Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Yep. He’d sure done that enough times.”

  “She was so frightened.”

  He nodded. “I figured it out. I knew you gals didn’t start that trash talk. It was Old Hellfire wanting to get rid of me. She knew her way around a nasty rumor.”

  “You still blame Miss Henley for starting that story about you and Pepper?”

  “Everyone else believed she did,” Jack interrupted. “You’re the only one who ever gave her the benefit of the doubt, Charlotte. And I want to say none of the kids believed it, sir.”

  “I just couldn’t accept that she could start such a terrible lie deliberately. I told myself she misunderstood,” I babbled.

  “Yep, well, don’t worry about it. Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Mr. Kanalakis said, staring down at me. “In terms of my art.”

  “I’m sure it was.” I glanced around the log cabin at the paintings. Unlike his frisky vegetables paintings at Mystic Mabel’s, these paintings were large, dark, menacing. Each one more unfathomable than the last. I noticed the signature on these was “Kanalakis.” He wouldn’t want any serious collectors to catch that he did quick commercial stuff for gift shops.

  “If it weren’t for that tall tale, I’d still be a third-rate art teacher dealing with a bunch of horny adolescents at St. Jude’s. The old bitch did me a favor really. And I made sure she knew it every time I ran into her.” Mr. Kanalakis folded his massive arms and leaned back against his kitchen sink, which was pretty much the only place that didn’t have a canvas in the way.

  “You did? Did you see her often?”

  “Not if I could help it. Even the thrill of telling her how well I was doing wasn’t worth the aggravation of seeing the poisonous old hag.”

  This is what I needed. Someone who didn’t hold back.

  “So can you think of anyone else on the staff who might have hated her?”

  He blinked. “You mean, besides me?”

  “Well, ah, yes. I mean, is there anyone else you can think of?”

  “Do you think I murdered her?”

  “Not at all. I just—”

  “Because I didn’t.”

  “Of course not. I don’t mean to—”

  “She did get me fired midterm from my first teaching job. She was the one who accused me of making out with a student. And she made sure that I’d never get another job teaching in another school in the state, if not the country. She lied and schemed and plotted. I’m lucky I didn’t get arrested. And an innocent girl was lucky she didn’t get the shit beat out of her by her thuggish cop of a father.”

  This conversation couldn’t be good for his blood pressure if the color of his face was anything to go by.

  I broke in, “You did say that getting fired worked for you.”

  “Sure, it did. But I still hated her and I absolutely would have enjoyed killing her. I often imagined how I could do it. Something dramatic, something painful, something artistically right for her. Maybe involving a hot mangle or a silver smelter or an iron maiden. I just never got the opportunity.”

  I said, “Hm.”

  “Oh well,” Jack said.

  Mr. Kanalakis sighed. “Just disappointing, that’s all.”

  “For sure,” Jack said.

  “Do you think she suffered?” Mr. Kanalakis added wistfully.

  “Definitely,” I said. “Are you in touch with any of your former colleagues from St. Jude’s?”

  “Nope. They wouldn’t come near me afterward. I was like a leper. They would all have been scared shitless of what would happen if Old Hellfire found out they had any contact with me.”

  “I suppose I’m wasting your time. I just wondered if you had any idea of who else might have wanted to kill her.”

  “Who didn’t? That’s my point.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” I said.

  “I’m surprised. I imagine most of your friends did.”

  Jack said, “Hold on.”

  “And your little friend Pepper sure had reason to.”

  Jack said, “Whoa, easy there.”

  Mr. Kanalakis grinned and said, “Why should you care about all of this? The witch is dead.”

  “Maybe I feel guilty because I didn’t meet her the night she died.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” He threw back his head and roared. He had some serious fillings. “Guilty? For all I know the historical society bumped her off to get the property, or the mailman did it because she bitched about the service. The point is the world is better off without her and there’s no need to feel guilty about it. Rejoice!”

  I let him spew it all out before I returned to my theme. “What about the people she used to teach with?”

  “And if some poor, beleaguered, tortured, timid soul finally snapped because she’d been pushed to the limit for years, what, you think I’d turn her in?” He appeared to have second thoughts about this statement while the words were leaping from his mouth.

  “You mean like Mrs. Neufield?” I said.

  He slammed his hand down on the counter. Dishes rattled on the shelves. “Leave her out of this.”

  Was it my imagination or had his olive skin turned pale?

  “Mrs. Neufield?” Jack said.

  Mr. Kanalakis scowled in my direction.

  Jack blurted out, “Sweet little Mrs. Neufield? Are you kidding, Charlotte? I can’t even imagine that.”

  I said, “Neither can I, actually.” Although now that we’d said it out loud, I began to wonder. Had Mrs. Neufield been pushed beyond endurance?

  Mr. Kanalakis said, “I have to get back to work. Got some ground to cover before my upcoming show.”

  I said, “And I’m going to be late for an appointment.”

  “Me too. Places to go, people to see,” Jack said with a last longing glance at the log cabin. “Thanks.”

  By the time we hit Woodbridge, Jack and I had had a couple of heated discussions about Mr. K., Mrs. Neufield, and Pepper. We stopped bickering only as I dropped him off at home.

