Murder With All the Trimmings (12 page)

“Omigod,” Josie said. “The snow is that heavy?”

“Well, it had some help.The police are talking attempted murder. The place is crawling with cops and they want to interview Heather, and I have to stay here for her.”

“Of course you do,” Josie said. “She’s not a suspect, is she?”

“No,” Mike said. “But the police did find the snow on the roof had been deliberately loosened, probably by a shovel. There are footprints in the vicinity. They’re interviewing all the neighbors and they have a witness who saw something.”

“They do?” Josie said.

“Yep. An old woman says she saw Santa Claus up on the roof loosening the snow. The cops are laughing their asses off.”

Ho, ho, ho, Josie thought.

Chapter 12

“There’s a suspect in the attempted murder at the Naughty or Nice Christmas shop,” the TV anchor said, staring earnestly into the camera. The show cut to a commercial for tile cleaner, leaving the audience waiting.

Jane was dozing. Josie rushed over to the TV and turned up the volume, waking her mother.

“What are you doing?” Jane was huddled under Josie’s knitted throw on the couch.

“That’s the shop run by Mike’s ex,” Josie said. “I need to see this story.”

Sixty seconds later, the anchor was back. He could barely keep from laughing. “Naughty or Nice is the store that is being picketed for selling allegedly obscene ornaments,” he said.

The television showed picketers chanting and circling the shop, then flashed on the pornaments.

Josie groaned. Poor Mike. He was going to lose his investment, thanks to murder and malice at Christmas.

“Mildred Sprike, a fifty-eight-year-old church picketer, was seriously injured when snow and ice slid from the roof of the Naughty or Nice shop,” the anchor said. His lips twitched. “Mrs. Sprike, mother of four, was picketing the store when a shelf of ice came loose and hit her on the head. Mrs. Sprike was taken by ambulance to Barnes-Jewish Hospital and remains in critical condition.

“A police spokesperson said Mrs. Sprike’s injuries were no accident. The ice was deliberately loosened from the roof. In an exclusive interview with Channel Seven, a neighbor says she saw the culprit. Mrs. Edna Pickerel, age ninety-eight, said she witnessed the incident from her kitchen window.”

An elderly woman in a fluffy blue sweater and flyaway white hair was interviewed in her kitchen. Josie estimated the Magic Chef stove was at least half a century old. The woman’s head trembled and her rheumy eyes peered through thick glasses.

“It was Sanny Claus,” the woman said. “Sanny Claus got up on that nasty shop’s roof with a snow shovel and pushed the snow down on that church lady’s head. Nearly killed her. I saw him do it.”

“You really saw Santa?” the reporter asked. Josie could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I saw what I saw and Sanny Claus was on that roof,” the woman insisted. “He wore a red suit, a long white beard, and black boots.”

A graphic of Santa in a WANTED poster flashed on the screen.

The news anchor was giggling so hard he could barely talk. “Police have declined to make an arrest in the case,” he said. “If they check the malls, they’ll find Santa has an alibi for this afternoon.” He ended with a snorting giggle.

“A woman is in intensive care at Christmas and that idiot thinks it’s funny?” Jane asked. “Why is Channel Seven interviewing that poor old soul? You know she’s senile, and so do they. No respect for her age. I swear, that station gets worse and worse.”

But she didn’t change the channel.

Josie settled into her big chair with hot cocoa to watch the weather report. She drifted off as a cold front was crossing Nebraska.

Josie woke up around eleven p.m., feeling more tired than she had before her nap. Her cocoa cup was in the sink, and her mother was gone, along with the chicken soup. The knit throw was folded neatly on the couch. Josie checked on Amelia. Her daughter was sleeping in her flannel pajamas. Thank you, Mom, Josie thought, as she tucked her daughter in for the night. She showered and headed for her own bed.

Monday morning dawned crisp and cold. The snow on the lawn was like a down comforter. The neighborhood streets were slushy, but open. Cars moved fearlessly down the road, most going a little too fast for the icy conditions.

At breakfast Amelia listened intently to the radio’s list of school closings. She was disappointed when Barrington School wasn’t called.

“Parkway District is closed,” Amelia said. “We should be, too.”

“It’s seven thirty,” Josie said. “If the school was closed, we’d know by now.”

“Can’t you call, just to make sure?” Amelia begged.

“No one answers the office phone until eight,” Josie said. But she made the call and got a taped message: “The Barrington School for Boys and Girls will be open Monday. This is not a snow day. Unexcused absences will not be accepted.”

“Sorry,” Josie said. “It’s school for you.”

On the way, Amelia flipped the radio from station to station, still hoping her school was closing. Josie didn’t remind her that she’d been barred from the radio controls. As the Honda pulled into the Barrington driveway, Amelia’s last hope died. She spotted her friend Emma and waved, barely waiting for Josie to stop the car before Amelia hopped out, dragging her backpack. Josie was relieved to see her daughter go. She didn’t want to face her today and get into another argument about Nate.

Josie hurried home on the traffic-clogged streets. She dodged an SUV that was going too fast. The big vehicle spun out on a patch of ice, narrowly missed Josie’s Honda, and bashed into a tree. Josie checked to make sure the driver was unhurt. He waved her on as he called 911 on his cell phone.

She was relieved to park in front of her house. She noticed it was the only home on the block with no holiday decorations. Josie’s pristine yard seemed cheerless and bare.

Inside, Josie made coffee and checked her e-mail. Her boss, Harry, acknowledged that he’d received her mystery-shopper report, but made no other comment. He also had no work for her. It was time to drag out the outdoor Christmas decorations, a task Josie was in no mood for. Her trips to the mall had soured her Christmas spirit.

