Death on a Platter (19 page)

“Maybe a short stroll would wake us up,” Ted said. “We have time.”

Josie hesitated, then said, “I know you’ve offered to help, but I need to ask you a big favor. Something most men won’t do.”

“Go to a spa?” Ted asked. “Manscape my chest?”

“Your chest is fine. Better than fine. I want you to go shopping with me.”

“No problem. Where?”

“Gemma’s Junktique. It’s about two blocks away. It’s owned by Clay’s girlfriend. She was barred from Clay’s visitation and funeral. I wanted to check on her.”

“That’s really nice,” Ted said.

“I’m not being nice,” Josie said. “I’m trying to learn things. I want to get Mom off my back and Tillie out of jail.”

“Noble goals,” Ted said, and grinned. “Let’s get the check and go.”

Josie was shivering by the time they got to Gemma’s Junktique. The day was turning cold and the shop looked dumpier than when she’d been there with Alyce. The remnants of cast-off lives seemed to weigh down the old beds and furniture, coating them with dead hopes and lost dreams.

Today, Gemma Lynn looked like a Victorian widow. Her drapey black top was a styleless shroud. Black baggy pants and lace half gloves completed her ensemble. Her eyes were still red. She had a new box of tissues at her side.

“I remember you,” Gemma said to Josie. “You were in the other day with a blond lady, the one who bought the coffeepot.”

“That’s Alyce. I’m Josie.”

“Nice to see you again. I wasn’t going to open up today. I live right upstairs and I was so exhausted I could hardly make it down those steps there.” Gemma nodded toward some grimy brown-painted stairs in the corner.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Josie said. “I went to Clay’s visitation last night.”

Gemma bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s nice to be with someone who understands my situation. I should have been at that visitation. He was going to leave Henrietta for me. He even gave me a ring.”

She held out a lace-covered hand. A gold ring with a tiny chip of a diamond gleamed on her left hand. She still had those talons, but the rhinestone-tipped manicure had been replaced with clear polish. “It’s a promise ring,” Gemma said. “Now I’ll die an old maid.” She started sniffling and reached for another tissue.

Under the lace half gloves, Josie saw the blistered rash on her hands.

“You weren’t wearing the ring when I was in yesterday,” Josie said.

“I was shy about wearing it in public,” she said. “Until we were official. Now it makes me feel closer to him. It’s all I’ve got. I couldn’t go to Clay’s visitation. I didn’t want to make a scene. I took the high road for his sake.

“But I was at the burial. She saw me. She stood by his casket, glaring right at me, the witch. She couldn’t say a word. I had a right. My mother’s grave is two rows away from where Clay is buried. I brought flowers and stayed on Mother’s plot the whole time. I was a nervous wreck. Look at my hands. My doctor says I have atopic dermatitis.”

She said the words proudly, as if the condition was an achievement, and held out her gloved hands.

Josie was no dermatologist, but the rash looked like plain old poison ivy to her. Gemma spent enough time at Tillie’s that she could have gotten her hands on those castor beans—and the poison ivy that surrounded it.

“Señoritas!” Ted called. He was wearing a black sombrero embroidered with silver and tiny mirrors. He danced over to Josie, shaking a pair of yellow maracas painted with red flowers. “Is it me?”

“No,” Josie said. “But I like it.”

“The hat’s from Mexico,” Gemma said. “It’s hand-embroidered. The maracas are hand-painted. I have a real Stetson hat on the same rack. It’s got a snakeskin band.”

“No, thanks,” Ted said.

“Those maracas have been selling,” Gemma said. “I sold two sets last week. That’s my last pair.”

I bet, Josie thought. Why would there be a run on maracas in this white-bread neighborhood?

“That Royal Crown Cola sign is cool,” Ted said. He held it up.

“I like it,” Josie said.

“Me, too. I don’t have room for it in my place,” Ted said, “but if I had a bigger house it would look good in my den.”

A bigger house. Once again, Josie had that dreamlike vision of the green backyard, the deck, and the barbecue. And maybe a real office for herself, instead of a computer in a corner of her bedroom. That sampler would look perfect in there. She could have a room of her own.

“Here’s what I like,” Josie said. She showed him the softly mellowed sampler embroidered with FRIENDSHIP, LOVE & TRUTH.

“That sounds like you,” Ted said.

