The Snow White Christmas Cookie

“For breakfast in bed this morning Bryce Peck washed down a boatload of Vicodin, Xanax and Ambien with a fifth of Cuervo Gold. I saw no sign of a struggle. No bruises. No scratches. Nothing in the room was disturbed. Bryce had a long history of depression and substance abuse. He left a handwritten note. And he died out on Big Sister. It’s a private island. No one else was out there this morning besides Bryce, Mitch and Bryce’s live-in girlfriend, Josie Cantro. Josie and Mitch went out running together for about an hour. She found Bryce when she got home. Like I said, to me it played suicide. But I could have missed something. You may want to fast track his autopsy. The M.E. doesn’t usually get around to suicides for days.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Yolie said, shoving her lower lip in and out. “Bryce Peck OD’d on prescription meds. Any chance he was mixed up in stealing the meds from Hank Merrill’s route?”

“Anything’s possible, but I kind of doubt it. Bryce was a loner.”

“Well, is there any connection at all between the two men?”

“Josie Cantro. Both men were clients of hers. She’s a life coach.”

Yolie raised her eyebrows. “She’s a what?”

“Life coach. One of those gung-ho types who help you to lose weight or whatever.”

“Oh, is that what those bitches are calling themselves now?”

“Before Josie moved in with Bryce she was helping him get off of the Vicodin and Xanax. She helped Hank quit smoking. It so happens she’s also treating Paulette’s twenty-eight-year-old son, Casey.”

“Wheels within wheels,” Yolie said with a shake of her head. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell us Casey’s a mail carrier, too.”

Des nodded. “Part-time.”

“Shut up!” Toni exclaimed.

“And I haven’t even brought out the real funk. I walked in on Casey and Josie getting busy on her office sofa this morning. They like it rough.”

“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.”

CHAPTER 10

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.”