Death on a Platter (12 page)

“I’ll get my hoodie. Do I get to hold the leash?” Amelia asked.

“If you’re careful,” Jane said. “But you have to pick up, too.”

Josie smiled. Crafty Jane had turned walking the shih tzu into a privilege. Amelia fought for the honor of scooping up after the dog.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Josie said.

“And I expect some progress,” Jane said.

 

Josie might have disappointed her mother by getting pregnant and dropping out of college, but Jane still had high expectations. Josie was supposed to solve Clay’s murder when the police had failed.

The evening sun was shining on a freshly showered city. Josie ached all over after her day. The emotional scene with Ted made her heart ache. Her neck throbbed from driving in the fierce storm. The trip to Barrington School had been tense. And the conversation with Amelia made her head hurt. What if Jane was back in the grip of her addiction? Josie couldn’t support her mother and her daughter, not on what she made. The mystery shopper’s mother had a shopping addiction—it was a cosmic joke.

I’ll tackle one worry at a time, Josie thought. Right now Tillie is at the top of my list. She found a well-lit parking spot in the garage near the jail. Her optimistic view of the inmates’ visitors changed when she stood in line with them. Yes, that slump-shouldered dark-skinned man in khakis seemed to have stopped by after a hard day’s labor. And the woman in the fresh pink hospital scrubs was probably on her way to work that evening. But Josie suspected the slender young thing in front of her with the impressive tattoos and piercings also worked evenings—on a street corner. Miss Thing wore more costume jewelry than costume: a scrap of skirt, a bedraggled bunny-fur jacket, and ankle straps like suede stepladders. Her purple acrylic daggers were studded with rhinestones. Josie wondered if the guard would consider them lethal weapons.

At a little after seven o’clock, Josie had cleared the official hurdles and sat down in a visitor’s booth opposite Tillie.

Josie tried to hide her shock. She hardly recognized the brash woman who’d ruled a popular restaurant. Tillie looked as if someone had rubbed away her edges with an eraser. This was a blurry, monochrome copy of Jane’s friend.

Josie didn’t bother asking Tillie how she was—she could see. She had to talk fast. They had only forty minutes. “Mom sends her love,” Josie said. “She’ll visit you next week. I don’t want to waste any time tonight, so I’ll ask you straight out. Who would want to kill Clay?”

“His wife and his girlfriend,” Tillie said. She didn’t hesitate.

“Both? His wife said she loved him.”

“Maybe now that he’s dead, but Henrietta knew he was slipping around while she was at work,” Tillie said. “That man made her feel like a fool. She went on a crying jag one night and told me she was sick of his drinking and fed up with his unfaithful ways. A woman can turn a blind eye for only so long and Henrietta had had enough.”

Tillie stopped and looked down at her trembling hand. “I did something really bad,” she said.

Was she going to confess she’d killed Clay?

“Maybe you should tell your lawyer,” Josie said uneasily. Could the guards hear their conversation?

“Not bad like that,” Tillie said. “I mean I did something bad to Henrietta. I shouldn’t have called her to come get Clay when he was drunk. I knew she was at the end of her rope. I did it to stir up trouble. Well, I sure stirred it, but not the way I wanted. Henrietta was supposed to confront him, not kill him.”

“We don’t know if she killed him,” Josie said.

“I do,” Tillie said. “Henrietta’s trouble. Clay said she had someone on the side, but I never saw her with another man. Could be Clay was lying to justify running around with Gemma. Usually, the only time Henrietta was in my restaurant was to haul home her sorry excuse for a husband. A few weeks before he died, she broke down and said she’d had it up to here.” Tillie slashed her hand across her neck.

“Why didn’t she leave Clay?” Josie asked.

“Who knows? Maybe her boyfriend was married.”

“It’s a possibility,” Josie said. It was more than a possibility, she thought. It fit with the story Nurse Kate had told Ted at the vet clinic. Kate thought the freshly widowed Henrietta had acted more greedy than grieving.

“Any other ideas?” Josie asked.

“Gemma Lynn was pressuring Clay to leave his wife and marry her,” Tillie said. “They argued about it nearly every afternoon. I heard them. People think if they lower their voices I won’t know what they’re saying, but I caught every whisper and Gemma Lynn didn’t bother whispering. They fought all the time. Those two had some doozies.”

