Murder Is A Piece Of Cake Part 8

Josie knew exactly who he meant. "What's Molly done to you?" she asked.

She had her hairbrush in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

"Molly was at the clinic, waiting by my car. At eight thirty this morning. Wearing some frilly dress like it was 1950," Ted said. "Kathy was driving me to work. When she saw Molly, she blasted the horn and called 911. Molly dumped a package on my car hood and took off in her blue Beetle."

"A package! Was it a bomb?" Josie asked.

"That's what I thought," Ted said. "I wanted to call the bomb squad, but Kathy calmly walked over and ripped open the package. Molly made me more blueberry m.u.f.fins."

"You didn't eat them, did you?" Josie asked.

"Of course not," Ted said. "Kathy showed them to the police when they arrived."

"What did they do?" Josie asked.

"Nothing," Ted said. "These weren't the same two officers who were here yesterday. They treated the whole thing like a joke. One said he wished he had cute blondes chasing him with pastries. Kathy said that wasn't funny-Molly was dangerous. He finally asked if she'd damaged my car or the property."

"Did she?" Josie asked.

"No. The cop said, *We'll file a report, Stud m.u.f.fin,' and they both drove off, laughing."

"It isn't funny," Josie said. "Are you able to work today?"

"I'm fine," Ted said, and switched the subject. "When is the moms' wedding summit?"

"I'm getting ready now," Josie said. "Jane's already dressed. She went outside to see if her flowers needed watering."

Josie heard a shriek. So did Ted. "Uh-oh. That's Mom," she said. "Hope bridezilla hasn't done something. I'll call you back."

Josie dashed to the front porch, wearing her black pantsuit and no shoes. Jane was standing over the two ma.s.sive pots Ted had carried there yesterday. The morning sun gilded the gaping holes in the soil where the flowers had been.

"Somebody stole my mums!" Jane said. "Those . . . buzzards!" That was the worst B-word Jane used, a sure sign she was furious.

Josie looked up and saw their neighbor, Mrs. M, rolling up their walk like a tank in a flowered housedress.

"Jane! Someone stole your flowers," Mrs. M said. "They took mine, too. I saw who did it."

"Then why didn't you stop them?" Jane asked, exasperated.

"I saw the thieves, but I didn't actually see them stealing," Mrs. M said. "Last night, a carload of young men from the city drove down Phelan Street about nine o'clock, playing loud rap. They were gangbusters for sure. I should have called the police because they stole my Mammoth Football mums."

"Young men from the city"-Josie translated that as "African-Americans." "You mean *g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers,' Mrs. Mueller," she said. "And I don't think they drive around stealing flowers."

"You can laugh, Josie Marcus, but those people start by stealing and then their crimes escalate. Soon they'll be attacking us in our beds. I'm doing what I should have done last night-report this to the police. What about you, Jane?"

"I don't have time," Jane said. "Josie and I are leaving to meet with Ted's mother. To discuss the wedding."

"That's still on?" Mrs. M asked. She raised one eyebrow. "You're letting your daughter marry that Bluebeard?"

"That TV story was one big lie," Jane said. "Anybody with half a brain could see that."

Ooh. A year ago, Jane wouldn't have zinged Mrs. Mueller. Back then she'd been Jane's best friend. She was still a neighborhood power, in charge of the choice committees. But when Mrs. M insulted Josie and Amelia, Jane lashed back. The two women eventually mended their broken friendship, but it was no longer strong.

"Ted is a good man and I'm proud to have him in my family," Jane said. "Let's go, Josie. I'll wait in my car."

She stomped back toward the garage, leaving Mrs. M on their porch, chins trembling with outrage. "You have a civic duty to report this," she shouted at Jane's back.

Josie ran inside and slipped on her stylish new red heels, grabbed her purse, and dashed out the back door.

Jane was still fuming when Josie sat down in the pa.s.senger seat. "I've half a mind to rescind that woman's wedding invitation," she said, starting her car. "She doesn't deserve to be part of your special day."

"Don't, Mom," Josie said. "I want to see what awful gift she gives me and Ted. Ted! I forgot to call him."

She speed-dialed Ted's cell phone. When he answered, she heard the clinic background sounds: arfs, woofs, and an occasional cat screech.

"Ted? Mom's fine. She was upset because someone stole her mums last night. Pulled them right out of the pots. Took Mrs. Mueller's plants, too. Mrs. M says it's *gangbusters' from the city. No, we're fine. Mom's not worried and neither am I.

"How are you after this morning's surprise? Busy. Good. I'm glad that stupid TV show didn't hurt your business. I've gotta go, too. The wedding summit is starting soon. Mom's parking at the Blue Rose Tearoom. Twenty-nine days and we're together forever. Take care. I love you."

"What was that all about?" Jane asked.

Josie told her about the stalker bride's morning visit. "I was talking to Ted when you discovered your flowers were stolen," Josie said. "He was worried."

"How he got to be such a good man with that witch of a mother is beyond me," Jane said.

"I gather Ted takes after his late father," Josie said.

The Blue Rose Tearoom was a two-story Victorian from the days when St. Louis County was mostly farmland. Now it was surrounded by acres of asphalt. The old white house had gingerbread trim and freshly painted blue shutters. Hooked rugs, flowered china, and softly grayed turn-of-the-century photos made the inside cozy. Even on a Wednesday morning, the parking lot was packed.

"There's a good crowd here," Josie said. "That will help the fund-raiser. Alyce's subdivision is selling crafts for the Thanksgiving food bank."

"We'll have to buy something," Jane said.

"And watch what we say at the craft table," Josie said. "Emily will be here selling, and she's Molly Deaver's sister. Alyce says she's nothing like her crazy sister."

