An Uplifting Murder (15 page)

“Medicare doesn’t cover much,” Ted said.

“For those who have it,” Rosa said.

“Miss! More coffee!” The man at the next table raised his cup. Rosa bustled off to fill it.

“I wonder if Rosa knows about the resident-alien program?” Josie said. “Her father could buy Medicare coverage.”

“How would you know about that?” Ted asked. “You’re too young to worry about Medicare.”

“I heard Mom and Mrs. Mueller discussing it.”

“She’s your nosy neighbor?” Ted asked.

“That’s her. Mrs. M found out that a Russian immigrant working at a local store got Medicare and she wasn’t a citizen. Natasha is nearly seventy and works six days a week. Mrs. Mueller complained to our representative about a ‘foreigner getting a free ride.’ The representative said resident aliens didn’t have to be U.S. citizens, but they did have to be in this country legally.”

“Dessert? Coffee?” Rosa asked.

“No, thanks,” Ted said, patting his flat stomach. “That was good.”

“Rosa, do you know resident aliens can buy Medicare insurance?” Josie asked.

Rosa’s smiling face turned stone hard. Josie started fumbling with her words. “I mean, it’s not my business, but it might help if your father needs more medical care.”

Rosa slapped down the check. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s not your business.” She walked away, her back rigid with indignation.

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Josie said. “I didn’t think low-cost health insurance was a touchy subject.”

Ted lowered his voice. “What if Rosa’s parents are illegal? What if they came here on a visit and never went home? No wonder the family is struggling to pay the hospital bills. One phone call and ICE would bust through that door.”

“ICE?” Josie asked.

“The new name for immigration,” Ted said.

“Right. The margaritas must be getting to me. I was thinking ice as in snow and winter.”

“Hector would be deported,” Ted said. “Somebody at the hospital would know Rosa’s father didn’t have health insurance. It would be easy to figure out why his family is struggling to pay those bills, instead of walking away from them like so many people do. I bet Frankie saw Hector’s paperwork and found out.”

“Maybe,” Josie said. “But Frankie had an easier way. Her late brother, Charlie, owned a Mexican restaurant, Fiesta San Luis. The feds rapped Charlie’s knuckles for hiring illegals. After that, Charlie used a law firm to vet all his staff—Alyce’s husband is a partner. Charlie told Alyce at a party that an old man called Hector tried to get a job at his restaurant with a forged green card. Hector’s middle name was Maria. Charlie thought it was a big joke that a man had a woman’s name.”

“Charlie may have owned a Mexican restaurant,” Ted said, “but he sure didn’t understand the culture. Maria is a traditional name for men in a number of Catholic countries.”

“Hector Maria might have laughed at Charlie’s middle name—Darwin,” Josie said. “He and his sister weren’t so highly evolved.”

“Frankie and her brother sound like a nasty pair, laughing at a desperate old man,” Ted said.

“I wonder if that information died with Frankie,” Josie said.

Chapter 15

“Josie, you have to help me,” Jane said. “My car won’t start. I’m stranded.”

Josie could hear the fear in her mother’s voice. She sat up on the couch, sending Harry skittering to the floor. Her sixty-eight-year-old mother shouldn’t be out in a night like this: It was black as the inside of a coal mine, the temperature was dropping below zero, and the streets were slick with fresh snow.

“Where are you, Mom?”

“I’ve just come out of the Altar Society meeting. I stayed behind to talk to Father Murphy. The other committee members have left. I tried to start my car, but it makes a clicking sound when I turn the key. I’ve called Triple A. The nice girl on the phone asked if I was in a safe place. I told her I was in a dark parking lot surrounded by drug dealers.”

Drug dealers? The church wasn’t in an iffy neighborhood.

“Did you park your car at St. Philomena’s Church?” Josie asked.

“Of course,” Jane said.

“Then how can you be surrounded by drug dealers?”

“There’s a Narcotics Anonymous meeting at the church.”

“Mom, those people are
recovering
drug users. They’re not going to bother you, no matter what Mrs. Mueller said.”

“They don’t look like our parishioners,” Jane said. “I saw a skinny woman in black who could use a bath and a large scary man going into that meeting room. One has a tattoo on his face—a black widow spider. Who would do that to his face? Get here soon, Josie. Please, don’t leave me here alone with those people.”

Josie could see her small sturdy mother in her sensible wool coat, shivering in fear from imaginary drug lords and their ladies.

“Mom, I’m leaving now. Go inside the church vestibule and wait for me. Keep your cell phone on. I’ll talk to you while I drive there.”

Josie had her coat on and was running out the door.

“No, I can’t keep talking to you,” Jane said, her panic rising. “I have to keep the line open so Triple A can call me.”

Josie unlocked her car and slid inside. “Mom, I’m in the car. That’s my engine starting. I’ll be there before you know it,” Josie said. “The NA meeting is in the church basement. They’ll use the side door. You stay inside in the front of the church. I’m on my way. Triple A should be there any moment.”

Josie snapped her phone shut and drove to St. Philomena’s as quickly as she could safely manage. She was at the old redbrick and stone church in twelve minutes, even going twenty-five miles an hour. The church’s pointed Gothic towers loomed over a snow-filled playground where dark shadows chased one another. The parking lot was a desert of salted asphalt, quickly being covered with more snow.

