Organized for Murder (28 page)

"Oh, stop." Kate backed carefully out of the driveway. "I told you my idea was seriously nutty. I'm sure it's nothing more than a subconscious desire to see her jailed for at least one night."

"Like an adult timeout for annoying the people who have to associate with her." Meg laughed.

"Someday when we rule the world…" Kate smiled as she flipped on the headlights. "No, more likely, Mrs. Baxter knew we'd started in the parlor, and after we had it inventoried, figured anything she took from in there wouldn't soon be missed. She looked in all the nooks and crannies and found the box."

"Well, that makes sense, too," Meg conceded.

Kate grinned. "Thank you. Sometimes I am able to look at things without seeing how I can implicate someone I don't like."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know." Kate laughed. "I know."

For the first time that day, Kate realized she was actually getting into a good mood. She'd been on edge all the time lately and worried what would pop up from around the next corner. Definitely within reason, to be sure, but exhausting nonetheless. Just laughing with Meg like this, though their conversation still revolved around the mess she had innocently landed in, was the release she needed. She wasn't even as nervous about speaking at the workshop anymore.
Nervous, but not so nervous.

"Did you get any information from Tiffany?"

She turned onto Main Street. "There wasn't time, but she seems preoccupied. Probably upcoming finals or boyfriend issues. She does have a new job at the ice cream place, and with her hours running Friday through Sunday, it can't help but put a crimp in her social life."

"Or she could have issues with her mom," Meg suggested, stopping Kate's retort by holding up a hand. "Don't say it. I'm simply stating the obvious again."

She recognized Meg was just needling, but her friend's words caused a shadow of apprehension to rise higher in her mind. As she pulled into the alley behind the Book Nook and parked her van next to the bookseller's lime green VW, Meg added, "Gil came home with information on Bill Nethercutt. Seems the scoop around the paper is Bill teeters on the verge of filing for bankruptcy, but he left Charlie-boy's office this morning sporting a huge smile."

"What did Gil and his newspaper cronies conclude from those facts?"

"Their cynical little minds decided that despite the postponement of the reading of Amelia's will, out of professional courtesy to Bill, C.W.W. spilled the beans regarding how the estate would be distributed. If true, information on what he stands to inherit would allow Bill to negotiate or renegotiate loans helping his business interests stay solvent. Naturally, such could be a relevant point in the police investigation. If you'll recall, old Charlie-boy said the will Amelia did not get a chance to sign had been changed to affect the timetable of the probate. Want to toss around theories about whether Bill killed her to keep the change from happening?"

"I think we've hypothesized enough today, but if you want my opinion, it doesn't work unless we assume he'd been planning to kill Amelia anyway."

"Hey, this is all supposition," Meg replied. "But let's face it, there didn't seem any love lost between Miss Amelia and the next generation. They thought she was tight and possibly hastened the death of Mr. Daniel, something to infuriate Bill and Sophia. Then there are the facts and innuendo we can apply to Thomas's father and his death. As quiet as Tommy-boy is, who knows how far down his emotions sit."

"But Joey's death was decades ago."

Meg responded with platitudes. "Still waters run deep, and revenge is a dish best served cold. There's a reason for clichés. They've encapsulated true situations too many times. The quiet ones are often those who let a hurt fester unchecked until an explosion erupts. And besides, he may have only recently learned what happened."

"If he knew anything at all," Kate mused. Before Meg could argue, she raised a hand. "We have nothing to prove whether or not he's ever been let into the loop over this bombshell. And I guess sibling rivalry would take care of the motive for Sophia's murder. But I like Mrs. B. for the thief. If only we knew for sure she left town and when, to determine whether she could have killed Sophia."

"I'll tell Gil to sniff around and see if he can learn anything." Meg opened her door. "In the meantime, come on. I'll help carry your stuff."

