The Cluttered Corpse (7 page)

Our food arrived quickly and perfectly. As it did, the light went on by the piano.

“I hope you like jazz,” I said.

I turned as a commotion erupted across the room. The girl in the red dress stormed back in. A short bald man in a rumpled Hugo Boss suit raced after her and grabbed her arm. She pulled away from him and kept going. He followed her through the front door and out onto the street. The girl kept walking with her arms folded over her chest, shaking her head, long hair swinging behind her. Whatever he was arguing about, she wasn't happy. She shook her head and continued up the hill. He kept pace until they turned the corner and they both vanished from view.

I knocked over my water glass. “Holy crap. That's Dwayne.”

Lilith used her napkin to start mopping. “Who's Dwayne?”

“He's Emmy Lou Rheinbeck's wonderful loving husband.” I couldn't believe it. If I'd actually read his business card instead of leaving it on Emmy Lou's coffee table, I might not have chosen his restaurant for my get-together with Lilith.

Lilith said, “Oops. Your client? So she may be beautiful, but I'm betting that girl he's chasing is not even twenty-one.”

Sometimes nothing but a bubble bath will do. I love them. Truffle and Sweet Marie are always fascinated. I ran the tub and poured in a double helping of coconut-mango-scented bubble bath and settled in for a long soak. But instead of relaxing, I found myself reliving the scene with Dwayne pursuing the girl in the red dress. Maybe it hadn't been what it looked like.

Let's just say, my mother had run through four husbands and a lot of also-rans and usually if my spider senses tingle, I'm right.

But what would that mean for Emmy Lou?

After half an hour, I had managed to unkink and stepped out. I wrapped myself in my favorite big, soft bath sheet and prepared to finish off the perfect Saturday night.

“That's it, we're turning in,” I told the dogs. The blast of the phone near midnight came as a shock. Another shock as an angry voice hit my ear.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hello, Pepper,” I said. “I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“I'm talking about you harassing people.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Charlotte Adams.”

“Who am I supposed to have harassed?”

“The same people you told me to investigate. You had me digging around to see if there was anything in the system about them, and now I hear you're threatening them with violence. You'd better not get me caught in any of your crap. Or you'll have a lot more than messy closets to worry about.”

“But I never threatened them with…” The scene on Bell Street played in my head. Kevin had been frightened. I'd been pleased about that, even though I felt bad after.

“What? You've gone quiet. You did, didn't you?”

“No. Not really. I chastised them. Told them to leave Emmy Lou alone.”

“The complaint said yelling, threatening, and foul language. Acting crazy.”

“Does that sound like me?” My heart was racing now. What happened when someone made a complaint against you?

“The crazy part does.”

“Listen to the language. Kevin and Tony didn't use those words.”

“It doesn't matter who called it in. You can't go around threatening people.”

“Don't I have the right to know who's saying these things about me?”

“You have the right to mind your own business and to leave other people alone. Remember that in future.”

Pepper likes to be the one who slams down the phone. But first she said, “They might seek a restraining order against you. One more bit of vigilante hooliganism and you'll be hauled before a judge.

I said, “But…”

There wasn't enough coconut-mango bubble bath in the world to counter the effects of a call from Pepper.

But who had made the complaint? And why had they picked Pepper to call?

I was feeling my lack of sleep Sunday afternoon as I spun along Long March Road, heading for Bell Street and my appointment with Emmy Lou. I was still fuming over who had made that complaint when my cell phone rang. The number was blocked, but I took the call in case Emmy Lou was attempting to cancel.

A man's deep voice said, “Charlotte Adams?”

“Yes.”

“This is the Woodbridge Emergency Services.” The voice was calm.

I gasped. “It's not true. I wasn't harassing them. I don't care if someone—”

“Take a deep breath, ma'am.”

When did I hit “ma'am”? I'm only thirty. “I did not threaten those boys.”

“Not sure what that's about, ma'am. But we have a report of a fire at your home.” Chills ran down my spine as he said my address. “Second floor?”

