by Mary Feliz
Chapter 3
Organization isn’t always about efficiency. A well- organized system gives most people a comforting and workable routine to follow during stressful or busy times.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Monday, November 3, 10:30 a.m.
If Detective Awful had been a porcupine, Tess would have been imbedded with sharp quills. But all Tess had done was stand up to him.
And she was right. Detective Awful couldn’t hold her there and couldn’t force her to talk to him. His response to Tess’s assertiveness was that of most puffed-up bullies. He deflated and converted his aggression into anger. Tess had stormed off, leaving me to respond to his red face, clenched teeth, fisted hands, and splayed feet. But she didn’t leave me completely alone. Just as the detective opened his mouth to begin grilling me, my phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was Tess, calling just as she’d promised.
I held up one finger. “Hold that thought, Detective,” I said. “I need to take this call. And I may have to leave right away.” I stood and walked to the corner of the wraparound porch.
“Thanks, Tess,” I whispered. “Who is this guy? Why isn’t Jason here?”
“I have no idea. We need to get the story from Paolo. Or, even better, as soon as I get off the phone with you, I’m calling Jason directly. Apfel’s a caricature, like someone they dug up from an old movie about corrupt and inept police officers.”
“Linc’s exhausted. I need to get him out of here before he falls on his face.”
“Need any help with that?”
I shook my head and whispered into the phone. “I don’t think so. Text me again in ten minutes, just in case.”
“Will do,” Tess said, hanging up without saying good-bye. That was Tess. She had excellent manners and was as warm and caring as anyone I’d known, but she wasted no words on the telephone.
I pocketed my phone and walked back to the grouping of chairs.
Boots stood, eased herself around the coffee table, and handed Paolo her card, ignoring Apfel. “Here’s my card too. I really must go. But I’m happy to answer your questions later on.” And with that, she walked down the steps of the porch and turned toward the back of the house.
Paolo nodded and put the card in his shirt pocket.
Apfel stood, fuming. “Now wait just a minute,” he said.
Paolo took a deep breath. “Let her go,” he said. “I know her. She works in the garden behind the house. We’ll question her as soon as we’re done here. She won’t be going far.”
I looked to Paolo with my eyebrows raised. “What comes next?” I asked. “Linc is exhausted. Can I take him over to Sarah’s for now?”
Apfel bristled and Paolo leaned forward to answer my question. I guessed he was trying not to let the detective alienate us any more than he already had.
“We can catch up with all of you later,” Paolo said. He turned to Apfel. “Detective, I know these procedures may seem a little informal to you, but I know these people. They’ll cooperate.”
Paolo was sweating, though he was an athlete, lean and fit, and the late-fall day was cool. I put it down to nervousness. His jaw muscle bulged as he gritted his teeth, awaiting Apfel’s response.
“This is no way to run an investigation,” Apfel said. “We’ll see what the chief has to say about this.”
“Yes, sir,” Paolo said. “Would you like me to continue here?”
“By all means.” Apfel gestured for Paolo to go on. “You can’t mess things up any more than you already have.”
Detective Awful’s barbed remark was unfair, I thought, as Paolo flinched. Paolo was young but learning fast.
Paolo focused on Linc, not giving Apfel a chance to change his mind. “Linc, if you have a minute, I’d like to fill you in on what’s going to happen over the next few days.”
“Thank you,” Linc sighed heavily and slumped against the cushions with his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“First, here’s my card.” Paolo handed one card to Linc and another to me. “Call anytime. If you’ve got questions, think of something we should know, if you’re worried, or for any reason at all, please call. We’re here to help.”
I smiled at Paolo’s remarks to Linc. I’d heard the same words from his supervisor Jason Mueller when the team was investigating a death at my house last August. And yet where was Jason? I couldn’t believe Paolo had asked to work with the dreadful Detective Awful instead of Jason, one of the most decorated and respected police detectives in the county.
