High Heels Are Murder (28 page)

“Did you see the driver? Male or female?” Josie said.

“No. I dozed off. I do that a lot these days. The noise of the car engine woke me up. I saw the brake lights as it turned out of the driveway.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t Cheryl’s car?”

“Positive. She left at nine thirty-two. I was awake and
I saw her. She was running and she left very fast. She had on a dark dress. Blue, I think. And black shoes.”

Adela put up a blue-veined hand to stifle a yawn. “If you don’t mind, my dears, I’m a little weary. It’s past my nap time.” Adela suddenly seemed very old and frail. The pink color was gone. Now her skin was white and papery.

“Would you like us to call your maid?” Alyce said.

“That would be very kind, thank you.”

“Mrs. Hodges, you need your rest,” the maid said, when she arrived. “Here, let me help you upstairs.”

“Don’t fuss,” Adela Hodges said.

“We’ll let ourselves out,” Josie said.

She watched the two tiny women totter up the stairs. It was hard to say who was helping whom.

“What now?” Alyce said when they were outside.

“I’m going to pick up my daughter at school,” Josie said. “I’ve hardly seen her all week.”

“I mean, where do we go from here?”

“You’ve got me,” Josie said. “Nothing we learned from Adela will clear Cheryl. The mystery car could be the killer, or simply someone who came for fun and games, saw Mel and bolted. We had nothing before we saw Adela. Now we have less than nothing. Maybe if we found that pedal-pumping video it would help. Except I haven’t a clue where it is. I’m quitting for the day.”

Josie picked up Amelia at school. “Hi, Mom,” she said, and bounced on the seat. “I thought Grandma was getting me.”

“Nope. I’ve kidnapped you. We’re doing a guerrilla gorilla visit. We haven’t had one in ages.”

“Yayyy!” Amelia said.

The St. Louis Zoo was practically in their backyard. Josie couldn’t often spare a whole day for a field trip, so she and Amelia would stop by for quick visits. Josie preferred the penguins. Amelia was drawn to the apes.

Tonight, Josie was distracted. She kept trying to put together the puzzle of Cheryl without success. Fortunately, she didn’t need to be much company. Amelia was fascinated by a family of chimps.

“Look at the mama with the baby,” Amelia said. “She really takes care of him. And the dad, too. It’s all about the baby.”

“That’s nice,” Josie said vaguely.

She should have listened. Amelia had just given her the key to her unsolvable puzzle.

Night’s long fingers stretched across the zoo grounds, clutching what was left of the day in its cold grasp. The zoo was closing. It was time for Josie and Amelia to head home. Amelia skipped to the car. Josie moved at a slower pace. She felt suddenly low.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Amelia said. “We were having fun and now you’re quiet.”

“I hate winter days,” Josie said. “They’re too short and dark.”

“I like them,” Amelia said. “I like the cold. It’s invigorating. Makes me—” She stopped abruptly when the car turned down their street. “Mom, what are all those people doing at our house?”

Josie peered into the gathering gloom and saw the horde of media vans and news cars. “Those are reporters,” she said. “They’re at Mrs. Mueller’s house, not ours.”

“Because Cheryl got in trouble?”

“That’s right,” Josie said.

“Do you think she’s a hooker?”

“Amelia! I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

“The paper said she was in a foot-fetish ring. Zoe found a bunch of stuff on the Internet about foot fetishes,” Amelia said. “It’s really gross.”

“Yes, it is,” Josie said. Now what did she say?

“Do people really do that stuff with their feet?”

“I think so,” Josie said. “Some people. I don’t.”

Josie was starting to sweat and it had nothing to do with the car heater. Was there a self-help book to tell
you what to do when your neighbor’s daughter had a toehold in the sex industry? She braced herself for Amelia’s next question. I will try to be open and honest and give her an answer appropriate for her age and experience, which I hope to heaven is none.

Josie swung the car in front of their darkened flat, and a swarm of reporters surrounded it like ants on a candy bar. They shouted questions: “Did you know Cheryl? Did you know what she did for a living? How does this affect—”

Amelia looked terrified. “Mom, do we have to answer?”

“No, we don’t,” Josie said. She cracked her window an inch and shouted, “Excuse me. Excuse me, please. My daughter and I are not going to talk about our neighbors. Please go away.”

