Murder With All the Trimmings Read online

  About half of Amelia’s class had their own phones. Amelia had been campaigning for one.

  “And the dog next door barked all night. I couldn’t sleep.”

  Josie refused to expose her daughter to more of Heather’s snide remarks, even at Mike’s suggestion. “Uh, I’ll see if Amelia has plans,” she said.

  “She doesn’t have plans,” Heather said. “Who’d want to hang with a dork like her?”

  Josie longed to slap that sneer off the kid’s face, but she didn’t believe in hitting children.

  “That’s enough,” Mike said.

  “She’s lame, Daddy,” Heather whined. “She’s a baby. I’m five years older. I should be paid to babysit.”

  “I’ll drive by the shop tomorrow night, if you want to go to Josie’s house,” Mike said.

  Doreen poked her witchy face between her husband and daughter. “Right. Don’t consult me. What do I know? I’m only her mother. Don’t teach your daughter any responsibility, Mike. Let her grow up to be shiftless shanty Irish like your family.”

  Mike was shiftless? Josie resented the slur on Mike’s ancestry. His family worked hard. His mother was a cleaning woman. His brothers were in the family plumbing business with Mike. Mike was on twenty-four-hour call at least twice a week for plumbing emergencies.

  Not your child, not your fight, she reminded herself. But Josie hated her silence. In her mind it was cowardly. Josie believed if you didn’t speak out against prejudice, then you agreed with it.

  “I’d better go,” Mike said. He threw down more than enough cash to cover their food. “I’ll take the rest of my shiftless Irish money with me.” He slammed out of the shop. The tinkling bell jarred Josie’s nerves.

  “Thank you for the cake,” Josie said, and followed him outside.

  Mike was sitting in his truck, taking deep, calming breaths. “I can’t believe I got suckered into fatherhood by that woman,” he said. “My daughter will grow up as nasty as her mother.”

  “She’s just a teenager,” Josie said, though she secretly agreed with him. “Mike, it would be good if our girls got along, but it’s not going to work. Not at this age. Five years is nothing to adults, but it’s an unbridgeable gulf at fourteen. Heather is embarrassed to hang around with someone as young as Amelia. She wouldn’t want her around even if they were sisters.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt Heather to be nice,” Mike said.

  “Don’t try to force this friendship,” Josie said. “Heather is welcome to sit at my house and watch TV tomorrow night. I’ll order pizza.”

  “Really?” Mike said. “I’m on standby tomorrow. I have to be by the phone for all those clogged toilets. I’d love to hang out at your house and eat pizza with you, but I know I’ll get an emergency call. Are you sure you won’t mind having her?”

  “Of course not,” Josie lied. “I feel sorry for her. If the kids at her school ever see those pornaments, Heather will never live it down.”

  “That’s going to stop,” Mike said, gritting his teeth. “My daughter isn’t going to hustle porn.”

  “Can we stop at Elsie’s Elf House and get Amelia a chocolate snowman?” Josie asked. “She loves them.”

  “Uh, now is not a good time,” Mike said. “If Doreen sees me going over there, I’m a dead man. She watches that parking lot like the military patrols the Iraqi border.”

  “She must hate what she sees,” Josie said. “All those cars stopping at someone else’s shop.”

  “Some people have the nerve to park in Doreen’s lot,” Mike said. “She runs out and screeches at them. They leave and never come back. That’s why she has all those empty parking spaces. Tell you what: Is there something else that Amelia likes besides the chocolate snowman?”

  “Cotton candy ice cream from MaggieMoo’s.”

  “Then let’s go get her some,” Mike said. “Does the ice cream really have cotton candy in it?”

  “Yep. All that sugar makes my teeth ache,” Josie said. “But Amelia loves it.”

  “Then she’ll have it,” Mike said. He bought Amelia four scoops of her favorite flavor.

  When they got to Josie’s home, Mike walked her to the door and kissed her. Josie felt a tingle that started in her suede boots. She gave a little sigh.

  “I love that sexy sound. It’s what keeps me coming back.” Mike kissed her again. “I love you.”