“Why didn’t Clay want to marry her?”

“Gemma Lynn didn’t have enough money, if you ask me,” she said. There was a glint of malice in her faded eyes. “What’s the word for a male gold digger?”

“Boy toy?” Josie asked.

Tillie snorted. “He was no boy—that’s for sure—and I wouldn’t touch him with tongs. But Gemma Lynn had it bad for that man.” Tillie seemed to grow stronger and more confident as she dished the dirt. “But she likes used goods. She owns Gemma’s Junktique, two blocks from my place. That name says it all—she’s got more junk than real antiques.

“Her shop’s so dusty you need a shower after you walk through it, and not many people do. She’s barely hanging on and Clay knew it. He couldn’t find work, not that he could look very hard perched on that bar stool. He liked his life just fine: He wanted to stay married so his wife would support him and he had Gemma on the side for fun.

“If he left Henrietta and Gemma’s junk shop folded, he’d lose his soft life. Clay wasn’t about to live on love.”

“Is Gemma’s shop in the golden square?” Josie asked. “If she’s one of the holdouts for the casino land, then Clay had a woman with a rich future.”

“Nope. The developer’s scout wasn’t interested in Gemma or her land. She tried batting her eyelashes at him, but he ignored her. Can’t think of his last name. Can’t think straight since I got in here. Desmond somebody. Sounds like a teabag. Lipton?”

“Twinings,” Josie said.

“That’s him,” Tillie said with satisfaction. “That Desmond buzzard is another suspect. He didn’t have anything against Clay personally—not that I could tell—but he’d love to see my restaurant ruined. He got his wish when Clay died and I was arrested. My business will go down the tubes. He’ll grab my land cheap. I’ll bet you once I sign those papers he’ll dump my daughter.”

“Your customers won’t desert you,” Josie said. “They love you.”

“
Humph
. We’ll see. Lorena reopens the day after tomorrow. I kept the restaurant closed out of respect for the dead.”

And because it was a crime scene, Josie thought. “How’s Lorena going to run Tillie’s without you?” she asked.

“I told her to hire Jeff the ex-chef back and get one of those nanny cams. Lorena bought a teddy bear with a camera in it. She put it on the back bar near the liqueurs. If Jeff tries his light-fingered ways again, the camera will catch him in the act. This time I’ll press charges.

“Henrietta, Gemma Lynn, and Desmond Twinings,” Tillie said. “Those are the suspects.”

Josie could think of one more: Lorena. How could she ask Tillie about her own daughter? There was no way around it. Tillie might lie, but her reaction might reveal something. Josie hesitated. Her question would hurt Tillie—but not as much as being locked up. Josie braced herself and said, “I know you don’t want to think about this, but what about Lorena?”

“My daughter! You think my daughter is a cold-blooded killer?”

“I don’t mean that she killed Clay on purpose,” Josie said. “Maybe Lorena just wanted to make him so sick he’d never come back. Nothing personal. Or, if your restaurant closed, she’d be free. She’s still a young woman. She’s looking at years of hard labor.”

Hard, loveless labor. Lorena would have to carry heavy trays of hot food, deal with dirty dishes and demanding customers while her looks faded and her romantic prospects dwindled.

“No!” Tillie’s face seemed to collapse in on itself. “Not my girl.” Her tears were a sad trickle, as if she’d already cried her eyes dry.

Josie felt like something that should be scraped off a shoe. She wanted to comfort Tillie, the way she’d hugged her mother, but she couldn’t. There was a plastic barrier between them.

Tillie put her head down and wept, more tearless sobs torn out of her small body.

“My girl wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Tillie gasped out between sobs. “She’s been helping me. She could have closed the restaurant, but she’s trying her best to keep it open. Lorena is a good girl and I won’t hear otherwise.” A flash of anger dried up the last tears.

Tillie suddenly realized she’d been crying in public and looked around. The bleached blonde on her right was oblivious. She was talking to a weary older man. The coffee-skinned woman on Tillie’s left was deep in conversation with a serious-faced light-skinned black man.

Josie finally realized Tillie’s desperate circumstances. No one noticed tears in this place.

Jane was waiting in Josie’s living room like a queen ready to behead anyone who dared bring bad news. Stuart sat at her feet. He raised his head and gave Josie a friendly woof. Josie started to scratch the dog, but Jane interrupted.

