Free Dying in Style by Elaine Viets

Lucite stands were gleaming. The pink lump of gum was gone. The basket of autographed photos was replenished.
    “Hello?” Josie said again. No one answered. Josie checked her watch.
    The store closed in three minutes. The salesperson must be busy in the back room.
    Josie wanted to go back there, but decided against it. After her fight with Danessa, she could be accused of shoplifting or vandalism. She should get out of the store.
    Might as well take an autographed photo of Danessa as a peace offering for Mom, she thought, and stuffed one in her purse.
    Then she took a second Danessa photo. For her dartboard.

Chapter 7
    “Josie, wake up.”
    “Huh, what? What time is it, Mom?”
    “Six a.m.”
    Josie groaned and rolled over in bed. She hadn’t fallen asleep until three in the morning. She felt like she’d spent the night on a park bench. Jane had obviously showered, dressed and had her coffee. She was indecently alert.
    Her mother flipped on the overhead bedroom light. It was like a searchlight in Josie’s eyes. She winced and threw the covers over her head.
    “Go away, Mom. I don’t have to get up until seven.”
    This was what it was like to get Amelia up in the morning. Josie was regressing.
    “Mom, why are you breaking into my bedroom?”
    Thank God I wore a T-shirt to bed, she thought. The last time her mother had caught Josie sleeping naked, she had to listen to the “What if there’s a fire?” lecture. Her mother had said, “Suppose this place goes up in flames and the firemen see you naked, Josie?”
    “Then I’ll get rescued first, Mom,” she’d said.
    Too bad there hadn’t been any lectures called, “What are you doing with a naked man in your bed?” Josie couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent the night with a man. It wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon—even if she could get Amelia out of the house for a weekend. Not with her mother bursting into her bedroom.
    “Wake up,” Jane said. “We have an emergency.”
    Josie sat straight up. “Where’s Amelia? What happened? What is it? A terrorist attack?”
    “Your daughter is asleep,” Jane said. “Your problems are a lot closer to home than terrorists. Danessa is dead. And so is Serge, her boyfriend. I saw it on TV. The cops are going to come looking for you after that fight you had with her yesterday.”
    “What? What do you mean dead? Both of them? How dead?”
    “Very,” Jane said.
    “I mean, how did they die?” Josie said. Her mother flipped on the bedroom TV and cranked up the volume. The sound exploded like a dynamite blast. “ST. LOUIS POWER COUPLE MURDERED,” the announcer shouted.
    Josie leaped out of bed and turned the TV down to a level that didn’t crack the plaster. “Shhh. You’ll wake Amelia,” she said.
    Footage of Serge and Danessa at some society event at the Ritz flashed on the screen. Danessa glittered. Serge glowed. They belonged together, a super couple who lived in a rarefied world. They were taller, thinner and better dressed than ordinary mortals. Danessa waved to the bystanders as if they were peasants lining up to see the city’s princess.
    Next Josie found herself staring at morning show anchor John Pertzborn on Fox 2 News. John was one man Josie could stand this early—but only at a distance, on the tube.
    “Danessa Celedine, thirty-one, and Serge Orloff, forty-two, were murdered last night,” John P. said. He looked seriously sincere. “The St. Louis couple were found dead within an hour of each other.”
    Josie listened, but it was hard to wrap her mind around the words. Danessa was dead. That was good, wasn’t it? A dead person couldn’t sue her. A dead person couldn’t take her job.
    She should be ashamed of those thoughts, but little scenes from that nasty fight had replayed in her head all night: Harry’s pork chop jumping in the air. Danessa’s nail pointed at her eye. Danessa’s threats aimed at her career. Harry’s revolting passivity.
    Josie had been so angry,