An Uplifting Murder (16 page)

How about if I find out some facts first? Josie thought. One more person was in the store the day Frankie was murdered. One I can identify, anyway.

I need to talk to Cody John Wayne, the bra-fetching hero.

Chapter 16

“You want me to eat broccoli?” Josie screamed into her phone. She didn’t bother hiding her outrage. She couldn’t believe Harry the Horrible was giving her this assignment. Good thing she wasn’t in the Suttin office. She’d snap his neck like a green bean.

“Not just broccoli,” Harry the Horrible said, his voice oozing suppressed glee. “Vegetables. Some broccoli is included in the sampling, but you won’t be eating all broccoli.”

“Any broccoli is too much,” Josie said. “You did this on purpose.”

She could almost see him in his dusty lair of an office, little tufts of hair poking triumphantly through his gaping shirt buttons, smug smile on his fat face.

“I don’t eat broccoli,” Josie said.

“You said you wouldn’t take off your bra, but you did,” Harry said. She heard a glooping sound in the background.

“I only did it for the money,” Josie said, then realized that wasn’t a good argument.

“And you’ll do this for the money, too,” he said. “You’ll get paid a nice fee. Ten dollars more than usual.”

“Not enough,” she said.

“Most kids would be happy to get paid to eat broccoli.”

“I hate broccoli,” Josie said. “So does my daughter.” She sounded like Amelia, only not as mature.

“Work isn’t supposed to be fun,” Harry said. “That’s why we pay you for it. I need a mystery shopper.” His voice turned hard as a head of cabbage. “Jobs are in short supply these days. I could give this one to someone else.”

Josie thought of her daughter and her hungry cat. She’d do anything for them—even eat broccoli.

“You have to mystery-shop the Veggie Madness restaurant in downtown Clayton. Just one. That’s all.” Harry was back to pleading. The salad bar chain must have requested Josie for this job. He hated to admit that. “Nice business-type neighborhood, professional clientele. It’s not that big a deal. Their Bonkers for Broccoli salad is only one selection.”

Josie heard a sucking noise, like an elephant pulling its foot out of a mud hole.

“The Veggie Madness salad bar chain says they must serve the freshest food,” Harry said. “Your mission is to check for freshness.”

“How would I know what a fresh vegetable tastes like?” Josie said.

“By the sound, I guess,” Harry said. “Don’t they go snap, crackle, and pop?”

“That’s Kellogg’s Rice Krispies,” Josie said. “When’s the last time you even ate a vegetable?”

“I’m eating a cherry tomato right now.” Harry’s voice was larded with righteousness.

Josie heard a small popping sound, like a grape being run over. “Don’t tell me you’re having a salad for lunch.”

“No, I’m having a hot beef sundae,” Harry said.

“Roast beef and ice cream? That’s disgusting.”

“There’s no ice cream. The hot beef sundae is today’s special at the Carnival Diner. A hot beef sundae is a soup bowl of creamy mashed potatoes covered in chocolate sauce, which is really beef gravy. The mashed potatoes and gravy are piled with tender roast-beef chunks and cheese ‘sprinkles.’ A cherry tomato tops off the hot beef sundae.”

Josie’s mouth watered at the thought of roast beef and gravy, though she’d probably skip the cherry tomato.

“Why can’t I mystery-shop the Carnival Diner?” she asked. She’d stooped to whining.

“Because there’s only one,” Harry said. “The chef used to work at the state fair and he cooks fairground favorites. You should try his funnel cakes.

“But I’m not calling you to discuss my lunch. Here’s what Veggie Madness wants you to eat at their restaurant: the Bonkers for Broccoli salad, the Zucchini Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”

“What’s that?” Josie asked.

“A cheesy medley of zucchini, onions, and roasted red peppers,” Harry recited.

“Cheesy is right,” Josie said.

“Hey, you might like their Obsessive-Compulsive Onion Soup. You have to eat that, too. The desserts are supposed to be fantastic and you can have any one you want.”

“Nothing will take away the taste of broccoli,” Josie said.

“A little broccoli won’t kill you,” Harry said. “It’s not like your last assignment, when that Frankie Angel got offed. I saw her photo on TV. What a babe. A waste of a primo pair.”

“You’re so sensitive,” Josie said.

Her sarcasm sailed over his head. “Do you think the manager, Laura What’s Her Name, killed Frankie Angel?” Harry asked. “She looked big and fat. Maybe she killed a babe like Frankie Angel out of jealousy.”

“No,” Josie said, shortly. “And Frankie’s no angel, dead or alive.”

“I’ll fax you the checklist for Veggie Madness,” Harry said. “Oh, one more thing. They want you to bring a guest, a woman between fifty and sixty years old.”

Alyce is too young, Josie thought, and Mom is too old. But nurse Edith Terna is the right age. She ate a fruit plate at a pancake house. A salad restaurant would be Edith’s kind of place. We could talk about Frankie’s murder again. Did Frankie threaten to report Rosa’s father to ICE? Did she know that Trish had a drug problem and wanted to be a police officer? Did Frankie go after a certain type of patient? Did Frankie have a natural talent for finding victims—until she became a victim herself?

Josie could take Edith to lunch and get paid for helping Laura. She found her boss, Harry, irritating, but mystery-shopping was the perfect job for her. The hours were flexible enough that Josie could take Amelia to school and pick her up. Jane took over that chore when there was a problem. Plus, Josie felt she defended consumers who were quietly abused or neglected by businesses, the people who couldn’t or wouldn’t complain. Josie was there for them. She could right the wrongs of shoppers snubbed by rude salespeople, directed to the wrong aisle, ignored at the cash register.

