Murder With All the Trimmings (5 page)

“What about my back fence?” Mrs. Mueller said.

“I’ll repaint it,” Josie said.

“Is that an acceptable solution, ma’am?” the older police officer asked Mrs. Mueller.

“Well, if she does a good job,” Mrs. M said reluctantly.

“How about if I paint the fence tomorrow, weather permitting, and you drive by and inspect it, officer?” Josie needed a referee. Mrs. Mueller was never happy with anything she did.

“And what about this young woman?” Mrs. M said. “She should be taking some responsibility, too.”

“Heather can scrub down the fence and sweep the glass out of the alley right now,” Josie said.

“In the dark?” Heather said.

“You can see by the streetlights,” Mrs. M said.

Josie handed Heather the dustpan and broom. “I’ll go get you some paper towels and spray cleaner,” she said.

“I’m not a maid,” Heather said.

“How’d you like to spend the night in juvenile custody?” Josie said. “I hear they make you clean toilets.”

Reluctantly, the kid started to work.

“You missed a spot over there,” Mrs. M said, pointing to a shard of broken glass near her gate.

Heather snarled. “I’ll get it.”

There was a squawk of static on the radio. “We’d better go,” the male police officer said.

“I’ll call if there are further problems,” Mrs. M said.

I bet you will, Josie thought, but she heard a chime.

“That’s my doorbell,” she said. “It must be Mike, Heather’s father.”

“He got here awfully fast,” Mrs. M said. “I hope he didn’t break any speeding laws.” The old snoop was itching to start more trouble.

Josie ran for her house.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang wildly. Amelia had strict orders never to open the door at night without her mother being present.

“Coming!” Josie called breathlessly. “I’ll be right there!”

She flung open the door and stared at the man on her porch. He wasn’t wearing a coat. The buttons strained at the lower half of his plaid shirt. His gut drooped over the top of his pants. His khakis were stained and his socks hunkered down in his shoes. His greasy dark hair was almost gone, but a few strands clung to his shiny scalp like survivors on a raft. His face was damp with sweat.

Josie studied his face. It was bright red with grog blossoms—burst blood vessels—and his nose was so covered with booze-inflicted lumps and bumps, it looked like an exotic gourd.

“Josie!” he said, spraying her with beer-scented breath.

“Do I know you?” Josie asked.

“In the biblical sense,” he said, and hiccupped. “Where’s my li’l girl?”

Josie didn’t recognize the man, but Amelia did. “Daddy!” she cried, and wrapped her arms around his stained khakis. Josie’s daughter and the man had the same dark hair and arched brows. This sloppy drunk was Josie’s daredevil lover, Nate. It was like looking at a ruined portrait. Under a layer of boozy bloat was her Nate.

“Daddy!” Amelia cried. “You’re not dead.”

Chapter 5

“Josie, don’t you know me?” the man asked. Big blubbery tears ran down his drink-ravaged cheeks.

Josie stared at him. Was this beer-sodden lump really Nate? Josie thought she could see the outlines of her impetuous lover: A few less pounds, a little more hair, and maybe this man was Nate.

Amelia wrapped her arms around him and cried, “Daddy, Daddy, I knew you weren’t dead.”

How did Amelia know Nate was her father? Josie wondered. Sure, her daughter had seen his photos. But this flabby drunk bore little resemblance to the dashing helicopter pilot Josie had loved a decade ago.

This can’t be happening, Josie thought. I put my life back together after you wrecked it, Nate. I have a good job, a new man, and faithful friends. Now everything is unraveling.

“No,” Josie said, “I don’t know you.” Not anymore, she thought.

“Josie, how can you do this to me?” Nate wept. “Why didn’t you tell me we had a bootiffall, a beautiful daughter?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a drug dealer?” Josie said.

“I thought you knew,” Nate said. “How did you think I could afford all those gifts?”

“I thought you had money,” Josie said. “You flew a helicopter.”

“Piloting a copter doesn’t pay that much. Not enough to take you to Bermuda, Aruba, and the Cayman Islands,” Nate said. “I wanted to give my Josie the best.” His voice wobbled with self-pity.

