The Cluttered Corpse (15 page)

Jack scratched his head. “What exactly is it?”

“It's a crib mobile. And these are little bumblebee boots to amuse the baby. See the bells?” Pepper picked up the boots and jingled them a bit. That set Truffle and Sweet Marie off. We had been living on borrowed time in the good-pooch behavior department.

Jack shouted above the blizzard of barking. “Wow. That's great. The baby's going to love them.”

Sally said, “Never mind the baby,
I
love them. Thank you, Pepper.”

“And Nick,” Pepper said.

Nick looked up from his beer. “What?” He flinched slightly when he caught Pepper's expression. “The baby. Yeah, great, great news, Sal. Really great. The best.”

Jack said, “Hey, Pepper, let me show you the bike I got for the baby. How cool is this?”

Margaret leaned over to me and snickered, “It's a world gone mad.”

“You're telling me. I can't wait to get out of here.”

Pepper said, “What are you going to call the baby, Sally?”

“Depends on whether it's a boy or a girl, of course, but I haven't decided.”

Jack said, “You have a theme going so far: Madison, Dallas, Savannah.”

“How about Chicago?” Margaret said. “I like that town.”

“Denver's nice,” Pepper said.

“Milwaukee,” Margaret said.

“Houston is good for a boy,” Pepper said, giving Margaret a dirty look. Luckily Sally pretty well ignored them.

Margaret is immune to dirty looks. And she doesn't care if she's being ignored. “I'm partial to Boise.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Macon is actually a nice name. And a real one.”

“Whatever you say. Let's not forget Biloxi.”

Jack said, “A name is a serious business. Sally could probably use some help.”

“I'm always serious,” Pepper shot back. “I like Macon and Houston.”

Margaret said thoughtfully, “There's always Omaha.”

I stood up and made my way to the dining room. “I think I'll get some more cookies to pass around.”

I needed a break from what promised to be a litany of place-names. I arranged more treats on a plate, taking as much time as I could. When I turned to go back into the living room, I almost careened into Nick, big, handsome, clueless, and unfortunately blocking my exit. “She's on the name thing again, isn't she? She can go on for hours. Sometimes I think I'm going to pass out.”

Nick responds best to crisp commands. Short words. Unambiguous meanings. Like “Go to hell.” This time I kept it to: “Out of my way, Nick.”

He reached over and grabbed my wrist. “Come on, Charlie. Talk a bit. You know, old times. High school. You and me. Before things got so messed up.”

“Move it or lose it.” Staying in the kitchen with Nick was right up there with root canal on my playlist.

“I'm having another brewski. You gonna join me?”

“No.”

“Don't be like that, Charlie. Give me a call sometime and we'll go for a ride in my 'Stang.”

The last thing I would ever do was go for a ride in his pride and joy Mustang, or his black Dodge Ram. Nor did I want a tour of the garage he'd built to store his “babies” or a detailed description of the security and video-surveillance systems he had to protect them. Too bad he didn't put half that energy into making his wife happy.

I lowered my voice, but only in order to sound more threatening. “Don't ever call me Charlie again. Let go of me and get out of my way, or you'll be wearing these cupcakes.”

“Well,” came a chilly voice from the door, “look who's here.”

Nick dropped my hand as if it had ignited.

I looked Pepper in the eye. “You should feed this boy. I think he's ready to kill for dessert.”

Nick managed to look pathetically grateful. “Yeah. Just one, okay? Or two? What's the good of having them if no one can eat 'em?”

I moved away from Nick, past Pepper, and toward the living room, but not before I saw the vicious look Pepper delivered Nick. I said over my shoulder, “I hold you responsible, Pepper, to make sure he doesn't clean the plate before anyone else gets a chance.”

When I returned to the living room followed by a sheepish Nick and a slow-simmering Pepper, Margaret mouthed the words “baby crazy” one more time.

“Haven't you ever wanted a baby, Charlotte?”

I swiveled my head to stare at Jack.

“Oops,” he said, “maybe you should keep your eyes on the road.”

“Maybe you shouldn't make startling comments.”

