High Heels Are Murder (23 page)

Alyce must have been thinking the same thing. “Paladia had to be desperate to get mixed up with Mel,” she said.

A man in a black BMW cut her off in traffic, and Alyce laid on the horn. The Beemer driver laughed.

“She’s a woman with a lot to lose,” Josie said. “She has a major career with a corner office. Her desk photos showed two nice kids.”

“She’d kill for them,” Alyce said. “I’d kill anyone who threatened my Justin. If Mel was planning to go public, she’d kill him to keep her kids from becoming laughing-stocks at school. Any mother would.”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. “She’s tough enough to murder Mel. But why would she? According to Fiona, Paladia was desperate for money. Mel was an easy source. He wasn’t going to rat her out. He wanted money and so did she.”

Alyce poured on the gas at the next light, whipped in front of the BMW and slammed on her brakes. The Beemer driver stood on his brakes, then screamed something out his window. Josie was glad she didn’t know what it was.

“Paladia seemed surprised by our visit,” Alyce said.

“Yeah. Her eye twitched,” Josie said. “That’s equal to shrieking and leaping into the air for ordinary humans.”

“You’d think Fiona would have warned her about us,” Alyce said. She was now driving sedately toward Josie’s home in Maplewood.

“The queen of denial? Fiona is too busy pretending she didn’t really have sex with Mel and his freaky friends.”

“That’s the other thing that got me,” Alyce said. “Mel convinced Fiona that prancing around in high heels wasn’t really sex. How did he do that?”

“He was one heck of a salesman, God rest his soul,” Josie said. “His housekeeper was right about that part. That’s how he trapped those women. He listened to them when they tried on shoes. He knew they were lonely. He could tell who needed money and how desperate they were.”

“How did he find the male clients?” Alyce said.

“Probably the same way you find any freak these days,” Josie said. “On the Internet.”

“Wish we could find Mel’s killer that way,” Alyce
said. “Which woman do you think murdered Mel—Cheryl, Fiona or Paladia?”

“Any one of them could have done it,” Josie said. “They’re all about the same height, nearly as tall as Mel. They’re all strong. Fiona may look delicate, but she lugs those heavy babies around. Ditto for Cheryl. Paladia has arms like a weight lifter under that tailored suit.

“They all had good motives. Fiona said they wanted to leave but Mel wouldn’t let them. They made an embarrassing video for what they thought was his private use, then Mel double-crossed them and wanted to give it wide distribution. I’d kill him for that alone.”

“Maybe all three of them did it, like that movie
Murder on the Orient Express
,” Alyce said.

“Maybe it wasn’t any of them,” Josie said. “Fiona said if her husband knew about that foot video, he would kill her. What if he killed Mel, instead?”

“Hmm. Possible. I like it, actually,” Alyce said. “His name’s Trip, right? What insurance company does Fiona’s husband work for?”

“Probably this one,” Josie said. She held up a green plastic pen with a company name printed on it.

“You stole that from Fiona?” Alyce asked.

“Not on purpose,” Josie said. “Pens stick to my fingers.”

“What are we going to do next?” Alyce said. “Go to his office and ask Trip if he knows his wife works for a foot-fetish ring? He’d divorce her in a heartbeat. She doesn’t deserve that. Neither do her kids. We can’t ruin a woman because she wanted a china cabinet.”

“I’m not going to ask Trip directly,” Josie said. “Give me some credit. I want to test him. Drop a few hints. See by his reaction if he knows what his wife has been doing.”

“Just how are you going to do that?” Alyce said.

“I’m going to do a little soliciting myself,” Josie said.

Josie was home before her mother picked up Amelia at school. She had at least an hour to herself, an unexpected luxury for a mom. She wrote her mystery-shopping reports and faxed them to Suttin. Then she fired up her computer and created a letterhead for a
bogus charity she called Extraordinary Addictions: “Helping ordinary people with extraordinary problems.”

You gotta love computers, Josie thought. In the old days, I’d have to pay a printer to make this stationery. Now I can design my own in two minutes.

Josie also wrote up a mission statement for her make-believe organization, six letters of recommendation from prominent St. Louisans, including Senator Harry Pal-midge. She added a few case histories and a pretty decent brochure. It was a simple black-and-white trifold on plain white paper. Josie thought the charity shouldn’t seem too rich or too slick.

