Murder Is a Piece of Cake (12 page)

Chapter 20

Saturday, October 27

George Winstid said he had a thousand witnesses to prove he didn’t kill Molly Deaver.

Josie wondered if he had any.

She felt a slight flicker of hope: George had given her some useful bits of information,
but she didn’t see how they could free Lenore.

She slammed on her brakes at a red light. While she waited, Josie tried to analyze
what he’d told her.

George had a thousand witnesses only if he’d been onstage at the convention center.

But he wasn’t. He’d been at a cocktail party. The convention center was bigger than
an airplane terminal. George could have flitted around and said hello to a dozen people,
slipped out, shot Molly, and returned before he was missed.

No one was watching him the whole time.

The traffic light changed and Josie’s car crawled another block. St. Louis didn’t
have Saturday traffic jams unless there was a game downtown. What was the holdup?
She had to be at Ted’s in an hour.

She was making the big move tonight—carrying her first things to his place. This was
also a romantic evening, maybe their last chance to be together. Next week, they’d
be swept into the wedding whirlwind.

Jane had warned her daughter. “You need to spend time with Ted before he forgets why
he asked you to marry him,” she’d said. “Don’t worry about Amelia. I’ll watch her.
We’ll start packing her things and then we’ll have a cooking lesson.”

Josie was touched. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “You’re thoughtful.”

“I’m not too old to forget what it’s like to be in love,” Jane said.

Poor Mom, Josie thought. Amelia calls you the princess bride because your wedding
picture is so beautiful. Too bad your prince turned into a toad.

What my father did wasn’t right or fair. He promised to love and honor you. You promised
to be a full-time homemaker. Then he ran off and started a new family in Chicago,
and you had to take a dreary bank job and raise a daughter on your own.

“You deserve your happiness, Josie,” Jane had said. “I’ll feel a lot better when I
walk you down that aisle and give you away.”

“You and me both,” Josie had said. “Mom, what if we can’t get married because of Lenore’s
arrest?”

Josie’s small mother wrapped her in a protective hug and said, “You
will
get married. Don’t even think about the alternative.”

But Josie did. Constantly. Lenore’s arrest could ruin her chance for happiness unless
Josie got the Rock Road Village police to reopen Molly’s murder and find the real
killer.

Josie’s Honda crept forward. She still couldn’t see what caused the slowdown. Wait!
The road suddenly opened up. If she moved quickly, she’d make it through the intersection.

Then the light turned yellow and Josie saw the warnings for the red-light cameras.
So did the blue BMW in front of her. The Beemer slammed on its brakes. Josie did,
too, nearly rear-ending it. Her seat belt yanked her back.

So much for safety, she thought. Red-light cameras were spies on stilts, causing more
problems than they prevented. Now she saw the holdup in the intersection—a fender
bender blocked traffic.

While Josie waited for the light to change, those cameras nagged at her. Who had been
talking about cameras? The police! They’d been angry that the security cameras in
Ted’s clinic lot were out of order. They didn’t capture Molly’s killer on tape.

Now Josie remembered: There were cameras
inside
the clinic.

They would have recorded the bizarre, bloody chain reaction that started with bridezilla
cutting Ted with a scalpel and ended with the cat scratching Molly and the bride’s
blood dripping on Lenore’s suit.

Those tapes would tell the true story, unbiased and unedited. The police would have
to reopen Molly’s murder investigation.

The traffic light changed again, but the cars still didn’t move. Josie’s fingers felt
on fire when she punched the
SPEED-DIAL
button for Ted’s phone.

“Please don’t cancel on me tonight,” he said before she even said hello.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Josie said. Just the sound of his voice made her feel tingly.

“I’ll come over and help you move,” Ted said. “You shouldn’t carry those boxes.”

“Amelia can help me,” Josie said. “I have other plans for you.”

“That’s a sexy giggle,” Ted said. “Want to tell me about them?”

Ted sounded so hot, he almost melted her cell phone. Josie remembered the feel of
his strong back and broad shoulders and nearly forgot why she’d called.

