Murder Is a Piece of Cake (11 page)

More than you realize, Josie thought to herself.

Chapter 18

Saturday, October 27

Finally, Josie thought. Information I can use to find Molly’s killer.

Rita gave me a name, city, and job. No last name, but how many carpet dealers can
there be in Billings, Montana?

Do cowboys even use carpet?

Josie’s car skimmed along the highway to Alyce’s house, but she put the brakes on
that last thought. She hated when Easterners treated St. Louisans like barefoot hicks.
Lenore’s digs at her city made Josie grit her teeth.

I’m no better, assuming everyone in Montana is a cowboy. I don’t know a thing about
that state. I’ll need to do some research.

She waved to the guard at the gate to the Estates at Wood Winds. The hilltop entrance
gave the best view of the subdivision’s richly bizarre architecture: a Norman castle,
Victorian mansion, and a Tuscan villa.

Josie parked in the driveway of Alyce’s Tudor mansion and knocked on the side door.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Alyce called.

Alyce’s kitchen was more than the heart of her house—it was the showcase for her creativity.
She was a skilled, imaginative cook.

Josie always took a moment to marvel at the kitchen’s golden linenfold oak paneling.
No boxy fridge or pantry intruded on the view. They were hidden behind the warm wood.

Alyce, with her Renaissance curves, milk white skin, and corn silk hair, was filling
soup bowls from a stockpot on her six-burner stove.

Josie inhaled the delicious steamy perfume. “Yum,” she said. “French onion soup?”

“With sherry and a touch of thyme,” Alyce said. “The bread slices are toasting in
the broiler. As soon as Emily arrives, I’ll float the toast in these bowls, add the
cheese, and pop them under the broiler until the tops are brown and bubbly.”

“What can I do?” Josie asked.

“Serve the salad on those plates and carry them to the table.” Three plates, painted
with an ornate design of leaves and flowers, were stacked next to a wooden salad bowl
on the kitchen island.

“Pretty china,” Josie said. “Looks antique.”

“The plates belonged to my grandmother,” Alyce said. “It’s a Rosenthal pattern called
Bavarian Autumn.”

She filled the first plate using the salad tongs, and started on the next. “Are those
cranberries in the salad?” Josie asked.

“Pomegranate,” Alyce said, “along with avocado and mache. And before you ask, mache
is a sweet-tasting green also known as lamb’s lettuce. You’ll like it.”

“I like all your food,” Josie said, filling the last plate.

“That apple crumb pie there is for dessert,” Alyce said. “I thought Emily would appreciate
comfort food, so I made my mother’s recipe.”

Josie carefully carried the plates to the table in the breakfast room. “I’ve made
some progress in the search for Molly’s killer,” she said. “I talked with her coworker
at the bridal shop. Molly had a fiancé before Ted. He ran off to Billings, Montana.
I’m getting hints that Molly may have stalked him, too. Do you think her sister knew
that Molly had a stalking problem?”

“You can ask her yourself,” Alyce said. “I hear a car in the drive. Must be Emily’s.”

“Didn’t she walk?” Josie asked. “It’s a nice day.”

“Walk!” Alyce said in mock horror. “No one walks in Wood Winds. Not without a baby
stroller, a dog, or exercise weights. Walking upsets the natural order of subdivision
life. We must burn fossil fuel to the gods of suburbia.”

Josie opened the side door for Emily. She didn’t look like a typical Wood Winds wife.
She wore jeans, a black flannel shirt, and no makeup.

Lumberjack mourning, Josie thought, then regretted her unkind thought.

Alyce gathered Emily into a hug and asked, “How are you?”

“Okay,” Emily said with a shrug that said she wasn’t. “People have been very kind.”

Alyce handed her a glass of wine, then said, “Have a seat in the breakfast room and
start your salads. I’ll bring in your soup shortly.”

Josie noticed that Alyce didn’t introduce her again. She hoped she could get through
this lunch without Emily discovering she was engaged to Dr. Ted.

“How’s your aunt Martha?” Alyce asked as she carried in two soup bowls.

“Molly’s murder was a terrible shock,” Emily said. “Poor Aunt Martha had to be sedated
after the burial. I can’t believe that horrible woman would shoot my poor little sister.”

“Do you think she did it?” Josie asked.

“Not a doubt in my mind,” Emily said firmly. “She’s a nutcase. Did you see her on
TV with that gun? I hope they lock her up and throw away the key.”

“Did you ever meet the groom’s family?” Alyce asked.