“This process always takes longer than anyone anticipates,” said Paolo to Linc. “An ambulance will be here in a few minutes to take Sarah to the doctor, who will care for her from here on out and learn everything he can. That’s Dr. Pravadi, the medical examiner. I’ll keep you posted on that process and you can let us know if there’s a funeral home you’d like us to coordinate with.”
Linc looked gray.
“I can help Linc with that, Paolo,” I said.
Detective Awful sneered. “You seem to be very close to the professor here, ma’am. What’s your name again? And your connection?”
Paolo interrupted before I had a chance to tell the detective exactly what I thought of him.
“Professor Sinclair,” Paolo said, “the police will be working here and at Sarah’s house for several hours at least. We can’t let you have access to either home until our guys are finished collecting evidence and the room here has been professionally cleaned. Do you have another place you can stay? Someone you can stay with? Family maybe . . . or friends?”
“Max and I would love to have you stay with us,” I told Linc. “I can offer you our third-floor guest bedroom and bath, if you don’t mind stairs.”
“What about Newton? And Jelly?” Linc asked.
“Maybe Paolo can bring Jelly over later.” I looked at Paolo, whose eyebrows were raised in question.
“Jelly is Sarah’s kitten,” Linc explained. “It was meant to be Jellicle, based on the cats in T.S. Eliot’s book, but that seemed too long for such a tiny cat, so we shortened it.” Linc stumbled over the memory, but it seemed important to him to share it and none of us interrupted.
I quickly agreed that Linc, Newton, and Jelly were all welcome at our house for as long as they needed to stay. Paolo promised to bring Jelly over later that afternoon. He said he’d also throw a few clothes and basic toiletries into a duffel for Linc. That kind of service might not be usual for the police in big cities, but Orchard View was a special community, and we did everything a little differently.
We wrapped things up and prepared to leave. Detective Awful huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf. I followed Boots’s and Tess’s example and handed him one of my own business cards. Then I walked to my car, focused on urging Linc along and ignoring the fuming detective behind us. I suspected Paolo would bear the brunt of the detective’s wrath as soon as we pulled away from the curb. I was also certain that the next time we saw Apfel we’d pay the price for outwitting him today.
But I’d worry about that when the time came. For now, my job was to get Linc and Newton back to my house.
Just before I started the engine, Paolo jogged across the lawn and knocked on the passenger window. Linc fumbled with the unfamiliar switches, but managed to lower the window.
“Sorry,” Paolo said. “A quick question. Was Sarah ill? Or worried about anything?”
Linc shook his head. “She was managing all the details for our wedding. She could have been worried about that, I guess. But it all seemed to be going smoothly. She said anything that didn’t work out would make a great story later, so no, I don’t think she was worried.” He shook his head again. “No. I would have known. She would have told me if something was bothering her.”
“An illness?” Paolo prompted.
“Like I said, I would have known.”
Paolo thanked him. Linc pushed the button to raise the window. I put the car in gear
and we set off. I didn’t think Linc much cared where he was at this point, but I was aching for the security of my home.
I glanced toward Linc at a stoplight. He had deep circles under his eyes. He’d been up half the night in his lab and returned home to a horror he couldn’t possibly have imagined. Newton sat in the backseat, but rested his chin on Linc’s shoulder, snuffling his ear and whining quietly.
I pulled into our driveway, dislodging Newton as I bounced over the ruts and potholes that were still on our list to repair. Our family—me, my husband, Max, and our two adolescent boys, David and Brian—had moved into the house three months earlier, along with our golden retriever and two cats. We’d whipped the house into shape pretty quickly, but then an arsonist had torched our barn and we’d focused on rebuilding and ignored the driveway. I hoped we’d have time to get it fixed before it turned to a quagmire when the winter rains started in earnest.
“It’s a beautiful house, Maggie,” Linc said as we climbed the stairs to the front porch. I could tell that his words were the habit of a man who strived to show good manners. Everything Linc said had a stilted, emotionless quality as if he were a puppet being operated remotely.
