Murder Is a Piece of Cake (18 page)

Chapter 32

Thursday, November 1

Clunk. Clunk. Clatter.

The sounds rattled through Josie’s midnight dreams and she stirred.

Yap! Yap! Yap!

The sharp barks made her sit straight up in bed. That sounded like Stuart Little.
Josie slipped on her robe and heard a woman scream, “LET GO OF ME, YOU STUPID MUTT!”

She sounded too young to be Mrs. Mueller.

It was Halloween night. Someone was vandalizing the house.

Josie grabbed her cell phone and the pepper spray off her nightstand, and ran for
the porch as the barks, clanks, and shouts increased. Now a police siren howled and
tires screeched. Police light bars disco-danced in front of Josie’s flat.

She opened the front door and saw her mother doing a triumphant war dance on the front
porch.

“I caught the mum thief!” Jane yelled.

“Looks like Stuart caught her,” Josie said.

The shih tzu had his teeth firmly in the ankle of a wild-eyed soccer mom. Josie could
see blood on her jeans leg, just above her New Balance shoes. Jane’s bronze mums were
uprooted and potting soil was scattered across the well-swept porch. Ted’s tuna-can
trap was wrapped around the plants’ roots.

The police officer pounded up the porch steps, his smooth face serious. Even his short
hair looked earnest.

“Officer, this woman was stealing on my front porch,” Jane said.

“This dog attacked me,” the soccer mom said. “I was going for a walk. Now my leg is
bleeding.” The captured thief wore high-rise mom jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.

“Woof!” said Stuart, the tail-wagging attack dog.

“Walking alone at midnight?” Jane said. “I don’t think so. She was uprooting my plants,
Officer. That’s her SUV parked behind my daughter’s Honda.”

The dark green SUV had the tailgate down. The streetlight showed the back was crammed
with flowering plants.

“She was all set to add my mums to her stash,” Jane said.

Mrs. M shot out of her front door in a green chenille robe and fuzzy green slippers.
Her face was slathered with white cream and her sprayed hair was wrapped in a toilet
paper turban to protect it. Officer Earnest’s eyes bulged.

“She stole my flowers, too, Officer,” Mrs. M said. The TP rustled on her hairdo. “She
even stole my poison ivy.”

The soccer mom absently scratched her hand at the mention of poison ivy. Josie fought
to suppress a giggle.

It took nearly an hour to sort out the crisis. The soccer mom was charged with misdemeanor
trespass, with the promise of more charges. “We’re restricted from making arrests
for most misdemeanor crimes that don’t happen in our presence,” Officer Earnest said.
“But based on the uprooted plant material and the dog bite, I can charge you with
trespass and the theft of your neighbor’s plants, since she was able to identify her
property. Unless you can produce receipts for the other plants in your vehicle, I
will also charge you with petty theft and possession of stolen property.”

The soccer mom kept . . . well, mum. “I want to call my lawyer,” she said, and not
another word after that. She even refused to give her name. Her driver’s license said
she was Trudy Sandusky. Her address was in the well-heeled suburb of Frontenac.

Mrs. M reclaimed her mums from the back of the SUV, but she left the poison ivy. The
rest of the stolen plants were taken to the station house. Josie wondered how the
homeowners would ID their lost plants. Most were uprooted from their pots and dropped
in cardboard boxes. Trudy had lined the cargo bed of her SUV with newspapers to protect
it during to her plant-rustling spree.

It was one ten a.m. when the circus folded. Josie helped her mother replant the mums.
She could see Mrs. M doing the same thing on her porch. Jane watered her repotted
mums. Then, seized with a sudden impulse, she stomped over to Mrs. Mueller’s porch.

“I told you my son-in-law’s system was a good one,” she said. “The thief was too dumb
to recognize poison ivy. And you thought gangbangers were stealing your flowers.”

Mrs. Mueller gave Jane a glare that should have bored holes in her back, while Josie’s
sturdy mother marched back home.

