Murder Is A Piece Of Cake Part 9

"That isn't where I put it," Lenore said. She checked inside. "There's my wallet." She opened it. "My cash and credit cards are untouched. Thank heavens, everything is here. Let's go."

Lenore didn't even thank the waitress. Josie pressed a five-dollar bill into her hand and followed her mother outside.

"How many days before she goes back to Boca?" Jane asked as they waved good-bye to Lenore.

"The day after tomorrow," Josie said. "I wish someone would lock her up until the wedding."

Josie was about to get her wish.

Chapter 10.

Wednesday, October 24 Back at home, Josie slipped off her red heels, wiggled her newly freed toes, and poured herself a cup of coffee. Then she sat down in her office, a corner of her bedroom with a computer and a fax machine on a garage sale table. Josie went online to find string quartets for her wedding.

The search was easier than she expected. Most of the online groups had sample videos or recordings. Several were photographed playing in the Jewel Box. She narrowed down the groups to four, e-mailing each their music selections and asking if they had the date open.

Josie e-mailed her fourth choice, carried her empty coffee cup into the kitchen, and saw it was two o'clock-time to pick up Amelia at the Barrington School for Boys and Girls. The school was financial light-years away from the Marcus family, but Amelia went there on a full scholarship. A full scholarship didn't mean a free ride. Josie had to pay a thousand dollars a year, plus books and fees. It was a struggle to keep Amelia in the school, but she wanted the best education for her daughter.

But she was beginning to dread these short trips to school. Her tween daughter had started speaking another language. "Don't beast me," Amelia would complain.

Sometimes Josie wasn't sure what her daughter said. But she understood one thing: Amelia was distancing herself from her mother.

That was a healthy part of growing up-or so Josie read on the parenting blogs. She still felt sad she was losing her little girl. They used to make "guerilla gorilla raids"-quick, impulsive trips to the St. Louis Zoo after school.

Last week, Josie had said, "Let's go see the penguins. It will be cool."

Amelia had rolled her eyes and said, "Mom, n.o.body talks that way."

Josie hoped there would be no sarcasm this afternoon. She pulled into the school's half-circle driveway. The austere redbrick buildings with white trim shouted money in well-bred tones.

The Barrington students didn't shout, either. Nor did they leave the school in noisy herds. These were the children of old money, power couples, or the doctors and researchers who staffed the powerful St. Louis medical centers. They were precious to their parents, and potential kidnapping targets. The children were not released until their parents or designated drivers were parked at the school.

Josie smiled at the other Barrington mothers waiting for their offspring. Many could afford to be stay-at-home moms. They gave her cool nods, letting Josie know she was not one of them.

"Amelia Marcus!" the loudspeaker announced. Josie's heart sank. Amelia did not come running across the Barrington lawn. Shoulders hunched, backpack dragging, she moved as if she had anvils strapped to her shoes.

It's going to be one of those days, Josie thought.

Amelia tossed her backpack into the backseat and flopped down. Josie could smell her strawberry shampoo. A frown marred her smooth forehead and she'd covered the sprinkling of freckles on her nose with Josie's makeup again. She decided to let it go for now.

Josie tried to kiss her, but Amelia shied away.

"What's wrong?" Josie asked. She carefully steered past a green Land Rover.

"Nothing," Amelia said, her voice flat as a doormat.

"That means something," Josie said. "Are you feeling down?"

"Chill, Mom."

"I'm not chilling. You're my daughter and I want to know."

They were barely out of the school and Josie was already raising her voice.

Amelia responded with surly silence. Josie said nothing.

After a mile, Amelia said, "Oakley, that know-it-all, said Ted was some kind of player because he was engaged to you and that weird stalker. I said she was scandalous and Oakley was dumber than Miley Cyrus, and only an idiot would believe anything as lame as Channel Seven."

This was the ultimate insult. Amelia hated Miley Cyrus.

"Oakley? Is that a first name or a last?" Josie asked.

Tween names at Barrington could be difficult. Josie knew that "old" names like Kathy, Susan, and Linda were never used. Barrington parents preferred unis.e.x names: Dakota, Peyton, Jordan, Sierra, Ca.s.sidy and now, apparently, Oakley.

"She's new," Amelia said. "Her parents are doctors from Boston. Oakley is her first name. I call her Annie and she hates it."

"Wonder why you don't get along," Josie said.

"We didn't even before she saw that video. And she said my grandmother was a weirdo with a gun."

"Jane?" Josie said.

"No, Ted's mother. She's my grandmother, isn't she?"

"Well, technically, she'll be your stepgrandmother, but I doubt Lenore will be happy if you call her that."

"Fine with me," Amelia said. "I don't like her anyway. Her skin's all stretched funny. She doesn't look nice like my real grandma."

"Lenore's had a facelift or two," Josie said. "She's proud that she doesn't have any wrinkles."

"She did that to herself on purpose?" Amelia asked.

"Ted's stepfather did it. He's a plastic surgeon."

"I don't get it," Amelia said. The surly tone was vanishing.

"Me, either," Josie said. "And I wouldn't worry about what Oakley says. That TV show will soon be forgotten."

"Mom, it's gone viral," Amelia said. "Somebody posted it on YouTube. Oakley showed it to me on her iPad while I was waiting for you. Ted's mom is grinning and twirling her gun. She's called *the pistol-packing mama.'"

