Death on a Platter (25 page)

“Mom, I have one more idea. I’ll go to Tillie’s about one thirty today, when the rush hour is over, and check it out. If that doesn’t work, I quit. I can’t do this anymore. In fact, I shouldn’t be going to Tillie’s on my own for this. Do you want to go with me?”

“I can’t, Josie,” Jane said. “I have a sodality meeting.”

“And that’s more important than your friend’s future and your daughter’s life?” Josie asked.

“Call me if you see anything scary, Josie, and I’ll get there as quick as I can.” Jane’s voice trembled.

“I will, Mom. Let’s hope it won’t be the last thing I do.”

At one thirty, the lunch rush was over at Tillie’s Off the Hill—if it had ever begun. Josie was blinking in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust from the brilliant sunshine to the bar’s dim light.

She could make out a hulking figure in the back corner. Desmond was hunched over his usual table, as far away from the door as he could get without sitting in the vacant lot.

That man had nerve, Josie thought, perching there like a vulture. He was watching the restaurant die, waiting to pick its carcass.

Won’t be long now, Josie thought. Desmond was the only customer.

Why did Lorena let him sit there? Did she need somebody—anybody—to fill an empty table? Or was she still in league with the casino’s devil?

“Josie?” a woman called tentatively from behind the bar.

Josie could see better now. Tillie’s daughter was tending bar. Lorena seemed older, even in the poor light of the back bar. Her skin sagged along the jawline and she had pouches under her eyes. Her hair looked flat and greasy.

Josie moved a step closer. Lorena still had that rash on her hands, hidden by cotton gloves. The white gauze bandage on her arm glowed in the faint bar light. Judging by the size of the bandage, the rash had spread almost to her elbow. Josie could see a bit at its very edge. Lorena could call that raw, blistered skin any name she wanted. It still looked like poison ivy to Josie.

The light from the window by the booths helped Josie see Desmond more clearly. He was wearing those black gloves. Who wore gloves when it was eighty degrees? What was he hiding? Desmond was doing something with his hands. Wringing them?

No, he was rubbing them. Not rubbing like he was trying to get warm. Desmond was digging his gloved fingers into the dark fabric. He was scratching. He seemed frantic to stop the itching, but he couldn’t.

Josie wanted to see if he had the same kind of rash as Lorena, but she couldn’t wander over to his table to check his hands. She had to be cautious with those two in the bar. If Lorena had worked with Desmond to kill Clay, she’d be threatened by Josie, too. If the couple had had a falling out, Lorena would have to protect her future. She could still go to jail.

Josie wondered if Lorena was desperate enough to force Desmond to marry her. She didn’t want to think about that match. They were a deadly pair.

Lorena had a whole back bar full of ammunition to use on Josie, plus the tape-wrapped pipe Tillie kept under the cash register for protection. No one else was around. It would be too easy to bop Josie on the head. Then she and Desmond could hide Josie’s body in a car trunk.

“May I get you something?” Lorena asked.

Josie jumped. “Oh, no. Sorry,” she said. “I thought my mom was going to meet me here for lunch. I must have gotten my wires crossed.”

“Haven’t seen her,” Lorena said. “Want to call her on the bar phone?”

“Uh, no, thanks. I have my own phone. I’ll call her from my car.” Josie reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “See?” She held it up and hoped Lorena would see it as a threat.

I can punch in 911 before you can swing the first liquor bottle, lady, Josie thought.

“Suit yourself,” Lorena said, and shrugged. “But if you find your mom, tell her Jeff made some dynamite mushroom tortellini. It’s today’s special.”

“Will do.” Josie hoped her voice didn’t betray her fear. She forced herself to walk slowly out of the restaurant. Once she was past the windows, she ran for her car. She’d parked around the corner, out of sight. Josie scrambled inside, slammed and locked the door, and stuck the key in the ignition. She was ready to flee if she had to.

Then she speed-dialed Ted. Come on, she prayed as his cell rang. Be there for me again. I need you.

One ring. Two. Three. No one there.

Ted answered on the fourth ring.

“Josie,” he said. She heard what sounded like a puppy yipping in the background. “Hold on a second, while I give Karen her pup. I’m in the van.”

