An Uplifting Murder (21 page)

Shannon’s vivid coloring went white as new-fallen snow. Her lipstick looked like a blood clot.

Josie waited.

Shannon gulped and said, “No. Never. I was following Frankie around that day. I was trying to get some useful information for Tino. She knew about us. He’d told Frankie he wanted a divorce. The marriage had been over for some time, even before he met me. Tino expected her to be trouble, but Frankie went crazy when he told her. She said she’d ruin Tino.”

“How could she do that?” Josie asked.

“A patient filed a malpractice suit against Tino. His lawyer says it’s a nuisance suit. Plastic surgeons get these all the time. The woman claimed he botched her nose job. Her nose looks fine—even a jury would agree. Well, most juries. The lawyer says juries can be tricky. Tino’s lawyer thinks the plaintiff wanted money to go away. He says some people try that. They think the threat of bad publicity will make doctors pay off, even if they are innocent.

“Frankie knew about the lawsuit. She told Tino she’d testify for the plaintiff. She was going to lie and say that Tino took tranquilizers the morning he did that nose job. As a nurse, Frankie could do Tino’s case a lot of damage. She wanted to destroy him. I swear she’d enjoy it. She was like that.”

“So I’ve heard,” Josie said.

“Frankie kept hinting she knew something that would ensure the woman would win her lawsuit. I wanted to help Tino. I took off for an hour and followed her, trying to see where Frankie went and who she met. I trailed her into Plaza Venetia, then lost her. I stumbled into that bra store and there she was, standing at the cash register. I was shocked. I had to get out before she recognized me. I said something and left.”

“We thought you were too shy to try on a bra,” Josie said.

Shannon shook her head. “I was sure Frankie didn’t recognize me,” she said. “I thought I’d gotten away with following her. I didn’t learn anything. After the scare at the store, I went straight back to work. It was a close call. I felt lucky to escape.

“That afternoon, the police came to this office to tell Tino that Frankie had been killed at Plaza Venetia. I was horrified. I thought the detectives knew I’d followed Frankie there. I was afraid for Tino—and for me. I’d tried to help and only made it worse.

“The police never found out about me. I’ve been so scared. I keep waiting for them to arrest me. Tino is already worried sick, even though he’s no longer a suspect.”

“How do I know you didn’t kill her?” Josie asked. “You have a good reason to want Frankie dead.”

“Our office records give me an alibi,” Shannon said. “I have to clock in and out. I have to sign in with a password on my computer. I left right after I encountered Frankie, and I’m glad I did. I was back at the office before the killer followed Frankie into the women’s restroom. The staff and patients told the police I was here.”

“Show me,” Josie said. “Let me see your appointment records for that day and the times you clocked in and out.”

“I can’t show you patient records,” Shannon said. “That’s confidential.”

“Can you get a printout?” Josie asked.

Shannon nodded.

“Then get one and cross out the names. I’ll go back inside with you. There’s no one in the waiting room, is there?”

“No, our last patient is with Tino.”

Josie followed Shannon behind the reception desk and watched her make a printout of the schedule. The date at the top of the sheet was correct. Shannon used a pen to cross out the patient names. Josie saw that all the slots were filled.

Shannon tapped more keys on her computer, then handed Josie a time-clock printout. Shannon had clocked back in at 11:01 a.m. Frankie had been alive then.

“What about Tino?” Josie asked. “What’s his alibi? Did the records show he was here?”

“He wasn’t here. He was at the hospital,” Shannon said. She swung her computer monitor around so Josie could see it, and slid her thumb over a patient’s name. “There’s his schedule. He did a rhinoplasty that morning. And he didn’t botch it.”

I’ve certainly botched this, Josie thought, as she rode the elevator down to the lobby. I’ve wasted more time and I haven’t helped Laura one bit. The county jail is two blocks away. I made the calls and arranged a visit tonight. I’d hoped to bring Laura good news after I met with Shannon.

Now I have to tell her I’ve failed. Again.

Chapter 22

Laura was staying at a four-star jail.

Josie had seen the ratings on
Citysearch.com
. The Web site’s readers rated Clayton’s haute hotels, pricey bars and restaurants, and upscale shopping—and the St. Louis County Jail, located on a prize piece of real estate.

She was startled at the idea of rating a jail with stars, like a hotel. Josie read the jail’s reviews and couldn’t tell if they were send-ups or not. While she waited in the visitors’ line along with the inmates’ friends and families, she reread the printouts she’d stuffed into her purse.

She thought “toadtws,” whoever he—or she—was, had done genuine jail time. The tip-off was the second sentence.

“Excellent location right in the heart of beautiful downtown Clayton,” Josie read. “Easily accessible by public transportation (by the way, ST.L.Co. P.D. police cars have excellent legroom in the backseat).”

The rest of the miscreant’s review was a parody of a hotel rating:

“Excellent staff who remember your name each time you come back. They always do their best to make you feel welcome. The presentation upon arrival meets and exceeds that of all other similar facilities I have ever experienced. The accommodations were more clean and spacious than other places I’ve stayed in the past. No detail is too small to be overlooked. Cannot say enough good things about my recent stay from the location, the views, the other guests, the dining fare . . . Everything met and even exceeded my expectations. Even though I am a frequent guest, I always look forward to my stays. Will return again and again.”

That should thrill the uptight, upright taxpayers of Clayton, Josie thought, who had to live with the county jail in their midst. Citysearch provided helpful maps and information about parks, restaurants, and other spots suitable for muggings and purse snatchings.

