Murder Is A Piece Of Cake Part 24

"I'll stay behind on the sidewalk," Jane said. "I've punched in 911. All I have to do is. .h.i.t the b.u.t.ton if we need help."

Josie didn't argue. She charged up the sidewalk to Rita's porch, prettily framed with golden mums in blue pots. She rang the doorbell, tried the s.h.i.+ny bra.s.s handle, and pounded on the door. No answer. She peered in the front window, but the view was blocked by ruffled Cape Cod curtains.

"I'm going around to the back," Josie said.

Josie dodged a toddler's orange plastic tricycle on the sidewalk to the back of the apartment, while Jane trotted behind. Rita lived in a corner unit with sliding doors and a sunny patio with potted mums and lacy wrought-iron furniture.

Josie peered through the back sliders and saw a dark wood dining table with an overturned coffee cup and a dining chair on its side.

"That doesn't look right," Josie said. She knocked on the sliders until they rattled, calling, "Rita!"

No answer. Josie yanked the handle and the gla.s.s door slid open.

"Rita?" Josie called. "May I come in?"

Silence.

"Go on in," Jane said, and gave Josie a small impatient push.

Josie's foot crunched on the shattered remains of a china teddy bear cookie jar.

Josie and Jane followed a path of destruction through the kitchen, trying to avoid the broken gla.s.s and splintered china.

"Grandma had an old Magic Chef stove like that," Josie said.

"This isn't a house tour," Jane said. "Move!"

They tiptoed around the shards of a gla.s.s vase and a smashed plant stand. A trail of teacup fragments spilled down the hall past the living room. Josie stopped suddenly, staring at a fire-engine red vintage c.o.ke machine in the living room. Curly letters declared, "Drink Coca-Cola. 10 Cents."

Jane ran into her daughter's back.

"Rita left the shop so that c.o.ke machine could be delivered," Josie said.

"Wouldn't want it in my living room," Jane said. "It's big as an icebox. Keep moving. We need to get out of here." She nearly dragged Josie down the hall.

Now Josie could see a broken milk-gla.s.s lamp in the bedroom doorway.

"Careful, Josie," Jane said. "The burglar could be hiding in the closet."

But Josie had stepped over the lamp and was already inside. The blue satin bedspread was nearly pulled off the mattress.

Josie saw a china foot on the floor by the far side of the bed. A statue? She moved carefully forward. The foot was an odd greenish white and the toenails were painted pale pink. That was no statue. The foot was connected to a slender bare leg in a blue satin robe.

"No, no, no, no," Josie cried.

But no matter how hard she tried to deny it, Josie knew she was looking at a dead woman.

Rita was sprawled next to the bed in a blue satin robe, her golden hair matted with thick black blood.

"Don't come in, Mom," Josie said, her voice shaking. "Rita's dead. Call 911."

"How do you know she's dead?" Jane asked.

"Her head's all crushed in," Josie said. She stumbled out of the bedroom, tripping over the broken lamp.

Jane paled. "I'm going outside," she said. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She must have dragged Josie with her. She and Jane were sitting in matching wrought-iron chairs on Rita's patio.

Jane's queasiness seemed to vanish when she made the call. Now Josie felt dizzy in the hot afternoon sun. The patio tilted and she held on to the chair arm, trying to focus on her mother's conversation with the emergency operator. The chair's wrought-iron curlicue poked Josie in the back.

"Yes, I believe the young woman is dead," Jane was saying. "No, we're not inside the apartment. We're on the back patio. We'll go sit on the front steps and wait for the police. No, I won't hang up."

Jane took Josie's hand and led her to the front steps. Josie sat on a sun-warmed step and mimed to her mother that she was calling Amelia on her cell.

"Amelia," Josie said, her voice thick with phony cheer, "Grandma and I are going to be a little later. I'm trusting you to be on your own. Call my cell phone or Ted's if there's any trouble."

It felt good saying that. She had extra backup now. Josie heard the woeful sound of the sirens and said, "I love you, sweetie. See you soon."

"The police are here," Jane said to the emergency operator, and clicked off her cell phone. "I'm glad you called Amelia," she said. "Now you're going to tell the police exactly what's going on with Rita. It's their job to catch her killer. Her death may have nothing to do with Molly Deaver's murder. She could have been killed by a burglar."

"But, Mom." Josie realized she sounded like Amelia.

"No ifs, ands, or buts," Jane said. "I'm telling the police exactly what happened, and so will you." Her jaw was locked into a stubborn outward thrust. Jane was immovable in that mood. Screeching police car tires ended any more conversation.

Josie had had way too much experience with murder scenes lately. This one was eerily similar to Molly Deaver's death. Jane and Josie were put in separate police cars, questioned, and told to wait for the homicide detective.

Josie knew she'd be dealing with Detective Gray. Rock Road Village was too small to have more than one homicide detective. Her mother was right. She'd have to tell him everything. He'd be furious at her meddling.

The yellow crime scene tape had been strung, and cops and techs were swarming over the apartment complex when Detective Gray's Dodge Charger roared into the parking lot. Gray slammed his door so hard, Josie winced. He was met by a uniform, and the two hiked up the walkway and around the back of the apartment. Gray's coat and tie flapped, he moved so fast.

Josie felt sick. She studied the cage that penned her in the back of the patrol car and wondered if she'd wind up behind bars.

Gray stomped down the sidewalk fifteen minutes later, bristling with rage. Even his iron-colored hair looked angry.