“So you sold drugs,” Josie said, failing to keep the disgust out of her voice.

“I didn’t hurt anybody,” Nate said. “If they didn’t buy drugs from me, they’d go somewhere else.”

“The oldest excuse in the world,” Josie said.

“Drugs killed my friend Zoe’s sister,” Amelia said.

“Drugs have ruined a lot of lives,” Josie said. “Including ours, Nate. We could have married, if you hadn’t been arrested for dealing.”

“Aw, baby, don’t be mad at me.” Nate swayed slightly and clung to the back of Josie’s worn couch.

“Mad? I’m furious. And you’re disgusting. How did you find us?”

“Through my detective abili-bili—” Nate gave up on the word. “I’m a good detective, and you’re still living in the same house.”

“Oh,” Josie said.

Josie heard the back door open. Heather materialized at the door to the living room, watching Nate and Josie’s fight as if it were a play staged for her personal entertainment.

“Is that drunk your father, Amelia?” Heather sneered.

“Aw, don’t talk that way, honey,” Nate said, hiccup-ping. “I’m not drunk. I’m happy.”

“You should talk,” Amelia said. “You’re drunk, too, Heather.”

“Fuck you,” Heather said, and threw up on the living room carpet.

Wonderful, Josie thought. Now the carpet is DOA.

She slid between the two girls. “Amelia, go to your room,” Josie said.

“But I just met Daddy,” her daughter whined.

“Yeah,” the drunken Nate said. “We just met. We missed the last eight years.”

“Nine,” Amelia corrected. “I’m nine now.”

Nate started crying. “Another year without my little girl. How could you be so cruel, Josie?”

Josie ignored him. “Heather, you need to freshen up,” she said.

“Yeah, you smell gross,” Amelia said.

Josie took an elbow and towed the reluctant Heather to her own bathroom. She gave the girl fresh towels and a clean T-shirt.

“A U2 shirt?” Heather said. “Those guys stink.”

“Not as bad as you do,” Josie said. “You’d better clean up before your father gets here. He’s going to be angry enough.”

“So what?” Heather said. “He’s too much of a wimp to do anything. I don’t take orders from him. I live with Mom.”

Josie shut the bathroom door and went into the kitchen for more paper towels to pile on the worn carpet. She’d have to shampoo the rug, and she wasn’t sure the pizza stain would come out. It was in the middle of the doorway, so Josie couldn’t hide it with a plant stand or a table.

Nate followed Josie around like a lost duckling. “Let’s go out to dinner,” he said, a sickly half-smile on his face. “I came by so we could catch up on old times, get acquainted again.”

“No,” Josie said. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m seeing someone else.”

“You can do more than see me, baby,” Nate leered. He wiggled his thick hips and nearly fell down. Too many six-packs had ruined his six-pack abs. It was pathetic, like watching an aging actor try to recapture his sexy youth.

Josie was grateful when her doorbell rang. Mike was on her doorstep, looking impossibly handsome. His blue uniform shirt brought out the blue in his eyes, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms. He moved inside with athletic sureness.

“Where is she?” he asked. “Where’s Heather?”

“Taking a shower. She got sick and threw up on the rug.”

“Oh, Josie, I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“This rug is so old, one more stain won’t make a difference,” Josie said.

“Who’s this?” Nate demanded in a belligerent tone.

“Who are you?” Mike asked.

He towered over Nate. The two men sized each other up warily, teeth bared like angry dogs.

“This is Nate,” Josie said.

“I’m Amelia’s fa-fa-father,” Nate said, stumbling over the word.

“Is this true?” Mike said.

Josie blushed in shame. “I haven’t seen him in ten years,” she said.

“A deadbeat dad, huh? Where’s he been?”

“In prison,” Josie said. “I thought he was locked up for life and barred from the United States. I don’t know what he’s doing out of jail.”

“They let me out on a tech—on a techni—on a technicalla-lily,” Nate said.

“And now it’s time for you to leave,” Josie said. “Did you drive here?”

