Murder Is A Piece Of Cake Part 19

"So wait," Ted said. "You think that Mrs. Winstid was so angry at Molly for driving her son away from St. Louis, she killed her?"

"It's the only way George could come back home," Josie said. "That's why I need to talk to Mrs. Winstid in Ballwin."

"Tonight?" Ted said. "It's nearly midnight." He looked bewildered.

"First thing tomorrow," Josie said. "Should I register at Tiffany before or after I find Molly's killer?"

Chapter 21.

Sunday, October 28 Josie felt a warm, wet slurp on her ear.

"Mm," she said. She sighed luxuriously and rolled over to Ted's side of the bed.

She felt lazy and languid after last night's lovemaking, and wanted to linger a little longer on his s.e.xy gray pin-striped sheets. It felt wicked good to sleep in this morning.

Eyes still closed, she reached for Ted and felt a cold wet nose.

Cold wet nose?

Josie opened one eye and stared at Ted's black Lab sprawled on his side of the bed. Festus slurped her again.

"Did Ted let you in?" she asked. "Or did you open the door when he got up?" Ted had banished the scratchaholic Lab to his basket in Ted's office last night.

Josie scratched Festus's warm velvety ears until he whimpered, then licked her face again.

"You've been in the pepperoni, pizza breath," Josie said. "You ate Ted's breakfast." She checked the floor on her side of the bed and saw greasy paw prints in the open pizza boxes.

"You've blown your diet," she said. "But I don't blame you. n.o.body should have that much temptation at his feet."

Now Josie detected the aroma of hot coffee drifting in from the kitchen. Was it really eight thirty? She put on her pink satin robe and followed the coffee scent to the kitchen, where Ted was pouring batter into a waffle iron. His chocolate brown robe was the same color as his eyes.

"Morning, gorgeous," he said. "Sleep well?"

She wrapped her arms around him, leaned her head on his shoulder, and felt that delicious flutter. "Never better."

"I thought you'd still be asleep," he said. "I'm making you breakfast in bed."

"I hate to snitch," Josie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee, "but Festus ate your leftover pizza."

"Guess we'll have to get by on Belgian waffles. I'll bring your tray into the bedroom."

"Don't you have to work today?" she asked.

"Not till ten," he said. "On your way back to bed, check out the new bookcases in my office."

Ted's home office was the third bedroom in his rented home. Lined with bookshelves, the cozy room was Marmalade's favorite haunt. The cat snoozed on Ted's desk, next to his open laptop.

Josie thought the two new bookcases were an odd choice. They cut the room in half and blocked the window view of Ted's yard. The backs of the bookcases faced Ted's desk and were decorated with posters. One showed a pack of dogs panting outside the National Postal Museum in Washington, DC, waiting for it to open. The other was the cla.s.sic "Ski Missouri" poster-a skier chewing on a piece of straw in a muddy cornfield.

Now Josie saw why the bookcases were in the middle of the room. Ted had used them to create a second small office with an oak workstation and a cushy office chair. The desk had a two-drawer file cabinet and enough s.p.a.ce for a fax machine and computer. Right now, the desktop had a black lacquer pencil cup and matching in and out trays. The eight oak shelves were bare and the wooden floor was covered with a bold red and black rug. She plopped into her new chair and spun around.

Ted watched from the doorway. "What do you think of your new office?" he asked.

"I've never had such a beautiful work s.p.a.ce," Josie said. "But you gave me half of your office and all your view."

"Along with all my problems and the rest of my life," he said. "For better or worse. In our new home, you'll have your own office. If you don't like the chair, you can take it back."

"It's perfect," she said. She got up, put her arms around him, and rested her head against his chest. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it, but you can admire it later. Your breakfast is getting cold. Off to bed."

Josie's Belgian waffle took up the whole tray. The sweet-smelling confection was crowned with strawberries and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. There was barely room for the pitcher of warm maple syrup.