“He was supposed to meet our family at an engagement dinner at my house,” Emily said.
“I’d planned it for weeks. Twelve people, including Aunt Martha and Molly’s friend
Rita from work. Had a lovely crown roast of beef because Molly said he was a meat
eater. An hour before dinner, Molly said he called her and canceled. Said he had emergency
surgery on some dog. We ate dinner without him.”

“Molly must have been upset,” Alyce said.

“I was more upset than she was,” Emily said. “She said that’s what it was like being
a doctor’s wife. Aunt Martha said it was a sign he was ambitious. She approved.

“He’s a vet, and I don’t think he’s all that successful. He didn’t contribute a penny
to the wedding. Molly paid for everything. She wouldn’t use anything she’d bought
for her other engagement, not even the wedding dress.”

“What other engagement?” Alyce said.

Josie forked another bit of salad, alert for the crucial answer.

“Molly was engaged to another man before the vet,” Emily said. “A carpet salesman.
Aunt Martha thought she could have done better, but Molly said she was in love. My
sister was obsessed with weddings ever since she was a little girl. Our cousin got
married at Disney World in Orlando, and Molly was the flower girl. She never got over
that. When she played with her dolls, it was always a wedding. Then she started being
a bridesmaid for her friends, but she really wanted to be a bride. I think she accepted
George because he asked her.”

“George is the carpet salesman?” Alyce asked.

Come on, Josie thought. Give us his last name.

“Right,” Emily said.

Josie decided to risk jumping into the conversation. “That isn’t George”—she searched
her mind for a last name and saw her empty salad plate—“Rosenthal at Bavarian Carpets,
is it?”

“No, George Winstid with Brenhoff Carpet and Flooring,” Emily said. “It’s a national
chain.”

Thank you, Josie thought.

“Molly spent a fortune on that wedding and then George backed out. Said he was moving
to Montana. Molly was devastated. Then she met this Dr. Ted and they got engaged in
a hurry and she was planning a whole different wedding. I thought she could use the
dress she’d bought for George, but Molly insisted on a fresh start.

“This wedding was even more extravagant. It’s a good thing she inherited money from
our parents. Brad is just starting his business and we couldn’t contribute money,
but I gave her my time. I said she could have her wedding presents delivered to our
house since Molly worked and wasn’t home to get deliveries.

“She got some gorgeous presents. I think people felt sorry for her after George dumped
her.”

Josie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She hoped it was grief that made Emily talk
that way about her sister.

“Molly always did have all the luck,” Emily said.

Luck? She’s dead, Josie thought.

“Now I’m stuck with her dog, Bella. Yappy little thing pees everywhere. I have to
keep her in the basement or she’ll ruin my carpet.”

“Maybe one of Molly’s friends will take Bella,” Josie said.

“Oh, I’m not giving her away,” Emily said. “Bella is a purebred with papers and has
all her shots. I put her on Craigslist and sold her for five hundred dollars. The
new owner is picking her up tomorrow. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

My name, Josie thought. What name did Alyce give me?

“My fault,” Alyce said. “This is my friend
Joanie.
”

“And it’s time for me to pick up my daughter at her friend’s house,” Josie said. “It
was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for another amazing lunch, Alyce.”

Josie escaped to her car and tore off to Emma’s house. This afternoon, the Amelia
who jumped into her mother’s car was totally different from the grumpy morning child.
Now she was all sunshine and smiles.

“So, where are we shopping for my dress, Mom?” Amelia asked.

“Thought we’d start with a bridal boutique near our house called Cassie’s.”

“Can I get a long or a short one?” Amelia asked.

“Whatever you want,” Josie said, “as long as it’s under a hundred dollars.”

“Can I have a black dress?”

“No,” Josie said. “My colors are white, pink, and red.” The dreaded pout appeared,
but before Amelia could say anything else, Josie turned the car into a strip mall.
“That’s Cassie’s shop,” Josie said.

Cassie herself waited on them. Her manner was firm but helpful, as if she was used
to dealing with dithering bridal parties. Everything about Cassie was straightforward,
from her dyed black hair to her deep red lipstick.

“Amelia is my daughter and my bridesmaid,” Josie said. “We’d like a dress that’s either
pink or red. Amelia is a size seven junior.”

Cassie sent them to a spacious dressing room with a triple mirror, a carpeted platform,
and a satin love seat. “You sit down, Mom,” Cassie said. “Amelia, you’re onstage.
You can wear this robe while I bring some selections.”

Amelia had worn her Ed Hardy skulls and roses bra and matching panties. She put on
the pink satin robe and vamped in the mirror. Josie thought her daughter looked more
dyspeptic than sexy, but knew better than to say anything. Motherhood at this stage
required lots of silence.