  “Do you want me to see the space too?” I said.

  “Maybe another time,” Jack said. “You’d just want to organize it.”

  Rats to that. I burned rubber all the way to Sally’s and forgot about my planned trip to Hannaford’s. All this investigating was playing hell with my to-do lists.

  Sally’s front door was unlocked. I buzzed into the kitchen with a proposition. Sally and the kids had just finished a late lunch. Plates were scattered here and there on the kids’ table and the counter. But for once the three kids were playing quietly, and Sally was perched on the granite breakfast counter in her kitchen reading Today’s Parent. I pulled up the stool beside her.

  “What smells fantastic?”

  “Grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re all the rage in this classy joint. I wonder if they’ll catch on with the rest of the world.”

  “I missed lunch,” I said wistfully. “I didn’t get to the grocery store yet.”

  “Huh. And you call yourself a professional organizer. You want a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “Too much trouble. You’ve finished already.”

  Sally said, “Don’t be a doofus. I can make those suckers in my sleep. How come you missed lunch?”

  “Because Jack and I went to visit Mr. Kanalakis.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  Sally punched her fist in the air and yelled, “Herc! Herc! Herc!” She stopped. “I saw him at the memorial reception, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”

  “Seems he’s making it as an artist instead of an art teacher.”

  “Really. Why did you go see him anyway?”

  “He must have hated Miss Henley and the St. Jude’s administration. I figured he’d be willing to talk about the staff.”

  “Was he?”

  “Not really. I got the impression that he was protecting Mrs. Neufield. Jack is mad at me for even suggesting it.”

  “Well, she left in a hell of a hurry too
. Miss Henley had it in for her for sticking up for Mr. K.”

  “Yeah. I know. And Mr. K. didn’t mean to draw attention to her. I’m sure of that. He turned pale when I mentioned her name.”

  Sally opened the fridge. “You know what? Mrs. Neufield would never manage to get the best of Miss Henley.”

  “But in a heated confrontation. All that resentment and hatred for years spilling out. Bang on the head, with one of those wooden beams. And that’s it. Good-bye blight of my life.”

  Out came the cheese and the bread and butter.

  “No. Mrs. Neufield wouldn’t stand a chance. No matter how angry she was. Perhaps if she had a gun, but even then, Hellfire could make hamburger out of her. Have you forgotten how cagey she was?”

  “That’s what Jack said. Sort of.”

  “Sorry, Charlotte, but Jack’s right. First of all, what would she even be doing there at Henley House?”

  “I haven’t worked out all the details yet.”

  “Well, I don’t buy it. Maybe Mr. K. was just trying to distract suspicion from himself.” Sally is one of those women who can whip up a sandwich, or even a meal, and not lose her train of thought.

  “No. I hope you’re right. I don’t want it to be Mrs. Neufield. Or Mr. K. for that matter.”

  “How would you feel about it if it was Pepper?”

  “Be serious.”

  “If anyone had the motivation, she did. Her life was really hell. Mrs. Neufield and Mr. K. were able to get away from it, but Pepper was stuck there until she graduated.”

  “Pepper wouldn’t be pushing for a homicide investigation if she did it. She’d settle for accidental death.”

  “Not really her decision, is it? Doesn’t it depend on the pathology report?”

  “Come on, Sally, even if she hates me and you’re furious with her, Pepper didn’t kill Miss Henley. We both know that. It’s more likely it was someone from Stone Wall Farm. They’re the ones who stand to gain. I heard that Miss Henley wanted Olivia to change her will. And oddly enough, now she’s dead. Very convenient. Jack and I try to talk to Olivia and we get the boot. I think Olivia is in a dangerous position there. That Vanclief woman is cold and calculating. There are millions of dollars riding on one fragile old woman’s will.”

  “Poor Olivia. Benjamin gets really upset about her. She used to be his patient and he was really fond of her. He thinks they keep her way overmedicated and that they encouraged her to get another doctor who would do whatever they said. I bet it’s to make sure she keeps them in her will. Benjamin says there’s not a single thing he can do. People are entitled to change doctors, and they have qualified medical staff attached to the Farm.”

  “Maybe we can do something.”

  “Like what?” Sally popped the sandwich into the toaster oven and I filled her in on my proposition.

  I said, “My friend Rose Skipowski is going to visit Olivia and see if she can figure what’s going on out there. And also see if there’s any clue about why she got so upset about Crawford. She’s going to bring some old pictures for Olivia, I think.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “The problem is I’m not allowed on the property and neither is Jack. She can’t get out there by herself. So I thought, if you drove her out and took her back, then I would take care of the kids. We’ll work on the next set of toy storage boxes. Want to do that?”

  “Do you think you’d be all right here on your own? With the kids?”

  I bristled. “Of course I would.” I did not think, oh how hard can it be.

  Sally said, “Okay, sounds like a plan. Let’s do it.”

  “Nobody would recognize you at Stone Wall Farm, right?”

  “As far as I know. It’s not like I accompany Benjamin in his practice.” Sally handed me a knife and a fork and a glass of milk. Life was improving.

