"Josie, didn't you ever make any bad romantic choices?"

"Way too many, Alyce. That's why I don't want to make one more."

Chapter 26.

The men's department of the West County Vandeventer store had manly dark paneling. The display shelves looked like they'd been beaten with chains-and so did the mannequins. One fellow with waves of yellow plaster hair had a chipped nose.

Gray trails were worn into the navy carpet. Two dusty holiday wreaths did nothing to spread Christmas cheer.

"It's sad to see the Vandeventer stores in this shape," Alyce said.

"They used to be so elegant," Josie said. "When I was a kid, my mom took me downtown every Christmas to see the Vandeventer display windows. No wonder this chain is in trouble. The merchandise is tossed on the tables like a rummage sale."

Three clerks leaned against a wall, laughing and talking. A fourth shouted into a cell phone, "I'm not coming to Christmas dinner at Aunt Karen's. She's a hundred years old."

"My questionnaire asks if I was greeted by the sales staff when I entered the department," Josie said, "and if I was shown the item I wanted. It wants to know if the department is neat and clean and the items properly presented. The staff is supposed to be folding stock. Instead, they're holding a party. I'm going to have to give them a bad report. I hate doing that, especially at Christmas."

"Won't they lose their jobs?" Alyce said.

"My boss says the chain will probably close after the holidays, so they'll lose them anyway," Josie said.

"Where are their supervisors?" Alyce said. "I don't see a single manager on duty. They should be out here helping, too."

Josie yanked on the sleeve of a medium blue sweater and pulled it out of a jumble. It was cashmere, marked down to seventy dollars. "What do you think of this as a Christmas present for Mike? It's the same color as his eyes."

"A sweater?" Alyce said. "His mother can give him sweaters. Men hate clothes as gifts. It's not very romantic."

"Things aren't romantic for us right now," Josie said. "At least I'll give him something warm."

"I have a better suggestion," Alyce said.

Josie looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I'm going to have to break up the party over there. I'm getting cobwebs waiting for the staff to wait on me."

Josie walked over to a man mountain with haystack hair and a FRED name tag.

"Excuse me," she said.

Fred ignored her.

"Excuse me." Josie stepped into the middle of the party. "I'd like to buy this sweater." She held it up, retail exhibit A.

"Sorry, dudes," Fred said, apologizing to his friends for the unexpected customer interruption. He ambled over to the cash register, mumbling to himself. He was charmless enough to be Heather's older brother. Fred rang up the sweater and shoved it into a bag.

"Merry Christmas," Josie said.

Fred ignored her.

Josie and Alyce walked outside to the empty parking lot.

"Anyone who thinks shopping for a living is glamorous has never worked this job," Josie said. "Now we have to drive twenty-five miles to South County and return the same sweater. I'd better call Mom and ask her to pick up Amelia at school."

"You're lucky your mom is available at a moment's notice," Alyce said.

"Mom can be cranky, but she really pitches in when I need her."

Josie speed-dialed Jane on her cell. "Mom, I have to drive to South County. Can you pick up Amelia? Thanks. I was just telling Alyce how lucky I was to have you for a mom.

"I have a question: What do you know about that poor woman who was poisoned by antifreeze, Sheila Whuttner? She lived in Maplewood."

Josie repeated what her mother told her for Alyce's benefit.

"I figured you'd know her. Mrs. Whuttner was active in the St. Philomena Women's Society. Retired from the phone company a year ago. She used to live in Dogtown. Really? That's around the corner from Mike's home. She moved to Maplewood and remarried a widower who went to our church. Was it a happy marriage? They were cuddling like teenagers and Mrs. Mueller was shocked by their behavior? Sounds happy to me.

"Your network is amazing, Mom. What about her daughter, Lorraine? No, I don't think she lives in Maplewood. Right. Well, if anyone will know, it's Mrs. Mueller. She's our own private Neighborhood Watch program. No, Mom, I wasn't making fun of her. I know she's your friend."

Josie hung up the phone. "Let's return that sweater."

