Motion for Murder (8 page)

"Yeah." She sounded pleased. "Let's see what happens."

"Jamie."

I glanced up and dropped the phone. Dougie was standing in front of me in spandex shorts and no shirt. I'd been there, and I could have done without the replay. His chest was heaving, sending sweat running down his torso. I had an imagination, but I didn't have to use it. I could see everything.

I heard my mother say "Jamie?"

His hair was plastered to his head, and in the forty minutes he'd been in the basement, he'd grown a heavy five o'clock shadow. He almost looked hot, except he was Dougie. And, of course, the spandex thing.

"What do you think?" he asked, flexing both biceps. "Some guns, huh?"

"Jamie!" my mother yelled.

"Um," I said, hoping for Wally's return. No such luck. Lawyers were never around when you needed them.

Dougie spun around to give me the back view. His anatomy showed itself in high definition. "Not bad, huh?" he said over his shoulder.

"Jamie!" my mother shrieked.

I scooped up the phone and dropped it in the cradle. She'd have to learn to deal with rejection.

Dougie turned around and used all eleven fingers to cup his genitals. "We got any mineral ice? I think I strained my groin."

 He'd better not offer double-time if I put it on for him.

"Okay, I've been giving this some thought." Sherri brought her three-wheeled shopping cart to a shuddering halt in the produce department. The perfume of forty different fruits and vegetables assailed us. I generally avoided the produce department, since it made me feel inadequate. Too many things I didn't recognize. Starting with Sherri.

She sized up the area. "They say vegetables are very sensual, so maybe I should hang out here for awhile. You know, feel up some cucumbers or squash or something." She took a look around. "What does squash look like?"

I tugged down the sleeves of my sweatshirt against the arctic blast of the supermarket air conditioning. I was only shopping for some food, not for a man, so I had no need for the heavy artillery. Sherri, on the other hand, was wearing her nightclub finest, a black leather miniskirt with a black bustier and high-heeled knee-high boots. She looked like an escapee from a sex dungeon.

I'd heard rumors about Thursday singles night at the supermarket being wildly popular, but I'd never seen proof of it. Probably because my shopping policy was get in after the crowd, make a direct hit on the ice cream case, and get out fast. Looking around now, I didn't exactly see Chippendale dancers stocking up on cat food and Wonder Bread. I saw eighty-something couples inching along clinging to their carts and harried single moms tugging litters of three-year-olds behind them. The produce department was desolate. I suspected Sherri's chance for success was as well.

"Why don't you try going up and down the aisles," I said. "I don't think too many single men hang out by the squash."

"Maybe the beer," Sherri agreed. "Which aisle is that?"

I sighed. What could you expect from a thirty-one-year-old whose parents did all the household grocery shopping? "They don't sell beer in supermarkets. That's illegal in New Jersey."

"Well, that's stupid," Sherri said, apparently overlooking the fact that this entire exercise was something less than bright.

I edged away. "If you need me, I'll be in the…" I fled down the nearest aisle. Fortunately, it was the cake mix aisle, and Duncan Hines was on sale. Anyone could whip up a box cake, so I dumped a lemon, a French vanilla, and a chocolate into my basket and went looking for canned frosting. It wasn't on my list or on sale, but it didn't have to be. I picked up two cans anyway. I didn't know about Sherri's success, but I was beginning to think my guardian angel had led me to Aisle Eight.

That's when I rounded a corner and noticed my sister over by the prepackaged cold cuts, chatting with a blond man. I ducked behind the end cap and peeked around the bottled soda for a better look. I couldn't say much for her execution. She was holding the biggest cucumber I'd ever seen, letting it rest suggestively against her jawline, a living trailer for Sherri Does the Supermarket. I cringed watching her. She had to be rescued from herself, but I hated to barge in when this one seemed to have potential and the right hair color. Tan slacks, navy blazer, even a tie. Respectable. Standing so close to Sherri in her leather getup, he looked like a vice cop.

Sherri nodded and said something and smiled into the cucumber, and ten seconds later I found out that's exactly what he was. He reached back into his waistband and whipped out a pair of handcuffs that glinted nastily when he slapped them on her wrists.

An elderly couple with matching silver hair stopped in their tracks beside the kielbasa case to watch with horrified expressions. I could practically hear them thinking that here was incontrovertible proof that the neighborhood had gone completely to pot.

"Oh, hell," I muttered, and stepped around the end cap with a bright smile. "Sher! I've been looking for you. I
"

The man whipped around to size me up with a death glare. It didn't take him too long to decide I wasn't a threat. Or a hooker. Fortunately, I'd worn a pair of shorts I'd cut from old sweatpants, my dingy Keds, and a moth-eaten sweatshirt to ward off the store's chill. Looks-wise, I was as far removed from Sherri as Pam Anderson was from Janet Reno. "Do you know this woman?" he demanded.

"She's my sister."

Sherri seemed to have shriveled inside her leather casing. "We're just here to meet single men. Tell him, Jamie."

"Well, that's not exactly true." I approached in baby steps in case he had a gun to go with those handcuffs. "I'm not looking for a man. I'm just here for some cake mix." I held up the basket as proof. No reaction. Guess he didn't like cake. "But my sister here, she was looking for a date
"

"I got that much," he said. "You can meet her downtown. Come on, ma'am."

"I'm not a ma'am," Sherri protested, struggling against the cuffs. "I'm a Ms. Or Miss."

"She wants to be a Mrs.," I said helpfully. He was decent looking enough, if you overlooked the hostility of the handcuffs.

