Death on a Platter (22 page)

“I’m in my car with the doors locked, parked under a streetlight,” Josie said. “I have that pepper spray in my hand.”

“Good. Keep it there. The operator estimates the police will be there in less than two minutes.”

“I can hear the sirens now,” Josie said.

“Thank God,” Ted said.

Was this cop old enough to carry a gun? Josie wondered. His skin was as pink as a baby’s. His pale blond mustache looked like a lost caterpillar. It made him seem younger. His name tag said JARDEN.

Blue and red flashes from his car’s light bar disco danced on the dirty brick front of Gemma’s Junktique. Josie opened her door and slid out. The cop didn’t tell her to get back inside.

“We got a call there’s a problem here, ma’am,” Officer Jarden said. His eyes darted nervously around the deserted street.

Ma’am? Josie thought. I’m a ma’am and he doesn’t look much older than Amelia. He may even be younger than Officer Zellman. Where is River Bluff doing its recruiting—at a preschool? I must be getting old when the cops start looking young. Next it will be doctors and baseball players. Soon I’ll be older than the President of the United States.

“Ma’am?” the officer said. “I asked why you were concerned. Do you believe a person is in danger?”

“The front door of Gemma’s shop is open,” Josie said. “Gemma’s Junktique. I called Gemma Lynn Rae, the owner, but she didn’t answer her shop phone or her home phone.”

“And you are a relative? A friend?”

“I’m Josie Marcus,” she said. “I’m a customer. And you’re Officer Jarden?”

“Officer Dale Jarden, River Bluff police. That’s right. You must be a good customer to come here at night when the shop’s closed.”

“It’s not like that,” Josie said. “I couldn’t reach her and I was worried.”

“How long has this Gemma Lynn been missing?”

“Well, she’s not missing, not officially,” Josie said.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Is she an old person?” Officer Jarden asked.

“No,” Josie said. “She’s about thirty or thirty-five.”

“And she was in good health?”

“Yes. Well, fairly good. She was upset because her boyfriend had died and she cried a lot, but she seemed okay otherwise.”

“Do you think she might harm herself?” Officer Jarden asked.

“Huh?” Josie said.

“Are you concerned that she might commit suicide?”

“No. I don’t think so. But I don’t know her very well.”

“So you couldn’t reach her by phone and you drove all the way here from—”

“Maplewood,” Josie said.

“That’s a good half hour away,” the cop said.

“Twenty minutes,” Josie said. “But I made it in seventeen. Going the speed limit,” she added.

“I’m not a traffic officer, ma’am. I’m not concerned about how fast you were traveling. I’m trying to understand your story. You say you drove all the way from Maplewood to see a person you hardly know.”

“That’s right,” Josie said. She sounded stupider with every syllable. Why had she let Ted call 911?

“What did you do when you got here, prior to calling nine-one-one?”

“I didn’t call nine-one-one,” Josie said. “Someone else did. I got here and parked my car. I was going to knock on the shop door, but it was wide-open. I called her name several times, but Gemma didn’t answer. That open door didn’t look right. I was talking on the phone with my boyfriend. He’s a vet. When I told him the shop door was open, he called nine-one-one from his office phone. I stayed on his cell phone. He couldn’t be here, but he didn’t want me to go into the shop alone.”

“Yes, ma’am. Did you enter the shop after that?”

“No,” Josie said. “But this isn’t the sort of neighborhood where you leave shop doors hanging open at night. I didn’t see any lights and I didn’t want to enter the building by myself. So Dr. Ted Scottsmeyer—he’s my boyfriend—called you. I mean, called nine-one-one. Ted said if anything was wrong, I should have the police check it.”

“He’s right, ma’am. That’s not a job for a civilian. Do you see the lady’s car parked nearby?”

“I don’t know if Gemma has a car,” Josie said. “That’s my Honda in front of the shop, and it’s the only car on the street. A driveway runs alongside the building. Gemma’s car could be around in the back. I didn’t look for it. I just saw the door open. A woman alone wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose.”

How many times did she have to mention that door before the patrol cop checked it? Josie wondered.

“Well, I’ll take a look around, since the door’s open.”

Finally, Josie thought.

