The Cluttered Corpse (9 page)

“You okay, Bonnie?” Bill said, running his hand nervously through his pale shaggy hair. “Why are the media all over Bell Street?”

“What's happening?” she said.

Bill said, “I don't know.”

She was going to find out anyway and it wasn't going to get any prettier.

“There's no easy way to say this. Tony Starkman is dead. He was found in Emmy Lou's house this afternoon.”

This time Bill sat down with a thump. He reached over and squeezed Bonnie's hand. He turned to me. “Did that fool fall off the roof or something?”

Bonnie gasped. “Bill!”

I said, “I have no idea. He was at the foot of the staircase. Perhaps he tripped. He may have been pulling some stunt on Emmy Lou. I'm not sure why he was in the house in the first place. It's a terrible thing that he's dead but—”

Bill said, “He was hounding that poor woman. You know that.”

But despite his actions, Tony's death had shaken me too. I wasn't sure what I thought anymore. “The worst part is that Emmy Lou is saying that she killed him.”

Bonnie's hand, delicate and artistic, shot to her mouth. “Oh no!”

Bill jumped to his feet. “That's nuts. She couldn't hurt a fly. That loser's dead and can you believe it? He can cause trouble anyway.”

I said, “Of course, she couldn't have done it. I know that and so do you, but she was shouting that she did. The police are taking her seriously.”

Bill opened his mouth again and then spotted his fragile wife. Bonnie had started to shake. She said, “I can't believe that could happen. Not here on this safe little street. We've been so happy here. We are starting to get our lives back on track,” she said in a strangled voice. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Bill put his arm around her protectively. “Emmy Lou's going to be all right. You know you're not supposed to be stressed. We're going to relax now. How about I take you upstairs and you can have a nap?”

Not supposed to be stressed? Bill was like a series of firecrackers going off at unpredictable intervals. I wasn't sure how much stress Bonnie could avoid living with him.

She shook her head. “Oh, Bill. Do you think I could sleep after hearing that?”

Jack stood watching, tall, gangly, and resplendent in Hawaiian shirt, espadrilles in hand. He cleared his throat. “Would you like your shoes, Charlotte?”

Both Baxters blinked at this. Bill reacted first. “Who the hell are you?” He balled his hands into fists. I wouldn't have wanted to get in the way of one of those.

“Bill,”
Bonnie said.

Jack held out his hand, “Jack Reilly. CYCotics bike shop. Don't you run Nerd on the Spot? We're neighbors on the same block.”

Of course, the computer shop in the sad little strip on Long March Road that Jack had rented for his shop. No wonder Bill had seemed familiar. I must have seen him a dozen times coming and going from Nerd on the Spot.

“Yeah. But why are you here?” Bill glowered. Surprises were obviously not his best thing. Not a great attribute in a computer technician, I suspected.

By the time we got through all the explanations—friends, landlord, shoes—Bill had lightened up and Bonnie had pulled herself together. She seemed slightly less grey, which meant I might not have to worry about calling 911 again.

“How about some cupcakes?” she said.

I blinked because that was kind of surreal.

“Sure,” Jack said.

“What flavor would you like?”

“Charlotte likes anything chocolate,” Jack informed her. “I'm more open.”

Was I dreaming? Soon Tony Starkman's body would be wheeled out of Emmy Lou's house. Emmy Lou was in some interrogation room in the bowels of the police station. To me, cupcakes seemed supremely irrelevant. Not that anyone else noticed.

“This is the Magic Cupcake, official headquarters. I have chocolate pecan. And lemon. Or cherry. And coconut cream. And—”

“Wow. They all sound good,” Jack said. “It would be hard to choose without tasting them. I bet they'd help us to calm down.”

“Jack, show a little restraint,” I hissed.

“No need for restraint in this kitchen,” Bonnie said. “I've got ten different flavors. Why don't you try one of each?”

That explained why the Baxters' house smelled so good. Vanilla, almond, lemon, strawberry, chocolate. Bonnie moved toward the counter where a cluster of cupcakes sat cooling on a rack with a clear plastic dome over it. And for the first time I noticed that the kitchen in the run-down little house was set up restaurant style. Long counters for production. Two large ovens, a professional-style fridge, and of course, the huge table in the middle. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in the corner. It might have been professional and spotless, but unlike the magazine quality of the Rheinbecks', this kitchen was definitely unglamorous. Bonnie's cracked vinyl dinette chairs had all been patched with duct tape.

