Murder Is a Piece of Cake (8 page)

Chapter 12

Wednesday, October 24

Molly Ann Deaver was murdered.

The bullet wound was a deadly bloom of dark red that spattered down her pink dress.

Josie made a thin mewing sound that morphed into a straight-out scream. Ted leaped
out of his car and said, “Josie, what did she do to you?”

“Nothing,” Josie said, her voice flat. She felt as if she were watching herself from
a long distance. The bronze glow of the mercury-vapor lights added to the effect,
as if Josie were looking at a sepia-tinted photo taken long ago. “She’s dead. Someone
shot her in the head.”

Ted gathered Josie into his arms. Something shattered inside when she leaned her head
on his shoulder. She caught his work smell—coffee, disinfectant, and dog hair—and
cried. “I wanted her gone for good and now she is, but not this way.”

“Me, either,” Ted said.

“What’s going to happen to you?” Josie wept. “First that terrible TV show. Then that
stupid judge. They’re going to blame you.”

“Sh!” Ted said, holding her. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t kill her. I was inside when it
happened. Are you sure she’s dead? Maybe I should check.”

“She’s definitely dead,” Josie said. “Don’t touch her! You don’t need to get your
fingerprints on her car.”

“Her eyelids look bruised,” Ted said. “I wonder if she was beaten first? She must
have been shot at fairly close range. I can see the black gunpowder marks on her skin.
The blood has clogged and the top stuff is dry, but the thicker stuff is still wet.”

“Stop!” Josie said. “It’s horrible standing out here discussing her dead body. We
need to call the police.”

With fear-numbed fingers, Josie punched in 911 and blurted that she’d found a dead
woman in the clinic lot. The 911 operator tried to keep her on the line, but Josie
hung up and called her mother.

“Mom, I only have a few moments before the police get here,” she said. “I’m with Ted.
Molly Deaver’s been shot in her car and the police are on their way. Will you make
sure Amelia gets to bed on time? Yes, Ted and I are fine. No, we weren’t hurt. The
only—”

Josie’s sentence was interrupted by the sirens. “The police are here,” she said. “I’ve
gotta go, Mom. Love you.”

Josie thought she was frightened when she found the body.

But her fear grew when two Rock Road Village police arrived on the scene. She and
Ted didn’t recognize the officers.

She thought the officer who interviewed her was somewhere in his forties, but later
she couldn’t recall his name or his face. All she remembered were his hands: strong,
calloused, with a gold wedding band and a deep scratch on his right thumb. He used
those hands to pat down Josie for a weapon. She didn’t like a strange man touching
her, but he was quick and professional. He searched her for trace blood, examining
her clothes and making her take off her shoes. He also swabbed the front and back
of her hands with little test-tubelike collection doodads with sticky tops.

“I’m testing for GSR, ma’am,” he said.

Gunshot residue, she figured out later.

They didn’t find any on Josie or Ted. Josie’s officer told her to sit in the back
of his car.

“Can I call my mother?” Josie asked.

“Not until the homicide detective gives permission, ma’am,” he said. “He’s on his
way.” He locked the door to his car.

A bald, baggy-faced officer took charge of Ted. He was a stickler for procedure. “Empty
your pockets, sir,” he said, his voice neutral.

“Where should I put my things?” Ted asked.

“On the hood of your car, sir.”

Ted set his cell phone, keys, wallet and pocket change on the Mustang’s hood. The
officer gave Ted a cautious but thorough pat-down.

Ted’s phone barked. “Can I answer my phone?” he asked.

“No.”

“What if it’s a patient?”

“Don’t you have a partner?”

“Yes, but—”

“Let your partner take the call.”

After Ted’s clothes and shoes were checked for blood spatter, the officer told him,
“You can sit in that car and wait until the homicide detective arrives.”

All that was bad. But when a Dodge Charger pulled into the lot and the homicide detective
stepped out, Josie felt something claw her heart. It was Detective Richard Gray, the
man who thought she’d murdered Amelia’s father, Nate. The same man who’d once thought
Ted was a killer, too.

He was wrong both times. Now Josie and Ted were together, and there was another murder.