He yanked open Josie's door and said, "You again. Get out and stand over there. I want to hear why you're mixed up in this murder and I want the truth. You get one chance or you go to jail."

Josie climbed shakily out of the car and told Gray everything she could remember: the tiara posted for sale on eBay, why Rita had to be the thief, and Denise's outrage when she discovered her trusted employee was stealing from her.

"So you gave this Denise twenty-four hours before you called the police?" the detective asked.

Josie nodded.

"And this Denise was upset?"

"Yes," Josie said in small voice. "She's afraid she's going to lose her store."

"Wonderful, Ms. Marcus," he said. "You probably signed that poor woman's death warrant. You do realize you gave this Denise plenty of time to kill the victim and string you along."

Josie felt the tears coming. She didn't want to appear weak in front of the irate detective. She tried to stop crying but couldn't.

"You'd better cry," he said. "That woman was killed because of your meddling. You know that, don't you?"

Josie nodded. She carried a double burden of guilt: Rita was horribly dead and Josie's investigation had hit another dead end.

She'd have to start again to find Molly's killer.

Chapter 28.

Tuesday, October 30 "Mom, Ted's car is parked outside our house," Josie said. "Something's wrong. Amelia had to call him for help."

She felt a knot of panic twist her stomach. "I should have insisted that detective let me call my daughter," Josie said. "Instead, we've left her alone for almost five hours. That's the longest she's been on her own. She's only eleven. What if she set a pot holder on fire when she fixed herself dinner? Or cut herself with a butcher knife? What if someone tried to break in?"

"Josie," Jane said. "Amelia knows her way around a kitchen better than you do. You haven't had dinner and you're on edge."

Awful possibilities played in Josie's mind, the trailer for her own personal horror movie. "But-," she said.

"Nothing is wrong, Josie, or Mrs. Mueller would be screaming on the lawn. Remember Amelia's science experiment? That big scare turned out to be nothing, too."

"You're right," Josie said as she backed her car behind Ted's. "If there was trouble, we'd see cop cars, fire trucks, ambulances and Mrs. M doing the happy dance."

Josie glanced at her mother as she straightened out the Honda. "You look tired, Mom," she said. She hurried around the car to help Jane.

Her mother shooed her away. "I can still get out of a car," she said. "I'm not some feeble old woman." Indignation gave Jane a little more color. "Go check on Amelia and Ted."

Josie ran up the walkway. Ted met her halfway, wrapping her in his muscular arms. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, inhaling his scent of coffee and wood smoke. She kissed him. The nightmare vision of Rita's corpse faded, along with her fears for Amelia. "Now that you're here, absolutely nothing. How did you know I needed you?"

"Amelia said you were working late," he said.

Josie tensed again. "She called you. Something is wrong."

"I called her," Ted said, "after I went to see Mom in jail."

He stopped, then said, "Never thought I'd say that sentence. Mom has a question for you. You didn't answer your cell phone, so I called your home. Amelia said you and Jane were delayed. I figured you were busy with wedding stuff and you'd be hungry when you got home. Anyway, I wanted to ask you the question in person. Amelia and I made chicken with pine nuts."

"I've died and gone to heaven," Josie said. This time her lips lingered on his. "How did you make dinner? I have chicken in the freezer, but no pine nuts."

"Or parsley, lemon juice, or snow peas," he said. "I picked up the ingredients on my way over. Amelia is making the salad now. Your timing is perfect."

"So is yours," Josie said, leaning against him.

"Seriously, Josie, what's wrong? I can see it in your face. You weren't running wedding errands. Something bad happened."

"I found another dead woman," Josie said. "I thought this poor saleswoman had killed Molly. I went to check on her and found her body. She'd been murdered, Ted."

"Who was she?"

"You didn't know her," Josie said. "Rita. A saleswoman at Denise's Dreams. She was Molly's best friend. She even looked like her. I was sure she'd killed Molly."

"You were going to confront a killer alone?" Ted asked.

"No, I had Mom with me," Josie said.

They could hear Jane's slow tread on the sidewalk, as if she were carrying a burden.

"Your mom," Ted said. "Good choice. The Maplewood cops call her for backup all the time."

"Please," Josie said. "No sarcasm. Jane didn't need muscles to call 911. I saw Rita's body, Ted. Her head was crushed in. It was horrible."

"Tell me," he said, his voice soft with sympathy. Josie wanted to cry on his shoulder. But her weary mother was approaching and dinner was waiting.

"After dinner," she said. "What did your mother want?"

"We'll save that for dessert," he said.

Uh-oh, Josie thought. More bad news.

"Amelia made chocolate mint cookies," Ted said. "Wait till you taste them."

"You've already tried them?" She smiled at him.

"She asked my culinary advice." Ted winked, then reached for Jane. "There's my other girl!" He hugged her.

"It's so good to see you, Ted. I don't want to be rude, but if I don't walk my dog, he'll have an accident," Jane said.

"Already walked him, Jane."

"Mom," Jane corrected. "You can call me Mom. If you want to. I don't want to be disrespectful to your real mother."

"Lenore won't mind. She won't let me call her Mom in public," Ted said. "She says I make her look old. I'd be happy to call you Mom."

Jane stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I'm pleased and proud to have such a thoughtful son."

They went up the walk arm in arm to Josie's living room. Stuart Little greeted them, tail wagging. After his ears were scratched, he pattered into the kitchen and slurped water in his bowl. Harry joined him, crunching his dry food.

Josie's table was set for four with a centerpiece of six peach roses.

"Flowers?" Josie said. "For me?"