Free Accessory to Murder by Elaine Viets

designer Halley Hardwicke at the Dorchester Mall. What do you have to say, Charles?”
    â€œYou ask me, Jinny, what happened to that young man is another case of RWB—Running While Black,” Charles said. “It’s closely related to those other well-known African-American crimes, DWB, Driving While Black, and DWW, Driving with a White Woman.”
    â€œI’m laughing,” Jinny said, “but I know it isn’t funny. Next caller, Jefferson from Moline Acres. Go ahead, sir.”
    This man had the rich tones of a TV preacher. “Denzel Wattsson is one more black man in a long line of local persecution. We’ve had distinguished scholars and other prominent people of color arrested and embarrassed, just because they happened to be black.”
    â€œThat’s true, Jefferson,” Jinny said. “Denzel is a seventeen-year-old honor student at Priory School.”
    Uh-oh, Josie thought. The kid’s parents have money.
    â€œHis seventy-three-year-old aunt had dropped him off at the Dorchester Mall moments before his arrest. The pastor of the Clayton African Methodist Church was in the car with the aunt.”
    Oops, Josie thought. Now the Dorchester was up against a major black church.
    â€œDenzel was running through the mall,” Jinny said, “because he was late for a lunch date with some friends. His only crime was to dress in the fashionably baggy clothes that kids his age wear. When he tried to tell the police what happened, they cuffed him and threw him down on the floor. He wasn’t released until nine o’clock this morning. The police and the City of Dorchester have given him an apology.”
    â€œAn apology?” Jefferson said, his voice ringing with outrage. “Are they going to give him back his day? I hope his parents sue the socks off the City of Dorchester.”
    â€œShould be easy,” Jinny said. “Both parents are lawyers.”
    The denizens of Dorchester City Hall must be a whiter shade of pale today, Josie thought. Good. They were a snooty little city, fat and arrogant from the Dorchester Mall income and a speed trap they ran on Clayton Road. They’d have to hand out a lot of speeding tickets to pay for this debacle.
    â€œWe have Loretta from Belleville on the line,” Jinny said. “Loretta, what’s your take on Denzel’s false arrest?”
    An old woman with a cracked, creaky voice said, “I think that young man was asking for trouble dressing like a gangsta. He played right into the white folks’s stereotypes. If he’d been dressed like Tiger Woods, he would have never been arrested.”
    â€œYou are probably right about that, Loretta, but it’s like saying a woman who wears tight clothes is asking for rape.”
    â€œShe is,” Loretta said, her voice gaining strength. “The Bible tells us—”
    â€œThank you, Loretta,” Jinny said, unceremoniously cutting her off.
    The on-air debate was still raging when Josie pulled into the parking lot at Minion’s Café in downtown Maplewood. Minion’s was a homey little place with light wood, soft blue walls, and handmade posters for church rummage sales and local musicians. Josie hoped it would have a soothing effect on her troubled friend. It was almost eleven o’clock. The restaurant was starting to fill up with the lunchtime crowd. Josie took a seat in the back where they could talk.
    Alyce stumbled through the door a few minutes later. She looked like she’d been on a two-day bender. Her fine blond hair was flat and straggly. Her raincoat belt dragged on the floor. Her collar hung off on one side, and Josie realized she’d buttoned her shirt wrong. Alcohol didn’t do this to her friend. Alyce was worn-out with worry.
    Josie decided chicken salad couldn’t fix this. This crisis called for dessert first. She flagged the waitress and ordered. “Two pumpkin muffins and two ginger