stretches in supermarkets and malls, but she could shuffle around her home.”
“We know for sure that Frankie was mean enough to insult a disabled woman,” Alyce said. “Here’s how I think she was murdered: Frankie said something ugly. Kelsey rolled into the stall behind her, trapped her in the corner, wrapped the bra around her wrists, ripped the bag off the dress, and suffocated her.”
“Single-handedly?” Josie asked.
“People in wheelchairs can have extraordinary upper-body strength,” Alyce said.
“Then how did Kelsey get herself and her chair out of the stall?” Josie asked.
“Maybe Kelsey could walk a little, like your grandmother. She’s disabled, but looks superstrong. After Kelsey killed Frankie, she pushed her own wheelchair out of the stall, locked the door from the inside, and then crawled out. She was prepared to leave when we came in, so she pretended to be locked out of the stall and asked for help.” Alyce’s voice trailed off.
“What happened to Frankie’s red dress?” Josie asked.
“That sounds far-fetched, doesn’t it?” Alyce asked.
They were on Manchester Road in downtown Maplewood. Josie loved driving this section of her little city. Maplewood was an early suburb of St. Louis. It was like time travel into midcentury America. Most of the buildings were one- and two-story brick with big plate-glass windows. They passed fine restaurants, including Monarch and Acero, and inviting little shops such as Eddie’s Guitars, Cheryl’s Herbs, and Paramount Jewelers. Shops were rich with music, good smells, and sparkling gifts.
“I like your downtown,” Alyce said. “No boring mall stores. Each one is unique.”
“Now that Amelia is interested in cooking, she’s hanging around Penzeys Spices,” Josie said. “I guess I should be happy she’s snorting coriander.”
She turned off the main street into the side street. The car slid and Josie pumped the brakes.
“These big old houses belong on Christmas cards,” Alyce said. “Look at the porch on that one.”
“You should see it in the summer when it’s overflowing with white wicker and plants,” Josie said.
“Your home looks pretty,” Alyce said.
Fluffy white snow decorated the eaves of Josie’s two-family flat and trimmed the bare-branched trees. A light glowed in an upstairs window at 131 Phelan Street, warding off the gray winter day.
“I see a light on in Mom’s flat. I’m glad she’s inside. She shouldn’t be out in this snow. She could fall and break a hip. I wonder who she got to shovel our walk?”
They crunched up the salted walk. Her daughter’s cat, Harry, greeted Josie at the door. The big-eared tabby with the swirly dark stripes grumbled and mumbled as he rubbed against Josie’s boots.
“He’s marking me as his territory,” Josie explained.
“He’s so friendly,” Alyce said, hanging her coat by the door. “Like a puppy.”
“He’s especially friendly if his food bowl is empty,” Josie said. “Amelia fed him this morning. She can give him more food when she gets home. He’s not going to starve in the next hour.”
Soon they were settled in Josie’s warm kitchen with two cups of hot coffee and two plates of marble cake.
Alyce took a bite from an enormous wedge of cake. “Rich and moist,” she said.
“I think Amelia learned to cook in self-defense,” Josie said. “She spends a lot of time upstairs in her grandmother’s kitchen. She hangs out with good kids, too.”
“How’s she doing since her father’s death?” Alyce asked.
“Pretty good,” Josie said. “Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Nate didn’t die, as you so nicely put it. He was murdered, and that made it worse for Amelia.”
Josie felt herself tear up and swallowed a forkful of cake. Alyce reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand.
“I keep asking myself how I could have
“We know for sure that Frankie was mean enough to insult a disabled woman,” Alyce said. “Here’s how I think she was murdered: Frankie said something ugly. Kelsey rolled into the stall behind her, trapped her in the corner, wrapped the bra around her wrists, ripped the bag off the dress, and suffocated her.”
“Single-handedly?” Josie asked.
“People in wheelchairs can have extraordinary upper-body strength,” Alyce said.
“Then how did Kelsey get herself and her chair out of the stall?” Josie asked.
“Maybe Kelsey could walk a little, like your grandmother. She’s disabled, but looks superstrong. After Kelsey killed Frankie, she pushed her own wheelchair out of the stall, locked the door from the inside, and then crawled out. She was prepared to leave when we came in, so she pretended to be locked out of the stall and asked for help.” Alyce’s voice trailed off.
“What happened to Frankie’s red dress?” Josie asked.
“That sounds far-fetched, doesn’t it?” Alyce asked.
They were on Manchester Road in downtown Maplewood. Josie loved driving this section of her little city. Maplewood was an early suburb of St. Louis. It was like time travel into midcentury America. Most of the buildings were one- and two-story brick with big plate-glass windows. They passed fine restaurants, including Monarch and Acero, and inviting little shops such as Eddie’s Guitars, Cheryl’s Herbs, and Paramount Jewelers. Shops were rich with music, good smells, and sparkling gifts.
“I like your downtown,” Alyce said. “No boring mall stores. Each one is unique.”
“Now that Amelia is interested in cooking, she’s hanging around Penzeys Spices,” Josie said. “I guess I should be happy she’s snorting coriander.”
She turned off the main street into the side street. The car slid and Josie pumped the brakes.
“These big old houses belong on Christmas cards,” Alyce said. “Look at the porch on that one.”
“You should see it in the summer when it’s overflowing with white wicker and plants,” Josie said.
“Your home looks pretty,” Alyce said.
Fluffy white snow decorated the eaves of Josie’s two-family flat and trimmed the bare-branched trees. A light glowed in an upstairs window at 131 Phelan Street, warding off the gray winter day.
“I see a light on in Mom’s flat. I’m glad she’s inside. She shouldn’t be out in this snow. She could fall and break a hip. I wonder who she got to shovel our walk?”
They crunched up the salted walk. Her daughter’s cat, Harry, greeted Josie at the door. The big-eared tabby with the swirly dark stripes grumbled and mumbled as he rubbed against Josie’s boots.
“He’s marking me as his territory,” Josie explained.
“He’s so friendly,” Alyce said, hanging her coat by the door. “Like a puppy.”
“He’s especially friendly if his food bowl is empty,” Josie said. “Amelia fed him this morning. She can give him more food when she gets home. He’s not going to starve in the next hour.”
Soon they were settled in Josie’s warm kitchen with two cups of hot coffee and two plates of marble cake.
Alyce took a bite from an enormous wedge of cake. “Rich and moist,” she said.
“I think Amelia learned to cook in self-defense,” Josie said. “She spends a lot of time upstairs in her grandmother’s kitchen. She hangs out with good kids, too.”
“How’s she doing since her father’s death?” Alyce asked.
“Pretty good,” Josie said. “Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Nate didn’t die, as you so nicely put it. He was murdered, and that made it worse for Amelia.”
Josie felt herself tear up and swallowed a forkful of cake. Alyce reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand.
“I keep asking myself how I could have
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