Josie checked on Amelia on her way back to bed. Her daughter was sound asleep, her
cat, Harry, alert at the foot of Amelia’s bed. Josie scratched his oversized ears.
“It’s okay, old man,” she whispered. “You can go back to sleep.”

Josie’s head barely sank into the pillow when her alarm rang. She opened one sleep-heavy
eye. Time to get Amelia off to school. She was grateful her daughter didn’t give Josie
any trouble this morning. Amelia fed Harry, ate her breakfast, and put on an acceptable
school outfit: long white T-shirt, skinny black jeans, and a jade scarf. Josie dressed
and pounded down four cups of coffee. All that coffee made Josie jumpy, but she wasn’t
totally awake—until Amelia asked a question on the way to school: “Are you going to
be Mrs. Ted Scottsmeyer, Mom?”

“I’m going to stay Josie Marcus,” she said. “That’s who I’ve been for thirty-one years.
I’ve gotten used to my name.”

“But how will people know you’re married?” Amelia asked.

“I’ll have a wedding ring to go with this,” Josie said. She wiggled her ring finger
and the double-diamond engagement ring sparkled in the sun. “They’ll know. And Ted
and I will know.”

“But you’ll still be married even if you don’t take his name?” Amelia asked.

Ah, that’s what this was about. “Definitely,” Josie said. “And we’ll have the pictures
to prove it. Amelia, many brides don’t take their husband’s last name—especially older
brides. It doesn’t mean I don’t love Ted, and he doesn’t mind. He’s not the sort of
man who has to own me.”

Amelia shrugged.

They were in the Barrington School drive. Amelia ducked her mother’s kiss and ran
inside. Josie sat for a few seconds, enjoying the crisp fall morning. The campus looked
especially pretty. A polite beep from another mom reminded Josie she was taking up
valuable space.

Back home, she was sweeping up the potting soil on the front porch when she saw her
mother on the walkway, Stuart Little trotting at her side. Jane was glowing after
last night’s daring capture of the mum thief.

“How’s the hero?” Josie asked, scratching the shih tzu’s ears. “Did he get another
medal for capturing the flower rustler?”

“He was rewarded with a slice of ham,” Jane said.

Stuart wagged his tail.

“You may look cute,” Josie told him, “but you’re one tough dog. You’ve caught two
crooks now. First, you bit a murderer. Now you’ve nailed a mum stealer.”

“He only attacks on command,” Jane said. “What are your plans for today?”

I’m bringing Molly’s killer to justice, she wanted to say. But Josie knew it was too
soon to say that. Rita’s murder had been a terrible lesson.

“Alyce and I are going to help Molly’s sister deal with the piles of wedding presents
in her living room. Emily can’t face them.”

“That poor girl,” Jane said. “What a horrible duty for her.”

“It is,” Josie said. “But Alyce is good with people. I’m just along as muscle. I want
to call Ted, too, before I leave.”

Josie’s cell rang. She picked it off the porch rail and checked the display. “That’s
Alyce, Mom. See you later,” she said, and went inside.

“Josie, I hope I caught you at home,” Alyce said. She could hear Justin fussing in
the background.

“What’s wrong with your little guy?” Josie asked.

“I think he’s coming down with a cold,” Alyce said. “He has a low-grade fever—ninety-nine
point two—and he’s miserable. I don’t want to leave him alone with his nanny. He needs
his mommy and I want to monitor his temperature. I can’t go to Emily’s today. Can
you go without me?”

“Sure,” Josie said. “Do you want to postpone until tomorrow?”

“Connie told me Emily’s husband is being difficult,” Josie said. “He wants her to
clear all Molly’s stuff out of the house.”

“Brad sounds like a jerk,” Josie said. “Does he really believe if Emily removes her
sister’s wedding gifts, her grief will go away?”

“I don’t know how someone like that thinks,” Alyce said. “I’m just glad I didn’t marry
him. Will you help her?”

“Of course,” Josie said.

