An Uplifting Murder (10 page)

“Do you have a cold?” Josie asked.

“No, I’m crazed with worry,” Laura said. “I expect the police to show up any minute. Let’s order. I can at least eat a decent lunch. I hear jail food is terrible.”

They ordered grilled-chicken salads and coffee. Laura’s hands shook slightly as she lifted her coffee cup. She waited until the waitress left, checked the nearby tables for potential eavesdroppers, then said, “I think the police are going to arrest me.”

“Are you sure?” Josie asked.

“Of course I’m not sure,” Laura said. “But the way they’re asking questions, they definitely see me as a person of interest. That’s what they call someone they’re going to arrest, right?”

Josie leaned forward. “Tell me why they’re interested. I can’t help if you keep being mysterious.”

“I haven’t told this story to anyone but my husband,” Laura said. “Husbands, actually. My first husband left me in the lurch, so he doesn’t count. But he knows, too.”

She sipped her coffee as if it could give her courage. “Frankie ruined my teaching career. She got me fired.”

“Was that during my junior year in high school?” Josie asked. “You just up and left.”

“And you never knew why?” Laura asked.

“We were told it was for your husband,” Josie said.

“I guess my story didn’t get into the rumor mill.” She took a bite of her grilled chicken. Josie noticed her ex-teacher’s sharp white teeth. “Frankie wanted to be a nurse. She was on track for a scholarship. With her grades, it seemed like a shoo-in. Frankie took this honor as her due. She seemed to think she could do anything she wanted and the scholarship was guaranteed. She’d had two warnings about smoking and drinking on campus. The school was strict back then. It had a zero-tolerance policy.

“One Wednesday, I went for my lunchtime walk. I caught Frankie sitting on the hood of a blue Camaro, laughing and drinking beer with three boys in the student parking lot. The boys didn’t go to our school. They took off like scalded roaches.

“I reported the incident to the principal. This was Frankie’s third offense. Frankie was looking at expulsion. That would have ruined her chances for a nursing school scholarship.

“I figured the issue was over. She’d been warned twice and this was her third offense. Most of the teachers would have been glad to see her go. She was nasty to the other students and disruptive. No one liked her but the principal, who was proud of his future scholarship winner. She made him look good and he got bonuses if the school produced scholarship winners.

“I thought I’d caught her red-handed, but Frankie fought back. She told the principal that I’d touched her ‘inappropriately’ in gym class. She said I’d watched her undress in the locker room and invited my gay sister to see her get dressed after the mandatory showers.”

“But that’s not true,” Josie said. “Not when I was there. Frankie was mean to me when we were in class. You stayed in the locker room to make sure she didn’t make any more ugly remarks.”

“I tried to say that, but she sat there like little Miss Perfect. Members of her clique backed her up. They said my ‘creepy’ sister stared at their breasts, and so did I.

“The principal didn’t want to believe his scholar was a liar. Frankie wasn’t lying about my sister. Not entirely. Pat did stop by my office at the gym to give me two tickets to a theater performance. She’d signed in at the administration office. That was on the record. Pat waved at me and left the tickets on my desk. She didn’t stay long enough to ogle anyone.

“Frankie knew about my sister, or guessed it. Pat looked rather butch. Pat is a lesbian, though she hadn’t come out of the closet back then. She kept her sex life quiet, because of the prejudice against gays. Pat worked at a kindergarten run by a church nursery school. They would have fired Pat if they’d known her sexual orientation. I was afraid Frankie’s false accusations would hurt my sister’s career.

“Frankie told the principal, ‘It runs in the family. Mrs. Hayes may be married, but it’s a cover for her perversion.’

“I was allowed to quietly resign without references. I was too heartsick to fight back. A year later, I was no longer Mrs. Hayes. My husband left me, saying, ‘No smoke without fire.’ He abandoned Kate, our ten-year-old daughter.

“I took jobs in retail. I met my husband, Langley Ferguson, while I worked for a dry cleaner. He’s a broker in Clayton. Lang came in to pick up his shirts and started dating me. It was a whirlwind courtship. My life has been good ever since I met him. Until Frankie turned up in my shop yesterday.”

“But why do the police think you killed her?” Josie asked. “Why would you ruin your new life?”

Laura sipped more coffee. “That’s what I told the detectives. But they said a video camera outside the bathroom door captured me going inside. They showed me the video, thinking I would confess. This person has dark hair. She’s wearing that black-and-white scarf, the one you admired, except it’s covering her head, babushka-style.”

“Can you see the woman’s face?” Josie asked.

“No.” Laura fortified herself with more coffee. “The video is grainy. All you see is a dumpy woman in a dark coat and print head scarf opening the door to the bathroom, then coming out fifteen minutes later.”

“She could be anyone,” Josie said. “Those scarves are on sale at this mall. I bought two.”

“I said that. But the police claim the murder is premeditated. They say I sent Frankie to that bathroom so I could ambush her.”

“It’s a public bathroom in a mall,” Josie said. “Any woman can use it.”

“We have a restroom here in the store and our customers are allowed to use it. The police know that. I didn’t tell Frankie about it. She was insulting the other customers and upsetting my staff. I wanted her out of here. I may pay for that petty act for the rest of my life.”

