High Heels Are Murder (9 page)

The walk-in closet looked like a jumble sale. Josie saw piles of unironed shirts, unhung skirts, abandoned scrunchies and scarves. Socks were tossed like confetti. There were enough designer shoes to start a store. They’re all my size, Josie thought. If I slip a pair into my purse, Cheryl will never miss them. She eyed some sexy black Jimmy Choos.

Her larcenous thoughts finally shamed Josie into leaving.
She used the cluttered bathroom and hurried back down the stairs. Cheryl had coffee on a tray and cookies on a pretty plate. Sugar and cream were served in her wedding china. This display isn’t for me, Josie thought. It’s to show off her nice things.

“Your mom asked me to talk with you. She thought I might be able to help you,” Josie said.

“Oh, yes, you’re that shopper person,” Cheryl said. “The one next door who lives with her mother. You’re not married, right?”

Josie had been put in her place.

“I am a mystery shopper,” Josie said. “I shopped the Soft Shoe store the day Mel was murdered.”

“Really?” Cheryl looked at Josie’s comfortable loafers. “I would have never guessed.”

Keep your temper, Josie told herself. Remember your mother. She wants to be Maplewood flower chair.

“Is there anything I can tell you about Mel?” Josie said. “Your mom is worried sick after the police interviewed you.” Take that, Ms. Perfect.

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding,” Cheryl said. “Mothers worry too much. You know how it is.” She gave a we-girls smile.

“Actually, I think your mother is right,” Josie said. “And I don’t usually agree with your mom.” She smiled back. “You’ve never been in trouble before. I’m not sure you realize how serious your situation is.”

“I’m well aware of what’s happening. More than you are,” Cheryl said. She held the silver sugar tongs as if she wanted to snip off Josie’s nose. Instead, she grabbed a sugar cube.

“There was a rumor that Mel was into women’s feet,” Josie said.

Cheryl squeezed the sugar cube until it disintegrated. “Not mine,” she said. “I wouldn’t stand for that.”

Josie almost laughed, then realized Cheryl had no sense of humor. She wasn’t making a deliberate pun. “There were complaints about Mel and some of the women customers.”

“What do you mean, complaints?” Cheryl’s voice grew hard.

“Look, Cheryl, it wasn’t my idea to come here,” Josie said. “Your mother thought I could help you because I know the shoe store and I’ve had some dealings with Mel—and they weren’t pleasant.”

“I don’t need your help.” Cheryl stood up. “I don’t want you here. I have no idea how Mel wound up dead at the bottom of his staircase. There’s nothing someone like you can do for me. If there’s a problem—and there isn’t—my husband will get me the best lawyer in West County. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an errand to run before the plumber gets here. I have to leave.”

“Fine,” Josie said. “I’m outta here.”

Josie watched Cheryl stomp out of the room, leaving her to find her own way through the perfectly decorated house.

That’s it, she thought. I’ve done my duty. I talked with Cheryl. Fat lot of good it did, but I don’t care if she acts like a spoiled brat. Mom will get her committee chair, and I can get out of here.

Josie found her purse in the clutter of magazines and toys, and checked her jeans for jelly doughnut juice. The rooms where Cheryl actually lived were night-and-day different from the show rooms, she thought, as she picked her way through the dusted and polished perfection at the front of the house. The ice-white living room felt ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house.

The doorbell rang, and Josie heard Cheryl erupt into curses. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “That damned plumber was supposed to call first. He’s two hours early. I’ll ream his ass.”

Whoa, Josie thought. Wish Mom could hear this. Mrs. Mueller’s little girl has quite a mouth. She poked her head around the living room doorway and saw Cheryl march toward the front door, anger in every step.

Through the front window, Josie caught a glimpse of the two people on the doorstep. This must be some ritzy neighborhood, she thought. The plumber and his assistant were in suits. Cheryl flung open the door, then turned whiter than her living room. Something was wrong.

One of the suits flashed a badge. He was about her age, Josie figured, with an open face and little ears like knobs. Standing next to him was the curly-haired detective who’d been at her house that morning.

Holy shit, Josie thought, stepping back into the shadowy living room. I can’t let Detective Causeman see me here. She’ll think I’m mixed up with Cheryl.

