The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (14 page)

I said, “Coast is clear.”

Tony looked around. “I guess that’s good.”

“I don’t know if it is or not. Does she have an address book?”

Tony frowned. “I don’t know. We’re not close or anything. Just good neighbors. I don’t know much about her life.”

I wandered back to the bedroom, searching for an address book, without success. “Friends?” I said.

“I don’t think she has many. Or any. She works a lot. I mean a lot of overtime.”

I glanced around. The furniture was very good quality, sturdy, but several years old. The plasma wall-mounted television would have cost a bomb, but that was about it. “What about her car?”

“It’s a two-car garage. She has half. The other tenant has the other half. We have an old clunker and we both work at home, so we park on the side.”

“Let’s have a peek.”

As we emerged from 18B I noticed Caroline’s worried face at the window. Tony pointed to the garage. He opened the door using a button on the side. Empty.

“Well, she took her car. She drives a red Aveo, fairly old. But I guess you know that.”

I said, “I was worried for a bit. Now I guess she just went out on an errand.

He said, “Nothing to worry about at all. We didn’t disturb anything in her place, did we?”

“No. But if you see her, you should tell her I came by and I urgently need to hear from her. Please.”

Tony’s pleasant worried face changed slightly, a wary expression creeping in. “Urgently? Is there something I should know?”

“We just need to talk.”

“Do you want to leave your number?”

“She has both of them actually. But I’ll leave them for you, in case. Well, just in case you ever need them.”

Tony said, “If you talk to her, tell her we’ll take care of Mooch and Pooch.”

As I left, Tony stood staring at my card. Caroline waved from the window.

Where was Mona?

My consultation was at ten in a trendy brick condo town house near the waterfront. I did my best to put Mona’s bizarre situation to the back of my mind and concentrate on getting through the appointment. It wasn’t like I had a plan for the great Mona hunt. As I pulled up and parked, a woman radiating equal parts anxiety and eagerness stuck her head out of the glossy black front door and waved. If she kept holding her shoulders so stiffly, she’d need a muscle relaxant before the day was done.

I’d always wanted to get a peek into one of these homes. My would-be client had salt-and-pepper hair cut in a geometric bob. It suited her. She wore a loose black cashmere tunic and black leggings, with a pair of ankle boots in a soft, scrunchy, cream-colored leather. Whatever she did with her time, she was normally an in-charge gal; I could tell by the confidence in the outfit and the haircut. But today, like most clients she had that sheepish expression. Mainly because their disorderly secrets are about to be displayed to me.

I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Charlotte. I’ve always wanted to see what these beautiful town houses are like inside.”

She hesitated, then shook my hand. “Thank you for coming, Charlotte. I’m Hannah Yaldon. I love my new house except for the hidden bits in the kitchen.”

I grinned to put her at ease. My job is a pleasure for me, but my arrival is often horribly stressful for clients. Imagine showing off your most embarrassing secrets to a near stranger. “Kitchens are often a calamity. They make people’s daily lives wretched,” I said, using words my mother might have come up with. “I love helping to fix them. It’s often quite a lot of fun, once we get over that initial hump.”

I noticed her shoulders relax slightly. A good sign.

She said, “Come in. Would you like a glass of water? I would have made coffee, but I can’t find some of the key ingredients.”

“We know you have water, so . . .”

“Exactly. And I have a pound of Kicking Horse and I have no idea where it is, or the grinder, for that matter.”

“Water’s fine. And finding the coffee and grinder will be a great motivator.” I wasn’t kidding. On a day like today, hot liquids could be a lifesaver.

“Well,” she said, as I slipped into my shoes. “Let’s get on the hunt.”

We strolled through the sparsely furnished living space. The twelve-foot ceilings, exposed brick wall, freestanding gas fireplace, fabulous L-shaped chocolate-brown leather sofa, and clear acrylic coffee table were all I had time to notice. It was free of knickknacks, reading material, and anything extraneous, except for a sculptural orchid on a plinth. Our heels clicked on the wide-plank flooring as we headed to the open-concept kitchen. I noticed she slowed down as we got closer. I kept walking. The sooner we confront the disaster, the faster the client starts to feel hope again. I’m all about hope.

I glanced around the gorgeous room. No upper cabinets at all. Nothing rested on or above the pricey quartz countertop except a stainless steel range hood that reminded me of a work of art. The undermount sink was also stainless, and the cooktop blended into the counter. Nothing cluttered those sparkling surfaces.

I spotted the stainless oven and had to assume that she had refrigerator drawers and a freezer drawer. This proved to be true as my water was produced from a filtered container.

“Is the dishwasher also a drawer model?”

She nodded.

“Lots of lovely appliances. No top cupboards at all?”

“Just below.”

“It makes my mouth water,” I said, speaking the absolute truth. “People would kill for this kitchen.”

“Until they tried to make a meal in it,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Then they’d kill the designer.”

“Ah. Not so easy to work in?”