"How's Amelia?" Alyce said.

"She's having a hard time," Josie said. "She misses her father and she's mad at me for lying. But her grandfather had a talk with her and I think he helped."

"Death is tough for kids," Alyce said.

"It's not easy for grown-ups, either," Josie said.

The visit to the second Vandeventer store in South County went smoothly. The store was so empty Josie's and Alyce's voices echoed in the vast s.p.a.ce. No shoppers disturbed the neatly displayed stock. The return line had no customers. The staff rushed to their stations to help. Josie and Alyce were out in less than ten minutes.

"That was better," Josie said, sighing with relief. "I can give this store a good report."

On the walk to the car, her cell phone rang. Josie checked the display. "I have to take this. It's Mike."

Alyce hung back discreetly while Josie talked. Mike sounded distracted. "Uh, hi, Josie. Sorry I haven't called. The cops have been here again, asking me about my antifreeze. I wished I'd listened to Heather. She wanted me to switch to the so-called safer antifreeze, because of my dog, Chudleigh. But I didn't want the ha.s.sle of flushing my radiator. Besides, Chudleigh won't drink antifreeze unless it comes in a can marked Alpo. He's too smart, but I'm not. I should have done what my daughter asked. The police have a credit-card receipt proving I bought enough antifreeze to kill all the dogs in Dogtown."

"When?" Josie asked.

"Two days before the Elf House poisoning."

"I'm sorry, Mike."

"Not as sorry as I am. I'll probably have to get a lawyer. I've been meaning to call, but I've been busy."

"Been working on that kitchen?" Josie said.

"Kitchen?" Mike sounded puzzled. "What kitchen? Oh, yeah, the kitchen."

"Did you know that the lady who was poisoned the same day as Nate used to be your neighbor?"

"Who?" Mike said.

"Sheila Whuttner."

"I guess so," Mike said. "The neighborhood is full of indestructible ladies. Most of them are friends with my mom."

"What about Heather? Are you getting her into an AA program for her drinking?"

"No," Mike said. "She was just being a kid."

"Mike, she's fourteen and she was drunk and angry. That's a bad combination."

"Well, I'll watch her. If I see anything wrong, I'll take her to a counselor," Mike said.

Josie was sure Mike would never see any faults in his daughter.

"Gotta go," Mike said. "That's my other cell phone. See you." He hung up.

Josie stared at her cell phone and nearly wept. Mike didn't have two cell phones. Or maybe he did. Some men kept another phone for their new lovers. Maybe he was doing more with that blonde than remodeling her kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Alyce asked.

"I think Mike just gave me the brush-off," Josie said. "He's still mad because Mrs. Mueller reported him to the police. They've questioned him twice."

"That woman is a menace," Alyce said. "What are you going to do about Mike?"

"What can I do?" Josie said. "I can't beg the guy to love me."

"No, but I bet if you found the killer, things would go back to the way they were."

"I wish, Alyce, but I don't think it will work that way. We've got serious problems. I love Mike, but I can't stand his daughter, and she's a troublemaker. Amelia comes first in my life. I made that choice ten years ago.

"Besides, what good would it do for me to look for the killer? I don't have the police resources, their training, or their investigative technique. I can't flash a badge and make people talk to me."

"But people don't talk just because a police officer flashes a badge," Alyce said. "Sometimes they clam up. The police don't have your mother and Mrs. Mueller, two of the best detectives in Maplewood. The police are bound by the law and rules of evidence. Your investigation isn't. Mrs. Mueller has ways of getting information out of people that would get the police sued. You have your own advantages. All you have to do is find the killer."

"That's all?" Josie asked. "How can I do that? We don't even know why Nate and Sheila Whuttner died."

"Then we'll have to find out. Who has the best reason to kill Nate?"

"The police think I do, because Nate was threatening to kidnap Amelia and take her to Canada. Mrs. Mueller heard him yell it to the whole block. Plus, I'll get a hundred thousand in insurance money, though Nate wanted it to be used for Amelia's education, and that's fine with me. But it still looks like a motive when I have sixty-three dollars in the bank.

