The Cluttered Corpse (6 page)

My eyes had already glazed over when he told me about the separate lot and the double garage he'd had specially built for his car and his truck. “That's the reason I went for the place. Got it all,” he said. “Made of brick. Motion detectors. Dead bolts. Video surveillance. Alarms. No son of a bitch is going to mess with my blah, blah, blah…Anytime you want a drive, Charlie, let me know.” He waggled his eyebrows.

As if I could give a crap about Nick the Stick's Mustang convertible and his Dodge Ram and his fear that they would be stolen from under his nose. All to say, I'd missed the detail about the house number in the fog of boring words.

The good news was, I was sure I could figure out which one it was. This was a pleasant but ordinary street. How many houses would have a separate lot with a brick garage with such elaborate security on them? I could swing by the new house on Old Pine and tell Pepper. I wouldn't have to let her know how I knew where she lived or that Nick had told me about his precious garage and big toys and asked me for a drive. Any word that I'd been within a block of Nick might set her off. If she wasn't home, I could leave a note. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have shown up at Sally's anyway, but this way I could pretend to be nice. Or at least nicer than I was.

Pepper was wearing a pricey pair of skinny jeans and a cream cashmere sweater when she answered the door. Her shiny blonde layers looked perfect. She was heading somewhere, for sure.

I was glad I'd taken the time to put on capris and a filmy flowered blouse.

“Nice place,” I said politely.

“What are you doing here?”

“The shower's been postponed. I wanted to let you know. You'd said you might come by.”

Her lip curled perceptibly.
“Postponed?”

“Sally's kids are sick.”

“The kids are sick? Is it serious?”

“A tummy bug, I think. But she needs to be with them. Anyway, she wouldn't feel much like partying when the little guys are hurling. And she said it might be contagious.”

Pepper made a face. Unconvinced.

“We're disappointed too. We'll reschedule,” I said. “Do you want us to let you know when?”

“Whatever.”

“I'll call you and you can see if it, um, fits your schedule.”

Her eyes narrowed, more dangerously this time. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Someone told me you bought a house near here. I was worried you'd drive out to Sal's. Anyway, I recognized your car in the driveway.” Close enough to the truth. “While I'm here, I wondered if you followed up on those two guys next door to Emmy Lou Rheinbeck.”

She frowned. “Of course I did. There's nothing in the system about either one of them. Not as adults anyway. Not so much as a traffic ticket. Nada.”

“I guess that's good news.”

“Could be they haven't crossed the line yet.”

“Thanks for checking. And caring about it.” For a fleeting moment I catapulted back in time, back to when Pepper was my best friend and there was nothing we wouldn't have done for each other.

I swallowed. After a silence that was beyond awkward, I turned to go.

“Charlotte?”

I turned back. “Yes?”

“Let me know if anything more happens there.”

“Thanks. I hope I'm not wasting your time. Today my client insists it was a joke. Says she's not worried.”

“I'll see that there are a few more patrols on the street.”

I nodded. “I appreciate this, Pepper. Thank you for taking it seriously.”

She nodded. Mrs. Tough Guy.

“I'll call you when the coast is clear for Sally's. Look forward to seeing you there.”

“Yeah. I'd like that.” A half smile formed.

From the back of the house, I heard a rumbled question. “Who's there, sugar?”

You can always count on Nick the Stick to ruin a beautiful moment.

The half smile vanished.

“Nobody,” Pepper said as she shut the door in my face.

Oh terrific. So now a nothing Saturday night was about to follow my dreary Friday. Was this what being single and thirty was all about? Where was the fun, the glamour, the nights to remember? I was determined not to crap out on this night too.

I called Jack to say the sort of shower was canceled. And to suggest that we eat out somewhere fun. Before I could make the suggestion, he said, “Sorry to hear about the rug rats being sick, but I just got a call from WAG'D. They need someone to drive a Great Dane to a foster home in Poughkeepsie. I'm the only one available.”

I knew that nothing came between Jack and his canine-rescue volunteer stuff. Welcome All Great Dogs, better known as WAG'D, could always count on him. I also knew there'd be no room in Jack's ancient mud-colored Mini Minor for me plus the Great Dane.

Never mind.

I called Margaret's office to suggest that, on sober second thought, it wasn't such a terrific idea for her to work. I suggested dinner at Wet Paint. I'd wanted to go there since it opened. Supposed to be a very hot atmosphere with cool jazz, intriguing art on the walls, and sometimes a chance to meet the musician or the artist.

I left that as a message. That's the thing about Saturday night. If your plans fall through and you don't have a plan B, it's a night of voice mail hell for you.

Perhaps Margaret had been captured by the folks and dragged off to a combined family dinner and baby propaganda session. In which case her Saturday night would be spent in a lower circle of hell than mine. Although not quite as low as Sally's.

I called Sally.