Festus jumped up on the bed to investigate the waffle, and Ted took him by the collar. "Outside, my friend," he said, and ejected the felonious Festus out the back door. Ted returned with his plate and climbed in beside Josie.

"I'm in a sugar swoon," Josie said.

She was mopping up the last bit of warm syrup when Ted asked, "Want anything else?"

Josie grabbed him by the belt on his robe and pulled him toward her. "Yes," she said. "Something hot."

Last night's love had been quick and urgent. This morning's was slow and sensual.

"You have just the right amount of hair on your chest," Josie said, and sighed. "Some men are hairy all over, even their backs. You have no gorilla growth. Yours is perfect."

"I love your back," Ted said, tracing his finger from the nape of her neck down her spine. "It's so graceful. And you have such a round, pillowy . . ."

"How about some deeper appreciation?" Josie said.

Afterward, Josie fell asleep in Ted's arms. They were awakened by Ted's ringing phone. Ted fumbled for it, and said, "Kathy? Sorry. I overslept. I didn't realize it was after ten. I'll be in the office in fifteen minutes."

Ted leaped out of bed, jumped into the shower, and threw his clothes on in seven minutes flat. He let in Festus and hooked on his leash. They were ready for work.

"I'll wash the dishes and lock up," Josie said.

She smoothed Ted's wet hair into place and gave him a good-bye kiss. Soon she'd do this every morning.

Ted's kitchen was the most impressive part of his home. The owner had upgraded it with sleek dark cabinets, black granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a six-burner stove. Josie loaded the dishwasher and tidied Ted's living room. It was done in basic bachelor pad-a brown corduroy couch, two occasional chairs, and a fifty-two-inch television. The room was spare and clean, except for a light dusting of pet hair.

Josie made the bed, and wished her computer were already in her new office. But she could use Ted's phone. She had a plan to talk to George's mother.

First, Josie called the Blue Rose Tearoom. Rachel answered the phone.

"What's your special for this Tuesday?" Josie asked.

"Cranberry scones with clover honey and salmon and cuc.u.mber sandwiches," Rachel said.

"Perfect," Josie said. "I'd like a reservation for two at noon on Tuesday."

Now Josie was ready for the crucial step. Mrs. Phoebe Winstid was old-school, and that made her phone and address easy to find in the phone book.

She sat at Ted's desk, punched in Phoebe's phone number, then made her voice squeally-girl high. "Mrs. Winstid?" Josie asked. "Mrs. Phoebe Winstid?"

"Yes?" The woman sounded too young to be George's mother.

Josie heard her hesitation and pressed on in a girlish gush. "I'm with the Blue Rose Tearoom and you've won a free customer appreciation lunch!"

"I have?" Mrs. Winstid said. All hesitation was gone. "I don't remember entering a contest."

"We got your name from your son," Josie said. "He said you just loved our tearoom! We're trying to build our customer base in certain St. Louis areas. Each month we choose two suburbs. In October, we're concentrating on Ballwin and Maplewood. Isn't that exciting?" Josie thought she must sound like a cheerleader on speed.

"Is there a catch?" Mrs. Winstid asked.

"No catch, no obligation, nothing to pay," Josie trilled. "But this offer won't last forever. Would you like to join us for a free lunch this week, Mrs. Winstid?"

"I'd be delighted," she said. "This is lunch for one, right?"

"Correct. Perhaps you'd like to lunch with our Maplewood winner, Miss Josie Marcus? Miss Marcus adores tea and she seems like a nice young woman."

And a big liar, Josie thought. But a convincing one, I hope. I'm about to make my final move.

"How about lunch Tuesday at noon?" Josie asked. "Wait till you hear our specials." She squeaked down the list.

"Why, yes, I'd like that very much," Mrs. Winstid said.

"Wonderful!" Josie said. "I'll make reservations for both of you. Just come in and ask for Josie Marcus. You're all set."

