An Uplifting Murder (14 page)

“I’ll try,” Josie said. “But I can’t make any promises.” Ted looked so sad, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Ted, you can’t save everyone.”

“I know. I just want to make a difference in my little world. I’m failing.” His shoulders sagged.

“No, you’re not,” Josie said. “You’re doing everything you can. You have to remember that.”

Free advice costs nothing, Josie thought as she kissed Ted. Maybe I should take some. The price is right.

Chapter 14

“Josie Marcus, I need to talk to you!”

Mrs. Mueller was waiting at the end of Josie’s shoveled walk, clipboard in hand. Josie’s neighbor looked like the killer in the grainy mall video: large, lumpy, and gray. She was ready for a winter war. Her hair was sprayed into an iron gray helmet. Her coat could belong to a Russian general. Her boots were suitable for Siberia. Mrs. Mueller planted them in Josie’s path, blocking her way.

Josie buried her face deeper in her wool scarf. Only her brown eyes were visible between the scarf and her hat. They shifted left, then right, looking for a way around Mrs. M.

It wasn’t going to be easy. Shoveled snow was heaped on both sides of the sidewalk, and Josie was slowed by her load of groceries. She’d stopped at the store on her way home from Ted’s this morning.

Josie hoped the groceries would distract Amelia from discussing her mother’s overnight absence. Josie knew she couldn’t fool Mrs. Mueller. The neighborhood gossip had already noted Josie’s car had not been parked outside her flat last night and mentally condemned her. Mrs. Mueller had disapproved of Josie almost from the day the Marcus family had moved next door.

“Excuse me,” Josie said. “I have to get these groceries inside.”

“Those eggs won’t spoil,” Mrs. Mueller said. “Not in this cold. Snow won’t hurt that can of coffee.”

“These groceries are heavy,” Josie said.

Mrs. Mueller snorted like a Clydesdale. “For a strong girl like you? If you must go inside, we can discuss this issue there. But I won’t leave this property until I’ve talked with you, Josie Marcus. And it isn’t your yard. It belongs to your mother.”

Jane admired Mrs. Mueller, local committeewoman and neighborhood fixer, for reasons Josie could never fathom. No way I’ll let that woman inside my flat, she thought.

“What do you want?” Her mother would have disapproved of Josie’s tone, but Jane wasn’t facing Mrs. Mueller with the windchill at two below.

“I want your signature on this petition.” Mrs. Mueller’s sturdy gloved finger pointed to the clipboard. Nearly every line on the form was filled with signatures.

“What for?” Josie asked. She was getting icicles on her eyebrows.

“It bans the use of our church basement for Narcotics Anonymous meetings.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Josie asked.

“We’ll have drug addicts at St. Philomena’s,” Mrs. Mueller said.

“Recovering drug addicts,” Josie said. “Big difference. Narcotics Anonymous members want to quit using. They’ll drink coffee, discuss their problems, and stay clean. That’s what churches are for. To help those who are tempted.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Mueller said. “Some people can’t resist temptation. Our church has many items that can be easily fenced. What if those drug addicts steal the gold candle-sticks off the altar and hock them for drugs?”

“The church has insurance,” Josie said.

“Few drug users reform,” Mrs. Mueller said. Her chins were wobbling with indignation. “Most of those people are incorrigible. I’ve seen the figures on recovery. Only one in eight drug users beat their addiction. What do we do about the other seven?”

“God will forgive them,” Josie said. “You should, too. I won’t sign that petition. It’s the church’s duty to provide a place for Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go inside before I freeze.”

Mrs. Mueller didn’t move. Josie stepped around the stubborn woman into a snowdrift higher than her boot tops. The cold snow filling her boots was a chilling shock and spurred Josie on. She sprinted for her front door, her outraged neighbor behind her squawking like an angry hen.

Amelia held the door open. Inside, Josie relished the warmth as she hung her coat by the door and slipped off her boots. She kissed Amelia, then bolted the front door shut.

“Good teamwork,” she told her daughter.

“What’s Mrs. M complaining about this time?” Amelia asked.

“Narcotics Anonymous meetings. She thinks they’ll bring addicts into the neighborhood.”

“Isn’t her daughter a gambling addict?” Amelia said.

“That’s different. At least to Mrs. Mueller.”

Amelia carried the groceries into the kitchen and set them on the table. Harry jumped up on the table and gave her arm a polite forehead bump.

“Hey! Off the table, big guy,” Josie said. Harry gave her an extravagant purr as she dumped him on the floor.

“So, how was your sleepover, Mom?” Amelia asked.

“Dinner at Failoni’s was lovely,” Josie said. “It was nice to see Ted.”

“How much of him did you see?” Amelia’s shoulders were back and her fledgling breasts were thrust out as she put the eggs away in the fridge.

“I’m entitled to my privacy,” Josie said, sharply. “You are a young woman and should act that way.”

Amelia looked contrite. “Sorry, Mom. I appreciate your efforts to hide Ted.”

“I’m not hiding Ted,” Josie said.

“I said that wrong,” Amelia said. “I mean it’s nice that you don’t flaunt him. Callie’s mom has turned their house into cougar town.”

“Who’s Callie?”

“Callandra Simmons,” Amelia said. “She’s new at school. Callie’s mom even wears a cougar ring.”

“What’s that?” Josie said.

“It’s lame,” Amelia said. “Her mom’s got this silver ring with a cougar head to show she’s prowling for younger men.”

