The Fashion Hound Murders (12 page)

When Amelia went to bed, Josie sat down on her new-old couch. It was more comfortable than the sagging wreck out by the curb. She dozed off and woke up about eleven o’clock. She went down the hall toward her bedroom. She checked Amelia’s bathroom, but there was no sign of Harry, not even his tail.

Her daughter was asleep. Josie pulled the covers up over Amelia, and thought again of those shivering boys and starving animals.

Josie was a woman with a mission. She was going to close down Jonah’s puppy mill and rescue his sons, and not necessarily in that order.

Chapter 13

“Do you want to identify yourself?” asked the woman who answered the Child Abuse and Neglect Hotline on Sunday morning.

Josie’s heart was pounding. She felt as if her future depended on her answer. Yes? No? Yes would be courageous, but could a single mom afford that kind of courage?

“Do I have to give my name?” she asked in a small voice.

“You are not required to give your name unless you are a ‘mandated reporter.’ In Missouri, that’s a teacher, a social worker, a medical professional, someone who works around children.”

“No, no, I’m nothing like that,” Josie said.

“But giving us your name would help with our investigation,” she said.

The woman sounded mature and trustworthy. Josie imagined her looking like a favorite teacher. She would be in her fifties with a plump, comfortable figure and clothes that were neat but not stylish. Her hair would be short and permed.

“But you could still do your report without my name?” Josie asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I’d rather not give it,” Josie said. I’d rather not do this, period. I’d rather be sitting on my couch at the curb having tea with Mrs. Mueller.

“If you do find a problem, when will you take action?” Josie asked her.

“Probably between twenty-four and forty-eight hours. Emergency situations would be faster.”

When Josie hung up the phone, she was still wondering whether she’d done the right thing. The questioning by the Child Abuse and Neglect Hotline seemed to take forever—nearly an hour. Josie was asked questions she could answer, such as the names of the children and their father. And some she couldn’t, including what school the boys went to and their ages.

As Josie gave her answers, she wondered whether she sounded like an interfering busybody. She tried to convince herself that there was nothing really wrong with Bart and Billy. But she remembered the bruise on the boy’s wrist. The livid red and purple mark seemed to grow larger in her mind. Those poor boys were pale as ghosts and way too thin. Their little red hands sticking out of those too-short sleeves looked pitiful. Someone had to do something.

“Might as well be me,” Josie said, then realized she was talking to herself. Was that a bad sign? Only if I start answering myself, she decided, but didn’t say it out loud.

Josie didn’t think she could take another telephone interrogation. She reported the animal abuse to the Humane Society of Missouri through its Web site. She wasn’t required to leave her name. Instead she told them Jonah’s name and gave detailed directions to the Deerford Kennels. She described the horrific conditions, including animals without food, water, medical care, or proper sanitation. She mentioned the dead Daisy.

Josie had no idea how many dogs were involved. Possibly a hundred or more. She couldn’t count all those poor, shivering puppies. As for breeds, she’d seen Chihuahuas, dachshunds, toy poodles, and maybe some bichons. She could only guess at the others. She wished she hadn’t seen any of it, but she could not erase what had happened from her mind.

Josie finished filling out the online report, then sent it off. She hoped it would stop Jonah’s ugly little operation and end the animals’ suffering. But what if she failed? What if Jonah found out she’d turned him in—and he went free?

She’d worry about that if and when it happened. Something had to be done about abused boys and helpless puppies. She just hoped her mother didn’t find out she’d filed those reports. Jane would go ballistic if she knew Josie had ratted out a man like Jonah. Mrs. Mueller, her own personal Neighborhood Watch program, might be some protection, but so far the old woman’s snooping had never done anything useful for Josie or Jane.

She did have Stan nearby. He was certainly strong. And loyal. And brave. What if I convinced my sweet muscle-head that Jonah is a bad carb? Josie wondered. She hadn’t talked with Stan since the day he and Howie had moved the couch to the curb. Maybe she should look up the calorie count for making love. But that probably wouldn’t work. Stan would be toning a different muscle group.

What the heck is the matter with you? she asked herself. I’m not begging a grown man to put down his barbells and love me. And Jerry will not be lighting up my life. His defense of Jonah took care of any spark I might have had. We have totally different views of child rearing, and that’s fatal to any relationship. I already know that.