“Well?” Jane said. “How’s Tillie?” Her voice was deliberately neutral.

Josie didn’t have bad news, not exactly. Still, she approached Jane cautiously. There’s no reason for me to be afraid of my mother, Josie told herself, as she slowly unzipped her jacket and hung it up. Mom is in her mid-seventies. She’s barely five feet tall.

None of that mattered. When it came to summoning moral authority, Jane was a giant.

“Tillie’s doing as well as can be expected,” Josie said.

“What’s that mean?”

“She’s holding together. Sort of.” Josie’s voice trailed off.

“She’s not doing well,” Jane said.

“She’s doing better than I would,” Josie said.

“That’s not an answer.” Jane was merciless.

“Mom, what do you want me to say? I think Tillie’s doing well for a woman who’s been thrown in jail and charged with murder. But she’s not great, okay?” Josie didn’t try to keep the impatience out of her voice.

Jane backed away after Josie showed a little spine. “That sounds more like it,” Jane said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Josie said. “Can I get you some coffee, Mom?”

“No, thanks. Amelia and I made deviled egg casserole for dinner,” Jane said. “We left some for you.”

“Sounds good,” Josie said. “I like eggs with diced ham.”

“This recipe doesn’t use ham,” Jane said. “It uses cheese, sour cream, and mushroom soup.”

“Still sounds good,” Josie said. And cheap, she thought. Was Mom making a meatless meal again because she was pressed for cash?

“You can have a plate after you tell me what Tillie said.” That was a command. Queen Jane was back. Josie obediently sat down and told her mother Tillie’s top three suspects for Clay’s murder: Desmond Twinings, Clay’s lover, and his wife.

“Ted told me that Henrietta behaved badly at the hospital,” Josie said. “One of his patients belongs to an ER nurse named Kate. She was working there the day Clay came in. She said Henrietta called a lawyer before her husband’s body was cold and swore she’d sue Tillie.”

“That’s your motive right there,” Jane said. “Henrietta killed her husband, blamed Tillie, and now she’s going to sue her for big bucks.”

“Filing a lawsuit doesn’t guarantee instant money, Mom. If Tillie’s case ever goes to court, a jury might find Henrietta’s behavior cold for a new widow. Even the nurse was shocked by the way she acted—and nurses don’t shock easily.

“Besides, there may not be much money for Henrietta. What if Tillie’s customers don’t return after the bad publicity?”

“I still say Henrietta did it,” Jane said.

“I like Desmond Twinings, the casino developer’s scout,” Josie said.

“Maybe. That man sits in that restaurant all day like a ghoul,” Jane said. “He creeps me out. It’s like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. Now Tillie’s got problems—and those problems just happen to work in Desmond’s favor. He can pick her carcass clean.”

Josie heard the approval warming her mother’s voice. Desmond made a good candidate for the killer. He was rich, strange—and best of all—from out of town.

“Clay’s death will make it easier for Desmond to get her property cheap,” Jane said. “He makes more sense than that crazy Henrietta.”

“You got it,” Josie said. “Tillie will need money for her lawyers. Even if Renzo really will work for ravioli, a trial is expensive. He’ll have to hire expert witnesses and investigators. If Henrietta does file a wrongful death suit, Tillie will need another lawyer for that suit, too. Tillie may be forced to sell to Desmond Twinings for whatever he feels like giving her.”

“I never did like that man,” Jane said.

“You only saw him once,” Josie said.

“Tillie doesn’t like him, either,” Jane said. “And I’m a good judge of character.”

Josie nearly strangled herself trying not to answer. Jane had ignored Mrs. Mueller’s faults for so many years. She never seemed to notice how their obnoxious neighbor bossed Jane around and ruled the major church committees like a dictator. I’ll just start a fight if I go down that road, she thought.

Instead, Josie foolishly took a far more dangerous path. “There’s a fourth suspect, though Tillie denies it. One other person wants to close the restaurant. And she’d be happy to help that developer.”

Jane knew where her daughter was going. She made what sounded like a growl. Stuart raised his head, alert to the possible danger. Josie didn’t detect it.

“Don’t you even think it, Josie Marcus. Lorena did not kill Clay.”

“She could have. Clay was annoying,” Josie said.

“Lots of people are annoying. It’s part of the restaurant business. If Lorena killed them all, she wouldn’t have any customers.”