“Can I help? Do laundry? Let you rest? Pick up a new DVD?”

“Thanks, Charlotte, but you'd better stay away.”

Fine. Maybe Sunday would be the new Saturday. Meanwhile, I had stuff to do.

First I researched stalkers. After all, what did I know about this phenomenon? After prowling on the Web for a while, I was more worried than ever about the connection between stalking and violence. I took some comfort in a description of a type of stalker with poor social skills and sometimes limited intelligence who selected targets, hoping to form a relationship. Apparently, this type had, in addition to inappropriate behavior, a short attention span and could move on quickly when things didn't work out. Which they wouldn't. Tony and Kevin might fit that profile, I thought, although it wasn't clear which one thought he'd win Emmy Lou's heart by making faces in her bedroom window.

Of course, I'm not a psychologist and you can't trust everything you read online. I knew that I needed to talk to people who actually worked in the field. Pepper wouldn't want to hear from me again, and anyway, she was aware and stepping up patrols. I called an acquaintance who was a social worker and another woman who was the administrator at a shelter to see if they could offer advice. Voice mail again. Naturally on the weekend.

I made a note to ask my librarian friend, Ramona, to do a literature search for me when the library opened on Monday. Why hadn't I done that earlier in the day when she would have been in the reference department? I gave myself a mental kick.

It was now nearing seven and I had nothing better to do than work. Of course, I'd caught up on that the night before. But there was one thing I could do. I put aside my concerns about Kevin and Tony and gave some serious thought to Emmy Lou's organization problem. I decided to draw up a plan. Plans are my best thing. Normally I would have had one ready by now, but normal seemed to have flown out the window.

Once I had a commitment from her, we'd need to sort and pack up the plush multitudes before reorganizing her space to display the special ones and set up some kind of storage for the overflow. Then there would be the dreaded decision about which, if any, to discard. I reminded myself to bring man-size tissues.

Emmy Lou was a busy executive, and I had only one pair of hands. Emmy Lou would make the decisions. I would coach. Someone would have to pick up the bins and haul off the surplus to the Goodwill and the local shelter. We'd probably need to consider installing custom shelves, display cases, or a more complex storage system. I would suggest my friend, Gary Gigantes, a carpenter who was as reasonable and unflappable as he was meticulous. Margaret and I always said, too bad he was married. I in turn would point out that he was also fifty-eight years old. Margaret would merely shrug.

Emmy Lou and I would sort out who would do what when we agreed to go ahead. Meanwhile, I called the perfect ally for the sort, pack, and move portion: Lilith Carisse.

To my amazement, she answered her cell phone.

“It's Charlotte. Are you free?” I said.

“Finished my shift at the nursing home.”

“I have a little job for you.”

Lilith is putting herself through college by working a variety of jobs, some odder than others. She solved her rent problem when she moved in with our friend Rose Skipowski. Now Rose has live-in care with Lilith, and Lilith has a whole floor to herself and all the cookies she could ever eat. Jack's last foster dog, Schopenhauer, has found a permanent home with one disabled dog lover and one lively young dog walker. Win-win.

“Whatcha got?”

“It will take a bit to explain it.” Not strictly speaking true. I could have summarized the whole thing efficiently in two dozen words. But it was getting late. I was getting hungry. Plus I enjoyed Lilith's company and I knew she was broke. “How about trying Wet Paint? I've been wanting to go there.”

“Are you kidding? I can't afford that.”

“It's my treat. Part of the job.”

“Don't feel sorry for me. I can pay my own way, if it's Mickey D's or Betty's even.”

“I make it a policy not to feel sorry for starving students who are working three part-time jobs. Since I want to get a little information and advice from you, I should be willing to pay for dinner. No?”

“Information?”

“When we get there.”

Lilith Carisse usually makes an impact in public. It used to be because she had purple hair, but now that she has turquoise and black hair in stubby ponytails, it is more the nose ring and the face piercings. Or perhaps the tattoos. I don't care. It's what's inside that counts. And behind that metal and those tattoos, Lilith is kind and honest with a marshmallow center.

At Betty's Lilith draws stares the way a porch light draws moths. In Wet Paint she didn't raise an eyebrow.

“So, Lilith,” I said when we took stainless and leather chairs in the corner, near a glowing red wall, “how would you like to get paid to play with stuffed animals for a couple of days?”

“Sounds good. I'm trying to build my tuition fund. I've been offered an extra shift for a couple of weeks in the cafeteria of the nursing home. They find it hard to get people to work on the weekend. And Jack said he could use some more help at the bike shop. But this sounds a lot more fun. Are you flexible about the hours?”

“Sure. Here's the situation. My client, Emmy Lou, has an incredible number of stuffed animals. We're talking thousands. They're taking over her house. They've captured the bed, and if she's not careful, they'll move downstairs and maybe even follow her to her office.”

“Like science fiction.”

“She wants them organized.”

