The Fashion Hound Murders (21 page)

Forty minutes later, Josie was waved through Wood Winds’ security gate. She parked in Alyce’s drive, stepped around Traci’s red dog stroller, and knocked on the side door.

“Come in, Josie,” Alyce called. Snowball yapped.

Alyce’s kitchen smelled of hot coffee and warm cinnamon. She handed Josie a plate with a slab of coffee cake on it. Josie followed her friend to the sunny breakfast room. Snowball and Traci were dressed in matching pink turtle-neck sweaters. She held her little dog on her lap and stroked her white fur for comfort. Traci’s red hair was a raging fire.

“Amy the Slut’s been at it again,” Alyce said. She held her cake fork like a dagger. “I swear I’ll kill her myself one day.”

“You’ll do the world a service,” Josie said. “But you’ll need something sharper. Maybe that fancy roasting fork.”

“It’s due any day,” Alyce said. “Amy better not be around when it arrives.”

“Traci, what happened?” Josie asked.

Traci mopped her tear-streaked face with a wad of tissues. “It’s all my fault,” she said. Snowball gave another sharp bark.

Alyce interrupted. “Now, we’ve already been through that. You know it’s not true. Start again from the beginning, and don’t cry. You’ll only upset Snowball.”

Traci took a deep breath, gulped, and said, “After Dr. Ted left in his van with that awful, poisonous snake, I took Snowball for a walk in her stroller. I needed to get out of the house and away from the garage. That snake gave me the creeps.”

“What color was it? Did it have red, yellow, and black stripes, or was it more brown and black?” Josie asked.

“I don’t know. I only saw the head sticking out and the light wasn’t good. It looked snaky. I was too busy keeping Snowball from attacking it. Anyway, I was coming down the street when I was stopped by a blond lady. She was wearing a tight black catsuit and really high heels. I guess I should talk—these are pretty high, too.” She indicated her black spikes. “But I don’t know how she could walk in them. She looked like a South Beach dominatrix.”

“That’s Amy,” Alyce said. “Dresses like a pro but gives it away.” She was no fan of Amy’s.

“Well, she seemed very sweet,” Traci said. “She told me that Snowball was cute and admired my dog’s little red boots. She invited me to her house for a drink. I went because nobody in this subdivision talks to me, except Alyce. We drank martinis. They were strong.”

Alyce snorted.

“After I finished one, Amy asked who the hottie in the blue van was and how I got him to my house twice in one day. She acted like I’d been hitting on Dr. Ted. I said I was married.”

“That’s never stopped Amy,” Alyce said.

“I told her Dr. Ted was there on business and he was a veterinarian. The first visit he took care of my dog. Then he took away a poisonous snake. I told her all about the snake. I didn’t know it would hurt him. I grew up in a tough section of Miami, and she didn’t seem like any of the troublemakers I knew there. I thought people were nicer in the Midwest.”

“Traci is suffering from the delusion that Midwesterners are kinder and gentler than people on the East Coast,” Alyce said.

“Well, you’ve been kind to me!” Traci burst out. “Both of you. And Dr. Ted, too. How was I to know?”

Tears were threatening again, and she squeezed her little pup tightly. Snowball gave a yip, and Traci patted a furry white ear. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you.

“I feel like I should cover Snowball’s ears for this next part,” Traci said. “But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Amy said, ‘Hmm. A hottie who makes house calls. Well, well. I have a pussy he should check out.’ I thought she had a cat. I really did.”

“She didn’t say that!” Josie said. “Even for her, that’s gross. If it were any woman but Amy the Slut, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Everyone in this subdivision knows her—many in the biblical sense,” Alyce said. “She said she had sex with my husband.”

Amy claimed to have bedded every man in Wood Winds. She had the kind of body that made a faithful wife doubt her husband’s virtue. A man Josie trusted once said Amy wasn’t quite the femme fatale she led people to believe. He said as many men turned her down as accepted her favors. But for Amy, half the fun was stirring up trouble.

“Let me guess,” Josie said. “Amy called Dr. Ted, he arrived in his van, and she made a pass at him. Ted turned her down and she got even by calling Big Ike.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Traci said. “But I do know he was out of her place awfully fast. Too fast to look at any animal.”

“Oh, he saw that bitch, all right,” Alyce said.

“Alyce!” Josie said.

