Accessory to Murder Read Online Free

them up on paper,” Josie said.
    â€œThat isn’t funny,” Alyce said.
    It wasn’t. Soon, more gunshots would shatter their lives. Nothing would ever be the same for Alyce and Josie.

Chapter 2
    Josie could find her way blindfolded to the food court at any mall in America, but she was lost in a kitchen.
    Alyce was a culinary artist. After a stressful morning at the Dorchester Mall, she’d retreated to her kitchen. Every woman fought fear in her own way. Alyce subdued hers with a spatula. She’d cooked all weekend. Alyce was in the kitchen when Josie stopped at noon Monday to see if her friend had recovered.
    Josie’s kitchen looked like the “before” photo in a home-improvement magazine. Alyce’s was the triumphant “after.” At the palatial Estates at Wood Winds in far West County, kitchens did not have porcelain sinks and Formica counters. Alyce’s kitchen was paneled in linenfold oak, like an English library. The fridge was so thoroughly disguised Josie couldn’t find it. Somebody should have stuck WESTINGHOUSE on the paneling to give her a hint. Josie couldn’t even figure out Alyce’s toaster. It looked like something launched by NASA.
    Alyce was a flurry of movement at her black granite island, chopping, whipping, and whisking with arcane kitchenware. Josie watched, fascinated. She had no idea what half those tools were. They looked like they belonged in a dungeon.
    â€œI thought I’d fix us a little brunch before the plumber arrives,” Alyce said. “Would you like an artichoke-and-leek frittata?”
    â€œIf you make it, I’ll like it,” Josie said. She took a seat at the granite island, on the lee side of the slicers and dicers. “Why are we waiting for the plumber? Is your toilet stopped up?”
    â€œNo, I need a pot filler,” Alyce said.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Josie said.
    â€œI’m having a tap installed over the stove to fill my big cooking pots. That way I won’t have to haul them across the kitchen.”
    â€œYou’re joking,” Josie said.
    â€œI am not. Everyone has one.”
    â€œNot in Maplewood,” Josie said. “We city women are made of sturdy stock. We cross vast kitchens carrying pots full of water.”
    â€œSlopping it everywhere,” Alyce said.
    â€œOf course. How else would I clean my kitchen floor? What’s in this martini? It’s red.”
    â€œIt’s a cranberry martini,” Alyce said. “It’s good for you. Something’s worrying you, Josie. I mean, besides that awful business at the Dorchester Mall.”
    â€œThat didn’t bother me,” Josie said. “Theft is a fact of life at the malls. But I admit, the armed robbery was a little extreme.”
    Josie lived in an old suburb on the edge of St. Louis. It was safe by Josie’s standards, but Maplewood had its share of crime. Still, she preferred her town’s eclectic jumble to the lockstep perfection of Alyce’s safer subdivision.
    â€œIt’s no joke, Josie. Those men pulled a gun on an innocent store clerk. Maybe you’re used to that, but I’m not.” Alyce was furiously cracking eggs into a bowl two at a time.
    â€œI owe you an apology,” Josie said. “I did some research. On Friday, we saw the Dorchester Mall die. That holdup was the beginning of the end. It’s happened at other malls: They rent to a store that brings in the wrong clientele. Shoplifting, purse snatchings, and other crimes go up. The advertisers put pressure on the local papers to downplay the crime. That works for a while. Then something too big to cover up happens and the situation explodes.”
    Alyce broke another pair of eggs.
    â€œHow do you do that?” Josie said. “Not a single piece of shell. My eggs would come out extra crunchy.”
    â€œThank you,” Alyce said.
    â€œFor the eggs?” Josie asked.
    â€œFor taking me