Organize Your Corpses (12 page)

So much for the sad end of Miss Helen Henley.

I said, “Olivia, do you think your silly cousin Randy would have hidden some papers from Helen?”

“Randy was naughty. He liked to make Helen mad.”

“Did he? What would he do?”

“Tricks, bad tricks. I don’t remember.”

“Did he ever talk to you about any papers?”

She frowned. “No. I don’t think so. Randy liked paper. Lots of it. Helen said too much. She was very, very mad at Randy. But she never got mad at me. She liked me. I’m the pretty one.” The hand shot out toward the chocolate box.

The nurse said, “Oh Olivia, honey, save some chocolate for later. What about your lunch?”

“I don’t want lunch.”

“But don’t you want to go down to the dining room with the other ladies? Everyone will be there.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t like those ladies. I want to stay here. I just want chocolates. I want to watch my television.”

“Honey, you’ll have to wait.”

Olivia showed her Henley side in a little flash of temper. “You are not the boss. I am the boss. And I want
all
the chocolates.”

Francie dropped her hand and shrugged. “All right, but the doctor will give you a hard time and it won’t be my fault. You know you’re not supposed to have much caffeine. You know it . . .”

“Don’t like this doctor. Let’s get a different one.”

It seemed like time for me to leave. Olivia was a frail, spoiled elderly child. She was far too damaged to offer useful insights on what Randolph might have hidden.

Olivia didn’t lift her eyes from the chocolate box as I said good-bye.

Outside in the hall, Francie thanked me for coming. “She sometimes forgets her manners. Can’t be helped in her condition. I’m glad you came. And not just for that poor lady in there,” she said with a soft laugh. “I needed the break too. It’s been a long week.”

“That must be very hard on you,” I said.

“Well, she is really upset about her cousin, even though her behavior doesn’t necessarily show it. She’s quite depressed. I can’t even get her to go downstairs to socialize at all.”

“You said a long week. Surely you can’t work straight through.”

“Not usually, but since last week, she’s had terrible dreams in the nights. They’ve had to increase her sleeping drugs, so someone has to be here.”

I leaned in and whispered, “You mean since Helen, um . . .”

Francie whispered back, “Even before that, although it sure didn’t help. Olivia gets the best of care. She’s got the money to buy it, and she’s willed most of it to this place, so you can just imagine they make darn sure she’s happy. I got double time and a half since I started with her, so I don’t mind the daybed. Top quality, like everything else here. Mind you, I’m getting a bit too old for this, but I couldn’t say no. My husband’s out of work, so the money is a god-send. And I can’t say I begrudge her that fortune.” Francie’s plump, tired face fell. “Imagine losing your husband and children that way. I’m glad to have my old guy even if he is useless. I shouldn’t joke. Olivia’s lost all her relatives over time. No money can ever replace that.”

“No.”

“It makes you grateful for whatever you have. Every relative.”

That reminded me. I stuck my head back in the door. Olivia peered at me, mischievously. Chocolate streaked her chin.

“Olivia,” I said, smiling, “do you remember Crawford?”

The smile slipped, replaced by shock.

“Your cousin Crawford. You all grew up together. Do you know where he is? Do you know what happened to him?”

Olivia Henley Simonett flung the chocolate box at the television set. She threw back her head and howled.

 
As I settled in on the sofa that evening with Truffle and Sweet Marie, we were joined by Jack, who had managed to score a jumbo package of M&Ms and a week’s supply of tiny green dog treats.

“Come on,” he said, “snap out of it. How bad can it be?”

I muttered, “It can be craptacular. First, I got all these calls from nutbars pretending to be clients, and then I had that disaster with Olivia. When am I going to learn not to be so impulsive?”

“Never, I hope,” Jack said.

“You’re biased. You think there’s a chance I might say yes to one more dog. But this is serious. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.”

“What kind of an aspiration is that? You want to be boring? Speaking of boring, how come you haven’t ripped open that package of M&Ms yet? Let’s go wild and eat the red ones first.”