Under the orange brown mercury-vapor lights, a burly tow truck driver was hooking the front end of Jane’s car onto his flatbed truck. The man looked like he could have carried the car under one muscular arm.

The tow truck driver labored patiently, attaching hooks and checking chains. He puffed out great bursts of air like a steam engine. Jane stood behind him, supervising and making smaller puffs of air. My mother, the Little Engine That Could, Josie thought.

She gave her car horn a friendly tap and waved. To make sure the tow truck driver had room to maneuver, Josie drove around by the church’s side entrance. A handful of cars were huddled near it, including a dented green Neon. The tiny car’s back window was crammed with stuffed animals. Josie wondered if it belonged to a recovering Ecstasy user. She’d read that X users liked the feel of soft things such as velvet, plush, and fur.

A neat black Honda pulled into the slot next to the Neon and a blonde climbed out. The woman looked vaguely familiar. The lot’s brownish lights distorted her skin color, but Josie could tell she was milk pale with plump lips. The woman wasn’t wearing a hat, and Josie saw her hair—what there was of it. Her hair was stylishly shaved and gelled into waiflike wisps. It was Trish, the saleswoman who’d waited on Amelia at Desiree Lingerie.

Josie opened her door and started to say hello, then wondered if Trish wanted to be recognized when she was going to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. They had an awkward, nearly wordless encounter.

“Hi,” Josie said. The sound died on her lips.

“Uh, hello,” Trish said, vaguely.

Josie was sure Trish didn’t recognize her. Trish is too distinctive to miss, she thought, and I’m too anonymous to remember. I should be grateful. Good mystery shoppers need to blend in with the crowd. Better let Trish believe she really is anonymous.

Josie wondered what drug Trish used to take and whether she’d been addicted to prescription or street drugs. Had she stolen to support her habit? A tiny thought burrowed into her mind like a worm: What if Mrs. Mueller was right?

Mrs. Mueller was never right, she told herself firmly. People deserve another chance. It’s none of my business what brought Trish to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Maybe she got addicted to painkillers after a bad car accident. Josie headed into the cold wind toward the front church entrance and her stranded mother, warmed by her virtuous thoughts.

“Thank goodness you got here,” Jane said. “This nice man is ready to leave.” She hugged her daughter and hung on as tightly as if they’d been separated for months. Josie hugged her mother back.

Jane threw the tow truck driver a smile warm enough to melt the nearby pile of plowed snow.

“I think your car has a bad starter, ma’am, but your mechanic will know for sure,” he said to Jane. “You want it towed to Pete’s, right?”

Jane checked the repair shop’s address and signed the forms. Her nose was red from the cold. “I’m frozen,” she said. “Let’s go home. I’ll make hot chocolate and peanut butter cookies. Amelia can help.”

“I’ll help eat them,” Josie said.

Back at their home, Amelia followed her grandmother upstairs for another cooking lesson. Harry trailed behind his friend, his striped tail raised in a question mark, the signal of cat curiosity. Harry suspected Jane might feed him from the stash of treats she kept upstairs.

Josie started to go with them when her phone rang. She heard whimpers when she answered. “Ted? Is your dog hurt?”

“Festus is fine,” Ted said. “You’re listening to Stuart Little, the abandoned shih tzu. I’ve got him on my lap. He’s lonely. Can I bring him over tonight to meet your mother?”

“Not a good idea,” Josie said. “Mom just had her car towed this evening. It wouldn’t start and she was stranded in the snow.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“You can try,” Josie said. “Come over for dinner then.”

“I’ll cook,” he said.

Had he volunteered to fix dinner to avoid her cooking? Josie wondered. No reason to feel hurt. Ted was as good a cook as he was a lover. She was better in bed than in the kitchen—she hoped.

“How about a winter meal of white chili?” he said. “It has a little cayenne pepper for a mild kick, white beans, chicken breasts, and Monterey Jack cheese. I’ll make corn bread, too.”

“Sounds hearty,” Josie said.

“Do you think your mother will like it? Can she come to dinner, too?”

Josie thought of her mother glaring at the poor dog while everyone tried to eat. Not a good idea, she decided. “Let’s have her come downstairs after dinner,” she said. “That will give Stuart Little time to calm down and get used to a new place. What kind of wine goes with white chili?”

“Beer,” Ted said. “I’ll start the chili tonight. The flavor will rock by tomorrow night. Amelia will be there, won’t she?”

She wouldn’t miss the chance to flirt with you, Josie thought. “Amelia is at Mom’s making peanut butter cookies right now,” she said. “There should be enough left over for dessert tomorrow night.”

“It just gets better and better,” Ted said.

It certainly does, Josie thought. I’m in love with a hottie who begs to cook for me. He likes my daughter. My mother is crazy about him. I hope she still likes Ted after he springs that dog adoption on her.

Life seemed nearly perfect until she remembered Laura Ferguson, locked in the county jail.

Why was Laura’s sales associate going to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting? Was Trish a recovering drug user? Did she go to the meeting masquerading as a user to get a better perspective for her future police work?

Going undercover in that amateur way was risky if she wanted to be a police officer. The wrong person could see Trish going to that meeting. Mrs. Mueller wasn’t the only snoop in the neighborhood.

Did Frankie, the former mean girl, stumble on Trish’s drug use at the hospital? Did Trish go to the emergency room because she had OD’d? That would make a tasty tidbit for the power-hungry nurse. What if Frankie taunted her and Trish killed her to save her future career?