Detective Gray dressed like his name: gray suit, darker gray tie, silver gray hair,
eyes like chips of dirty ice and just as cold. His last name was so perfect for him,
Josie thought he must have felt complete when his hair finally grayed.

“Miss Marcus,” he said. “We have to stop meeting like this.” His voice was mocking.

“But wait, you’re not alone. You have a partner in crime now. It’s my old friend,
Ted. As I recall, you were a person of interest in one of my cases,
Dr.
Ted.” He made Ted’s title into a sneer.

“Why am I not surprised that you and Miss Marcus have joined forces and the result
is another victim? A famous one, too. The little blonde you left at the altar, Dr.
Ted. Shot in the head. Miss Molly Deaver is—or should I say was—a nice-looking woman.
That TV show made her into a jilted bride, but I didn’t believe it. If Channel Seven
says the sun is shining, I look out my window to confirm it.”

A wave of relief washed over Josie when she heard that.

“I talked to Officer Edelson and he said Miss Deaver was a stalker. He told me stalkers
don’t get better with treatment. Your only escape is to move away and hope they’ll
fixate on someone else.

“But this clinic says you’ve got a major investment in the area. Looks like you took
the sure-fire route to freedom: I’m going to read you and Miss Marcus your rights.”
He began the familiar chant.

“Am I being taken into custody?” Ted asked. Josie was too afraid to speak.

“Not yet,” Gray said. “But I want to make sure I have the bases covered. Are you going
to call your lawyer?”

“No. I didn’t kill her and I can prove it,” Ted said. “Kathy, our receptionist, was
the last person to leave the building at five thirty today. I locked the door after
her and used my code to turn on our security system. None of the clinic doors was
opened again. I noticed Molly in our lot at six thirty, sitting in her car. I thought
she was watching the door, and so I called Josie. She got here about ten minutes later.
That’s when I opened the clinic door. Check our security system. It will prove I’m
right.”

“You got a camera on the lot here?” the detective asked.

“We do, but it wasn’t working last night. Kathy called it in today. The company will
be out tomorrow to fix it.”

“Very convenient.”

“You can check that with the security company, too,” Ted said.

“Why didn’t you call the police when you saw Miss Deaver?” Gray asked.

“Did that this morning,” Ted said. “The patrol officers treated my complaint like
a joke.”

“New hires,” Detective Gray said, and shrugged.

“Since I knew the Rock Road Village police wouldn’t help, I called Josie.”

“How do I know you didn’t shoot the victim while you were waiting for Miss Marcus
to ride to your rescue?” Gray asked.

“Check Molly for livor mortis,” Ted said. “You should find the blood is starting to
pool in her lower extremities. That doesn’t start until twenty minutes to three hours
after death. Also, I bet you’ll find her car engine is cold. Josie’s car is still
warm.”

“You got it all figured out, Sherlock,” the detective said.

Extra lights had been erected in the parking lot, and a cloth shield was put up to
hide Molly’s car from curious eyes. The doors were opened, and white-suited techs
were examining the Volkswagen. Police photographers and other crime investigators
crawled around the scene like ants on an overturned hill. Uniformed officers knocked
on neighbors’ doors. The baggy-faced first responder was searching the bushes around
the clinic.

“Detective, we found this inside the victim’s car. It’s been fired, sir.” The uniform
was so young, he looked like he was out past curfew.

Josie could see the weapon in the police car’s side mirror—a pearl-handled .38 with
LSH
in silver. Lenore’s pistol.

“Are you holding that firearm by a pencil in the barrel?” Detective Gray asked.

“Y-yes, sir,” the officer stuttered.

“Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy? Not only is that unsafe,” he said,
“it could damage potential evidence. You pick up a gun by the textured surface on
the grips.”

“These are pearl-handled grips, sir. There’s no texturing. There are initials. They
look like
LSH
.”

“So they do. Package that firearm in an envelope so the lab can process it for prints.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But first, take out the ammunition and put each bullet in a cardboard pillbox.”

This time, the uniform nodded.

“I’ve seen that weapon before,” Gray said. “
LSH
. That’s Lenore Scottsmeyer Hall.”

He turned to Ted. “Aren’t you the son of the pistol-packing mama?”