“That is irregular. You stay by your car, ma’am. Good thing I’ve got my flashlight in my car.” Officer Jarden pulled a Maglite about the size of a baseball bat out of his patrol car, then squared his shoulders and unsnapped his holster.

The cop switched on the flashlight and approached the building calling, “Gemma Lynn? Ms. Rae? Are you there? Hello?”

The door was open wide enough that Officer Jarden didn’t have to touch it to enter the building. He walked through the doorway and said, “Hello? Anybody here? Hello?”

Suddenly, his voice was lower and faster. “Omigod. Omigod. Lady, are you okay? Speak to me.”

The young cop flipped on the light.

Josie ran forward and saw Officer Jarden on his knees next to Gemma Lynn. She was lying behind the Victorian settee. Her head was covered with something black. A scarf? A hat?

Josie tiptoed past the counter. The shelves had been cleaned out. She glanced at a pile of receipts, clippings, and printouts next to the cash register but didn’t see the paper with her phone number. On top was a piece of notebook paper with one word written on it: “Hartford.”

As she got closer, Josie saw Gemma wasn’t wearing a black hat. That was dark blood. Gemma’s blood. Her head had been bashed in.

“Is Gemma dead?” Josie’s voice echoed in the woman’s high-ceilinged shop. The three-word question seemed lost in the cavelike store. It bounced off the dull mirrors and thudded into the Victorian settee.

Officer Jarden, crouched over Gemma’s body, didn’t seem to notice Josie.

How could a shop so crammed with junk seem empty? Josie wondered. The dusty vases and chipped china seemed to be huddling together. Josie shivered. The shop was cold and the shadows were creepy: A spindly table looked like a crouching spider. A fat ginger jar lamp with no shade was a disembodied head.

Josie moved away from them, closer to the cop. The glaring overhead light drained the color from his pale skin. His small brown eyes were buried deep in his round face. A dust smudge on his nose made him seem even younger, like a boy playing in the dirt.

Officer Jarden was talking to himself, his voice trembling and a shade too high. Josie could see sweat rings on his uniform, even though the store was cool inside. “She’s dead,” he said. “Real dead. Must have interrupted a burglary. That case is cleaned out. No point in getting an ambulance. I better call dispatch. Shit! I shouldn’t have turned on the light. Mullanphy will have my scalp.”

Josie felt sorry for the flustered cop. She took a step closer to the dark pool near Gemma’s head. “I won’t tell him,” she said softly. “We can pretend the light was on all the time.”

He looked up, first startled, then angry. “What are you doing in here?” he shouted at Josie. “I told you to remain outside in your car.”

“I’m sorry,” Josie said.

“Sorry? I should arrest you for interfering with a police investigation. I can’t have you compromising this crime scene.”

“That empty case was full of jewelry,” Josie said. “Mostly junk jewelry, I think.”

The officer didn’t answer her. Josie stood unmoving in the desolate store. Finally Jarden said, “Get out and go wait in your car.”

Josie retreated, relieved to be ordered out of Gemma’s shop. She couldn’t walk as fast as she wanted. Her legs felt heavy as tree stumps. She had to command each foot to move: left foot. Right foot. Left. Right.

It seemed hours before she reached her car. She’d left her door hanging open, and her cell phone was abandoned on the passenger seat. She could hear Ted shouting through the tinny speaker. “Hello? Josie? Are you okay? Are you there? Please, Josie, tell me you’re all right.”

She picked up her phone and tried to reassure Ted. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “I can tell by your voice. What’s wrong?”

“She’s dead,” Josie said. “Gemma’s dead.”

“How? Did she have an accident?”

“She was murdered,” Josie said. “Somebody killed her.”

Even though she’d seen Gemma’s bloody head, this was the first time Josie connected the woman’s terrible injuries with a brutal death.

She’d failed to reassure Ted. Josie could hear him shouting. “Murdered! How? Was she shot? Strangled? Robbed?”

“I couldn’t get close to her body, but I think she was beaten to death. Her head’s all bloody. It was horrible.” Josie gulped back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to cry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Ted asked. “You saw something horrible. You should be upset. Are you by yourself? Are you safe? Where are you?”

“I’m in my car, but there’s a police officer within shouting distance. He’s staying with Gemma. With her body, I mean.”

“What are you doing outside?” Ted asked.

