Murder With All the Trimmings (26 page)

Josie parked behind the store, where her car couldn’t be seen from Manchester Road. The Dumpster was surrounded by a high fence, but the fence gate wasn’t locked. It creaked loudly when Josie opened it.

The old Dumpster was dripping rust trails and leaking something slimy. Josie threw back the heavy lid and peeked in. There were only four trash bags in the bottom, and she was too short to reach them. The stink was ferocious. She took off her coat, pulled over a heavy plastic bucket for a ladder, held her breath, and jumped in the Dumpster.

Terrific, she thought. Dumpster diving at my age. If only Mom could see me now. I wonder how this will help my reputation?

Josie threw the four bags over the edge of the Dumpster, then crawled back out and began opening them. The first was filled with typing paper and old foam coffee cups. Some of the liquid dripped on her jeans. Josie swore and was glad Amelia wasn’t there to hear her.

The second bag had enough foam packing peanuts to feed an army of foam squirrels.

The third, and smelliest, bag had the remains of several lunches and old coffee grounds. The last one had broken ornaments, an elf whose South Pole had snapped off, bits of glitter, and broken china. Josie had hoped to find a container of antifreeze so she could nail Doreen. She’d love to sic the cops on that woman, especially after Doreen had filed a lawsuit.

Josie closed the bags and dropped them back into the Dumpster, then put on her coat. She thought she caught the faint perfume of trash on her hands. She was back home by 7:10, showered by 7:20.

Josie called her mother after she’d dried her hair. Jane promised to send Amelia down. “She made supper, too, Josie.”

“I can’t wait,” Josie said. She set the table.

Amelia tapped on the back door. She was carrying a warm ovenproof dish, wrapped in towels and sealed with duct tape. Josie’s mother was taking no chances with her only grandchild.

“Smells good,” Josie said.

“I made it myself,” Amelia said. “Tuna noodle casserole with potato chips on top.”

“Just the way I like it,” Josie said.

“And no vegetables,” Amelia said. “Except mushroom soup.”

Josie, in a bid for healthy eating, had once added veggies to Amelia’s beloved mac and cheese. Amelia approached Josie’s dinners warily after that experiment.

“There are brownies for dessert,” Amelia added. “That’s the foil package on top.”

Josie praised her daughter’s cooking, taking two helpings of tuna casserole. “You’re as good a cook as your grandmother. I’m glad you didn’t inherit my cooking skills.”

“Me, too,” Amelia said. She looked pleased by the compliment. There was no mention of her father. Amelia was more subdued than usual, but she seemed to be coping with her grief.

They finished washing up by eight o’clock. Amelia went to her room to IM her friends and do her homework.

Josie called Alyce. “Are you busy?” she asked.

“I can talk until Jake gets home,” Alyce said.

“Mom’s giving a party for everyone, and you’re invited.”

“Good. What shall I bring? A roasted garlic and herb dip?”

“Yum,” Josie said. She gave her friend the party time and details, then told her about Doreen’s lawsuit.

“She didn’t!” Alyce said. “You still have the cake with the roach, right?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “It’s in the freezer.”

“Oh,” Alyce said. “Remind me not to have dinner at your house.”

“It’s all wrapped up and has POISON, DO NOT EAT on it, so Amelia won’t touch it. Besides, my daughter is a better cook than I am.”

Josie waited for Alyce to say, “That’s not difficult,” but she didn’t take that cheap shot.

“I’ve got another problem,” Josie said. “Harry won’t give me any assignments until after the court date.”

“He can’t do that, can he? You can’t be punished for doing your job.”

“I don’t know if he can,” Josie said. “But he did.”

“Josie, can you fax me your contract? I want to read it. If it says what I think it does, I want to read
him
the riot act.”

“I’ll fax it from Kinko’s in about half an hour,” Josie said. “Oh, one more thing. I searched Doreen’s trash at the store. I was looking for antifreeze bottles.”

“You what?” Alyce said. “Are you crazy?”