She looked wistfully at the sampler before putting it back. “If you come down on that sampler price, let me know, Gemma.”

“I may have a buyer,” Gemma said. “I can let you know in a day or two if she doesn’t want it. I could reduce the price ten dollars.”

Josie smiled. She could afford that. “Would you let me know one way or the other?”

“I have your number,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

Gemma sounded as if she might die of boredom first.

Josie wanted to flee Gemma’s dusty bargains and widow’s weeds. She needed to escape the burden of those lost, sad lives.

“I have to pick up Amelia at school,” she said, and dragged Ted out of the stuffy store. She felt better outside on the cracked sidewalk. Josie took deep breaths of the brisk September air.

They walked quickly to Ted’s orange Mustang.

“Why did you want to leave so suddenly?” he asked. “We have plenty of time to drive to Amelia’s school.”

“I felt like the shop walls were closing in on me,” Josie said. “I enjoy antiques and looking for bargains, but Gemma seems to suck the air out of that store. I had to get away. Thanks for leaving with me.”

Ted shrugged. “No big deal. Like I said, I’m here for you. I wish you’d believe that.”

He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, and the sad old street disappeared. Josie felt young again, with fresh new choices waiting for her.

Ted unlocked her door and she slid into the Mustang’s white leather seat. “How does Gemma stand it day after day, shut up in that shop?” she asked.

“Not very well, judging by the look of things,” Ted said. “Maybe her affair with Clay was the only excitement in her life.”

“That’s even sadder,” Josie said. “I’m glad I’m out of that depressing place.”

“Did you learn anything?” Ted asked.

“I think so,” Josie said. “Those castor beans grow next door to Clay’s murder scene, but the only way to reach them is through a thicket of poison ivy. Three people who may have wanted Clay dead—Gemma Lynn, Desmond, and Lorena—and all have rashes with exotic names.

“Desmond keeps his hands hidden with black gloves. Gemma Lynn called the creeping crud on her hands ‘atopic dermatitis.’ I swear it’s poison ivy and I’ve seen enough of it to know.”

“Do you get poison ivy?” Ted asked.

“I’ve had it a few times,” Josie said. “Amelia breaks out if she even walks by a poison ivy leaf.”

“I seem to be immune and hope I stay that way,” Ted said. “I could tear out that patch of poison ivy with my bare hands and never get a rash. One of my clients got a wicked case of poison ivy just by petting her dog. She broke out from the poison ivy oil on the dog’s fur.”

“Do dogs get poison ivy?”

“No,” Ted said. “Cats don’t, either. Goats can eat it and it doesn’t bother them. But it’s misery for humans. If I remember right, Gemma’s atopic dermatitis is just a fancy name for a rash. It really can be brought on by stress. She sure acts brokenhearted over Clay’s death. Being barred from his funeral might make it worse.”

“I’m not sure how grief stricken she is,” Josie said. “Tillie told me Gemma was furious at Clay because he wouldn’t marry her.”

“Gemma was wearing a promise ring,” Ted said.

“She’s sitting behind a whole case of secondhand jewelry,” Josie said. “She could have given herself that ring.”

“Tillie’s not exactly unbiased,” Ted said.

“I know,” Josie said. “I’m trying to put some pieces together.”

“Sorry,” Ted said. “I thought I was helping by pointing out the flaw in your theory.”

“I appreciate it,” Josie said, but she didn’t. She didn’t want Ted to challenge her ideas. She wanted him to tell her she was right.

“What’s the matter?” Ted asked. “You’re so quiet.”

“I’m starting to realize this is hopeless,” Josie said. “So what if I’ve found three people who have poison ivy? All they have to do is shut up. Their rashes will go away and Tillie will be convicted. Mom will be shattered.”

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Ted said.

“No, no,” Josie said. “Agreeing with me won’t find the real killer. Tillie is in jail. The case is closed, as far as the police are concerned. They won’t be happy when I come up with another murder suspect—they’ll look like fools. I need to build an airtight case. Keep showing me where the holes are.”

“Keep talking and I’ll try to spot them,” Ted said.

“Desmond has no quarrel with Clay that I know of,” Josie said. “But he has a first-rate reason to ruin Tillie’s business. If her restaurant failed, he could buy her land cheaper. Lorena is dating him and she’s restless with her life. Those two could have killed Clay together. If that’s what they were after, their plan succeeded. Tillie’s was deserted at lunchtime.”

