Free A Fashionable Murder by Valerie Wolzien Page B

. . Why not? You’re sure? Well . . . okay. Did Jon say anything to you yet?” Josie sighed. “You’ll tell me when he does, won’t you? Yes, same here. Thanks, Betty. Bye.”
    Josie stared at her reflection in the mirror. Something was going on. Tyler wasn’t answering her calls. That was a worry. But she was even more worried about Sam. Of course, he hadn’t killed Pamela Peel. But there was something he wasn’t telling her.

NINE
    SAM’S MOTHER APPEARED along with their dessert. Josie had talked Sam into ordering crêpes suzette. But Carol Birnbaum was sizzling at least as much as the buttery concoction they were consuming. She didn’t enter the restaurant as much as fly in, mink-covered arms spread wide, eyes dilated, in the middle of a sentence.
    “ . . . what you thought you were doing. Did you think I wouldn’t hear?”
    Sam jumped to his feet. “Mother—”
    “Mother? That’s all you have to say? I have to hear about Pamela’s murder from a woman I cannot stand? You can’t pick up the phone and let me know what’s going on?”
    “Mother—”
    “You call me up and ask me how I’m doing, what’s happening in my life as though nothing unusual is going on and never mention Pamela’s murder!” Carol glanced at a waiter hurrying toward their table. “Bring me crème brûlée and an espresso with artificial sweetener,” she ordered and he turned and dashed back toward the kitchen. “Josie, you poor thing, how are you? Just like Pamela to ruin your lovely week in New York City.”
    “Mother, I don’t think Pamela . . .”
    “What are we going to do about all this? I can’t imagine that you won’t be a suspect unless the real murderer is quickly discovered. I really believe—”
    “Mother, everything is just fine. It’s true that Josie discovered Pamela’s body in my apartment—”
    “In your, her body . . . Josie discovered . . . I didn’t know that. I just heard she had been killed.” A very attentive waiter had pulled a chair over from a neighboring table and Carol flopped down in it. “Tell me. Everything. From the beginning,” she demanded.
    “Mother . . . ”
    Josie decided she couldn’t let this go on any longer and interrupted Sam. “I couldn’t sleep and got up in the middle of the night and went into the living room. I was looking out the window, watching the traffic and people walking their dogs, and I remembered that Sam had told me there were—”
    “That there might be,” Sam corrected her. “I told you that there might be . . .”
    “. . . binoculars in the window seat,” Josie finished his sentence, glancing over at him. Why did he think that distinction was so important? “Anyway, I found Pamela Peel. Well, I found a dead woman and then, after I yelled and Sam came in, I found out that she was Pamela Peel. She was strangled.”
    “I called the police right away.” Sam picked up the story. “Luckily, I knew the detective who came out. He had been on a lot of cases I prosecuted back when I was working for the city. Anyway, he and his colleagues asked Josie a few questions, and the techs took their photos, collected fingerprints, DNA, whatever they could find, and then they removed . . .” Sam floundered for the first time since beginning his explanation, but he quickly regained his composure and continued. “They removed the body and then asked me if I would stop down at the station and answer a few questions later. I did. They did. And then Josie and I came here for lunch.”
    Josie knew large parts of the story had been omitted. From the expression on Carol’s face, she was fairly sure Carol knew too. So she was incredibly relieved when Carol turned to her and didn’t ask another question. “Your hair looks wonderful, dear.”
    Josie grinned—and not just with relief. “Thank you. Betty took me to Elizabeth Arden this morning.”
    “Who cut it?”
    “Mia.” Josie took a bite of her crêpe before continuing. “You know, Carol, I was wondering