The Goodbye Body (7 page)

I went inside and stopped to gape at the dining room table. Not only had the dishes been removed, but the center of the table sported a modest arrangement of fresh flowers. I numbly continued to the kitchen. Every countertop was immaculate and the sink was empty. Pots, pans, and the wok had been put away. The dishwasher was humming softly. A ceramic bowl filled with glistening red apples was centered on the island. The kitchen looked as if it had been prepped for the arrival of a television crew and a professional chef eager to share his secrets with bored housewives.

I was trying to remember which day the cleaning service was scheduled when Madison came into the room.

“I felt really bad about the mess we left last night,” she said.

“You did all this?”

“It didn’t take all that long. There’s something I need to tell you. Would you like a glass of wine first?”

I shook my head. “Tell me what?”

Madison went around me and took a bottle from the refrigerator. “I really must find a wine shop and stock up. Dolly’s taste is so provincial. Have you ever tried the New Zealand sauvignon blancs?”

“You needed to tell me about Dolly’s taste in wine?”

She filled a glass and sat down on a stool. “Sara Louise had a really miserable night. She couldn’t sleep at all, and aspirin didn’t help. This morning I took her to the emergency room. They did some X-rays and found two badly cracked ribs, so they taped her up and gave her a prescription for pain pills. She’s upstairs now, zoned out. She’s supposed to go back for more X-rays in three days. The doctor’s worried that the cracks may splinter and put her at risk for a punctured lung.”

“But she’s okay for now?”

“As long as she stays in bed and doesn’t try to go any farther than the bathroom.”

Despite my better judgment, I poured myself a glass of wine. Three days. If the assailant had been in the kitchen, I would have stuffed him in the dishwasher along with the china and silverware. And adjusted the temperature for scalding water.

Madison misinterpreted my stunned expression. “Please don’t worry about her. The doctor said she ought to be fine as long as she follows orders. I know this is a major inconvenience for you, Ms. Malloy, but I don’t know what else we can do. I can’t cram Sara Louise in the backseat and drive fifteen hundred miles on my own.”

“No, of course not.” Unable to come up with anything else to say, I took a drink of wine.

“I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. Sara Louise can’t even come downstairs. I thought I’d take her some soup later, if she feels up to it.” She refilled her own glass and looked at me. “I really would like to explain all this to Dolly. Are you sure there’s no way to get in touch with her? She didn’t mention her sister’s name, for instance?”

“I wish she had,” I said truthfully. “I checked the address book, but it has only local names and numbers.”

“I’m sure she has a cell phone. Maybe we can find a bill and get the number off of it. Do you think it would be all right if we looked through her papers?”

I didn’t, but this was an extraordinary occasion in which the end would certainly justify the means. “There’s a desk in the den. I suppose we might see if she keeps a folder with that sort of thing.”

Madison brightened. “Uncle Bibi was very meticulous about records and canceled checks. I used to tease him about keeping our school photos in alphabetical order, as well as chronological. He had a separate bank account for birthday and graduation checks. Whenever I blew my allowance and needed a loan, he’d have me sign some sort of legal form that specified when I had to repay him—and charged me interest. Can you believe it?”

We went into the den. The desk was along the wall opposite the impressive (and somewhat oppressive) entertainment system. I noted the rows of boxed videocassettes in a bookshelf large enough to accommodate the collected works of pretty much all the authors worthy of being collected. It was unfortunate that Bibi had preferred Scarface and Bugsy over Shakespeare.

With Madison hovering behind me, I sat down at the desk and began to open drawers. I found a thick manila folder and removed it. “Utility bills, all local,” I said, flipping through the contents. “A contract with Manny’s PerfectPools, another with the security-system company. A receipt for work done on her car. A warranty for a food processor. I don’t see a contract with a cell phone company.”

“What about telephone bills?” asked Madison, literally breathing down my neck.

I retrieved several of them. “No long-distance calls.”

“Everybody makes long-distance calls, so that proves she has a cell phone. The credit card receipts have to be somewhere. Keep looking.”

I tried to recall when I’d last made a long-distance call that hadn’t involved a publisher and a 1-800 number. Clearly, I needed to reach out and touch someone more often. When I felt Madison’s fingernails dig into my shoulders, I said, “Back off and I’ll keep looking. Otherwise, the folder goes in the drawer and we wait for Dolly to call us.”