A thin woman with bad skin and a sharp nose tried to shove a mike through the window opening. “How did you feel when the woman you went to school with was arrested for murder? What did—”

More reporters crowded around, waving notepads, tape recorders and mikes. Josie didn’t recognize any of them. The Cheryl story must be attracting the national media.

Amelia whimpered. “Mom, make them go away. I can’t open my door.”

“Relax,” she told her daughter. “This is no worse than an August white sale. I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

Josie reached for her heavy purse. She might have to slam a few heads while Amelia ran for it.

Stan’s front door flew open. “Let them alone,” he said. His voice sounded high and reedy in the cold air. Josie’s savior wore a cheap knit shirt that clung to his flabby chest, giving him prominent breasts. His pants sagged at the knees. Stan the Man Next Door looked more like an irritated retiree than a white knight.

“Let them alone,” he repeated, his voice rising higher still. “Or I’ll call the police.”

The reporters ignored him.

He held up a video camera. “Let them alone or I’ll
give this video to their lawyer. This is clear-cut harassment. I have that woman on tape saying she doesn’t want to talk. Now back off.”

The reporters backed away from Josie’s car as if they were vampires and it had been doused in garlic juice.

Josie waved her thanks to Stan, while Amelia ran across the yard and into the house. Inside, Josie tripped on Amelia’s backpack. Her daughter had dropped it in the hall. She found Amelia in the kitchen, opening a soda, something she wasn’t supposed to do before dinner. Josie decided she’d make an exception tonight. She needed a drink after that encounter. No doubt the kid did, too.

Josie put her arms around Amelia and hugged her. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know you were scared, but the reporters weren’t going to hurt you. They were just doing their job. They have to ask questions.”

“They were so rude, Mom.”

“Yes, they were. They’re paid to be rude.”

“Stan’s a hero. He saved us.”

“I wish our hero didn’t wear baggy pants,” she said.

“You’re so superficial, Mom,” Amelia said.

Josie wondered where her daughter got that. “You’re right,” she said. “But I can’t help it.”

“Aren’t you at least going to call him and thank him?”

“Yes, I am,” Josie said.

Her conversation with Stan was awkward. She kept imagining what she would have said to Josh. She would have batted her eyes and said, “My hero” in a jokey voice, but Josh would have known she meant it. Except Josh didn’t save her. Stan did. Solid, stolid Stan, who had such a crush on her that it would be cruel to encourage it.

“I wanted to thank you, Stan, for rescuing us,” Josie said.

“No problem,” he said. She could almost see him shrug in that awful shirt.

I should invite him for dinner, she thought. But I can’t. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She hung up with relief.

“You should have invited him to dinner, Mom,” Amelia said. “It’s only polite when someone rescues us.”

“Bad idea, Amelia. He likes me and I don’t like him the same way. It would be wrong. What would you like for dinner? Cheeseburgers?”

It was a bribe. Amelia took it. “With onions and ketchup? And no salad?”

“You’ve got it,” Josie said.

But if she thought this treat would placate her daughter, she was mistaken. Amelia was in a mood. She slammed the plates down on the table and forgot the silverware and napkins. They were finishing dinner, when Amelia said, “Justin is an ass.”

The ass game again. Amelia was still going for the Barrington School record of how many times she could use the a-word in a sentence.

“I don’t want to hear that word,” Josie said. “You know how I feel about curse words.”

“I’m not cursing, Mom. I looked ‘ass’ up in the dictionary. ‘Ass’ is a perfectly good word. A donkey is an ass.”

“Then say ‘donkey’ if that’s what you mean,” Josie said.

“‘Ass’ also means a stupid or a silly person,” Amelia said. “Jason is an ass twice. Once because he’s stupid and once because he’s silly. In my ass-ssessment, he’s an ass times two. A double-assed ass. An ass—”

“Amelia?” Josie said.

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Josie said.

Amelia fled to her room in tears.

What’s wrong with me? Josie thought as she rinsed and stacked the plates in the dishwasher. I can’t believe I lost my temper over something so stupid. What kind of example am I? Using the f-word won’t stop my daughter from using the a-word.

There was no excuse for her behavior. Josie owed her daughter an apology. She went down the hall toward Amelia’s room. Josie heard it long before she saw it.
Green Day was playing on the radio so loud the hall walls vibrated. Josie knocked on her daughter’s door.

There was no answer.

Josie knocked harder. “Amelia?” she said.

