Murder With All the Trimmings Page 4

  Josie stared at him. Was this beer-sodden lump really Nate? Josie thought she could see the outlines of her impetuous lover: A few less pounds, a little more hair, and maybe this man was Nate.

  Amelia wrapped her arms around him and cried, “Daddy, Daddy, I knew you weren’t dead.”

  How did Amelia know Nate was her father? Josie wondered. Sure, her daughter had seen his photos. But this flabby drunk bore little resemblance to the dashing helicopter pilot Josie had loved a decade ago.

  This can’t be happening, Josie thought. I put my life back together after you wrecked it, Nate. I have a good job, a new man, and faithful friends. Now everything is unraveling.

  “No,” Josie said, “I don’t know you.” Not anymore, she thought.

  “Josie, how can you do this to me?” Nate wept. “Why didn’t you tell me we had a bootiffall, a beautiful daughter?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a drug dealer?” Josie said.

  “I thought you knew,” Nate said. “How did you think I could afford all those gifts?”

  “I thought you had money,” Josie said. “You flew a helicopter.”

  “Piloting a copter doesn’t pay that much. Not enough to take you to Bermuda, Aruba, and the Cayman Islands,” Nate said. “I wanted to give my Josie the best.” His voice wobbled with self-pity.

  “So you sold drugs,” Josie said, failing to keep the disgust out of her voice.

  “I didn’t hurt anybody,” Nate said. “If they didn’t buy drugs from me, they’d go somewhere else.”

  “The oldest excuse in the world,” Josie said.

  “Drugs killed my friend Zoe’s sister,” Amelia said.

  “Drugs have ruined a lot of lives,” Josie said. “Including ours, Nate. We could have married, if you hadn’t been arrested for dealing.”

  “Aw, baby, don’t be mad at me.” Nate swayed slightly and clung to the back of Josie’s worn couch.

  “Mad? I’m furious. And you’re disgusting. How did you find us?”

  “Through my detective abili-bili—” Nate gave up on the word. “I’m a good detective, and you’re still living in the same house.”

  “Oh,” Josie said.

  Josie heard the back door open. Heather materialized at the door to the living room, watching Nate and Josie’s fight as if it were a play staged for her personal entertainment.

  “Is that drunk your father, Amelia?” Heather sneered.

  “Aw, don’t talk that way, honey,” Nate said, hiccup-ping. “I’m not drunk. I’m happy.”

  “You should talk,” Amelia said. “You’re drunk, too, Heather.”

  “Fuck you,” Heather said, and threw up on the living room carpet.

  Wonderful, Josie thought. Now the carpet is DOA.

  She slid between the two girls. “Amelia, go to your room,” Josie said.

  “But I just met Daddy,” her daughter whined.

  “Yeah,” the drunken Nate said. “We just met. We missed the last eight years.”

  “Nine,” Amelia corrected. “I’m nine now.”

  Nate started crying. “Another year without my little girl. How could you be so cruel, Josie?”

  Josie ignored him. “Heather, you need to freshen up,” she said.

  “Yeah, you smell gross,” Amelia said.

  Josie took an elbow and towed the reluctant Heather to her own bathroom. She gave the girl fresh towels and a clean T-shirt.

  “A U2 shirt?” Heather said. “Those guys stink.”

  “Not as bad as you do,” Josie said. “You’d better clean up before your father gets here. He’s going to be angry enough.”

  “So what?” Heather said. “He’s too much of a wimp to do anything. I don’t take orders from him. I live with Mom.”

  Josie shut the bathroom door and went into the kitchen for more paper towels to pile on the worn carpet. She’d have to shampoo the rug, and she wasn’t sure the pizza stain would come out. It was in the middle of the doorway, so Josie couldn’t hide it with a plant stand or a table.

  Nate followed Josie around like a lost duckling. “Let’s go out to dinner,” he said, a sickly half-smile on his face. “I came by so we could catch up on old times, get acquainted again.”

  “No,” Josie said. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m seeing someone else.”

  “You can do more than see me, baby,” Nate leered. He wiggled his thick hips and nearly fell down. Too many six-packs had ruined his six-pack abs. It was pathetic, like watching an aging actor try to recapture his sexy youth.