As Bill lifted a slat of the kitchen blinds and peered out the window at the television crew, I noticed a couple of the blind slats had been patched with duct tape too. Whatever money the Baxters had, had gone into professional equipment. I approved. I say put your cash where your career dreams are.

Bill turned and said, “You can't give away all your products, Bonnie. You've got paying customers.”

“Someone died, Bill. And Emmy Lou's in trouble. We're serving our guests cupcakes like normal people and we're not going to argue about it.”

Huh. So Bonnie had a specialty cupcake business. I liked that. She also had more than her share of spine. I liked that even better. Although I would not have gone so far as to call Jack normal people.

Bill grumbled but gave up.

I accepted a chocolate pecan number. It was beautifully iced and decorated. Bonnie's delicate, artistic fingers were perfect for this work. Jack seemed to be going for one of each. Bonnie said, “They all have buttercream icing. And the flavorings are completely natural. No artificial products.”

“I should hope not,” Jack said approvingly.

“If you are looking for a love slave, Bonnie,” I said, “you may have found him. Plus he can keep your bicycles tuned up, if you have any, and bring you shoes as required.”

“Hard to resist,” Bonnie said with a half smile. “Makes me wish I could still ride a bicycle. Oh look at that.” She grabbed a paper towel, dampened it, and wiped off the big table. “With that darn demolition across the road, we have dust everywhere all the time.”

It was a pleasant, if slightly weird, interlude following the horrible events of the afternoon. It reminded me of the more obscure European film society showings I'd sat through in university. Come to think of it, Jack had suggested most of them. The sight of Bill peeking through the battered slats of the blind at the television vans every few minutes made it that much weirder.

“I suppose we'll find out sooner or later what really happened,” Bonnie said as she slipped Jack yet another cupcake. Possibly he was trying for some kind of international record.

“Don't count on WINY for the facts,” I said. “And speaking of finding out, did you see anything odd today at Emmy Lou's place?”

Bill turned away from the blind. “I was out making deliveries. And I have a big one yet to make.” He pointed to one of the stacks of cardboard boxes.

Bonnie said, “I was busy in the kitchen. Bill, why don't you check out the upstairs window and see what they're up to.”

Bill bounded up the stairs.

Bonnie said, “That should distract him for a minute. He's so overprotective and hyperactive. Sometimes I need a break from all that nervous energy. It's because of my MS. He'll do anything to help. We're trying hard to make a go of two new businesses, but it's tough starting all over.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I started my organizing business last year too. You need a buffer to get by.”

“We don't have much buffer left, but we're coping.”

Of course, I had wondered what happened to bring them there. Some questions are better off not being asked. I nodded. Usually that's all it takes. People are always telling me their life stories.

Sure enough.

“Bill was in high tech. His business went belly-up when the tech bubble burst a few years back. Since then he's invested in a couple of start-ups, but none of them survived infancy.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I murmured.

She shrugged, and I sensed a world of weariness in that. She continued. “That's the way it is in that business. You can bounce back when you're young, and sometimes you can make a fortune. The weird thing is that we both love what we're doing now. I live for cupcakes, and Bill gets a big charge out of helping old ladies get on the Internet.”

“Woodbridge is a great town,” I said.

“The price is right too. We figured we could live cheaply here after I was diagnosed. And our rent is reasonable for the house and the shop. But Bill's feeling the pressure. He's a wonderful man and I wanted to explain that, but not in front of him.”

Bill thundered downstairs again. “They're everywhere,” he scowled. “We're going to have trouble with those deliveries.”

I decided to help Bonnie in the distraction game, since nothing would be gained by having Bill get us all worked up. “These cupcakes are fabulous. I can't believe it's a new business. What did you do before?”

“I was an accountant. Can't say I miss it. This is something completely different. It's great for me, because I can take a break when I need to. I can take only the number of orders I can fill, depending on how I'm feeling. So far the worst part is having to deliver them. When we make it big, we'll get someone to do that for us,” Bonnie said with a grin. I think watching Jack toss back those cupcakes had helped her regain her composure.

It did seem weird to be chatting about careers after what had happened, but sometimes it's good to give the brain a rest. The distraction was short-lived though. Bonnie asked, “About what happened at Emmy Lou's. We didn't notice anything. What time did it, um…?”

