High Heels Are Murder (7 page)

Josie couldn’t tell her mother she’d caught Mel molesting her Prada. “I mystery-shopped his store at Plaza Venetia. He waited on me.”

“Did you get him fired?” her mother said.

“That’s confidential,” Josie said.

“He’s dead,” her mother said. “You’re not a priest or a lawyer. It won’t go any further than Mrs. Mueller and myself. But it’s important. We need to know.”

What the heck. The police probably knew already, Josie thought. It wouldn’t be any secret now. “Yes, I gave Mel a bad report. He was dismissed the day he died.”

“What did he do to get himself fired?”

“Uh,” Josie said. Could she really tell her mother this? She looked at Jane’s liver-spotted hands and thinning hair and thought about Mel’s dirty little backroom deeds.

“Josie, I’m sixty-eight years old,” her mother said. “I was a married woman. I had a child. You don’t have to protect me. Young people think they discovered sex, but we had to know about it to get you here.”

She’s right, Josie thought. I’m being condescending. “Mel liked women’s feet a little too much.”

“Humpf,” her mother said. “Well, that might help.”

“Help how?” Josie said. She was completely lost.

“Cheryl is in trouble,” Jane said. “The police think she killed Mel.”

“Perfect Cheryl killed Mel the perv? I don’t believe it.” Josie choked on her soda, and a geyser of laughter erupted. She couldn’t stop it.

“I’m glad you agree,” her mother said. Those four words should have been issued with a frost warning. “Except
we
don’t find it funny.”

We. That must be the royal Mrs. Mueller and Jane. Josie’s mother sat regally at the kitchen table, a queen prepared to banish a rebel.

That’s me, Josie thought. I’ll be in the doghouse unless I get myself under control. She tamped her laughter back inside and tried to listen with a straight face. In her head, she heard a little kid’s singsong voice: “Cheryl isn’t perfect. Cheryl isn’t perfect. Nah. Nah. Nah.” Josie was gleeful and ashamed, all at once.

“We’re sure it’s a mistake,” Jane said. “Cheryl shopped for shoes at that store, but she would never do the disgusting things those policemen were saying.”

“What disgusting things?” Josie said. “What could Cheryl possibly do that would interest the police?” Or anyone else, she thought nastily.

“I’m trying to tell you,” Jane said. “But you keep interrupting.”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Josie said. But an evil little snicker escaped her. She couldn’t help it. She’d endured twenty-four years of Perfect Cheryl Reports. It was almost worth it for this moment. Cheryl definitely had both feet in deep doo-doo. Josie had a mental image of
Cheryl daintily stepping in something brown and squishy. It would coordinate perfectly with her outfit.

Josie giggled. Her hands itched for her cell phone. If only Alyce could hear this.

“Take a drink and get control of yourself,” her mother said.

Josie was afraid to swallow her soda. She might snort it out her nose if she started laughing again. The police said Perfect Cheryl and Mel the Pervert were doing disgusting things. Considering Mel’s proclivities, that could give new meaning to “round heels.” Josie saw Cheryl handcuffed to a pink chair while Mel tickled her toes with his carnation. She started giggling again. Maybe Cheryl used the carnation to perk up his—

“Josie!” Jane fixed her daughter with a heart-stopping glare. “Are you quite finished laughing at that poor girl?”

Shame wiped away Josie’s smirk. She was behaving worse than Amelia. She expected Jane to send her to her room without supper. Josie hung her head, unable to look her mother in the eye.

“If you’re able to control yourself, perhaps we can have a serious discussion,” Jane said.

Josie managed a nod. She was afraid to say anything. She felt decades of giggles struggling to get out. They could erupt any moment.

Her mother seemed satisfied that Josie was subdued into seriousness. Jane folded her hands, leaned forward, and began talking in a whisper, as if the news was too horrible to say at full volume.

“Mrs. Mueller was at Cheryl and Tom’s house yesterday, watching Ben, the baby. Such a darling child. Do you know he’s slept through the night almost since birth? Cheryl had a committee meeting. She’s such a good mother. She doesn’t like to leave her baby with a sitter.”

Mom can’t keep from giving a Perfect Cheryl Report, even at a time like this, Josie thought. But then the report took a sudden, delightful detour.

“Before Cheryl could go to the meeting, two homicide
detectives showed up at her front door,” Jane said. “The whole neighborhood could see what they were. They didn’t try to hide it.”

Being a homicide detective is nothing to be ashamed of, Josie wanted to say. But she knew better than to interrupt.