  Josie could see the night stars over his shoulder—and the dark cloud of Mrs. Mueller at her upstairs window. Josie’s neighbor was peeking out her blinds.

  “I’ve got to go,” Josie said.

  “Are you angry at me?” Mike said.

  “No, we’re putting on a show for my nosy neighbor,” Josie said.

  “Then let’s give her something to really watch,” Mike said, and kissed Josie until she was breathless.

  Watch that, you lonely old bat, Josie thought. I bet Mr. Mueller never kissed you half so hard.

  She pulled away reluctantly.

  “I have to go inside. Amelia’s ice cream will melt,” Josie said.

  “Are you sure?” Mike asked.

  Josie was sure. If the ice cream didn’t turn into a puddle, she would.

  “Why don’t you drop off the ice cream and come back to my place?” he asked.

  “I can’t tonight. But later in the week, Amelia can sleep upstairs at Mom’s and I can stay with you.”

  Josie kissed Mike again and waved to Mrs. Mueller. The blinds snapped shut as Josie escaped inside, hair tousled and face pink. She ran smack into Amelia, hovering on the other side of the door.

  “Looks like you’ve been having fun,” her daughter said. Josie could hear her disapproval.

  “Look what Mike got you,” Josie said, holding out the bag of ice cream.

  Amelia tore the lid off the container. “Cotton candy! My fave,” she said.

  “He’ll have something a little less fave for you tomorrow night,” Josie said.

  “Oh, no. I am not spending any more time with Heather.” Amelia made gagging motions.

  “Look, Amelia, I know she’s not your best friend,” Josie began.

  “Best friend! She’s a loser face, Mom.”

  “Loser face” was Amelia’s latest condemnation. Josie had no idea what it meant, but she wanted to head off criticism of Heather before she ended up agreeing with her child.

  Josie rummaged in the hall closet among the old umbrellas and tote bags and pulled out a worn photo album. “You can take these pictures of your father to school if you want,” she said. “For your class project.”

  “Don’t need them now,” Amelia said. “The teacher dropped the project. Too many blended families. The parents protested.”

  Josie felt cheered. She wasn’t the only one with an unconventional family.

  “Mom, are you sure Dad is dead?” Amelia asked. She was scraping the last ice cream out of the container.

  “Positive,” Josie said.

  “You’re not lying to me?”

  “Why would I do that?” Josie asked.

  “Because it’s easier,” Amelia said.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m bored.”

  Only a teenager could put that much anguish into two words. You’d have thought Heather had been in solitary confinement for decades.

  Mike’s miserable daughter had been at Josie’s house exactly fifteen minutes. She commandeered the TV remote, flipped through the cable channels without asking permission, sighed dramatically, and complained.

  “Where’d you get this cheap cable?” Heather asked. “This TV is a friggin’ antique. Who used to watch this piece of crap, Looey the Fifteenth?”

  “Louis the Fifteenth didn’t have a TV, loser face,” Amelia said.

  “Thank you, Miss History Channel,” Heather said.

  Josie wanted to set Heather out on the porch like a surly cat. She wished Mike were here. He’d shown up with his daughter and two pepperoni pizzas, hoping to settle in for the evening. His cell phone rang before he could even sit down.
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  “Sorry,” Mike had said. He slid the pizzas onto the coffee table and took the call in the kitchen. He came back into Josie’s living room looking disappointed. “Sounds like a busted stack pipe in one of those big old houses on Utah Place in South St. Louis. This could be an all-nighter.”

  “My dad, Captain Shithead,” Heather said. “Savior of toilets in distress.”

  Josie waited for Mike to reprimand his daughter. Instead he gave a sickly smile, grabbed a slice of pizza, and said, “Sorry, have to go.” Josie got a greasy kiss on the cheek and he was out the door, leaving his daughter behind.

  After insulting Josie’s TV, Heather flopped on the couch and started texting her friends at school. Amelia stared at her in disbelief.

  “What’s the matter, Baby?” Heather said. “Mommy won’t let you have a cell phone?”

  “I don’t want one,” Amelia said. “I have a life.”

  “Fucking liar,” Heather said. “You don’t have any friends to text.”

