Footprints in the Butter by Denise Dietz Read Free Book Online Page A

table, I murmured, “Where were we?”
    “Alice Cooper.”
    “Right. Alice Cooper, nee Shaw, wanted to be a Clover, but Wylie wouldn’t let her.”
    “Why not?”
    “She couldn’t carry a note in a bucket, much less a tune. After graduation, Alice sent out monthly newsletters, touting marriages, progeny, divorces, recipes. Alice thought up the reunion. She was so excited. At first Wylie said he couldn’t make it, but he capitulated, obviously. Wylie was a workaholic. He flew his paints and canvasses from New York, and borrowed a friend’s house. That’s where he was killed.”
    “Who would have a motive?”
    “Me,” I blurted.
    “Why you?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I’m a good listener.”
    “Maybe later,” I said, shifting in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs. “Okay?”
    “Okay.” She waited until the waitress had refilled our coffee mugs. Then she said, “Did you kill him, Ingrid?”
    “No.”
    “Anybody else with a motive?”
    “Patty, I guess. Isn’t the wife always a suspect?”
    “Is there a big life insurance policy?”
    “Patty doesn’t need money. At the reunion dance she wore a white number that must have cost a couple thousand. Her bracelet was twenty-four K, her perfume potent, and her ring was so ostentatious it obscured her knuckle. Wylie was very successful.”
    “Maybe he kept her on a short leash, limited but expensive wardrobe. The gems and perfume could be birthday presents.”
    “Patty doesn’t have birthdays.”
    “She has them,” Cee-Cee said, fingering her sweatshirt’s black and white Sylvester. “She just doesn’t celebrate them. Don’t forget, Ingrid. Wylie’s paintings will increase in value now that he’s dead.”
    “I’ve known Patty since kindergarten, Ceese. She has her faults, who doesn’t? But she couldn’t murder in cold blood. Patty won’t even watch a horror flick. She once apologized over the phone because I had scored a chainsaw massacre movie and she didn’t have the guts to watch it. Besides, Wylie worshipped Patty. You can’t buy that kind of pedestal with filthy lucre.”
    “Sure you can, or else the word gigolo would have vanished from our vocabulary. Look, money can’t buy happiness, but it sure helps you to be unhappy in comfort.”
    “That’s a Wylie philosophy. Don’t tell me you like elephant jokes.”
    “Love ’em.” Cee-Cee winked. “Why do elephants have teeth?”
    “To chew their toenails.”
    “Why do elephants have toenails?”
    “So they can have something to chew?”
    “Very good.” She pulled a stray thread from one of Tweety Bird’s guileless eyes. “Okay, let’s chew. Who else was motivated?”
    “Alice. Not because of the broken engagement, but because she was pissed. Wylie ruined her lovely reunion dance.”
    “Really! How?”
    “He acted crazy. Hypercritical. Rotten, like a shiny red apple that’s wormy inside. To paraphrase the young girl who found Wylie’s body, Alice didn’t faint or scream, yet you could practically see the steam rising from her ears. And she pursed her lips. When Alice becomes agitated, she compresses her lips until she looks like she’s blotting lipstick on a tissue.”
    “You said Alice was a mouse.”
    “She is. I think we’re on the wrong track.”
    “Okay,” said Cee-Cee, gesturing toward the waitress with her empty mug. “Who else had a motive?”
    “Dwight Cooper, Alice’s husband. He’s always blamed Wylie for the car crash. By the way, that’s the reason Ben and I split. He was the only male sober enough to drive and Dwight wouldn’t let a girl touch his new convertible. I think we all felt guilty, but I blamed Ben. We argued. Ben wasn’t into politics. I called him lazy and brain dead. He called me an idealistic bitch, and worse. I told him I never wanted to see him again. God, I was so stupid.”
    “You were young. Why did Dwight blame Wylie? I mean, why didn’t he blame Ben?”
    “Because Wylie always made fun of jocks. He drew