“I had a brainstorm,” she said. “Your clinic has security cameras inside. Were they
working when Molly barged into your TV taping?”

“I think so,” Ted said.

“How long do you keep your tapes?”

“The security company has them for a week,” Ted said.

“Then they caught Molly,” Josie said. “Lenore’s lawyer doesn’t need those Channel
Seven tapes. Have your security company e-mail the files to Shelford Clark. The light’s
green. Gotta go. Love you.” She clicked off her phone and sailed through the intersection
at last.

At home, she found Amelia in her room texting. How does my girl get her thumbs to
move so fast? she wondered.

Josie changed into Ted’s favorite white blouse and her black clam diggers, put on
fresh lipstick, and slipped her overnight bag into the top box.

Where was her purse?

She checked her room, the bathroom, living room, and finally found it on the kitchen
table. She also saw three liters of Diet Coke stacked next to the fridge.

“Amelia!” Josie called. “When did you start drinking Diet Coke?”

“I’m not drinking it,” Amelia said. “It’s for a science experiment. It will be gone
shortly. Can I help carry your boxes to the car?”

Amelia was volunteering to help? The National Weather Service couldn’t track Amelia’s
changing moods. Might as well enjoy this sunny spell.

“They’re stacked by my bedroom door,” Josie said.

“Grandma’s teaching me how to make round steak tonight,” Amelia said, balancing two
boxes. Josie took two more.

“Good,” Josie said. Round steak was maybe her least favorite meal. They went back
for the next load.

“Can I paint my new room purple?” Amelia asked as she carefully stacked the last boxes
in Josie’s car trunk.

“When we buy our new home,” Josie said.

“I mean at Ted’s place,” Amelia said.

“No, he’s renting,” Josie said. “That room has to stay ‘renter white.’ But we aren’t
going to live there long.”

“Whatever,” Amelia said, and shrugged.

That word had more inflections than Mandarin, but Josie decided this one was neutral.

She kissed her daughter good-bye. “By summer, you’ll have your own room in our own
house with our own wedding pictures. Now go see your grandmother.”

Josie hoped she could keep that promise. She gave Ted such a warm welcome, they didn’t
get around to ordering pizza for more than two hours.

“What time is it?” Josie finally asked.

“Almost ten o’clock,” Ted said. “How about dinner?”

“Mushroom and pepperoni for me,” Josie said.

“Same here,” Ted said. “I’ll order two large.” He found his jeans on the floor and
put on his shirt.

“I don’t know if I can eat a large pizza,” Josie said.

“I can,” Ted said, sliding into his shoes. “The leftovers make a good breakfast. I’ll
carry in the boxes. Don’t get dressed. I like you the way you are.”

Josie unpacked the boxes and put her clothes in the dresser drawers Ted had cleared,
then hung her clothes in her half of his closet. Now it was their closet. Almost.

Thirty minutes later, Ted brought in their pizzas, along with the wine and two glasses.
They ate pizza in his bed.

“What will we do if your mother is in jail on our wedding day?” Josie asked.

“She won’t be,” Ted said. “Mom didn’t kill Molly.”

“Innocent people go to jail,” Josie said.

“Most are black, poor, or had bad lawyers. That’s definitely not my mother.”

“But—,” Josie said.

Ted’s phone rang and he checked the display. “It’s Shelford Clark, Mom’s lawyer. I
bet he’s seen those tapes.”

“On a Saturday night?” Josie said.

“Believe me, he’s being paid for his time,” Ted said. He put the phone on speaker
so Josie could hear their conversation.

“My associate e-mailed me those tapes,” Clark said.

“Good, huh?” Ted said.

“Bad,” the lawyer said. “There’s no sound and I can see the cat jumping off the table,
but there’s no blood except yours. It’s very clear that crazy bride is attacking you,
Ted. All those tapes will do is show the jury why your mother wanted to kill that
woman.”

“Oh,” Ted said.

Josie felt like someone had let the air out of the room.