  Josie was grateful when her doorbell rang. Mike was on her doorstep, looking impossibly handsome. His blue uniform shirt brought out the blue in his eyes, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms. He moved inside with athletic sureness.

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Where’s Heather?”

  “Taking a shower. She got sick and threw up on the rug.”

  “Oh, Josie, I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I’ll get you a new one.”

  “This rug is so old, one more stain won’t make a difference,” Josie said.

  “Who’s this?” Nate demanded in a belligerent tone.

  “Who are you?” Mike asked.

  He towered over Nate. The two men sized each other up warily, teeth bared like angry dogs.

  “This is Nate,” Josie said.

  “I’m Amelia’s fa-fa-father,” Nate said, stumbling over the word.

  “Is this true?” Mike said.

  Josie blushed in shame. “I haven’t seen him in ten years,” she said.

  “A deadbeat dad, huh? Where’s he been?”

  “In prison,” Josie said. “I thought he was locked up for life and barred from the United States. I don’t know what he’s doing out of jail.”

  “They let me out on a tech—on a techni—on a technicalla-lily,” Nate said.

  “And now it’s time for you to leave,” Josie said. “Did you drive here?”

  “We can’t let him drive drunk,” Mike said.

  “No, I’ll call a cab,” Josie said.

  “Doan wan no cab,” Nate said. “Car right outside. Red car. Rental.” His arm made a wide sweep and nearly knocked over the lamp on the end table.

  Josie caught the lamp before it fell, then looked out the door. “Oh, Lord, he’s parked in front of Mrs. Mueller’s house and his car is halfway up on her lawn. When she sees those tire tracks in her grass, I’ll never hear the end of it. We’ve got to get him out of here. Give me your keys, Nate.”

  “They’re in my pants pocket. You can feel around for them.” Nate tried to roll his eyes roguishly and failed.

  “I’ll get them,” Mike said, and pulled the keys out of Nate’s right front pocket.

  “Hey!” Nate said. “That’s awf’y personal. I don’t even know you.”

  “Where are you staying, Nate?” Josie asked.

  “Hotel. Downtown.”

  “Which hotel?” Josie said.

  “The one across from Tony’s. We used to eat there, ’member? I bet he doesn’t take you to Tony’s.”

  “I’ll drive Nate to the hotel,” Mike said. “Why don’t you follow behind us in his car? We’ll leave it with the hotel valet and I’ll bring you back home.”

  “What about Heather?” Josie said.

  “I’ll pick her up when we get back,” Mike said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  Heather walked in, wearing Josie’s U2 T-shirt, wet hair stringing down her back. “I’m not babysitting the kid,” Heather said.

  “I’m not asking you to,” Josie said.

  She also wasn’t leaving her daughter alone with that teenage werewolf. Josie shut her bedroom door and called her mother. Jane answered with a sleepy “hello.” Josie suspected Jane had dozed off in front of the television again.

  “Mom, I have a problem. Could you watch Amelia for an hour?”

  “Of course, Josie. Send her upstairs.”

  “I can’t, Mom. Heather is here and I don’t want to leave Mike’s daughter alone in my house. I need you downstairs.”

  “Amelia is no trouble,” Jane said. “But that other one—”

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, Mom. Heather has already been in the beer. Mrs. Mueller caught her drinking out by the garage and throwing bottles at her fence.”

  “Josie!” Jane said. “How am I going to hold my head up in this neighborhood?”

  “You’re not the one drinking,” Josie said.

  “I’ll be right down,” Jane said. “I hope you’re not serious about that plumber, Josie. Marry that man and you’ll marry his problems, too.”

  “Heather lives with her mother,” Josie said.

  “Then why is that obnoxious girl drinking beer at your house?” Jane said.

  “Mom, please. The quicker you come downstairs, the faster I can get rid of her.”

  Josie could hear her mother clomping down the stairs that connected the two flats. She opened the back door and reintroduced Jane to Heather.

  “This is my mother,” Josie said.

  Heather didn’t bother to look up from the television. Jane saw Mike coaxing Nate out the front door.

  “Josie, what is Mike doing with that man?” Jane asked.