Chapter 25

On the way home from Alyce’s house, Josie stopped at a supermarket to buy Harry’s soft canned food. The choices seemed overwhelming, from free-range turkey to ocean fish.

Was ocean fish better than just plain seafood? she wondered. Some brands were all natural. What were the others? Unnatural? Was organic better than all natural? Was cat food in a pouch softer than the canned variety?

Was one healthier than the other? What if the cat didn’t like what Josie bought? Her financial life depended on her choice. She wouldn’t accept more charity from Ted if Harry got stopped up again.

She stared at the selections, as if the answer were sitting on the shelf. Instead, it was in her purse.

What is this? she lectured herself. Are you a 1950s high school girl? Quit waiting for Ted to call. Give him a ring.

Ted’s cell phone was busy. It stayed that way three more times. On the fourth try, she reached him.

“Josie!” He sounded happy to hear her voice. “I’m glad you called after . . .” His voice skidded to a stop.

“After what?” she asked.

“After I made a complete fool of myself on television this morning.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I sounded like a murderer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows Ike Ikeman is a bully. Nobody believes a word he says.”

“Three people did,” Ted said. “They told me to keep my snake-loving self away from their dogs.”

“Ted! That’s so wrong.”

“The practice will survive without them,” Ted said. “But it still hurts. How’s Harry?”

“He seems fine,” Josie said. “You said to get soft food. I can’t figure out what kind to buy. Do cats like turkey, chicken, or fish flavor?”

“Depends on the cat,” Ted said. “Why don’t I drop by some sample cans tonight? That is, if you still want to see me.”

“I’d definitely like to see you,” Josie said.

“Good. May I cook dinner for you and Amelia? That way, I can feed the whole family.”

“You’ve had a bad enough day without cooking.”

“Josie, I like to cook. It helps me relax.”

Josie had heard people say that before. She gave them the same credibility as the health nuts who claimed “a brisk morning workout gives me energy for the rest of the day.” But Ted seemed sincere.

“If cooking helps you relax,” Josie said, “you are welcome to chill out and cook dinner at my house.”

“How do you feel about mushroom chicken marinara?” Ted said.

“Love it. But remember, I have a very basic kitchen.”

“I’ll bring the fixings over about five. We can sit in your kitchen and talk while the sauce simmers.”

“Do you drink wine or beer?” Josie asked.

“Beer. Any kind. As long as it’s cold.”

Josie stopped by the Schlafly Bottleworks, Maplewood’s brew pub. She decided Ted would need something hearty after his illness and on-camera ordeal, and bought six bottles of oatmeal stout. Then she added a six-pack of Scotch ale, and since the holidays were heading their way, one of Christmas stout. She stopped abruptly. A fridge full of beer, even locally brewed, might make a man wonder about her.

Once home, Josie buzzed around her flat, dusting and vacuuming. She picked her laundry out of the bathroom. She polished the kitchen. She dug out her meager supply of pots and pans and her pathetic collection of kitchen tools, and wished she had some of the culinary wonders from Alyce’s kitchen. A nice mandoline, maybe, to slice the mushrooms. Or a citrus trumpet to juice the lemons.

When Josie was growing up, her mother had encouraged her to go to baseball games “so you will have something to talk about with your date.”

I should have stayed in the kitchen with Mom, she thought. Then Ted and I could talk about food. Well, we can still talk about food, and I can certainly eat it, but we can’t have a serious culinary conversation.

Josie’s cleaning burst was interrupted by a phone call from Jerry. She’d almost forgotten about the hangdog owner of Chloe the Humane Society pup.

“Josie, did you see the news about poor Jonah?” he asked.

Poor Jonah? That man was a murderer and puppy abuser. Josie bit back her angry words. It would take Jerry a long time to understand his friend’s crimes. There was no point adding to his pain.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” she said. That was true. Jerry had lost his friend twice—the imaginary Jonah and the real one. It would be doubly hard for him when he finally understood who Jonah was—if Jerry was innocent. She wasn’t sure anymore. She wasn’t sure about anything. But she didn’t want to get involved with Jerry until she knew more about the man.

“Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk with Chloe and me tonight when I get home from work. It’s a nice warm day.”

“I’m sorry, Jerry,” Josie said. “I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m busy.”

Permanently busy, she thought as she hung up. She hoped Jerry and Chloe would keep walking out of her life.

