The Cluttered Corpse Read online

  I flicked on the light. Three thirty. Aak. I got a dark look from Truffle before he burrowed out of sight. I switched off the light again, tossing and turning until a soft light filled the sky and I drifted back to troubled sleep.

  When you have a worrying chore, engage a friend to help you.

  16

  First thing in the morning, I dropped off my dry cleaning at Klean and Brite in the uptown sector. I chatted vaguely with the pleasant, blowsy woman behind the counter. Next I cruised to the outskirts of town to meet with Gary Gigantes, carpenter, painter, and all-round miracle worker. In his workshop, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects and breathing in the pleasant aroma of freshly cut wood, I showed him my designs and requirements. He saw no problem with picking up the two dozen inexpensive standard bookcases. In fact, he figured he could negotiate a bulk discount with the supplier. And he could deliver them within two days of making the order.

  “It’s why I have a truck, Charlotte,” he said, flashing his endearing gap-toothed grin.

  “Can you connect them so they look like long built-in units in each room, but still have the section slide forward to get at the units in the back?”

  Gary nodded. “Nothing to it, once I figured out what you were talking about. I can attach some crown molding on top and a little flute trim to hide the joints where we stick ’em together.”

  “Crown molding is lovely, but the first floor of this house is very contemporary minimalist,” I said. “Of course, the toy collection is definitely maximalist. I brought along these samples. There are thousands more where they came from. We think we’re going to display them by color.” I passed him the wedding mice and the stuffed animals that Emmy Lou had dropped on the street in her hysteria after Tony’s death and tried not to laugh at the expression on his face. I told myself it was to give him an idea of what we were dealing with, but I wanted them out of my tiny home. I missed the empty space on the top shelf of my closet. I also showed him some digital pictures of the inside of the Rheinbecks’ upstairs rooms, crammed with plush occupants. I followed that with some shots of the elegant, magazine-quality main level.

  “Okeydoke. I got it now,” Gary said. “Good to know the scope. Leave it with me. I’ll use the compressor to paint up the bookcases, give ’em a professional built-in look. They won’t be as classy as millwork, but they’ll cost you about twenty percent what a custom job would. And the supplier I deal with, if you pay cash in advance, you can save an extra ten percent. Your choice.”

  “Wow. And this will be ten times faster than custom,” I said. “Plus, once the collection is in place, the eye will focus on that.”

  “Can’t wait to see this collection. To confirm, you sure you want those joined units on casters?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not that good to look at, but I’ll come up with something.”

  “She needs access to the items stored in the row behind.”

  “Good thing us guys like a challenge.”

  “I appreciate that. And thanks for letting me jump the gun. Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have a lineup of clients,” I said.

  “No worries, Charlotte. Once you told me the whole story why, I felt sorry for that lady, and this is a pretty small job. No one’s going to notice they slipped two days. And if they do, too bad. You’ve brought me a lot of business this past year, and that counts for something.”

  I left a message with Dwayne asking if he was willing to pay up front to save the extra ten percent. I had an idea that ten percent was the least of his concerns. Maybe that’s why he didn’t call me back.

  I was getting used to that. I’d left several messages with Pepper over the fact that only Dwayne had a second set of keys to the Rheinbeck house, but no response. I had a feeling none was coming either.

  Although I was turning my sights onto Dwayne Rheinbeck, I was well aware that I had asked Ramona to find out if Emmy Lou had lived on Bell Street back in the seventies. I didn’t want her to think I was wasting her time, although I wasn’t entirely sure that this question was worth pursuing anymore, so I swung by the library.

  Ramona shook her silver brush cut as I entered the reference section. Her earrings glittered. “Sorry, Charlotte,” she said, inserting a binder and a pile of files into an oversize briefcase, “gotta run. I’m on my way to a meeting, so I can’t chat. A planning session. We’re up to our patooties in planning sessions around here. No luck so far with your request. When I was at the central branch, I looked into the older city directories. Back in the day, they sometimes listed all adults living at a residence. I found that a T. Wright did live at 7 Bell Street, but no record of anyone else. But you know, you might get some useful information at the high school. Check the yearbooks around the time Emmy Lou Wright would have graduated. You might find a connection, someone who can help you, a teacher, a classmate. They keep the yearbooks in the library in Woodbridge High. The archives are in the dean’s office at St. Jude’s.”

  I shuddered when she mentioned St. Jude’s.

  “I hear you,” she said. “I know the librarian at Woodbridge High. So I took the liberty of calling her and saying that I had directed you there, because you were trying to track down an old friend. She’ll be glad to help you out. I guess she doesn’t watch the news.”

  “You’re the best, Ramona.”

  “Not until I connect you with the rest, I’m not,” she said.

  “You always give me great advice.”

  “Here’s a bit more: you might want to try to avoid the media.”

  “Very funny,” I called after her as she strode toward the door.

  A couple of library users glanced up frowning. Oops. Two dirty looks and one definite shhh.

  Ramona laughed out loud and kept going, earrings swaying merrily.