She cracked the door slightly and saw her daughter sliding a paper into the top of the chintz-covered footstool. Amelia looked up guiltily. Josie caught a quick glimpse before she slammed the lid shut on the stool. It was a list of ass words.

Josie bit her lip to keep from smiling. Like mother, like daughter. Josie had used that same footstool as a hiding place when she was Amelia’s age. She’d reupholstered it in Laura Ashley chintz for her daughter’s eighth birthday.

“Amelia, I know it’s hard—”

Josie stopped short. Hard. Hiding place. That’s it. That’s where it was.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Amelia asked.

Josie picked her daughter up and kissed her. “I came in to say I’m sorry for using the f-word. That was wrong and I apologize. Now I have to say thank you. You’ve solved everything for me. I know where he hid it.”

“Hid what?” Amelia said. “Solved what? Mom, you’re weird.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow. I have to call Alyce.”

Josie ran out of the room and dialed her best friend. When Alyce answered, Josie said, “I know where the DVD is.”

Alyce said, “Hello, this is Josie. I know you don’t usually take calls during family time, Alyce, but are you available to talk now?”

“Alyce, this is major,” Josie said. “The DVD is in Mel’s fantasy room. I know where. I’ll call Zinnia and ask her if we can look around in there tomorrow.”

“Are you going to tell her why?”

“No. She may not believe Cheryl is innocent anymore. I’ll ask her if we can come over. You can go with me, can’t you?”

“Tomorrow is the nanny’s day off. I’ll have to take the baby with me.”

“Fine,” Josie said.

“You won’t say that when Justin gets cranky at nap time. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“Good. And bring Jake’s electronic pass, just in case.” There was a loud knock at the door. “Alyce, I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the back door.”

Josie hoped it wasn’t a reporter. She listened again for the knock. A woman’s voice said, “Josie, open up. It’s Verena.”

Verena? Josie didn’t know any Verena.

She parted the curtain for a look. Mrs. Mueller was on Josie’s doorstep. She had no idea the woman had a first name. Verena Mueller. It seemed oddly indecent, like seeing her in a skimpy nightgown.

Mrs. Mueller didn’t wait for an invitation. She sat down at the kitchen table. “I had to sneak in the back way,” she said. “I didn’t want any reporters to see me. What did you find out?”

“Cheryl made a DVD with Mel.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Mueller’s face went flat. “How bad?” she said carefully.

“It’s about pedal pumping,” Josie said, and explained what that was.

“That’s all?” Mrs. Mueller said. “See, my little girl is so innocent. She’s worried about that harmless DVD.”

“It’s not harmless,” Josie said. “Mel blackmailed her with it. He was murdered for it.”

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Mueller said.

“I don’t, either. Not completely. But there’s something in there worth killing for. Cheryl thinks the killer searched the house for it the night Mel was murdered. He didn’t find it. I think I know where it is. I’m going there tomorrow.”

“Good,” Mrs. Mueller said briskly. “I’ll tell Tom and—”

“No, don’t,” Josie said. “I don’t want the housekeeper tipped off. Let’s keep it between ourselves for now. Cheryl’s freedom may depend on it.”

“Well, in that case.” Mrs. Mueller rose to leave. “You did good work today, Josie. Thank you.”

My Lord, Josie thought. She’d learned Mrs. Mueller’s
first name and been complimented, all on the same visit. Josie went back down the hall to check on her daughter. The music was still blasting, but Amelia was in the deep, heavy sleep of childhood. Josie spent a moment admiring her daughter’s flawless skin with the sweet sprinkling of freckles, the long dark hair, the small curled hands.

Then she pulled off Amelia’s shoes and covered her up. She switched off the radio and the lights. “Good night,” she whispered, as she kissed her daughter on the forehead. Amelia never stirred.

Josie was shutting her bedroom door when the phone rang. She ran to pick it up before it woke up Amelia. A rushed voice said, “Josie, it’s me. Fiona. Mrs. Mueller said you know where the DVD is.”

Oh, no, Josie thought. I told that woman to keep her mouth shut. Mrs. M was barely out of the house before she blabbed.

“How did you find out?” Josie said.

“I called Mrs. Mueller to find out how Cheryl was, and she gave me the good news. Where is it? Do you have it?”

“I think it may be at Mel’s house,” Josie said. “I’m going there tomorrow to look for it. But please don’t say anything. I don’t want to alarm the housekeeper.”