“Was that a startling comment? People have been having babies forever. It's hardly breaking news. I think most people think about it. Don't you think about it when you go to Sally's? The way they're all pink and squirmy and they smell of powder after their baths? And they snuggle up and—look out for that tree!”

I swerved the Mini back onto the road and tried to concentrate on my driving. “I don't get those feelings, Jack.”

“Sally does. Maybe I should drive.”

“I'm fine to drive.”

He said, “And I think Pepper does too.”

“I noticed. I realize it's normal and a good thing. It's not for everyone. I love Sally's kids, but I don't feel ready for any myself. I'm still trying to be a grown-up.”

“I guess you have to get over what's-his-name, that snake, back in the city.”

“It's not about him. It's about me. I don't even know if I'd make a good mom. I didn't have such a storybook childhood. And all around me, I see so many problems. I don't want to add to them.”

“My childhood was excellent,” Jack said. “I'd like to be able to offer that to another little human.”

“Margaret and I don't feel that way. I mean we know you had a great life, and we do know it's possible, it seems…”

“Don't worry about it,” Jack said. “Like you say, not for everyone.”

“Definitely not for Nick. Did you pick up on that?”

“Oh yeah. But I'm sure Pepper thinks he's part of her plan.”

“That's my point. No wonder Margaret calls it baby crazy.”

“Anyway, I think you'd make a great mother. So keep an open mind.”

“I will,” I said as we pulled into the driveway. “But don't start pulling your philosopher tricks on me.”

“Aw shucks,” he said.

“And mind your own business,” I added.

Jack swiveled in the passenger seat and stared at me. “But you are my business.”

Tuesday morning, Lilith and Rose picked me up at home and deposited me at the Mazda dealership before they peeled off in Rose's ancient LeMans. We had an hour before we needed to meet Dwayne, and she had plans to take Rose to Hannaford's for groceries. We agreed to connect at the Rheinbeck house once I confirmed that we were going ahead with the project. I paid for the replacement tires, although I am sure I turned pale when faced with the bill. I made expensive tracks for Bell Street for my ten o'clock meeting with Dwayne. I was ten minutes early, which is the way I like things. I sat in the Mazda and waited. Dwayne's car was not in the driveway. The top of Emmy Lou's new Volvo C70 convertible, which remained parked in front of the garage, was already getting a bit dusty. I did my best to feel upbeat about working for him, especially since I'd had two other cancellations besides my former mudroom client.

At the screech of tires around the corner, I turned to see Dwayne head down the street and then veer into the driveway on two wheels. He slammed on the brakes and barely managed to avoid hitting Emmy Lou's car. I hurried up the pathway and met him at the door.

His face was pale and pasty. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought he'd lost a bit of the shine on his head. I caught the door before it slammed in my face.

I said, “My colleague should be here any second, but I suppose we can start.”

I wasn't even sure he heard that. “You want something to drink?” he said as we entered the living room. He kept going into the kitchen and opened the stainless steel double fridge door.

“Not for me.”

“This has been three of the worst days of my life.” He popped open a beer, barreled out of the kitchen area, and slumped on the leather sofa.

I took a seat on the chair. “I can imagine. Have you found out what's happening with Emmy Lou?”

He took a long swig.

I waited.

“I'm back from trying to see her. She's had some kind of collapse. They have her in the psych ward. It's in a secure facility.”

“Oh no!” No wonder he was guzzling beer at ten in the morning.

He ran one hand over his head. “How can this happen? How can you have a beautiful wife one week and then the next you don't know if she'll get out of jail? Or if she'll even be lucky enough to get out of the psychiatric unit and into jail. At least in jail, you can have lawyers, trials, appeals.”

All of which cost a bundle, I thought. How long would the Rheinbecks hold on to their home, cars, and business if they had to fund a defense? Maybe Dwayne hadn't gotten that far in his thinking. He certainly seemed frightened for his wife. I would have believed him wholeheartedly, if it hadn't been for the nagging memory of the girl with the long dark hair and the slinky red dress, and my lingering suspicion that Emmy Lou was protecting Dwayne. Maybe he'd chosen to let her shrivel in some hideous institution for the rest of her life while he went on with his. I had no reason to trust Dwayne Rheinbeck.

