Murder With All the Trimmings (6 page)

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.

The paint rolled on the fence smooth and creamy. Mrs. M came out to supervise. She wore a short gray jacket and looked like a Russian prison matron. Mrs. Mueller made Josie put on three coats of paint and still complained that she could see the beer stain.

“I can smell it, too,” Mrs. Mueller said. “My fence has the rank odor of old beer.”

All Josie could smell was the powerful odor of fresh paint.

“Tell it to the cops when they come by,” Josie said, packing up her paint, tray, and roller. “Three coats are enough. I’m finished.”

Mrs. Mueller huffed, but Josie ignored her. She was certain Mrs. M hadn’t discovered the ruts in her front lawn yet. If she had, she would have given Josie another earful.

Josie found Amelia having breakfast at the kitchen table, scarfing down toast, grape jelly, and milk. Her daughter was reading a book. Josie smiled. Her mother used to reprimand her for it, but Josie didn’t mind if Amelia read at breakfast. She never understood why her mother hated it.

“Good morning,” Josie said.

Amelia ignored her.

Josie was spoiling for a fight after dealing with Mrs. Mueller. “I said, ‘Good morning.’ ” She raised her voice a few notches.

Amelia still didn’t respond.

Josie took the book out of her daughter’s hand. “Excuse me. When did I become invisible? And is that a backpack I see on the floor by the front door? Who’s going to pick it up before someone trips over it and breaks her neck? The maid. Oh, wait. We don’t have a maid. That must be me! I have a new title. Josie Marcus, mystery shopper
and
maid.”

“Moooom,” Amelia said, dragging the word out for at least four syllables.

“Don’t Moooom me,” Josie said. “You sound like a sick cow.”

Amelia mumbled something that Josie couldn’t hear. “I missed that,” Josie said. “Were you apologizing?”

“No,” Amelia said defiantly. Tears leaked out of her dark brown eyes, but she was too proud to give in to them. “I said your new title should be ‘liar,’ because that’s what you are. You lied about Daddy.”

Ah. Now the ugly facts were out in the open. Josie had to tell the truth this time, no matter how difficult. She poured herself another cup of coffee with shaking hands and sat down next to her daughter. She could hardly bear to look at Amelia’s tearstained face.

“I’m sorry, Amelia. I thought I was doing the right thing, but obviously I wasn’t. I didn’t know that your father was a drug dealer when we were dating. By the time I found out, it was too late. I was already pregnant with you. I wanted you more than anything in the world, but I didn’t want you involved with anyone who’d been in prison.”

“Why?” Amelia cried. “What’s so bad about prison? Todd’s father went there for embezzling. Todd said it was like a country club.”

“Prison is never a country club,” Josie said. “In a country club, people wait on you and call you ‘sir.’ You can come and go as you please. You dine in pleasant rooms and eat good food.

“You can’t leave prison until you’ve served your sentence. The food is worse than your school’s cafeteria and there’s an open toilet in your room. Guards watch you all the time. You have no freedom. Todd could only see his father on certain visiting days. Todd’s father went to his own mother’s funeral with two marshals guarding him like he was with the mob. He wore handcuffs in front of their friends and family. Todd’s mother was so embarrassed, she looked like she wanted to crawl into her mother-in-law’s coffin.

“Some prisons are not as bad as others, but none are vacations. You go to prison for punishment, and it’s filled with bad people, and you cannot avoid them. I didn’t want you dragged into that world. That’s why I said your father was dead. I lied. I was wrong. I can see you were hurt and I didn’t protect you after all. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. It was a poor decision on my part.”

“What’s wrong with being dragged into that world?” Amelia said.

“Drug dealers break the law. Some of them kill people to get their money. When your father sold drugs, he put us all in danger.” Josie wondered if she’d been watching too many
Miami Vice
reruns.

“Did Daddy kill anyone?” Amelia said.

“I don’t think so,” Josie said. But she wasn’t sure anymore. “The man I knew was kind and generous, and I loved him more than anything in the world, except you.”

But whether the man I loved was the real Nate, or I’d idealized him, I’ll never know, Josie thought.

Chapter 7