  “The guy isn’t feeling well,” Josie said.

  Jane sniffed the air. “He has a bad case of beer flu, judging by the stink.”

  “He showed up here drunk. Mike is taking him back to his hotel. I’m following in his rental car.”

  “Do I know this person?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, but you haven’t seen him in a while,” Josie said. “I’ll explain as soon as I get back.”

  Mike marched the drunken Nate to his pickup and practically threw him in the passenger seat, then slammed the door. Josie watched Mike struggle to buckle Nate into his seat whil
e she started the rental car. Finally, Mike’s pickup roared and the headlights came on.

  Nate’s rental car was big and square and felt stiff after Josie’s little Honda. Josie drove as carefully as she could, moving slowly off Mrs. Mueller’s lawn. The car drove over the curb and landed in the street with a chassis-rattling thump. Josie winced at the tire ruts in Mrs. M’s carefully tended grass. Would she have to reseed the lawn tomorrow, as well as paint the fence?

  Josie drove in a daze, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the sodden drunk in her living room was Nate. What had happened to her ex-lover in ten years? Nate drank when they dated, but only a few beers. He wasn’t an alcoholic then. Not that she noticed.

  How did Amelia instantly know this man was her father? Josie had hardly recognized Nate. Amelia had never seen her father when he was young and vital. What made her cry, “Daddy!” the first time she saw him?

  Tears blurred Josie’s vision as she followed Mike’s truck. They were downtown now. The silver bend of the Gateway Arch soared over the night sky, softly reflecting the city lights. Well-dressed diners waited for their cars outside Tony’s restaurant. Homeless men shambled through the park across from the domed Old Courthouse.

  Josie left the rental car with the hotel valet and helped Mike half carry Nate to his room. She fished Nate’s room key out of his shirt pocket. Nate was snoring when they dumped him on the bed. Josie stuck the valet parking ticket in the bathroom mirror, where Nate would see it when he woke up. She pulled off his shoes.

  “I’m not going to undress him,” Mike said.

  “Me, either,” Josie said.

  Nate rolled over and mumbled something. His night-stand was cluttered with empty beer bottles and spicy-chip bags.

  “Let’s go,” Josie said. She shut Nate’s room door. Josie and Mike walked in strained silence through the lobby and out to his truck.

  “I can’t believe you dated that alcoholic, much less had a kid with him,” Mike said when Josie was seated beside him.

  Josie felt a hot flare of anger. “Your choice of mates wouldn’t win any prizes,” she shot back. “And your drunken daughter ticked off my nasty neighbor.”

  They drove to Josie’s home in angry silence. Mike collected his daughter and refused to kiss Josie good night. Heather looked pleased at her father’s snub.

  Once they were gone, Josie looked in on Amelia. Her daughter was asleep in her bed, touchingly young and innocent. Josie tucked her in and turned off the room light.

  Jane was sitting on the living room couch. “Was that drunk really Nate?”

  “Yes,” Josie said. “He came back here to see Amelia. He’s become an alcoholic.”

  “Josie, he drank too much when you dated him. I warned you, but you didn’t listen. Now that he’s back, maybe he could join a rehab program. St. Louis has some wonderful recovery centers.”

  “Mom, I’m not dating a hopeless drunk.”

  “You don’t know if he’s hopeless,” Jane said.

  “Excuse me,” Josie said. “I must have problems with my ears. The same mother who said a sober, hardworking plumber wasn’t good enough wants me to marry a falling-down drunk.”

  “Only if he can be cured,” Jane said.

  “Cured? He’s not a ham, Mom. The cure rate for alcoholism is low.”

  “But it does happen. It’s not completely hopeless. And he’s a pilot, not a plumber.”

  “Mom, what’s with you? You hated Nate when we were dating,” Josie said.

  “It would be good for Amelia if you married her father.”

  “The right man would be good,” Josie said. “The wrong drunk would not.”

  Chapter 6

  “This store sells abominations!” the preacher cried. “It perverts the Lord’s birthday. Its profits are obscene. God hates Naughty or Nice!”