The fingernails receded. “Sorry, Ms. Malloy,” she said in a voice meant to convey penitence. Petulance overshadowed it. “It’s just that we’re like a couple of private detectives hot on the trail. Uncle Bibi used to read that kind of book all the time.” She stopped for a moment. “I still can’t believe he’s really dead. Nobody knew he had this terrible heart condition, except Dolly and his doctor. When my father called to tell me, he was so choked up that he could barely talk. The family had a wake after the funeral, but it was like a scene from a movie or stage play. My godfather made a toast that left us all in tears.”

“I’m sure he would have been pleased,” I said for lack of anything more insightful to say. I returned my attention to the papers. “Here are five months’ worth of bank statements. All the checks are local, however, and the cell phone bill isn’t paid by bank draft.”

“What about credit card bills?”

I found those at the bottom of the stack. “Purchases at local shops and stores, including mine. A couple of orders from candy and fruit catalogs. A donation to the NPR station. Other than those, nothing.”

Madison plucked them out of my hand. “It’s like she has no life outside the city limits. That’s ridiculous. Surely she stayed in contact with a few old friends. There has to be another folder!”

I opened the bottom drawer and stared not at an innocuous manila folder, but at a large, shiny handgun.

“Is it loaded?” I asked, mesmerized by the gun.

“What’s more useless than an unloaded gun?” Madison picked it up as if it were no more lethal than a box of cookies. “It’s a little bit dusty, so I don’t think it’s been handled lately. It must have belonged to Uncle Bibi. He kept one in his bedside drawer, and another at his office. I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept one in his glove compartment, too.”

“Would you please stop playing with that? Just put it back where we found it.”

She gave me a wounded look as she replaced it. “It’s just a little Beretta, Ms. Malloy. Everybody should have one for self-defense. I mean, what are you going to do if somebody comes in your store and demands all the money in the cash register?”

“I’d hand it over, apologize, and offer to write a check. I don’t understand why Dolly feels the need to keep a loaded gun in her house. This is Farberville, not some city teeming with armed robbers. Besides, she has the whole house wired so that no one can break in without causing a major hullabaloo.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. Dolly just feels safer with a gun, that’s all. Did you find any personal correspondence?”

I looked through the remaining drawers. “No, nothing. She hasn’t lived here long enough to acquire much clutter. I guess I’d better go back to the bookstore. Please let Caron and Inez know that the pool guy is coming. I don’t want them to get hysterical if they see a strange man in the backyard.”

“They are excitable, aren’t they?” she said, sounding as though we were both PTA mothers leaving a workshop on parenting skills.

I stopped. ‘There’s something I have to say to you, Madison, and it goes for Sara Louise as well. Caron and Inez are sixteen years old, not eight. Stop speaking of them as if they’re incapable of adult conversation. Furthermore, neither is in your employment. Don’t expect them to clean up after you or run little errands. If you want room service, check into a hotel. Do you understand?”

“I’m very sorry, and I’m sure Sara Louise is, too. We’ll make every effort to be nicer to them in the future.”

I didn’t buy a word of it, but I nodded and said, “Then perhaps we can all get along until Sara Louise recovers. Have you heard anything from the garage?”

“I wish I had,” she said, still acting as if my rebuke had pierced her heart. “Sara Louise and I went to the emergency room right after you left, and then we had to find a pharmacy to get the prescription filled. By the time we got back here, she could barely walk. It’s a miracle I got her upstairs and into bed. After that, I cleaned up the kitchen and went to check on her. I’m feeling so lost, Ms. Malloy. Sara Louise has always been smarter and braver than I could ever be. The way she attacked that man last night was just unbelievable. She didn’t even hesitate. Now she’s like a baby, all curled up in bed.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she has to have surgery and …”

I patted her on the arm, careful to avoid the bruises. “She’ll be fine, Madison. Why don’t you fix yourself something to eat and go watch something tame on TV?”

“I wouldn’t want Caron and Inez to feel as though I’m violating their sanctuary. I’ll just read in my room, where I can hear Sara Louise if she wakes up.”

I stopped in the hall and picked up the day’s mail, which included a small package. It was addressed to Dolly, naturally. The return address was more intriguing.