I said, “I don't know. I was supposed to meet Emmy Lou at two thirty, but I had a prank call about a fire at my place and I had to race home.”

“A fire!” Bonnie's newly regained color faded.

“As I said it was a prank call, so I was about a half hour late, and when I got here, she was outside shrieking that she'd killed Tony. It was at least three.”

Jack mumbled something.

I made the international signal for “Don't talk with your mouth full.”

He tried again, “Someone didn't want you to make your meeting with Emmy Lou.”

I frowned. “Maybe you're right. But who would do that? And why?”

Bonnie said, “I can't believe any of this. Why would Emmy Lou do something like that? If Tony was bothering her, all she had to do was call the police. Poof! He'd be gone. I can understand that she didn't want to involve Kevin, but Kevin wasn't there.”

“He wasn't?” I said.

“I saw him and Mrs. Dingwall leave while Bill was loading the car. Around noon. They often go out on Sunday. He looked a bit more respectable than usual. She told me once that she and Kevin go to visit her mother over in New Paltz or somewhere like that on Sundays.”

“And Tony?”

“I didn't notice him, but Bill said Tony was already in the car. Bill always keeps an eye out for him. You may have noticed he's a bit obsessive.”

Bill barked, “Tony was already in the car, sitting like a big ugly lump while that poor woman hauled out this big basket of stuff. Kevin was standing around staring at his shoes. I was relieved that big jerk was leaving with them, because Emmy Lou was outside puttering in the garden. And Dwayne's car was gone. I didn't want him bothering her or worse, coming in here when Bonnie was home alone. How's she going to defend herself?”

Bonnie protested, “You worry too much, Bill. The doors are locked, and there's such a thing as 911. I don't want to be treated like a helpless incompetent. Anyway, this is Woodbridge, you know, not some inner-city danger zone.”

“You told me I was being ridiculous. Now look,” Bill said.

“I was wrong. He must have attacked her or something. That's the only possible explanation.”

Jack picked up another cupcake.

Bill said, “You have to admit, there's been something wrong about that place since we got here.”

It was early evening by the time Todd Tyrell's SUV and the WINY truck pulled away. Bill announced their departure after one of his regular squints through the blinds.

“Cops are hanging around. They got tape all around the place.”

I said, “I'm sure they'll be there until late tonight.”

Bonnie bit her lip. “But you can make our deliveries, can't you?”

“Sure thing, babe,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

Bill and Bonnie got ready to complete their schedule. I think Jack hated to say good-bye to the remaining cupcakes. He left carrying a small cardboard box. He tucked the box in his backpack and picked up his bicycle. I reclaimed the Miata. I'd left the keys in the ignition for the first time in my life. Must have been the shock of seeing and hearing Emmy Lou hysterical in the street. A small pile of stuffed animals occupied the passenger's seat. I stared at them. I certainly hadn't put them there, but someone had obviously picked up the toys that Emmy Lou had been carrying and stuck them in my car. One more little bit of weirdness, but the least of my problems. I couldn't wait to get away from Bell Street and back to normal.

Of course, the events of the afternoon kept swirling through my mind. As I was nearing my street, I had a sudden thought: Since Emmy Lou was acting so out of character, had she told anyone to contact Dwayne? Or a lawyer? Even though I knew it was ridiculous for me to worry about this, I swung by the police station, which was between Bell Street and mine, so not entirely lunatic on my part. There was no sign of Dwayne's Audi.

Emmy Lou was on her own.

Unless someone had contacted him about Tony's death and Emmy Lou's trip to the police station, I figured Dwayne would be at work. My next stop was Wet Paint. Woodbridge restaurants are just as busy Sundays as Friday nights. Especially on lovely, warm early evenings in late April. It was warm enough that some had already set up their outside patios. Wet Paint was one of those.

Dwayne was in the bar area schmoozing with a couple of customers. There was a good crowd inside and outside tonight. Dwayne obviously knew his business. His broad grin broadened when he saw me enter the restaurant. Obviously, he hadn't heard. “How'd it go?” he said. The grin faded as he took in my expression.

He didn't say a word as I filled him in on Tony's death and Emmy Lou being taken away in the police car. I left out the handcuffs.

When I finished I waited for a reaction.

Dwayne appeared to be stunned. Then the pudgy schmoozer vanished. He loomed over me. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Because you'll wish you hadn't made it.”