She thought of her lost loves, the two men she could have married, but didn’t. Her romance with Mike had hit the rocks because of his awful daughter, Heather. Nate, her first love, turned out to be a drug dealer.

If you fall for a man, Josie Marcus, you can almost guarantee there’s something wrong with the dude. Your mother picked a man who abandoned her, and you’ve followed in her footsteps.

Josie shook her head and declared the pity party over.

I have a wonderful life, she told herself. I have a daughter who gets good grades in school. She’s healthy. My mom is a bit cranky, but she’s there when I need her. I am blessed with good friends like Alyce. As for romance, I had a man I loved with all my heart. How many women get those gifts?

“Mom!” Amelia said in a whisper. A shrieking whisper, if that was possible.

Josie, lost in her own thoughts, jumped. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“You gotta see Harry.”

“What’s he doing? Is he hurt?” Josie lowered her voice to a whisper, too.

“He’s out from under the bathtub and playing with his yarn ball. He’s so cute, Mom. Come look.”

They tiptoed down the hall and peeked into the bathroom. The small, striped cat was batting the red yarn ball with one brown paw, then pouncing on it. Once he captured the ball, Harry paraded around the room with his trophy in his mouth, like a baby tiger showing off his antelope.

Amelia giggled. Harry dropped the yarn ball and ran under the tub again.

“He’ll be out again soon, honey,” Josie said. “The stitches in his paws are starting to dissolve. He’s feeling better.”

“I feel better, too,” Amelia said. “He’s going to be a real cat.”

“He always was a real cat,” Josie said. “But he’s going to be a real member of the family.”

Josie decided to quit brooding. She had work to do tomorrow. She didn’t usually phone Alyce when her husband was home, but her friend would understand. She called Alyce and said, “Want to go clothes shopping with me on Monday?”

“Oh, no,” Alyce said. “I feel bad enough. You’re what—a size two? And I’m a twenty-two.”

“I’m an eight, which is fat in fashionable circles. And you’re definitely not a twenty-two. I have to mystery-shop dog clothes and both of us are too big for Chihuahua sweaters.”

“There are no live dogs involved, are there?” Alyce said.

“Strictly canine couture,” Josie said. “We’re mystery-shopping the Upper Pup boutiques. The one near you opens at ten o’clock. Should I pick you up?”

“Of course. We need to dish. How’s your love life?”

“A dish served cold,” Josie said. “Be prepared to be bored silly. I’d better go. There’s a knock at my door.”

Josie checked the porch cautiously. Amelia was right behind her.

“It’s Chloe and Jerry!” Amelia said. “Can I go pet her?” She opened the door without permission and ran outside. Jerry stalked inside, not bothering to say hello.

“Josie Marcus, how could you?” Jerry said. His anger was a living thing.

“How could I what?” Josie said, puzzled.

“How could you have reported Jonah?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Turn on the television,” he commanded. “The story has been running nonstop since he was arrested.”

“Arrested!” Josie searched for the TV clicker and found it on the coffee table under a magazine.

Jerry grabbed it out of her hand, turned on the television, and said, “Look what you’ve done!”

The news showed a video of grim-faced people carrying cages of puppies out of a ramshackle farmhouse. Others had larger dogs wrapped in blankets. At the bottom, a red trailer announced WILDFERN PUPPY MILL RAID.

“More than two hundred dogs were rescued from Deerford Kennels,” the announcer said. “Also, two boys, ages six and seven, were turned over to a child protection agency. Authorities say Jonah Deerford was running a puppy mill and breeding dogs in inhumane conditions. Mr. Deerford was arrested and charged with multiple counts of cruelty to animals and also child endangerment. Authorities say the raid on Deerford Kennels was the result of months of investigation.”

“Jerry, it couldn’t have been me,” Josie said. “The announcer said the investigation took months. I just met the man.”

Now the story had turned to a man talking into a microphone at a press conference. “This was a cooperative effort by local, state, and Humane Society of Missouri investigators,” he said. “We have been building a case against Deerford Kennels for more than six months.”

“Six months ago I’d never heard of Jonah.” Josie hoped Jerry couldn’t hear the relief in her voice. She’d done her duty, but played no active part in bringing down Jonah Deerford.

“There has to be some mistake,” Jerry said, his voice rising to a whine. “I’ve known Jonah all my life. He’d never hurt anyone. He took care of those boys when his wife, Allegra, ran off.”