"I don't trust anyone in that family," Jane said. "I won't mention our connection to Ted."

"We won't have to," Josie said. "His pistol-packing mama will be at our table."

"Lenore." Jane made a face. "I'm trying for your sake, but I don't like her."

"Me, either," Josie said. "That's her navy Chevy rental car, next to the dented red pickup. Who drives a pickup with a gun rack to a tearoom?"

"At least the gun rack is empty," Jane said. "Do I look okay?" She patted her sprayed gray hair and checked her pink plastic earrings. Jane had been through some hard times, but she had a pleasantly worn look, as if the struggle had improved her.

"You look pretty, Mom," Josie said. "That's my favorite pantsuit."

"Lenore is so chic," Jane said. "I don't want to embarra.s.s you."

"Can't happen," Josie said, and hugged her mother.

Inside, Lenore waved at them from a corner table. Josie recognized her blue suit as a stylish St. John Knit. Her gold earrings were Tiffany diamond starfish. Josie waved back and they sat at a roomy table for four with a fat Blue Willow teapot.

"Josie, your future mother-in-law is a local celebrity," Lenore said. She had a glow that wasn't makeup. "Everyone recognizes me. They've been coming by the table here to look at me-even the men brave enough to come into this place. They want to know if I have my gun. I showed it to them."

"You saw the TV show last night?" Josie asked carefully.

"No, but the nice young waiter at the Ritz did," Lenore said. "He said I was *awesome'-that was his word. The rest of the staff congratulated me. Even the housekeeper knew who I was. What did you think of me?"

"You were amazing," Josie said. She thought that safely covered the subject. She noticed Lenore never mentioned her son. Josie could feel the curious eyes aimed at them. A parade of women pa.s.sed by, taking the long way to the restroom to look at Lenore.

A server in a blue gingham dress appeared with a basket of warm cranberry bread and honey b.u.t.ter. "Remove that bread," Lenore said, waving it away. "It's fattening."

"I'll take it," Josie said.

"Josie, dear, remember your wedding pictures," Lenore said.

"I am," Josie said. "A happy bride makes a beautiful picture." She chose the thickest slice and slathered it with honey b.u.t.ter, then pa.s.sed the basket to her mother.

"Are you ready to order?" the server asked. Josie felt sorry for the stout older woman, forced to wear a girlish dress with puffed sleeves.

"I'll have the eggs Benedict," Lenore said, "with no sauce, no Canadian bacon, and fruit instead of fried potatoes."

"That's just a poached egg on an English m.u.f.fin," the server said.

"That's right," Lenore said.

"I'll have the bacon-cheese scramble," Josie said as she deliberately b.u.t.tered her second piece of cranberry bread.

"And fresh fruit instead of fried potatoes?" the server asked.

"No," Josie said. "I want the potatoes."

"I'll have the same," Jane said.

After the server left, Jane said, "Lenore, what color dress will you be wearing? I'd like pink."

"Fine with me. I'm wearing black," Lenore said.

"To a wedding?" Jane asked.

"I don't buy the old-fashioned idea that mothers have to wear pastels with pearls. That's so dowdy."

Jane's face fell.

Josie knew she was planning to wear her wedding pearls with a pink long-sleeved dress. She longed to stab Lenore, but she only had a b.u.t.ter knife. Change the subject, she told herself. "My matron of honor, Alyce, is wearing red velvet," she said. "It will look good with your black."

"Do I know Alyce?" Lenore asked.

"You'll meet her at the rehearsal," Josie said. She thumbed through the photos on her cell phone. "That's her there. The pretty blonde."

"Rather large, isn't she?" Lenore said.

"Largehearted," Josie said.

"Here comes our food," Jane said.

The three women ate in uneasy silence until Lenore said, "I was able to book the rehearsal dinner at the Ritz."

"Congratulations," Josie said. "I know you wanted to hold it there." They talked about the rehearsal plans and other harmless matters while a stream of diners pa.s.sed their table, some sneaking glances at Lenore, others outright staring.

"I have things to do," Lenore said. "Shall we get the check?" She signaled the waitress.

Finally, Josie thought. She pulled out fifty dollars. "Here's my share and Mom's," she said. "Mom and I would like to look at the craft sale. It's a charity fund-raiser."

"Oh, I could take a look," Lenore said, a queen bestowing her presence on the peasants.

Josie, Jane, and Lenore examined the handmade scarves, jewelry, and other artfully displayed items. A pleasantly rounded woman with golden-brown eyes smiled at them.

"I'm a friend of Alyce Bohannon's," Josie said. "Are you Emily?"

"No, I'm Connie," she said. "Emily's taking a brief break. How may I help you?"

"I want these two wool scarves," Josie said. "And the pink necklace for my daughter."

"I'll take this green pet quilt," Jane said. "My dog watches the soaps with me. This will keep the dog hair off the couch cushions."

"What about you, ma'am?" Connie asked.

"I don't like homemade things," Lenore said. "I'll settle the check at the table."

Josie was mortified. "I'm sorry," she said, slipping Connie an extra ten dollars.

"You don't have to do that," Connie said, "but thank you."

"My purse!" Lenore said.

Josie heard her cry of distress across the room.

"I can't pay without my purse," Lenore said.

Once again, their table was the center of attention. Jane and Josie rushed over and helped Lenore and the server search for the missing Chanel bag. Other customers began looking for it.

"It's not on the floor," Josie said.

"It's not hanging on your chair back," Jane said.

"Here it is!" the server said. "It was sitting on the fourth chair. The tablecloth hid it." She handed Lenore her Chanel bag with the double Cs.