“The detectives insisted on seeing Cheryl. She explained that she had an important committee meeting. The detectives said she could talk to them there or they could talk downtown. They were quite nasty. They treated that poor girl like a criminal.”

Jane paused dramatically, waiting for Josie to come to Cheryl’s defense. Josie still didn’t trust herself to comment.

“Well, naturally, Cheryl invited them in,” Jane said. “What else could she do? But she didn’t offer them any coffee. They’d acted like such bullies, they didn’t deserve it.”

That showed them, Josie thought.

“Those two detectives talked to Cheryl in her living room for almost an hour. Mrs. Mueller stayed with Ben, but she could hear the conversation.”

I bet, Josie thought. Mrs. M probably had her ear glued to the wall.

“Mrs. Mueller said it was degrading. The things those detectives said! They claimed Cheryl’s car had been at that Mel person’s house the night of his murder. They told her an eyewitness saw it at Mel’s. Of course, that couldn’t be right. They asked Cheryl why she was at Mel’s house. Cheryl is a married woman. She’d never go to an unmarried man’s house alone.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Josie said. “Even Mrs. Mueller can’t believe there’s something wrong with a grown woman going to a man’s house without a chaperone. What century is this?”

“Maybe it isn’t something you worry about,” her mother said. “But Cheryl guards her good name. Mrs. Mueller always says you can’t be too careful. People have dirty minds.”

“You mean Mrs. Mueller does,” Josie said.

“I’m talking about the police.” Jane’s voice was building
in outrage. “They wanted to know the nature of her relationship with that Mel person. They actually said ‘relationship.’ Mrs. Mueller thought they were implying that Cheryl had sex with Mel.”

“Eeuuw,” Josie said. She couldn’t help it. She thought of Mel’s oily hands on the snobbish Cheryl and shuddered. As much as she wanted to believe the worst of Cheryl, Josie couldn’t see her in bed with Mel. She couldn’t see any woman sleeping with him, except maybe a pro for pay.

“That’s not possible, Mom,” Josie said. “It’s just not.”

“I knew you’d defend a fellow woman,” her mother said. “Really, one look at Cheryl and her lovely home, and I don’t know how those detectives had the nerve to ask that question.”

Josie agreed with her mother. “It does sound farfetched.”

“The accusations didn’t stop there,” her mother said. “Next, they asked if Cheryl knew anything about Mel’s interest in kinky sex.” Jane lowered her voice and looked around the kitchen, in case Amelia was lurking nearby. She was reassured by the blasting music coming from the kid’s room.

“The detectives said this Mel had an unnatural thing for women’s feet and shoes.”

Maybe Mel had asked Cheryl to tiptoe through his tulips, and she’d killed him, Josie thought. Nah, that didn’t make sense. A princess like Cheryl would know how to stomp a worm like Mel. Killing him would be a waste of her energy. Cheryl would shrivel him with a single look.

This whole situation was too weird. “The cops are crazy, Mom. Cheryl wouldn’t have anything to do with Mel. I could hardly stand being around him for an hour at Soft Shoe. Mel gave me the creeps. He fondled my foot when he waited on me.”

“Josie Marcus, why did you let that man touch you that way?” Jane said. “You should have walked right out of there.”

“I didn’t let him, Mom. I busted him in the course of an investigation. I got him fired. Now, do you want me
to help, or do you want to criticize me for something I didn’t do?”

Jane turned unexpectedly contrite. “I’m sorry, Josie,” she said. “You’re right, of course.”

I am? There’s a switch. Josie was loving this. First, the mighty Mrs. Mueller begged for her help. Now, her mother was apologizing. Best of all, Perfect Cheryl had an Achilles heel. Oops. Careful. No foot puns. The giggles might come back.

Josie concentrated on watching the ice melt in her glass while her mother recounted Cheryl’s ordeal.

“The police asked Cheryl for her fingerprints. Can you imagine? Cheryl knew her rights. She’s a smart girl. Graduated at the top of her college class.”

Unlike me, Josie thought.

“Cheryl told those detectives no. Then they wanted to know if they could take a look around her house. Cheryl stood up to them. She asked them to leave unless they had a warrant.”

“Good for her,” Josie said. “Did the police actually ask if she’d killed Mel?”

“Well, they didn’t come out and say it in so many words,” Jane said. “But they certainly acted like they thought she was guilty. Why else would they want her fingerprints?”

“Maybe for elimination purposes?” Josie said. She had learned about the police and fingerprints the hard way.