“I brought your new dress flats,” Josie said, “so you don’t have to wear the sample
shoes in the corner.”

“Good. They’re gross,” Amelia said.

“Here we are!” Cassie carried in an armload of dresses. Amelia rejected a watermelon
bubble skirt as lame. The long hot pink chiffon was voted “okay” by Josie and earned
a lackluster “whatever” from Amelia.

A fuchsia satin ball gown with ruching at the side seam was next. “That’s cute,” Josie
said.

“Makes my butt look fat,” Amelia said.

“You don’t have any fat,” Cassie said.

“Oh, honey, don’t talk that way,” Josie said. “I hate how women torment themselves
over their bodies.”

Nice speech, Ms. Steinem, she told herself. You should practice what you preach. How
often did Alyce hear you say the same thing when you were shopping for a wedding dress?

“This is a tea-length formal,” Cassie said. “Petal pink satin with a lace overlay.”

Josie’s eyes teared when Cassie zipped the dress and Amelia turned around. The medium
pink flattered Amelia’s complexion and brought out the natural red highlights in her
hair.

“You look beautiful,” Cassie said.

Beyond beautiful, Josie thought. What was that phrase the kids used? “That dress is
the bomb,” Josie said.

“Oh, Mom,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “Only cheerleaders say ‘the bomb.’”

Cassie took control. “What do you think, Amelia?”

“This dress is flawless,” Amelia said.

“Sold!” Josie said.

Chapter 19

Saturday, October 27

Billings, Montana, was bigger than Josie thought—more than a hundred thousand people.
The old railroad town was near Yellowstone National Park. “Near” meant somewhere between
127 and 178 miles, depending on the route visitors took to the park.

The West has a different definition of “near,” Josie decided.

She pictured Ted, Amelia, and herself on a scenic drive through the mountains to Yellowstone.
A real family vacation with horseback rides, hiking, kayaking—and lots of photos for
Amelia to show off at school.

Another dream that wouldn’t come true unless she found Molly’s killer.

Josie called up the nationwide Brenhoff Carpet and Flooring Web site and clicked her
way to the Montana store. The page showed six staff photos, framed by lariats.

ROPIN’ IN GOOD DEALS!
the headline said.

George Winstid was “ordinary cute,” as Rita called him. Maybe better than ordinary.
George looked about Ted’s age—thirty-five—and had the alert, eager-to-please expression
of a good salesman. Josie liked his tip-tilted nose and didn’t mind the face fur.
George kept his beard neatly trimmed.

“Congratulations, Mr. President!” it said under his photo. “George Winstid, September’s
Red Carpet Seller, has been elected president of the National Carpeting and Floor
Covering Association, 1,700 members strong. He’ll be inducted at the NCFCA Expo in
St. Louis, Missouri, Oct. 22–27. We’re proud our top seller is nationally known.”

George was in St. Louis this week, Josie thought. Before Molly was murdered. He’d
run to the wilds of Montana to get away from Molly Deaver—if she really did stalk
him.

Josie had to know. But how was she going to find George at a huge convention?

She kept clicking through more sites. The NCFCA Expo was at the downtown convention
center. More than twelve hundred industry people were registered. George was featured
in NCFCA’s “Our New Officers” section. “It’s especially fitting that St. Louis native
George Winstid be installed at the expo in his hometown,” the online press release
said.

Josie looked up the NCFCA schedule. The expo had a cocktail party and banquet tonight
at seven o’clock at the convention center. It was almost five now. Even with his photo,
she’d have a hard time finding George in a thousand-plus partygoers. If her hunch
was right and George really had been stalked by Molly, he’d be wary of lone women.

Josie reread the site and had an inspiration. She knew how to get around that obstacle.

She started calling the convention hotels. Josie found George at the fifth one, the
Drury Plaza Hotel at the Arch. Here goes, she thought, as she asked for his room.

His phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Next it would be routed to the
message center. Should she leave one?

Wait! He answered, “George Winstid.”

“Mr. Winstid,” she said, “I’m a reporter with the
St. Louis City Gazette
business section. My editor received a press release about your election as president
of the National Carpeting and Floor Covering Association, and we’d like to interview
you about your post. It’s news when a hometown boy makes good. Would you have time
for a short interview?”

“That’s nice of you,” George said. “My mom lives in Ballwin. She can show the paper
to all her friends. We have a big do at the convention center at seven tonight. I
could get you a press pass.”

“Actually, I have another assignment this evening,” Josie said. “The
Gazette
offices are fifteen minutes away. Could we meet at the bar at your hotel? I’ll buy
you a drink on my expense account.”

George hesitated.

