Murder With All The Trimmings Part 5

"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. G.o.d 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 p.o.r.n 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 G.o.dless 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 p.o.r.nography 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. n.o.body 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 embarra.s.sed 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 gla.s.s. 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 Sat.u.r.day, 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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 bas.e.m.e.nt 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 t.i.tle. 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 t.i.tle 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 embarra.s.sed, 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.

"Did you love Daddy when you were young?" Amelia said.

Josie's daughter was methodically spreading grape jelly on a second piece of toast, making sure all the corners were perfectly purple.

Josie wanted to yank the knife out of her daughter's hand, but she sat still. This was a lull in their battle. She knew another shot would be fired soon.

"Oh, yes," Josie said. "I was crazy about your father." She didn't add I'm still young. By Amelia's standards, thirty-one was ancient.

"Why?" her daughter said.

"Because he was so funny and energetic. Because I never knew what he would do next. One weekend he would whisk me off to Aruba to scuba dive. We'd go to New York for dinner the next. I never knew what to expect. I liked that."

"But besides taking you places, did you love him?"

Josie winced. "Yes," she said.

It was a good question, and one Josie had never honestly answered before. Nate had kept her off guard their whole courts.h.i.+p. If she'd married him, would their wild romance have withstood the daily grind of grocery shopping, jobs, light bills, and taking out the trash? Not to mention her mother, Jane? Would Nate have become an alcoholic if he'd lived with Josie? There was no way to answer those questions.

"I loved your father," Josie said.

"Do you still love him?" Amelia picked up on that past tense-"loved"-immediately.

Josie tried to give her nine-year-old as much honesty as she could handle. "Part of me still loves Nate and always will. But living with an unpredictable man who has a drinking problem is asking for trouble."

"Is it me?" Amelia asked. "Is that why you broke up with Daddy?"

"No, sweetie. I stopped seeing Nate when he was arrested in Canada for dealing drugs. He was barred from this country. I'd just learned I was going to have you, and I thought it was better to break off our romance. Children need stability, and he couldn't give you that in his situation."

"What if he reformed?" Amelia said.

"It's hard for grown people to change their ways," Josie said. "It's not impossible, but it is difficult. I'm not that much of an optimist that I believe he'll simply stop drinking. I have a question for you: How did you know Nate was your father the first time you saw him?"

"I just knew," Amelia said. The toast had reached her desired level of perfection. "I always knew he wasn't dead, or I would have seen his grave. He's old like you, but he has my eyes and hair. He looks like my daddy."

"Yes, he does," Josie said.

"He found me because he's my daddy. Zoe got a pink Love hoodie for her birthday," Amelia said, abruptly changing the subject as she crunched her toast.

"That's nice," Josie said. She recognized this as another bid in Amelia's Christmas gift hint campaign.

Zoe dressed like a junior hooker. The princ.i.p.al called in Zoe's mother to discuss her child's fas.h.i.+on choices. Zoe's mom showed up wearing clothes even more revealing than her daughter's outrageous outfits, and the discussion ended quickly.

Amelia was smart enough to know Zoe was not high on Josie's list of favorite people. "Paris Hilton was photographed wearing a pink Love hoodie," Amelia said, as if this touch of stardust would persuade her mother.

Josie remained silent.

"Emma's getting one for Christmas," Amelia said.

Josie liked Emma and respected her mother. "I doubt that," Josie said. "Emma's mom doesn't think Paris Hilton is a good role model."

"Emma's grandmother is buying it for her. Do you think Grandma-"

"Your grandmother cannot afford an overpriced hoodie," Josie said firmly. "Don't even mention it to her."

"It's only sixty dollars," Amelia said.

"Grandma lives on Social Security and a small pension," Josie said. "Sixty dollars is too much money for something you'll outgrow in a couple of months."

"What about a cell phone? Those are free."

"Only if you sign up for a plan that bleeds you dry," Josie said. "You are not getting a cell phone."

"It's important for my safety," Amelia said. "That's why the other kids have them."

Nice try, Josie thought. "I drive you to school and to Emma's house. You don't roam the malls or walk to the bus stop. Why do you need a cell phone?"'

"So I can text my friends," Amelia said.

"You already spend hours sending them instant messages."

"It's not the same, Mom. Everyone has a cell phone. I'm nothing but a loser face without one."

"Somehow, Amelia, I doubt that."

Amelia gave a pained sigh. Josie was tempted to sigh along with her, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Josie opened it to find Nate on her front porch. He was a different man from the one she saw last night-at least a clean and sober one. Nate was dressed in a fresh white s.h.i.+rt, open at the collar, and neatly pressed pants. The s.h.i.+rt gapped across his burgeoning beer belly. But some things couldn't be cleaned up. Nate's complexion was crisscrossed with spidery veins. His eyes were red and the skin under them was puffy. His nose-Josie used to love to trace its n.o.ble dimensions with her finger-still looked like an exotic gourd. He was carrying a shopping bag of Christmas-wrapped packages and a big bouquet of red roses.

"Presents for my girls," Nate said. He handed Josie the flowers. He paused, as if he'd prepared a little speech. "I came to apologize. I should have called first before I showed up last night. I shouldn't have let my little girl see me drunk. I didn't mean to drink, Josie. I got nervous. I knew you would be angry when you saw me and I started drinking and couldn't stop."

Ah, an alcoholic's excuses. Josie hated them. Somehow Nate's drinking problem was her fault. He was a long way from recovery.

"Daddy!" Amelia came running out of the kitchen in her pink robe. "What did you bring me?"

"Open your packages and see," Nate said, handing his daughter the shopping bag.