  “That’s enough,” Josie said. “We don’t talk that way in this house.”

  “We don’t talk that way in this house,” Heather mimicked.

  “Would you like to go back to your mother’s Christmas store?” Josie said. “I’ll be happy to drive you there.”

  “Good idea,” Amelia said.

  Heather stood up, pulled on her hoodie, and crammed a slice of pizza into her mouth. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced.

  Seconds later, Josie could hear the girl rummaging in her fridge.

  “May I help you?” Josie called from the living room.

  “I’m getting myself a drink,” Heather said. “Is that okay with you?” She slammed the back door so hard the glass rattled.

  Josie didn’t stop her. She looked out her back window and saw the girl slouched by Josie’s garage. It was about fifty degrees, so Josie didn’t have to worry about Heather freezing to death.

  Josie heard glass breaking and saw Heather toss a bottle at Mrs. Mueller’s back fence. The streetlight revealed liquid splashed on the fence and running down the wood.

  Oh, great, Josie thought. Now I’ll have to paint Mrs. M’s fence. She opened the back door and said, “Heather, stop throwing bottles this minute, or you’re out of here.”

  “Good,” Heather said. “That’s where I want to be—outta here.” She lobbed another bottle at the neighbor’s fence. The girl had a good arm.

  Josie burst out the door and stood in front of Heather. “I said, ‘Stop.’ Or do you want to go to your mother’s store right now?”

  “All right, all right. Just leave me alone, okay?” Heather said.

  My pleasure, Josie thought. But she stopped to look at the broken bottle. It was brown glass.

  “Were you drinking beer?” Josie asked.

  “No,” Heather said. She belched loudly. Josie could smell the bitter beer on the girl’s breath. She went inside for a dustpan and broom. She couldn’t have a neighbor driving over broken glass and getting a flat tire.

  “What was loser face doing?” Amelia asked. “Was she drinking my Diet Dr Pepper?”

  Josie opened her fridge and stared at the empty space on the middle shelf. “I think she took the four beers I kept for Mike.”

  “She must be trashed,” Amelia said.

  This is my fault, Josie thought. I should have been watching Heather. But I never have to lock up the booze around Amelia. There’s going to be hell to pay with Mrs. Mueller. Sure enough, red lights strobed down the alley. Two police cars were parked behind Josie’s house, lights flashing.

  “It’s the cops,” Amelia said. “Did somebody rob a house?”

  “No, this is a much bigger crime,” Josie said. “Heather threw beer bottles at a fence, and Mrs. Mueller called the police.”

  “That old lady will go apeshit.”

  “Amelia!” Josie said.

  “Sorry. But Mrs. Mueller will want the death penalty for the crime against her fence,” Amelia said.

  Josie grabbed a thick sweater out of the hall closet and went out to face the police and her irate neighbor.

  Two uniformed officers were in the alley, standing between a slouching Heather and an angry Mrs. Mueller. The old woman glared like an enraged cat. One officer was a woman in her thirties who looked strong but chunky. She had short brown hair and a stern expression. Towering over her was an older officer with silver in his hair and the beginning of a gut.

  “You can see the beer running down the fence, officers,” Mrs. Mueller said. “She threw at least two bottles. I believe the child has been drinking.”

  “Ain’t no child, bitch,” Heather said, and belched again. “I’m fourteen.”

  “She is definitely underage,” Mrs. Mueller said.

  Josie ran up to the little group. The chill in the air wasn’t entirely due to the cool night. “Is there a problem, officers?” she asked.

  “Are you the parent or guardian of this girl?” the officer asked.

  “Fuck, no,” Heather mumbled.

  Mrs. Mueller gave a stagy gasp at Heather’s language.

  “I’m not Heather’s mother, but I am watching her while her father is at work,” Josie said.

  “And doing a poor job of it,” Mrs. Mueller added.

  “We have a situation with an intoxicated minor, ma’am,” the older officer said to Josie. “We’ll have to take her into custody unless you can locate a responsible party.”

  “Her father is on a job in South St. Louis,” Josie said. “I can call him. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “What is the nature of her father’s work?” the officer asked.

