Seconds later, Josie could hear the girl rummaging in her fridge.

"May I help you?" Josie called from the living room.

"I'm getting myself a drink," Heather said. "Is that okay with you?" She slammed the back door so hard the gla.s.s rattled.

Josie didn't stop her. She looked out her back window and saw the girl slouched by Josie's garage. It was about fifty degrees, so Josie didn't have to worry about Heather freezing to death.

Josie heard gla.s.s breaking and saw Heather toss a bottle at Mrs. Mueller's back fence. The streetlight revealed liquid splashed on the fence and running down the wood.

Oh, great, Josie thought. Now I'll have to paint Mrs. M's fence. She opened the back door and said, "Heather, stop throwing bottles this minute, or you're out of here."

"Good," Heather said. "That's where I want to be-outta here." She lobbed another bottle at the neighbor's fence. The girl had a good arm.

Josie burst out the door and stood in front of Heather. "I said, 'Stop.' Or do you want to go to your mother's store right now?"

"All right, all right. Just leave me alone, okay?" Heather said.

My pleasure, Josie thought. But she stopped to look at the broken bottle. It was brown gla.s.s.

"Were you drinking beer?" Josie asked.

"No," Heather said. She belched loudly. Josie could smell the bitter beer on the girl's breath. She went inside for a dustpan and broom. She couldn't have a neighbor driving over broken gla.s.s and getting a flat tire.

"What was loser face doing?" Amelia asked. "Was she drinking my Diet Dr Pepper?"

Josie opened her fridge and stared at the empty s.p.a.ce on the middle shelf. "I think she took the four beers I kept for Mike."

"She must be trashed," Amelia said.

This is my fault, Josie thought. I should have been watching Heather. But I never have to lock up the booze around Amelia. There's going to be h.e.l.l to pay with Mrs. Mueller. Sure enough, red lights strobed down the alley. Two police cars were parked behind Josie's house, lights flashing.

"It's the cops," Amelia said. "Did somebody rob a house?"

"No, this is a much bigger crime," Josie said. "Heather threw beer bottles at a fence, and Mrs. Mueller called the police."

"That old lady will go apes.h.i.t."

"Amelia!" Josie said.

"Sorry. But Mrs. Mueller will want the death penalty for the crime against her fence," Amelia said.

Josie grabbed a thick sweater out of the hall closet and went out to face the police and her irate neighbor.

Two uniformed officers were in the alley, standing between a slouching Heather and an angry Mrs. Mueller. The old woman glared like an enraged cat. One officer was a woman in her thirties who looked strong but chunky. She had short brown hair and a stern expression. Towering over her was an older officer with silver in his hair and the beginning of a gut.

"You can see the beer running down the fence, officers," Mrs. Mueller said. "She threw at least two bottles. I believe the child has been drinking."

"Ain't no child, b.i.t.c.h," Heather said, and belched again. "I'm fourteen."

"She is definitely underage," Mrs. Mueller said.

Josie ran up to the little group. The chill in the air wasn't entirely due to the cool night. "Is there a problem, officers?" she asked.

"Are you the parent or guardian of this girl?" the officer asked.

"f.u.c.k, no," Heather mumbled.

Mrs. Mueller gave a stagy gasp at Heather's language.

"I'm not Heather's mother, but I am watching her while her father is at work," Josie said.

"And doing a poor job of it," Mrs. Mueller added.

"We have a situation with an intoxicated minor, ma'am," the older officer said to Josie. "We'll have to take her into custody unless you can locate a responsible party."

"Her father is on a job in South St. Louis," Josie said. "I can call him. He'll be here in twenty minutes."

"What is the nature of her father's work?" the officer asked.

"He does s.h.i.t jobs," Heather said.

"Must be in law enforcement," the older officer said.

"He's a plumber," Josie said. "He's one of the owners of Mike's Dogtown Plumbers."

"I know that company," the woman officer said. "They fixed my mom's toilet Thanksgiving Day when she had a houseful of guests."

"Go ahead and call him," the older cop said. "It will save us the paperwork for taking an intoxicated minor into custody."

"Humpf!" Mrs. Mueller said, at this apparent dereliction of duty.

"My cell phone is in the house," Josie said, and ran inside before they could follow her.

She was relieved when Mike answered on the second ring. "What's wrong, Josie?" he said.

"It's Heather. The police are here and-"

"Is she hurt?" Mike said. "Is my girl hurt?"

"No. She's fine. She snuck some beer out of the fridge. She drank two bottles and threw two more at Mrs. Mueller's fence. The old lady called the cops. They won't haul Heather to the juvie division if you'll take custody of her."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Mike said.

"Drive carefully," Josie said to his disconnected phone. She went back to the grim group in the alley. "Heather's father is on his way," she said.