“When I left, Olivia was still shrieking. The entire staff converged on the scene. Even her dozy attendant was really ticked off with me. She said it would take them two days to get her settled down again.”

“How could you know that would happen?” Jack said.

“Maybe I should have used my brains. Found out more about her before I asked upsetting questions.”

“My guess is the outburst had nothing to do with you. This woman is brain damaged and drugged and quite removed from reality.”

“I feel terrible. The problem is there’s this one other cousin that no one’s been talking about, and it occurred to me he might be the only person who’d gain from Miss Henley’s death. I simply asked if she remembered this Crawford. That’s what set her off.”

“My point exactly. Normal people don’t start screaming when they hear the name of a relative, dead or alive. Olivia obviously needs some help.”

“And don’t
you
go suggesting that what she needs is a rescued dog,” I said.

“Go ahead and laugh, lady, but there’s a huge body of evidence proving that residents in seniors’ homes and rehabilitation centers recover faster and improve their cognitive abilities when they have access to pets. So there. Mock that.”

I thought about the parrots and the young man in the wheelchair. However, I hated to agree with Jack, in case I found myself the temporary owner of the dog in question.

“My own cognitive abilities allow me to anticipate what you’re up to and say no way.”

“Don’t get hissy. Let’s talk about it some other time.”

“Remember the topic at hand. I can’t go back to Stone Wall Farm and ask any more questions.”

“I’m thinking that’s a positive. And here’s a little challenge for you, Charlotte.”

I snapped, “What?”

“Miss Henley is dead. Let it go.”

“But I feel guilty about the money.”

“What money?”

“She gave me an advance. Didn’t I tell you that? I put it in the bank that same night. But I didn’t really earn it.”

“What was it? Some kind of retainer?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your problem? The money’s yours. Legally. And ethically. You held up your end of the bargain. Trust your neighborhood philosopher on that.”

“If I can find those papers, then I’ll feel better.”

“Miss Henley no longer cares about the papers or whatever they are. Anyway, you don’t have access to the house.”

“Maybe that’s true. But those documents were important to Miss Henley. They may also be important to Olivia Simonett.”

Jack slapped the side of his head. “Call me crazy, but didn’t you just burn that bridge? So, if you got the guilties, you can return the money to the estate or you could donate it to a worthwhile charity, say . . .”

“An animal rescue foundation?”

“Why not? So far, you’re just stirring up trouble. That way you could have a clear conscience.”

“I don’t know what it’s going to take to clear my conscience.”

Jack said, “Oh I get it. You feel bummed out because you didn’t respond to Miss Henley’s totally absurd and manipulative demand that you meet her in the middle of the night.”

“If I had just gone out to meet her instead of sitting here eating chocolates, she’d probably be alive now. So excuse me, I think I have a right to be upset. So let me deal with it in my own way. Hang on a sec.”

Jack said, “Don’t answer the phone, Charlotte. It will just be another crank pretending to be a client. Just chill out.”

I picked up the phone and said, “Charlotte Adams here of Organized for Success. First let me tell you what I have to say about Miss Henley: not a single word. None whatsoever. And that’s final.”

“This is Inez Vanclief.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I am the executive director of Stone Wall Farm.”

“Oh.”

“I understand you created quite an uproar here today.”

“Well, yes, and I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to find out about—”

“Mrs. Simonett has been extremely agitated since your visit. Her attendant tells me you bullied her, as well as brought in unhealthy snacks and encouraged her to miss out on lunch with the other residents. This is a sick, fragile, elderly woman. We have a responsibility to our residents here and we take it seriously. Stone Wall Farm is a private facility on private property. This call is to make sure you understand you will no longer be welcome here.”

“What?”

“Do I make myself clear? Your presence will not be tolerated.”

“But I may be able to help Olivia. I was working for her cousin, Helen Henley, when she died and—”

“Good-bye, Miss Adams.”

