The Cluttered Corpse (4 page)

“Not that there's anything wrong with that,” Margaret said.

“No, especially since that's what we did, moving back to Woodbridge. However, we were able to do it without having to actually produce a child.”

“We always did pick the easy way.”

“How can it be your first? Weren't you at any of the other showers for Sally? That's amazing.”

“I hadn't moved back when Sally had her first three babies.”

“Neither had I, but I was tracked down anyway. And NYC isn't that far away when there's a party to be had.”

“So, what happens? Is it like in the movies?”

I hated to think about what movies Margaret was watching if they featured baby showers. “It's for Sally, so it will not follow any rules and it will be fun. And we bring something excellent to eat and a present for the munchkin-to-be and that's it. I have dibs on s'mores.”

“No games?”

“Nope.”

“No hats with bows on them?”

“Not on my watch. Nothing but good old-fashioned gossip, snacks, and laughs.”

“Girls only?”

“For sure. That mixed shower trend hasn't hit Woodbridge yet. Anyway, since this is the fourth time, the girls consist of you and me and Sally. So not actually a shower, just an excuse to get together and give her a gift for the latest.”

“I can deal with that.”

“With your Ivy League education, you will rise to the occasion, challenging as it may be.”

“Not so fast. It's the gift that's the hurdle. I have no idea what to get her. I don't know anything about babies. Can we get together to pick out something?”

“Okay. Lunch tomorrow. We'll go to Cuddleship. It will make a nice change from your usual criminal occupations.”

“Don't be jealous,” Margaret said, getting in the last word before she hung up. “We can't all be struggling lawyers in small towns. Which reminds me, time to get back to work.”

Margaret might want to spend the weekend working, but I didn't. For one thing, my main task consisted of figuring out a solution to Emmy Lou's plush population explosion that didn't involve either of us resorting to sedatives. Even though in my business I often work on weekends when people are free, I never give up my Friday night. Friday night is for going out. Plans flexible. Dates optional. After all, I had the dogs.

But the Emmy Lou situation was nagging at me. Before I went anywhere, I tried Pepper's line again.

Damn voice mail.

Looked like I had no choice but to track her down. It was a few minutes after five o'clock. I knew that Pepper could be counted on to work long after hours. Ambition has its price. First I fixed my makeup, which is important when meeting your nemesis. I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a nifty little turquoise sweater that had been waiting for the right Friday-night occasion. I slipped on a pair of Steve Madden metallic high-platform shoes with an ankle strap. Finally I changed my earrings to giant silver hoops. You don't want to go head-to-head with Pepper without putting on your armor.

“Come on, poochies, we're going for a ride.”

The dragon had left the den before I pulled up in front of the Woodbridge Police Station.

“You missed her,” the desk sergeant said cheerfully, pointing toward the door. Something in his tone told me Pepper wasn't the sunniest disposition on the Woodbridge police force.

“Want to leave a message? I can put you through to her voice mail.”

“Been there, thanks. I'll try later.”

I pushed Emmy Lou and Pepper to the back of my mind. I needed a small dose of normal, uncomplicated happy human being. Someone cheerful and upbeat. Someone noticeably absent from my daily life since he'd opened his business.

Jack.

I climbed back into the Miata. Sweet Marie leapt into my lap, and Truffle jumped up and licked my ear. I was getting used to that. “Let's go see Jack.”

On the way, I stopped at Tang's Convenience for a tub of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk for me and a tub of Chunky Monkey for Jack. I picked up an extra Super Fudge Chunk in case Jack managed to steal mine. It wouldn't be the first time.

I selected some chew treats for the dogs. As usual, Mrs. Tang appeared not to recognize me. She took my money suspiciously, although she knew darn well I had been Margaret's very good friend for twenty years.

A white Ford Taurus was pulled up next to the Miata when I came out the door. Leaning against it, chatting to Margaret Tang, was Pepper.

“Hey,” I said.

Margaret said, “Is my mother her usual merry self?”

Pepper nodded without smiling. “Charlotte.”

She'd changed her hairstyle a bit. Usually it was a sleek blonde bob. Elegant to the point of chilliness. This new cut was layered and softer, with subtly different shades of blonde. Very nice. Not the kind of do you could get in the small city of Woodbridge. Pepper would have gone into the city for that. And she would have left a couple of hundred bucks behind her in the salon.

“You hung up on my voice mail,” she said.