  “He does shit jobs,” Heather said.

  “Must be in law enforcement,” the older officer said.

  “He’s a plumber,” Josie said. “He’s one of the owners of Mike’s Dogtown Plumbers.”

  “I know that company,” the woman officer said. “They fixed my mom’s toilet Thanksgiving Day when she had a houseful of guests.”

  “Go ahead and call him,” the older cop said. “It will save us the paperwork for taking an intoxicated minor into custody.”

  “Humpf!” Mrs. Mueller said, at this apparent dereliction of duty.

  “My cell phone is in the house,” Josie said, and ran inside before they could follow her.

  She was relieved when Mike answered on the second ring. “What’s wrong, Josie?” he said.

  “It’s Heather. The police are here and—”

  “Is she hurt?” Mike said. “Is my girl hurt?”

  “No. She’s fine. She snuck some beer out of the fridge. She drank two bottles and threw two more at Mrs. Mueller’s fence. The old lady called the cops. They won’t haul Heather to the juvie division if you’ll take custody of her.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Mike said.

  “Drive carefully,” Josie said to his disconnected phone. She went back to the grim group in the alley. “Heather’s father is on his way,” she said.

  “What about my back fence?” Mrs. Mueller said.

  “I’ll repaint it,” Josie said.

  “Is that an acceptable solution, ma’am?” the older police officer asked Mrs. Mueller.

  “Well, if she does a good job,” Mrs. M said reluctantly.

  “How about if I paint the fence tomorrow, weather permitting, and you drive by and inspect it, officer?” Josie needed a referee. Mrs. Mueller was never happy with anything she did.

  “And what about this young woman?” Mrs. M said. “She should be taking some responsibility, too.”

  “Heather can scrub down the fence and sweep the glass out of the alley right now,” Josie said.

  “In the dark?” Heather said.

  “You can see by the streetlights,” Mrs. M said.

  Josie handed Heather the dustpan and broom. “I’ll go get you some paper towels and spray cleaner,” she said.

  “I’m not a maid,” Heather said.

  “How’d you like to spend the night in juvenile custody
?” Josie said. “I hear they make you clean toilets.”

  Reluctantly, the kid started to work.

  “You missed a spot over there,” Mrs. M said, pointing to a shard of broken glass near her gate.

  Heather snarled. “I’ll get it.”

  There was a squawk of static on the radio. “We’d better go,” the male police officer said.

  “I’ll call if there are further problems,” Mrs. M said.

  I bet you will, Josie thought, but she heard a chime.

  “That’s my doorbell,” she said. “It must be Mike, Heather’s father.”

  “He got here awfully fast,” Mrs. M said. “I hope he didn’t break any speeding laws.” The old snoop was itching to start more trouble.

  Josie ran for her house. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang wildly. Amelia had strict orders never to open the door at night without her mother being present.

  “Coming!” Josie called breathlessly. “I’ll be right there!”

  She flung open the door and stared at the man on her porch. He wasn’t wearing a coat. The buttons strained at the lower half of his plaid shirt. His gut drooped over the top of his pants. His khakis were stained and his socks hunkered down in his shoes. His greasy dark hair was almost gone, but a few strands clung to his shiny scalp like survivors on a raft. His face was damp with sweat.

  Josie studied his face. It was bright red with grog blossoms—burst blood vessels—and his nose was so covered with booze-inflicted lumps and bumps, it looked like an exotic gourd.

  “Josie!” he said, spraying her with beer-scented breath.

  “Do I know you?” Josie asked.

  “In the biblical sense,” he said, and hiccupped. “Where’s my li’l girl?”

  Josie didn’t recognize the man, but Amelia did. “Daddy!” she cried, and wrapped her arms around his stained khakis. Josie’s daughter and the man had the same dark hair and arched brows. This sloppy drunk was Josie’s daredevil lover, Nate. It was like looking at a ruined portrait. Under a layer of boozy bloat was her Nate.

  “Daddy!” Amelia cried. “You’re not dead.”

  Chapter 5

  “Josie, don’t you know me?” the man asked. Big blubbery tears ran down his drink-ravaged cheeks.