Free Dying in Style by Elaine Viets Page B

glad she was wearing a T-shirt. He said, “The body of Danessa Celedine was found at ten thirty p.m. when a security guard noted that the shop’s doors had not been locked after the mall closed for the evening.”
    Ten thirty? That’s less than half an hour after I left the shop, Josie thought. The fear fire was building again.
    I wonder if Danessa was already dead when I was in her store. My God, her body was probably in the back room when I was grabbing photos. I left my fingerprints on the counter. Josie felt hot with terror.
    It’s not that bad, she thought. The store was empty. No one was inside. No one saw me in that store.
    Except Libby the Chocolate Lady. Smart, alert Libby. She would probably remember the conversation they’d had about Josie’s long day.
    Josie had had other conversations that day, and they were even more memorable. Dozens of people had heard her yelling at Danessa. She’d had the fight in the Suttin office in front of countless witnesses.
    Her porky boss had tried to dump Josie at the first threat of a lawsuit. He’d do everything possible to save his bacon if Josie was involved in a murder.
    Once again Mom was right, Josie thought. The Danessa job was a disaster. I didn’t fight with Danessa. I threatened her. I told her I’d retract that report over her dead body.
    On TV, Danessa’s body was being wheeled out of Plaza Venetia. She was wearing black this time, too. It was full length and zipped up the front, but no one would call a body bag elegant.
    Josie’s fear fire burst into a raging conflagration. It raced through her gut and melted her bones. She ran for the bathroom and began a hot, ugly retching.
    “Josie!” Her mother pounded on the door. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine, Mom,” Josie said, her arms wrapped around the commode.
    “You’re not pregnant, are you?” Jane said.
    “If I am, it’s an immaculate conception, Mom.”
    “That’s not funny, Josie.”
    “You’re telling me, Mom.”
    Josie tried to wash the bitter taste out of her mouth. She felt clammy and sick. She was leaning against the bathroom wall when she heard John P. say on the TV, “A special police task force has been formed to investigate the murders.”
    The doorbell rang.
    “It’s six ten in the morning. Who’d visit us at this hour?” Josie asked.
    “I’ll get it,” Amelia shouted. They could hear her bare feet on the living room floor.
    “Wait!” her mother and grandmother cried.
    Both women charged for the front door. But they were too slow. Amelia came running back, her eyes as shiny as Christmas morning.
    “Mom, Homicide’s here to see you.”

Chapter 8
    “Josie Marcus?”
    She nodded. She was too scared to talk. Her mother stood next to her, wringing her hands. Amelia was dancing on the sidelines in her robe and slippers.
    The homicide detectives flashed their badges. Their ID looked more fake than the cops’ badges on TV.
    The two homicide detectives were a before and after picture. Detective George Waxley wore a lumpy suit he could have borrowed from Stan next door. His tie was fat and striped. Waxley blinked a lot, as if his contacts didn’t fit right. His dome was shiny bald and almost square, but he had a wreath of wispy hair from his ears down. Josie wanted to shave it off.
    Waxley wore no wedding band.
    Detective Michael Yawney had a better tailor and looked like Matt Dillon. He had Oakley sunglasses and a wedding ring. Naturally.
    Why am I looking at wedding bands when I’m about to be arrested? Josie thought.
    “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” the handsome Detective Yawney said.
    “About what?” Josie’s mom stepped between them, fierce as a lioness guarding her cub. “If this is about the murders of Danessa and Serge, my daughter was here with me the entire evening.”
    Great, Josie thought. Mom was lying to the detectives in front of Amelia.
    “How do you know we want to talk to your daughter about the murders?” Waxley the semibald cop said.