Might as well wallow in my bad mood, Josie thought. She put on the Dixie Chicks’ “Goodbye Earl” video and cranked up the sound, something she did only when she was alone. She sang along with the story of the wife basher who was done in by poisoned black-eyed peas. If only my problem could be solved as easily, Josie thought. She imagined a dead Nate rolled up in a tarp like a burrito.

Josie brushed the picture from her mind and hauled Jane’s pride and joy out of the basement—a five-foot-tall toy soldier in red, white and yellow twinkle lights.

Josie had bought the outdoor decoration cheap at an after-Christmas sale and regretted it ever since. But Jane and Amelia insisted it belonged on their lawn, guarding the twinkle-light reindeer, the snowman, and the nearly life-size Nativity scene.

The garish display embarrassed Josie, but she told herself she was being a snob. She stripped the protective plastic wrap off the soldier in the kitchen and dragged him through the living room.

“Get out here, you worthless bitch!” a voice screamed. For a moment Josie thought she was back in the Dixie Chicks’ trailer park.

“You ruined my store, you bitch,” the woman cried, and Josie realized that was no video. It was her life.

A furious Doreen was on the porch, clutching a fistful of paper that was probably Josie’s mystery-shopper report. Josie peeked out the blinds. Doreen was a fearsome sight in dead black, her hair flying every which way. She pounded on Josie’s door until her sallow skin turned red.

“Get out here, so I can tear the hair out of your slutty head,” Doreen screamed.

Where did Doreen get that report? Josie wondered. Her name wasn’t on it. But Harry wouldn’t hesitate to sell out his staff. He’d done it before. Thanks to Heather, Doreen knew where Josie lived. Now Mike’s ex was on Josie’s doorstep, demanding retribution.

Might as well face her—but not without a weapon. Josie hung on to her giant toy soldier as a flimsy shield. She flung open her front door. Doreen nearly smashed Josie’s face with her fist.

“How dare you make up those lies?” Doreen shrieked. “You said there were roaches in my gingerbread. It’s not true.”

“It is true,” Josie said. “I have the cake and the roach.”

“You planted that roach in my gingerbread. Heather saw you.”

“No, she didn’t,” Josie said. “I brought a witness when I mystery-shopped your store. She saw me bite into that roach. Your daughter charged me for insect-infested cake. I should report you to the health department.”

“It’s not me,” Doreen said. “I don’t have roaches. Elsie and her damned Elf House planted them in my store. She’s out to ruin my business.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Josie said. “You’re doing a fine job all by yourself.”

Josie looked up and saw Mrs. Mueller watching the show. She wished the older woman would help break up the fight, but she stood there like a lawn ornament.

Suddenly a broom came out of nowhere. A furious Jane whacked the witchy Doreen in the head.

“Don’t you dare threaten my daughter,” Jane said. “Get off my porch before I call the police. You and your juvenile delinquent Heather are both trouble. She was here the other night. She got drunk and threw beer bottles at my neighbor’s fence. Drunk! Now you dare accuse Josie of lying? I’ll tell everyone at the St. Philomena Sodality, and we’ll boycott that nastiness you sell. Pornaments, indeed. They belong in a Hustler store, not in Maplewood. For shame! You’re the mother of a young daughter. What kind of example are you?”

“Shut up, bitch,” Doreen said.

“Don’t you talk to my mother like that.” Josie hit Doreen with the toy soldier. She heard a cracking noise, and hoped it was Doreen.

Doreen didn’t move.

Jane brandished her broom. “Go on, get out of here. Out, before I sweep you away like the trash you are!” Jane thumped Doreen on the shoulders like a disobedient dog and shooed her out to her car.

“You’ll be sorry, Josie Marcus, and so will that shitty plumber you date.”

After Doreen started the engine and drove off, Josie hugged her mother.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said. “You saved me.”

Jane was fluffed up like an angry hen. “I can’t believe that woman, selling filth in my neighborhood—and accusing you of lying. I had enough.”

“I’m glad you did.” Josie gave her mother another hug. Mrs. Mueller was barricaded in her house, probably telephoning the whole neighborhood with the latest Marcus disgrace.

“What have you done to my soldier?” Jane said.

Josie saw that his arm hung crooked and his shoulder was broken.

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

“He died in a good cause,” Jane said.

For the rest of the day, Josie dragged out lawn ornaments and set them up in the front yard. She hung a pinecone wreath on the door and stockings on the fake fireplace. Then she went out to the car, retrieved the roach-infested cake, and put it in a plastic bag with a sign that said, POISON. DO NOT EAT.

She hoped Mike would call so they could go out tonight. Noon. No call. One o’clock, no call. Two o’clock passed without a word from Mike.

By the time she left to pick up Amelia at school, Mike still hadn’t called. Was he mad at her because of that report? Well, she wasn’t waiting around for her phone to ring, like a lovesick teenager. Josie turned on the outdoor lights so Amelia could see the full display on their lawn when she came home.

“Awesome,” Amelia said, when they pulled up in front of the house. “We’ve got the brightest house on the block.”

“Yes, we do,” Josie said. She wished they didn’t.

“There’s the snowman, the giant candy cane, and the Nativity scene. But where’s the toy soldier?” Amelia asked.

“He met with a little accident,” Josie said.

“What happened?”

“He ran into Heather’s mom. She tried to attack me.”

“She’s nutso-crazy,” Amelia said.

“I’ll find you another toy soldier,” Josie said.

“Can we get a Christmas tree, Mom? A real one?”

“Do you really want to kill a tree for Christmas?” Josie asked.

“It’s a sacrifice we should make,” Amelia said.

Chapter 13