I recoiled. “Of course not. And I realize she didn't do it.”

Dwayne slammed his forearm down on the counter. A row of wineglasses clanked dangerously. “Of course she didn't do it. How dumb is that? Emmy Lou is the sweetest woman in the world. Too sweet sometimes. She couldn't hurt anybody.”

“But why would she say she killed Tony?”

He stared at me, his hands balled into fists. “She actually said she killed him?”

“She was shouting it. On the street.”

“Impossible.”

“You have to believe me about what happened. When I got to your place, Emmy Lou was in the middle of the street hysterical. We all heard her. Including the detective who is probably in charge of the case.”

“Are you sure about this? Maybe she said, ‘Somebody killed him'?”

I shook my head.

“My God. They'll throw the book at her.”

“I can recommend a good lawyer, unless you already have someone.”

Dwayne hunched his beefy shoulders. “Who would we have? We don't know any criminal lawyers. I don't know anyone who would have a criminal lawyer.”

“You know me. I have a friend who is a lawyer. Her name's Margaret Tang. She helped me a lot when I was falsely accused last year. Remember all that stuff in the news about me last fall? Margaret stayed with me during interrogations and she kept the media at bay, mostly, and she got me bail. I'll give you my card too in case you need anything, and, um, I seem to have misplaced yours.”

He blinked at me, dazed, and slipped my card in his pocket without a glance. He handed me one of his. This one I put in my plastic container. He was on autopilot judging by his expression, but I kept talking. “It worked out all right for me. Margaret did an amazing job.”

“This is incredible.” He kept patting his pockets, feeling for his keys maybe. “I gotta get out of here. Where the hell are my keys? I have to go to her. I don't want to be rude or anything, and I'm real sorry for yelling at you, but I can't talk anymore.”

I stood my ground. “Margaret could be there with her too. She's smart and she's tough and she knows how the detective in charge of the case thinks. She'd help both of you.” I handed him Margaret's card.

He stuffed the card into his pocket without glancing at it either. “Once I talk to Emmy, we'll find a way out of this nightmare.” He grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair and fished out a set of keys.

I said, “Please don't forget to give Margaret Tang a call. She's…”

But Dwayne had pushed past me and had already shoved open the restaurant door. Just as I got back to the sidewalk, his silver Audi flashed past me in a swirl of dust.

I decided that was good.

I was met at the head of my stairs by Truffle and Sweet Marie, who flung themselves against my legs. That's dachshund talk for it's nice and warm out, and it's late so let's go out and bark at the world. When it's time to walk the dogs, everything else has to wait. Overall, that's probably a good thing. Takes you out of yourself and your problems, minor or major. I brought a shopping bag and picked up the plush toys from the car on the way back.

“Okay, let's see what devilment you got up to today,” I said.

They had no problem with that. Once again, the apartment seemed to be in pretty good shape. No big misadventures. I could see two dents on the bedspread where they'd spent the day sleeping in the sunny spots, moving to warmer places only when the stripes of spring sunlight moved. I wrestled the bag of stuffed animals toward the closet. Truffle and Sweet Marie followed me to the cupboard. They looked up as I stuck the toys up with the wedding mice on the top shelf and closed the door.

The dogs cocked their heads.

Their legs are only four inches long, so maybe they were puzzling over where to get a ladder. Two pairs of black inquisitive eyes watched speculatively. I could almost read their tiny minds: hey, those fuzzy toys would be great in a tug-of-war.

I said, “You won't be getting near these toys. They'll be on the top shelf of this cupboard until Emmy Lou gets home.”

I wondered when she would get home, or if. And if she did, would she ever want to see those toys again? You think you're equipped with life skills, but then when murder strikes, you realize all the stuff you don't know. It doesn't matter how organized you are, murder's going to throw you off your game.

“Okay, slow down,” Margaret said when I called her from the safety of my sofa.

I took a breath.

She said, “And then this toy-collecting client killed her next-door neighbor's friend. Do I have that right?”

“She says she did, but I don't believe her.”

“I see. She says she did, but you think she might be making up a murder confession.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure yet. I don't know her that well. But she's a very nice woman and she certainly doesn't seem like the type to kill someone, even a horrible ugly man whom she disliked and who harassed her. I told you about that before all this happened.”

“Boy, I can't wait to mount a defense for this one.”

