bad sign. From the rigid way her mother stood, Josie knew something was wrong. Jane barely unbent to hug Amelia.
“I need to talk to you,” Jane said to Josie. “Alone.” There was a light breeze, but Jane’s sprayed helmet of gray hair didn’t move.
“Amelia, go to your room, please,” Josie said.
The changeling child was back. “Oh, Mom,” Amelia said. “I haven’t done anything.”
“I didn’t say you did. Your grandmother and I need to have a grown-up talk. It’s okay if you want to listen to 101 The River.”
Amelia flounced into her room, then turned up her favorite radio station until the walls vibrated. Good. At least Amelia wouldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Want a soda, Mom?” Josie asked. “I’ve got some cold ones in the icebox.”
“It’s a refrigerator, Josie,” her mother said. “Iceboxes went out in the thirties.”
“True St. Louisans never call it a refrigerator,” Josie said. She took an ice tray out and ran water over it to loosen the cubes. “What do you want, Mom?”
“I want you to listen to me,” Jane said. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“What’s wrong, Mom?” It’s Mrs. Mueller, Josie thought. She complained about Josh and me. The old biddy was waiting for the right opportunity. After a Perfect Cheryl Report, I’ll look like an even bigger loser, groping my too young boyfriend on the porch.
“It’s Mrs. Mueller,” Jane said. Her face had that clamped-down look.
I knew it, Josie thought.
“She wants to ask you for a favor,” Jane said.
“She what?” Josie said. Her voice rose to a near-shriek.
“I knew you’d act that way.” Jane thrust out her bulldog jaw, prepared for a fight.
Josie gave her one. She’d had to put up with a snotty clerk and a cranky kid. A mom with a chip on her shoulder was the last straw. “You’re right,” Josie said. “Mrs. Mueller has made my life hell since I was fifteen, and now she wants me to do her a favor. Well, she can do me a favor. She can get a life and quit watching mine.”
“That was all a long time ago, Josie. She’s—” Her mother hesitated. “She’s in a position to help me. Mrs. Mueller can make me the Maplewood chair of the St. Louis Flower Guild.”
Jane hung her head, as if she was ashamed for Josie to see how much she wanted this honor. Now that she was retired, Jane tried to recapture a little of the genteel life she’d lost years ago. She could never afford to move back to her beloved Ladue. But she did have time for the worthy causes she loved. Jane had long coveted the Maplewood flower chair, but it always went to someone richer and better connected.
“Mrs. Mueller says she can swing the votes if you’ll help her,” Jane said.
That old woman had the political instincts of a Washington lobbyist. She’d offered the one bribe Josie could never refuse. She couldn’t turn down the thing her mother wanted most. Mrs. Mueller was diabolical.
Josie looked at Jane, small, stooped and work-worn, and felt a stab of pity. “GBH, Mom,” she said. She pushed back her chair and held out her arms.
“You’ll do it?” Jane said.
The hope Josie saw lighting her mother’s face made Jane seem ten years younger.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll do it.” She hugged Jane’s tense, tired body. Josie would swallow her pride and work with Mrs. Mueller to keep that light in her mother’s face. “What does she want?”
“Did you know a salesman named Mel at Soft Shoe? The one who got himself murdered?” Jane said.
Bits of Josie’s brain felt like they were cracking offand sliding down her spine. What did Mel the foot fondler have to do with the straitlaced Mrs. Mueller? That woman would turn catatonic if she ever spied on Mel.
Jane must have thought Josie couldn’t place Mel. “He was tall and had dark hair. He always wore a pink flower in his buttonhole.”
Josie couldn’t tell her mother she’d caught Mel molesting her Prada. “I mystery-shopped his store at Plaza
“I need to talk to you,” Jane said to Josie. “Alone.” There was a light breeze, but Jane’s sprayed helmet of gray hair didn’t move.
“Amelia, go to your room, please,” Josie said.
The changeling child was back. “Oh, Mom,” Amelia said. “I haven’t done anything.”
“I didn’t say you did. Your grandmother and I need to have a grown-up talk. It’s okay if you want to listen to 101 The River.”
Amelia flounced into her room, then turned up her favorite radio station until the walls vibrated. Good. At least Amelia wouldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Want a soda, Mom?” Josie asked. “I’ve got some cold ones in the icebox.”
“It’s a refrigerator, Josie,” her mother said. “Iceboxes went out in the thirties.”
“True St. Louisans never call it a refrigerator,” Josie said. She took an ice tray out and ran water over it to loosen the cubes. “What do you want, Mom?”
“I want you to listen to me,” Jane said. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“What’s wrong, Mom?” It’s Mrs. Mueller, Josie thought. She complained about Josh and me. The old biddy was waiting for the right opportunity. After a Perfect Cheryl Report, I’ll look like an even bigger loser, groping my too young boyfriend on the porch.
“It’s Mrs. Mueller,” Jane said. Her face had that clamped-down look.
I knew it, Josie thought.
“She wants to ask you for a favor,” Jane said.
“She what?” Josie said. Her voice rose to a near-shriek.
“I knew you’d act that way.” Jane thrust out her bulldog jaw, prepared for a fight.
Josie gave her one. She’d had to put up with a snotty clerk and a cranky kid. A mom with a chip on her shoulder was the last straw. “You’re right,” Josie said. “Mrs. Mueller has made my life hell since I was fifteen, and now she wants me to do her a favor. Well, she can do me a favor. She can get a life and quit watching mine.”
“That was all a long time ago, Josie. She’s—” Her mother hesitated. “She’s in a position to help me. Mrs. Mueller can make me the Maplewood chair of the St. Louis Flower Guild.”
Jane hung her head, as if she was ashamed for Josie to see how much she wanted this honor. Now that she was retired, Jane tried to recapture a little of the genteel life she’d lost years ago. She could never afford to move back to her beloved Ladue. But she did have time for the worthy causes she loved. Jane had long coveted the Maplewood flower chair, but it always went to someone richer and better connected.
“Mrs. Mueller says she can swing the votes if you’ll help her,” Jane said.
That old woman had the political instincts of a Washington lobbyist. She’d offered the one bribe Josie could never refuse. She couldn’t turn down the thing her mother wanted most. Mrs. Mueller was diabolical.
Josie looked at Jane, small, stooped and work-worn, and felt a stab of pity. “GBH, Mom,” she said. She pushed back her chair and held out her arms.
“You’ll do it?” Jane said.
The hope Josie saw lighting her mother’s face made Jane seem ten years younger.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll do it.” She hugged Jane’s tense, tired body. Josie would swallow her pride and work with Mrs. Mueller to keep that light in her mother’s face. “What does she want?”
“Did you know a salesman named Mel at Soft Shoe? The one who got himself murdered?” Jane said.
Bits of Josie’s brain felt like they were cracking offand sliding down her spine. What did Mel the foot fondler have to do with the straitlaced Mrs. Mueller? That woman would turn catatonic if she ever spied on Mel.
Jane must have thought Josie couldn’t place Mel. “He was tall and had dark hair. He always wore a pink flower in his buttonhole.”
Josie couldn’t tell her mother she’d caught Mel molesting her Prada. “I mystery-shopped his store at Plaza
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