“Ah.” I hadn't realized that she would know that.

“Twice. You have a new hobby wasting my time?”

“I didn't want to leave a message about this problem. It's probably nothing, but I needed a bit of advice.” I wanted to shriek, “Don't curl your upper lip at me,” but I kept my cool.

“And?”

“Okay, this might sound crazy, but I have a new client. She's a sophisticated, capable woman, maybe forty years old. Very attractive. During our consultation, two guys from next door climbed the tree outside her bedroom window and made noises and faces at her.”

Pepper said, “Made faces?”

“Fine, I know that sounds stupid. But it was terrifying for her. They even had a camera and took at least one photo. The neighbors think these guys are stalking her. But my client refuses to call the police. She says one of them is a harmless kid. Her husband seems annoyed but not worried. I didn't know what to do. Maybe it's none of my business. But I can't let it go.”

Pepper said, “Officially? Nothing we can do without a complaint from this woman.”

“I wondered if—”

“Did it set off your alarm bells?”

“Oh yeah. It seemed creepy.”

Pepper pursed her lips. “Sorry to let you down, but we can't go on a fishing expedition.”

“Well, I guess
not
,” Margaret said.

Pepper agreed. “I don't intend to harass innocent citizens.”

“Good thinking,” Margaret said.

I stared at her. How dumb was I? Margaret had set up her law practice in Woodbridge, and she would always keep an eye out for the rights of the accused. I hadn't mentioned Emmy Lou's situation to her. Too bad I'd run into the two of them together.

“You know, you might want to take a look at your taillight here, Charlotte,” Pepper said. “You'll end up with a whopping ticket if you get stopped by the wrong cop.”

I stepped to the back of the Miata with her.

“There's nothing wrong with my lights,” I huffed.

“Keep your voice down. Give me the name of the guy and his address,” Pepper said. “I'll see what I come up with.”

“Oh right and—”

“And Margaret doesn't need to know everything.”

I lowered my voice. “Okay. My client's at 10 Bell Street. Her name's Emmy Lou Rheinbeck. Her husband is Dwayne. The kid next door is Kevin something. Dingwall. That's it. And his friend is called Tony Starkman. Kevin lives at number 8, a grey house with a big front porch. The people on the other side of Emmy Lou are Bill and Bonnie Baxter. They think these guys are trouble. Of course, they're a bit odd themselves. Possibly paranoid.”

I knew enough about Pepper's upbringing to guess how she'd react.

“Leave it with me.”

“Thanks,” I said in a normal tone. “I'll get that taillight looked after.”

“You do that.”

Margaret said, “Gotta go. See you tomorrow. Should be fun.”

Pepper said, “What should be fun?”

I don't know who was the more surprised by that: Margaret or me.

Margaret said, “There's a baby shower for Sally.”

“Sally's pregnant
again
?”

Margaret said, “One of these days they'll find out what's causing it.”

“And there's a baby shower?”

“Not a real shower,” I said, feeling dread creep over me.

“Charlotte's bringing s'mores,” Margaret added. “I had no idea she could cook.”

Pepper snorted and then said, “Is it a surprise?”

“Kind of. Benjamin's at some kind of medical conference, and Sally thinks we're dropping in to keep her company tomorrow night after the kids are in bed.”

“Who's going?”

“Me, Margaret. That's it. The old gang of misfits.”

Pepper looked me straight in the eye. “I was part of the old gang of misfits.”

Who could forget that?

“So, maybe I'll come along to Sally's. It would be great to see her.”

An odd expression flickered across Margaret's face, but quickly vanished.

I said, “Sure. That would be…fine. About seven.”

I whirled as a granite-faced man approached the Taurus. He could only be a police officer. No one else in Woodbridge would be wearing a trench coat. He was carrying two cups of Stewart's coffee. He held one of the coffees out to Pepper.

“Later,” she said to me.

“Trouble?” he said.

I answered, “Oh no, we're old—”

“No trouble,” Pepper said. “Catching up on the news.”

Pepper got back into the driver's side of the Taurus. Tall, dark, and granite took the passenger seat. I settled into the Miata and tried deep breathing. One of these days I will learn not to let Pepper ruin my evening.

Margaret remained standing at the door of Tang's Convenience. She watched the Taurus spin off. She hustled back toward me. “Oh my God. That guy was so hot.”

“He was?”

“You didn't think so?”