“Lenore Scottsmeyer Hall is my mother,” Ted said. “That’s what they called her on
Channel Seven.”

“She still in town?” Gray said.

“She’s flying home Friday morning,” Ted said.

Josie fought to banish the image of her future mother-in-law riding a broom.

“Where’s she staying?” Gray asked.

“At the Ritz in Clayton. But there’s no way she’d shoot Molly Deaver.”

“That’s not what I saw on TV,” the detective said. “Your mother whipped out that thirty-eight
snub-nose mighty quick to defend her darling boy. Used a gun that looks just like
this one. Aren’t those her initials?”

“Looks like them, yes,” Ted said. “But I’ve never seen her gun up close.”

Detective Gray motioned to two more uniforms combing the parking lot. “Go to the Ritz
and pick up Mrs. Lenore Scottsmeyer Hall,” he said. “Bring her in for questioning.
She’s a person of interest.”

Josie could see Ted’s face had gone pinched and pale. She longed to comfort him, or
at least hold his hand, but she could do nothing.

The Ritz was ten minutes from Ted’s clinic, but Josie thought the wait took hours.
Her thoughts ran wild. Would Lenore really shoot Molly? Ridiculous. But Lenore was
ridiculous. And her interview while she twirled that stupid gun had gone viral.

Josie tried to think about what she’d seen and block out the vision of Molly staring
glassy-eyed into eternity. She erected a kind of mental screen, a version of what
the crime scene workers had put up.

Why would Lenore leave her beloved pistol behind in the car? Wouldn’t she take it
with her? If Lenore didn’t kill the bride, how did someone else get her gun?

Detective Gray’s cell phone rang. Josie could hear him talking. “What do you mean
she’s checked out? Did the front desk say where she was going?

“The airport!

“That woman is fleeing. Stop her.”

Chapter 13

Wednesday, October 24/Thursday, October 25

Lenore was a stylish standout in the airport security line. Most of the straggling
travelers stood slump-shouldered in saggy jeans or dreary sweats. Ted’s mother wore
a sleek tan Chanel suit draped with gold necklaces that would have sent TSA’s metal
detectors into a tizzy—except she never made it through security.

She was pulled out of the line by a TSA agent and two Rock Road Village uniforms.
And—wouldn’t you know it?—a Channel Seven crew happened to be in the airport. They
taped the fugitive’s “takedown” as reporter Wendy Lee Chase called it. She was breathless
with excitement. Lenore had gone from pistol-packing mama to Florida felon in half
a day.

Ted and Josie watched Lenore’s arrest on television. They couldn’t be with her at
the airport when it actually happened. They were still being interrogated by an angry
Detective Gray.

They missed the ten o’clock news that night. But Ted stopped by Josie’s for breakfast
the next morning after she’d dropped Amelia at school. They sat on her living room
sofa watching the morning news, their plates of eggs abandoned on the coffee table.

Channel Seven newscaster Wendy Lee, eyes wide with artificial excitement, said, “Lenore
Scottsmeyer Hall, the pistol-packing mama, was arrested last night at Lambert International
Airport. A police spokesperson says Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall was allegedly fleeing St.
Louis after murdering abandoned bride Molly Ann Deaver.”

A photo of an artistically tearful Molly flashed on the screen.

Ted and Josie groaned together as Wendy Lee recapped her version of Molly’s suffering
and death.

“Miss Deaver was found shot to death in her car in the parking lot of the St. Louis
Mobo-Pet Clinic Wednesday evening,” she said as a helicopter videoed the clinic lot.
Molly’s Beetle, Josie’s battered Honda, Ted’s Mustang and a horde of crime scene workers
were bronzed by the mercury-vapor lights.

“Police searched the area and found a snub-nose thirty-eight revolver believed to
belong to Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall. Rock Road Village police were dispatched to the Ritz-Carlton
to question Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall and discovered she had fled the luxury hotel. She
was arrested trying to board a flight back to her home in Florida.”

“Wonder how Channel Seven knew to go to the airport?” Ted said.

“I don’t think Detective Gray called them,” Josie said. “He hates that station.”

“Maybe it was the young officer who found Mom’s gun,” Ted said.