"What about my back fence?" Mrs. Mueller said.

"I'll repaint it," Josie said.

"Is that an acceptable solution, ma'am?" the older police officer asked Mrs. Mueller.

"Well, if she does a good job," Mrs. M said reluctantly.

"How about if I paint the fence tomorrow, weather permitting, and you drive by and inspect it, officer?" Josie needed a referee. Mrs. Mueller was never happy with anything she did.

"And what about this young woman?" Mrs. M said. "She should be taking some responsibility, too."

"Heather can scrub down the fence and sweep the gla.s.s out of the alley right now," Josie said.

"In the dark?" Heather said.

"You can see by the streetlights," Mrs. M said.

Josie handed Heather the dustpan and broom. "I'll go get you some paper towels and spray cleaner," she said.

"I'm not a maid," Heather said.

"How'd you like to spend the night in juvenile custody?" Josie said. "I hear they make you clean toilets."

Reluctantly, the kid started to work.

"You missed a spot over there," Mrs. M said, pointing to a shard of broken gla.s.s near her gate.

Heather snarled. "I'll get it."

There was a squawk of static on the radio. "We'd better go," the male police officer said.

"I'll call if there are further problems," Mrs. M said.

I bet you will, Josie thought, but she heard a chime.

"That's my doorbell," she said. "It must be Mike, Heather's father."

"He got here awfully fast," Mrs. M said. "I hope he didn't break any speeding laws." The old snoop was itching to start more trouble.

Josie ran for her house. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang wildly. Amelia had strict orders never to open the door at night without her mother being present.

"Coming!" Josie called breathlessly. "I'll be right there!"

She flung open the door and stared at the man on her porch. He wasn't wearing a coat. The b.u.t.tons strained at the lower half of his plaid shirt. His gut drooped over the top of his pants. His khakis were stained and his socks hunkered down in his shoes. His greasy dark hair was almost gone, but a few strands clung to his shiny scalp like survivors on a raft. His face was damp with sweat.

Josie studied his face. It was bright red with grog blossoms-burst blood vessels-and his nose was so covered with booze-inflicted lumps and b.u.mps, it looked like an exotic gourd.

"Josie!" he said, spraying her with beer-scented breath.

"Do I know you?" Josie asked.

"In the biblical sense," he said, and hiccupped. "Where's my li'l girl?"

Josie didn't recognize the man, but Amelia did. "Daddy!" she cried, and wrapped her arms around his stained khakis. Josie's daughter and the man had the same dark hair and arched brows. This sloppy drunk was Josie's daredevil lover, Nate. It was like looking at a ruined portrait. Under a layer of boozy bloat was her Nate.

"Daddy!" Amelia cried. "You're not dead."

Chapter 5.

"Josie, don't you know me?" the man asked. Big blubbery tears ran down his drink-ravaged cheeks.

Josie stared at him. Was this beer-sodden lump really Nate? Josie thought she could see the outlines of her impetuous lover: A few less pounds, a little more hair, and maybe this man was Nate.

Amelia wrapped her arms around him and cried, "Daddy, Daddy, I knew you weren't dead."

How did Amelia know Nate was her father? Josie wondered. Sure, her daughter had seen his photos. But this flabby drunk bore little resemblance to the dashing helicopter pilot Josie had loved a decade ago.

This can't be happening, Josie thought. I put my life back together after you wrecked it, Nate. I have a good job, a new man, and faithful friends. Now everything is unraveling.

"No," Josie said, "I don't know you." Not anymore, she thought.

"Josie, how can you do this to me?" Nate wept. "Why didn't you tell me we had a bootiffall, a beautiful daughter?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were a drug dealer?" Josie said.

"I thought you knew," Nate said. "How did you think I could afford all those gifts?"

"I thought you had money," Josie said. "You flew a helicopter."

"Piloting a copter doesn't pay that much. Not enough to take you to Bermuda, Aruba, and the Cayman Islands," Nate said. "I wanted to give my Josie the best." His voice wobbled with self-pity.

"So you sold drugs," Josie said, failing to keep the disgust out of her voice.

"I didn't hurt anybody," Nate said. "If they didn't buy drugs from me, they'd go somewhere else."

"The oldest excuse in the world," Josie said.

"Drugs killed my friend Zoe's sister," Amelia said.

"Drugs have ruined a lot of lives," Josie said. "Including ours, Nate. We could have married, if you hadn't been arrested for dealing."

"Aw, baby, don't be mad at me." Nate swayed slightly and clung to the back of Josie's worn couch.

"Mad? I'm furious. And you're disgusting. How did you find us?"

"Through my detective abili-bili-" Nate gave up on the word. "I'm a good detective, and you're still living in the same house."