The Fashion Hound Murders (15 page)

“The rabies virus is usually transmitted by the animal’s saliva,” Dr. Porker said. “I’ve washed your mother’s wound for fifteen minutes with medicated soap and water, standard treatment for possible rabies. It stung a little.”

“It hurt like heck!” Jane said.

Josie hid a smile. Mom was going to be okay.

“She needed twelve stitches for the wound, and we gave her a tetanus shot,” Dr. Porker said. “She’s lucky she was wearing a heavy winter coat and a scarf to protect her face and neck.”

“If I’m so lucky, why do I feel so lousy?” Jane asked. “Why are you talking as if I’m deaf? I’m right here.”

The chunky doctor faced Jane and said carefully, “Here’s a prescription for pain medication if you need it, Mrs. Marcus. The deceased dog is being tested for rabies. We hope you won’t need the shots, but they’re not as painful as they used to be. Now you get them in your butt and arms instead of your stomach.”

Jane frowned. Women of her generation did not like the word “butt” used about their anatomy. Dr. Porker handed Josie a paper. “Call this number to find out the test results. Remember, you can be symptom-free for twenty days or longer after being exposed and still have rabies. Promise you’ll come in for the shots if you need them.”

“I’m not an idiot, young man,” Jane said. “I’ve heard of rabies. Now let me go before—before I bite you.”

Josie laughed. She couldn’t help it. The doctor marched out, looking offended.

Josie helped her mother get dressed. She buttoned Jane’s blouse as she fumed. “What’s wrong with younger people? Why do they treat retirees as if we’re simpleminded?”

“Maybe you taught him a lesson,” Josie said.

A lanky, dark-skinned man in purple scrubs arrived with a wheelchair. “I’m from transport,” he said.

Josie draped her mother’s torn coat around her shoulders, then ran for her car. She met Jane at the hospital door. The young man helped Jane inside the car. After her defiant outburst at the doctor, Jane looked exhausted. Her skin sagged and her face was pale except for dark circles under her eyes. Jane settled in the seat and sighed.

“Are you hungry?” Josie asked. “Would you like to stop for lunch?”

“I’d like to take a nap.” Jane plucked at her torn coat sleeve. “I don’t think I’ll wear this coat again.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” Josie said.

“Don’t bother,” Jane said. “This is my take-out-the-trash coat. I should have thrown it out last year.”

Jane closed her eyes. Soon Josie heard a light snore. Once home, she checked the street carefully, but everything looked ordinary. Josie was relieved that Mrs. Mueller was not waiting for them. The dog carcass was gone, too.

Jane insisted on going upstairs to “my own bed.” Josie followed and helped her into a pink flannel gown. Jane sank gratefully into her bed.

“Would you like tea or coffee? Could I heat up some soup?” Josie asked.

“I’d like to sleep. Go away,” Jane said. “Josie?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks, sweetie. I don’t say that often enough. I’m too rough on you. You’re a good daughter.”

Josie kissed her mother’s forehead. “You’re welcome, Mom.” Her eyes teared up as she made her way downstairs. Jane didn’t hand out many compliments to her daughter.

Josie wanted to talk to Jerry, but not about another date. She left a message on his phone and hoped he’d call soon. Then she left to pick up Amelia at school, once again checking the yard and the bushes around the porch.

Amelia bounced into the car with the boundless energy Josie wished she still had. She knew her current news would upset her daughter, but there was no easy way to break it.

“Your grandma was hurt today,” Josie said. “She was bitten by a dog.”

“Not Chloe!” Amelia said.

“No, a big ugly rottweiler, probably the dog you heard barking this morning. She had to go to the emergency room.”

Amelia looked ready to burst into tears.

“She’s fine,” Josie added quickly. “The doctor took good care of her. Grandma got stitches in her hand, but there’s no permanent damage.”

“Can I see her?” Amelia sounded suspicious.

“Of course, honey, if she’s awake. She’s been asleep all afternoon. You can even make her soup and toasted cheese sandwiches.”

Josie drove home as fast as the traffic and the speed limit allowed. Amelia sprinted into the house to start her grandmother’s dinner. Josie climbed the stairs to look in on her mother. Jane was sitting up in bed with a teacup in her hand, talking to Mrs. Mueller. Actually, she was listening to Mrs. Mueller. The two women didn’t see Josie in the doorway.

“I saw a pickup truck go down the alley around two this morning. It was black or gray. An old beat-up thing like the one Josie’s new boyfriend drives. It’s hard to keep track of all her men.”