The three-story, 1920s-era Craftsman home truly was, however, beautiful. It sat on a hill that stretched down to a small creek, beyond which Midpeninsula Regional Open Space land extended into the Coast Range and all the way to the Pacific Ocean. It had belonged to my husband’s great-aunt and we were thrilled she’d left it to us, along with funds sufficient to manage the taxes and upkeep. Otherwise, there’s no way we could have afforded it. We were lucky and every member of my family knew it.
I unlocked the front door and was greeted at once by our exuberant golden retriever, Belle. Wagging her tail, she made little hops toward me and away, head-butting my knees in greeting. We’d trained her not to jump and she didn’t, but every muscle in her body tensed as she fought the urge to leap up and lick my face to welcome me home. Then she spotted Newton. Both dogs barked in greeting and performed as doggy etiquette required, sniffing each other’s rears and circling with tails wagging. I knelt and grabbed hold of both collars. “Belle,” I said, “This is Linc and Newton. They will be our guests for a few days.” I ruffled Newton’s ears to give Linc a chance to get to know Belle.
Linc knew how to properly greet a dog in her own home. He sank to his knees, patted her head and rubbed her chest. “Hello, Belle,” he said in a strained voice. “I’ve had a rough morning.” Belle smiled as only a golden retriever can, leaned against him and raised her brown eyes to his, adoringly. Linc buried his head in her fur and hugged her.
“I’m bringing in an interloper later,” he said. “A very small kitten not worth noticing at all.”
I left them to their bonding moment and dropped my purse and file bag on the dining-room table—a disastrous jumble of homework projects, bills waiting to be paid, marketing materials, and other papers relating to my business. As a professional organizer, I advised my clients how to avoid creating disaster zones like this one. Long-term, Max and I planned to install a home office to better organize my business and all of its associated paperwork, samples, and other paraphernalia.
Max needed some space of his own too. He worked for Influx as a software manager and could work from home as easily as he could from his office in Santa Clara. The problem was that neither Max nor I could decide whether the newly rebuilt barn or the attic was the best place for our offices. For now, my husband and I shared the long dining table with Brian, our twelve-year-old, and David, his fourteen-year-old brother.
“Belle, let’s show our guests to their room,” I said, and the four of us trooped up the two flights of stairs to the attic. Belle was an attentive hostess.
“The bed’s all made up with fresh sheets,” I said. Newton pushed past me and leapt onto the bed, sniffing and turning in circles to create a comfortable nest.
I nodded to Linc that we were okay with dogs on beds. Even if we weren’t, I’d have made an exception in this case. Linc was in great need of the unconditional comfort that only a dog could provide.
“I’ll bring you some sweats and a T-shirt of Max’s for now. Are you hungry? Would you like some soup? A sandwich?” Linc looked dead on his feet. While I peppered him with questions, his shoulders scrunched up and he looked away.
“I’ll make you a sandwich and bring it up in a moment with the clothes. You can eat it if it looks good to you. Or not. No pressure. I have to run a few errands, but feel free to explore the house. Sleep as long as you want. Take a shower. Whatever you need.”
Linc nodded and sat on the bed. Belle and I clattered down the stairs.
When I got back with the sandwich and sweats, Linc was fast asleep. Newton snored with his head on Linc’s chest. I removed Linc’s shoes without disturbing either one of them and covered him with a blanket, hoping he’d sleep for many hours, untroubled. Belle and I tiptoed back down the stairs.
I needed to tell Max and the boys that we had a houseguest. I sent a group text and then phoned Paolo Bianchi. It was time for him to tell me what had happened to Jason and how long we’d need to put up with Detective Awful.
While the phone rang, I told myself I should stop using that nickname. If I wasn’t careful, I’d call him that to his face.
“Paolo? It’s Maggie. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. Did you get the professor settled?”
