The Cluttered Corpse (8 page)

I looked up to see Pepper staring down at me. She was wearing a cotton hoodie, chinos, and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She'd obviously been at home, on call. She was not wearing her happy face. Behind her, the tall, craggy detective waited silently. He looked as though he'd been at a golf game. He obviously did not possess a happy face.

As I had been kneeling by Tony Starkman's body, my face probably looked pretty unhappy too. Neither Tony nor I got too much sympathy.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pepper said.

I got to my feet, somewhat shakily. “My client said that he was dead. I came in to see if he was all right and I called—”

“Client? What are you, pretending to be a lawyer now?”

“Emmy Lou Rheinbeck. I told you all about her and—”

“Okay, that one. She's outside screaming her head off.”

“She was hysterical when I got here. That's why I came in.”

“Yes. And that brings me to my next point.”

I looked straight into her eyes, even though it meant tilting my head. “And that would be?”

“That would be what are you thinking, contaminating a crime scene?”

“A crime scene?” I squeaked.

“Does that come as a surprise to you?” Pepper motioned me out of the way.

At that moment a man and a woman wearing white paper suits, blue booties, and latex gloves were making an appearance. One of them had a camera and began to take pictures of Tony. My stomach lurched as the full impact began to sink in.

“I'm sure it was an accident, Pepper. Emmy Lou said…” I thought back. Oops. What exactly had Emmy Lou said?

Pepper said, “I heard her shouting, ‘I killed him.' Guess what I think.”

“She's hysterical.”

“Did you hear her make that exact statement?”

“I don't think that Emmy Lou could possibly—”

“This is not about what you think. This is about a homicide. Did you hear her say it or not?”

“I suppose, but she couldn't have meant it. Maybe—”

“Maybe nothing. And yet, here you are, mucking up my crime scene so we'll have that much more to contend with.”

Pepper was scowling down at Tony now.

I said, “This is Tony Starkman. He is one of the two guys I told you were harassing Emmy Lou.”

“The same two you threatened?”

I let that slide. “I thought he was probably pretending to be dead. I told you the kind of stunt he and Kevin were pulling: showing up in her window, yelling and making faces and taking pictures. He was quite capable of using fake blood to freak her out.”

Pepper said, “Any truth you asked people to take her away?”

“Yes, it is true. I asked Lilith and Patti Magliaro to take her to Patti's and give her some tea or something. I thought she was in shock. But she didn't want to go.”

“Bad things happen when you try to think, Charlotte. Now what you've done is cause a pile of trouble.”

“Look at the stairs. There are toys scattered everywhere. I almost tumbled to my death yesterday. That's why I was called in. To help Emmy Lou deal with her toy collection. They're everywhere. Tony must have tripped on some of them.”

“Oh take a breath, Charlotte, and pull yourself together.”

I took enough breath to start again. “You can't believe that Emmy Lou actually killed Tony. No matter what she's saying.”

“I believe this: you might have even screwed up our case, stomping in the blood, telling witnesses to leave, and I can't imagine what else.”

“There's nothing else,” I said huffily.

“I have half a mind to charge you.”

I drew myself up to my full height. “With what?”

“Obstructing government administration. You mucked up my evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“How can I tell what evidence? You've been in here contaminating it. Look, you even have blood on your shoes.”

“But they're my favorite loafers!”

As the words tumbled out, I realized it was ridiculous to worry about shoes when a person was lying dead in front of me.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Yeah and now you're going to have to hand them over to the evidence technicians.”

“They're all yours,” I said, stepping out of the Cole Haan loafers that my mother had sent me for my last birthday. No point in telling Pepper that. She'd enjoy it more.

The male evidence technician took my shoes and bagged them. At least
he
didn't smirk. Unlike Pepper.

“I didn't like them that much anyway. Now I'm going to offer Emmy Lou a bit of support,” I said with as much dignity as a four foot eleven inch person standing in her stocking feet could manage.

Pepper snorted. “You are
so
not going to do that. Mrs. Rheinbeck is being taken in for questioning.”

I gasped.

Pepper said, “Since she keeps shouting out confessions, I imagine we'll keep her until she's off to county jail to wait for her preliminary hearing.”

“Sometimes you are so unfair,” I said.

Pepper's professionally sculpted eyebrows rose. “Unfair? How fair is it to kill your neighbor?”

“We don't know that. She's a lovely, gentle woman. I think the shock of seeing him got to her.”

“You know what? You get to me. I've had enough of little Miss Charlotte Adams, girl detective. You're out of here now.” She pointed to the front door.

“Fine, I'm going.”

“Head for the nice officer and give him your statement.”

Outside I gulped in the fresh air. I must have been half holding my breath all the time I'd been near Tony's body. A pair of uniformed police officers stood guard at the front of the house. For some reason at the sight of the police officers and the crowd my knees gave out and I sank down on the front steps with a thump. My jaw dropped when I saw Emmy Lou handcuffed. She was being placed into the back of a police car. Two other officers seemed to be in charge of that. One put his hand on the top of her head. She bent into the vehicle without an argument as I stared, amazed.

A small crowd had assembled in the middle of Bell Street. The crowd turned to watch the police car accelerate away. The red and white roof lights gave a merry flash. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. It took me a moment to become aware of the fuss next door at the Dingwall home to the left of the Rheinbecks'.

A tall, sturdy woman with white hair flung open the door. Her yellow apron flapped in the breeze. She thundered down the stairs, crossed the lawn, sank to her knees, and stretched out her arms. That was the first time I noticed Kevin. He was kneeling on the grass, his head in his hands, rocking furiously.

