josie said. “Some of it is starting to make sense. At first, I didn’t think we had any suspects. Now I see them everywhere. Maybe I can put together something to help Cheryl, so Mom can get her precious committees.”

“I bet some coffee will help you think better,” Alyce said, and winked.

It was three o’clock when Josie got to Has Beans. Josh was pulling out of the lot in his battered Datsun Z. He slammed on his brakes beside Josie’s car and leaned out his window.

“Hi,” Josie said. “Want to go for a cup of coffee?”

“Too much like work,” Josh said. “How about a beer at Blueberry Hill?”

“Sold,” Josie said. “But I have to be home by five.”

“No prob,” Josh said. “Meet you there.”

Josie loved the old University City restaurant, although she hadn’t been to Blueberry Hill in a while. In college, she’d spent many an afternoon playing darts there, many a night listening to the bands, and more than a few drunken moments contemplating the philosophy on the bathroom walls. After a few beers, sayings like “You can’t get away from me—I’ve tried” and “Time is nature’s way of keeping everything from happening at once” seemed profound.

Josh found a booth in the bar area. Their waiter was impossibly thin, pale and pierced. Blueberry Hill had hip waiters. Josie felt like she had to order something the server would approve, to maintain the restaurant standards.

Josh asked for a Pilsner Urquell and an order of toasted ravioli. “You’ll split it with me, right?”

“Absolutely,” Josie said. “I’ll have a Heineken.”

“Glass?” the waiter said.

“Bottle’s fine,” Josie said.

“Real women don’t use glasses,” the waiter said.

When the waiter left, Josh said, “The first time we went out, you ordered a beer. I loved it. Any man ever tell you how sexy it is when a woman drinks beer out of the bottle?”

“Mostly they tell me I’ll look a lot sexier after they have two or three bottles,” Josie said.

Josh reached for her hand. “You don’t see how special you are, do you?”

Josie was glad the bar was dark. Her face was flaming. She wasn’t used to compliments from men as handsome as Josh. She was average in every way: height, looks, weight. Even her brown hair was average. She was relieved when the waiter brought their drinks and toasted ravioli.

“Wonder why St. Louisans call these things toasted when they’re really deep-fat-fried ravioli?” she said.

“Fewer calories in toasted,” Josh said, popping a whole one.

“Ouch. You must have an asbestos mouth,” Josie said. “Those babies are hot.”

“So am I.” Josh waggled his eyebrows, Groucho style.

Josie dragged a ravioli through the dish of red sauce and bit into it to keep from answering. Josh got the hint and cooled the conversation. “How’s the Cheryl clearance project? Any suspects yet?” he asked.

“Tons,” Josie said. “All of a sudden, I have more than I can handle.”

“I told you they’d show up,” he said.

“One showed up today wearing only a towel.”

“Whoa,” Josh said. “Do I have competition?”

“Nope. He should save that sight for his loving wife. Alyce and I encountered Towel Boy out by the airport.” She told Josh the story while he sipped his beer.

“So do you think Towel Boy did it? Maybe Mel was blackmailing him,” Josh said.

“He swears he wasn’t being blackmailed,” Josie said. “We asked him straight out. I’m not sure I believe him. An adulterer is a natural liar.”

“Maybe,” Josh said. “But maybe he’s just a guy who got bored with home cooking and home loving.”

Josie didn’t like that answer, but she didn’t want to get into a discussion of men who cheat. “The others have been around,” she said. “I’ve finally realized their potential. There’s the pastor who has the pay-per-view
Pretty Woman
. The man is prime blackmail material, going into sleazy motels with women in red heels. He could have sent Mel to his reward because the shoe salesman was squeezing him for collection-plate cash.

“Ditto for Towel Boy, Hal Orrin Winfrey.

“There are the other two women we know of who worked for Mel. I got their names from the housekeeper, Zinnia. One is a high-powered female executive. The other is one more perfect homemaker. Both have a lot to lose if their secret comes out. Mel could have been blackmailing them. Alyce and I found the homemaker, and I think I can get the executive’s phone number from her.”

“The police haven’t charged any of these people yet?”
Josh said. He chomped another toasted ravioli. Josie dredged one more through the red sauce. She wished those tasty meat-stuffed pillows weren’t so good with cold beer.

“Nope,” Josie said. “The police questioned Cheryl at her house. They asked for her fingerprints and permission to search the place, but she refused. Then they arrested her on some trumped-up charge so they could get her fingerprints.”

“That means she’s probably their main suspect,” he said. “They just don’t have enough to charge her yet. They have to be a lot more careful with a respectable homemaker than some low-life drug dealer.”

“How can you be so sure?” Josie said.

Josh hesitated, then said, “If I tell you, you may never want to see me again.”

Josie’s heart was beating faster in the dark bar. “How bad was it?” she asked.

“Bad enough.”

“Did you kill someone?” she said.

Josh laughed. “Me? No, it wasn’t that bad. I was mostly guilty of being young and stupid. I was twenty.”

“I made my share of mistakes at that age,” Josie said.

“Not like mine,” Josh said. “Oh, hell, I might as well tell you. I got caught selling something a little stronger than coffee. It was strictly recreational, for my friends who needed to relax. I got probation and community service because it was a first offense. But I learned more than I wanted about how the police work.”

I sure know how to pick them, Josie thought. My perfect man has a past. But then, so do I. Maybe someday I’ll get the courage to tell him my story.

