David Handler - The Snow White Christmas Cookie

“Shut up !”

“Would you stop that?” Yolie roared at Toni. “This is a murder investigation, not a slumber party!”

“Mind you, Josie assured me that it absolutely, positively wasn’t what it looked like. That she was simply helping Casey with his self-esteem issues. All I know is I found them buck naked together not two hours after her boyfriend did himself in.”

“She sounds like a real slice,” Yolie said.

“She’s a real something .”

Yolie peered at her curiously. “Have you got more on her?”

“Nothing solid, but something about her feels wrong.”

“I hear you. She one of those perky girl types?”

“Real perky.”

“I hate perky. Always want to punch perky. Why else don’t you like her? Aside from the fact that she’s a blonde, I mean.”

“I don’t recall saying she was a blonde.”

“You didn’t have to. Your neck muscles gave you away.”

“Okay, that’s it. I have to start working on my body language.”

“Is Josie hot?” Toni asked.

“Plenty hot. Although her butt’s kind of big.”

“I thought black people liked big butts.”

“She ain’t black,” Yolie pointed out gruffly.

Des heard a truck pulling up behind them. She turned and looked out of the car’s rear window. “Well, lookie-lookie. This same bad penny just keeps turning up. Excuse me for a sec, will you?”

She got out and strode across the parking lot in the rain. A red Champlain Landscaping plow pickup was idling just beyond the perimeter of the crime scene with its window rolled down so that the driver could get a better look at what was going on.

“Evening, Pat,” she said, tipping her big hat at him. “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, ma’am,” Pat Faulstich said, then gulped nervously. “Just came out this way to plow the Beckman and Sherman places. Saw all of these lights and everything. What’s going on?”

“Someone did himself in, it appears.”

Pat’s eyes widened. “Another suicide? Who is it?”

“Can’t share that information with you, Pat. I haven’t informed the next of kin yet. Did you see that black Passat parked here when you came through earlier?”

“This is my first pass. I don’t usually do Kinney Road at all. Lem does. He asked me to on account of he’s still at the hospital with Kylie.”

“How is Kylie doing?”

“She’s out of surgery but she’ll have to stay there for a couple of days.”

“Take her some flowers. She’ll really appreciate it.”

He considered this, his brow furrowing. “You think?”

“I know. I’m a woman, remember? Are the Beckmans in town?”

“No, they winter over in Bermuda. When I cleared their leaves last month they were getting ready to take off.”

“Do they have a housekeeper or caretaker? Anyone staying there?”

“No, ma’am. They shut off the water, bleed their pipes, all of that. So do the Shermans, who’ve got like five, six other houses around the world. But these rich types still want their driveways plowed regular even when they aren’t around. Well, I’d better get to it,” he said wearily. “Still got seventeen more driveways to do before I can hit the Rustic. I need a beerski so bad I can practically taste it.”

Des watched Pat back up his truck and angle it around so that he was facing the Beckmans’ driveway. Then she started her way back to Yolie and Toni, who were over by the Passat now, getting wet and cold with the techies.

“Who was that?” Yolie asked her.

“Plow boy named Pat Faulstich. I spotted him rummaging through Hank’s mailboxes this afternoon. Thought maybe I had me something until I checked with his boss, Lem Champlain, who confirmed that he’d asked Pat to check the mailboxes.”

“Check them for what?” asked Toni.

“People leave Lem’s money out in their boxes for him. It’s been disappearing along with everything else.”

“They leave money in their mailboxes? Seriously, do they know what century this is?”

Yolie watched the lights of Pat’s truck as he plowed his way up the driveway, powering back and forth, back and forth. “I’m thinking it’s funny him turning up here right now.”

Des nodded her head. “Downright hilarious.”

Those gleefully madcap P alm Beach Story opening credits were just starting to roll when she knocked on his door.

“Come on in, naybs!” Mitch called out, his mouth stuffed full of meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

Josie came in out of the rain wearing a bright yellow hooded slicker and matching yellow rain boots, a plastic bag tucked under one arm. She looked tired and defeated, which wasn’t at all typical of the Josie Cantro Mitch knew. But Josie hadn’t exactly had a typical day. Plus that swollen left eye of hers was turning into a real shiner.

Mitch set his dinner plate down on the coffee table and hit the pause button on his DVD remote. “How’s your eye doing?”

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Still, those ceiling tiles can do a lot of damage. You’re lucky you weren’t blinded.”

She studied him a bit curiously. “I guess.”

“Have you eaten? I made lots.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks. But, please, you go right ahead.”

“Okay, you talked me into it. Have you ever seen Palm Beach Story ?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you absolutely must. Have a seat.”

Josie just stood there, swallowing uneasily. Which, again, wasn’t at all typical of her. “Mitch, could we talk instead?”

He flicked off the TV and said, “Sure thing. How about a glass of wine?”

“A glass of wine would be great.”

He went into the kitchen to fetch it for her. By the time he returned she’d taken off her wet slicker and boots and settled herself on the loveseat next to Clemmie and Quirt. She wore an oversized charcoal-gray sweater of Bryce’s, jeans and thick wool socks. Her long, shiny mane of blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Mitch put another log on the fire, then sat back down with his dinner and resumed shoveling.

Josie sipped her wine. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Positive. Des had to duck out on an emergency call.”

“I noticed that her car was gone. Otherwise I wouldn’t have barged in on you like this. Was it anything serious?”

“I’m afraid it was. Hank Merrill committed suicide tonight. Attached a hose to the tailpipe of his car.”

She gaped at him in shock. “God, I can’t believe it. Hank was such a nice man. And he seemed so happy at Rut’s party. Do they have any idea why he?…”

“You know as much as I do.”

“Damn…” Josie slumped against the back of the sofa. “I guess this makes it official-I totally and completely suck at my job.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Mitch, two of my clients have committed suicide in the same day. That’s not exactly something I’ll be posting on my Web site.” She shook herself and reached for the plastic bag she’d brought. “I wanted to return the Randolph Scott movies you loaned us. Also your collection of Manny Farber essays.”

“Okay…” Mitch cleaned his plate and sat back on the loveseat. The cats rearranged themselves around him for warmth. “Talk to me, naybs. Is returning my stuff item sixteen on your to-do list or is something else going on?”

Josie took another sip of wine, gazing down into her glass. “I had it on my list to call Bryce’s lawyer, Glynis, but she beat me to it. I just got off the phone with her.”

“What did she have to say?”

“Something kind of … stunning. It seems that Bryce paid her a visit last week.”