"How viral?" Josie asked, and ran a stop sign. A burgundy Buick gave her a horn blast.

"Mom!" Amelia said. "You rolled right through that stop."

"Sorry," Josie said. "How many hits did that video get?"

"Thirty thousand," Amelia said.

Chapter 11.

Wednesday, October 24 Josie breathed in the rich, steamy scent coming from her kitchen. "Chicken and dumplings," she said. "My favorite perfume."

"Not quite chicken and dumplings," Amelia said. "I'm making them now."

Changeable as a spring day, Amelia was currently in a sunny mood. On the ride home from school, she and Josie had bonded over their dislike of Ted's mom.

"I know what I want to be for Halloween," Amelia said. "A witch."

"It's only a week away. Are you making a costume?"

"Emma said I could borrow her teen witch costume. It's a black pointy hat and black cape with pink satin lining. She's going as a vampire this year."

"Sounds good," Josie said. She knew Emma wouldn't have a teen p.o.r.n star costume with bustier and thigh-high boots.

"You get to wear costumes on campus," Josie said. "But you won't have the afternoon party now that you're in middle school."

"Parties are for babies," Amelia said. This was her first year at that lofty level.

When they got home, Amelia had finished her homework, chased her cat, Harry, and texted her friend Emma (not necessarily in that order), then announced she was making chicken and dumplings for dinner.

Josie was amazed that her daughter seemed to enjoy cooking. Amelia was at the kitchen counter, expertly cutting the shortening into the flour with two knives, an old-fashioned method Jane had taught her.

Josie pulled two plates out of the cabinet and Amelia asked, "Isn't Ted coming over for dinner?"

"Can't make it tonight," Josie said. "He called and said he had a sudden emergency at the clinic."

Amelia looked disappointed. "He loves my chicken and dumplings."

"Once we're married, you two can cook together every night," Josie said. "I'll do the eating, for better or worse." She smiled, but Amelia didn't notice. She was slowly adding the milk to the dumpling mixture with the concentration of a chemist.

"There," Amelia said. "Perfect. Not too lumpy or too watery. Ted's gonna be sorry he missed these."

She dropped spoonfuls of dumpling dough on top of the chicken and vegetables, then covered the pot tightly. "Now, it has to stay that way for fifteen minutes," she said. "No snooping, Mom. That's why your dumplings are tough and soggy."

"No, it's not," Josie said. "I didn't inherit Grandma's cooking gene."

"You sound proud of that," Amelia said.

"I'm not," Josie said. "I'm proud of you." Amelia had an adorable flour smudge on her nose, but Josie didn't dare say anything in case it triggered another sulk. Hoping for a taste, Amelia's striped cat sat at her feet, ears up, tail curled in a question mark.

Josie reached down and scratched his ears. "No people food, big guy," she said. "Ted says it's not good for you."

"What kind of emergency did Ted have, Mom? Another dog hit by a car?"

"Not this time," Josie said. "A cat ate the ribbon on a balloon. Ted has to remove it."

"Stupid owner letting ribbons near her cat," Amelia said.

"Ted says it wasn't Cath Hoffner's fault," Josie said.

"Cath? The lady who lives down the street?" Amelia asked. "With the cute little girl Kristyn?"

Josie took the b.u.t.ter dish out of the fridge and set it on the table next to the bread and milk. "That's her," she said. "Cath also has an orange tabby named Audrey.

"Her daughter brought home a party balloon on a curly ribbon. Cath thought she'd tied the balloon high on the banister, but the cat got it anyway. She heard Audrey throwing up and saw the ribbon hanging out of her mouth. Cath rushed her to the clinic. Ted x-rayed the cat and said Audrey ate several feet of ribbon. She needs surgery to remove it. Ted told his partner, Chris, he'd handle it.

"Cath said she'd pay for it. She feels bad her cat ate the ribbon. Ted says you'd be shocked how many people abandon their sick pets because they don't pay the vet bills. That's how he got Festus and Marmalade."

"That's how Grandma got her dog," Amelia said.

"Stuart Little really did have a stupid owner," Josie said. "He told Ted to put him down-a perfectly healthy dog-because he didn't want to pay the vet bill. Ted refused and Grandma took him. He's been a good dog."

"I'm glad Harry doesn't eat things he's not supposed to," Amelia said.

Harry jumped up on the table and began licking the b.u.t.ter. Amelia giggled.

"Hey!" Josie said. "You know better, cat!"

Harry stared at her with saucer-sized green eyes, then slid snakelike off the table. Josie caught him. "Time-out, Amelia," she said, and handed Harry to her.

"Aw, Mom, he didn't mean it."

"He didn't mean to get caught," Josie said. "A little time in your bathroom will help him remember his manners. We only have one stick of b.u.t.ter left."

"Couldn't you just cut off the chunk he licked?" Amelia asked.

"He licked the whole top of the stick. He cleans himself with that tongue and I don't care for his brand of toilet paper."

"Ew, Mom, you're gross," Amelia said.

"Not as gross as your cat," Josie said.

Josie expected that remark to trigger another sulk. Instead, Amelia shrugged and carried Harry off to his temporary prison in her purple bathroom. Then the two sat down to Amelia's dinner.