Josie was tempted to say something, but let the old bat talk. “The truck was going very slowly. I should have called the police. I might have prevented this.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jane said.

“When I heard you scream this morning, Jane, I knew that wasn’t a normal sound,” Mrs. Mueller said. “You were seriously hurt. I just happened to be by a window. . . .”

Right, Josie thought.

“I saw that beast lunge forward and I called the police. My hand was shaking so bad I could hardly dial 911. Thank goodness the police got here immediately.”

Josie knocked on the doorway. “Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Jane said. “Mrs. Mueller baked me a lovely gooey butter coffeecake. Would you like some?”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

“I have to leave,” Mrs. Mueller said. “Please excuse me.” She walked past Josie, pointedly ignoring her.

“Your granddaughter is heating up some soup for you,” Josie said, “and making toasted cheese sandwiches. She wants to bring them upstairs. She’s very worried.”

“She’s such a thoughtful girl. Don’t let her carry that hot soup,” Jane said. “I don’t want her getting burned.”

When Josie walked downstairs to her kitchen, Amelia was arranging a cup of tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich on a tray covered with a blue cloth napkin. The sandwich had been cut into triangles.

“That looks beautiful, sweetheart,” Josie said. “I’ll carry the soup upstairs. Grandma doesn’t want you getting burned.”

“But it’s okay if you are?” Amelia asked.

“I’m a mom,” Josie said. She carried the soup upstairs without spilling any. Amelia followed with the sandwiches on the tray. At the top of the stairs, they reassembled Jane’s meal. Jane was still sitting up in bed, but she’d combed her hair and put on lipstick.

“Grandma, how are you?” Amelia asked.

“Better now that I see you, baby,” Jane said. “You’ve fixed dinner. Aren’t you sweet?”

Amelia perched on the edge of the bed and watched her grandmother eat. “Harry’s come out from under the bathtub now,” she said. “He likes to play and run all over the house.”

“He didn’t get near my dinner, did he?” Jane asked.

“Of course not, Grandma. Cats don’t like tomato soup.”

“Good,” Jane said. “I don’t like cats.”

“You would if you met Harry,” Amelia said. She collected the empty plate and cup. “Would you like more tea?”

“No, thanks,” Jane said. “I’d like to get some sleep. I’m tired. I like your coral jeans, but I wish you wouldn’t wear those baggy tops. Can’t you tuck them in? You have such a nice waist.”

“They’re supposed to be loose and layered, Grandma,” Amelia said. “I have to do my homework now.”

“You go ahead,” Jane said. “I want to talk to your mother a minute.”

Jane waited until Amelia was down the stairs. “Does the dead dog belong to that what’s-his-name you’re dating—Jerrod, Gerund, Gerbil?” she asked.

“His name is Jerry, Mom, and he has a golden retriever mix, not a black rottweiler.”

“Right. It piddles on my front porch.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Jane said, suspiciously. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“I would never hurt my best babysitter,” Josie said. It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

“What about Jerry?” Jane said.

“He’s never met you, Mom.”

“Humph,” said her mother. “You don’t know anything about him, or who his friends are. He could know some bad people. He’s behind that attack somehow, Josie Marcus.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Mom,” Josie said.

But she remembered the dark truck running down Edna in the parking lot, and wondered if her mother was right.

Chapter 17

“Do you like your chicken hot?” Alyce asked.

“Honey, I’m from Miami,” Traci said. “I like everything hot: chicken, weather, men—you name it.” Traci gave a little hip check.

Alyce’s new neighbor was a riot of color, from her flaming hair to her sparkly crystal-trimmed heels. Traci’s peppermint sweater looked smashing with her bright hair. Gold bracelets jangled at her wrists and her earrings swung merrily. Her dark eyes had that mischievous “I’ve got a secret” look.

Josie could see that Traci wouldn’t fit in with the subdued suburban moms at Wood Winds. The suburban dads might like her curvy figure and tight clothes.

“I like anything you cook,” Josie said. “Hot is fine with me.”

“I’m making chicken panini,” Alyce said, “and, Josie, that’s not the name of an Italian gangster.”

“My meager cooking skills are notorious,” Josie said to Traci.

“A woman after my heart,” Traci said. “If I can’t nuke it, I don’t cook it.”

“What gadget did you buy for this lunch?” Josie asked. “Alyce has a serious Williams-Sonoma addiction,” she explained to Traci.