“Definitely not my type. He's quite a bit older, no?”

“Don't be ageist. And I thought you didn't have a type.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” I was taking a break from men, particularly handsome ones, for various reasons.

Margaret said, “Maybe he's Pepper's type.”

“Come on, Margaret. She's married to Nick Monahan. She's been crazy about him since forever, not that anyone can understand it. She didn't give this guy the time of day. He's good for fetching coffee. Nick. Nick. Nick. Nick's so this. Nick's so that. Nick's such a good driver. Nick's such a marksman. Nick's blah, blah, blah. Who could forget that?”

“It doesn't matter whether I remember Nick the Stick. It's if Pepper does.”

I climbed into the car and turned the key. “I can't imagine why she wouldn't. Of course, Nick is dumb as a rope, vain, and a total womanizer. Aside from that he's the perfect husband. Except I'm pretty sure he doesn't pull his weight around the house.”

“Exactly. And did you see how that guy looked at her?”

“Like she was a double-fudge glazed doughnut and he hadn't eaten in a week?”

“I was thinking more like if she was a tub of Ben & Jerry's and he was you.”

“Doesn't matter. The less I have to do with Pepper the better, and that includes speculating about her personal life.”

“We're jealous because she has one. But we're going to have to think about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants to come to Sally's shower. That will change our dynamic.”

I found myself chewing my lower lip yet again. Pepper had arrested me last fall and done her best to make sure the charges stuck. On the other hand, for all of my teens she'd been my best friend. And she had offered to check out the Emmy Lou problem. Part of me wanted to get that friendship back. That was my heart talking. My brain knew that Pepper was too volatile.

I said, “I don't believe she'll show up. She was bluffing to see our reactions.”

“Hope you're right, because if she does show up tomorrow night, who are we going to trash-talk?”

In the last few years, artists and young entrepreneurs have flowed into Woodbridge, picking up bargain real estate and bringing life to the town. For the first time since the collapse of SundNor Technologies in the eighties, Woodbridge was booming. Why not? Less than two hours from New York City and you could afford a “loft” conversion on the water. You could walk to your choice of restaurants, bistros, and bars. Or hit the Hudson in your kayak after work. What's not to love?

On a typical Friday night people jam the cafés and this one was no different. The Woodbridge boom was surely fueling Dwayne Rheinbeck's restaurant success. I wondered which of the many new spots was his.

On the other hand, Jack's cycle shop lurks in the middle of an untrendy strip on Long March Road halfway between the uptown action and the downtown trendiness. His strategy: large space, easy parking, cheap rent, and a huge storefront window that makes CYCotics easy to spot on your way to somewhere else. Bright young guys with BlackBerries are Jack's targets for his pricey European bicycles. He also keeps an eye out for aging boomers with empty nests and full wallets.

Despite the trends, CYCotics is never jammed. Not that it matters. Jack has enough of an inheritance from his parents to weather the growing pains. I worry about location, location, location, and lack of same. If Jack's bicycles don't sell, he can always market optimism. Which is a good thing.

I arrived in a surly post-Pepper mood. Truffle and Sweet Marie were in charge of happy. Jack worked alone, hunkered down next to boxes of Italian bike parts that must have arrived on the late Friday delivery. For once, he didn't have a foster dog with him. He stood up and grinned, resplendent in his yellow and green Hawaiian shirt. I won't say anything about the baggy khaki shorts.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey. I thought we could give you a hand with all these boxes. Oh wow. It's cluttered in here. How is anybody going to get to the cash register with all these obstacles in the way? How about if I—”

A crash from the rear of the shop told me that the dogs had knocked over a tower of boxes. From the sound of it, there was metal in those boxes. Both dogs came racing back to the front, tails tucked between legs.

“I have to do this stuff myself, Charlotte. I need to check out the items, figure out where they're going, or if they're what I ordered. Reconcile orders with invoices and invoices with contents. Then match them up with the right customers.”

“Speaking of customers, I notice you don't have any. This is not surprising. How is anybody going to find this place?” I said. “It's not like people are going to walk by.”

Jack gave me a puzzled look. “It's a destination store.”

“Is that why it's empty?” I said.

“Hey, who's a bossy little organizer tonight? Got some problem you want to get off your chest? Or did you come over to rain on my parade?”

“Sorry, Jack. I ran into Pepper again and I was taking it out on you.”