“Yes.”

“The trucks are on their way.”

“The dogs! Please make sure my dogs are okay.” But the phone line was dead.

I made a U-turn and spun back toward my place. Jack was home. He would let the firefighters know about Truffle and Sweet Marie. I hit speed dial, but Jack's cell phone went straight to message. What if Jack had been overcome by smoke? What if almost everyone and everything I cared about was dead?

The Miata may be cute, but it's also very fast; I put the petal to the metal and broke a few laws getting back home.

I squealed into the driveway.

No fire trucks.

No smoking ruins.

No tiny charred bodies.

The beautiful old two-story Victorian with the white gingerbread that Jack had grown up in and that his wonderful parents had left to their only son was the same way I'd left it. Jack was in the driveway, vacuuming out the Mini Minor. Something to do with the Great Dane.

I sat in the Miata and shook with relief. Jack ambled in my direction, grinning amiably.

“What's up? Meeting canceled?” he said. “That's great because we can hang out. Have some fun. Better late than never. Sorry about last night.”

I got out of the car and gave him a bear hug and got the front of his blue and orange Hawaiian shirt wet with a few accidental tears. In turn, he patted my head.

“I thought you were dead. I thought the dogs were toast. I thought the house was burned down.”

Jack said, “Huh?”

You'd think that someone so close to getting a PhD would be more articulate in highly emotional moments. The bear hugging and head patting went on for a while, until Jack said, “What made you think there was a fire?”

I filled him in on the phone call. Of course, before the words were out of my mouth I realized how dumb that was. Woodbridge Emergency Services would not have my cell phone number. And even if they had it, it was highly unlikely they would call people in their cars and tell them their houses were burning.

I stumbled upstairs, my knees weak, and staggered into my apartment. Truffle and Sweet Marie were in the middle of their second or possibly third afternoon nap and were less excited about seeing me than I was about seeing them.

“I've been had,” I said.

“I guess so,” Jack said. “You should probably have a bit of ice cream to settle you down after the shock.”

I said, gathering up the dogs, “It was a very upsetting few minutes.”

“Weird kind of practical joke. Who would do something like that?”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” A vision of Kevin and Tony making faces in Emmy Lou's window flashed in my mind.

“Who?”

“Two people I can't even speak to, because I've been accused of harassing them. And the police, in the person of Pepper, told me to back off and leave them alone.”

Jack stared at me. “Are you making this up? Possibly to get ice cream?”

“No, I am not making this up for any reason. And the ice cream is mine, in my freezer, paid for with my cash might I add. I don't need to make up traumatic experiences to get it. I can eat it out of the container if I want to.”

“That sounds good. I'll join you.”

“Actually, let's save it until I'm back from my meeting.”

“I'll be here.”

I left a message for Emmy Lou explaining that I'd been delayed because of an emergency. I chewed my lower lip as I drove toward Bell Street. Why wasn't Emmy Lou answering? Had she decided to blow off the meeting? I tried to reach Lilith too, but, of course, she would have been waiting outside Emmy Lou's house, wondering where the hell I was. I figured her cell phone had been turned off, or being Lilith and often broke, maybe she'd run out of minutes.

Kevin and Tony, I imagined, would have been somewhere nearby laughing their hooded heads off. Although in the back of my mind, I wondered how they could have pulled that one over on me.

Even as I turned the corner to Bell Street, I could see the commotion. Emmy Lou Rheinbeck was standing in the middle of the street, clutching an armload of stuffed toys. She looked like a large deranged child. Today her sleek red bob was a tangled mess. Lilith had her arms around her, holding her back from…what? Patti Magliaro was loping across the street toward them, her flowered peasant skirt swirling and her long grey braid flapping behind her. Princess, the cat, struggled against the leash. A man in his late sixties stood staring across the street at the fracas.

I heard the wail of sirens in the distance. I squealed to a stop and jumped out of the Miata.

“What's wrong, Emmy Lou?” I shouted.