“You were right about Emily being hard up for money,” Alyce said. “I talked with Connie
yesterday. She said Emily was asked to resign from her committee because she embezzled
eight thousand dollars.”

“You’re joking,” Josie said.

“Happens more than you’d think,” Alyce said. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen it.
The embezzler quietly resigns and the group pretends it never happened. But this money
was for the food bank. The committee is threatening to go to the police and press
charges unless Emily gives them back their money.”

“Would they really do that?” Josie asked.

“I think they’re bluffing,” Alyce said. “Emily’s embezzling will be difficult to prove
and embarrassing for Wood Winds to admit. The rest of St. Louis already thinks this
subdivision is in the crooked one percent.”

Josie kept silent. That was her opinion, too, with the exception of Alyce and a handful
of other residents.

“If Emily doesn’t cave,” Alyce said, “Wood Winds will probably suck it up and make
up her loss. We won’t like to, but we can afford it.”

“So she’ll get away scot-free?” Josie asked.

“Oh, she’ll be punished,” Alyce said. “She’ll be tossed off a major committee, and
that will hurt Brad’s business. He needs his neighbors. Enough petty subdivision politics.
What’s going on with you and your investigation? Any progress?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “I found out that Phoebe Winstid and her son don’t have alibis
for the night of Molly’s murder.”

“How did you manage that?” Alyce asked.

“You inspired me,” Josie said, “with that call from your credit card company.” She
told Alyce how she disguised her voice with a handkerchief over her cell phone and
the make-believe call from the credit card company.

“Except I said her card had been used for dinner at the Four Seasons on the day of
Molly’s murder.”

“Brilliant,” Alyce said.

“Either the mother or the son killed Molly—and I think it’s probably Phoebe. She even
drives the same kind of car that was in the security video: a charcoal Impala.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to confront Phoebe on your own,” Alyce said. “At
least wait until Justin feels better, so I can go with you.”

“Are you nuts?” Josie said. “Neither of us will do that. I’m giving this information
to Lenore’s high-priced Boca lawyer. He can earn his keep and use a real detective
to investigate the murderous Winstids.”

“What did Ted say when you told him?” Alyce asked.

“I couldn’t reach him last night,” Josie said. “I left a message and he hasn’t called
back yet. He must have worked late. Speaking of late, I’d better leave if I’m going
to make it to Emily’s by nine thirty.”

Josie heard Justin wailing in the background.

“That’s my poor boy,” Alyce said. “Thanks for helping Emily with those presents. I’m
glad you’re not doing anything dangerous.”

Chapter 33

Thursday, November 1

“Ted!” Josie was almost to her car when her fiancé called. She sat on the bumper to
talk.

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner, Josie,” Ted said. “I had to euthanize a patient last
night and didn’t finish until nearly midnight.”

Josie thought he sounded subdued. “Who was it?” she asked.

“A thirteen-year-old beagle with cancer,” Ted said. “The owner called as I was leaving.
Danielle said Buddy was suffering so much, she didn’t want to wait until morning.
By the time she got here, said good-bye, and I did the procedure, it was too late
to call.”

“How are you?” Josie said. “I know it’s hard for you to put down a pet.”

“It was time,” Ted said. “Buddy couldn’t eat or drink and he’d lost control of his
functions. He was a dignified old guy.”

“I have news that will cheer you up,” Josie said. “I know who killed Molly.”

“Really?” No trace of tiredness now. Ted’s words tumbled out. “Who? What? Why?”

Josie told him how she’d tracked down Molly’s first stalker victim, George, and his
mother, Phoebe, then figured out that neither one had an alibi for the time of Molly’s
murder.

“Both are possibilities,” Josie said. “But I think Phoebe killed her. She has a good
motive: Bridezilla drove her only son out of St. Louis. Phoebe won’t get to see her
future grandchildren grow up. She can’t afford trips to Montana.”

“Money and mother love,” Ted said. “Powerful reasons.”

“Here’s something else: Phoebe drives a dark gray Impala.”

