The Snow White Christmas Cookie

Forniaux to draw up his will for him last week. He hadn’t had one before, apparently. Guess who he left his house to? Go ahead, take a wild guess.”

“Um, okay, somebody who has long blond hair and isn’t named Preston?”

“Bingo. Glynis phoned Josie to warn her that Preston totally freaked when he found out. Glynis thinks Preston will contest it in court. She wants Josie to hire a lawyer and stand her ground.”

“Is she going to?”

“Too soon to tell. Josie seemed genuinely stunned by the whole thing. Swore to me that she didn’t know a thing about what Bryce had done.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Honestly? When it comes to Josie I’m not sure what to believe.” Mitch gulped down what was left of Des’s milk. The man did not know how to leave any food or beverage untouched. “Let’s just riff here for a sec. Let’s say Josie killed Bryce so that she could score his megamillions house, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Why would she need to kill Hank, too?”

Des settled back against a big throw pillow. It had been a long, grueling day. Her body was starting to relax. Not her head though. “We know that Hank was a client of hers a couple of months back.”

Mitch nodded. “And let’s say Hank was stealing that stuff from his route. What if he supplied Josie with the prescription meds that killed Bryce?”

“Bryce had perfectly legit prescription bottles.”

“That Josie told us were full at the time of his death. Let’s say she lied about that. Let’s say those bottles of Vicodin, Xanax and Ambien were actually empty. For all we know, Bryce was still using them on a daily basis. We only have Josie’s word for it that he was drug free these past weeks. Besides, we don’t know that those are the actual drugs he swallowed this morning.”

“Agreed. That’s why we need his toxicology results. We also need to take a good, hard look at that suicide Post-it of his.”

“What about it?”

“Josie told us that ‘Just an awkward stage’ was a pet phrase of Bryce’s. That he used it a lot.”

“So?…”

“So we’ve been assuming that Bryce wrote it this morning when he was preparing to do himself in. But he could have written it days or even weeks ago. Stuck it on the fridge or the bathroom mirror. Our lab people can determine how long the ink’s been drying on the Post-it. If that ink’s more than twenty-four hours old, then right away this gets way more interesting.”

Mitch looked at her in astonishment. “I didn’t know they could do that.”

“Maybe Josie doesn’t either.” Des lay there, her mind working through it. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Josie convinced Hank to supply her with some of his stolen prescription meds. Hell, let’s go all the way in and say she’s the one who convinced him to steal the damned stuff in the first place. How did she manage that? We talking about role-playing exercises on her office sofa again?”

“She could have offered Hank something a lot more enticing than her body.”

“Like what?”

“Like a healthy share of the proceeds once she sold Bryce’s house. More than enough money for him to get out of the mess he was in with his ex-wife. He and Josie no doubt talked about his financial problems when she was helping him quit smoking. Mind you, that would mean she knew weeks ago that Bryce intended to leave her his house and that she lied to me about it tonight to cover her tracks. But I have no problem believing that.”

“I don’t either. I also have no problem believing she was doing Hank just for good measure. It’s still the world’s best form of persuasion.”

“Then she bumped him off tonight because he could implicate her in Bryce’s death.”

“And because she didn’t need him anymore,” Des said. “It’s nice and neat. Appallingly so.”

“Wait, I just thought of something. Josie never left the island tonight. I would have heard her car.”

“What if she walked across the causeway and got picked up? Hank’s killer had a partner, remember? Someone else was waiting in a getaway car.”

He tilted his head at her. “Someone like Casey Zander?”

“He’s certainly a likely candidate. I also have my eye on Pat Faulstich. Everywhere I go I keep tripping over him. He was rummaging through the mailboxes when I had Dorset Street staked out this afternoon. And tonight he showed up on Kinney Road-supposedly to plow the neighboring driveways.”

“That’s interesting. I wonder if he has a connection to Josie.”

“So do I.”

“Any idea where Casey was tonight?”

“Paulette told me he was at the Rustic, same as every night. I offered to call him for her but she didn’t want me to call anyone. The woman went totally Garbo on me.”

Mitch beamed at her. “That was totally an old movie reference. I’m rubbing off on you, admit it.”

“It’s true, you are.” She sighed. “Won’t be long now before I’m talking for hours on end about the pulsing cinematic muscularity of Mr. Stan Fuller.”

“It’s Sam Fuller. And just for that I’m going to make you watch The Steel Helmet.”

“Yum, can’t wait. What was she wearing?”

“Who?”

“Josie. You said she showed up here not long after I left. Just wondered if she was wet or muddy or whatever.”

“Her slicker and rain boots were wet. Her hair was dry. So were her jeans and her socks.”

“She could have changed clothes before she came over here. She didn’t happen to smell of whiskey, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. I pumped her a bit about her childhood in Maine.”

“And?…”

“She got surprisingly defensive, bordering on hostile.”

“Mitch, we have to take a good, hard look at her. Will you be okay with that?”

“Sure I will. Do what you have to do. I just have one small problem.”

“What is it?”

“Think about where we’re going with this. We’re suggesting that Josie Cantro is a cold, calculating predator who’s been using her life-coaching practice to troll for juicy prey. That she targeted Bryce, bedded him, killed him and picked him clean. That she’s the proverbial black widow-an evil bitch who has no sense of morality and zero conscience. I’ve spent a decent amount of time around Josie and, well, I’m not there yet. Are you? Do you really think that’s who she is?”

“I don’t know. But I can guarantee you this-starting first thing tomorrow morning, we sure as hell are going to find out.”

CHAPTER 12

“Awfully darned nice of you to do this, Mitch.”

“My pleasure, Rut. Well, not a pleasure. But I’m happy to do it.”

The old postmaster was riding next to him in the Studey. Rut had spent another night in his house on Maple Lane, what with the torrents of rain falling on top of all of that snow. Mitch was driving him back to his room at Essex Meadows, with a stopover to pay a call on Paulette, his grieving protege.

“Don’t know what to say to her,” Rut grumbled. “I never know what to say after somebody’s gone.”

“You don’t have to say a thing. It’s enough that you’re showing up.”

It was a bright, beautiful morning. The air was incredibly fresh. But it was also chilly enough that last night’s