Murder With All the Trimmings (22 page)

“That’s nice,” Josie said. The ghoulish conversation made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She was relieved when Alyce turned down their street. “Here we are.”

“Thank you, Alyce,” Josie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow about ten, unless Harry calls and wants me to work.”

Josie carried the pizza box, careful to avoid getting grease on her black coat. Amelia held her velvet heart box as if it might leap from her hands. They cast black shadows on the white snow.

What a picture we make, Josie thought. We should call this
Daddy’s Coming Home.
But I don’t think Norman Rockwell ever painted a scene like this.

Chapter 23

Did I love Nate or a man who never existed? Josie asked herself.

She stared at her glass of red wine, as if the answer were hidden in its depths.

“Well, if you can’t tell me anything useful, I’ve had enough of you,” Josie said, and gulped it down.

She was curled up on the couch in her darkened living room, watching the winter shadows fall. She’d barely moved since she’d come home three hours ago. Josie felt too drained and exhausted. She didn’t bother changing out of her black pantsuit. The memorial service, the detectives’ interview, the tense encounter with the scary Mitch, and the cold, gray cemetery had made for a grim day.

Josie shivered and pulled the knitted throw around her. She poured herself another glass of red wine, then opened the tiny box of Godiva dark chocolate pearls and ate one.

Health food, she thought. Red wine and dark chocolate. Both good for the heart. Not that my heart is good for anything. It hurts, and all the wine and chocolate in the world won’t help.

“Did you say something, Mom?” Amelia came into the living room with a square of pizza in one hand and the Waterford crystal heart in the other.

“Honey, you’re going to get grease on your grandpa’s present,” Josie said.

“It’s okay, Mom. I wiped my hands,” Amelia said. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I was just talking to myself,” Josie said.

“You’re nutso-crazy,” Amelia said.

“Only if I answer back,” Josie said.

Amelia had changed into the pink hoodie her father had bought her. Josie had washed it by hand so that it wouldn’t be damaged. Amelia wore her present while she ate pizza in the kitchen, with the crystal heart on the table. Dinner with Daddy, Josie thought.

It had been a hard afternoon for her daughter. Amelia would nibble on a slice of pizza, then cry, then call her friend Emma, then go back to the kitchen and start the cycle again.

Josie wanted to take the crystal heart away. But she knew it would cause a terrible scene. Her daughter needed to mourn her lost father, and if her grandfather’s creepy gift gave her comfort, so be it. Besides, Josie didn’t have the energy to fight with Amelia.

A tear cascaded down Josie’s cheek, and she didn’t bother wiping it away. More tears came, hot and hurting. She didn’t know if she was mourning the real Nate or her idealized lover. Josie sat in the dark room and tried to examine her own heart, which wasn’t crystal clear at all.

How could I have been so dumb? she asked herself. I’ve been wrong about every man I’ve ever dated. Now that I’ve seen Nate’s friends—the mean Mitch and the drunken Harvey—I must have worked hard to keep my eyes shut to any clues about Nate. I never really
looked
at the man I fell in love with.

Little memories came trickling back, scenes long forgotten. Like the night at a rowdy Riverfront bar. A friend of Nate’s had sat down next to him and said, “I feel really tense, dude. I need to relax.”

“I think I have something,” Nate had said, and the two men disappeared outside. They were gone maybe ten minutes, but both came back smiling. Nate seemed to have had lots of tense friends in those days.

And one stupid girlfriend, Josie thought.

Now she knew what that scene meant. Nate was selling drugs, probably out of his car trunk. Weed or coke? Josie had no idea. She never caught the pungent odor of pot on his clothes. He never used drugs around Josie or offered her any.

But he spent thousands on their romantic trips, dinners, and extravagant presents, all in cash. Where did the money come from? Josie never asked.

I assumed his family was rich, she thought. Assumed. She remembered her fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Taylor, repeating, “When you assume, Josie, you make an ass out of U and me.”

I
am
an ass, Josie thought. Maybe I should quit dating. I’m no judge of men. I’d probably think a serial killer was a nice, quiet guy and wonder what he used to grow such beautiful roses in his yard.

She took another sip of wine and was surprised to find the second glass was empty already. She was getting drunk, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Enough, she decided. The last thing Amelia needed was a drunken mother. This pity party is over. Josie put down the empty wineglass, corked the bottle, and stood up. Her phone rang.

It was Harry the Horrible. Josie imagined him at his desk, tufts of hair growing everywhere, including his nose, neck, and knuckles. Everywhere except on his scalp. He looked like a troll that lived under a bridge.

“Hey, Josie,” he said. “I’ve got some work for you tomorrow afternoon. You want to mystery-shop the Vandeventer Department Stores?”

“Sure,” Josie said.

“You have to buy a sweater.”

“I need one,” Josie said.

“Too bad. You have to buy it in West County and return it at the South County store. And you’d better hurry, Josie. I’m guessing the Vandeventer stores will close any day now.”

“Then why are they hiring a mystery shopper?” Josie asked.

“How the hell do I know?” Harry said. “I just take their money. This time I made sure I got it up front. I’ll fax you the paperwork.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said.

Josie saw the lights pop on at Mrs. Mueller’s house. Oh, no, she thought. I forgot about the police. I’d better warn Mike about the detectives.