She checked the kitchen clock. Another half hour before she picked up Amelia. Josie set the table with a bright yellow tablecloth and napkins, then for a centerpiece used a cheerful pot of purple hyacinth from the supermarket. She started to get out her candleholders, then nixed that idea. Candles might send the wrong signal.

The house shone by the time she left for the Barrington School that afternoon. Amelia was having one of her almost-adult days. “You look nice,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“Ted is fixing dinner for us and bringing by food for Harry,” Josie said.

“So do you want me to disappear upstairs to Grandma’s?” Amelia asked.

“No, Ted wants to make dinner for both of us. Stick around.”

“You need a chaperone,” Amelia said.

The kid was way too smart, Josie thought. “No, I don’t need a chaperone. But I don’t want it to look too romantic too soon.”

“Yeah, that litter box last time would get any man hot,” Amelia said.

“That’s enough.” Josie bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Ted was on the front porch at 5:01 with a small cooler balanced on a big cardboard box. He held the cooler steady with his chin.

“I see you’ve taken my warning about my hopeless kitchen seriously,” Josie said.

“I brought a few pots and prep tools,” Ted said. “I hope you don’t feel insulted.”

“You can’t insult my cooking,” Josie said, removing the small cooler.

“Let me put this down on the kitchen counter and we’ll check on Harry,” Ted said.

The cat was lounging on Amelia’s spread. When he saw Dr. Ted in the doorway, Harry’s eyes grew wide and he made a dash to disappear under the bed.

“Oh, no you don’t, big fellow.” Ted captured the squirming Harry. The cat’s back claws came out and slashed Ted’s wrist.

“Oh! You’re bleeding,” Josie said.

“It’s just a scratch, ma’am,” Ted said, imitating an aw shucks cowboy. “That’s quite a set of steak knives your cat has. Now, Mr. Harry, let’s resume our exam.”

The vet carefully probed Harry’s midsection. “Belly feels nice and soft. I’d say his system is working again.”

“Definitely. I had to clean out his litter box,” Amelia said.

Ted gently set Harry down on Amelia’s spread. The cat slid down the side and slunk under her bed, his body low to the floor.

“Harry,” Amelia called, “come on out. It’s okay.”

“He’ll appear when he feels safer,” Ted said. “Right now, I’m the scary dude who stuck him in the rear end. Let’s leave him alone and go out to the kitchen to look at food.”

Ted unpacked three cans of Hill’s Science Diet—turkey, chicken, and fish.

“Any of these should work,” Ted said. “Just give him one spoonful in the morning and another at dinner.”

“What about milk?” Amelia asked.

“Cats need protein, even more so than dogs. Adult cats should not have a lot of milk, or you’ll be doing more litter box duty.”

“What if he won’t eat the soft food?” Josie said. “Cats can be stubborn.”

“Don’t negotiate with him,” Ted said. “Take away his dry food. Put down a spoonful of this wet stuff and don’t feed him anything else until he eats it. No dry-food dessert until he finishes his fish.”

“Isn’t that cruel?” Josie asked.

“Is it cruel to make your daughter do what’s good for her?”

“She thinks so, but I don’t.”

“Cats are too practical to starve.” Ted tore back the top on the minced seafood entrée. A smell redolent of Dump sters in August rolled out of the can.

“Ew,” Amelia said. “That’s stinky. What is it?”

“Fish lips,” Ted said. “I don’t know exactly. But to a feline nose, it’s as delicious as a burger and fries to you.”

Amelia spooned some into a bowl and carried it to the corner of the kitchen floor where Harry’s food and water were kept now.

“Let me wash up,” Ted said, “and we’ll switch to the more pleasant pastime of cooking our dinner.” Josie found a tube of Neosporin for the cat scratch on his wrist. It didn’t look bad once Ted had washed off the blood.

For the next hour, Ted worked on dinner while Amelia watched.

“What can I do to help?” Josie asked.

“Talk to me,” he said.

He sautéed mushrooms and chopped fresh basil for the pasta sauce. He added canned tomatoes and strips of chicken breast. While he cooked, Ted sipped oatmeal stout and poured a dollop into the tomato sauce. “Improves the flavor,” he said. He took another drink. “Improves the cook.”

Ted unpacked a chocolate cake with a cherry on top. “Here is dessert. This is an old family recipe.”

“ ‘Schnucks Bakery,’ ” Amelia said, reading the box’s label.

“Gee, is that right?” he said. “I guess Mom always took it out of the box first when she brought it home from the supermarket.”