Murder With All the Trimmings (30 page)

“But Mike is so nice,” Alyce said.

“Mike is too nice to see anything wrong with his daughter,” Josie said. “And Doreen is a witch. I hate to see Mike make a noble sacrifice to save Heather. It won’t help her. She needs treatment.”

“So what are you going to do?” Alyce asked.

“Prove Heather is the killer and save the man I love—and Mike will hate me for it. I want to go back to Naughty or Nice. I think Amelia’s poking around has scared Heather and she’s going to try to get rid of some crucial evidence.”

“Josie Marcus, you are not going to that store alone,” Alyce said. “I’m going with you.”

“Good,” Josie said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Chapter 33

“Are you sure you want to go into Doreen’s store?” Alyce asked as they pulled into the Naughty or Nice lot. The asphalt was empty except for Doreen’s faded blue Bug.

Josie felt queasy and wondered if she was coming down with Amelia’s flu. She didn’t like to admit—even to herself—that Doreen scared her.

“Of course I don’t want to go in there,” Josie said. “But I want to help Mike. Besides, what can Doreen do to me?”

“She’s already suing you. As your non-lawyer, I advise against this,” Alyce said.

“Point noted. You can say I told you so when the cops haul me off,” Josie said.

Alyce punched in 911 on her cell phone. “All I have to do is hit SEND and the cops will be here,” she said as she carefully closed her phone.

The picketers were still circling the building, carrying their condemnatory signs. The red GOING OUT OF BUSINESS posters plastered on the building looked like a judgment from God.

“Women!” screamed the preacher, running toward them. His black all-weather coat flapped like bat wings. “Remember your duty and your virtue.”

He stepped in front of Josie, blocking her way.

“Move,” she said. “Or I’ll call the cops. It’s against the law to prevent people from entering this store, and you have a duty to follow the law. Render unto Caesar and all that.”

The preacher stepped aside.

“Josie, I had no idea you were religious,” Alyce whispered when they were past the picketers.

“No man gets in the way of my shopping,” Josie said. “I don’t like being bullied. If those pornaments weren’t so disgusting, I’d buy one.”

“Jingle Bell Rock” jounced cheerfully out of the speakers.

“Here goes,” Josie said. She took a deep breath and opened the shop door. The outside breeze made the red

DRASTICALLY REDUCED tags rustle like a bloody snowstorm. A bell jingled and Doreen was standing in front of them with a feather duster. Josie thought the woman would look more at home with a black pointed hat and a broom.

“You,” Doreen said, pointing the feather duster at Josie. “What are you doing in my store? Get your ass out of here.”

“I need a Christmas angel ornament,” Josie said, hoping Doreen couldn’t hear the quaver in her voice.

“Buy it and leave,” Doreen said. “I can’t afford to turn anyone away, not even you. This is all your fault. You ruined my store with your false report.”

Alyce guided Josie firmly by the elbow toward the winged ornaments before she could answer. “Here’s a perfect angel for your tree,” Alyce said loudly, digging her fingers into Josie’s arm.

Josie didn’t even look at it. “I’ll take it,” she said.

Alyce carried the ornament to the counter. Surly, lumpen Heather was at the cash register, once more wearing her “stupid” elf hat. Josie almost felt sorry for the girl. Why wasn’t she in school?

Heather didn’t acknowledge Josie. “That will be $26.58,” she said.

“It will?” Josie asked. That was ten bucks more than she had with her.

“I’ll buy it as your Christmas present,” Alyce said. She put twenty-seven dollars on the counter.

Heather wrapped the ornament in red tissue paper. She moved a nearly empty plastic drinking bottle, the kind with a built-in straw, to spread out the sheets on the counter.

Doreen appeared over her shoulder. “Heather, what are you doing with that bottle?” she asked.

Josie saw a small amount of green liquid in the bottom.

“I found it in the trash in the back room,” Heather said. “It’s a perfectly good drinking bottle. We’re supposed to recycle plastic. I learned that at school. It’s important for the planet. You were throwing it out, anyway. I wanted it.”

“And I said you couldn’t have it,” Doreen said. “But you don’t listen.”

Doreen slapped her daughter across the face and tossed the bottle in the trash. Josie saw a red handprint on Heather’s cheek. Alyce winced at the violence of the attack.

“And you, quit gawking and get out of my store,” Doreen said.

Alyce dragged Josie outside, not bothering to wait for her change.

Josie wondered why Doreen overreacted over a water bottle. What was the greenish liquid in the bottle? Limeade? Gatorade? A designer sports drink? Why throw out a perfectly good bottle when Heather wanted it? Josie practically threw herself in Alyce’s SUV.

“Should we call the child abuse hotline?” Alyce asked. “Doreen hit that girl hard.”

“Not yet,” Josie said. “Not until we find out why Doreen went crazy over a water bottle.”

Alyce wasted no time getting out of the lot.

“Thanks,” Josie said. “I’m glad you were there with me. That woman scares the heck out of me.”

“You and me both,” Alyce said.

“I’d better call Mom and find out how Amelia is,” Josie said. She put the phone on speaker so Alyce could hear the conversation.

“How’s my girl?” Josie asked.

“Amelia’s fever is just about gone,” Jane said. “It’s down to ninety-nine point one. We had chicken soup and grilled cheese for lunch. I’ll give her some baby aspirin after she finishes.”

“No!” Josie said. “No aspirin for children under eighteen.”

“Josie, that’s nonsense. I gave you aspirin and you turned out fine.”

“Mom, they don’t do that anymore because of Reye’s syndrome.”

“I never heard of that,” Jane said.