“Toadtws” also listed the jail’s pros and cons:

“Pros: Best Baloney Sandwich in the State. Cons: Lack of a Frequent-Guest Program.”

A possible repeat offender called “mwshakespeare” was almost nostalgic about the time at the county lockup: “I feel that over the yeras [
sic
] it had become a little rundown; it adds to its charm. I will always remember the tender service offered by the guards, the intimate guest rooms, and chic modern decor.

“It’s where me and Blaine had our first kiss.

“Highly recommend.

“Pros: Location, everything you need right there.

“Cons: Hard to get out of quickly.”

Score another point for St. Louis County, Josie thought, as she shuffled forward in line with the rest of the visitors. Slumped shoulders and bent heads showed how tired they were. Many wore hospital scrubs or uniforms. Some had one or two children, eager to see “Daddy,” “Auntie,” or “Momma.” The energetic kids were quieted with shushes and promises of McDonald’s Happy Meals.

What kind of lives do these poor families have? Josie wondered, and said a prayer that Laura would soon be released. It was close to the seven o’clock visiting hour. Josie read the last starred jail review to pass the time.

This third reviewer, “schendel,” seemed to be teasing St. Louis County with his rating: “One of the finest jails in Missouri. Excellent educational programs, GED opportunities, low-cost laundry service. Located in desirable downtown Clayton, just blocks from gourmet eateries (although take-out can be difficult). Visitors welcome.

“Pros: Extended weekends, Laundry service, Private rooms.

“Cons: Surrounded by them, Limited rec time, YOU’RE IN JAIL.”

Those last three words cut off Josie’s chuckle at the starred review. Laura was in jail. A real jail. Josie was surrounded by weary, suffering families. There was nothing funny about that.

Josie wouldn’t rate the booth where she talked with Laura as four-star, but it wasn’t as grim as she’d expected. It was white and slightly scuffed, with a telephone and a plastic glass window. The floor was a pleasant blue-and-white check.

Laura’s appearance was shocking. The confident, robust store manager Josie had seen a short time ago was gone. Laura’s face was sickly yellow and haggard. Loose skin hung on her arms and at her jawline. Her gray roots were nearly an inch long.

“Laura!” Josie said into her phone. She hoped Laura couldn’t read her face. “How much weight have you lost?”

“Six pounds, I think,” Laura said. “I needed to lose it, but not this way. I’m so worried that I can’t eat.”

“Of course, you’re worried,” Josie said. “You’re going on trial for murder. What does your lawyer say?”

“Renzo says juries are unpredictable. I think he’s preparing me for the worst, Josie. I’ve seen the TV news stories. Even the inmates think I’m guilty. LaCinda asked me how I could have offed that nice Frankie lady. The whole city sees me as the teacher with the tarnished reputation who killed sweet Frankie Angel.”

“But she isn’t an angel,” Josie said. “She never was.”

“I know that. So do you. But too many people don’t. All it takes is twelve citizens to agree with LaCinda.”

“I’ll tell the jury what she was like,” Josie said. “They need to know the truth.”

“You can’t testify,” Laura said. “Renzo told me we can’t attack a dead woman. It will backfire against me. This case can’t go to trial, Josie. I have to get out now. My daughter, Kate, is eight months pregnant with her first child. She started spotting a few days ago and her doctor ordered her to bed until the baby is born.

“Kate’s husband, William, can’t take any more time off from his law firm. He’s an associate and he has crushing student loans. William hired a nurse to be with Kate. I’m sure the nurse is competent, but my daughter needs me. Her father abandoned Kate after our divorce and she’s facing this difficult pregnancy alone. I should be with her. You have a daughter, Josie. You understand.”

All too well, Josie thought. “I’m trying to help. But I keep running into dead ends.”

“Oh, Josie.” Laura attempted a lopsided smile. “You’re a good girl—woman—but what can you do?”

“Ask questions the police won’t,” Josie said. “I know they’ve arrested the wrong person. I have an advantage. I look like an ordinary mom. Well, I guess I am. But that’s a disguise, too. People tell me things because I don’t look important or official.

“The police have to read people their rights or follow department procedure. They can’t knock on doors and ask questions like I can. Nobody’s afraid of me. They tell me things. I may learn something that will help you.”

“Have you?” A flash of hope lit Laura’s sad face.

“No, not yet,” Josie said.

“Oh.”

“But I’m getting there,” Josie said. “I found the mystery woman who was in the doorway at Desiree Lingerie the day Frankie was killed—and the police never did. Her name is Shannon. She’s engaged to Frankie’s husband and wants to marry him.”

“That’s a good reason to kill Frankie,” Laura said.

“It is, but Shannon and Dr. Tino both have alibis. I’ve talked to everyone who was in the store that morning. I found out that Trish, your saleswoman, goes to Narcotics Anonymous meetings.”

“That’s her business,” Laura said, her voice cold enough to frost her phone.

“It could be yours, too,” Josie said. “Trish told my daughter she wants to be a police officer. If the academy found out she had a drug problem, she’d never get in.”

“That depends, Josie,” Laura said. “My husband told me that police departments can be more flexible than you’d think on that subject. What if Trish’s addiction was a teenage mistake? Or she got addicted to painkillers after an injury or accident? If the force has a quota for women officers or she has a powerful sponsor inside the department, they might overlook that.”