“That was kids’ stuff, Josh. You’re pushing caffeine these days.”

“Talk about serious drugs. Coffee fiends are worse than heroin addicts.” Josh took a long drink of beer. Josie watched the muscles move in his throat. Everything about him—the way he walked, the way he ate, even the way he drank a beer—was graceful and controlled.

“What are you planning to do next?” Josh said.

“Following Cheryl is getting me nowhere,” Josie said.

“I took some photos of her at the casino and the motel, but I’m not sure I’ll use them. What’s my big threat: ‘I’ll tell your mother’?”

“From what you say about Mrs. Mueller, that’s a powerful weapon.”

“I’m not ready to use it,” Josie said. “I need to talk to the other suspects, and soon. Like tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” Josh said. “If the police arrest someone, this story will be a hot one. It will be all over the media. You won’t be able to get near them.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m going to be busy for the next few days. I’m doing this around my mystery shopping,” Josie said.

“But I’ll get to see you on Saturday? You haven’t changed those plans?” Josh said.

Josie liked the way he sounded. She was important to him. “Saturday night is still Amelia’s sleepover. The Barrington School world would end if it was canceled. And my mom has a date that night, too. I am a free woman.”

“We’ll have lots to celebrate. I leave for New York that Monday. I have interviews with three agents.”

“Josh! Your big break. Where did you get the money for the trip?” Josie said.

“From my father,” Josh said. “He spent my childhood at his office. He owes me something after all these years.”

Josh’s eyes were hard with hurt. Josie wondered if baby Ben would talk the same way about his hardworking father in twenty years.

Josie was buying one of the most expensive candles in the world. The Jo Malone Luxury Candle cost $345.

The perfect gift for people with money to burn, Josie thought. The seven-inch candle melted at the rate of fifty bucks an inch. Josie didn’t even like holding it. What if the pricey candle slipped and cracked on the shop’s marble floor? Or melted in her car before she could return it to the next Extravagant Luxuries store?

Josie would have to pay for it. Suttin Services didn’t shell out money for careless mystery shoppers.

“That’s a lovely candle.” The saleswoman smiled, approving Josie’s good taste. The woman’s hair was pulled back into such a tight knot, Josie wondered how she could move her lips without hurting herself.

“The bouquet is exquisite,” the saleswoman said. “It’s for someone with sophisticated tastes.” She managed another smile, which strained the lines around her eyes.

Josie gave her a half smile. No need to say anything. If she was truly sophisticated, she wouldn’t need a clerk to tell her. Her camel pants (Ralph Lauren seconds) and cashmere sweater (garage sale, slightly pilled under the arms) must have passed inspection.

“The candle has four wicks for even burning,” the saleswoman said, as if she was describing an exotic invention.

Even unopened, the amber-and-sweet-orange candle smelled, well … rich. There was no other way to describe it. Josie didn’t encounter this perfume when she mystery-shopped the popcorn-scented stores of the poor.

Josie had a wild impulse to take the candle for her date with Josh. For just one crazy evening, she wanted to quit worrying about money and responsibility. She’d love to set fire to all that lovely money. Ten years ago, she would have done it without a second thought.

But you already know about burning candles, don’t you? she told herself. You burned the candle at both ends with Amelia’s father and look what that got you.

The most beautiful daughter in the world, she answered defiantly. Amelia had her father’s noble nose and straight hair, quick intelligence and courage. All of his good qualities, and none of the bad, or so Josie hoped. She didn’t want her daughter to end up like her father—or her mother.

Josie was born to the world of Porthault sheets and $345 candles. Her father was a corporate lawyer. Jane was a clubwoman and a homemaker. Their life in the wealthy suburb of Ladue was her mother’s idea of heaven, and Jane could have spent eternity there, going to lunch and serving on committees. But Josie’s father left Jane for another woman and another city.

The divorce stripped Jane of her home, her social standing, and her income. Her ex-husband gave her a two-family flat in low-rent Maplewood. Jane took a job at the bank and rarely saw her old friends. Josie never knew if they abandoned her mother, or if Jane was too ashamed of her dreary life to keep up the old friendships.

Josie was seven when her father left. He seemed to forget her, as if she was something else he left behind in St. Louis, along with his second-best driving gloves and his tennis racket that needed restringing.

Josie told herself she didn’t care. She liked Maplewood better than Ladue. She brushed off her mother’s constant reminders that “it was just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.” Jane had one goal: Josie had to go to college, find the right man and recapture her lost dream.

Josie wasn’t sure how it happened, but in her junior year at college, she was engaged to a man her mother adored, a future accountant named Andy. Andy had big
brown eyes and a brain filled with business clichés. When Andy proposed, he looked at Josie with burning intensity and said, “With you by my side, I will achieve excellence in all aspects of my life.” Josie believed him. She had an “investment diamond” on her finger and a restlessness her heart didn’t understand.

Josie’s engagement was the happiest day of Jane’s life. “Andy has a brilliant future,” she told her daughter. “He’ll get a job in a top firm. Where will you live in West County? Do you think you’ll buy an older house in Ballwin or Chesterfield? Or move to one of the new subdivisions near St. Albans? I prefer St. Albans, if Andy can afford it. It has a good country club. I can steer you to the right committees, the ones that will help Andy’s career. Have you decided how many children you want? I always think two, a boy and a girl, make the perfect gentleman’s family. But you don’t have to decide right away. You and Andy have your whole life ahead of you.”