“Didn’t you say Clay’s wife wanted him dead, too?” Ted asked.

“Not dead, but definitely gone. Tillie said Henrietta was sick of being married to a mooch.”

“Did Henrietta have a rash when you saw her last night at the funeral home?” Ted asked.

“No,” Josie said. “I remember thinking how pretty her hands were. Tillie, who’s accused of killing Clay, is locked away in jail. She didn’t have any rash when I saw her. If Tillie grabbed the castor beans from the plant next door, she’d have been itching herself crazy in the lockup.”

“Maybe she’s immune, too,” Ted said.

Josie sighed. “This is so frustrating,” she said. “I need proof that someone else killed Clay, but I don’t know where to start. I could follow Lorena and Desmond, but that takes time. I’m a single mom with a job. I can’t do surveillance.”

“Maybe you need to look at the problem from a different angle,” Ted said. “That weedy lot next to Tillie’s can’t be the only source of castor beans. Where else can people find them? Look for other sources.

“If that approach doesn’t work, I’ll take some vacation time and help you investigate your three suspects in depth. I’ll need to give my clinic partner a little notice so she can rearrange the schedule.”

“You’re brilliant,” Josie said, and kissed him. “I’m sorry I grumped at you. You were right. My theory needed testing. We make a good team.”

“Yes, we do,” Ted said, and Josie felt her heart leap like a rabbit. Ted started the car. “Should we go pick up Amelia at school together?”

“She’d like that,” Josie said.

“What about you?” Ted asked.

“I’d like that very much,” Josie said. “Do you want to stay for dinner tonight?”

“It’s my turn for evening hours at the clinic.” Ted took Josie in his arms. She cursed the car’s four-on-the-floor gearshift for making the embrace so awkward. “I’ll have to take a rain check. But I want to see you more often. In fact, Josie—”

He’s going to ask me, Josie thought. He’s going to propose to me on this glorious fall afternoon. This time I’m ready. I’ll tell him yes. I’ll—

An unearthly cry split the air.

“What’s that?” Josie asked. “It sounds like a baby crying.”

Ted jumped out of the Mustang and prowled the street. His brief search sent a paprika-colored tabby streaking around the corner of an abandoned brick building.

Ted climbed back into the Mustang. “I think it was that cat,” he said. “They can make some spooky sounds. We’d better go if we’re going to pick up Amelia.”

I hate you, cat, Josie thought. He was going to pop the question if you hadn’t opened your big mouth. Now I’m playing my own cat-and-mouse game to catch him.

The traffic was with them, and they were at the Barrington School with time to spare. As Ted’s vintage orange car eased through the driveway traffic at the school, he asked, “Should I call your daughter Amelia or Mel?”

“Call her Mel and let’s hope that phase passes soon,” Josie said. “The more we fight it, the more she’ll resist.”

“You’re learning to be a teenager’s mom,” he said.

“She’s not even a teenager and she’s acting like one,” Josie said. “So far, her rebellions have been fairly harmless. I hope they stay that way.”

“They will. She’s a good kid and her mother brought her up right.”

“Amelia Marcus!” the speaker blared. Josie’s daughter came flying out, a blur of dark brown hair and coltish legs.

“Is she getting taller?” Ted asked.

“Daily,” Josie said, and climbed out of the two-door sports car.

“Hi, Ted! Hi, Mom,” Amelia said. “I’ve got the coolest ride at school.” She nimbly crawled into the narrow backseat with her backpack.

“Certainly the oldest ride, Mel,” Ted said.

Josie watched her daughter’s face blush with pleasure at that “Mel.”

“Your ’stang isn’t old,” Amelia said. “It’s vintage. It has more style than that stupid yellow Hummer. That thing looks like a box on wheels.”

“I agree,” Ted said. “But I’m prejudiced.”

“Any more cat attacks?” Amelia asked.

“They kept their claws off me,” Ted said. “I wasn’t in the office today. But yesterday, I had an apricot poodle named Mikey who ate a bar of chocolate. Mikey’s a toy poodle, so that much chocolate could have killed him. Good thing his owner, Becky Hutchison, noticed he was acting strange. She came home and found him weaving around the living room like he was drunk. She picked him up and he started acting hyper, jumping on and off her lap and refusing to lie down.”