Murder With All the Trimmings (19 page)

Jack made it to Josie’s home in less than half an hour. Once again, Josie was struck by how much he looked like Nate. It hurt her to see him. She could almost imagine Nate was alive again. She brushed away those thoughts and the tears that went with them, and opened the door.

“Thanks for being here,” she said.

“How is my granddaughter?” Jack said. “May I see her?”

“I’m right here,” Amelia said. She was still too pale, but washed and dressed, with her dark hair neatly pulled back by a headband. She was still wearing the precious hoodie, which was getting a bit gray around the edges.

“You look nice,” her grandfather said. “You’ve made an effort with your appearance. I’d like to ask one more favor, please?”

“What?” Amelia’s voice was suddenly frosty with suspicion.

“That hoodie is lovely, but not as fresh as it should be. Would you change into something a little cleaner? Your mother will wash it while we’re gone.”

Amelia’s jaw started to thrust forward with that bulldog stubbornness. Jack saw it, too.

“I hear the Posh Nosh has good buffalo pastrami,” he said. “If we’re going to lunch at some place posh, we should dress the part.”

“I don’t trust her,” Amelia said stubbornly.

“I do,” Jack said. “Your father trusted your mother. Nate said Josie did the right thing to keep you away from him when he was dealing. No matter what you see on the television, there is nothing romantic about what my son did. He sold drugs that killed people.”

“No!” Amelia said. “Daddy wouldn’t do anything bad.”

“You can still love him, Amelia, even though he had his faults. Now, will you please change so we can go for a bite to eat, just the two of us?”

Amelia stood there, and for a moment Josie was afraid she would refuse. Then she turned around and walked toward her room.

Josie let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “I think she’s going to be all right,” she said.

“I’ll do my best to talk to her,” Jack said.

Amelia reappeared, wearing a blue-and-white striped shirt. “That’s my girl,” her grandfather said. “You look posh indeed.”

Josie felt a momentary panic when she saw her daughter get in the car with her grandfather. What if Jack drove off and didn’t return? What if he took Amelia to Canada?

And not claim his son’s body for burial? I don’t think so, Josie told herself.

But just in case, she made a note of the rental car’s license plate.

Chapter 20

“You’re going to throw Daddy away?” Amelia said.

Josie heard fresh tears in her daughter’s voice. Amelia had hardly stopped crying since Nate died five days ago. Amelia’s eyelids were rimmed with pink and her nose was red. She didn’t want to go to school, and Josie didn’t have the heart to insist. Amelia needed to mourn in privacy.

“No, no, sweetheart,” Jack said. He leaned forward in his chair.“I’m going to
scatter
your daddy’s ashes.There’s a big difference. Scattering a man’s ashes is respectful.”

“But then Daddy won’t have a grave.” Amelia looked even more upset.

“I can’t stick my son in a box in the dark ground,” Jack said. “He hated being cooped up like a chicken in—” His words skidded to a stop. He couldn’t bring himself to say “prison.”

“Amelia, it wouldn’t be right,” her grandfather continued. “Pilots need freedom. They belong in the sky.”

“But how will I remember him?” Amelia asked.

“Look in the mirror and you’ll always have your father with you,” Josie said. “That’s what he told you. You look just like him. Remember?”

Amelia nodded. Her lower lip trembled. More tears were threatening to burst loose.

Jack, Josie, and Amelia were planning Nate’s memorial service in Josie’s worn living room. Jack sat as far away from Jane as he could get without going outside. Jane was like a chastened child, huddled in a frumpy brown sweater. She said nothing, wore no makeup, and made no effort to flirt. She must blame herself, too, Josie decided.

Josie felt numb, as if she were in the middle of some horrible reality show. Jack looked so much like a middle-aged version of her Nate, it hurt Josie to watch him. She was starting to realize what she and her daughter had lost.

“We’ll have two memorial services,” Jack said. “Your father will be doubly honored. One will be here in the States for Nate’s friends and family. The other will be in Toronto, his home. The crematorium in St. Louis has a chapel we can use.”