  The skinny black-suited man in the Roman collar pointed dramatically at Doreen’s elfin shop. Picketers circled the store chanting and waving homemade signs. Josie saw badly lettered versions of PUT CHRIST BACK IN CHRISTMAS! SAY NO TO NOEL PORN and NAUGHTY OR NICE IS NASTY. The naughty Mrs. Claus winked wickedly at the protesters.

  The TV in Josie’s bedroom displayed six X-rated ornaments purchased by the TV reporter. One was the South Pole elf, now wearing a black modesty bar. The video did not display any part of the infamous Snow Job ornament.

  Josie turned up the sound as the blond reporter interviewed the irate preacher. He was a tall man with a thin, ascetic face, evangelist’s silver hair, and a black frown.

  “This godless filth is on the same street as our church,” he ranted. “It’s time we throw the money changers out of our temple. These ornaments insult Christians. What’s next? Elves molesting the Christ Child? This woman is Satan’s handmaiden. She must be stopped.”

  Josie shuddered at the preacher’s unholy venom. His eyes were crazy with rage. If women could be burned at the stake, she was sure the witchy Doreen would be in for a hot time.

  Mike’s ex glared at the camera through the locked front door, as if she were under siege. Was she flipping the preacher the bird? Josie couldn’t tell. The video had been shot at night and her hands were in the shadows.

  Josie picked up her cell phone and called Mike. He needed to know. Mike answered, even though he could see her number on the lighted display. Maybe he didn’t blame me for Heather’s misbehavior, Josie thought.

  “Sorry to disturb you at ten fifteen at night, but I think there’s a problem,” she said. “Do you have your television on? No? Then you’d better turn on Channel Seven.”

  Josie heard Mike rummaging around, and then a sudden burst of sound. The reporter stood in front of the store saying, “The shop owner refused to be interviewed by Channel Seven, but she did issue a written statement saying there is nothing wrong with a little fun at Christmas. She insists she does not sell pornography and her product is protected under freedom of speech. A spokesperson for the Naughty or Nice franchise said they do not endorse sales of offensive ornaments in their stores.”

  Mike groaned. “Just what we don’t need. The franchise will force the shop to close, thanks to those picketing fanatics. I’ll lose my twenty thousand and Doreen will be out her eighty thou investment. Nobody will buy that shop after this publicity.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike.” Josie was genuinely sorry if the shop had to close and Mike lost his hard-earned money, but she thought Doreen had brought this problem on herself. “At least Heather wasn’t at the store when this happened. Your daughter won’t be embarrassed on television.”

  “I’ve got to get Heather out of that store,” Mike said.

  “Can’t you just forbid her to work there?”

  “She has a work permit and I’m not the custodial parent,” Mike said. “But this controversy should help. Maybe it has a bright side after all.”

  “I hope so,” Josie said. She wished him good night and hung up.

  The next morning, Josie read the St. Louis City Gazette . The front page featured a story and photos of the Naughty or Nice church picketers. One shop window was boarded up. A protester’s brick had smashed the glass. Josie wondered if Mike was right. Would the shop stay open now after this publicity?

  Do I care? Josie thought.

  Doreen had caught one break: It was Saturday, a low-circulation day for the newspaper, so her shop’s shame would not be spread throughout the whole metropolis—unless people had watched TV Friday night.

  Today was also Josie’s day off. She had to deal with her daughter. Josie regretted her cowardly lies about Nate. All night she’d rehearsed make-believe conversations with Amelia. In each one, Josie sounded wise and protective and her daughter wept a few tears, then flung her arms around her mother and forgave her. Josie knew that was pure fantasy. Amelia was as stubborn as her mother.

  Josie peeked into Amelia’s room. Her daughter was still asleep, one foot flung out of the covers. Josie rearranged the blanket, so Amelia’s foot wouldn’t get cold. Then she went to the kitchen and put on the coffee. While it was perking, Josie dressed in her oldest clothes. She had to paint Mrs. M’s fence after she’d had some caffeine. Luckily it was a sunny day, but the temperature had slipped to thirty degrees. The sleet was supposed to hit later.

  Josie had to hurry if she was going to get the fence painted before the bad weather arrived. She drank a cup of coffee, rummaged in the basement for leftover white house paint and a roller, and went outside.