“I finally got my panini press,” Alyce said, pointing to what looked like a weird waffle iron with wavy plates. “I wanted to test it at lunch.”

“Happy to volunteer,” Traci said.

“Wait till I get my new roasting fork,” Alyce said. She noticed Josie’s puzzled look and said, “It helps lift the Christmas turkey. I nearly lost the Thanksgiving bird.”

“My mom dropped the turkey one year,” Traci said. “Nobody was in the kitchen, so she wiped it off, cleaned up the floor, and served it. Nobody was any wiser but me, and I kept my mouth shut.”

“This year, a timely save kept it from skidding across the floor,” Alyce said. “I think a thirteen-inch all-clad stainless steel fork should hold that turkey. The fork is due any day now. They’ve promised me it will arrive before Christmas.”

“This is a cool kitchen,” Traci said. “I’ve never seen one with oak paneling. Where’s your fridge?”

“Behind that panel there,” Alyce said, pointing to a wall section. “Lunch should be ready soon. The salad is already on the table. Take your wineglasses and start eating, ladies. I’ll deliver your chicken sandwiches.”

Blue violets bloomed on the table in Alyce’s sunny breakfast room. Blue gingham place mats and napkins were neatly set at each place. Traci picked the sunniest chair and sat down.

“This is the warmest I’ve been since we moved here,” she said. “Your salad is too pretty to eat, Alyce.”

“I’ve never had that problem,” Josie said. “I eat your food no matter how good it looks. Is this your Roquefort, cranberry, and walnut salad?”

“It is,” Alyce said, delivering a plate of perfectly grilled chicken panini. “I know you like it.”

Traci took a bite and said, “I’ve died and gone to heaven. Now I need you angels to help me. I want a dog. I finally have a yard where a pup can run and play. We couldn’t keep pets in our condo. I want the best place to buy a little dog, something girlie, so I can dress it up. I’d like a poodle, bichon, or a Pomeranian.”

“The Humane Society of Missouri has all those breeds and more,” Josie said.

“But most don’t come with AKC papers,” Traci said. “I’m a designer kind of girl. You can tell by my clothes.”

“Escada doesn’t make dogs,” Josie said. “Humane Society pups are as good as the ones you’d get from a breeder. They just don’t have that piece of paper. Please don’t buy a puppy mill dog. Didn’t you see the news stories about the raid on that awful Deerford Kennels?”

“Those poor things are really sick and they have behavior problems,” Alyce said. “What happens to them is pitiful. You don’t want to encourage puppy mill owners.”

“But didn’t the Humane Society take those puppy mill dogs?” Traci said. “How do I know they won’t palm one off on me?”

“The news stories said those dogs went to foster care families so they could be nursed back to health,” Josie said.

“But you only have the society’s word for it.”

“Traci, please reconsider. You could be buying a whole lot of trouble,” Josie said. “If you want a pedigreed pup, at least visit the breeder, so you can see how your dog is being raised.”

“I’ll think about it,” Traci said, and took a sip of wine. Josie suspected Traci’s mind was already made up. “You’re so much nicer, Josie, than that other lady I met.”

“Who’s that?”

“Renata Uppity Liver-something. Snooty old witch with white hair.”

“Renata Upton Liverspot—I mean Livermore,” Josie said. “She lives in the Victorian mansion on the hill. I think she posed for the gargoyle over the door.”

“We live in the Spanish revival down the hill. Well, it’s more like warmed-over Mizner, but my husband and I like it. I went over to introduce myself, and Renata treated me as if I’d tracked in something nasty on my shoes.”

“Welcome to the club,” Josie said. “She treats everyone that way.” She carried their empty plates to the sink and asked, “Alyce, can I make coffee?”

“It’s perking now.” Alyce jumped up quickly. She didn’t like Josie meddling in her kitchen. “I’ll bring it in with dessert.”

She returned with more fragrant plates. “This is crystallized ginger gingerbread with warm pears. It’s supposed to be healthy.”

Josie took a bite. “Are you sure? It’s awfully good.”

“Mmm,” Traci said. “Can I hire you to cook dinner?”

Alyce laughed. “Little Justin is enough to keep me and a nanny busy,” she said. “I love cooking, but right now my family is all I can manage to feed.”

When only a few crumbs remained on the plates, Josie said, “I hate to eat and run. But I have to pick up Amelia at school.”

She started to carry her dishes to the sink, but Alyce said, “I have everything under control here. You go get your daughter.”