Josie had seen that chapel. It was cold as a walk-in freezer.

“Are we going to have problems with the press?” she asked. “What if they show up?”

The media had almost hourly updates about what they dubbed the Death by Chocolate poisonings. Were the victims killed by a crazed murderer? Were more people supposed to die before the antifreeze-laced chocolate sauce was discovered? Did the radio station want its Big Loser dead?

Nobody knew, but everyone had a theory.

The police still had no solid leads. Nate’s drug-dealing past did not make the news, and for that Josie was thankful.

“The service will be invitation only,” Jack said. “We won’t have time to send them out, but we can call Nate’s friends and make a list of names. That way, we can keep the vultures out of the chapel. Besides, it’s supposed to snow again tomorrow and the temperature will drop below zero. They’ll freeze their a—” He looked at Amelia and finished, “Arms off.”

Amelia managed a tentative smile, the first since her father died.

Tuesday, the morning of Nate’s funeral, dawned clear and cold. Almost as cold as Canada, Josie decided, though she’d never been there. Lined up at the wrought-iron cemetery gates were TV satellite trucks and reporters’ cars, waiting for the last rites of the latest victim.

Josie took a small satisfaction in seeing the TV reporters shiver as they did their stand-ups by the icy iron gates. She could see their breath in the cold air. Good. Maybe they’d leave quicker.

Inside the cemetery, the weeping stone angels and gray granite slabs were softened with fresh snow. She read the tombstones closest to the cemetery lane: BELOVED HUSBAND, BELOVED FATHER, and BELOVED SON were glazed with ice and frosted with snow, like grim candy confections.

I don’t see one with BELOVED LOVER, Josie thought. But Nate was loved—by his father, by his daughter, and by me.

Josie’s gray Honda skidded on the icy cemetery lane, and she steered into the slide, praying she didn’t hit a gravestone.

“Slow down,” her mother commanded, “before we all join him.”

Josie pumped the brakes and slowly brought the car under control. She could see the little marble chapel ahead, white and cold as an ice cube. Josie parked near it. Alyce, Josie’s best friend, pulled up in her SUV and waited for them to climb out of the car.

“I’m so sorry,” Alyce said. She hugged Josie and then Amelia. She smelled of cinnamon and face powder. Her white skin was nearly translucent. Somehow Alyce managed her odd floaty walk even on a salt-sprinkled sidewalk.

“Where’s Nate’s father?” Alyce asked.

“Inside,” Josie said. “He wanted some time alone.”

The chapel wasn’t as grim as Josie had feared.Wreaths with red velvet bows hung on the doors, swags of evergreen draped the windows, and candles shone on the nondenominational altar. Solemn organ music played, but Josie couldn’t identify the composer. She wondered if there was a special CD for memorial services:
Death’s Greatest Hits
.

Josie was pleased that her favorite framed photo of young Nate in his leather bomber jacket was on the altar. Nate looked the way he had when Josie first knew him, smiling and confident. Next to the photo was a spray of red roses and a small silver filigree box containing Nate’s ashes.

My love is reduced to ashes, Josie thought, then decided she was being a drama queen, and marched up the aisle to the front pew.

We must look like a flock of crows, she thought, as the women settled into their seats. Josie wore black for Nate’s memorial service. Alyce sat on Josie’s left, also in black. Occasionally, she reached over to pat Josie’s hand. Amelia, on Josie’s right, wore a navy pantsuit and a wide-brimmed hat with a black ribbon. Josie called it her “Madeline” hat, because it looked like the style worn by the storybook French schoolgirl.

Jane also wore black. She sat in the back of the chapel. She’d volunteered to check off the guests’ names. Also, she was as far away from Jack as possible.

Mike had offered to be at the service with Josie, but she thought that would cause Jack more pain. Mike seemed hurt by her refusal. Again, he didn’t tell Josie he loved her. Those words seemed lost. Josie wondered if he was seeing the bookstore blonde.