Josie bit back her comments on the quality of Jonah’s care. They sat in silence and watched more videos and interviews with rescue workers. Some of them were openly weeping about the sick and dying dogs.

“I know who did that to Jonah,” Jerry said. “It was one of those radical animal vigilantes. Those types care more about animals than humans.”

I can’t take any more of this, Josie thought. He’ll feel differently once he’s faced the facts about Jonah.

“Jerry,” she said, “I’m sorry you are upset about Jonah. But neither one of us has enough information to discuss this right now. Let’s wait until we know more about the case. I have to help Amelia with her schoolwork. Good-bye.”

Jerry stared at her, then got up and left without a word.

Now I really am manless, Josie thought. It felt good. Tonight, she would lounge about and enjoy her freedom. She spent a luxurious half hour taking a scented bubble bath. She was toweling herself dry when the phone rang.

She heard a whirring in the background and recognized it as a treadmill. Stan was working out—again. “Josie, I’ve been neglecting you,” he said. “It’s time for a fun night. Can I pick you up in say half an hour, at seven o’clock?”

“Where are we going?” Josie asked.

“It’s a surprise. But dress for a special night. We’re going to get away from St. Louis.”

Josie felt a rush of excitement. Finally, Stan had gotten the SOS on their love life. She called her mother. Jane was happy to watch Amelia, especially if it might help Josie snag Stan.

“Where are you two going?” Jane asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Josie said. “But he wants me to dress for a special night.”

“Oh, Josie. Maybe he’ll give you a ring at last. If you need to stay all night, call me. Amelia can sleep in my guest room and I’ll get her to school tomorrow morning.”

Jane had never made that offer before. Josie didn’t know whether she’d accept Stan’s proposal, but it would be nice to be asked.

Josie shooed Amelia upstairs, then pulled out her best short black skirt, off-the-shoulder black top, and high heels. She hummed “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” as she changed. She was just spritzing on perfume when Stan rang her doorbell.

Josie’s face fell when Stan showed up in a baggy gray parka from his premakeover days.

“Wow!” he said. “You look nice. I hope those shoes won’t hurt your feet.”

“Are we going dancing?” Josie asked.

“Oh, you’ll dance down the aisle when you see this,” Stan said. She could almost feel the excitement crackling through his hunky body.

The unseasonably warm winter night was lit by the soft glow of the stars. They crossed the Mississippi River, driving away from the sparkling St. Louis cityscape. The highway signs said they were bound for Chicago.

Josie loved Chicago. We could drive there in four hours, she thought, spend the night in a Gold Coast boutique hotel, have a sumptuous room-service breakfast, walk down Michigan Avenue.

Josie had mentally mapped out the exciting getaway by the time the car was at the exit for Reddingville, an Illinois farm town about thirty miles outside of St. Louis. Stan turned off the highway and drove down a two-lane road lined with car dealerships and franchises, then parked in a vast, crowded lot near a sign featuring a neon farmer in overalls. FARMER FRANK’S DISCOUNT BARN, the sign said. ALL OUR MARK-DOWNS MARKED DOWN—70% OR MORE OFF EVERYTHING IN OUR STORE.

“This is where we’re going?” Josie said.

“It’s an unbelievable sale,” Stan said. “You can get a fifty-ounce bottle of Tide with Bleach Alternative for two dollars. That’s one-quarter what it would cost you in St. Louis. And paper towels are—”

“Get me out of here,” Josie said. “Get me out of here or I’ll scream and you’ll spend the night in the Reddingville jail.”

“What’s the matter, Josie?” Stan asked.

He looked clueless, she thought. He was clueless. “Stan, I shop for a living,” Josie said. “I get paid to go down those aisles. Shopping for free is not my idea of fun. I’m all dressed up tonight. I’d like to do something spontaneous and relaxing. Take me home. Now.”

“You don’t even want to buy some Tide?” Stan said.

Josie was screaming as Stan roared out of the parking lot. They rode home in silence.

Chapter 14

The Upper Pup boutique was somewhere between cozy and claustrophobic. Shelves were crammed with hand-painted ceramic dog bowls, hand-knit sweaters, and what signs called “canine couture.” There were tutus for Chihuahuas. A motorcycle jacket proclaimed it was BAD TO THE BONE. Rainbows of collars and leashes hung on the walls. Squeaky toys swung on racks. A low-slung dachshund grabbed a toy frog and scuttled under a display table.