“Maybe you could go and talk to her.”

“I'm not allowed to muscle my way in to see a suspect and ask that suspect if I can represent her. I'm sure you know that.”

“I do, I guess. I'm a bit scattered about all this.”

“Murder's like that. Messy, unsettling, makes you reevaluate people you thought were nice and harmless.”

“I don't have to reevaluate Emmy Lou.”

“Doesn't matter, because I can't represent her.”

“Can her husband ask you to represent her? I told him about you. I gave him your card. I'm surprised he didn't call you already.”

“It can take hours to find out anything when you're dealing with the police. Give the poor guy time. He can ask her if she wants me to represent her. He might not want to. Or she might not want to. If she's
able
to make that kind of decision. Do you think she's of sound mind?”

I hesitated. “I would have said absolutely before, but now I'm beginning to wonder.”

“Until they can demonstrate otherwise, she gets to make her own decisions, one of which might have been to kill her neighbor.”

Lilith and Sally left messages while I was taking the dogs out for their last walk of the day. I picked up Lilith's first. “Sorry, Charlotte. I had to dump those toys in your Miata. Did you know you left your keys in the ignition? Anyway, I didn't want to leave the toys by the side of the road. I figured they'd get ruined or stolen. And the cops wouldn't let me put them in the house, because it was a crime scene. I tried to tell them the stuffed animals belonged to Emmy Lou, but your
friend
Pepper threatened to charge me. Anyway, Patti and I didn't want to find ourselves looking like felons on TV so we took off after we gave our statements. I hope you were able to outwait the vultures from WINY. Anyway, I'm going to work now. I'm on the night shift. I hope your client's okay.”

Sally's exhaustion seeped into her message. “I can't believe what I'm seeing on television! It must be a big deal if poor Todd gets dragged out on the weekend. If I wasn't stuck here with this houseful of vomiting children, I'd get over there to give you a big hug. Sorry I can't be much of a friend to you today, but I'm letting Benjamin take over for a while and I'm going to try to get some sleep tonight.”

Oh man. Speaking of not being much of a friend, I'd let Tony's death and Emmy Lou's trouble with the police drive Sally's situation out of my mind. I hadn't even checked to see how, or if, she was surviving and whether the kids were getting better. Now it was too late to call her and show a bit of sympathy. In spite of all she'd been through, she'd managed to call me. I felt like a jerk. Of course, Sally never misses a broadcast with Todd Tyrell because she harbors secret, inappropriate fantasies about him and has since we were giggling ninth-graders and he was a superheated senior. Never mind. I believe it's her only flaw.

I put Sally on my to-do list for the next day and went back to worrying about how to help Emmy Lou.

The hardest part of being involved with a death is not being able to do anything. The police had access to information. I didn't. I was just plain stuck. I hate that.

I spent a frustrating evening trying to get my head around what had happened. It would have been better for sure if I hadn't turned on the television set at eleven.

Todd Tyrell's teeth blared at me. Behind him the camera zoomed in on the Rheinbeck house.

A stock shot of the Woodbridge Police Station replaced the image of Emmy Lou's house. At least the cameras hadn't been there to capture her hysterical confession or the humiliation of the handcuffs. So it could have been much worse. That didn't take long: my own picture flashed on screen. It was one of the ones from last fall where I was being marched into the cop shop wearing my pink fluffy slippers and an air of utter culpability. Plus Patti Magliaro was right. I did look mean.

I unplugged my phone and went to bed.

Sometimes it's good to set your sleeping mind to work while you get your rest. Efficient and inexpensive and no harm done if it doesn't work. Of course, if it does work, you'll probably find yourself wide awake dealing with whatever info gets dredged up. I certainly did.

My clock said three fifteen. But there was no way I could go anywhere and for a long time that included back to sleep.

My subconscious had sensibly asked me who might have pulled the prank about the fire and why. A man had called me. That meant the man had known who I was and how to reach my cell phone. That narrowed it down to any of the thousands of people who might have read my Organized for Success brochures. I'd blanketed Woodbridge with them and used my cell number. But my brain wanted to know why that prankster had picked that exact time to play his miserable gag. For one thing, if I hadn't responded to the call and raced home in a panic, then I might have been at the Rheinbecks at the time that Tony was killed. Perhaps I might even have prevented it. Or I might have witnessed it. So the question became, who had wanted to keep me away?