“Explain to me why they moved her to a psychiatric facility.”

Dwayne stared at me. “Because she's acting crazy? Saying she killed someone that she couldn't have? You wouldn't classify that as some kind of mental imbalance?”

I didn't mention that the lead detective thought Emmy Lou was guilty, not unbalanced. “But mental illness can be a legitimate defense. So it could be good news. Was she showing any signs of instability before all this?”

“No, nothing.” He slumped a bit more and slammed his beer on the coffee table, spilling a bit. “But what if she was and I missed it? I keep asking myself the same question. What if she was losing it and I was too busy with Wet Paint and the expansion project to notice? You know what? Lately everything was all about me.”

And maybe a girl in a red dress too, I thought. That might have been enough to send a woman over the edge.

I said, “Emmy Lou seemed very nervous and jumpy when I met with her to discuss the stuffed animals. She even had a little tic in her eye. Her hands were shaking too.”

“Oh my God. She was losing it and I didn't even notice. Too wrapped up in myself.” To tell the truth, he was the picture of misery. Only my suspicions stopped me from giving him a reassuring hug.

“More to the point,” I added, “she said she was having memory problems. I think that's another sign of mental distress. Didn't remember buying some of the toys, that kind of thing. Could have been overload from work.”

“I missed all that. I can't believe any of this is happening.” He threw up his hands. “I have no idea how to handle it.”

“This has been a big shock to you. Do you want to pull the plug on the project?” I asked, expecting a yes.

“What? No, no. We've got to start it. You can't back out. You have to work with me. Whatever you need. Design. Storage. Display stuff. That way when she gets home, she'll have something to look forward to.”

“Oh,” I said, “we can definitely do that. I was wondering about the expense when you'll have all the legal stuff to worry about.”

“You know what? This is one thing we can deal with. The rest of it's a big insane unknowable nightmare. So we're going ahead. But I don't think we can get rid of any of these critters. I don't want her coming home and flipping out because some pink bunny rabbit that I've never even seen went out with the trash.”

“No arguments from me. I guess you want it done quickly.”

“Yep. Only thing is I usually sleep until nine or ten in the morning because I get in late. The house is yours from then on. And I'm out every night, if that helps.”

“It does. I'll come up with a storage plan that's not too complex or pricey, because Emmy Lou may decide on a more permanent solution later on. I'll get some units that you could use elsewhere or sell off if that happens. And I'll have a colleague working with me, which will speed up the project. Do you want a cost estimate?”

He shook his head. “I don't care what it costs.”

“Good, we'll solve the overflow for the short term and preserve her collection. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Whatever you want, as long as when she gets home, if she wants some particular fuzzball, she can have it. Look, I realize I sound crazy too. I know they're only plush toys. But you know what? They're the only damn thing I have any control over.”

Lilith got out of the LeMans as Dwayne was hotfooting it out the front door again. He nodded absently in her direction and thrust a set of keys into my hand as I introduced her.

“Don't worry,” I called after him as he raced for his car.

“Talking to the wind?” Lilith said with a grin.

“Emmy Lou's had some kind of breakdown.”

“That's freakin' awful. Don't blame him for flipping out,” she said.

I led the way up the stairs to show her what we were faced with. “The last time I was here, there were toys all over the stairs. I guess the police removed them. Dwayne wants us to keep them all. He's worried that any change will be traumatic for her. Let's inventory the lot and figure out a quick solution to display some and store the rest.”

“Makes sense.”

“See if there are categories we can place then in. Make a note about which ones are where. That kind of thing.”

As we opened the door to Emmy Lou's bedroom, Lilith's face lit up. “I love this. If it hadn't been for what happened here, this whole thing would be a blast. Like spending the night in a toy store. I don't even know why'd you'd want to organize them in the first place. They're great the way they are.”

She didn't change her mind after we checked out the spare room that doubled as an office. “Wow, I thought there were a lot in the main bedroom. This is the best job ever.”

“Good attitude, except for the don't-know-why-you'd-organize-them part. And we're going to make sure we're never alone in the magic toy store. Just in case.”