They watched the camera pan the long line of travelers dragging rolling suitcases,
then stop at Lenore. Her designer suit glowed in the dreary airport lighting. The
two uniforms and the TSA agent surrounded her and they blocked her progress.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lenore asked. Her voice was haughty, exactly the wrong
tone to take. “I need to leave immediately or I’ll miss my flight.”

Ted winced. “Oh, Mom,” he said to the TV screen. “This is no time for your Boca Diva
act.”

On camera, Lenore glared at the gawky pink-faced Rock Road Village cop.

“Sorry, ma’am, but we need to question you.” He gulped and glanced uneasily at his
older partner, a muscular officer with a military haircut.

“About what?” Lenore demanded.

“Miss Molly Ann Deaver,” Officer Muscle said. He spoke with smooth reassurance.

“That demented bride?” Lenore said. “Why should I care about her?”

Ted warned the TV, “Mom, you’re walking into a trap.” Josie patted his hand, but he
didn’t notice. He was watching his mother’s downfall.

“When did you last see her?” Officer Muscle asked. His scrawny partner shifted uneasily
from foot to foot.

“Tuesday afternoon, when she invaded my son’s clinic,” Lenore said. “You people showed
some sense and hauled her away.” She gave the officers a frosty smile. “But that judge
is crazier than she is. He turned her loose after she attacked Dr. Ted Scottsmeyer
with a knife.”

“Mom!” Ted said to the TV set. “Did you have to use my name?”

“And you haven’t seen her since?” Officer Muscle said. Josie thought she detected
a hint of sarcasm.

“No? Why would I want to? Is something wrong?”

“Please, Mom,” Ted begged. “Please watch what you’re saying.”

“You could say that, ma’am,” the officer said. “She’s been murdered.”

“Why is that my concern?” Lenore looked down her nose at him.

He looked right back. “We believe you are fleeing the scene of the crime.”

“That’s absurd,” Lenore said. “I’m going home to my husband, Dr. Whitney Hudson Hall.
He’s a board-certified plastic surgeon in Boca. I’m so worried about him, I didn’t
wait for our plane. I’m flying commercial. Now, if you’ll step aside.”

She tried to push her way past the men, but TSA had removed the barricade rope and
smoothly guided her outside the line.

“No, ma’am. You have the right to remain silent . . .” By the time he finished reading
Lenore her rights, the foursome was near the terminal exit.

“I want my lawyer,” Lenore said. “I won’t say a word until attorney Shelford Clark
arrives from Boca Raton. I won’t have a St. Louis hick representing me. I want a real
lawyer.”

Ted was still talking to the screen. “Oh, Mom,” he said. “They’re going to lock you
up and throw away the key. Please don’t say anything else.”

After insulting the local legal community, along with the citizens of St. Louis, Lenore
Scottsmeyer Hall was finally, blessedly silent.

That was when the TV report cut to Lenore’s old pistol-packing mama interview. Wendy
Lee said, “Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall gave Channel Seven this exclusive interview before
the murder of Molly Ann Deaver.”

Now Lenore was in dead black, grinning at the camera. “I carry my pistol in a purse
instead of a holster,” she said, “but it’s just as deadly as any man’s long barrel.
Maybe deadlier, because I can open my purse quicker than he can unsnap his holster.
Besides, I’m an expert shot.”

The camera focused on Lenore twirling her pistol as Wendy Lee said, “Police sources
say Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall’s fingerprints were found on both the murder weapon and
the bullets, and she cannot account for her whereabouts at the time of the shooting.
Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall declined to comment.

“Channel Seven is the only station with this interview of the victim’s sister, Emily
Deaver Destin, at her home in the exclusive Estates at Wood Winds in West County.”

The camera panned the subdivision’s entrance and a view of the lush lawns and eclectic
architecture, from Victorian mansions to Tuscan villas.

“That’s where Alyce lives, right?” Ted said.

“She has the Tudor mansion with the half-timbered garage,” Josie said.

“Is her subdivision exclusive?”

“It’s expensive,” Josie said. “I’m not sure that’s the same thing.”

Emily’s home jutted out of the ground like a cantilevered crystal. Josie thought it
looked interesting but cold, like Emily.

