The Cluttered Corpse (3 page)

He said, “No jobs, but they got money to spend on junk food. There's always a pizza van pulling up in front of that house. So, yeah, maybe Emmy Lou will listen to you. We can't get her to take it seriously. We keep an eye on Emmy Lou, in case.”

“In case what?” I said, with a panicky feeling. “Do you think Emmy Lou's under any kind of threat?”

“This Tony is being an ass. The other one, Kevin, he's a bit of sad-sack slacker. But she shouldn't have to put up with the stupid jokes and all. Anyway, if she has anything to worry about, I'll be there in a flash,” Bill said, thumping up the stairs. “And Emmy Lou has us on speed dial.”

“What about her husband? Wouldn't he take action?”

Bonnie shook her head. “Bill and I have both talked to Dwayne about it. Emmy Lou keeps telling him it's nothing. I doubt if Dwayne's ever seen any of their stupid stunts.”

“Hmm. I'm glad Emmy Lou has good neighbors looking after her.”

“On one side anyway,” Bill said.

I saw no sign of the peculiar Kevin or the thuggish Tony as I climbed into my Miata. They were probably inside stuffing their faces. But I was feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, the job looked good. This client might take a bit of coaxing, but it would all work out. She'd be happy in the end. And it would be a satisfying contract for me, no dirt and no messy murders like I'd had in the past. On the other hand, Emmy Lou was obviously being harassed. Were Kevin and Tony dangerous as well as annoying?

I reminded myself that Emmy Lou was my client, not my friend or neighbor, and that she hadn't asked me to be involved. In fact, she'd asked me to leave. Even so, I sat there chewing my lip. Tricky situation. Whatever I decided, it would probably be wrong.

I felt a wave of relief when a silver Audi wheeled into the driveway beside me. Dwayne hopped out and gave me the victory sign. He strolled toward my car, grinning, and leaned in through the open window. I figured the meeting at the bank must have gone fabulously.

“Hey, Charlotte,” he said. “Thanks for coming by. It won't be that easy, but my gal needs someone strong to help her deal with this. Someone who's not emotionally involved. Stay the course.”

“Listen, Dwayne, I have to mention that your neighbor Kevin and his friend seemed to have frightened Emmy Lou this afternoon. She got pretty upset and ended our session.”

Dwayne stood up and scratched his shiny head. He stared across his new landscaping. Kevin and Tony must have finished their pizza in record time. They were outside again cavorting with the camera. Dwayne bent down again to make eye contact with me. “Pair of losers for sure. But I don't think there's anything much to worry about.”

“I'm not so sure. Maybe you should talk it over with the police.”

Dwayne treated me to his contagious grin. “Are you trying to ruin my love life? Emmy Lou's real fond of Kevin. Known him since he was a baby. She'd pitch a fit if I called the cops on Kevin.”

I did not grin back. “Not that it's my business, but their behavior was spooky. Your neighbors on the other side seem kind of worried about Kevin and Tony too.”

He snorted. “Bill does, you mean. Sorry, shouldn't have said that. Bonnie's a sweetheart, but she has MS and she doesn't get out. She gets Bill's version of everything, and he's seriously paranoid.”

“But…” I said, trying not to appear paranoid myself.

“Tell you what, I don't want my Emmy Lou upset, so I'll talk to Mrs. Dingwall, Kevin's mom. I feel sorry for the poor lady, but she'll have to keep a lid on Kevin if she doesn't want me to do it for her. And I'll tell her to get rid of Tony the house pest before he causes any more trouble.”

At the corner of Bell Street, I slammed on my brakes to avoid hitting a woman dressed in jeans and a pair of Birken-stocks, with a long grey braid hanging down her back. She was walking a black-and-white cat on a leash and had chosen to cross the street, mid-block, in a diagonal fashion without looking either way.

A speeding white delivery van blasted her with his horn. She took no notice. As she ambled toward the second house from the corner, I recognized her as Patti Magliaro, one of the waitresses at Betty's, my favorite diner. Patti was one of the eternal hippies who popped up here and there in and around Woodbridge. Vague and ditsy, but part of the charm of our town.

I did a U-turn and caught up to her in front of the demolition site across the street from Emmy Lou's. I stopped the Miata and called out, “Hi, Patti!”

She blinked and then walked toward me, her Birken-stocks flapping against her bare heels. “Do I know you?”

“Charlotte Adams. I see you at Betty's all the time.”

“Oh, didn't recognize you in the car. Club sandwiches, right?”

“That's me.”

“And the devil's food special.”

“Got me again.”

“You look a bit different on the TV.”

“Oh well,” I said, “those weren't the best circumstances.”

“Guess not. You looked taller for one thing.”

I paused. “Really? Of course, I am sitting in the car.”

“Yeah, and a lot meaner. Like really, really mean and—”

“Beautiful cat,” I said. I didn't want to talk about why I'd been on television or how mean I looked now or then.

She lit up. “Princess is special. Everyone loves her.”

“I bet. Do you live around here?”