I briefly sketched out the plan for housing Linc with us and reminded Paolo that he’d promised to bring the kitten, a change of clothes for Linc, and basic toiletries for both of them.
“That kitten is madly in love with one of our techs,” Paolo said. “I had to put her in the crate so she’d stop getting in the way of the investigation. You know how we wear those puffy booties? Like shower caps for shoes? Jelly thinks they’re cat toys.”
I laughed. “I look forward to meeting her. In the meantime, what’s with Gordon Apfel? What happened to Jason? Did he get a promotion or something?”
Through the phone came a sound I could only describe as an anguished, snorting growl. And then silence.
“Paolo?”
“Argrh,” Paolo said. “It’s just that I don’t know where to start and I don’t want anyone to overhear me.”
“Just tell me what happened to Jason, then.”
“He broke his femur heading up SWAT training. He may still be in the hospital—” I could hear someone in the background talking to Paolo. “Hang on, Maggie.”
I sat down, feeling a little dizzy as I imagined the horror of pain, infection, and inactivity that a broken femur could inflict on an action-oriented alpha male like Jason. I was only half-aware of the muffled conversation that came from the phone.
“Look, Maggie, I gotta go. Call Stephen. He’ll tell you what’s up with Jason. Or I can stop by and fill you in this afternoon. We’re going to wrap things up quickly. It’s not a crime scene here at Sarah’s. We’re just looking for clues and background on Sarah and Linc.”
“Stopping by as a cop or a friend?”
“Friend,” Paolo said. “As long as I can ditch Gordon Apfel.”
“Later, then,” I said. “I’ve got chili on the stove.”
Chili wasn’t, in fact, on the stove, or even near the stove, but I started to write the ingredients I’d need on my grocery list while I dialed Stephen Laird.
Stephen was Jason’s husband and one of the kindest men I’d ever met. A disabled veteran, he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and was missing about half of his right foot following an explosion in Afghanistan. He was an enormous man and was always in the company of an enormous dog—a mastiff named Munchkin.
“Stephen?” I said when the phone stopped ringing. “It’s Maggie. I heard Jason was hurt. How are you both?”
Stephen sighed. “He got out of the hospital yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“It was a SWAT workshop. He signs up every time they need instructors. He gets paid, but mostly it’s a
fun thing for him to do.”
“Okay,” I said, to let Stephen know I was listening.
“Right . . . well, whatever idiot arranged the training location, or secured the scene, or whatever they call it, missed the fact that the roof was rotten. Jason should have checked too, but he didn’t. He was chasing one of the bad guys and fell through the roof. He’s got a broken femur and a whole mess of lacerations from the sharp edges of God-knows-what sort of building crap that scraped him as he fell. But he’s lucky—I’m lucky—he’s not dead.” Stephen stopped speaking with an audible catch in his voice.
“Do you need anything? I’m about to head to the store and I could bring you dinner—or eggs and milk and coffee—or give you a chance to get out if you’re going stir-crazy. Is he up to visitors?” Jason had saved my life a few months ago and protected my entire family. Whatever he needed I would do my damnedest to provide.
“Some of the squad members and the guys from the VA have been bringing us food. His leg looks like something out of a Terminator movie—metal rods inside and out. He’s on painkillers but he’s still pretty darn cranky.”
Stephen was the only Marine veteran I knew who used words like darn and cranky.
“Do you want me to bring you dinner?”
“Actually? We’d love dinner. But would it work for us to come to you? He needs to get out of the house.”
“That’s great. I know Paolo would love to talk to Jason about the case.”
“Case?”
I paused, but I trusted Stephen to handle the news and treat it with the appropriate deference. He was no gossip. Living with Jason, he was privy to any number of police secrets and the need to keep them from the general public.
“You haven’t heard? We found Linc’s fiancée dead at his house. Sarah Palmer from the middle school? You met her, I think, at the potluck at our house in September.”