"That's true," Sherri said, brightening. "Would you happen to be married, Mr.…?"

"Detective. And it's none of your business." He glanced into her cart. "You don't seem to be shopping for much in the way of food, ma'am."

"Hey, I tried to find the squash," Sherri said. "Bigger is better, right? A cucumber was the best I could do."

Behind us, I heard the old woman gasp, and then I heard a thump that I hoped wasn't her hitting the floor in a dead faint.

"She's not much of a shopper," I said. "Can't you see this is all just a misunderstanding?"

"I think I understand," the detective said, and I smiled. Finally. "Your sister made a pretty lewd offer concerning that cucumber," he said, and my smile disappeared. I heard the faint squeak of shopping cart wheels as the old man edged a little closer. This was good stuff to the Lawrence Welk set.

"Oh, come on." Sherri stuck out her lower lip. "All I said was you should see what I can do with a cucumber that big."

I rolled my eyes. The squeaking stopped, and I heard another thump and a low curse. The old man had plowed right into a display of packaged pepperoni. Served him right for being lascivious.

"Exactly," the detective said. "You think I don't know what that means?"

"It means a big salad," Sherri said. "Lettuce. Carrots. Cucumber. A salad."

"It means solicitation." The cop snatched the cucumber in question from her. "By the way, this is evidence."

"Look," Sherri said, "don't you think you're taking this too far? I mean, I can't help it if you're insecure about your manhood."

The thing about Sherri was she never knew when to quit.

"Let's go." He gave her shopping cart a shove with his foot. "You can explain it all to the judge in the morning."

"Maybe the
judge
will be reasonable," Sherri said pointedly. "Only you have to tell me now what time I need to be there, because I'll have to set my alarm. I can't wake up early without an alarm."

The detective looked at me in disbelief.

"It's because she watches Letterman," I said. Nothing. I swallowed hard. "Uh, Sher," I said. "I think you're going to jail tonight."

"Jail! I can't go to jail!" She turned to him. "I can't go to jail! Have you ever tried to sleep in a leather bustier? It can't be done!"

"Sorry," he said. "You should've thought about that before you propositioned me." He took hold of the crook of her arm to steer her through the store.

"Hey!" she yelled. "Wait! You don't want to arrest me. My sister here's an attorney and she'll sue you for everything you've got!"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "That true?"

"Not exactly," I said. "Actually I work for a lawyer. A good lawyer."

He looked unimpressed. "What's his name?"

I swallowed again. "Douglas Heath. Esquire."

It was hard to tell who started laughing first, but I think it was the old man behind me. Evidently he'd seen Dougie's television commercials. While the cop's cheeks were turning red, and he was busy searching for a tissue to wipe his eyes, Sherri motioned me closer with her head. "You've got to help me," she begged in a not-quite whisper. "Don't tell Mom about this. Or Dad. Just get one of the lawyers from your office and come bail me out, okay?"

With what? I had a basketful of cake mixes and frosting I could barely pay for. But I nodded anyway. "I'll be there," I promised. Just as soon as I could go borrow some money from someone. Or sell a kidney or something.

"Just one thing," she added as the cop wadded up the tissue and stuffed it into his blazer. "Don't get Dougie."

*  *  *

"So you and your sister don't look too much alike." Wally glowered down at me with his arms crossed.

"Well, you'd never catch me trying to carry off that outfit," I said, deliberately playing dumb. I'd heard remarks like that all my life. Hey, we can't all have legs like a giraffe.

"Does she wear clothes like that all the time?"

"Only when she's looking for a husband," I said nastily. That should do it. Nip this fantasy right in the bud.

He wasn't at all daunted by the H word. "Do you think it would be alright if I gave her a call sometime?"

In a second my life passed before me. Friday meatloaf with Wally. Thanksgiving with Wally. Christmas with Wally. I was all for Sherri finding a husband and getting married, but I drew the line at this. "I don't think so," I told him. "She's sort of seeing someone."

His shoulders drooped. "Is it serious?"

As an arrest. "Looks to be," I said brightly. "If you'll excuse me."

"I'm still waiting for that fee," he yelled after me as I fled down the stairs. By this time Missy was at her desk, and Donna was at mine. She leaped to her feet the instant she saw me, her plain, pinched face perking right up. "I heard Ken has a dep this morning. I was wondering…"

Damn. I'd promised to talk to Ken about her brilliance as a paralegal. What with Sherri being arrested and all, I'd completely forgotten about it. "I'll catch him this afternoon," I said. "Things have been a little hectic today."

"Thanks, Jamie." She smiled and scurried away. I squatted beside my desk to see what awaited me in the stack of files there. A few letters for Howard, a Subpoena duces tecum for Ken, a set of Form C Interrogatories to be printed up and sent out for Dougie. Nothing too difficult. This was shaping up to be a pretty good day.

Then Dougie got back from court.

It began casually enough, as catastrophes sometimes do. Dougie had gotten back just before one o'clock, tossing his briefcase on the kitchen table and mumbling something about the judge buying her robes at Walmart. Ken's deposition was still going on in the conference room, and Wally was hunkered down wherever Wally hunkered.

I was at the kitchen table slogging my way through a meatball sandwich I'd ordered in because I felt guilty about my late arrival that morning. Paige had ordered a turkey sub, and she was eviscerating the roll across the table. A little mound of lettuce shreds and hot peppers was growing on her paper plate. I was thinking those hot peppers might be kind of tasty with my meatballs when Howard and Dougie came into the room, and I stopped thinking and started trying to make myself invisible. Howard and Dougie together in the same room was never a good idea.