“Yep. Lived here for more than twenty years. Number 13.” She pointed to a grey two-story house with a crisply clipped hedge that shielded the view of the demolition site. “I have the upstairs apartment.”

“I have an upstairs apartment too. In Jack Reilly's house,” I said with a smile designed to make me seem less mean.

“Oh, Jack. Such a nice guy. I knew his folks. Real good people. That was a terrible shame about their accident. I remember when Jack was little and—”

Normally I'm not rude, but I cut in. “That reminds me. Do you know the people across the street?”

She blinked and started off again. “Most of them have been here forever: the Van Loons at the corner must be in their eighties, and the Mrazeks across the street can't be much younger, late seventies anyway. The people in number 14 are in Florida until the end of the month. My landlord Ralph is there too. He lives downstairs from me, and the people who bought 15 haven't moved in yet. There's a new couple in the blue house, number 12. They've only been there about a year. I know him, Bill something. I think she has MS.”

“Bonnie and Bill Baxter.”

“There's Mrs. Dingwall and Kevin in number 8. And I know Emmy Lou.” She pointed across to the Rheinbecks' house. “She grew up in number 7. Of course, I didn't live here then.”

This time Patti indicated the well-kept green house with the chain-link fence protecting a pristine garage from the demolition site. It had an oddly regimented garden. “When she got married last year, she moved back, across the street from her old home. That's unusual, isn't it? I've met her husband. He seems like a real gentleman. He's in the restaurant business too.”

So Emmy Lou had grown up on Bell Street. That came as a surprise. Although it explained why she and Dwayne had poured a lot of money into a small house on a faded block that hadn't been discovered by the renovators. Yet.

I said, “Did she want to be near her parents?”

Patti twittered. “Probably wanted to thumb her nose at the two of them. Couldn't say I'd blame her. Pair of miserable cheap sourpusses.”

Emmy Lou had mentioned that she'd never owned a stuffed animal as a child. There could be many reasons for that, including having parents who were miserable cheap sourpusses. Well, it didn't matter. I wasn't there to pry into Emmy Lou's history. I wanted to know if she'd be all right. “But at least they'd be there if she needed help.”

Patti shook her head. The long silver braid swayed. “Doubt it. I don't think she's spoken to them since she first left home. And I bet that's mutual. Told you I was surprised that she moved back. But she could turn to any of the other folks on the street. From what I hear, everyone was crazy about Emmy Lou.”

I could only imagine the life and energy Emmy Lou would have projected as a teenager. She would have been gorgeous and she would have lit up Bell Street. “I'm sure. You mentioned Mrs. Dingwall and Kevin. So you know him?”

“Sure, I've known Kevvie since he was this high.” She gestured vaguely toward her knees.

“Do you think he's…” I searched my mind for a politically correct synonym for crazy and dangerous.

“Kevvie's okay. Not playing with a full deck, but he's sweet enough.”

That was good. “He seems to be playing tricks on Emmy Lou. It's probably not my business, but Bill and Bonnie are worried about it.”

“Who are Bill and Bonnie?”

“The people in the blue house on the right.” I refrained from mentioning that I'd told her that a minute earlier. Her memory wasn't the best, perhaps because of a fondness for illegal herbs.

We both jumped aside as a dark-haired young man wearing a backward baseball cap whipped along the street on Rollerblades. He flipped a fast-food bag and an empty drink bottle into the Dumpster as he passed. We stared at the site.

“Ew!” she said. “I hate that. It's bad enough about all the dust from the demolition site, and the materials lying around, but people throw all kinds of garbage in that Dumpster. Even dog poop. It's supposed to be for construction debris. They only empty it every two weeks. Imagine what that will smell like by Friday. You know, these days—”

Time to get back on topic. “Kevin?” I said.

“Emmy Lou has nothing to worry about with Kevin. He loves her. It's that guy that's hanging around with him that makes my skin crawl.”

“Tony?”

Patti hesitated. “Yeah. Tony Starkman. Tony's got a bad aura, for sure.”

And I'd thought it was greasy hair. “Do you think he would do anything to harm her?”

“No, or I'd have had to do something about it.” Patti knit her brow, obviously thinking hard about it now.

“Well?” I said after a long minute.

She said, “What do you think he might do?”

“No idea. I'm sort of reacting to the Baxters. They were agitated.”

“Tell you what, I'll keep an eye out for her when I can. I'm not around that much, but the wife is there all the time. And the guy comes and goes from work.”

“You're right. And there's Dwayne.”

“Comes and goes too. He works downtown, not far at all. Anyway, it's not like Emmy Lou is among strangers. She probably knows everyone on this block. And I'll let her know she can call on me too.”

“Thanks, Patti.”

“Glad to help. Don't be a stranger now. Remember the devil's food special.”