“I may have an expert enhance them,” Clark said, “and see if the tapes can help establish
reasonable doubt. But for God’s sake, we can’t let them near the prosecution until
the last possible moment. Then I’ll send a mountain of material and pray they never
find those tapes.”

“Maybe we could just forget about them,” Ted said.

“Can’t. I play by the rules,” Clark said. “Anyway, you left a paper trail when you
called the security company and requested the tapes. Too late to unring that bell.”

Ted and Josie sat wrapped in heavy, hopeless silence.

“I’d like to speak to your bride, Ms. Marcus,” Clark said.

“I’m here,” Josie said.

“Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall has asked me to convey to you her dismay over your bridal registries.”

“My what?” Josie said. Lenore was worried about wedding gifts when she was facing
murder one? “Which one? Honeyfund is a good online service. We’re also registered
at Crate and Barrel, Macy’s, and Williams-Sonoma.”

“But not Tiffany and Co.,” the lawyer said.

“We don’t need anything from Tiffany,” Josie said.

“No one does, my dear. Except my wife.” Clark chuckled at his own joke.

“In Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall’s circle, a proper bride registers at Tiffany.” Clark’s
tone turned avuncular. “Humor her. What harm can it do? All it costs you is a little
time. I think you can register online. Pick out a few things.”

“But we don’t live a Tiffany life,” Josie said.

“You want my advice, Josie?” Clark asked.

She didn’t, but she knew she’d get it anyway.

“Even if you never use those gifts from Tiffany,” Clark said, “you can sell them on
eBay. And you’ll make Ted’s mother happy during a very trying time.”

What about me? Josie wanted to say. This is supposed to be my day. But I have to pick
my battles. This one isn’t worth fighting. “I’ll do it,” Josie said.

After Shelford Clark hung up, Ted asked, “Is it a problem to register at Tiffany?”
He was back finishing his pizza.

“It’s not a big deal,” Josie said. The problem, she thought, is Lenore is trying to
control our life long distance.

She stared at her pizza as if the answer were written in pepperoni.

Long distance. Who else had a long-distance mother?

“That’s it!” Josie said. “George’s mother is in St. Louis. If your mom can be arrested
for murder, so can his. Molly stalked George so persistently, he had to leave the
city.”

“So wait,” Ted said. “You think that Mrs. Winstid was so angry at Molly for driving
her son away from St. Louis, she killed her?”

“It’s the only way George could come back home,” Josie said. “That’s why I need to
talk to Mrs. Winstid in Ballwin.”

“Tonight?” Ted said. “It’s nearly midnight.” He looked bewildered.

“First thing tomorrow,” Josie said. “Should I register at Tiffany before or after
I find Molly’s killer?”

Chapter 21

Sunday, October 28

Josie felt a warm, wet slurp on her ear.

“Mm,” she said. She sighed luxuriously and rolled over to Ted’s side of the bed.

She felt lazy and languid after last night’s lovemaking, and wanted to linger a little
longer on his sexy gray pin-striped sheets. It felt wicked good to sleep in this morning.

Eyes still closed, she reached for Ted and felt a cold wet nose.

Cold wet nose?

Josie opened one eye and stared at Ted’s black Lab sprawled on his side of the bed.
Festus slurped her again.

“Did Ted let you in?” she asked. “Or did you open the door when he got up?” Ted had
banished the scratchaholic Lab to his basket in Ted’s office last night.

Josie scratched Festus’s warm velvety ears until he whimpered, then licked her face
again.

“You’ve been in the pepperoni, pizza breath,” Josie said. “You ate Ted’s breakfast.”
She checked the floor on her side of the bed and saw greasy paw prints in the open
pizza boxes.

“You’ve blown your diet,” she said. “But I don’t blame you. Nobody should have that
much temptation at his feet.”

Now Josie detected the aroma of hot coffee drifting in from the kitchen. Was it really
eight thirty? She put on her pink satin robe and followed the coffee scent to the
kitchen, where Ted was pouring batter into a waffle iron. His chocolate brown robe
was the same color as his eyes.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he said. “Sleep well?”