“Crazy enough to climb into a slimy Dumpster,” Josie said. “But I’m convinced that Doreen is behind the deaths at the Elf House. She hated Elsie, she wanted to close down her rival’s store, and she didn’t care who got in her way.”

“Josie, if she’s suing you, you need to stay away from her,” Alyce said. “Besides, if Doreen did poison two people she would have disposed of those antifreeze bottles long ago.”

“I’m not sure anymore. But I have to find who killed Nate, if only for my peace of mind—and Mike’s. He’s going to be a suspect until the real killer is caught.”

“Josie, take the advice of your non-lawyer, please. Stay away from that woman. Promise?”

“Gotta go,” Josie said, and hung up quickly, before she promised anything.

Josie found Amelia standing at the kitchen door. “Something wrong?” Josie asked.

“Thought I’d have a brownie before bedtime,” Amelia said.

“You’re entitled,” Josie said. “You baked them. There’s milk in the fridge, if you can find it. Your grandmother parked a couple of cases of wine coolers and beer there. I have to fax a paper to Alyce. I’ll be back in half an hour. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Sure,” Amelia said.

Josie dug her contract with Suttin Services out of the filing cabinet in the corner of her bedroom she grandly called her office.

She stood at the door buttoning her coat and said, “If anything goes wrong, your grandmother is right upstairs.”

“Mom, you could go to Kinko’s and be back by the time you give me instructions on how to be careful,” Amelia said. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’m nine years old.”

“Good-bye, sweetie,” Josie said, and ran for the door. The bitter cold was like a slap in the face. She hurried to her car, watching her breath in the frosty air. She faxed the contract to Alyce and was back by eight thirty.

The front door was closed, but not bolted. She didn’t hear the TV. “Amelia?” Josie called. “Are you all right?”

No answer.

Josie ran to her daughter’s room. The bed was still made, and the computer was off.

“Amelia!” Josie called.

She checked both bathrooms. They were empty. Josie found the note propped up against the sugar bowl on the kitchen table:
Gone to find Daddy’s killer.

“Amelia!” Josie cried in the empty house. There was no one home to hear her.

Chapter 28

“Amelia!” Josie shouted.

Her frantic cry was ripped from her chest. Their home seemed frighteningly empty.

Amelia’s coat and boots were missing, along with her backpack. Josie checked her daughter’s bedroom closet. Amelia had gone on her quest for her father’s killer wearing her precious hot-pink hoodie.

“Amelia!” Josie screamed again, and held back tears of fright. She ran outside and called again. “Amelia, where are you?”

No answer.

Josie pounded on her mother’s door until a rumpled, sleepy Jane finally answered. “What’s wrong, Josie?” she asked, barely disguising a yawn.

“I can’t find Amelia. She left this note.” Josie practically shoved it in her mother’s face.

Jane read it, fingers trembling. “Dear Lord. She says she’s going to find her daddy’s killer. Who is that? She isn’t going after one of Nate’s dangerous friends, is she?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. Her heart twisted. “She didn’t say where she was going. But her boots and backpack are gone.”

“Who do you think the killer is?” Jane asked. “Did she hear you say something?”

“I might have mentioned that Doreen and her daughter had something to do with Nate’s death. But Amelia hates Heather. She’d never go to her apartment.”

“Go next door and ask Mrs. Mueller,” Jane said. “Maybe she saw something.”

Josie thought the old woman watched everyone but never saw anything useful. Still, this was no time to argue. Josie beat on Mrs. Mueller’s door until the old woman came out, wearing a pink chenille robe and matching rollers. Maybe she got messages from aliens on those rollers, Josie thought. Mrs. Mueller glared at Josie. “Why are you knocking on my door?”

“Did you see Amelia leave the house recently?”

Mrs. M sighed dramatically. “She left home about ten minutes after you did. She was wearing her backpack. Really, Josie Marcus, you aren’t fit to be a mother.”

She’s probably right, Josie thought, but I’m not wasting time arguing with the old battle-ax. “Where did you see her go?” she asked. “Where was she going?”

“Toward Manchester Road,” Mrs. M said.