Something about the way Patti had hesitated when we were talking about Tony nagged at me on my drive home. I shook my head. I needed to get back. My dogs would be late for their afternoon walk. Everything was fine at the Rheinbecks. Dwayne was back in the house. And even when he was out, she could always call Bill and Bonnie if she needed help. Even if she couldn't count on her parents for some reason, she knew everyone on the street. Emmy Lou had been my client for less than an hour. In fact, I wasn't a hundred percent certain she was still a client. And I had no idea what the best course of action was. But I knew who would know.

Pepper Monahan, rising star in the Woodbridge Police, would be up on all the latest techniques for assessing risk in harassment. She'd been through some tricky situations herself. She'd climbed the ladder carefully, stepping on the fingers of some of the old boys as she went. And she'd definitely had her share of bad stuff growing up. Too bad my former best friend wouldn't give me the time of day.

In the ongoing battles between Pepper and Charlotte, let's say that I am the friendly person who wants to help other people live happier lives and Pepper is the ambitious police officer with the power to interrogate and arrest. I carry a to-do list. She carries a gun and a grudge along with her lip gloss.

But one of my principles is never to put off unappealing tasks.

I pulled over, picked up my cell phone, and called the Woodbridge Police. It's an easy number. I asked for Detective Sergeant Pepper Monahan. The desk sergeant put me through. I got Pepper's voice mail. It was hard to imagine, but her voice mail sounded even more intimidating than Pepper in person. I decided to try again later.

I left the wedding mice in the car. They'd been an unplanned acquisition, and I needed to find a place for them out of reach of Truffle and Sweet Marie before I brought them in. I hustled up the stairs to my apartment, trying to ignore the empty first floor. In the first six months after I returned to Woodbridge, I'd had plenty of time to get used to my old school friend and landlord, Jack. At the end of a typical day, Jack would be lying in wait to ask me about my day and attempting to relieve me of any surplus ice cream, chocolate, and good gossip I might have picked up. Of course, he always had an effective ploy.

At least once a week he'd try to entice me to take another foster dog from the canine rescue group he belongs to. He had effective ploys for that too, but I'd managed not to fall into his traps. He taught Truffle and Sweet Marie tricks and games. Their favorite was Where's Charlotte? That wasn't my preference since it involved me hiding behind doors or in the shower or on the stairs. Never mind, it beat their other fave game, Let's Hide Charlotte's Stuff.

But since Jack had opened CYCotics, the cycle shop of his dreams, he was no longer there to meet me when I got home. I felt a small pang every time I walked past his apartment and up the stairs to mine. I opened my door while holding my breath. I never quite knew what I was going to find.

“Hey, guys,” I said, looking around.

Four beady black eyes regarded me with interest. I am the food lady and that's definitely cool. I put my keys in the container on the hall console. That was high enough to be out of their reach, unless Jack had popped in and moved a chair. I glanced around to see if the toilet paper had been unfurled throughout my tiny apartment. Nope. No mountains of white.

I peered into my bedroom. The closet door was closed, as I'd left it, so that meant my shoes and boots hadn't been hidden at the furthest point under the bed. Also good.

The cushions were on the sofa; no dishes lay on the floor. I smiled. Perhaps they were starting to settle in. They'd been with me the better part of a year, a pair of flea-bitten, half-starved siblings abandoned on the median of the interstate. Jack's rescue group had taken the time to clean them up, get them medical attention, and find them a foster mom to rehabilitate and housebreak them. Jack had set out to find a permanent home for them. The three of us owe him.

Our walk was speedy and efficient. The temperature had suddenly plummeted, and Truffle and Sweet Marie do not care for nippy spring afternoons. They are creatures made for summer.

Back in the apartment, I made a place for the wedding mice: the highest shelf in my cupboard. For all I knew Emmy Lou might demand their return. I spooned out dog food and fresh water. Then I left the pooches to it while I checked voice mail, e-mail, and snail mail. All right, I had no snail mail or e-mail, but I did have voice mail.

“Don't forget about tomorrow night,” Margaret Tang's voice said.

Whatever happened to hello?

I blinked. I had already forgotten about tomorrow night. That's not like me. I'd obviously been distracted by the drama at Emmy Lou's. Did I have a consultation booked? Time to check my agenda. I keep only one and it's paper. Not fashion forward but it's easy, effective, and inexpensive. I reached for my purse.

Margaret continued. “But in case you have forgotten about it, tomorrow night is Sally's baby shower.”

“Oops,” I said out loud. “Of course. I knew that.”

“I bet you didn't even remember.”

“Yes, I did, Margaret,” I said, feeling a bit ridiculous fibbing to the voice mail. I skipped the rest of the message and called her back.

She said, “I need your help. This is my first baby shower and—”

“Oh, it is
not
.”

Margaret hesitated. “It is.”

“Your first? How can that be?”

“Hey, listen, I've been working on getting a law degree and setting up a practice and I haven't been invited to any. I used to be a misfit, worked my way up to being a nerd, and now I'm a full-fledged wet blanket. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

“But even if you are a wet blanket, not that I'm admitting that, you're good for some shower loot. You surprise me. Even in the city, I got invited to baby showers for people I'd never met. They usually took place the week before the person moved to a smaller community never to be seen again.”