Lilith spotted me and pushed her way toward me. A uniformed officer turned and told her to stay back.

“Are you all right, Charlotte?” she called out. Behind her Patti Magliaro's pale eyes blinked.

I nodded but couldn't quite manage a smile. “I'll be fine. Give me a couple of minutes to get my head straight.”

Turned out that was a conservative estimate. Anyway, I needed to talk to Pepper again, but I knew better than to walk back into the house. I was prepared to wait. In the meantime, both Patti and Lilith were corralled to give separate statements to one of the young officers. I gave mine next. Trust me; it is much easier to be a witness than a suspect. I managed to keep calm and sensible. I hoped I offered a crisp, well-organized account of what I'd seen and a reasonable explanation of why Emmy Lou Rheinbeck would confess to something she hadn't done. No one reacted in the slightest to my theories. Or my lack of shoes.

“What is your problem?” Pepper said when she finally emerged from the house much later, followed by her tall, silent shadow.

“It's not my problem, Pepper. It's my client's problem. And I think you need to talk to Kevin next door.” I pointed to the pathetic figure of poor Kevin, keening in the grass. It was hard not to feel sorry for him. He most likely held the key to what had happened. His mother stroked his hair, oblivious to everything else around her.

Pepper shot a black look in my direction.

I said, “He's obviously distraught because his friend is dead, but once he calms down, he might know what Tony was doing in Emmy Lou's house.”

“And I, as a detective, would never be able to figure that out without you. Is that what you're saying?”

“Of course not.”

“It would never occur to me to take statements from the neighbors and friends of the victim.”

Oh boy. I suppose I should have kept my mouth closed. That's not always easy for me. “I know that Emmy Lou couldn't kill Tony, and I bet Kevin could tell you what Tony was up to.”

“Now you're a forensic psychiatrist. The case is pretty well wrapped up then. Tell me, Charlotte, are you trying to take over my job
and
steal my husband?”

I didn't want Pepper's job and I definitely didn't want her husband. It would be all right to tell Pepper that I didn't covet her horrible job. She might even believe me. But, if I turned up my nose at Nick Monahan, she'd be totally ticked off. There was no winning that one.

“Sorry, Pepper. I'm not trying to interfere with your job. And as for Nick, it wouldn't matter if I was after him; he's head over heels for you. You know that.”

She smirked. Indicating she knew it.

I was glad she couldn't read my mind. Nick is pretty hot, if you like your men long on looks and short on brains. Pepper must; she married the jerk. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from coming on to me every chance he got.

Definitely, there'd be no explanation for Nick's behavior that she'd care to hear.

“Why are you still here?” she said. “What do I have to do? Arrest you?”

“I'm on my way,” I said.

On the far side of the house, Kevin, kneeling, continued to rock back and forth. At least he'd stopped howling. Except for his mother who sat in the grass beside him, her hands now holding his, no one paid much attention to him.

I pulled out my cell phone. For once in her life, Margaret picked up the first ring.

“You are not going to believe this,” I said.

Jack was more than willing to find some footwear in my apartment. I didn't care what shoes he selected, as long as they were from the same pair, and I had stipulated that. Shoes are an important part of my mental health. I know that sounds ridiculous, but you try standing up to the police in your sockies and see how you do.

While I was waiting, I needed to do something useful. I reached into the side pocket of my handbag. I keep a plastic bag there for business cards I pick up during the day. Where was Dwayne's card? Someone needed to call him. He'd handed me his business card on Friday, but I remembered that I'd put it on the coffee table. Emmy Lou had turfed me out, and I'd never returned to the half-eaten chocolate cake and the card. That memory made me think: despite her vulnerability, Emmy Lou had shown a flash of temper and an unreasonable side during that initial meeting. And again when she'd called me and expected me to drop everything and hustle over to meet her on Saturday night with no notice. Was I wrong about her?

As Jack pedaled down Bell Street with my espadrilles in his backpack, the Baxters' elderly Dodge passed him and edged into their driveway. Bill stumbled out and stood briefly, openmouthed at the sight of police cars, and the crowd, standing around speculating. He stared at Jack too, when he hauled my espadrilles out of his backpack.

I noticed with horror that the WINY vehicle was pulling onto the street too. And worse, following in a white SUV were the teeth that walked like a man: the dreaded Todd Tyrell. Of course, it was Sunday and not a regular Todd Tyrell day, but like Pepper, he'd always show up when the moment was right. I did not intend to find myself on television again. I gestured to Jack to hurry up while I hotfooted it across the lawn in my stocking feet. The Rheinbecks' lawn felt smooth and silky with its spring grass. The Baxter side was dryer and rockier, with patches of sharp weeds.

Ouch. That hurt. My nose twitched and I bit back a sneeze. That miserable mulberry tree.

Bill said, “I've got to get inside. Bonnie will be freaking. What happened?”

“Long story,” I said as I scrambled up the stairs behind him, before Todd Tyrell spotted us. Jack came barreling along after us as Bill fumbled with the double dead-bolt locks on the door and pushed it open.

“This is my friend Jack Reilly,” I said as Jack dropped his Italian bicycle on the Baxters' lawn. “I hope you don't mind if we stay for a couple of minutes. I don't want to be on television.”

I wasn't sure if Bill had heard me, but I waved Jack in anyway.

Inside, the Baxters' house smelled oddly delicious. Vanilla mostly. Bonnie was sitting on a kitchen chair, breathing raggedly. Her heart-shaped face grey as a dirty sheet. Bill leaned over her, worry written across his gaunt face.