She could be anywhere by now, Josie thought. She managed a thank-you, then ran back home across the soggy grass, not caring if she tore muddy footprints in Mrs. M’s precious lawn. Her mother’s so-called friend hadn’t offered to help find Amelia.

Josie was tormented by nightmare visions of sexual predators, serial killers, and cruel boys in cars with the speakers tuned to earsplitting levels so no one would hear her daughter’s cries for help.

“Amelia!” she screamed again, as if she could ward off those visions.

Stan the Man Next Door turned on his porch light and came outside wearing an old man’s baggy brown cardigan. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“It’s Amelia,” Josie said. “She took off on her own. She was last seen walking toward Manchester Road.”

“I’ll help you look for her,” Stan said. “I can search around the Galleria and the shopping center’s parking lot. Do you think she’d walk all the way there?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. Were the buses running this late? Or, God forbid, did Amelia hitchhike? She could have caught the MetroLink on Manchester Road and gone downtown, or to the airport, or—Josie’s heart froze. Her daughter could be anywhere in the metro area.

“Thanks,” Josie said. “I’ll go the other way on Manchester Road, toward the city.” They exchanged cell phone numbers to stay in touch.

Jane was shivering on her front porch, but now she was awake and alert. “Well?” she asked.

“Amelia was last seen headed toward Manchester,” Josie said. “I’ll get my car and start looking for her.”

“I will, too,” Jane said.

“No, I need you to stay here, in case Amelia calls or comes home,” Josie said. “Stan is going to help.”

Jane reluctantly agreed. “I’ll get coffee started,” she said. “Should we call Nate’s father at his hotel?” Jack was still cool toward Jane.

“No,” Josie said. “Let him sleep for now. I’ll call Mike.” Even though things were iffy between them, Mike would help in an emergency like this. He picked up his phone after two rings, and Josie told him Amelia had disappeared. She edited out her own suspicions of Heather and Doreen.

“Where do you think Amelia is?” Mike asked.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be looking for her,” Josie snapped.

“Josie,” Mike said, “yelling at me won’t help. I know you’re worried. But I need some idea of where to search.”

“I’m sorry,” Josie said. “I didn’t mean to snap your head off. I’m upset. Terrible things can happen to a little girl on her own. Amelia was last seen heading toward Manchester. Stan is going to take the area around the Galleria, including those huge parking lots. I’ll do the streets between Manchester and Clayton, then check out the Highway 40 construction site. Can you look around Dogtown and the DeMun neighborhoods for me?”

“I’ll be glad to. But those are really far away, Josie. She’s not likely to walk there,” Mike said. “I’ll check the residential part of Clayton, too, just in case.”

Amelia wasn’t likely to walk off without telling her mother, either. Except she did. Josie shuddered at the thought of her daughter wandering in the dark depths of the night.

“Josie, are you still there?” Mike asked. “What about Amelia’s friends? Have you checked with them?”

“She might have gone to Emma’s house,” Josie said. “Emma’s mother would have called me, I’m sure, but I’ll call just in case.”

“And I’ll start searching. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I’ll check in with you at eleven, but I hope we have news before that. Josie?”

“Yes?” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Mike said. “It’s going to be all right. She’s a smart little girl.”

“Do you really believe that?” Josie asked.

“Of course,” he said.

Josie called Amelia’s best friend. Emma was already in bed. Josie wished her own daughter was safe and warm at home. “Sorry, Ms. Marcus, I haven’t even IM’ed her since about five tonight,” Emma said. “Is she sick or something?”

“No,” Josie said, not willing to admit her daughter had disappeared. “Thanks, Emma. You’ve been a big help.”

Stan the Man Next Door had already left on his search. Josie started up her trusty gray Honda. The car was rusty and dented, but it was dependable. She drove slowly through the slushy side streets. Maplewood had a small-town stillness at night, but now that quiet seemed ominous. The big old houses looked like eyeless skulls. The bare tree branches were skeletal fingers, reaching out for her daughter. The Christmas lights in the yards spread false cheer on the snow.