“Fine until you need to find something.”

“Mind if I check out your storage?”

She winced and I said, “It will have to happen sooner or later.”

“It’s so embarrassing, that’s all. My husband loves order and simplicity. I like to cook and, well—”

I waited her out.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s get it over with. I feel like I’m at the principal’s office.”

“Don’t let yourself think that way. I’ll be working for you if you want to proceed. Not the other way around.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

I reached over and opened the nearest cupboard door before she changed her mind. A tumble of plastic containers landed at my feet.

She put her hands over her eyes. “I wish you hadn’t started with that one.”

I picked up an armload of empty yogurt containers and put them on the counter. “No point in replacing them.”

I reached for the next cupboard door and heard her groan.

I said, “If it’s any consolation, your storage seems to be set up for appearances rather than efficiency.”

“I know.”

“And it is gorgeous.”

“It
is
. Until I start cooking.”

The second cupboard was jammed with cookware: pots, pans, lids, baking dishes. Lots of everything, including an untidy pile of recipe books and clippings.

“You could open a store,” I said. “What an array.”

“We combined two households. Neither of us wanted to give up our favorites. I had no idea what a difference a small kitchen would make.”

“Right.” I reached over and opened the oven. Sure enough, there were the dishes that had probably been in the sink just before I arrived.

She gasped. “I am so mortified.”

“Don’t be. I find that in fifty percent of my kitchen jobs. Of course, it’s only a matter of time until someone turns that oven on at the wrong moment. But you won’t have that problem after we finish.”

“Do you know every little trick I’ve tried?”

“Probably. But you might have tried something I haven’t seen before. I’m always ready to be surprised. You’ll relax a bit more when I’ve checked everything. There will be nothing to hide and we can move on.” I whipped over the first drawer. Jammed with cutlery. Three or four sets at first glance. The second, third, and fourth drawers were overflowing with utensils, enough for three kitchens. Typical when households merge.

Hannah’s cheeks were as scarlet as my sweater by this time. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ve seen all this many times.”

“I can’t believe I’m so disorganized. Makes me wonder how I can believe that I am capable of running a design business,” she said with a self-disparaging grin.

I paused. “What is your business?”

“UBER. We do contemporary furniture, lighting, and custom design. We are uptown in a converted house near the old Dutch church.”

“That sounds great, and if your home is anything to go by, you’re terrific at your job.”

“Except that I am a total incompetent here. That must be obvious.”

“Nothing to do with competence. Too much stuff, too little storage. That’s the problem. I can see that it’s isolated in the kitchen. That often happens when two households come together.”

“In this case, in one much smaller home.”

“Exactly, but it won’t take long to put it right if you decide to use my services. You could manage it yourself, I’m sure.”

“I want you to do it. Today if possible.”

“We won’t be able to do it today. But if you want to pursue the project, I can leave you with homework. I have some time available later in the week. We should be able to get everything done soon if I can round up my helper. Sound good?”

“Sounds like a relief.”

Five minutes later, we’d signed my simple contract and I’d gone over the basic plan. I’d asked Hannah to pick a charity to donate her surplus kitchenware to. She said, “I support the community kitchen. It helps needy families learn to cook inexpensive and healthy food. They might need items for the kitchen.”

“That’s a lovely idea. You’ll have plenty to give. In a kitchen like this you need to get rid of everything you don’t use and eliminate duplicate items. I saw about six spatulas.”

“I’m sure there are more.”

“You can get a head start with your utensils drawers. Figure out the most you’d need at a time. I’m guessing two. And give the rest away. It’s easier to wash a spatula occasionally than to dig through all this every day when you need something. It’s one of the easier decluttering jobs, because there probably won’t be that much emotion tied up in those utensils, but in case there is, be tough with yourself. And honest. There’s a huge payoff.”

“But I don’t have a spare minute to do it. I should be at the shop already.”

“Not a problem. We can find another slot time for our appointments. And we can always do the sorting for you, if we can agree on a few principles.” I whipped out my agenda.

“It has to be midweek evenings for me. I’m building my design business and I need to be there during the days. I use the evenings for in-home consultations.”

“Evenings are bad for me this week. I’m doing time-management workshops Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and I have a commitment on Tuesday night. What time do you open your shop? Perhaps I could come in before you go to work?”

Ten minutes later we had found enough common time to fix the first two appointments. Eight a.m. Tuesday and Thursday. Why not?

“It’s short notice, but I’ll try to arrange a helper and bins tomorrow.” I glanced around and realized the only place the bins could stay was in the flawless minimalist living room. Oh well. They wouldn’t be there for long. “I hope you will be able to stand the bins for the duration of the project. Short-term pain for long-term gain.” I knew Lilith Carisse, my all-around assistant, could use a bit of extra work to get her through the college term. Sometimes her three part-time jobs weren’t enough to support her. Lilith would love to see the inside of this jewel of a house. And she’d become faster and more efficient than I was in a purge.