  Jack doesn’t have creature comforts at the shop. I picked up some homemade Italian meatball soup to go and ciabatta bread from Ciao! Ciao!, Jack’s Italian bistro of choice, when he can actually get out to lunch. I added espresso and tiramisu for two. He was going to love me for this. And that was good, because I needed a big favor that he would hate.

  Truffle and Sweet Marie were thrilled to have a visit to CYCotics. Jack was equally happy to see them and his lunch.

  I took over from Jack in the front of the shop while he wolfed the soup and bread in back. Lucky for me no one entered, as my product knowledge was near zero. Okay, I know that bikes have wheels and handlebars and brakes, I suppose.

  But there were no customers so I made myself busy at the front desk, trying to create a little bit of order. Really, Jack had the latest point-of-sale equipment, machines for credit cards, debit payments, detailed receipts, customer files. Very high tech and snazzy. On the downside, the desk was cluttered with his scrawled notes, keys, invoices, odd bits of stock, and even a broken sandal. We had a deal that if a human being entered the shop, I was to let him know. But Jack had a customer-free zone that lunchtime.

  “So,” he said afterward, “where are you hiding the tiramisu?”

  “Not so fast, big boy, I need a commitment from you.”

  “I knew this was going to cost me. But it’s tiramisu from Ciao! Ciao!, so sure. I’ll even overlook the fact that I’ll never find anything on my workspace now that you’ve changed it all around.”

  “It’s organized now. You’ll be much happier. Consider it a favor. And I can do more tomorrow.”

  “No thanks. I liked it the way it was. I knew where everything was. What did you do with my invoices?”

  I pointed to a now-neat stack in a basket that I’d rescued from under the counter.

  “Where did you hide my keys?”

  “They’re right here. In plain view. I put them on a hook so they wouldn’t get covered over. You waste time looking for them. Anyway, I don’t want to argue with you. I’ll put it back the way it was, if you’re not happy. I want you to find out what Emmy Lou’s husband has been up to with a certain beautiful young woman.”

&
nbsp; “What happened to bring this on? I thought you were working for the guy.”

  “I am and he seems like such a great guy, but a couple of things are troubling me.”

  Jack reached for the tiramisu. “Such as?”

  “His wife is obviously distraught and possibly having a breakdown. What else would explain her behavior? When I first met her, she was jumpy and edgy. Even though she kept up the pretense of being so professional and on top of everything, I thought perhaps she was afraid of something, but now I’m asking myself if she wasn’t distraught about her husband.”

  “She has a good reason to be distraught. Finding Tony dead.”

  “I know. But Lilith and I saw Dwayne with that gorgeous girl at the restaurant. Something’s going on there.”

  “Can’t always trust your eyes. You don’t have all the background information. Maybe it was a dispute about business.”

  “This wasn’t business. There was something so intimate in the way he touched her. So I’m asking myself: What if Dwayne was not as besotted with Emmy Lou as she was with him? What if he was faking it?”

  “That seems like a big logical leap, Charlotte, based on one event, if you don’t mind me saying so. Can I have that tiramisu now?”

  “When I told him about Emmy Lou, he got angry. The rest of us were panicky, upset.”

  “Maybe he was angry with the way his wife was treated.”

  “She was treated quite well, considering she kept shouting she’d killed someone. The police were respectful and gentle, given the circumstances. Remember you told me to let my subconscious take care of it. My subconscious is whispering maybe he decided to get rid of her.”

  “Small logical flaw in the thinking of your subconscious, Charlotte. He didn’t get rid of her.”

  “That’s the problem. Tony wasn’t supposed to be in the house. Emmy Lou was out and then heading home for a meeting with me. Afterward, she kept saying that she didn’t know he was there.”

  “This is hard to follow. So you think the husband killed him?”

  “I am saying Dwayne might have intended to kill Emmy Lou, who was supposed to be alone in the house.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Hear me out. Emmy Lou hadn’t told Dwayne the kinds of dumb-ass stunts that Tony and Kevin were pulling. I mentioned it and he seemed surprised. He said he’d tell Mrs. Dingwall, but he never did. He seemed a lot less upset about it than even Kevin’s mother and the Baxters. Or me. Anyway, what if this time Tony got inside the house without Emmy Lou knowing?”

  “You’re heading somewhere with all this?”

  “I sure am. Then suppose if Dwayne had rigged up something to kill Emmy Lou, say a booby trap on the stairs. Tony could have been caught instead. See? Don’t blink like that. Not a good look for you. Too owlish.”

  “Rigged up what? I thought the guy fell down the stairs.”

  “I haven’t figured out what or how. Then when I came along for our meeting, I’d have found the body. I would have been part of the plan.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I would have then told the police that the escaped toys on the stairs were a hazard and in fact were one of the signs that Emmy Lou’s collecting was much more than a storage issue.”

  “Okay. And you think he planned to slip into the house somehow between the time she fell and the time you found her and he would have gotten rid of…?”

  “Exactly. The evidence. You’ve got it.”

  “Could he have done that without anyone seeing him?”

  “That would be tricky on Bell Street. Patti Magliaro seems to be out all the time walking her cat and—”

  “I thought you spoke to her.”

  “Not about this. I came up with this hypothesis overnight.”