He answered his cell phone on the first ring. “Josie,” he said, his voice cozy-warm. “How are you? How did the memorial service go?”

“It’s over,” she said. “It was short and sad.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mike said. “Do you want me to come over?”

So you can see me drunk and weeping for another man? No thanks. “I’d love to see you, but I’m tired, Mike. Can I have a rain check?”

“If that’s how you feel.” Mike sounded hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Josie said. “It was an exhausting day. That’s why I called you. The police were asking about you.”

“I know, Josie. They’ve already been here. They seem to think I murdered Nate.”

“Oh, no. I’m too late. I meant to call you, but things got busy and I forgot.”

“You forgot? These guys want to throw my ass in jail and you forgot?”

“Calm down, Mike. What did they ask you?”

“Two detectives, a young one and an old one, interviewed me about Nate’s death. They asked if I was dating you. They said I had an ‘altercation’ with Nate shortly before he died. All I did was drive him to his hotel. You went with me.”

“I told them that, Mike. They think I’m a suspect, too. I’m sure they got a colorful account from my neighbor, Mrs. Mueller.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let Nate drive drunk and kill himself or, worse, some innocent person?”

“Of course not. I’m sorry. Mrs. Mueller is such a pain in the keister.”

“Why do the cops take that old biddy seriously?”

“Because she’s a church lady and a neighborhood fixture.”

“I know exactly what kind of fixture she is,” Mike said. “White porcelain.”

“Mike, I’m sorry. If I had any say-so, we’d have moved away from her years ago. Mom adores her, but I can’t stand the old bat.”

“It’s not your fault, Josie. She’s an evil gossip.”

“Mike, I’m really sorry,” Josie said. “But things got out of hand today.” She started to tell him about Amelia and Mitch, but he cut her off.

“Hey, I’m not looking for an apology.”

“How’s Heather?” Josie asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Delighted that her mother’s store is closing soon. Doreen has been whining and complaining constantly. They’re both driving me crazy.”

“Sounds like you need a break. How about dinner at my place tomorrow?”

“I’ll call you,” Mike said, and hung up without giving her a definite answer.

Terrific, Josie thought. Nosy Mrs. Mueller is going to cost me the only decent man I’ve dated in ages. Unless there’s something wrong with Mike, too. He does have that weird daughter and witchy ex.

Is our romance over? Josie wondered, and felt the tears well up again. He used to tell me he loved me every time he called. Sometimes he’d call just to say that.

The hell with it. I’ve lived without a man before. Maybe I can invent a better one. She pushed away her sad, angry thoughts and went out to the kitchen. Amelia was sleeping with her head on the kitchen table, one hand cradling the crystal heart. Josie carefully pried it out of her daughter’s hand so she wouldn’t drop it, and then gently woke up Amelia.

It was ten o’clock by the time Josie got Amelia in bed, with the precious Waterford heart in an honored place on the dresser. Then Josie heated some chicken noodle soup. She took the soup and buttered toast into her bedroom and turned on the television.

A red BREAKING NEWS banner trailed along the bottom of the screen. A chirpy blond reporter, posed in front of what looked like a garage, said, “The dead man was identified as Preston ‘Mitch’ Paylor, of South St. Louis. He was shot three times when he fired on police and federal agents at a UR-Storage facility near Lambert-St. Louis Airport. Another man was shot once in the leg and taken to the hospital. Police and DEA recovered more than four hundred thousand dollars in cash and drugs with a street value of nearly a million dollars from the storage unit.”

Right, Josie thought. Moldy pot and cocaine nearly a decade old were worth a million bucks? I don’t think so. Didn’t illegal drugs have a shelf life?

Mitch’s mug shot flashed on the screen. His mouth was closed to hide those ugly yellow teeth. He must have been crazy to try to fight the cops, Josie thought. He’d paid too high a price for that money.

Josie expected to feel bad at the news of Mitch’s death, but she was relieved. She wouldn’t have to worry anymore about that man threatening her daughter.

Amelia was safe.

There’s one less lowlife in the world tonight, Josie thought. I’m not a powerless little single mom. I can call down death on my enemies.

She smiled for the first time since Nate died.

Chapter 24

Josie felt like a postmodern woman. Yesterday she set up a man to die. Today she helped Alyce bake cookies. I am a woman of many talents, she thought. I can take the heat and stay in the kitchen.

“What do you want me to do now?” Josie asked her friend.

Alyce’s kitchen was about the size of Josie’s flat, but paneled in linenfold oak, like a rich person’s library. Even the fridge had a paneled-oak door. The effect was handsome, but Josie wasn’t sure about walls that had to be waxed and dusted.

“You can warm the apple cider in that saucepan on the stove,” Alyce said. “When it simmers—that means just before it breaks into a boil—pour the cider over the currants to plump them up. They’re in that blue bowl.”

“Those stingy-looking raisins?” Josie asked.

“Most currants are raisins,” Alyce said. “I like the ones made from the Zante grapes. They’re small and tart. It will take about ten minutes to plump them up.”

Josie put the pan of cider on medium heat. Alyce had pulled out the heavy artillery for her cookie-baking session, including her Martha Stewart and Williams-Sonoma cookbooks. For Josie, they might as well have been quantum physics textbooks, but Alyce reveled in complicated feats of cookery.