The Cluttered Corpse Read online

  “Apparently. Couldn’t you tell them the truth?”

  “No way. I could never mention a baby shower. Babies are their big agenda. I never use the words ‘man’, ‘male’, ‘married’, ‘baby’, or ‘child’ in front of them. I can’t bring myself to joke about it.”

  I hoped my full opinion wasn’t written across my face. “I’m surprised that your mother wants grandchildren.”

  Margaret raised an eyebrow. “You mean, since she’s about as nurturing as a block of ice?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I would definitely say it. Your mother is glamorous and fun and interesting. She always let you get away with anything you wanted.”

  “There are two sides to that, you know.”

  “Like the great trips you had to Europe and getting out of school and not having a curfew?”

  “How about all the divorces and never meeting my father and never knowing when she was going to be home and all that?” I sputtered.

  “Count your blessings. At least she’s not hounding you to reproduce.”

  I had to laugh out loud at that. “And she never will. She’d hate the idea that anyone would think she was a grandmother. All that Botox wasted. But your mother was different. Her family was everything to her.”

  “Overbearing? Traditional? Controlling?”

  I lowered my voice, as other people in Cuddleship seemed to find our conversation fascinating. “I don’t want to argue about which one of us has the most dysfunctional mother, because I will win, hands-down, every time.”

  Margaret nodded. “Sally and I would dispute that. The only one of us who had a normal home was Jack.”

  “Speaking of Jack, he’s talked his way into the shower.”

  She dropped the yellow ducky. “What? Jack’s coming?”

  “He pointed out that he’s one of Sally’s oldest and dearest friends. It’s going to be Sal, you, me, and Jack. And possibly Pepper.”

  “I thought you said it was girls.”

  “It was until I stupidly told Jack that Pepper might be there. He’s never been to a shower either. Apparently, that bothered him. Anyway, it will be like old times.”

  Margaret said, “You mean back when we the biggest losers at St. Jude’s?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s cool. I can handle it.” She reached to the back of a shelf with pastel fuzzy animals on it and snatched one. “What about this floppy bunny?”

  “Nah.”

  “But it’s so cute. And it’s completely useless.” She stroked its ears.

  I said, “After yesterday, plush toys are off limits. You heard about my project.”

  “The guys in the window sound weird, and your client does too, actually. But, in fairness, the stuffed animals themselves seem pretty harmless.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t think Pepper will show up tonight, do you?”

  “She’s bluffing to see if she can get under my skin. She hates me, remember? She’s ticked off that she didn’t get to keep me in jail.”

  “Okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. Your face is all—”

  “I’m going to get this collection of Beatrix Potter books. Look, Jemima Puddle-Duck! And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle. All the kids will like that. Sally too.”

  “You’re upset.” Margaret hadn’t let go of that bunny.

  “Fine. I suffered at her hands, remember? And I think you should get those blocks over there instead of that ridiculous rabbit.”

  She raised her voice. “The blocks are boring. And it’s not your fault Pepper’s slimy husband has the hots for you after all these years.”

  I glanced around in a panic. I whispered, “Please don’t say that, Margaret. What if someone hears you?”

  “You mean Pepper? She’s not here.”

  “Everyone knows her.” And everyone in the shop was definitely listening.

  “Funny, I don’t remember you being paranoid before.”

  Time for a distraction. “People change. How about this crib mobile? The ladybugs are great.”

  “Whatever. Back to Nick the Stick. I saw him make the moves on you in the police station the last time we were there.”

  “I’ve never encouraged him even if she believes I did. And I do everything to avoid him. Let’s finish up here. I’m getting the Beatrix Potter books. I’ve got to arrange the s’mores too.”

  “Arrange the s’mores? Aren’t they the easiest thing in the world to make?” Margaret picked up the bunny and made for the cashier.

  Sometimes a little lawyer goes a long way.

  By seven, the gift was wrapped and the card signed. I’d thrown in a set of washable bath crayons for the other kids. I figured the phone call was Margaret ready to be picked up.

  “This is Emmy Lou Rheinbeck. I’d like to apologize for yesterday.”