“What is it?” asked Madison, who looked as though she could barely restrain herself from ripping it out of my hands and chewing off the wrapping paper with her teeth.

“My Spanish isn’t all that good, but it appears to be from a music shop in Buenos Aires. CDs, from the size of it. Dolly told me that she and Bibi were big fans of the tango.”

“Yeah, they even used to compete. The photos are hysterical, if you enjoy pathos. Dolly wore this low-cut dark blue gown with swirls of sequins, and Uncle Bibi wore a matching tuxedo. I think the best they ever did was second place in what amounted to a local talent show, but they were thrilled. I guess when you get to be that old, you take your excitement wherever you can find it.”

“I guess so.” I flipped through the rest of the mail, then put it all in the basket on the floor. “Why don’t you take some steaks out of the freezer for dinner? On the way back, I’ll stop by the store and pick up potatoes and salad greens.”

“Shall I take one out for Lieutenant Rosen?”

“Why would you think I’d invite him?”

She gave me a facetious frown. “I just happened to be looking out the front window when he left. Investigators don’t usually hang around for an hour, questioning suspects.” She gulped, then added, “Not that you’re a suspect, Ms. Malloy. I have to admit I don’t understand about this body Caron and Inez claim to have seen, but I can’t picture you having anything to do with it. Or them, either. It’s got to be some kind of really peculiar practical joke. Dolly could probably explain it if we could just figure out how to get in touch with her. How can anyone survive with one credit card and no cell phone? This is so incredibly frustrating. It’s … it’s like the Middle Ages! No, worse than that. The Dark Ages!”

“Indeed,” I said. “Take out four steaks, or five if Sara Louise is feeling better. If Lieutenant Rosen wishes to join us, I’ll call and let you know so you can take out one for him. Don’t count on it, though.”

She headed toward the kitchen door. I went upstairs, peeked in on Sara Louise, who was asleep, and continued down the hall to the master bedroom. Caron was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring out the window at the backyard. The shower was running in the bathroom, leading me to cleverly deduce Inez’s whereabouts.

“What do you want?” growled my loving daughter.

“For starters, I wish you’d stop sulking. I left my tights and cape at the apartment, so I cannot transform myself into a superhero and resolve this mess in the name of truth, justice, and the American way. Peter believes you, and so do I, but there’s nothing any of us can do until there’s concrete evidence.”

“Like a dead body.”

“Exactly.” I sat down on the bed and squeezed her knee. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that we’re stuck with our uninvited houseguests for three more days. Madison took Sara Louise to the emergency room this morning. She’s been ordered to stay in bed and go back for more X-rays at the end of the week. I can’t boot them out of the house at this point.” I squeezed her knee harder to cut off her response, which would not have been sympathetic. “I had a conversation with Madison about their rudeness toward you and Inez. She promised to do better, but you’re going to have to stand up for yourselves. You might consider doing the same to Rhonda Maguire. When she’s snide, give her a dose of it right back instead of running away and whining about it. Tell Carrie and Emily and those girls what you think of their behavior.”

“Sure,” she said, “as long as I don’t mind being ignored until I graduate. Inez and I will have our own table in the cafeteria, and not even the dorky freshmen will want to sit with us. Maybe we’ll skip lunch altogether and shelve books in the library for Miss Guillotine.”

“Miss Guillotine?”

“There’s a story that forty years ago, she chopped a kid’s finger off when he brought in a stack of overdue books and wouldn’t pay the fine.” She flopped back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Do you really believe us?”

“Of course I do, dear.” Surely mothers were allowed a certain leeway in matters of maternal mendacity. Hadn’t I assured Caron she looked fine when, at the age of four, she’d cut off all her curls and announced she was going to be a bulldozer driver when she graduated from kindergarten? Dr.Spock would have awarded me a silver star for stoicism in the face of disaster. I stood up. “The pool guy’s coming this afternoon. Madison’s taking steaks out of the freezer for dinner. Perhaps you might want to invite your friends over afterwards to swim.”

“Only if Rhonda promises to wear concrete boots.”

I hesitated in the doorway. “I need to ask a favor of you, dear. Would you please have a look in here for an old address book or a Christmas card list or something like that? It’s important that I get in touch with Dolly.”

