Murder With All the Trimmings (20 page)

“I can’t believe Nate was done in by a snowman cake.” He sang three words, “Frosty the Deadman—”

“Mom,” Amelia whispered. “Is that man drunk?”

“Yes,” Josie whispered back.

“Can I say something about Daddy when he finishes?”

Josie nodded, afraid to speak.

“Nate and I drank a lot, like I said,” Harvey said. “But we were beer drinkers. Never any of that anti—that anti—that antifreeze. Nate liked beer. I like beer.”

Harvey stopped, as if he was suddenly lost. It took a long moment for him to collect his scattered thoughts.

“But despite our differences, we respected each other. Respect. That was us. Let me sing Nate’s favorite song. I taught it to him, and I hope to hell it isn’t true.”

His voice wavered as he sang out of tune:

“In heaven there is no beer / That’s why we drink it here—”

That’s when Josie heard the militant clatter of high heels on the stone floor. Jane marched to the front of the church and turned off the microphone. “Thank you very much,” she said crisply.

“But, little lady—”

“It’s Mrs. Marcus to you, sir. And I said sit.”

Harvey sat, like a large, shaggy dog. Josie wanted to applaud her mother.

Amelia stood up and went to the podium. Jack turned the microphone back on and bent it down to Amelia’s height.

My daughter seems so grown-up, Josie thought. Amelia looked fragile and pale.

“Nate Weekler was my father,” she said. “I didn’t have him very long. He didn’t live with us. But he told me he loved me, he was proud of me, and he would always be with me. He made me promise that I would finish college. I will keep my promise.

“My friend Zoe at school, her father lives with her all the time. He’s never said anything like that to her in nine whole years. Zoe’s father is gone a lot on business. I had more from my father in one day than most girls have in their whole life. Thank you, Daddy.”

Thank you, Amelia, Josie thought. When her daughter returned to her seat, Josie hugged her and whispered, “You did good. I’m proud of you. Your father is, too.”

“Anyone else?” Jack asked.

Mercifully, the group stayed quiet.

“Let us have a moment of silence for my son,” Jack said.

Josie stared at her black gloves, and thanked Nate and her daughter. They had both eased her burden of guilt.

The funeral music played again, and the people began filing out.

As she approached the door, two men in gray suits flanked Josie and said, “Josie Marcus? We’d like to talk to you about the murder of Nathan Weekler.”

“What?” Josie asked in a daze. She could see Mrs. Mueller waiting by the door, smiling triumphantly.

Alyce stepped between Josie and the homicide detectives. “Not without counsel present. That’s me, gentlemen.”

Chapter 21

“Are you a lawyer?” the young detective asked. His rumpled gray suit looked like he’d borrowed it from his father.

With his peach-fuzz skin and round, innocent face, he seems too young to be a police officer, Josie thought. Or maybe I’m getting old. Isn’t that a sign of age when the cops look young?

“I’m representing Ms. Marcus,” Alyce said.

Josie’s friend looked every inch a lawyer in her severe black pantsuit. She’d neatly sidestepped the young man’s question.Alyce had audited law school—especially Jake’s early-morning classes—and had taken tests for her husband in the big auditorium courses.

“May I see your credentials, gentlemen?” Alyce asked.

“It’s ‘detective,’ ” the older suit said. “We’re with the Rock Road force.”

“I thought the hospital was in Maplewood,” Alyce said.

“The hospital is on the border,” Detective Baby Face said. “We caught the squeal.”

You’ve caught too many TV shows, Josie thought.

St. Louis County was divided into more than ninety municipalities, some the size of matchbooks. Rock Road Village was one of those. Josie was surprised it was big enough to have its own detectives. Rock Road was a notorious speed trap.

“We’d like Ms. Marcus to accompany us to the Rock Road station,” the older detective said. His gray suit was the same shade as his hair. He gave his name, but his worn face registered in Josie’s addled brain as Detective Gray.

“Is this a custodial interview?” Alyce asked. “Are you planning to charge her?”

“Uh,” Baby Face said. “We just want to ask a few questions.”