Josie ducked into the bathroom with the plugged toilet, rummaged in her purse, then pulled on the black sweater and red wig. She added hot-pink lipstick and checked herself in the mirror. Not bad. Even Jane would have trouble recognizing her in that getup. The newly transformed Josie peeked around the corner. She wanted to watch this show.

Cheryl was confronting the two detectives. She barred her door, refusing to let them in. Josie gave her top points for tailoring. The curly blond detective’s suit sagged at the knees. Cheryl’s had creases as sharp as her tongue.

“What are you doing here? I told you not to come back.” Cheryl’s voice had an ugly edge. That temper thing again.

Bad move, Josie thought. Always be polite to cops. They have ways of getting even. But Cheryl, who’d never been in trouble, didn’t know that.

The knob-eared detective stayed super-polite, which Josie thought was a bad sign. She heard something slightly off in his voice. She was enough of an actress herself to recognize a performance.

“We’d like you to accompany us to headquarters to answer some questions about the murder of Melvin Poulaine,” he said smoothly. Detective Kate Causeman said nothing.

“Get out of my way,” Cheryl said. She tried to leave, but the knob-eared detective didn’t move. Cheryl couldn’t get out her own front door.

“I’m not going with you. I’m calling my lawyer.” Cheryl spit out the words like a Mob princess.

The detective stood silent as a pin-striped rock. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were cold. Cheryl didn’t
see this dangerous sign. She tried to walk past him, but he blocked her exit. She pushed him out of her way and either stumbled or deliberately kicked him.

“Did you see that?” he asked his partner in mock surprise.

“I certainly did,” Detective Causeman said. The curly-haired detective sounded as stagy as Detective Knob Ears. “I believe Mrs. Malmy has assaulted a police officer.”

“Well, then,” Knob Ears said, “we’ll have to arrest her—and fingerprint her.”

It was a setup, Josie thought, and silly, spoiled Cheryl stepped into it. The detectives were going to get her fingerprints one way or the other.

The two detectives clamped their hands down on her arms. Detective Knob Ears said, “Cheryl Malmy, you have the right to remain silent …”

Cheryl wasn’t silent. She was stunned with shock. Josie could practically read her mind. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. The world always did what Cheryl wanted.

Now it had turned on her. Perfect Cheryl had a new set of bracelets.

She was led from her home in handcuffs.

The
snick!
of the handcuffs unleashed something in Cheryl. Suddenly, she came to life. She fired orders at Josie, still standing in the shadows in her red wig.

“Get my baby, Ben,” she said. “He’s at the sitter’s. The number is by the phone. Tell Bonnie I said you could pick him up. The code words are ‘baby blue.’ Call my mother. Take the baby to her. She’ll watch him. Have her call the lawyer. Take care of Ben.”

This last was said as the detectives were leading Cheryl away. Josie was relieved that Cheryl never said her name or noticed her new hair color. She even forgave her for not saying “please” as she rudely issued orders.

Josie sprinted for the kitchen and tore the babysitter’s number from a list by the kitchen phone. With any luck, the detectives would think the redheaded Josie was a neighbor, a harmless suburban woman.

Josie slid quietly out the side door. The cops were escorting Cheryl into their car with exaggerated courtesy. Detective Causeman held her hand over the doorframe, so the handcuffed Cheryl wouldn’t bump her head as she got into the car. Cheryl must be seething, but this time she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. No neighbors came out to watch the show. Cheryl still had a little luck left.

Josie hoped her own luck held and Detective Causeman didn’t recognize her. She strolled down the street away from Cheryl’s house, as if she lived in the neighborhood. She kept going until she saw the detectives’
car pull out of Cheryl’s drive. Then Josie doubled back and slipped into her own car, grateful it looked so anonymous. She was shaking when she sat down.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Josie wanted to run. She wanted to roar through the subdivision streets at ninety miles an hour. Go slow, she told herself. Don’t call attention to yourself. It took superhuman effort to keep her car at the subdivision’s sedate twenty-five-miles-an-hour speed limit, but Josie did it.

She drove for nearly a mile before she pulled over in a strip mall and punched the sitter’s number on her cell phone. Her hands fumbled with the buttons and she couldn’t complete the call. Josie took another deep breath. This time, she dialed the number.

“Hello, Bonnie?” Josie said.

“That’s me!” Bonnie had the smiley voice of so many professional child care workers.

“I’m Josie Marcus. Cheryl asked me to pick up Ben and take him to her mother’s. She said to tell you the code is baby blue. That’s okay? Good. Where do you live?”