Jack looked me straight in the eye. “You've been home long enough now. You should be getting used to Pepper.”

“I should be, but I'm not.”

“O
kay
. Have some ice cream. You'll feel better.”

“Maybe.”

“And CYCotics isn't empty. Not when you and your dogs and Ben & Jerry are here. Even if you are whiny and grumpy.”

“Mmm.”

The ice cream calmed me down. Or maybe it was Jack. Whining and bad moods don't stick to him. Somehow this is catchy.

“So,” he said, “how come Pepper upset you so much this time?”

“It's a long story.”

“Like you said, no customers here. Start talking.”

“I have to begin at the beginning.” Jack's always patient, so I took a deep breath and filled him in, from the Emmy Lou situation to the encounter with Pepper outside of Tang's. “So I didn't want to leave that kind of message with names and everything and she was ticked off that I hung up on her machine, but anyway, when Margaret wasn't listening, Pepper said that she'd look into it.”

“That is a long story, but I must have missed something, because I don't see any reason to be upset with Pepper. Is that because I'm a guy? And we don't understand stuff?”

“I didn't finish my long story yet. The worst part was that Margaret blabbed about Sally's shower and now Pepper wants to show up and ruin everything.”

Jack's spoon paused midway to his next mouthful of Chunky Monkey. “Sally's having a shower?”

“Yeah.”

“No one told me.”

“Listen, Jack. You're a guy. You admitted it.”

“Who's organizing this shower?”

“Margaret. And me.”

“And who's going?”

“Margaret. And me. Sally too, of course. And, now, apparently Pepper.”

“Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh'?”

“You know what I mean. ‘Huh' is fairly unequivocal.”

I shook my head. “‘Huh' can mean anything.”

Jack said, “In this case it means that I go every bit as far back with Sally and Margaret and Pepper as you do. But I don't rate an invitation.”

“But I told you it's girls only.”

“You'd rather have Pepper than me?”

“Of course not. You're not scary, not even a little bit. And you're my best buddy. You are so good to me. But as I keep explaining, you are also a
guy
.”

“Got a calendar on you?”

“Why?”

“I wanted to check the century, that's all. I thought it was the twenty-first. But I could be wrong on that. You know how vague I am.”

“Fine, it's nothing to do with equality of the sexes, but if it makes you happy, you can come to the stupid shower.”

“Great, thanks. The more the merrier. Hey, what happens at a shower anyway?”

“We were going to talk girl talk and eat and give Sally something for the new baby. It's not even a proper shower.”

“Now we have to talk people talk.”

“Exactly. And a word of warning, Jack. That means no, count 'em, no sports references, including cycling statistics of
any
kind, and, do not slip up here, not one single reference to obscure European thinkers of the nineteenth century. Also, a little bit about rescued dogs will go a long way.”

Jack said, “But what if—”

“No buts, no what-ifs. It's the price of admission, Jack.”

“I can do that. So was that all that was bothering you? Because if it was, maybe you need more of a life, Charlotte.”

I considered that. I was eating Ben & Jerry's out of the container in a cycle shop with my old school friend and a pair of dogs. On Friday night. “I guess I always overreact about Pepper. Thanks for pointing that out.”

“Maybe it's time to put the past behind you.”

“Maybe. But it was more than Pepper. I am bothered by this situation with my client.”

“Professional organizing is a pretty safe occupation. You know that. As a rule, I'd say your biggest danger is developing a dust allergy.”

I nodded.

Jack continued. “Last fall was an anomaly. It's unlikely that you'll have another project where people die. You don't need to worry so much. Don't get me wrong. You did the ethical thing to contact the police about this. I'm proud of you. And you can talk to your client again when you see her next.”

“If.”

“You said you spoke to her husband. And he's there tonight?”

“I think so. And the neighbors are on the alert.”

“So tomorrow talk to her about keeping safe.”

“I realize there's not much I can do, but I can't stop worrying about Emmy Lou. She's such a big, strong, capable, lovely woman, and yet, underneath, she seems frightened and vulnerable. You and Pepper weren't there. You didn't see the effect this stupid joke had on her. And she was already pretty nervous. I have a bad feeling about it.”

“I hear you. Where's the shower tomorrow?”

I sighed. “Sally's place, after the kids are in bed.”

Okay. Friday night. Ten thirty. Spring was in the air. What could be better? Well, almost anything if you have enough residual adrenaline in your system and no outlet for it.