“Emily doesn’t seem anything like her sister,” Ted said.

She was a big-boned woman of about thirty. Her brown hair had been chopped short.
Everything about her seemed designed to save time, from her brown turtleneck to her
flat shoes.

“I don’t know why anyone would hurt my sister,” she said. “Molly couldn’t wait to
marry Ted Scottsmeyer. Her wedding was all she talked about. She never hurt a soul.
Molly liked ruffles and flowers and antiques and loved her fiancé. I’m glad the police
caught her killer.”

“So you believe that Lenore Scottsmeyer Hall murdered your sister?” Wendy Lee asked.

“I have no doubt the police arrested the right person,” Emily said. “I know she’s
a killer.” She stared right into the lens.

“Mom’s been tried and convicted on TV,” Ted said. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. “Channel Seven has set up Lenore to look guilty as hell.”
And she helped them, she thought. But she couldn’t say that to Ted.

“Mom didn’t kill Molly,” Ted said. “I wonder who’d want Molly dead? And how did the
killer get Mom’s pearl-handled pistol?”

“I think I can answer that,” Josie said. “She misplaced her purse at the Blue Rose
Tearoom the other day. The server, Jane, and I searched for it. Half the restaurant
helped look for her lost purse. The server found it on the empty chair at our table.
Your mother insisted she didn’t put her purse there.”

“Did she notice her gun was missing?” Ted asked.

“She opened it and said her wallet, money, and credit cards were there. I don’t remember
her mentioning the gun.”

“Was the restaurant crowded?” Ted asked.

“Packed,” Josie said. “People were coming by the table to see your mom. She was quite
the celebrity. Anyone could have swiped her purse, taken the gun, and returned her
bag during the search.”

“No cop will believe her story,” Ted said. “There are too many coincidences, Josie.
The clinic security camera broke, so there’s no video of the parking lot. Somebody
stole the gun out of Mom’s purse at the tearoom and she didn’t notice. And Mom wasn’t
fleeing the city; she was going home to be with my stepfather. It doesn’t help that
she tried to fly commercial instead of waiting for their plane.

“Or that my stepfather, Whit, just happened to break his ankle at the wrong time.”

“Have you talked with him?” Josie asked.

“Three times so far,” Ted said. “Whit loves Mom and he says he’ll spend every dollar
he has to save her. He’s already hired Shelford Clark and he’s flying him here. The
lawyer will be in St. Louis in about an hour.”

“Then we should pick him up at the airport,” Josie said.

“That’s sweet, Josie, but a lawyer like Clark expects to be treated like a king. He
has a limo meeting him. Whit makes major bucks sculpting Boca babes. Lucky for Mom,
he’s also a good guy.”

“Is this Clark a good lawyer?” Josie asked.

“Remember the Boca Babe Case?” Ted asked.

“Was she the twenty-something wife of the rich old furniture store heir?” Josie asked.
“Wasn’t she accused of murdering her husband?”

“She was,” Ted said. “Most people thought she did. Shel Clark got her acquitted. She
not only inherited the old man’s millions, but Shel helped sell her life story for
another two million.

“He’s the best in South Florida,” Ted said. “How well he’ll play in St. Louis is another
question.”

“I wish your mom had been more tactful,” Josie said.

“Mom has a lot of fine qualities, but tact isn’t one of them,” Ted said. “Whit says
he likes smart, forthright women.”

“Is your stepfather coming here?”

“Can’t. He really did break his ankle on the golf course,” Ted said. “His ortho doctor
says he has to stay off it for four weeks. He won’t even let him do surgery.”

“Who’ll take care of Whit now that your mom can’t come home?” Josie asked.

“Mrs. Garcia, their live-in housekeeper,” Ted said. “Their chauffeur will drive him.
If he’s lucky, Whit will get to come here for our wedding.”

Our wedding. Less than a month away. Josie knew even the best lawyer couldn’t get
Lenore acquitted on a murder charge in that time, and Lenore couldn’t get bail for
murder.

Ted and Josie couldn’t walk down the aisle with Lenore in jail.

Josie had one more thing to do before their wedding—solve Molly’s murder.