She wrapped her arms around him, leaned her head on his shoulder, and felt that delicious
flutter. “Never better.”

“I thought you’d still be asleep,” he said. “I’m making you breakfast in bed.”

“I hate to snitch,” Josie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee, “but Festus ate your
leftover pizza.”

“Guess we’ll have to get by on Belgian waffles. I’ll bring your tray into the bedroom.”

“Don’t you have to work today?” she asked.

“Not till ten,” he said. “On your way back to bed, check out the new bookcases in
my office.”

Ted’s home office was the third bedroom in his rented home. Lined with bookshelves,
the cozy room was Marmalade’s favorite haunt. The cat snoozed on Ted’s desk, next
to his open laptop.

Josie thought the two new bookcases were an odd choice. They cut the room in half
and blocked the window view of Ted’s yard. The backs of the bookcases faced Ted’s
desk and were decorated with posters. One showed a pack of dogs panting outside the
National Postal Museum in Washington, DC, waiting for it to open. The other was the
classic “Ski Missouri” poster—a skier chewing on a piece of straw in a muddy cornfield.

Now Josie saw why the bookcases were in the middle of the room. Ted had used them
to create a second small office with an oak workstation and a cushy office chair.
The desk had a two-drawer file cabinet and enough space for a fax machine and computer.
Right now, the desktop had a black lacquer pencil cup and matching in and out trays.
The eight oak shelves were bare and the wooden floor was covered with a bold red and
black rug. She plopped into her new chair and spun around.

Ted watched from the doorway. “What do you think of your new office?” he asked.

“I’ve never had such a beautiful work space,” Josie said. “But you gave me half of
your office and all your view.”

“Along with all my problems and the rest of my life,” he said. “For better or worse.
In our new home, you’ll have your own office. If you don’t like the chair, you can
take it back.”

“It’s perfect,” she said. She got up, put her arms around him, and rested her head
against his chest. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, but you can admire it later. Your breakfast is getting cold.
Off to bed.”

Josie’s Belgian waffle took up the whole tray. The sweet-smelling confection was crowned
with strawberries and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. There was barely room for
the pitcher of warm maple syrup.

Festus jumped up on the bed to investigate the waffle, and Ted took him by the collar.
“Outside, my friend,” he said, and ejected the felonious Festus out the back door.
Ted returned with his plate and climbed in beside Josie.

“I’m in a sugar swoon,” Josie said.

She was mopping up the last bit of warm syrup when Ted asked, “Want anything else?”

Josie grabbed him by the belt on his robe and pulled him toward her. “Yes,” she said.
“Something hot.”

Last night’s love had been quick and urgent. This morning’s was slow and sensual.

“You have just the right amount of hair on your chest,” Josie said, and sighed. “Some
men are hairy all over, even their backs. You have no gorilla growth. Yours is perfect.”

“I love your back,” Ted said, tracing his finger from the nape of her neck down her
spine. “It’s so graceful. And you have such a round, pillowy . . .”

“How about some deeper appreciation?” Josie said.

Afterward, Josie fell asleep in Ted’s arms. They were awakened by Ted’s ringing phone.
Ted fumbled for it, and said, “Kathy? Sorry. I overslept. I didn’t realize it was
after ten. I’ll be in the office in fifteen minutes.”

Ted leaped out of bed, jumped into the shower, and threw his clothes on in seven minutes
flat. He let in Festus and hooked on his leash. They were ready for work.

“I’ll wash the dishes and lock up,” Josie said.

She smoothed Ted’s wet hair into place and gave him a good-bye kiss. Soon she’d do
this every morning.

Ted’s kitchen was the most impressive part of his home. The owner had upgraded it
with sleek dark cabinets, black granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and
a six-burner stove. Josie loaded the dishwasher and tidied Ted’s living room. It was
done in basic bachelor pad—a brown corduroy couch, two occasional chairs, and a fifty-two-inch
television. The room was spare and clean, except for a light dusting of pet hair.