“Where’s Callie’s dad?”

“Out. Her mom found out he was having an affair at work and made him leave the house. She gets her revenge by hooking up with younger men. Callie never knows who she’ll find frying eggs in the kitchen on Sunday morning. Her cougar mom did it with the postman, the dishwasher repairman, and the pool boy.”

“She has a pool boy in the winter?” Josie couldn’t hide her interest.

“He shovels snow in the winter. You’d be surprised how fast he can clear her driveway.”

Amelia saw her mother’s frown and said, “I’m glad you’re not like Callie’s mother. I’d be embarrassed if Ted wandered into the kitchen in his boxers.”

“Me, too,” Josie said. “How’s the new bra?”

“It bothers me when I wear it all day.”

“Maybe we should get you one that fits better,” Josie said.

“No!” Amelia said. “I like this one. Emma thinks it’s awesome. I’m not used to it, that’s all. Grandma says I have better posture when I wear a bra.”

“Did she see it?”

“Not yet,” Amelia said. “I don’t think she’s an Ed Hardy person. She’d get the hearts, but not the skulls. Is it okay if I go over to Emma’s house this afternoon and watch a movie? It’s G-rated. Emma’s mom won’t even allow her to watch PG-13 movies unless she’s seen them first.”

“I should think not,” Josie said. The two women had similar views on child rearing. Emma’s home was a safe place for her daughter to hang out. “I’ll call Emma’s mother and check. If Liz says it’s all right for you to visit, I’ll drop you off. I’m taking Ted to lunch.”

“Didn’t you two just have dinner?”

“That was last night,” Josie said. “Want to make something out of it?”

Amelia giggled and put on her coat and boots while Josie checked with Emma’s mother. Liz offered to bring Amelia home by five o’clock. Emma’s house was two highway exits away from Ted’s place.

Ted rented a two-bedroom home on the edge of Maplewood, a redbrick bungalow with a round-topped wooden door that belonged on a fairy-tale cottage. Josie studied the churned snow where Ted had been playing with Festus, his black Lab.

Ted loped out of his house, wearing a fleece jacket over a red lumberjack shirt and sturdy Timberland boots. He filled her overheated car with a rush of cold air and sexual static.

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear.

The conversation died after that promising opening. Twenty minutes later, they were almost at El Loco Burro when Josie said, “You’re quiet. Are you tired?”

“Worried,” he said. “Stuart Little, the abandoned shih tzu, won’t eat. I have to find him a home. Do you think your mother would adopt him?”

“I haven’t had time to ask her yet, Ted. She’s not an animal lover.”

“No one could resist that dog’s big eyes and lovable personality.” He fluttered his own eyelashes at her.

“Mom could,” Josie said.

“How about if I throw in a year’s worth of dog food and free medical care? It won’t cost Jane to look at him.”

“You can try,” Josie said. “It’s on your head if she goes ballistic.”

“A risk I’ll take. Your mother loves me. She’ll love Stuart Little, too.”

“She won’t have to walk you twice a day,” Josie said. She spotted a shoveled parking space in front of the restaurant and slid into it—literally.

El Loco Burro’s stolid brick storefront gave no hint of the warmth and color inside. The restaurant looked like every tourist trap between St. Louis and Tijuana—bright Mexican blankets, bouquets of red paper flowers, and a yellow piñata. Latino music blared. The air was fragrant with grilled meat and spicy sauce.

Josie and Ted sat at the only empty table. A statuesque woman in a long skirt carried out menus, salsa, and a basket of chips. “My name is Rosa,” she began, “and I’ll be your . . .”

She stopped. “Josie, is that you? Laura’s friend?”

“It is,” Josie said. “I’m seriously in need of a margarita and a chicken fajita.”

“I’ll have a Tecate beer and the Big Burro beef burrito,” Ted said.

Rosa delivered a brimming margarita. Ted’s burrito was big as a rolled bath towel and smothered in cheese. Josie and Ted once more lapsed into silence, this time in appreciation of their food.

Rosa ran back and forth, fetching chips, bringing plates, and pouring coffee. She stopped for a moment at their table and Josie asked, “How’s the store now that Laura’s—” She wasn’t sure what to say next: Gone? Arrested? In jail?

“I’m the new manager,” Rosa said. “I don’t want Laura’s job. I used to have weekends off to help out at my family’s restaurant. Now I can’t until Laura is free. I have to leave here at three o’clock to work at the lingerie store.”

“You must be run ragged,” Ted said. “This place is packed.”

“And mortgaged to the hilt,” Rosa said.

“It seems so successful,” Josie said.

“It is,” Rosa said. “My sister and brother-in-law are good managers. But they’re paying Papa’s medical bills after his heart attack. He’s not well enough to wait tables, but he still comes to work. That’s Papa at the register—Hector Maria Albagato.”

Rosa’s father was short, stocky, and weary-looking. His hair was frosted white. His skin was a sickly yellow. Propped against the counter behind Hector was a metal orthopedic cane.

“He’s getting better,” Rosa said. “We almost lost Papa in two thousand eight. He was coming home from dinner at my aunt Carmen’s. He blamed her arroz con pollo for his heartburn. Thank heaven my mother recognized that warning sign. They were near Holy Redeemer and she insisted Papa go straight to the ER. The hospital saved his life, but we’re buried in bills.”