An Uplifting Murder by Elaine Viets

School,” Josie said. “And dark chocolate is good for your heart.”
     
    “Then let’s not waste time,” Alyce said. “I need some medicine.”
     
    They crunched carefully across the salted steps of Plaza Venetia as a harsh wind reddened their faces. The door to Josie’s car creaked from the cold as she opened it.
     
    Inside, waiting for the heater to warm up, Alyce said, “There’s no such thing as a free bra. I paid for this one in sweat.”
     
    “Now it’s my turn to be sorry,” Josie said. “I thought this would be a treat. Who interrogated you, that smart-aleck Detective Yawney?”
     
    “Worse. Detective George Waxley. He wore this lumpy suit that kept shifting around on his fat frame like gerbils were inside.”
     
    “Waxley was the detective who worked with Detective Yawney when I had that other problem at Plaza Venetia. Does he still have that bald dome?” Josie asked.
     
    “Yes, but it’s not as shiny as it used to be. I was tempted to Lemon Pledge it,” Alyce said. “The wispy hair around Waxley’s ears drove me nuts. I want to do a complete make-over on that man.”
     
    “His clothes are awful. But if I remember right, Detective Waxley is a lot smarter than he looks.”
     
    “He’s smart all right,” Alyce said. “Waxley remembered how I tried to help you when he and his partner wanted to take you into custody for murder. And by the way, that wasn’t a problem you had at Plaza Venetia. It was murder. The killer tried to murder you, too, and you nearly got killed getting away. You solved the crime, too. He didn’t.”
     
    “You didn’t tell Waxley that, did you?” Josie said.
     
    “No,” Alyce said. “I practiced great restraint. Even when he accused me of impersonating a lawyer.”
     
    “You didn’t!” Josie said. “You just said you were my representative.”
     
    “That’s what I told Waxley,” Alyce said. “It’s not my fault he thought I was an attorney.”
     
    “What did he ask you this time?”
     
    “The same things over and over,” Alyce said. “How long did I know the victim? What was I doing at Plaza Venetia with you? Did you look under the door to check for a body? What could I tell him about the woman in the wheelchair?”
     
    “She gave us bad information,” Josie said.
     
    “So I heard. Now they can’t find her or that red dress,” Alyce said.
     
    “We’ll never find her now,” Josie said.
     
    “I have a surprise,” Alyce said. “While I was waiting for Waxley to interview me, I copied down the address she gave me.”
     
    “Brilliant,” Josie said. “You think of everything.”
     
    “No, I remembered what happened last time. If this investigation gets sticky, we’ll be shut out. I’ll put the copy in your purse.”
     
    Alyce dropped in the paper while Josie studied the traffic on busy Lindbergh Boulevard. “You’re never going to get out of here with all those cars,” Alyce said. “The drivers are going too fast on these half-cleared roads.”
     
    “St. Louis is still a Southern city when it comes to winter driving,” Josie said. “We don’t understand ice and snow require a different driving style.”
     
    A speeding SUV hit a patch of ice and went into a three-hundred-sixty-degree spin.
     
    “Did you see that?” Josie asked.
     
    “He’s going too fast for these conditions,” Alyce said. “If there had been a car in the lane next to him, he’d be dead.”
     
    They watched the speeder come out of the spin. “You don’t suppose Kelsey, or whatever her name is, killed Frankie?” Alyce asked.
     
    “Kelsey was in a wheelchair, but she didn’t look helpless,” Josie said. “She seemed young and strong.”
     
    “We couldn’t see her legs,” Alyce said. “They were covered with her long coat. Maybe they were shriveled and useless.”
     
    “Maybe she wasn’t able to walk long distances,” Josie said. “My grandmother spent her last months in a wheelchair. She couldn’t walk for long