She sank onto the pavement with a wordless, eerie wail.

“Did something happen?”

Emmy Lou doubled over on the road, weeping.

Lilith urged her to move. “Come on. Let's get out of the street.”

I said, “Did someone hurt you? Please, Emmy Lou, tell us so we can help.”

She whispered. “No one can help now.”

“I'm sure that—”

“Just leave me alone.” She stared down at the toys in her arms and shuddered. “Take them away! I don't want them.”

She thrust the stuffed animals into my arms. A yellow toy rabbit tumbled to the ground. I managed to hold on to a couple of plush pooches and an oversize red squirrel. I stepped back and met Lilith's glance.

I mouthed, “What's going on?”

She whispered back, “No idea. I got here a bit early and I was waiting for you. This red-haired lady drove up and went in the house a few minutes ago. Then she ran out the front door a couple of minutes after, screaming and crying. I've been trying to get her back on the sidewalk before someone comes speeding down the street.”

By this time Emmy Lou was trembling visibly, her pupils dilated, her mouth gasping.

Patti's hands fluttered. “What can I do to help?”

“I'm not sure. We'll see,” I said, taking off my jacket and putting it on Emmy Lou's heaving shoulders. “It's okay. We're here.”

“Noooo,” she howled. “Please say it didn't happen.”

Lilith and I exchanged glances. Lilith put a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Let's get you inside,” I said. I couldn't imagine what had triggered this emotional reaction. What had those foolish boys done now? Or had she found out about Dwayne and the girl in Wet Paint?

Emmy Lou pushed me away, screaming, “Not inside. I can't go there.”

“Did something happen? Sounds like the police are on their way. Everything's going to be all right.”

“It's not going to be all right! You aren't listening.”

“We are trying to help.”

“He's dead. No one can help.”

“What happened, Emmy Lou? Please tell us.”

“I didn't mean it.”

“Mean what?” Lilith asked soothingly.

Emmy Lou's green eyes rolled, wild with panic. “I didn't know he was there.”

“Who?” I urged.

“I didn't see him.”

I glanced around for someone to help. There was no sign of Dwayne's Audi. The Baxters' driveway was empty. Bonnie was nowhere to be seen. The man across the street turned and walked back into his house.

“Patti, could you take Emmy Lou to your place and get her wrapped up and give her some tea or something? Lilith will come along with you. I'll go into the Rheinbecks' and check what's happened,” I said.

Emmy Lou wasn't going anywhere. She pushed Lilith away. “I told you what happened,” she screamed. “I killed him.”

I dropped the toys on the side of the road and headed for the house. Emmy Lou was hysterical. She probably didn't know what she was saying. But just in case, I started to run.

Tony Starkman was sprawled faceup at the foot of the hardwood stairs, like a rag doll on the dark polished wood floors. He lay there, unmoving, surrounded by scattered plush toys. Could anyone survive having their neck bent at that angle? His beady black eyes stared in shock. Blood pooled from the back of his head, stark against the pastel fur of a fluffy blue cat. It spread slowly on the dark floor. This time Tony had been on the receiving end of the nasty surprise.

I knelt down and tried to take his pulse. I wanted to be wrong. How could this happen in the Rheinbeck foyer, elegant, spotless, and smelling slightly of citrus? I couldn't feel a pulse. His wrist felt warm. Maybe he was in shock. There are medical miracles. I dialed 911.

Mona Pringle answered, cheerfully. As usual, she recognized my voice. “Charlotte Adams? That you?”

“Someone's dead, Mona. Number 10 Bell Street. He fell down the stairs, I think.”

“Hey, finding bodies is getting to be a habit with you, isn't it?”

Mona's been doing her job a bit too long in our small town. She lacks a certain gravitas in the face of disaster. “This is serious. Send the ambulance.”

“No need to snap,” Mona said. “You can relax, Charlotte. They're all on their way. You're the fourth person to call this in. Of course, no one else mentioned a body.”