“We can’t let him drive drunk,” Mike said.

“No, I’ll call a cab,” Josie said.

“Doan wan no cab,” Nate said. “Car right outside. Red car. Rental.” His arm made a wide sweep and nearly knocked over the lamp on the end table.

Josie caught the lamp before it fell, then looked out the door. “Oh, Lord, he’s parked in front of Mrs. Mueller’s house and his car is halfway up on her lawn. When she sees those tire tracks in her grass, I’ll never hear the end of it. We’ve got to get him out of here. Give me your keys, Nate.”

“They’re in my pants pocket. You can feel around for them.” Nate tried to roll his eyes roguishly and failed.

“I’ll get them,” Mike said, and pulled the keys out of Nate’s right front pocket.

“Hey!” Nate said. “That’s awf’y personal. I don’t even know you.”

“Where are you staying, Nate?” Josie asked.

“Hotel. Downtown.”

“Which hotel?” Josie said.

“The one across from Tony’s. We used to eat there, ’member? I bet he doesn’t take you to Tony’s.”

“I’ll drive Nate to the hotel,” Mike said. “Why don’t you follow behind us in his car? We’ll leave it with the hotel valet and I’ll bring you back home.”

“What about Heather?” Josie said.

“I’ll pick her up when we get back,” Mike said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Heather walked in, wearing Josie’s U2 T-shirt, wet hair stringing down her back. “I’m not babysitting the kid,” Heather said.

“I’m not asking you to,” Josie said.

She also wasn’t leaving her daughter alone with that teenage werewolf. Josie shut her bedroom door and called her mother. Jane answered with a sleepy “hello.” Josie suspected Jane had dozed off in front of the television again.

“Mom, I have a problem. Could you watch Amelia for an hour?”

“Of course, Josie. Send her upstairs.”

“I can’t, Mom. Heather is here and I don’t want to leave Mike’s daughter alone in my house. I need you downstairs.”

“Amelia is no trouble,” Jane said. “But that other one—”

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Mom. Heather has already been in the beer. Mrs. Mueller caught her drinking out by the garage and throwing bottles at her fence.”

“Josie!” Jane said. “How am I going to hold my head up in this neighborhood?”

“You’re not the one drinking,” Josie said.

“I’ll be right down,” Jane said. “I hope you’re not serious about that plumber, Josie. Marry that man and you’ll marry his problems, too.”

“Heather lives with her mother,” Josie said.

“Then why is that obnoxious girl drinking beer at your house?” Jane said.

“Mom, please. The quicker you come downstairs, the faster I can get rid of her.”

Josie could hear her mother clomping down the stairs that connected the two flats. She opened the back door and reintroduced Jane to Heather.

“This is my mother,” Josie said.

Heather didn’t bother to look up from the television. Jane saw Mike coaxing Nate out the front door.

“Josie, what is Mike doing with that man?” Jane asked.

“The guy isn’t feeling well,” Josie said.

Jane sniffed the air. “He has a bad case of beer flu, judging by the stink.”

“He showed up here drunk. Mike is taking him back to his hotel. I’m following in his rental car.”

“Do I know this person?” Jane asked.

“Yes, but you haven’t seen him in a while,” Josie said. “I’ll explain as soon as I get back.”

Mike marched the drunken Nate to his pickup and practically threw him in the passenger seat, then slammed the door. Josie watched Mike struggle to buckle Nate into his seat while she started the rental car. Finally, Mike’s pickup roared and the headlights came on.

Nate’s rental car was big and square and felt stiff after Josie’s little Honda. Josie drove as carefully as she could, moving slowly off Mrs. Mueller’s lawn. The car drove over the curb and landed in the street with a chassis-rattling thump. Josie winced at the tire ruts in Mrs. M’s carefully tended grass. Would she have to reseed the lawn tomorrow, as well as paint the fence?

Josie drove in a daze, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the sodden drunk in her living room was Nate. What had happened to her ex-lover in ten years? Nate drank when they dated, but only a few beers. He wasn’t an alcoholic then. Not that she noticed.