Venetia. He waited on me.”
“Did you get him fired?” her mother said.
“That’s confidential,” Josie said.
“He’s dead,” her mother said. “You’re not a priest or a lawyer. It won’t go any further than Mrs. Mueller and myself. But it’s important. We need to know.”
What the heck. The police probably knew already, Josie thought. It wouldn’t be any secret now. “Yes, I gave Mel a bad report. He was dismissed the day he died.”
“What did he do to get himself fired?”
“Uh,” Josie said. Could she really tell her mother this? She looked at Jane’s liver-spotted hands and thinning hair and thought about Mel’s dirty little backroom deeds.
“Josie, I’m sixty-eight years old,” her mother said. “I was a married woman. I had a child. You don’t have to protect me. Young people think they discovered sex, but we had to know about it to get you here.”
She’s right, Josie thought. I’m being condescending. “Mel liked women’s feet a little too much.”
“Humpf,” her mother said. “Well, that might help.”
“Help how?” Josie said. She was completely lost.
“Cheryl is in trouble,” Jane said. “The police think she killed Mel.”
Chapter 7
“Perfect Cheryl killed Mel the perv? I don’t believe it.” Josie choked on her soda, and a geyser of laughter erupted. She couldn’t stop it.
“I’m glad you agree,” her mother said. Those four words should have been issued with a frost warning. “Except
we
don’t find it funny.”
We. That must be the royal Mrs. Mueller and Jane. Josie’s mother sat regally at the kitchen table, a queen prepared to banish a rebel.
That’s me, Josie thought. I’ll be in the doghouse unless I get myself under control. She tamped her laughter back inside and tried to listen with a straight face. In her head, she heard a little kid’s singsong voice: “Cheryl isn’t perfect. Cheryl isn’t perfect. Nah. Nah. Nah.” Josie was gleeful and ashamed, all at once.
“We’re sure it’s a mistake,” Jane said. “Cheryl shopped for shoes at that store, but she would never do the disgusting things those policemen were saying.”
“What disgusting things?” Josie said. “What could Cheryl possibly do that would interest the police?” Or anyone else, she thought nastily.
“I’m trying to tell you,” Jane said. “But you keep interrupting.”
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Josie said. But an evil little snicker escaped her. She couldn’t help it. She’d endured twenty-four years of Perfect Cheryl Reports. It was almost worth it for this moment. Cheryl definitely had both feet in deep doo-doo. Josie had a mental image ofCheryl daintily stepping in something brown and squishy. It would coordinate perfectly with her outfit.
Josie giggled. Her hands itched for her cell phone. If only Alyce could hear this.
“Take a drink and get control of yourself,” her mother said.
Josie was afraid to swallow her soda. She might snort it out her nose if she started laughing again. The police said Perfect Cheryl and Mel the Pervert were doing disgusting things. Considering Mel’s proclivities, that could give new meaning to “round heels.” Josie saw Cheryl handcuffed to a pink chair while Mel tickled her toes with his carnation. She started giggling again. Maybe Cheryl used the carnation to perk up his—
“Josie!” Jane fixed her daughter with a heart-stopping glare. “Are you quite finished laughing at that poor girl?”
Shame wiped away Josie’s smirk. She was behaving worse than Amelia. She expected Jane to send her to her room without supper. Josie hung her head, unable to look her mother in the eye.
“If you’re able to control yourself, perhaps we can have a serious discussion,” Jane said.
Josie managed a nod. She was afraid to say anything. She felt decades of giggles struggling to get out. They could erupt any moment.
Her mother seemed satisfied that Josie was subdued into seriousness. Jane folded her hands,
“Did you get him fired?” her mother said.
“That’s confidential,” Josie said.
“He’s dead,” her mother said. “You’re not a priest or a lawyer. It won’t go any further than Mrs. Mueller and myself. But it’s important. We need to know.”
What the heck. The police probably knew already, Josie thought. It wouldn’t be any secret now. “Yes, I gave Mel a bad report. He was dismissed the day he died.”
“What did he do to get himself fired?”
“Uh,” Josie said. Could she really tell her mother this? She looked at Jane’s liver-spotted hands and thinning hair and thought about Mel’s dirty little backroom deeds.
“Josie, I’m sixty-eight years old,” her mother said. “I was a married woman. I had a child. You don’t have to protect me. Young people think they discovered sex, but we had to know about it to get you here.”
She’s right, Josie thought. I’m being condescending. “Mel liked women’s feet a little too much.”
“Humpf,” her mother said. “Well, that might help.”
“Help how?” Josie said. She was completely lost.
“Cheryl is in trouble,” Jane said. “The police think she killed Mel.”
Chapter 7
“Perfect Cheryl killed Mel the perv? I don’t believe it.” Josie choked on her soda, and a geyser of laughter erupted. She couldn’t stop it.
“I’m glad you agree,” her mother said. Those four words should have been issued with a frost warning. “Except
we
don’t find it funny.”
We. That must be the royal Mrs. Mueller and Jane. Josie’s mother sat regally at the kitchen table, a queen prepared to banish a rebel.
That’s me, Josie thought. I’ll be in the doghouse unless I get myself under control. She tamped her laughter back inside and tried to listen with a straight face. In her head, she heard a little kid’s singsong voice: “Cheryl isn’t perfect. Cheryl isn’t perfect. Nah. Nah. Nah.” Josie was gleeful and ashamed, all at once.
“We’re sure it’s a mistake,” Jane said. “Cheryl shopped for shoes at that store, but she would never do the disgusting things those policemen were saying.”
“What disgusting things?” Josie said. “What could Cheryl possibly do that would interest the police?” Or anyone else, she thought nastily.
“I’m trying to tell you,” Jane said. “But you keep interrupting.”
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Josie said. But an evil little snicker escaped her. She couldn’t help it. She’d endured twenty-four years of Perfect Cheryl Reports. It was almost worth it for this moment. Cheryl definitely had both feet in deep doo-doo. Josie had a mental image ofCheryl daintily stepping in something brown and squishy. It would coordinate perfectly with her outfit.
Josie giggled. Her hands itched for her cell phone. If only Alyce could hear this.
“Take a drink and get control of yourself,” her mother said.
Josie was afraid to swallow her soda. She might snort it out her nose if she started laughing again. The police said Perfect Cheryl and Mel the Pervert were doing disgusting things. Considering Mel’s proclivities, that could give new meaning to “round heels.” Josie saw Cheryl handcuffed to a pink chair while Mel tickled her toes with his carnation. She started giggling again. Maybe Cheryl used the carnation to perk up his—
“Josie!” Jane fixed her daughter with a heart-stopping glare. “Are you quite finished laughing at that poor girl?”
Shame wiped away Josie’s smirk. She was behaving worse than Amelia. She expected Jane to send her to her room without supper. Josie hung her head, unable to look her mother in the eye.
“If you’re able to control yourself, perhaps we can have a serious discussion,” Jane said.
Josie managed a nod. She was afraid to say anything. She felt decades of giggles struggling to get out. They could erupt any moment.
Her mother seemed satisfied that Josie was subdued into seriousness. Jane folded her hands,
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