Inside, Saree had pulled out all of the stops for what Kate now called her Organizing Connection, hoping to connect with people who wanted her to personally organize their lives. Finger snacks and goodies tempted patrons from tables around the shop, along with three-by-five index cards for attendees to write questions and particular problems they wanted Kate to address. Saree and her helpers had rolled the middle bookcases closer to the perimeter walls to provide an expansive central meeting area for Kate to hold court, while displaying related books the shop had available for sale. Also in place stood a tri-legged display stand to hold the large informational charts Kate had worked on for months.

They finished lugging in the visual aids and handouts. Jane was already in the store. A second later, Saree swept close in a swirl of fire-tones and handed Kate a small, silver wand resembling a ballpoint pen. "Here, for you."

It was a laser pointer. Kate directed its dancing green light-dot toward the top poster board, which read T
IME
T
O
S
PRING
I
NTO AN
O
RGANIZED
H
OME AND
O
FFICE
in large type, with a smaller K
ATE
M
C
K
ENZIE,
S
TACKED
I
N
Y
OUR
F
AVOR,
L
.
L
.
C
.
printed in a smaller, but still highly visible font. "Saree, this is wonderful. Thank you. Don't let me forget to give it back to you before I leave."

"No, no." Saree waved. "'Tis for you." She smiled. "I dream many more nights like this one. Look—" She swept a hand toward the audience. "House almost full already."

One of the Book Nook's college-aged store assistants, Anna, a Nordic beauty with almost platinum waist-length hair, manned the register, but Saree took a seat in the back in case she needed to help. Before Kate began, Meg sidled up and pointed to the laser pointer, warning, "Make sure the girls don't get hold of this. Gil bought one a couple of years ago. Mark swiped it when we weren't looking and decided it would make a nifty light saber. Next thing I knew we were rushing Ben to the emergency room with excruciating eye pain, and left with him looking like a little pirate wearing a patch for a burned retina. The ophthalmologist warned us we'd gotten off lucky. You wouldn't believe how fast you can blind someone using one of those."

"Eek!" Kate stared at the innocent looking silver object and vowed to lock it away in her office.

Several dozen chairs were already filled, mostly by women, but Kate was surprised to see Bill Nethercutt seated in the back. After returning his smile, she took a moment to ponder why he would show up at a Thursday evening presentation like this one. Especially with his sister recently murdered.

There were two married couples. The younger duo looked like real do-it-yourselfers dressed in flannel and Carhartts. Kate figured after her speech they would head straight home and tear into their closet, putting up customized shelves and racks to maximize space. The other couple, at or near retirement age, reminded her of a pair of birds: the wife a brown wren, busily twisting to talk to everyone, and husband a stalwart hawk, arms crossed, eyes sharp, waiting to get whatever he came for. A few more people drifted in and took seats. Kate greeted those she knew, and Saree scurried to bring extra chairs. The last to arrive was Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker.

Nervously, Kate shuffled through the question cards the early arrivals had filled out. Many were alike. As different as every American household was, most shared the same clutter dilemmas. She fingered through the posters on the stand, peeking to be certain they were in the right order.

Everything ready and everyone waiting, she couldn't put off the presentation any longer.

"Hello, it's nice to see such a big crowd here tonight. I'm Kate McKenzie, and I'm an organizational expert."

A spate of welcoming applause spread across the audience. Once it died down, she launched into her performance by slipping the top poster off the stack to reveal her F
IVE-
S
TEP
O
RGANIZATION
S
TART
M
ETHOD.
Using her new laser pointer, she emphasized each point while discussing how this five-step, five-box method worked in every situation. "It may seem easier to simply take out items which go elsewhere and leave what stays in the room, but that method, while requiring less lifting, won't always work. By unloading the entire space and using the five boxes marked
REJECT, RECYCLE, RESALE, RETURN,
and
REVIEW—
" Kate shined a green dot on each as she spoke "—you replace only the things that truly belong, efficiently restore the rest to where they need to be, and will not fail to notice misplaced items tucked behind larger pieces."

The hawk-faced man piped up, "If a person's kitchen resembled the house-wares department at M—"

"Robert—" His little wren-wife fluttered, striking his shoulder with a small hand.