8

I arrived at Sally’s carrying a stack of flat-packed boxes and plastic bags with safety scissors, glue, and fat new tubes of finger paints. There was already a truckload of craft supplies at Sally’s, including lots of stuff I’d brought, but the chances of finding any of it were slim. The kids followed me as I stumbled through the chaos in the foyer and into the living room.

“Can I wear your shoes, Charlotte?”

“Where are the doggies?”

“What’s in the bag?”

“It’s a project,” I said.

The idea of a project was greeted by squeals. The two kids jumped up and down on the white leather sofa in excitement. “A project! A project!”

The baby flung a cracker.

Suddenly Madison plunked herself down. “What’s a project?”

“We’re going to do a special craft,” I said.

Sally leaned against the door, arms folded, smiling.

“We’re going to make a treasure chest for each season,” I said. “We’ll paint them and decorate them.”

“Yay!” Dallas screamed.

“What’s a season?” Madison said, frowning.

“Better start from the beginning,” Sally said. “I’ll clear the coffee table for painting.”

I stared at her. The ultrachic glass-topped coffee table sat on a pale silk rug. It was all part of the trendy furniture Sally and Benjamin had bought when they were in stylish-young-couple mode. That was before Dallas, Madison, and baby Savannah arrived. Now Tonka toys and Barbies and Barney had been introduced into the mix.

“Let’s not wreck the living room.”

“Why not? It’s already wrecked, and the table’s the perfect height for finger painting.”

Perfect for finger paints? So not.

“Kitchen table,” I said.

Sally narrowed her eyes. “Coffee table.”

“No arguments.”

“Remember democracy? My kids, my house.”

“My project, my rules,” I shot back. “For this afternoon, democracy’s dead.”

The kids painted and decorated intently while Sally and I helped. In between, I filled her in on Olivia Simonett’s story and what had happened at Stone Wall Farm.

“Sheesh. That’s a sad story.” Sally reached over and stroked the hair of her two little artists. Dallas ignored her. Madison pushed her hand away.

She said, “My kids are my life. I can’t even imagine it. How would you go on without them? She must have wanted to die herself.”

“I’m not sure she ever fully understood what happened.”

“Maybe that’s good.” Sally shivered. “So what’s the story on this Crawford? Why did his name set her off?”

“I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”

“On the other hand, why don’t you simply forget it? The Henley situation seems to be bad luck and bad business.”

“I wish I could forget it.”

An hour later, Sally’s kitchen brought to mind a bad acid trip, not that I would know, and the first treasure chest,
Spring
, was complete. The box was now brilliant blue with green strips of grass, birds, and flowers. Baby Savannah had tossed on some cereal. The kids had finished painting a large spiky-rayed sun and cutting it out, with Sally’s help. We glued it on as the final touch. The sun appeared to be snarling, but you can’t win ’em all.

The
Spring
treasure chest was a hit.

“Next time I come over we’ll do
Summer
,” I said. “And wait until you see what we’re going to do with them.”

“What?” Both kids stared at me with wide eyes.

“They’re treasure chests. We’ll use them for treasures. You pick some toys you want to put away to be your treasures next spring.”

All three kids started to wail as I left, reminding me I still had a lot to learn.

“Sorry,” I said to Sally as I peeled their small hands from my legs. “I have to find out about this Crawford. I’ll be back for the next stage of the project.”

Sally leaned against the door frame, and for the first time I noticed the deep blue circles under her eyes. She said, “Maybe you should just forget this whole crazy situation, including Crawford, whoever he is, if he’s anyone.”

“I can’t.”

“Isn’t that just like Hellfire to keep making trouble even after she’s dead? Let it go, Charlotte.”

“You know, sweetie,” I said, opening the door and preparing to make a break for it, “that’s so not going to happen.”

 
My next stop was Rose Skipowski’s house on North Elm. I’d brought along a nifty little bribe, my gym bag—which I keep stocked with jeans and T-shirts for grubby work, plus a couple pairs of old sneakers—and a fresh package of dust masks. I sniffed the wood smoke in the air and waited. The fat grey cat trotted down the hill to join the party.