pretty,” Josie said. Victoria’s Secret meant sexy to Josie. She wasn’t ready for a tween vamp. “Did you wear a training bra?”
“I went straight to the big leagues,” Alyce said. “I heard a lot of sniggery remarks about ‘over-the-shoulder boulder holders,’ ‘happy nipples,’ and ‘headlights.’ I spent my allowance on shields to stick in my bras and hide my nipples.”
“I found creative uses for Kleenex and gym socks,” Josie said. “Mom would catch me trying to leave the house wearing my overstuffed bra and make me take them out. You’d think she would have let me keep the homemade padding. I used to wrestle my high school dates who tried to unbutton my blouse and get my bra off. They called me a door hugger and a prude. They didn’t know I was terrified they’d find out I wasn’t as well built as I seemed.”
“Ah, the good old days,” Alyce said. “Those don’t seem like real problems now.”
“Nothing on a par with who killed Frankie, the former mean girl—and used a bra to bind her wrists,” Josie said. “That’s going to develop into a real problem.”
Chapter 8
The Barrington School for Boys and Girls looked quiet—and quietly moneyed. The snow-covered lawns were barely disturbed by footprints. The evergreens were tastefully flocked with snow. The solid redbrick buildings promised security.
The curved drive was free of ice and snow, protecting the offspring of the city’s premier movers and shakers—and litigators. Josie took her place in the pickup line. Her gray Honda was not anonymous in this crowd of BMWs, Escalades, and Lexuses. It stood out like a beggar at a society ball.
Josie opened her cell phone to call Dr. Ted Scottsmeyer at work. He answered. She could hear blood-freezing howls in the background.
“Torturing one of your patients?” Josie asked.
“Fred thinks so. Our new vet is giving the basset hound a manicure. Fred carries on like his nails are being pulled out with pliers.”
More howls.
“I’d like to crawl into the next cage and howl with him,” Josie said.
“Your day was that bad?” Ted asked.
Josie heard the warm concern in his voice. She wished he could hold her now. She would put her head on his muscular shoulder. Ted smelled like coffee and cinnamon with a faint tang of woodsmoke—at least when he wasn’t tending to his hairy patients.
“I mystery-shopped a lingerie store this morning,” Josie said. “A customer was killed after she left the shop. She was suffocated in a mall restroom.”
“Good Lord! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just shaken. I found the body.”
“Let me cook dinner for you and Amelia tonight,” Ted said. “You need comfort food.”
“I do. But I also need to have a mother-daughter talk with Amelia tonight. We’re still on for dinner at Failoni’s Friday night, aren’t we?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. We have reservations. Josie—” He was interrupted by louder howls and spirited curses.
“What’s wrong?” Josie asked.
“Fred escaped. He’s waddling down the hall now. I’d better catch him.”
The bell rang, but children did not explode out the school doors. Barrington students were handled like the heirs they would someday be. Each child’s recognized ride had to be in the school driveway before the principal called a name. Josie watched the impeccably dressed mothers waiting for their offspring. She didn’t care that she didn’t fit in with this crowd. She wanted to give her daughter the best education. Josie endured their sly snubs for Amelia’s sake.
Amelia’s intelligence, plus a small legacy from her aunt Tillie, earned the girl a scholarship to the city’s classiest private school. Amelia was part of the Barrington “diversity” program. Diversity meant Amelia lived in Maplewood, an old brick suburb on the edge of St. Louis. That made her “urban.” Many Barrington
“I went straight to the big leagues,” Alyce said. “I heard a lot of sniggery remarks about ‘over-the-shoulder boulder holders,’ ‘happy nipples,’ and ‘headlights.’ I spent my allowance on shields to stick in my bras and hide my nipples.”
“I found creative uses for Kleenex and gym socks,” Josie said. “Mom would catch me trying to leave the house wearing my overstuffed bra and make me take them out. You’d think she would have let me keep the homemade padding. I used to wrestle my high school dates who tried to unbutton my blouse and get my bra off. They called me a door hugger and a prude. They didn’t know I was terrified they’d find out I wasn’t as well built as I seemed.”
“Ah, the good old days,” Alyce said. “Those don’t seem like real problems now.”
“Nothing on a par with who killed Frankie, the former mean girl—and used a bra to bind her wrists,” Josie said. “That’s going to develop into a real problem.”
Chapter 8
The Barrington School for Boys and Girls looked quiet—and quietly moneyed. The snow-covered lawns were barely disturbed by footprints. The evergreens were tastefully flocked with snow. The solid redbrick buildings promised security.
The curved drive was free of ice and snow, protecting the offspring of the city’s premier movers and shakers—and litigators. Josie took her place in the pickup line. Her gray Honda was not anonymous in this crowd of BMWs, Escalades, and Lexuses. It stood out like a beggar at a society ball.
Josie opened her cell phone to call Dr. Ted Scottsmeyer at work. He answered. She could hear blood-freezing howls in the background.
“Torturing one of your patients?” Josie asked.
“Fred thinks so. Our new vet is giving the basset hound a manicure. Fred carries on like his nails are being pulled out with pliers.”
More howls.
“I’d like to crawl into the next cage and howl with him,” Josie said.
“Your day was that bad?” Ted asked.
Josie heard the warm concern in his voice. She wished he could hold her now. She would put her head on his muscular shoulder. Ted smelled like coffee and cinnamon with a faint tang of woodsmoke—at least when he wasn’t tending to his hairy patients.
“I mystery-shopped a lingerie store this morning,” Josie said. “A customer was killed after she left the shop. She was suffocated in a mall restroom.”
“Good Lord! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just shaken. I found the body.”
“Let me cook dinner for you and Amelia tonight,” Ted said. “You need comfort food.”
“I do. But I also need to have a mother-daughter talk with Amelia tonight. We’re still on for dinner at Failoni’s Friday night, aren’t we?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. We have reservations. Josie—” He was interrupted by louder howls and spirited curses.
“What’s wrong?” Josie asked.
“Fred escaped. He’s waddling down the hall now. I’d better catch him.”
The bell rang, but children did not explode out the school doors. Barrington students were handled like the heirs they would someday be. Each child’s recognized ride had to be in the school driveway before the principal called a name. Josie watched the impeccably dressed mothers waiting for their offspring. She didn’t care that she didn’t fit in with this crowd. She wanted to give her daughter the best education. Josie endured their sly snubs for Amelia’s sake.
Amelia’s intelligence, plus a small legacy from her aunt Tillie, earned the girl a scholarship to the city’s classiest private school. Amelia was part of the Barrington “diversity” program. Diversity meant Amelia lived in Maplewood, an old brick suburb on the edge of St. Louis. That made her “urban.” Many Barrington
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