Josie wrote down Bonnie’s directions. She didn’t trust her memory right now. The babysitter’s voice was high-pitched, like a cartoon character. Josie could hear a Baby Einstein video and toddler shrieks in the background.

“Thanks,” Josie said. “I can be there in ten minutes.”

Josie speed-dialed the call to her mother. “Hello, Mom. It’s me. I went to see Cheryl. Yes, the house is lovely, but that’s not why I’m calling. The police arrested Cheryl. I said they arrested Cheryl. Not for murder. For assaulting a police officer. Yes, I was at the right house. It was definitely Cheryl. I didn’t make a mistake, Mom. I heard them read Cheryl her rights.”

Jane still refused to believe Josie. She wasn’t talking so much as making protesting noises.

“What did she do? She was rude, Mom. What do you mean, they don’t arrest people for being rude. She tried to push around a homicide detective. I think she made him angry. His partner is the curly-haired blonde who was at our house today, Detective Causeman. Yes, I’m
glad you were nice to her, Mom. Look, I have to go. They’re taking Cheryl to the Olympia Park police station.

“Cheryl needs a lawyer. Can you tell Mrs. Mueller that? Also, tell her I’m picking up the baby at the sitter’s and I’ll bring him straight to her house. Yes, Mom, I’ll drive slowly with a baby in the car.

“No, Mom, that’s all I know right now. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

“What? You’re proud of me because I put aside my animosity to help a family in trouble? Thanks, Mom. GBH to you, too.”

Josie shut the phone.

Well, how about that? Her mother was proud of her. Josie felt aglow. The sun appeared through the slate gray clouds for just a moment, a surreal lemon light.

Josie thought about the scene with Cheryl, when she’d snapped orders at Josie. She had worried about her child first and last, like any good mother. She’d also wanted her own mom. But she’d never mentioned her loving husband, Tom.

Then she thought back to her earlier conversation with Cheryl. “I have no idea how Mel wound up dead at the bottom of his staircase,” Cheryl had said.

How did she know that? It wasn’t in the newspaper. Did the police tell her? Detective Causeman never told Josie how Mel died. Did she tell Cheryl? Or was Cheryl at Mel’s house the night he was killed? Did she see him lying dead at the foot of the stairs? Did she send him there? Josie had learned something from her encounter with Cheryl after all, but it wouldn’t make her mother happy. It put another ding in Cheryl’s perfect facade.

Bonnie the babysitter lived in the low-rent part of Ballwin, in an old subdivision with small, slightly rundown ranch houses. Bonnie’s was mint green. The yard was filled with orange plastic toys.

Bonnie was a large, smiling woman in painter’s overalls. Josie didn’t think those were paint streaks down her front. Her door opened with the cheery jingle of sleigh bells. The tiny living room was as clean as a woman with kids could keep it, and completely overrun with children. A little girl solemnly balanced blocks on the floor. A
boy tried to take them away from her. She swatted him on the head and resumed building her block tower.

Two more boys bounced on the plaid couch, watching Baby Einstein and pointing excitedly at the video’s stuffed cows and trains.

“Choo-choo,” howled the boy who turned out to be Ben. He was a rosy little guy with chubby cheeks and an air of serious purpose. Josie loved his clothes—miniature jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt. The baby lumberjack look.

“So you’re taking him to Grandma’s?” Bonnie said.

“Nana,” Ben shrieked.

“Cheryl asked me to drop him off at her mom’s in Maplewood,” Josie said. She didn’t mention Cheryl’s arrest. “She gave me the code.”

“We worked that out,” Bonnie said. “It changes every day. Cheryl gets stuck in meetings a lot. If she can’t get free by three thirty, she calls me and sends someone to pick up Ben. The person doing the pickup has to have the code. It’s a safety precaution.”

“Does Ben stay here often?”

“Four or five days a week. Cheryl usually drops him off between ten and eleven in the morning, then picks him up by four. I’m almost his second mom. For a while Ben even called me Mommy, which ticked off his mother. I told her it was a phase, but she didn’t believe me. He got over it. She did, too. Do you have a baby car seat?”

“No,” Josie said.

“I’d better lend you one,” Bonnie said. “That will be thirty-five dollars for the babysitting and a twenty-dollar deposit for the car seat.” Her cheerful voice had a bit of an edge. Inside that motherly figure was an adding machine.