“Please?” Josie said. “I promise you’ll be free by six o’clock. Plenty of time to
make your party.”

“Meet me in the lobby for happy hour,” George said.

Josie pushed her old car to the limit, slowing down only in the known speed traps.
She parked in the hotel garage with minutes to spare.

Josie loved the Drury Plaza Hotel at the Arch. The dark wood, Waterford crystal chandeliers,
and Italian marble were part of the building’s elegant past. The hotel also had a
seriously loony bronze sculpture of Native American Sacajawea guiding explorers Lewis
and Clark through the lobby.

Business travelers easily found their way to the happy hour buffet. The suits were
filling their plates with free chips and salsa, hot dogs, and nachos. All the men
were clean-shaven except for one in a dark suit, nursing a beer.

“Mr. Winstid?” Josie asked.

Now Josie saw his convention name tag. “You’re the reporter, right? Take a pew,” George
said.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Josie said. “Before I sit, may I buy you a fresh
drink?”

“The hotel gives us some free drink tickets,” he said. “Let me get you one.”

“White wine,” Josie said.

“Help yourself to the buffet and I’ll be right back,” George said.

Josie piled a few chips on a plate, but she was too nervous to eat. George set a cold
wine in front of her and said, “Now, what do you want to ask me?”

Here goes, Josie thought. “Mr. Winstid, I’m not a reporter.”

His face darkened.

“I need your help,” Josie said. “I want to marry Ted Scottsmeyer next month. He’s
a veterinarian, and Molly Ann Deaver—”

George made a growling noise, but Josie forged ahead. “Molly Deaver showed up at Ted’s
clinic in a wedding dress and said they were getting married that morning. The whole
marriage was invented in her twisted brain.”

“That bitch!” George slammed his beer bottle on the table. Two women at the next table
stared at him. George lowered his voice and said, “I moved to the other end of the
country to get away from her. I thought I was safe. I come back here to be president
of a national organization and take my mom to lunch and Molly’s da—” He stopped short
and amended the word. “—dang sister was at the restaurant peddling homemade junk.”

“You were at the Blue Rose Tearoom?” Josie asked.

George looked embarrassed. “I did it for Mom. I’m no tea drinker, but she likes the
place. She can’t afford lunch there, so I took her as a treat.”

“You’re a good son,” Josie said.

“Look, I’m sorry for your trouble, but I can’t waste any more time talking to you.
I have to get to that cocktail party.”

“I think the police would be interested in knowing Molly’s ex-fiancé was in town this
week,” Josie said.

“We were never engaged,” George said. “I opened up the
Gazette
one day and saw the announcement of our engagement. I took a lot of ragging about
that. I tried to get the paper to print a retraction, but they said it was a paid
announcement, not a news story. I had to get a lawyer before they’d even say it was
a ‘misprint.’ Wouldn’t even retract it.

“That woman is a complete head case. We never even dated. She stalked me because I
sold her some carpet. That sale cost me my St. Louis career. Why would the police
care where I am this week, anyway?”

“Because she was murdered,” Josie said.

“You don’t say.” George seemed stunned by the news.

“When?” He could hardly say the word.

“Wednesday night,” Josie said, “between six and six thirty.”

George sipped his beer, maybe buying time to recover. His tone went from shocked to
belligerent. “Go ahead and tell the police. I’ve got an alibi. I was at the conference
meet-and-greet from six to eight that night. A thousand people saw me there.

“Besides, that move to Montana was a blessing in disguise. That’s where I met my Renee.
Sweetest little girl I ever met. We’re engaged for real.” His face softened into a
smile.

“Congratulations,” Josie said.

“I’m sorry Molly got her hooks in some other man, but she’s not my problem anymore.”

“But you must understand mine,” Josie said. “We need to find Molly’s real killer,
or Ted and I will have to cancel our wedding. Did you take out a restraining order
against her?”

“I don’t see the point in those things,” George said. “A piece of paper wouldn’t stop
Molly. Besides, I didn’t want something like that in the public record. Not good for
my career. My boss told me there was an opening at the Billings store and that town
was growing, so I transferred there.”

“Do you know of any other men Molly might have stalked?”

“I know very little about her,” George said. “I knew she had a sister—Emma, Amy.”

“Emily,” Josie said.

“She seemed decent enough, but she refused to believe her sister has mental problems.
She blamed me for ‘leading Molly on.’ I was happy to get away from the whole crazy
bunch. I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t know anything else. Now I have to
go to that cocktail party.”

“You’ve been a big help,” Josie said.

On the walk back to the parking garage, she realized George had been more of a help
than she thought.

He said he was in town the day Molly was murdered. But George never asked how she
was killed.