Ted and his partner took turns driving the clinic van to clients who didn’t want to take their pets to the office. Josie waited for Ted to talk to her, watching the street carefully. Before Clay’s murder, a parking spot around here was a prize. Now she saw only three cars besides her own. Two must belong to Lorena and Desmond. The third one was probably Chef Jeff’s. He’d made the tortellini special.

Josie’s stomach growled at the thought. Breakfast had been another pot of coffee. She hadn’t had lunch.

She could hear Ted assuring Karen that the puppy was perfectly healthy. “He’s not going to be happy about those shots,” he said. “He may act a little subdued or off his feed. He could be cranky and tired. He might even have a low-grade fever. If it lasts more than a day, or if you have any worries—and I mean any—call the clinic. We’ll be glad to talk to you.”

Josie melted, despite her distractions. Shots were a routine part of puppy care, but Ted sounded so concerned. Karen paid with her Visa card and cooed over the whimpering pup. Josie heard the van door slam. A chair creaked.

“Okay, I’m back,” Ted said. “What’s wrong?”

Josie told him about Lorena and Desmond and her suspicions.

“You were smart to leave the restaurant,” Ted said. “Stay out of the building. That’s my last van patient. I can be there in half an hour. Can you wait that long?”

“Sure,” Josie said.

“Promise me you won’t go in there alone if either Desmond or Lorena is still in the building. It’s too dangerous.”

“Uh—” Josie said.

“Promise?” Ted asked.

“I promise,” Josie said. “Wait! I see Desmond leaving the restaurant.”

Desmond strolled out of the building, still scratching his hands. He tore off his gloves, stuffed them in his pocket, and dug at the rash on his hands. It made Josie itch watching him. At last, Desmond stopped tormenting his hands, unlocked a shiny black Lincoln, and drove off, tires screeching angrily.

“Only Lorena is left,” Josie said.

“Still too dangerous,” Ted said. “Wait till I get there.”

A dented silver sedan rolled down the street and parked in Desmond’s spot. A woman with a generous figure and carefully styled dark hair got out. Henrietta. She wore a well-cut black business suit and a fresh white blouse. Her black high heels pattered on the sidewalk. She was in a hurry to get inside Tillie’s.

“Josie, are you there?” Ted asked.

“I just saw Henrietta go into the restaurant. What’s Clay’s widow doing at Tillie’s?”

Ted sounded impatient. “Josie, I don’t know. I need to take the van back to the clinic and pick up my car. Just wait until I can get there. Josie? Are you listening? I’m worried.”

“There’s no reason to worry,” Josie said. “Desmond is gone.”

“Lorena isn’t,” Ted said.

“She’s twenty years older than I am and out of shape,” Josie said.

“Josie, I have to go,” Ted said. “Promise you won’t go alone into that restaurant while Lorena is there.”

“Okay, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ted said, and hung up.

Josie’s phone rang again. It was Jane. “I’m still in my sodality meeting,” she whispered. “Stuart is here with me and he’s being so good. The meeting will be over in a minute. I’ll come there right after his walk.”

“No!” Josie said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t you treat me like an old woman. You asked if I was serious about helping you. Well, I am. I’m bringing Stuart. He’s brave. We might need him.”

Stuart was about as tough as a baby bunny.

“Please, Mom, don’t. Ted—”

Too late. Jane had hung up. She was on her way with the ferocious shih tzu.

Josie drummed her fingers on the dashboard and shifted restlessly in her seat. She’d talked to Ted half an hour ago. Where was he? She hoped Ted showed up before Jane arrived with Stuart Little. Even with Desmond gone, Josie still thought the situation could be dangerous.

As she scanned the street, she wondered why Henrietta ran into the restaurant. Clay’s widow had sworn she would sue Tillie. She’d hauled a lawyer into the emergency room. Was Henrietta trying to work out a settlement with the restaurant? Didn’t the lawyers do that?

Maybe Lorena and Henrietta were working together. Had the two women made a pact to kill Clay? No, that was ridiculous. None of it made sense.

Josie heard a high-pitched grinding, a prehistoric scream of metal, then a hollow thud like someone had dropped a monster metal drum. A trash truck was crawling down the alley one street over. The hooks on the front of the truck picked up the car-sized blue metal trash Dumpster, emptied it into the truck, then dropped it back into place and moved to the next.