She lifted her head to gaze balefully at me. “I seem to remember being ordered not to snoop. I was Totally Humiliated that you thought for one second that Inez and I would ever do something like that. After all, the Constitution guarantees the right to privacy, as well as protection from unlawful search and—”

“Just do it, okay?” I went downstairs, grabbed my purse, called to an unseen Madison that I was leaving, and was reaching for the knob when the doorbell rang. I fleetingly entertained the image of a man with a bald head and wire-rimmed glasses, his face unnaturally white, his eyes glassy. I will admit I opened the door with some degree of caution.

Nick, dressed in the same khaki jumpsuit, stood on the porch. The man looming behind him was well over six feet tall, with long, unkempt dark hair and bushy eyebrows. He looked capable of wrestling a grizzly bear. His identical jumpsuit fit so tightly that I expected the snaps to pop off.

“Ah, Ms. Malloy,” Nick said, “I thought you’d be at your bookstore. This is Sebastian, my temporary assistant. I do not think I told you about him when I was here yesterday.”

“How do you do,” I said.

Sebastian grinned, exposing neglected teeth, and mumbled, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Sebastian helps Manny out every now and then,” Nick went on. “He changed his plans so he could work this week.”

I felt as if I were expected to invite them in for a glass of tea and a chat about the weather. “Well, then,” I said, “I’m sure you two want to get started on the pool. I need to get back to the store. If you run into any problems, don’t bother to call me because I won’t have any solutions.”

I went around them and out to my car. After picking up a salad at a fast-food place, I returned to the Book Depot, flipped over the
CLOSED
sign, and tried to immerse myself in the tiresome but ultimately profitable task of ordering books on the fall reading lists supplied by members of the high school and college faculties.
Beowulf
was no longer fashionable, but Shakespeare was holding his own. Students would be subjected to the Greeks, a smattering of German philosophers, verbose British essayists, and nineteenth-century American novelists. As always, a predominance of dead white males, with only a token female writer or two. No one had included
Zen and the Art of Pool Maintenance
on his or her list.

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Peter wandered in with lattes and cookies. I invited him for dinner, but he declined with a lame excuse about a baseball game of particular fascination. He was no more convincing than Madison had been when she expressed regret for her patronizing remarks about Caron and Inez.

“Any bodies lately?” he asked.

“No,” I said as I nibbled on the cookie, “which is the good news. The bad news is that the houseguests can’t leave for three more days.” I told him about the emergency room and the diagnosis. “Now I’m truly stuck with them. Have you had any luck finding the assailant?”

“Several of the officers canvassed the neighbors, but nobody saw or heard anything. The girls are attractive, and they were cruising in a very expensive car. The obvious explanation is that someone followed them to the house. A drunk, possibly, or drug addict, planning to snatch their purses. We don’t have much to go on, especially without a description.”

“Sara Louise said she heard a car start up.”

“It was nine o’clock. Someone in the neighborhood developed a craving for ice cream, or a dinner guest went home after a glass of brandy.”

I tossed the cookie wrapper in the trash can. “And this body?”

“We talked about that last night,” he said, sounding a wee bit exasperated. “I checked again this morning, but no one has been reported missing. There’s no physical evidence that someone was deposited on the pine needles behind the gazebo or in the lounge chair. There’s no way to follow up on the matter.”

“You could have Caron and Inez work with a police sketch artist,” I said.

He thought about it for a moment. “I suppose so, although I can’t see how it can do any good.”

“If he hasn’t been reported missing, he must live alone. A friend or landlord might recognize him from the sketch and call you.”

“Or he could be from out of town, or an indigent with no local ties, or a respectable citizen pulling a prank and currently going about his normal routine. The sketches aren’t as accurate as, say, mug shots or photos from the morgue.”

I wasn’t pleased to have my idea dismissed. “So go twiddle your thumbs until the rest of us are found floating facedown in the pool. Do the autopsies in a timely fashion; the chlorine and other chemicals might accelerate decomposition.”

Peter smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any chance you can sneak away for the seventh-inning stretch?”

“Even if I knew what that was—and I don’t—I should be at the house, if only to protect Madison from Caron and Inez. She has no idea how creative they can be when their honor has been impugned. And I keep hoping Dolly will call.”