“The car in the surveillance video. You got her!” Ted said.

“Not yet,” Josie said. “I’m not tackling a killer on my own. It’s time for Lenore’s
lawyer and his investigator to prove it.”

“Mom will be out in time for our wedding,” Ted said.

“I hope,” Josie said. “Will you call Shel Clark?”

“Right now,” Ted said. “But Shel may want to talk to you. You’re brilliant. And beautiful.
Did I tell you I love you?”

“Not since yesterday,” Josie said.

Ted kept saying, “I love you,” until Josie hung up laughing.

Ted made her feel better. She could face the trip to Emily’s house alone.

She sang all the way to the Estates at Wood Winds. As she parked in Emily’s driveway,
Josie was struck by the stark lines of Emily’s house in the midst of the subdivision’s
fanciful mansions and mock castles.

This morning, Emily’s eyes were ringed by bruised circles and her short brown hair
needed washing. Egg yolk was dripped down her dark turtleneck.

“Come in,” she said. “It’s nice of you to help when Alyce can’t make it.”

Josie followed her to the vast living room with the tangerine walls and the fashionable
khaki carpet. Two sculpted dining chairs sat by the metal folding tables heaped with
boxes.

“We can open and sort the gifts,” Emily said. “I set up a system.”

Sheets of paper were on the carpet, with the name of a store’s bridal registry: Macy’s,
Tiffany, Crate & Barrel and Williams-Sonoma.

“Should I keep track of who sent each gift?” Josie asked.

“No reason,” Emily said. “People know Molly can’t write thank-you notes. You take
that table, and I’ll do this one. Here’s a pair of scissors to open boxes. If you
find a gift receipt, tape it to the box.” She handed Josie Scotch tape. “Before you
add a gift to the store pile, show it to me.”

Emily never addressed Josie by her name or offered her anything to eat or drink.

Josie opened a box with a De’Longhi toaster that looked like it could launch a satellite.
“Do you want this to go back to Macy’s?” she asked.

Emily studied the gleaming metal. “It has the extra-wide slots for bagels,” she said.
“Ours is an old two-slicer. Put it in the keeper pile.”

Josie sought to hide her shock. Emily didn’t hesitate to keep Molly’s gift for herself.

“What about these?” Josie held up a six-pack of Lenox wineglasses etched with tiny
flowers.

“I like my glassware better,” Emily said. “Those can go back. Along with this soup
tureen.” Josie recognized it as the cabbage rose dish she’d wept over yesterday.

“My sister liked all that flowery crap,” she said.

This was the woman who couldn’t move on with her grief? Josie wanted out of Emily’s
ice palace. The fastest way was to tear through the mountain of unopened boxes and
wrapped presents.

Josie dutifully held up each opened gift for inspection.

Emily wanted the Breville blender and the bright red KitchenAid stand mixer. “I like
to bake,” she said. Antique silver candlesticks etched with garlands and grapes were
rejected as “fussy.” So was a dainty porcelain vase.

“I never iron,” Emily said, and banished that appliance. “Molly needed one for her
ruffles.”

Josie had the eerie feeling that Emily was settling an old score with her sister with
each acceptance or rejection.

She waved away Molly’s blue-flowered everyday dishes, nixed ten place settings of
bone china, but said yes to the big Turkish bath towels. “Brad and I have been married
ten years,” she said. “Our linens are getting worn.”

Josie nodded. Emily didn’t seem to notice that she was the only one talking. She disemboweled
cartons and ripped apart festive paper like a hungry lioness attacking her prey.

“Look at this ten-cup coffeemaker,” Emily said. “With a built-in bean grinder.” Her
excited squeal sickened Josie. “Want to try it?”

I want out of here, Josie thought. “I’m almost done,” she said. “Let’s finish. That
will make your husband happy.”

“So will all this loot,” Emily said, her eyes glittering with greed.

Josie pulled a round flat tray out of a colorful box.

“Oh. My. God,” Emily said softly. “A pizza stone. I’ve always wanted one.”