Some of Nate’s friends were at the chapel. They were a decade older, and it showed on most of them. Sandy, once a wild red-haired beauty, was now a plus-sized matron with short brown hair. She had three children and sold real estate in West County. She was probably the most successful of the old crowd.

Elliott was the smartest of the old group. Josie had thought he’d be a full professor by now, but Elliott was still a bartender taking night-school classes. His hair had gone completely gray, and he’d developed a bitter streak.

Josie saw no sign of the awful Mitch. She was relieved. He hadn’t been invited to the service, but that wouldn’t have stopped Mitch.

Mrs. Mueller, wearing a black hat that looked like a squashed velvet wastebasket, took a seat right behind Josie and Amelia. Josie knew her nosy neighbor hadn’t been invited, but Jane was too awed by her friend to evict her.

Behind Mrs. M was a handful of men in battered topcoats and gray suits. Josie wondered if they were homicide detectives. Unfortunately, she knew their look.

Josie couldn’t believe Nate’s death was a random murder by an unknown stranger. There had to be a reason. Nate had died of a heart attack, but the autopsy confirmed that antifreeze had killed him. Did Mitch follow his former friend to Josie’s house and pour antifreeze into Nate’s chocolate sauce?

Josie knew that was a crazy idea. She hadn’t seen Mitch in years. But Mitch had the only reason for wanting Nate dead, and it was powerful: He wanted Nate’s storage locker full of money.

Josie heard the chapel doors open and prayed it wasn’t Mitch. She looked around cautiously and saw another friend of Nate’s. Harvey looked hungover. He’d always looked hungover, but now it showed. His face seemed to be melting. Harvey had the pouchy basketball-shaped gut that went with liver damage. His gray-brown hair was wild and his black sweater was stained.

The funeral music stopped and Nate’s father stepped up to the dark wood podium. The microphone gave a haunted-house creak as he pulled it toward him. There was a screech of feedback.

“My son,” Jack said. The two words echoed off the cold stone.

“My son,” he repeated, “is Nathan Weekler. I never thought I’d outlive him. Nate was too alive.” His voice faltered.

Jack took a deep breath and continued, “My son made mistakes in his life. But he knew how to live and he knew how to love. He gave me the finest gift of all—my granddaughter, Amelia.”

Amelia started crying again. Josie felt all the eyes in the chapel turn toward her daughter. Alyce reached over and patted Josie’s hand.

“Nate wanted to be a pilot from the time he was younger than Amelia. It didn’t matter how many toy cars and red wagons we gave him—Nate always made whatever it was into an airplane. He broke his arm when he was six trying to fly a cardboard box off the front steps.”

Josie smiled through her tears. She was glad Amelia heard these stories about her father’s boyhood.

“The happiest day of my son’s life was when he got his pilot’s license,” Jack said.

“Nate was a man who had everything: a woman he loved, a beautiful daughter, and a chance to fly. Not many men get those opportunities. His time with us was too short, but he had a life we can celebrate.”

“Here, here!” Harvey said and stood up. He lurched to the front of the room. “Wanna say a few words about Nate.”

Don’t give him the microphone, Josie prayed, but Jack sat down in the front row like a man who’d put down a great burden. Harvey gripped the podium as if he were on a ship in a stormy sea. Josie suspected Harvey was one of Nate’s dealer buddies, but she could never prove it. She’d pulled herself away from that world.

“Nate,” Harvey said, and bowed to the filigree casket. “You made an ash of yourself. An ash. Get it?” His words were slurred.

Josie shut her eyes. Please, she begged, don’t talk about what you did in the old days, Harvey. Not with Nate’s daughter here.

“Nate and I got drunk a lot,” Harvey said. “I still get drunk. In fact, I’m drunk now.” He grinned, as if he’d said something clever, reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a flask. Harvey raised his flask in a toast. “Here’s looking up your old address, Nate.” He took a long drink. The mourners shifted restlessly.