"Well, Margaret, it does," he countered. "You have everything from meatballers to ice cream makers. Even a heart-shaped waffle iron. Why do we need a heart-shaped waffle iron?"

"Valentine's Day breakfast for the grandkids," she returned. "And you always—"

Though Kate imagined variations on this scene played out almost hourly with this couple, she interrupted, "If you use an appliance regularly, then it earns its place on a kitchen counter. Take time to consider how often you need an object and whether another, more versatile appliance can do the job equally well. For example, my twins love fruit smoothies—"

"Twins!" A schoolmarmish woman jerked even straighter in her chair. "No wonder you're an organizational expert."

After the laughter died down, Kate continued, "I have twin six-year-olds, and yes, their birth helped me to stay on the straight-and-narrow, organizationally speaking. But back to my story, they've been bugging me to purchase a smoothie maker." She held up a hand. "Don't think it's because they can't have smoothies at home because they can. We have a perfectly acceptable blender that creates excellent fruit drinks of every consistency. No, a smoothie maker wins out over the blender in their eyes because they want to press the lever in front and have drinks dispensed right into the glass. That spigot is the winning factor for my children."

Kate scanned the crowd. "Anyone want to be brave and admit to purchasing something your household could have easily done without? A special gizmo you acquired simply because it had a 'new and improved' extra you truly didn't need?"

Several women in the crowd tittered, but no one raised a hand until the hawk-faced husband snorted, and uncrossed his arms to grab up his wife's left arm and hold her hand high. The crowd roared, with half joining in to show they, too, had purchased just such a treasure—or three. As courage grew in the room, more hands went up, until nearly everyone had at least one raised. Even Bill laughed and raised his right hand. The lone holdout, Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker, kept hers clenched in her lap.

"Yes, we buy more things on impulse, then hate to throw out the mistakes. But letting things fill your living space only because you don't feel you've gotten enough use out of it—and never will—only adds clutter and makes finding things you do need more difficult. Plus, unnecessary counter items add to cleaning time, as you must constantly move and wipe around each extra appliance. Save your money, people. If you don't use it, someone else might. Donate or sell it in a tag sale."

The husband, arms again tightly crossed, nudged his wife with an elbow. "See, Margaret, I told you."

Kate quickly moved on to the subject of hidden storage potential. "Never leave the space under the bed to just the dust bunnies."

The group tittered again. She flipped to a detailed drawing of a box on wheels.

"Wheeled boxes are great for beneath the bed storage, and can be easily made from disused or mismatched dresser drawers." She pulled a small, plastic wheel from her pocket. "Hardware stores carry a wide selection of wheels similar to this one. Attach it to the bottom, those cute guys at the hardware store can tell you how—" more titters, "—and the box or drawer will roll out and under the bed with ease, no matter how heavy and full. Large plastic storage containers that slide are lightweight and work equally well, plus they have the added advantage of stay-tight lids to keep out dust and crawly things. For economy, you can use those big clear zip bags blankets and sheets come in."

"What a good idea," one woman cried. "I can take care of my seasonal clothing that way."

Kate nodded, glad the audience was getting into the spirit of the event, and shifted to another poster. "This is an answer for seasonal storage, but there is another way to get the most clothing stored in the least amount of space."

The next poster showed an enlarged shot of a white plastic bag filled with clothing, and a vacuum cleaner sitting alongside. From the puzzled faces, Kate knew she would win points here on sheer surprise. "By packing folded clothes in plastic bags, you can store them clean and ready for immediate use once the temperatures change. The only problem with plastic bags is they have a tendency to store air along with the clothing."

She flipped again and pointed the laser at a picture showing a hand tightly holding the neck of the bag around the vacuum cleaner's hose. "Once you get folded clothing into the bag, close the bag's opening around the hose of the vacuum and lean or lay across the packed clothes, flip the sucker on and—whoosh! All the air goes into the vacuum and your clothes package is nothing more than, well,
clothes
, with everything tightly packed." She flipped to the next poster and showed a blow-up shot of the 'after' picture, now compressed and easily stackable. "Air, and the extra space it takes, has disappeared."