She grabbed it from Josie and carried the trophy to the keeper pile.

“That was my last box,” Josie said.

“I still have more,” Emily said. She handed Josie a stack of greeting card envelopes,
a notebook, and a pen. “Open these, and write down the amounts.”

“After I call my mom,” Josie said. “I’ll have to ask her to pick up my daughter at
school.”

She hoped Emily would tell Josie to leave, but she was staring raptly at a vegetable
chopper. “I saw these Alligator choppers on TV,” she said. “I’m keeping this.”

Josie fished her cell phone out of her purse. “Of course I’ll pick up Amelia,” Jane
said. “She wants to learn more about cooking fish. I got some nice tilapia.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Josie said.

She checked her messages to see if Lenore’s lawyer had called, then slipped the cell
phone into her pocket. Josie didn’t want to miss Shel Clark’s call. Maybe the lawyer
could spring her, too.

Josie tackled the tower of greeting cards. Most contained checks. A check for fifty
thousand dollars was in a card frosted with lace and signed, “Love to my Darling Niece,
Aunt Martha.” Molly would have loved that card, Josie thought, maybe even more than
the check.

Lingering made her feel sadder. Josie opened the last two cards, swiftly added up
the checks, and circled the total.

“Done!” she said.

Emily was unwrapping three bamboo storage baskets from Crate & Barrel. Josie was glad
she’d included them in her own bridal registry.

“How much?” Emily asked.

“Fifty-eight thousand and twenty-five dollars,” Josie said.

“Including Aunt Martha’s money?” Emily asked.

Josie nodded.

“I knew my sister would rake in at least fifty thousand for her wedding,” Emily said.
“Brad and I didn’t do nearly as well. Molly always got everything.”

Including an early death, Josie thought.

“I appreciate your help,” Emily said. “Now all I have to do is take Molly’s clothes
to a consignment shop, clean out her apartment, and I’m done.”

She said this without a trace of sorrow. Emily had processed her grief in record time.
She checked her watch. “I should have time to deposit the checks at the bank this
afternoon,” she said.

“Do you have a special account for Molly’s estate?” Josie asked.

“Don’t need one,” Emily said. “I’m the executor. The money’s going to me, anyway.
Molly and I already had a joint account, so I could help her with the wedding.”

Right. Josie remembered Rita the saleswoman mentioning that. Looks like Molly helped
you instead, Josie thought. There’s more than enough money here to cover what you
embezzled from the Thanksgiving food bank fund. I wonder if a timely check will save
your bacon.

“Your friends and family were generous to Molly,” she said.

“That was Aunt Martha’s doing,” Emily said. “Molly was always her favorite. She promised
Molly fifty thousand dollars as part of a down payment on a new home.”

Just like Mom offered Ted and me money to put toward a down payment, Josie thought.
She felt uneasy. Her tidy picture of Molly’s killer shifted slightly, but she didn’t
know why. She was starting to think Aunt Martha’s fifty thousand dollars, Molly’s
wedding gifts, and Molly’s death were somehow connected and they had nothing to do
with Phoebe Winstid or her son.

“Molly said she’d be a traditional stay-at-home wife,” Emily said. “Aunt Martha didn’t
realize my sister was a master manipulator under all those frills. She fell for Molly’s
old-fashioned-girl act, wrote her a fat check, and encouraged everyone to help Molly
and Ted buy a house.”

Josie jumped when Emily said Ted’s name.

“Why isn’t Ted’s name on the checks?” she asked.

“Molly promised Aunt Martha she’d handle the family finances. That was a slap at me.
I let Brad handle our money and some of his investments didn’t pan out.”

“I see,” Josie said. She saw the bare walls, the empty living room, and the dents
in the carpet where the furniture used to be.

“I never had my sister’s advantages,” Emily said. “No one helped Brad and me that
way. Well, we’ll get by. I’ve put her wedding dress on eBay.”

“The one she wore on TV?” Josie asked. “It’s been used.”