Today, with the help of Edith, she would brave a plate of broccoli.

Two hours later, Josie walked into the Veggie Madness restaurant with the wariness of a lone woman entering a biker bar. Edith was waiting under a WELCOME TO THE GARDEN PARTY! Sign.

The sensible nurse got straight to the point. “Can I get a beer?” Edith asked.

“Looks like a soft drink kind of place,” Josie said. “Sorry.”

“You’re telling me,” Edith said. “At least I like veggies.”

Josie picked a green cafeteria tray from a stack. A limp lettuce leaf was stuck on the back. She dropped the tray and grabbed a blue one. The two women joined a line of soberly dressed suits from the nearby offices and pushed their lunch trays past bowls of salads buried in ice.

Edith filled her plate with precise movements, as if she were preparing for surgery.

Josie took a tiny, tentative spoonful of Bonkers for Broccoli. The cranberries in the salad looked like blood spots.

“What’s with the names?” Edith asked, reading the sign beside the Krazy for Kale entrée. “Is mental illness supposed to be a joke? What’s next: Apeshit over Asparagus?”

A woman in a navy coat turned and glared at Edith. Edith glared back. Josie watched enviously as Edith constructed a well-shaped mountain of Nutty Wonton Chicken, then made room for a Batty Baked Potato neatly topped with chopped scallions and bacon. None of these items were on Josie’s list.

Josie dutifully added a thimbleful of Obsessive-Compulsive Onion Soup to her tray. Maybe if I pick the cheese out of the Zucchini Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah and spread it on the Wacky Wheat Bread, I won’t starve, Josie thought.

“I knew it!” Edith said when they reached the dessert section. “They have Chocolate Suicide cake.”

“Thank God.” Josie cut herself a thick wedge, admiring the rich chocolate icing dotted with chocolate chips. Edith took a low-fat Bananarama muffin.

Josie followed Edith to a booth in the crowded restaurant. “You didn’t get much food,” Edith said, as she crunched her wonton chicken salad.

“I’m supposed to be mystery-shopping this place,” Josie said. “I haven’t a clue about vegetables.”

“I can help you,” Edith said. “The first tray you picked up had old lettuce on it. Salad dressing was dribbled down the pots. That looked messy. The staff was talking to one another instead of cleaning the salad bar.”

She pointed at her chicken salad with her fork. “The romaine lettuce and the wonton pieces are crisp. The dressing is well blended. The cheese is fresh and there’s lots of it. Your broccoli salad—may I?”

“Please,” Josie said.

Edith took a clean fork from her tray and speared a floret. “Al dente. That’s not a used-car dealer, Josie. It means the broccoli is slightly crunchy, properly cooked. This Veggie Madness gets high marks on freshness, low marks on cleanliness.”

“Piece of cake,” Josie said, taking a big bite of her dark chocolate dessert.

“Have you been able to help my friend Laura?” Edith asked.

“I’ve made some progress,” Josie said. “At least I’ve come up with possible motives. One of Laura’s saleswomen may have a drug problem. She wants to be a police officer. I’m pretty sure Rosa, the other saleswoman, has parents who are illegal aliens from Mexico.”

Edith gave her a shrewd appraising look. “Pretty sure? No proof?”

“Not so far,” Josie said. “But having your parents deported and losing your chance at your dream career are powerful motives.”

“But you don’t have enough to go to the police and help Laura, do you?”

Josie watched as Edith enthusiastically cut up her baked potato. “No,” Josie said. “There are still two possible suspects. One is a woman who stood in the doorway at the shop. She was too shy to take off her blouse and try on a bra. Nobody seemed to know who she was.”

“Not worth looking for,” Edith said. “Laura gets two or three of those every week.”

“A blonde was in the bathroom when I discovered the body. She was in a wheelchair and the handicapped-stall door was locked. She was gone before the police got there. She gave us bad contact information.”

“That sounds suspicious,” Edith said. “But I’d let the cops look for her.”

“They didn’t,” Josie said. “They arrested Laura instead. She was an easier target.”

“Could be.” Edith took a bite of baked potato. “Could be they eliminated her and didn’t tell you. They don’t have to, you know.”

“There’s also Cody the hero,” Josie said.

“I thought police were looking for a woman?” Edith said.

“They are. But I want to know what he’s like. Cody John Wayne was the last person in the shop to see Frankie alive. What do you know about him?”

“He is a real hero,” Edith said. “They pinned the medal on the right man. Those carjackers had served time for murder. Cody saved that young couple and took a bullet in his leg and in his lung.”

“Were you his nurse at the hospital?”

“No,” Edith said. “Cody wasn’t my patient. Frankie was his nurse, but she didn’t blab anything bad. All I know is that Cody is a customer of Laura’s.”

“You mean his wife is,” Josie corrected.

“No, he is, too. I stopped by Desiree Lingerie near closing time one night—before the carjacking. I was meeting Laura for dinner after she got off work. Cody was at the register. I heard him stammer, ‘I need to pick up that thing for work. It’s cold at night around those warehouses.’ ”

“Was he buying long underwear?” Josie asked.

“Didn’t look like it,” Edith said. “Bag wasn’t fat enough. Besides, Cody turned redder than a stoplight when he saw me in the doorway. I’m good with faces, and well, he’s a memorable man. I don’t usually forget good-looking men. A few days later, I saw him on TV and he was a hero—and at our hospital.”