She made some business cards for Harriet Hilliard Nelson, then popped the packet into one of Amelia’s double-pocket school folders. She chose a dignified dark blue.

After Josie admired her handiwork, she made a phone call, then dialed Alyce. “I have an appointment to see Fiona’s husband, Trip, at ten in the morning,” she said. “I’ve put together a letterhead and mission statement on my home computer. I doubt he’ll ever look at our information packet, but I’m prepared. I hope it was okay to put you on the board of directors.”

“Is this one of those boards that pays its directors half a million a year?” Alyce said.

“No, I’m sorry to say,” Josie said.

“Figures,” Alyce said. “That’s the kind I always get.”

“Can I try out my pitch on your husband?” Josie said.

“Jake? Sure, as long as you don’t tell him what we’re doing,” Alyce said. “He thinks I’ve been mystery-shopping with you.”

“Of course not.” Josie was glad she didn’t have to answer to a husband. Her mother was bad enough. “I’ll tell Jake it’s a real organization and I need a corporate type to hear my pitch.”

“Call him at work,” Alyce said. “He should be in all afternoon. But be careful. He sounds half asleep, but he’s got a mind like a bear trap.”

Jake treated Josie with the same respect as a million-dollar client. “Sure, I’ll listen,” he said. “Try me right now.”

Josie liked his voice. It was smooth without being oily. She read her prepared pitch. The deeper Josie got into it, the stupider it sounded. What was she thinking? She stumbled a bit toward the end, then finally finished. Now he’s going to tell me what’s wrong and I’ll feel like an idiot.

“Sounds good to me,” Jake said. “Very sincere. That’s important. Just one point I can think of. Whoever you’re pitching to will ask if you’re 501(c)(3). He’ll want to know if his company can get a tax write-off. I’m assuming you are or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Right,” Josie lied.

“Also, ask him if there are any grants for community outreach.”

“Outreach,” Josie repeated. She could make good use of that word.

The next morning, Josie and Alyce showed up at Trip Christie’s insurance office in Clayton. Josie did the driving in her car. She figured it was safe. They weren’t going near Cheryl.

Trip turned out to be two streets away from Paladia’s building. Josie prayed they wouldn’t meet the outraged executive. When a matron in a dark suit got off the lobby elevator, Josie stepped behind a pillar until she was sure the woman wasn’t Paladia.

“What’s the matter with you?” Alyce said. “You’re so jumpy.”

“I’m afraid we’ll run into Paladia,” she said.

“We can do her more damage than she can do us,” Alyce said.

“You didn’t notice those arms,” Josie said.

They were dressed for their own form of success. Both wore their suburban-clubwoman outfits. Alyce’s was real. Josie’s was a disguise, put together from sale racks and secondhand stores. She hoped she’d pass, sitting next to the genuine article.

Trip’s assistant took them straight into his office. It wasn’t as high up as Paladia’s, and the view had more parking lot than skyline. Trip was about thirty-five and had “good provider” written all over him—pink skin,
power tie, pudgy little gut. His brown hair was thinning, and he combed it over, which Josie thought looked more pathetic than honest baldness. Trip might have been handsome before he put on weight and lost his hair. Josie wondered if it helped his career to lose his looks.

Trip’s walls were covered with plaques and certificates of appreciation. He kept a framed photo of Fiona and their two blond babies on his desk, but the picture wasn’t where he could see his photogenic family. It faced the guest chairs. Josie found it unnerving to make this pitch with Fiona smiling at her. She was glad Fiona’s shoes didn’t show in the photo.

“Call me Trip,” he said, when he shook hands with them. His handshake was firm, but he didn’t feel the need for a macho bone-crushing grip.

“I’m Harriet Hilliard Nelson,” Josie said. “This is my associate, Betty Joan Perske.” She felt Alyce give a little jump at that introduction.

“Your company has a reputation for being very generous to our community,” Josie said.

“We think your sponsorship of our program will help you reach your target audience of upper-income West County adults,” Alyce said. With her legs crossed at the ankles and her manicured hands folded in her lap, she seemed a model of that very audience.

Trip relaxed on his padded executive throne. He was familiar with these women and their words. “Can you tell me about your goals and mission statement?” he said.

“Extraordinary Addictions is a community outreach program to help ordinary women with extraordinary problems,” Josie said. “We find that many naive women can get themselves into trouble and into various addictions, then are too embarrassed to seek help.”