Josie made the bed, and wished her computer were already in her new office. But she
could use Ted’s phone. She had a plan to talk to George’s mother.

First, Josie called the Blue Rose Tearoom. Rachel answered the phone.

“What’s your special for this Tuesday?” Josie asked.

“Cranberry scones with clover honey and salmon and cucumber sandwiches,” Rachel said.

“Perfect,” Josie said. “I’d like a reservation for two at noon on Tuesday.”

Now Josie was ready for the crucial step. Mrs. Phoebe Winstid was old-school, and
that made her phone and address easy to find in the phone book.

She sat at Ted’s desk, punched in Phoebe’s phone number, then made her voice squeally-girl
high. “Mrs. Winstid?” Josie asked. “Mrs. Phoebe Winstid?”

“Yes?” The woman sounded too young to be George’s mother.

Josie heard her hesitation and pressed on in a girlish gush. “I’m with the Blue Rose
Tearoom and you’ve won a free customer appreciation lunch!”

“I have?” Mrs. Winstid said. All hesitation was gone. “I don’t remember entering a
contest.”

“We got your name from your son,” Josie said. “He said you just loved our tearoom!
We’re trying to build our customer base in certain St. Louis areas. Each month we
choose two suburbs. In October, we’re concentrating on Ballwin and Maplewood. Isn’t
that exciting?” Josie thought she must sound like a cheerleader on speed.

“Is there a catch?” Mrs. Winstid asked.

“No catch, no obligation, nothing to pay,” Josie trilled. “But this offer won’t last
forever. Would you like to join us for a free lunch this week, Mrs. Winstid?”

“I’d be delighted,” she said. “This is lunch for one, right?”

“Correct. Perhaps you’d like to lunch with our Maplewood winner, Miss Josie Marcus?
Miss Marcus adores tea and she seems like a nice young woman.”

And a big liar, Josie thought. But a convincing one, I hope. I’m about to make my
final move.

“How about lunch Tuesday at noon?” Josie asked. “Wait till you hear our specials.”
She squeaked down the list.

“Why, yes, I’d like that very much,” Mrs. Winstid said.

“Wonderful!” Josie said. “I’ll make reservations for both of you. Just come in and
ask for Josie Marcus. You’re all set.”

She hung up, relieved that her scam had succeeded. She was sweating, she’d been so
nervous.

Since she was already sitting in front of Ted’s computer, Josie registered at Tiffany
to please Lenore. She found a porcelain china pattern that was shatteringly expensive:
Black Shoulders Limoges. A sugar bowl was eleven hundred dollars. So were a cup and
saucer. If guests really wanted to go for broke, they could buy the platter for $2,250.

She requested four sterling silver picture frames for six hundred fifty dollars, handblown
wineglasses at sixty bucks each, and a set of sophisticated Elsa Peretti flatware
that was almost five thousand dollars. She added four handsome glass vases at five
hundred a pop, and a dozen hand-painted blue Limoges poches at two hundred fifty dollars
each. Josie had no idea what a poche was, but it looked pretty.

Josie doubted that any of Lenore’s friends would give her gifts so expensive, but
if they did, Josie would keep them in a safe-deposit box and sell them to help finance
Amelia’s schooling.

From the Tiffany wedding registry, her mouse drifted to other bridal sites. She still
needed shoes. Josie found exactly the right pair for her wedding dress—in her size.
She clicked and ordered them.

From there, she found herself browsing wedding tiaras on several sites, including
eBay. Then Josie saw the photo that stopped her search cold.

It was a tiara with three pearl roses. It looked like the tiara she’d seen at Denise’s
Dreams.

“Pink and cranberry pearls with green baroque pearl leaves,” the description read.
“Sure to become a family heirloom.”

Hm. That was what Rita had told Josie. She also said Denise didn’t sell her tiaras
online. The price was nine hundred dollars—three hundred fifty dollars less than it
had cost at Denise’s shop. The eBay information said the seller had a four-star reputation,
but gave no name.

Was this the same tiara from the shop where Molly used to work? Was it somehow connected
to her death?

Josie had to know.