Murder With All The Trimmings Part 4

"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."

"f.u.c.k 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-s.h.i.+rt.

"A U2 s.h.i.+rt?" 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 s.e.xy youth.

Josie was grateful when her doorbell rang. Mike was on her doorstep, looking impossibly handsome. His blue uniform s.h.i.+rt 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 gra.s.s, 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-s.h.i.+rt, 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 "h.e.l.lo." 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 pa.s.senger 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 cha.s.sis-rattling thump. Josie winced at the tire ruts in Mrs. M's carefully tended gra.s.s. 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.

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 s.h.i.+rt 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."