“Why would you use a yucky public bathroom when you had one in the store?” Josie asked.

“The police say I wore the scarf to hide my face and killed Frankie in the restroom. The person who’s supposed to be me is seen entering about two minutes after Frankie went inside at eleven twelve. She never came out. The police figure she died between eleven twelve and eleven thirty, when the person who looks like me left.”

“You went for a walk around the building on your lunch hour, didn’t you?” Josie said. “Won’t the mall cameras show you outside?”

“The closed-circuit system malfunctioned in the cold,” Laura said. “It wasn’t fixed until two that afternoon. There is no video of my walk.”

“Oh,” Josie said.

“It gets worse,” Laura said. “My fingerprints are all over the plastic bag that killed Frankie. I told them I touched the bag. She’d flopped it across the counter, and I moved it to make room for another customer.”

“I saw you do that,” Josie said. “I can testify.”

“Testify,” Laura said. “I’m praying this won’t go to court. What do you think?”

“Do you know the name of a good criminal lawyer?” Josie said.

Chapter 10

“Mom, can I ask a favor?” Amelia said.

Josie and Amelia were in the car after school, Amelia’s favorite time and place to ask difficult questions. The old Honda was a warm cocoon, a small, private world for Josie and her daughter.

Also, Amelia, the little slick, knew her mother couldn’t overreact if she was watching the road and trying not to run down Amelia’s classmates.

“What favor?” Josie asked. She eased out of the Barrington School driveway, the major distraction zone, and headed for a four-lane road. She tried not to sound wary, but she’d been ambushed by her daughter before.

“Can I get measured for my bra without you this afternoon?”

“You don’t want me in the store?” Josie asked.

“No, no, you can stay in the store.”

“That’s big of you.” Out of the corner of her eye, Josie saw her daughter flinch and regretted her sarcasm. This is a sensitive issue, especially for a young woman, she reminded herself.

“I mean, can it just be me and the saleswoman in the fitting room?” Amelia asked. “Without you? It would be less embarrassing.”

Less embarrassing.

Josie had breast-fed her daughter, bathed her, and wiped strained prunes off her face, but now it was embarrassing if she was present when Amelia was fitted for her first bra. Josie was hurt but tried not to show it.

Of course Amelia doesn’t want you in the fitting room, she told herself. Did you ask your mother to go with you when you bought that steel gray lace number? Amelia is a normal preteen, despite her single mother and murdered father.

The self-administered psychobabble was no comfort. Amelia’s request still stung.

“Let’s make a deal,” Josie said. “I won’t go in the fitting room if you promise to buy a bra with real cups, not a sports bra.”

“But—” Amelia began.

“It doesn’t have to be a lace bra or an underwire. It can be any color or design you want. But a sports bra doesn’t have enough support if you wear it all day and you need support. Also, you have to stay within the budget. I’m giving you fifty dollars. You may have enough left over to get panties.”

“Awesome,” Amelia said. “I brought some of my money in case.”

Amelia was willing to spend her own money? The kid guarded her gold like a miser. She probably had more in her savings than Josie did, thanks to gifts from Jane and her generous Canadian grandfather.

“Then we have a deal?” Josie asked.

“Deal,” Amelia said. “We’re here.” She raced out of the car in case Josie changed her mind. They met at the entrance to Desiree Lingerie. Amelia eyed the lace-frosted lingerie display doubtfully.

“They have lots of different styles.” Josie gently steered her daughter inside the store, where they were greeted by Laura Ferguson.

“This is an important day for you, Miss Marcus,” Laura said. “Trish, our best bra fitter, will wait on you.”

Amelia looked pleased at this adult treatment. She eyed Trish’s chic, nearly shaved blond hair, and smiled.

“Let me show you some styles,” Trish said.

“No lace,” Amelia said.

“No problem,” Trish said. “Are you coming with us, Josie?”

“I’ll wait here and talk to Laura, if she’s not too busy,” Josie said. “Remember our agreement, Amelia.”

Josie watched her daughter go back toward the fitting rooms, as if she was seeing Amelia depart on a long journey. She was, in a way.

Laura looked at Josie and said, “Let me guess: Your daughter didn’t want you to come into the fitting room and you’re hurt?”

Josie nodded.

“Congratulations,” Laura said. “You’ve produced a healthy young woman.”

“She doesn’t want lace,” Josie said. “She called my sexy bra ‘old lady.’ ”

“That’s how young girls think, Josie. Did you have a crush on Mr. Sullivan, the American-history teacher?”

His picture popped into Josie’s mind: dark hair, crooked smile, flat stomach, a muscular chest that strained his freshly ironed shirts, and brown eyes the color of unwrapped Hershey’s Kisses. Mr. Sullivan was the object of schoolgirl fantasies. Josie’s classmates dreamed of ripping that shirt off Mr. Sullivan through the Puritans’ struggles, the endless Constitutional Convention, and countless wars.

“Of course. He was incredibly handsome for an older man.”

“Do you know how old he was when you were in high school?”

“Fifty?” Josie guessed.

“Thirty-five,” Laura said.