“I'll bet she does.”

A whippet-thin server arrived at our table with the hand-drawn menus. He grinned at Lilith.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Apparently they knew each other.

“Specials are on the front,” he said, handing us each an oversize menu.

For a fleeting moment I thought Lilith was blushing. I shook my head. Such a thing was not possible. Flaming cheeks did not go well with turquoise hair.

“Something from the bar?” he asked.

Once he left to get Lilith a glass of water and me something called a martini primavera, I said, “So I guess sideburns are coming back.”

“Hmm,” she said, studying the menu.

“Interesting look with the fauxhawk,” I said.

“He's in one of my classes,” she murmured.

“That's a coincidence.”

I was impressed by her expression of exquisite boredom. “Between jobs and school, I meet a lot of people in Woodbridge.”

I figured that was the end of that, so I got back on topic. “The problem is she's pretty emotional about it. She wants to deal with them today and she might not tomorrow. So I have to act fast. That's where you come in. The usual sifting, sorting, packing, and disposing.”

“You said emotional. What happens if I turn down these other jobs and then she weasels out?”

“I'm meeting her tomorrow with a plan and a contract. We'll have a cancellation clause in there so you'll get paid for two days anyway.”

Lilith nodded. She obviously approved of that tactic. “Charlotte, you drive such a hard bargain.”

“I know. I'm a beast.”

“Count me in. This is too good to miss. Let me know where and when.”

I gave Lilith the address on Bell Street and waited until she wrote it down.

“Assuming it's a go, I'd like to get started Monday afternoon when Emmy Lou's at the office. That work for you?”

“Even if it didn't, I can't wait to get a look at thousands of plush toys. You know what, it sounds kind of freaky.”

I grinned. “It's peculiar but sweet, except for the striped snake. Sorry to disappoint. I bet you'd prefer freaky.”

She grinned back at me. “You know me.”

“If freaky's your thing, then you might want to get a look at her next-door neighbor and his friend. They're part of the reason I want to get on this right away.”

“Hold on,” Lilith said. “These guys are freaky how? You-show-me-your-AK-47-and-I'll-show-you-mine freaky?”

I shook my head. “A pair of overgrown misfits who seem to be a bit obsessed with my client, that's all. She might be a bit afraid of them but also unwilling to admit it. In my opinion it's a form of stalking. The neighbors are worried.” I thought about Patti and her comments about Kevin. “But not all of them.”

“Call me crazy, but isn't that the point where you call the police?”

“I did mention it to Pepper Monahan. She said she can't do anything without a formal complaint.”

A sneer crept over Lilith's face. “That's cops for you. Hassle people minding their own business if they're poor or on the street, but they don't mind waiting until they kill someone if they live in a decent neighborhood.”

One of these days, I hoped I would learn about Lilith's former life. But I knew better than to push. “Pepper cares about things like that.”

“If you say so.”

“I want you on the job so that we can do this over a couple of days and my client won't be there alone. We'll have time to figure out whether there is a real problem.”

“Rose's daughter is actually visiting from California this week, so I don't have to worry about her. So I could even stay overnight if that would make a difference.”

“Thank you. I'll let you know if that's what we need. To tell the truth, these guys are sort of pathetic and goofy. I'm not completely convinced they're dangerous. I'd like to be reassured. I'm worried about it on one hand, but on the other they seem incapable of doing any real harm. I mean, they scare easily.”

She chuckled. “How do you know that?”

I snapped open the oversize menu. “Let's order and I'll tell you later. But first: new idea. I'd like Emmy Lou to meet you and learn what you'll be doing. I think it will help her stay committed to the project. Can you show up around three tomorrow to meet her?”

“I'll be like the old ball and chain?”

“Exactly. You're perfect for it. It's a metal theme.”

Business out of the way, we got serious about that menu. When our server returned, Lilith ordered the grilled vegetarian medley and I chose the seared scallops with a citrus salad.

“Excellent choice,” he said to her.

“So,” Lilith said, once he'd zoomed off to the kitchen, “what's the information you need?”

I filled her in on the details of Kevin and Tony and their weird behavior and even my stupid action the night before. Lilith had spent some time as a street kid before she managed to pull herself together. She didn't talk much about those experiences, but she survived because she'd become a good judge of people.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Do these guys sound dangerous to you?”

“Hard to tell. Sounds like developmental issues. Maybe one of them has a thing for Emmy Lou.”

“She is a beautiful woman, but she must be nearly twenty years older than they are.”

“Don't count it out.”

As we chatted and caught up on what we'd each been doing lately, our eyes were drawn to a lovely young woman with luxurious long dark hair and a slinky red dress. She crossed the restaurant floor as if she owned it and the rest of Woodbridge. She opened a door along the side of the room and vanished inside. I figured every male in Wet Paint sighed with disappointment. Except for our server, who had eyes only for Lilith.