“Don't worry. I'm not looking for trouble. And I haven't forgotten Tony's death or your slashed tires either. Not to mention the prank phone call and the complaint to the police.”

“Right,” I said grimly, staring at the giant stuffed zebra. “Let's go get our flat-pack bins and we can tackle these suckers. We can break them down into oversize, regular, and mini.”

“Darn,” Lilith said. “I was hoping we'd go by color. There's some great purple stuff here.”

Believe it or not, the census of stuffies didn't take quite as long as I thought it would. I measured the walls in Emmy Lou and Dwayne's bedroom, hallway, and spare bedroom. I took a number of shots of the rooms with my digital camera so I wouldn't forget details. I even took a few of the downstairs, to keep the style that Emmy Lou and Dwayne favored firmly in mind. I spent most of my time working with a layout of the rooms and furniture templates, figuring out how to rearrange the rooms to maximize the storage. As Lilith whirled through her task, I calculated the number of bookcases it would take to double-line two walls in the main bedroom. The upstairs hallway was long enough to handle four units, and the spare room could be completely lined with bookcases. Each one could hold a lot of fuzzies. If I could convince Dwayne to store the furniture in that room, then we might have a quick solution. If Gary Gigantes could squeeze me into his crowded schedule, he could attach the bookcases, put them on casters, slap on some nice trim to hide the joints, whatever I would need to make this work.

Meanwhile, Lilith had even managed to complete a sub-sort by color too. When you find a reliable, intelligent, hardworking assistant, you learn not to argue with her. Anyway, the color idea was growing on me. Dwayne had not returned by the time we left the bins full of toys, locked up the house, and started walking to our cars. This time no harm had been done to either vehicle.

As we reached the cars, I spotted Mr. Wright in his garden across the street. I nodded in his direction. “That's the one who might be Emmy Lou's father,” I said to Lilith.

She said, “Figured that. I noticed him on Sunday when I got here. And today too. He's oozing mean. Bet she didn't have any picnic growing up there.”

“My impression too. If he is, what would make a smart, successful woman like her come back here? To flaunt her success in front of him?”

Lilith shrugged. “Hey, I have some of what they call unresolved issues too. And if I
won
a million-dollar mansion across the street from my mom and her live-in, I'd let it sit empty forever. I'd torch it before I'd set foot in it.”

“Ah.” Something to think about.

“Looking at that old guy reminded me of why I left and why I'll never go back.”

“You didn't see the wife?”

“Thought I saw a timid little person scurrying around. That's part of the pattern too,” Lilith said, her face hard. “Don't ask me to go there, if you don't mind.”

I left it. I'd learned early not to probe into Lilith's past. Some memories are better left undisturbed.

I put the Rheinbecks' keys into my purse and fished out my car keys. I stared at them and slowly pulled out the Rheinbeck keys.

“What?” she said.

I stared at the keys and at the front door. I said, “How did Tony get in there?”

“Through the door?”

I shook my head. “Not likely. Emmy Lou kept her doors locked, and she made Dwayne lock them too, even when I was sitting in her living room with her. In fact, when I got there for our first meeting, she unlocked that dead bolt. I had been thinking that Tony got in and frightened her. But I can't see how that would be. I can't believe she would have let him in the house. How could he get in without a set of keys?”

“We should check.”

A half hour later, we confirmed that all the first-and second-floor windows were locked and showed no signs of having been forced or pried.

“So,” I said, “either Emmy Lou let him in—”

“Which might be why she's overcome with guilt,” Lilith said.

“Or he had a set of keys. Which doesn't make sense. What if someone else let him in?”

“But who?”

I could think of only one other person who had the keys to Emmy Lou's house. Sweet, loveable, concerned, heartbroken hubby Dwayne. Was I playing into his pudgy hands?

At dinnertime I made the mistake of turning on the television to see the news. What was I thinking?

Todd Tyrell loomed in my face, gleefully offering his comments on a local tragedy:

Tony's ten-year-old face flashed on the screen, followed by a shot of his anguished and possibly not quite sober mother, then a clip of poor damaged Kevin wailing on the lawn. I waited and sure enough I showed up too, looking as though I could give Bluebeard a run for his money.