“The cop chased me out,” Josie said. “He said I would contaminate the crime scene. I saw Gemma Lynn’s body and he made me leave. He says it’s a murder scene. I’m glad to be out of there. That shop is spooky at night and she smells funny. I shouldn’t say that about a dead person, should I?” She gave a high-pitched giggle.

“Josie, you’re in shock. And yes, people—and animals—don’t smell so good when they die. Do you feel safe sitting alone in your car?”

“There’s nobody around, Ted.”

“Are the crime scene techs there yet?” Ted asked. “What about the homicide detectives?”

“I don’t think River Bluff has a homicide department,” Josie said. “It’s too small. From what Officer Jarden said, they’ll send in the same detective who investigated Clay’s collapse at the restaurant—Brian Mullanphy. He gave me his card when he interviewed me at Tillie’s. He investigates ‘crimes against persons.’ Gemma’s murder definitely fits that.”

“I’m glad you’re not in that shop, Josie. If Gemma was beaten, it’s probably a bloody scene. That detective will be looking for blood spatter, bloody shoe prints or handprints. If there’s no blood on you, you can’t be connected with her murder.”

“But, Ted, there’s already a connection,” Josie said. “I called her this evening and said I needed to talk to her. They’re going to find my message on her answering machine.”

“That may not be a bad thing. If the call is time- and date-stamped, it could be your alibi,” Ted said. “Do you know when she was killed?”

“No idea,” Josie said. “I only caught a glimpse of her body.”

“This is going to sound gross, but did you see any flies?”

“Why would I see flies?” Josie asked.

“Um, if she’s been dead awhile, she’ll attract flies.”

“Not that I noticed,” Josie said.

“Oh, you’d notice them,” Ted said. “They’d look like—” He stopped suddenly.

“Like what?” Josie asked.

“I don’t want to get too graphic. Let’s just say there would be a swarm of them.”

Josie shivered, even though her car was warmer than the chilly store. “My phone number will probably be in Gemma’s files,” she said. “The detective will find that.”

“So? You wanted that sampler and you gave Gemma your number if she lowered the price. Be sure to mention that. He’ll know you didn’t kill her for a fifty-dollar sampler.”

“People kill for less than that,” Josie said.

“Teenage hotheads, maybe. Not responsible moms,” Ted said. “I remember a big stack of paper on her counter. Did you see your phone number in that?”

“I wasn’t in there long enough to see much of anything,” Josie said. “No, wait! I did see one thing. There were papers scattered all over the counter—receipts, printouts, a newspaper or two. I saw a piece of paper by her phone. Gemma had written one word—at least I think it was her writing. It looked like the same scrolly letters she’d used for Alyce’s receipt. The word was Hartford.”

“Like Hartford, Connecticut?” Ted asked. “Or the insurance company?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. “Isn’t there a Hartford Street in St. Louis?”

“There is. Near Tower Grove Park on the South Side. Hartford is near Connecticut, but the two streets don’t cross, which I always thought was weird. Hartford has a lot of big old brick homes. I think there’s a Hartford Coffee Company on Hartford Street. Nice little coffee shop.”

“I can’t imagine what a coffee shop would have to do with anything,” Josie said. “Clay drank beer. A lot of beer.”

“There’s Hartford, Illinois, too,” Ted said “Right across the Mississippi, about fifteen miles north of downtown St. Louis.”

“The word can’t have anything to do with this,” Josie said. “It just caught my eye.”

Headlights stabbed the night. “Ted, there’s a car coming.”

“Stay on the phone, Josie. Don’t hang up. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

The car was large and square, an old Crown Victoria. Josie relaxed a bit. Only cops and old people drove Crown Vics. The car parked behind hers. Josie heard its door creak open. A tall man unfolded himself. She recognized the profile in the streetlight: That lump of a nose stuck on a square-cut face.

“Detective Brian Mullanphy is here,” Josie said. “He’s going into Gemma’s shop now. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me. I’ll go straight home afterward.”

“Josie, promise me you’ll treat Detective Mullanphy like a three-hundred-pound gorilla,” Ted said.

“What’s that mean?” Josie asked.

“Be very careful. Don’t lie to him. Tell him the truth, no matter what. I’ll be right there,” Ted said. “I’ll leave for River Bluff as soon as Christine arrives.”