“By a famous person,” Emily said. “Denise refused to take back her veil and tiara.
The fact that Molly wore those would increase their value. Denise took back Molly’s
first bridal veil and tiara, like she did for that other ditz who worked there.”

“Rita?” Josie asked. “Wasn’t she your sister’s friend?”

“That’s what Rita said,” Emily said. “She wanted me to give her Molly’s dog. Just
hand it to her for nothing. Bella had papers. I sold it for five hundred bucks.”

The picture of Phoebe Winstid as Molly’s killer was losing focus. “Were you friends
with Rita, too?” she asked.

“I met her at the shop,” Emily said, “but we didn’t socialize. Rita invited me to
her apartment to have dinner with Molly, but I said no. I wasn’t wasting an evening
with those two. Rita was like Molly—obsessed with her looks, her clothes, and her
wedding.”

“Rita had exquisite taste,” Josie said.

“She spent a lot on herself, if that’s what you mean,” Emily said. “But taste? I don’t
think so. Rita had an old Coke machine in her living room.”

The picture of Molly’s killer was coming clearer.

“How did you know about the Coke machine?” Josie asked.

“What?” Emily looked confused.

“How did you know that Rita had a Coke machine in her living room?” Josie asked. “You’ve
never been in her apartment.”

“Molly told me about it,” she said. “It’s all Rita talked about.”

Now Josie knew exactly who killed Rita. She pressed 911 on her cell phone and left
the line open. She could hear the 911 operator asking, “What is your emergency?” Josie
raised her voice to cover the query.

“Molly didn’t tell you anything,” Josie said. “That vintage Coke machine was delivered
after Molly Deaver was murdered.” She tried to state as many facts as fast as possible
to let the 911 operator know exactly the nature of her emergency.

“You shot your sister in the parking lot at the St. Louis Mobo-Pet Clinic,” Josie
said. “The one in Rock Road Village. Molly didn’t run away when she saw you. She thought
she had nothing to fear from you, Emily.”

“You’re crazy,” Emily said. “I didn’t kill Molly.”

“You did,” Josie said, raising her voice even louder. “Then you beat—” What was Rita’s
last name? She needed it for 911. “Rita Marie Kutchner to death in her apartment.
Rita knew you killed your own sister. What happened, Emily? Did Rita find out how
badly you needed Molly’s money?”

“She was blackmailing me,” Emily said. “She got what she deserved. Rita said she’d
tell the police unless I gave her eight thousand dollars for that stupid Coke machine.
I said we didn’t have that kind of money. She said I’d have to find it somewhere.”

“And you did,” Josie said. “You embezzled it from the food bank committee for the
Estates at Wood Winds. Shame on you, Emily Deaver.” Good. She’d told 911 her attacker’s
name and the location.

“I borrowed the money,” Emily said. “I’m paying it back.”

“Now that you’ve shot your sister and inherited her money, you can afford to,” Josie
said.

“Rita lied,” Emily said. “She said she’d stop after I gave her the eight thousand,
but she didn’t. She wanted more antiques.”

“Why did you kill your sister?” Josie asked. “Molly wasn’t blackmailing you.”

“She was ruining my life,” Emily said. She was sobbing now. “I needed money, and she
spent everything on clothes and those weddings and she got richer. I asked her for
a loan and she said no.”

“But she was your sister,” Josie said.

“Half sister,” Emily said. “She was a lunatic, stalking strangers and saying she was
engaged to them. She was hurting Brad’s business. Nobody wants an accountant with
a crazy relative. We were going broke because of her. Because she wanted this junk.”

Emily yanked the massive soup tureen out of the box. Insane rage lit her eyes and
reason fled her face.

“Don’t!” Josie screamed. “Put that down. You could kill me.”

“Exactly,” Emily said, and hurled it at Josie.

The tureen shattered against the orange wall like a bomb. Josie hoped the 911 operator
heard the noise. She shrieked as loud as she could, picked up the closest cardboard
box, and held it in front of her like a shield.