After I left Jack at the shop, dealing with some inventory horror story, I whipped through my apartment like an undone balloon. I did the kind of things that I usually enjoy. I cleaned my winter boots and packed them away. I updated my contact list. I made a schedule to call back potential clients. I looked over my strategic business plan to see if I was meeting my benchmarks. I checked that my spices were still in alphabetical order.

The list of projects I had scheduled after Emmy Lou included the usual garages in disarray, estates needing to be sorted out, family rooms with no room for the family, and home offices drowning in seas of paper, technology, and wayward wires. My bread and butter. I love that stuff. I enjoy helping people get their homes or businesses back on track. I bask in the gratitude of clients. I had one client waiting to have her linen closet overhauled, a small but amusing job. I could slot her in ahead of schedule if Emmy Lou decided to stall.

Once Emmy Lou's project was over, everything else looked promising. But of course, I was bugged by this one. Not the toys. Every week I dealt with far worse than that. Plus Emmy Lou knew she had a problem. That was half the battle. Sure she had zillions of plush toys, but they were new, clean, and indoors. There might have been a few on the stairs, but they didn't block fire exits. They didn't involve crawling through basements, or getting rid of the dusty detritus of a lifetime. There were no rodents except for the stuffed ones in the box in the Miata. Emmy Lou's collection didn't stink of mildew or worse. Piece of cheesecake, I would have said normally.

But something was out of kilter at the Rheinbecks'. It didn't seem to be the stuffies. After a lot of thought I had to admit it was Emmy Lou herself. That mass of emotion under her elegant exterior wasn't about the toys. It wasn't because she was worried about Dwayne. I sat back on my sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to relive the afternoon at her home. I recalled the nervous tic below her eye. The way her gaze jumped from one spot to another. The fact she couldn't sit still even in her lovely, tranquil living room. The way she insisted that Dwayne lock the doors.

Emmy Lou was scared to death of something. Could it be Kevin and Tony? They seemed hopeless and goofy, yet she'd flipped when they showed their faces in the window. Because they had been harassing her? Or was it something else?

Whatever was wrong, Emmy Lou was taking it very seriously. I decided that I'd better too.

By midnight, I was huddled under a quilt with the dogs. At least they were able to sleep. I was worrying. And I'd moved on to worrying about why I was worrying so much.

When Truffle signaled that he might need a midnight outing for personal reasons, I thought it might be a relief to catch a bit of fresh air. And I could pick up those stuffed rodents from the Miata and put them on the shelf. No point in procrastinating about that. Once the project was over, if Emmy Lou didn't demand them back, I could donate them to a day care or a shelter.

“Come on, guys. One last walk before bedtime.” I threw a fleece jacket on over my Kermit pajamas, grabbed my keys, and thudded downstairs in my fluffy pink slippers. I tucked one dog under each arm. They played along, acting like overcooked noodles.

After the briefest of dog business, I unlocked the Miata and reached for the box with the romantic rodents. I hesitated. What the heck. I couldn't sleep anyway.

I tucked the dogs into the passenger seat. They curled up and were asleep before I climbed in and shot off into the night. By the time I reached Bell Street, I was having third thoughts. How could my life have changed like this? Once I was a hip young financial analyst in the city, eating in trendy restaurants, meeting friends in the hot clubs, shown off by my studly fiancé. Now I'd turned into a wacky woman in Kermit pajamas, curb-crawling along a residential street looking for trouble.

A lot can change in a year.

I geared down and rolled along the street. The downstairs lights were out in Emmy Lou's house. Dim lights glowed from the upstairs windows.

Normal, normal, normal.

Unlike me.

Time to head home to bed. As I pulled away from the curb, a large shadow loomed out of the side yard to the left of Emmy Lou's house. Make that two shadows, one large and one scrawny, both wearing baggy pants, giant runners, and dark hoodies, with the hoods covering the back of their heads. I couldn't see faces. I squinted as the shadows moved along the sidewalk. Kevin and Tony? Would they turn into Kevin's house?

They turned right toward Emmy Lou's.

I exhaled. Nothing to get excited about. Two young men walking along the sidewalk in a neighborhood at just after midnight on a weekend. No big deal. They weren't trying to be furtive, for sure. The larger one had a swagger and the scrawny guy more of a scurrying walk. Every now and then Big would slap Scrawny on his skinny back.