“We are aimed at the upper-middle and middle-class suburban woman,” Alyce said in her undeniably upper drawl. “We find these women are often overlooked by programs which cater to the underprivileged. Our goal is to help these women recover and resume productive and useful lives.”

“What kinds of addictions do you deal with?” Trip said. “We don’t fund AIDS programs or drug rehabilitation.”

“Oh, no,” Josie said. “There are many excellent organizations to take care of those people. We serve other needs, often unrecognized. For instance, we have a program to help women who are involved with foot fetishists.”

Trip turned beet red all the way up and over his extended hairline.

Bingo! Josie thought. He knows about his wife. “It’s a big problem in West County,” Josie said, widening her eyes and trying to sound as sincere as possible. “We have photographs we can show you.”

“Photographs,” he repeated. Steam seemed to come out his ears.

“Yes,” Josie said. “To help you understand the importance of this need.”

“Let me guess,” Trip said through gritted teeth. “You’re looking for a special outreach grant. How much do you want? For your … charity.” His anger was scathing.

Josie could feel Alyce tense beside her. “Fifty thousand dollars,” Josie said.

“And would this be a one-time grant?” Trip could barely keep his temper under control. Josie thought he might start shouting.

“Ongoing,” Josie said and swallowed. “Renewable annually.”

“I’ll. Get. Back. With. You.” Trip bit off each word. “I think you’d better leave now. So I can consider your proposal.”

Tension flickered through the room like lightning. Josie stood up, feeling wobbly.

“Thank you,” Alyce said sweetly.

She took Josie by the elbow and practically threw her out the door.

“He knows,” Josie said, when she flopped into her car. “Trip knows what his sweet little wife is up to.” Her clothes were damp with fear sweat. She wanted to get away. She was weaving quickly in and out of the downtown Clayton streets, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and Trip.

“He thinks we’re trying to blackmail him,” Alyce said. “I feel really slimy.”

“You shouldn’t. I wanted him to think that,” Josie said. “It was the only way I could get him to admit it, unless I asked him straight out about his wife and that wouldn’t do any good. He’d deny it. We aren’t the cops. We can’t make him answer our questions.”

“I wish we were,” Alyce said. “Cops have guns. That man would have killed us both if his assistant wasn’t next door. What are you going to do when he calls you?”

Josie ran a red light to angry honks and upthrust fingers. Now she wished they were in Alyce’s tanklike SUV. Josie’s Honda seemed much smaller and more fragile. She checked the rearview mirror. No traffic-cop lights. Any passenger but Alyce would have protested her reckless driving.

“He can’t,” Josie said. “I made up all the phone numbers and addresses in that packet. He doesn’t even know my real name.”

“You put my name on the fake board of directors,” Alyce said. “This is a mess. How am I going to explain it to Jake? What if a crazed Trip kicks down our door?”

Josie was going fifty in a thirty-mile zone. They were
going to be arrested for sure if she didn’t slow down. Worse, she’d taken them way off course. What was she doing on McKnight Road?

“Trip won’t do that. Besides, I didn’t use your real name,” Josie said. “You’re on the stationery as Betty Joan Perske, the same name I gave when I introduced you. I wish you’d relax. There’s nothing to connect us to this.”

“Except Fiona,” Alyce said.

Josie made an illegal U-turn and headed toward Highway 40. If she was going to drive that fast, she’d do better on the highway than wandering residential back roads. “Do you really think Fiona will tell her husband how she got that china cabinet?” she said. “She’ll go to her grave keeping that quiet. She’s certainly not going to discuss our visit to her house.”

“What about Mr. Wonderful?” Alyce said. “What if Trip goes home and takes it out on her?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Josie said. “He’s no wife beater. Fiona wasn’t wearing any cover-up makeup. We’d have seen bruises on that fair skin.”

“A divorce might hurt her more,” Alyce said.

Josie didn’t think that deserved a comment. Alyce just said it because she was upset.

“I was careful to never mention Fiona’s name,” Josie said. “Trip won’t have to face the truth if he doesn’t want to—and believe me, he doesn’t. When he doesn’t hear from us, and there’s no demand for money, he’ll convince himself we were a couple of crackpots. He won’t say anything to his wife. He’d have to take down that pretty blond picture on his desk. It would be bad for business.”