“Then why say they had a witness placing her at the murder scene?”

“Did the police say how Mel was killed?” Josie asked.

“No.”

“It has to be a mistake,” Josie said. “Cheryl looks like a lot of rich, skinny West County blondes. Their eyewitness mixed her up with someone else.”

Jane bristled momentarily at this description of Perfect Cheryl, but she kept blessedly quiet.

“Cheryl drives a black SUV,” Josie said. “There are herds of them in her neighborhood. I’m sure it will be straightened out shortly.”

But not before I can rake in more brownie points, she thought.

“The police wanted to search her home like a common criminal’s,” Jane wailed. “And they said terrible things about her. She’s a young mother with a child. This could ruin her reputation.”

“Mom, I’m sorry Cheryl’s been dragged into this.” Josie wasn’t sorry. She was enjoying the situation immensely. “But I don’t see how I can help. She needs a good lawyer.”

“No,” her mother said. “She needs you. Mrs. Mueller thought you would know all about what goes on at that store because you’re a shopping professional.”

A shopping professional? Was this the same woman who’d called Josie a slut when she went mystery-shopping in a tube top?

“Mrs. Mueller wants you to talk with Cheryl. Have coffee and a chat with her. That’s all.”

“Why?” Josie asked.

“Cheryl might tell you something that she wouldn’t say to her mother.” That admission must have hurt the proud Mrs. Mueller, who thought she knew everything.

“You might learn something that could explain how this horrible mistake happened,” Josie’s mother said. “Then it will all be over and their lives can go back to normal.”

Josie heard something else in those sentences—Mrs. Mueller’s fear that her darling daughter might be up to something. Not murder, perhaps. Maybe Perfect Cheryl had been having a little extracurricular fun with someone’s husband and didn’t have an alibi she could claim.

“Cheryl and I aren’t exactly friends, Mom,” Josie said. “She won’t tell me anything. She won’t say two civil words to me. Even Mrs. Mueller must know we can’t stand each other.”

Jane dismissed their dislike with a shrug. “That was kid’s stuff, Josie. You’re both grown women now. It’s time to put your childish feuds aside. You have so much in common.”

Right. Both our mothers worship Cheryl.

“That’s all you have to do, Josie,” Jane said. “Just talk to Cheryl. Help her, and Mrs. Mueller will make me Maplewood chair of the St. Louis Flower Guild. Please, Josie, will you do that for me?”

Jane was begging. She wanted that chair so badly, and Josie, the loser daughter who got pregnant and dropped out of college, could make her mother’s dream come true.

At last, Josie thought. I can make it up to Mom for the trouble I’ve caused. She helped me when I needed it most. She stood by me. Mom is always there when I need a sitter or someone to pick up Amelia at school. So what if she lied and told Mrs. Mueller that I was a widow? She has to hold up her head in the neighborhood.

Josie could finally make her mother proud. It would be so easy. Josie wouldn’t argue with whatever goddess handed her this favor. She’d take it and run.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll do it tomorrow on my lunch hour.” Josie would stop by for a talk with Cheryl. They’d have real tea with floating sugar roses, compare notes on Mel’s foot massages, and that would be it. Case closed.

“Thank you.” Her mother’s voice trembled slightly. Were those tears in Jane’s eyes? “I appreciate this, dear, and Mrs. Mueller does, too. I know she can be a difficult woman, but she has a good heart—and so do you. I’ll tell her you’re going to help Cheryl.”

Jane hugged her daughter, then ran out the door and across the yard to give Mrs. Mueller the good news. Josie stared after her mother, stunned by the swift reversal of her fortunes. Half an hour ago, she was the daughter who couldn’t do anything right. Now she was her mother’s golden girl. She owed it all to Mel the foot man.

Did the cops really think Mel was parking his boots under Cheryl’s bed? Josie tried to picture sex with the slippery shoe salesman. The guy was so oily, he’d squirt out of the sheets. Now there was a picture.

Josie could feel the giggles rising up. This time there would be no stopping them. She had to act fast. Josie slammed the heavy wooden front door shut and bolted
it just as a tiny titter escaped her. Then a loud laugh. Then a great big guffaw.

Josie leaned against the door and howled until the tears ran down her cheeks. It was mean. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop. All these years she’d waited for Perfect Cheryl to slip. Now, it had finally happened. Except this wasn’t a slip. It was a pratfall. The cops thought Perfect Cheryl was a shady lady and a stone killer. Mrs. Mueller and her mother thought Josie was a savior.