“Good. Then let’s get them over with now.” Alyce plopped down in a pew by the chapel doors and dragged the dazed, silent Josie after her. That left the two detectives standing. Baby Face rested his rump on the pew back. Detective Gray stayed ramrod straight.

He’s the tough one, Josie decided.

“Mom?” Amelia asked. Her frightened face was shadowed by the big-brimmed hat.

“Your mother is fine, honey,” Alyce said. “Go with your grandmother. This will only take a few minutes. I’ll drive Josie home.”

She practically pushed Amelia out the door with Jane. That left Josie and Alyce sitting together in the chilly chapel. Alyce said, “Detectives, please state your business.”

“We found antifreeze jugs in Ms. Marcus’s trash,” Detective Gray said.

“I—”

“Don’t say a word, Josie,” Alyce said. “Did you get a search warrant for those jugs, detectives?”

“Didn’t need one,” Detective Gray said. “The Dumpster was in a public alley. We found the jugs in a trash bag containing junk mail addressed to Ms. Marcus.”

“Anyone could have planted those antifreeze jugs, along with the junk mail, in an unlocked Dumpster,” Alyce said.

“They didn’t,” Detective Gray said. “Unless they added her daughter’s schoolwork. Amelia. That’s her name, right?”

Josie nodded.

“What was Mr. Weekler’s demeanor when you last saw him at your house, Ms. Marcus?” Detective Gray asked.

“He was drunk,” Josie said. “He wanted inside, but I wouldn’t open the door.”

“Mr. Weekler had a problem with alcohol abuse,” Alyce said. “Drunks die all the time from the things they do to their bodies, especially in cold weather.”

“Mr. Weekler died of antifreeze poisoning,” Baby Face said. “The autopsy found oxalate crystals in the victim’s urine.”

“What kind of antifreeze?” Alyce asked.

“We can’t determine the brand from our tests,” Detective Gray said.

“I mean, was it traditional ethylene glycol or the newer, organic coolant—the safe antifreeze?”

Josie was impressed. She didn’t know that much about antifreeze.

“No antifreeze is safe to drink,” Detective Gray said.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alyce said.

“We didn’t test for the brand. That’s beyond our capabilities. However, Ms. Marcus’s fingerprints were all over the empty antifreeze jugs.”

“How do you know?” Alyce said. “She didn’t give you her prints.”

“The hospital gave us the snowman cake box from the Elf House,” Detective Baby Face said. “We eliminated Mr. Weekler’s prints, the shop owner’s, and the admitting clerk’s prints. The fourth set had to be hers. Ms. Marcus poured antifreeze into the chocolate sauce and killed Mr. Weekler.”

“She didn’t,” Alyce said. “You’re looking at a major lawsuit if you say she did. According to the news, a woman also died of antifreeze poisoning. She was a contestant on a radio station. Ms. Marcus didn’t know the woman.”

“Credit-card receipts show Ms. Marcus was at the Elf House the day the poisoned chocolate was discovered,” Baby Face said. “She could have used the death of the woman as a cover for the murder of Mr. Weekler. Like those Tylenol product-tampering murders that killed eight people.”

“Ms. Marcus brought the cake box to the hospital voluntarily,” Alyce said. “She wanted the box tested to save Mr. Weekler’s life. If she was trying to kill him, she would have thrown the box away and destroyed any evidence.”

“What was your relationship to Mr. Weekler, Ms. Marcus?” Detective Gray asked.

Josie looked at Alyce. “You can answer that,” Alyce said.

“Mr. Weekler was the father of my nine-year-old daughter. He—” Alyce gave Josie’s hand a warning squeeze and Josie shut up.

“Did you have a fight with the victim about the custody of your daughter shortly before his death? Did he want to take Amelia back to Canada?” Gray asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Alyce said. “Where did you get that information, detective?”

“It’s common knowledge in the neighborhood,” Baby Face said.

Josie knew where that information came from—common Mrs. Mueller.

“Why was Mr. Weekler sitting on your steps with a chocolate snowman cake?” Detective Gray asked.