She hung up, relieved that her scam had succeeded. She was sweating, she'd been so nervous.

Since she was already sitting in front of Ted's computer, Josie registered at Tiffany to please Lenore. She found a porcelain china pattern that was shatteringly expensive: Black Shoulders Limoges. A sugar bowl was eleven hundred dollars. So were a cup and saucer. If guests really wanted to go for broke, they could buy the platter for $2,250.

She requested four sterling silver picture frames for six hundred fifty dollars, handblown winegla.s.ses at sixty bucks each, and a set of sophisticated Elsa Peretti flatware that was almost five thousand dollars. She added four handsome gla.s.s vases at five hundred a pop, and a dozen hand-painted blue Limoges poches at two hundred fifty dollars each. Josie had no idea what a poche was, but it looked pretty.

Josie doubted that any of Lenore's friends would give her gifts so expensive, but if they did, Josie would keep them in a safe-deposit box and sell them to help finance Amelia's schooling.

From the Tiffany wedding registry, her mouse drifted to other bridal sites. She still needed shoes. Josie found exactly the right pair for her wedding dress-in her size. She clicked and ordered them.

From there, she found herself browsing wedding tiaras on several sites, including eBay. Then Josie saw the photo that stopped her search cold.

It was a tiara with three pearl roses. It looked like the tiara she'd seen at Denise's Dreams.

"Pink and cranberry pearls with green baroque pearl leaves," the description read. "Sure to become a family heirloom."

Hm. That was what Rita had told Josie. She also said Denise didn't sell her tiaras online. The price was nine hundred dollars-three hundred fifty dollars less than it had cost at Denise's shop. The eBay information said the seller had a four-star reputation, but gave no name.

Was this the same tiara from the shop where Molly used to work? Was it somehow connected to her death?

Josie had to know.

Chapter 22.

Sunday, October 28 Josie shut the door on her own domestic dream and drove to Denise's Dreams. After Ted's comfortable home, the bridal shop's picket-fence perfection seemed fake.

So did Rita's smile.

"I knew you'd come back," she said, blond curls bouncing. "Which tiara do you want?"

"The baroque pearl roses," Josie said, and mentally crossed her fingers. She hoped her hunch was right.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rita said. "Denise sold it."

Josie didn't think Rita sounded a bit sorry. She didn't look it, either. "Really?" she said. "When?"

"Yesterday afternoon," Rita said. "Another bride saw it, loved it, and bought it on the spot."

Rita's sad smile was as sincere as a deadbeat's promise that the check was in the mail. Josie didn't believe any bride would pay twelve hundred dollars for a tiara, then turn around and try to sell it on eBay the next day-for much less.

Josie suspected that Rita stole it and was trying to sell it. But she needed a motive. She had to find out if the saleswoman needed quick cash.

Rita's dress looked new-powder blue with puffed sleeves and a cascade of ruffles down the front. She hovered nearby while Josie tried to stare wistfully at the tiaras on display. They were fairy-tale jewelry for princesses, pageants, and personages, she thought. I guess a bride is all three.

"Would you like to look at the pink pearl tiara again?" Rita said. "It's elegant."

Josie sighed. "My heart was set on those baroque pearl roses. Mom didn't mind the price and it was perfect for my dress. I wanted it to become a family heirloom. Could Denise make another one like it?"

"No," Rita said. "Denise's unique designs are her specialty. She used the highest grade baroque pearls for that tiara. Each pearl was different. They can't be duplicated and neither can the design."

So there isn't another tiara like it, Josie thought. I've connected the tiara on eBay to this shop.

"I'd hoped my daughter would wear it on her wedding day. Now that will never happen," Josie said as if she were mourning the loss for the future generations of Marcus women.

"At least look at the other tiara again," Rita said. "Come sit down. Sunday afternoons are quiet. I have time to help you make the right choice. Have some coffee and chocolate fudge."