The police had searched Gemma’s trash last night. The fresh-faced Officer Zellman had been the designated Dumpster diver. He didn’t find anything useful while Josie was there, but his neatly pressed uniform had been smeared with chocolate ice cream, ketchup, and worse. Much worse. He’d apparently struck cat litter at one point. That had set off a spurt of cussing.

He’d complained to Detective Mullanphy, who’d then made Officer Zellman search every Dumpster in Gemma’s alley. “The killer’s clothes and shoes will be covered in blood,” Mullanphy told him. “He’ll have to get rid of those clothes somewhere.”

Gemma’s killer could have thrown his blood-spattered clothes in the Dumpster behind Tillie’s Off the Hill, Josie decided. It was the perfect solution. Desmond had hung around the restaurant long enough to know the trash pickup days. Lorena would know them, too.

Mullanphy believed Gemma’s murder was an interrupted burglary. He didn’t have the personnel to check every trash Dumpster in the neighborhood and didn’t suspect anyone connected with the restaurant.

Josie watched the trash truck make its slow progress down the alley, grinding, screeching, and thumping. At that speed, it would pick up Tillie’s restaurant trash in about twenty minutes. She had to check the restaurant Dumpster before vital evidence was lost.

She’d promised Ted that she wouldn’t go into the restaurant if Lorena and Desmond were still there. Desmond had left. Lorena was still inside.

She tried to convince herself: If I don’t go into the restaurant, it’s okay to check the Dumpster, right?

I made a promise. Ted promised to be there for me, and I promised to obey him. Sort of a preview of our marriage vows, except the subject is trust and trash.

The grinding and squealing stopped. Josie saw the trash truck idling at the end of Gemma’s alley. It made a left turn and started down the alley behind Tillie’s restaurant. It was six stops from the crucial Dumpster.

Should I stay or should I go? Josie wondered.

I should go and please my mother.

I should stay and please my man.

Stay. Go. Stay. Go.

The trash truck crept forward while Josie debated with herself. She felt like her whole future hung in the balance. Would she stay with her mother forever or go forward to a new life with Ted?

The trash truck emptied another Dumpster and moved forward. Four more to go, and vital evidence would be lost forever. She heard a door slam. Lorena walked wearily to a matronly maroon Saturn, carrying a foil-wrapped package. Tonight’s dinner? Lorena set the package on the car’s roof, unlocked the doors, and set the package on the floor in the backseat.

Grind. Squeal. Shriek.
Only three more trash Dumpsters left. Come on, Josie thought.

At last, Lorena drove away. Josie sighed in relief. Now she was free to search the Dumpster before the truck swallowed its trash. She dropped her cell phone into her pocket, pushed her purse under the front seat, and locked her car.

She was around the corner and rooting through Tillie’s trash quicker than she could say “fat rat.”

Frantically, she ripped open stinking bags with her car keys. She found smelly shrimp shells, putrid clams, and butcher paper reeking of blood from rotting meat. She rummaged through grease-stained cartons and decomposing lettuce. Nothing. Nothing. More nothing.

Rip. Slash. Tear. She slit the last bag and saw white covered with bright red. Red smears and thumb prints, red streaks and crimson puddles. She’d found it. She’d found the clothes Gemma’s killer had thrown away. Tillie would be free as soon as the police saw this.

Josie reached into the bag and pulled out a paper tablecloth, splashed with marinara sauce.

Josie had a stinking shrimp shell stuck in her hair, red sauce on her blouse, and who knows what smeared on her pants. A rotting lettuce leaf clung to her right breast like a drunken frat boy’s hand. Her cheek had a sticky streak. She felt a crawly creature inching along her neck.

She flicked the creature off her neck, then peeled off the lettuce and finger-combed the shrimp shell out of her hair.

She wanted to stay downwind of anyone until she could clean up. Tillie’s restrooms were in the rear of the restaurant. If she sneaked in the back door, she could wash off the worst of the garbage and get rid of some of the reek.

Josie eased her way along the side of the brick building, duckwalked under the window by the booths, and slipped in the back door. She was in a narrow hall with two restrooms and what looked like an office door across from them.