“It’s true. The latest surveys show that girls given aspirin instead of Tylenol grow up to be stubborn, rude, and have children out of wedlock.”

“Don’t play games with me, Josie Marcus.”

“Mom, please, just give Amelia the Tylenol Meltaways. I’ll be right home.”

“I gather we’re heading for Maplewood ASAP,” Alyce said.

“You bet,” Josie said. “Mom is in one of her stubborn moods.”

Josie unwrapped the angel while Alyce drove. “She’s beautiful,” Josie said. “I love the dark hair. I’m tired of blond angels. And the freckles are so cute. She even looks like Amelia, though I’ll be the first to admit my daughter is no angel—not lately, anyway.”

“Amelia is just going through a phase,” Alyce said.

“I’m afraid this phase is going to last nine or ten years,” Josie said. “I was a trial to my mother at her age and I continued to be one until I was in college. Now I regret it.”

“Josie, you turned out fine,” Alyce said. “You have a career you enjoy, a beautiful, bright girl, and you get along with your mother now. I’d say you have an almost perfect life.”

“Except for my love life,” Josie said.

“I am sorry about Mike,” Alyce said. “He’s a lovely man. But you were smart. You won’t jump into marriage because you had to have a man. You knew that living with Mike and his dreadful daughter would be misery for yourself and Amelia. A lot of women would choose a man—especially one making good money—over their own child.

“Lindsay in our subdivision did that. She was desperate to marry a lawyer. She even had a face-lift at thirty-two. Well, she married the man, but he controls the money. Her daughter goes to public school and wears secondhand clothes, while his child is a pampered princess. And he’s fixed the prenup so Lindsay can’t get a dime if she divorces him. Even if she does get out of the marriage, she’ll be over forty. It’s a nightmare.”

“Well, I have managed to avoid that, anyway,” Josie said. “We’re at my place already. Come in so you can give Amelia her angel ornament.”

Amelia was in her pajamas, sitting at her computer. “I’m doing my homework,” she said.

“Alyce brought you a get-well present,” Josie said. Alyce handed Amelia the bag with the ornament.

“Cool,” Amelia said. “Can we have a real Christmas tree this year? I can hang my angel on it.”

“We had one last year, remember?” Josie asked. “You wanted a live tree, so we wouldn’t kill a tree to celebrate the holiday. We planted it in the backyard after Christmas.”

“It’s now my Charlie Brown Christmas tree,” Amelia said. “Grandma and I hung suet and seed balls on it for the birds, but it’s kind of sad-looking. The poor tree is almost dead. We might as well get a real one.”

“If you ask me, it’s a waste of good money,” Jane said. “You can get a fake tree for a third of the price and use it year after year.”

“But fake trees don’t smell like Christmas,” Amelia said.

“All you need is a can of pine spray and you can’t tell the difference.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scrooge,” Josie said to Jane. “Yes, Amelia, we’ll go shopping for a real tree.”

“A big one?” Amelia asked.

“As big as I can afford and still feed you. Unless you want to eat pine needle soup.”

“Yay!” Amelia said. “Can we go tonight? Grandma said my fever is gone.”

“If you’re too sick to go to school, you are too sick to prowl a cold Christmas tree lot. Let’s see how you’re feeling tomorrow.”

“I’d better get home,” Alyce said.

Josie was pleased that Amelia remembered to thank Alyce for the ornament. She walked her friend out to her SUV. As Josie was waving good-bye, Mrs. Mueller came outside. Josie thought the old gossip looked uncommonly smug.

“Have you been watching the TV news?” Mrs. Mueller asked.

“No,” Josie said.

“That man you had the loud fight with on your porch at two in the morning has been arrested.”

“Mike?” Josie said. “There must be some mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Mueller said. “The police said he confessed to two murders. He poisoned both those poor people with antifreeze at that Christmas shop.”

“Are you sure?” Josie asked.

“Very sure,” Mrs. Mueller said, not bothering to hide her triumph. “I heard those nasty things he said about me being an old biddy who made up gossip. This time I made sure I had my facts correct.”

Chapter 34

“Mom, I have to run to the store. Can you watch Amelia for me?” Josie leaned against her daughter’s wall so her mother couldn’t see her shaking with anger after her ambush by Mrs. Mueller.

“Of course,” Jane said. “Amelia and I will watch television.”

“I can look after myself,” Amelia said.

“Oh, no, young lady,” Josie said. “I no longer trust you to be at home alone. You forfeited that privilege when you ran off with those wine coolers. Your grandmother will stay with you until I get back.”

Josie grabbed her coat and was out the door before Jane could ask what she needed at the store.

Josie drove in a daze. Mike had done what he’d threatened to do—sacrificed himself for his daughter. He’d spend years in prison for a double murder he didn’t commit.

Unless he really did kill Nate.

No, that was crazy, Josie decided. Mike wouldn’t kill two people in cold blood. He might shoot, stab, or punch Nate, but he wouldn’t use anything as sneaky as poison. Anyway, I’m not the sort of woman that men fight over.

Josie arrived at the Naughty or Nice shop five minutes before it closed. The picketers were still chanting and moving in a dispirited circle. Josie thought they seemed cold and weary.

She parked her anonymous gray car on the lot at the shuttered Elsie’s Elf House and listened to a loose sheet of plywood slam in the wind. Ten minutes later, the back door opened at Naughty or Nice. Josie crouched down in her car and watched Doreen toss two trash bags into the overflowing Dumpster. Then the witchy-haired woman locked the back door. Her sullen daughter followed her to the battered blue VW. Heather’s round shoulders and shambling walk made the girl even more unattractive.