Alyce nodded at Josie. “He wanted to give the cake to my daughter. I would not let him in the house until he sobered up.”

“But he died,” Detective Gray said. “And your custody issue died with him.”

“That isn’t a question, detective,” Alyce said. “Do you have anything else you’d like to ask?”

“Are you dating a plumber named Mike?” Detective Gray asked.

“Yes,” Josie said.

“And this Mike had an altercation with Mr. Weekler shortly before he died? I believe he escorted Mr. Weekler out of your home.”

Alyce stood up. “This interview is over. Of course my client had antifreeze jugs in her trash. So does every driver in St. Louis this time of year. As for the fingerprints—if they were her fingerprints—on the cake box, so what? Ms. Marcus mystery-shopped that store. She can show you the instructions from her employer. You don’t have anything, detectives. Josie, let’s go.”

Josie followed Alyce outside.

“Don’t say a word until we’re in the car,” Alyce said in a low voice. Josie collapsed into the plush seats of Alyce’s SUV, and her friend drove through a gloomy landscape of cold granite and snow-covered graves under a lead sky.

“You were amazing,” Josie said. “They were going to arrest me.”

“They couldn’t arrest you,” Alyce said. “What do they have? Fingerprints on some antifreeze jugs left in an open Dumpster. Big deal. Fingerprints on a cake box you voluntarily brought to the hospital. So what? They have no witnesses.”

“But plenty of motive,” Josie said. “I wanted Nate out of my life, Alyce. I spent his memorial service wondering who would benefit from his death. It’s me. I have the best motive.”

“Don’t even say that in an empty room,” Alyce said. “You’re safe for now. Once the police arrest you, the ‘speedy trial’ rule kicks in. No sane prosecutor will go to trial with that rubbish, and I mean that literally.”

“Thanks,” Josie said. “I’d better call Mom. She’s at O’Connell’s Pub for Nate’s wake.”

“Do you want me to take you there?” Alyce said, as she turned out of the cemetery and onto the main road.

“No,” Josie said. “O’Connell’s has too many painful memories. It’s where Nate and I first met. I can’t go back there for his wake.”

“Why don’t you stop at my house for coffee?” Alyce said. “I’m baking for the subdivision cookie exchange. Ten batches. I’ll make some for you, too.”

“That’s too much work,” Josie said.

“No, it’s not,” Alyce said. “I’m letting out my inner Cookie Monster. You can lick the bowl. Little Justin is not supposed to eat raw cookie dough, but it’s safe for adults.”

“Definitely worth any salmonella risk,” Josie said. “Will there be chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yes, and gingerbread men, cherry tuiles, royal icing trees with silver ball ornaments.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Josie said, as she speed-dialed Jane.

“Hello? Mom, I can’t hear you. It sounds like you’re in a bar. Oh, you
are
in a bar, right. The police are gone. I’m fine. Alyce handled them. No, there’s no problem. Sorry, I won’t be at the wake, Mom. I can’t go back to O’Connell’s.

“How’s Amelia? Should I swing by and pick her up? Well, as long as she’s with her grandfather, she’s fine. I’m going to Alyce’s house. See you in a couple of hours. What?”

Josie fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it. The blood drained from her face.

“Mitch! He’s there now? He said to tell me hello? Stay away from that man, Mom. He’s one of Nate’s drug-dealing friends. Keep Amelia away from him, too.”

Josie ended her call and folded her phone shut. Her arm still hurt where Mitch had twisted it at the hospital.

“Everything okay?” Alyce asked. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“No. It’s not good at all. I surprised one of Nate’s old drug-dealing buddies in his room at the hospital. Mitch was looking for the key to Nate’s storage locker. It’s supposed to be full of cash. Nate wanted me to have the money.”

“Did you give Mitch the key?” Alyce asked.

“Of course not. I pretended I didn’t know what Mitch was talking about.”

“How much money is in there?”

“Thousands. But I’m not keeping it,” Josie said.

“Should we go get Amelia?”

“She’s safe with her grandfather. Besides, Mitch can’t make a scene with everyone around.”