  “It has a nightmarish quality to it.”

  I ignored that. “I didn’t ask Patti if Dwayne came by. The older man who might be Emmy Lou’s father is out all the time too, but I’m sure he wouldn’t help. And the Baxters were coming and going. And she has a side view from her kitchen window. I have to check with them, to be sure that no one saw Dwayne.”

  Jack perked up at that idea. “Try and get some more of those cupcakes if you do.”

  “Because Emmy Lou was screeching that she did it, she killed Tony.”

  “That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does if she’s trying protect him. In fact, it’s the only thing that does make sense. Maybe she realized what was going on.”

  “You think it makes sense to protect your husband after he tried to kill you?”

  “She’s crazy about him. He’d get life for this. She’s going to try to work it out. She might even blame herself if things were going wrong in their marriage. This was a new start for her. A dream come true.”

  “Huh. Don’t get upset, Charlotte, but this sounds totally ridiculous.”

  “There are some kinks to be ironed out. Can you go to Wet Paint tonight and see what you can find out about Dwayne Rheinbeck and the jazz singer? And even more important, find out if he left the restaurant on Sunday afternoon.”

  “But why don’t you do it? You seem to be attuned to the subtleties that I miss.”

  “I would, but Dwayne will recognize me. He’ll behave.”

  “I hate fancy restaurants. Do I have to get changed?”

  “It’s a pretty laid-back spot, but I think the shorts and Hawaiian shirts will stick out. Move up a notch. I’ll give you the tiramisu earlier if you promise to wear socks.”

  Jack reached for the dessert. “Do I have to go alone?”

  “Of course not. You’re undercover. You need a date.”

  “Who?”

  “Let’s see now, he’d recognize Lilith.”

  “Margaret?”

  “I told him about Margaret in the hope that she’d represent Emmy Lou. He might make the connection. She was all over the news last fall.”

  Jack’s face lit up. “I got it! Sally. She’s even nosier than you are. She’ll love snooping and coming up with weird and intrusive theories about who, what, when, where, why. I won’t have anything to do but drive and eat.”

  “You’re a genius, Jack. Have I mentioned that? Take my dessert too.”

  If Sally hadn’t been so close to her due date, she might have done backflips at the idea of spying on Dwayne Rheinbeck and his lady in red at Wet Paint.

  “I love it!” she gushed. “Only one itty-bitty problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Benjamin’s giving a talk to the blah-blah-blah society tonight.”

  “Not it’s real name, I suppose. Don’t worry about that. I’ll bring the dogs over, and I’ll put the kids to bed and then watch television until you get home.”

  Perhaps she hadn’t heard me. She said, “I could ask Lilith. She gave me those babysitting coupons at the shower.”

  “Nope. You’re doing me a favor. I’ll do the babysitting. You save Lilith for when you need a break. I might bring along my mudroom project. Should be fun.”

  “You think you’ll get work done while you’re babysitting the kids? That’s so cute.”

  “Don’t be silly, Sally. I love your kids. I’ll bring a play kit with music and crafts and stories. Maybe some bath toys. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “And I don’t plan to. It’s so nice not to be neurotic.”

  “So I’ve heard. See you at seven. You’re a true friend.”

  Sally and Jack tore off in Sally’s black Jeep Cherokee. Jack doesn’t believe in SUVs, but all bets are off when it comes to Sally. Jack thinks the world of her. Plus no way would Sally be able to bend into and out of Jack’s vintage Mini Minor. I’d equipped them with an excellent description of the lady in red and of Dwayne too. Sally hadn’t met him, and Jack, well, what can I say? Speaking of Jack, he looked almost respectable in his clean chinos and striped shirt, not tucked in of course. He must have thought the task was important. And as far as I could tell he was wearing socks under his shoes. But no o
ne would be looking at Jack, even though he’s kind of cute. All eyes would be on Sally. She was too fabulous in a sleeveless black dress, remarkably flexible to accommodate the bump. Her blonde corkscrew curls seemed even more impossibly glamorous than usual. She had a cluster of wide bangles up her arms and had found the most elegant dangling earrings and flat metallic sandals. I did my bit by applying polish to her toes, as Sally claimed not to have seen her feet for two months.

  She whispered, “There’s life in the old girl yet.”

  We waved as they left. The kids seemed overjoyed. Until the SUV rounded the corner and vanished from view that is. One by one, their eyes grew rounder. Their mouths grew rounder too. I’m not sure what came first, the gush of tears or the ear-splitting howls. Dallas, Madison, and Savannah had truly great lungs. Truffle and Sweet Marie had been little angels up until this point. Something about the wailing children brought out the devil dog in them.

  The sharp sounds of barking did nothing to stop the crying. The kids have always loved the dogs, and the wieners have more or less tolerated the kids. But this was war. The screaming escalated into hysterical sobs. I picked up baby Savannah. She shuddered and shook and struggled against me. With my “free” hand I snagged Truffle and tucked him under the other arm, headed toward the back. In a second, I had deposited him in the main-floor powder room. The door muffled the barking. Sweet Marie took refuge under Sally’s white leather sofa. The sofa did not muffle the barking.