"Then there's Mike. He bought antifreeze right before the poisonings, and they think he wanted to eliminate Nate as a rival, but that's ridiculous. Nate and I were over years ago. Nate had some sc.u.mmy friends from his drug-dealing days, but I can't see them poisoning him."

"So we don't know who wanted to kill Nate or why," Alyce said. "But you and Mike are off my suspect list."

"What about Mrs. Whuttner?" Josie said. "Mom says she was happily married. It doesn't sound like her new husband wanted her dead."

"Let's check out the daughter, Lorraine," Alyce said. "I'll get her address from directory a.s.sistance."

Alyce fiddled with her cell phone for a few minutes and then said, "Lorraine lives in an apartment about ten minutes from here. I have some extra time. Jake doesn't come home until nine, and the nanny works late. Should I call Lorraine?"

"No, let's surprise her," Josie said.

Lorraine lived in Whispering Willows Apartments. The complex was nowhere near as pretty as its name. It was a brick shoe box surrounded by acres of gray asphalt.

Josie and Alyce knocked on Lorraine's door. Then they pounded-hard. No one answered.

"I wonder if she can hear our knocking over the next-door neighbor's television," Josie said.

"There isn't much whispering going on at this place," Alyce said, "unless you count the traffic from the highway."

The door next to Lorraine's apartment opened suddenly. A bag of wrinkles in a flowered housecoat said, "She isn't home." A cigarette dangled out of the old woman's mouth. Josie was fascinated by the network of lines on her face and the way her red lipstick crept into the crevices.

"Do you mean Lorraine?" Josie asked.

"Lorraine isn't good enough for her, though that's the name her mother gave her," the old woman said. "She wants everyone to call her Lori. Thinks it's more lah-de-dah. She says 'Lorraine' sounds like a truck-stop waitress, though why there's anything wrong with making an honest living is beyond me. You from the police?"

"Have the police been to see you?" Josie asked.

"h.e.l.l, no, and they ought to. The things I could tell them. What are you, lawyers or something?"

"Ah," Alyce said, anxious to tell the truth.

"Alyce represents me," Josie said, which was as close to the truth as she wanted to get.

"You aren't working for the lawyer she hired to sue that poor Elf House lady, are you? I could tell them a thing or two."

"Definitely not," Josie said. "And we'd love to hear what you have to say."

"Well, step right in. My name is Myrtle, and that's not a lah-de-dah name, either. I've got plenty to tell you."

Myrtle shooed them in like a flock of chickens. Josie had to fight to keep from wrinkling her nose. Myrtle's tiny apartment smelled like an ashtray, with top notes of tomato soup. The living room was barely big enough for a faded maroon couch, a black Naugahyde recliner, and an ancient Philco television. The TV's rabbit-ear antenna was topped by aluminum-foil flags for better reception. Josie hadn't seen one of those since she was a kid. The white lampshades were yellowed by cigarette smoke.

Myrtle walked over and turned off the loud TV.

"Is Lorraine-I mean, Lori-at work?" Josie asked.

"Work? Don't make me laugh. She's seeing her lawyer. She aims to win that lawsuit against the radio station and get her mother's prize money. That's all she cared about, the money."

"Do you think she poisoned her mother?" Josie asked.

"I'm no fan of little Miss Lori, but there's no way she could have killed her mother. Lori was up in Chicago the day her mom got sick, so she couldn't have put the poison in that chocolate. Ted, Sheila's new husband, called Lori with the bad news. She came tearing back to St. Louis in four hours and rushed into the hospital, crying and screaming that her mother had been in perfect health.

"It wasn't true. Sheila only had six months left to live, if she was lucky. The woman told me so herself. Sheila had a bad heart. I'll tell you who has the bad heart-her worthless daughter. That girl is man crazy. Runs after anything in pants. Now that she's coming into some money, she may be able to keep them longer."