  “Please don’t; you have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I do. I had a ridiculous overreaction to a silly prank. I think my emotions had more to do with anxiety about dealing with my collection than anything else. I am sorry to have wasted your time. And I was rude to you too. Naturally, I’ll pay you for that visit. I’d like you to come again. This time will go better. I guarantee no stalling on my part. And no panic. That’s a promise.”

  I said, “Don’t worry about it. Panic and stalling are part of the process. And you’ll be glad to know they’re purely temporary. But I have to admit I was worried about Kevin and Tony. Your neighbors Bill and Bonnie were too.”

  She sighed. “Bill is such an old woman, and poor Bonnie’s fragile, so easily upset. I know these boys. They don’t.”

  Bonnie was easily upset? Emmy Lou had been a zombie yesterday after the bedroom window incident. But I bit my tongue.

  Emmy Lou talked on. “And I feel much more in control today. So could you come by?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll put the coffee on. Unless you’d prefer a glass of wine.”

  “Oh, you mean now?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sorry, Emmy Lou, but I’m on my way out to a baby shower.”

  Disappointment dripped over the phone line. “It won’t take long, a few minutes to decide on the next steps. Before I lose my nerve.”

  “I wish I could,” I said firmly. I was remembering how Emmy Lou liked to have her own way. “I’m picking someone up in a couple of minutes. She’s probably standing outside waiting for me. And we’re bringing the food.”

  “Oh. We must meet on the weekend, because I’m often at the office late weekdays. Friday was an anomaly.”

  My call-waiting beeped and I saw Margaret’s cell phone number appear on the display. Time to go. “That’s fine. How about tomorrow?”

  “I guess that will have to do.” Someone was pouting, for sure.

  “I’m glad you reconsidered. Name the time,” I said.

  “How about midafternoon. Two thirty?”

  “I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.”

  “Thank you.” Despite the thank-you, Emmy Lou’s voice carried the disappointment of a woman who’d had her Saturday-night organizing session squashed.

  On the upside, she sounded firm and strong and back in control. I decided she didn’t need me worrying about her.

  I had managed to wedge the gift, the basket with the graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows, and, of course, the dogs into the Miata when my cell phone rang.

  “Dallas is throwing up,” Sally shrieked. “And Madison and Savannah are starting to complain about their tummies.”

  Howls and wails echoed on the line.

  “Oh boy. What can I do?”

  “Nothing, thanks, Charlotte. But it won’t be a good night here. I’ll be doing the bucket-and-mop routine. And the kids will need my attention. We’ll get together when they’re better.”

  “I’ll call Margaret. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll come by.”

  A loud wail erupted in the background. Sally said, “Nope. It’s probably wildly
contagious. I don’t want you on my conscience. Gotta go.” She hung up with a clatter.

  “That was a close call,” Margaret said when I reached her. “Imagine if we’d been there. Yuck.”

  “No kidding.” Of course, poor Sally was there, without any help.

  “I can use the time at the office. Let me know when the new night is. Oh yeah, and, Charlotte, are you going to call Pepper?”

  I left a message for Pepper saying that the so-called shower had been postponed. As soon as I hung up, I realized that Pepper might not get that message from her work phone in time. That is if she intended to go to Sally’s. Maybe she’d been yanking my chain. She does like that game.

  Now what?

  Once I’d known Pepper’s home number by heart. But now I had no idea what it was. I figured most police officers don’t list their phone numbers for obvious reasons. They don’t want perpetrators to have their addresses. But I knew where Pepper lived. Nick Monahan had told me one time when he’d spotted me before I spotted him. He’d leaned in, stared down the front of my blouse, and breathed the news as I backed away from him. That was Nick. The perennial horny adolescent. Only now he and Pepper had bought a house on Old Pine Street.

  “How about that,” I’d said. “Just like a grown-up.”

  “I hear ya,” he’d said with a sigh. “I’m not so crazy about the house thing. But Pepper sure wanted it. And what Princess Pepper wants…”

  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.

  Recycle, donate, sell. Three words to live by.

  6

  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.