  “Tomorrow morning? Around ten thirty?”

  “You’re on,” Sally said, popping the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate with an expert flip of her spatula. She slid the plate across the counter toward me. “I’m overdue for an adventure.”

  “Good. I’ll let Rose know. Here’s her phone number in case you have to cancel. And I’ll give her yours.”

  “And speaking of adventures, did you ever hear from Woodbridge’s only eligible bachelor?”

  “I’m having coffee with him today. That’s all, Sally. Just coffee. A small jolt of caffeine. I don’t even know the man, so please don’t push it. And don’t get started on my biological clock.”

  She grinned. “Tick, tick, tick.”

  Cut up fresh veggies and freeze them for a quick stir-fry on nights you don’t feel like cooking anything elaborate but are running low on chocolate.

  12

  I dashed home to walk Truffle and Sweet Marie, and we set a new record for speed walking around the block. For some reason, I needed another shower. I changed clothes three times before heading out again. The sun had vanished and the November wind was sharp, so I settled on my red boots, leather jacket, and a bit more lip gloss than usual. It had nothing to do with anything.

  Certainly not the coffee date. Well, it wasn’t really even a date. Just a coffee with someone I hardly knew and probably would never see again. Anyway, I had a bit too much going on in my life already to think much about him. That was my story and I was sticking to it.

  By the time I got to Jumpin’ Java it was eight minutes after three. I was mortified. I pride myself for being on time, even for unpleasant meetings. Which this wouldn’t be.

  Jumpin’ Java was packed, even midafternoon on a weekday. It was the newest of the hot places in Woodbridge, finished in espresso-colored wood and leather, and softly lit. Every table was occupied by some young entrepreneur, artist, or academic. But there was no sign of Dominic Lo Bello. He wasn’t there. Oh crap. Serves you right, I told myself firmly. That’s what you get for being late. People just leave.

  “Charlotte,” a voice behind me said.

  I whirled. A bit too dramatically for Jumpin’ Java perhaps. Every eye in the place was on us now.

  “Did you just get here?” I asked, with just the slightest implication that perhaps he hadn’t been on time for our whatever it was.

  “Been here awhile,” he said. “Just topping off the parking meter.”

  “Oh. Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re not really late.”

  “It’s not like me to be late. I had a small emergency. Not serious.” No way was I going to tell him the emergency had consisted of indecision about the pencil skirt or my new dark indigo jeans with the red boots. The jeans had won.

  “Can I help?”

  “Oh no. No. No. Everything’s fine.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Would a cappuccino improve the situation?”

  “It would.” I glanced around. Oops. We were obviously objects of fascination to everyone there. I lowered my voice. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Right,” he whispered, pointing to a table I’d thought was occupied. His black leather jacket hung on the chair and his camera case claimed the table.

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  I sat down and told myself to get a grip. And regain my sense of humor. Sheesh. As I turned, I spotted Lilith leaving Jumpin’ Java. Even her purple tips drooped. She was clutching a number of brown envelopes, résumés most likely. She loped across the road, and I gasped as she narrowly missed being struck by a car. She kept walking.

  “Nice boots,” Dominic said, arriving with a cappuccino for me and an espresso for himself. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “See that girl? She got fired from Stone Wall Farm. She might have to drop out of her part-time college classes if she doesn’t get a job. She’s already sold her old car to keep a roof over her head. She’s getting around on her old bicycle. She seems so desperate. Maybe I should go after her and see if . . .” I stopped and wondered, where was her bike?

  Dominic put the cups down. The cappuccino was just the way I love it. Lov
ely, frothy foam, with a light elegant dusting of chocolate. He slipped into the chair, rested his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. Up close, I could see the small strands of silver in his hair. He was older than I’d thought originally. Was that bad or good? Or did it matter at all? Whatever. It sure took my mind off Lilith.

  He said, “Do you have a job for her?”

  “Not right at this minute. I would have had plenty for her to do if the Henley House project had gone through. But not now.”

  “Do you know why she got fired?”

  “Yes. It was quite unfair.” I tried not to stare into those dark brown eyes. I didn’t want to drown.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh yes. I had a problem with Mrs. Vanclief. I’m not allowed to go back there either. Nor is my friend, Jack. It makes me wonder what those people are up to.”

  “Let me guess: you plan to find out, right?” he said, giving the laugh lines another outing.

  Lilith had totally vanished from view by this time. “Mmm. Yes, and it’s a long, distressing story. So, let’s just enjoy this for now. Tell me about your photography business.”

  “Not much to tell. I do have a lucrative contract to do some promotional stuff for those fiends at Stone Wall Farm Foundation.”

  “Ah, the very outfit I was just trashing.”

  He grinned. “No skin off my back. It’s just a contract to take some photographs. I think they plan to expand because they’re willing to put some money into a glossy prospectus and brochures. An updated image for their annual report, that kind of PR stuff.”

  “Who do you deal with?”

  “Mrs. Vanclief. Inez. You know her?”

  I made a face. “The ice queen. Sorry for dissing your client. Again.”

  “Hey, it’s just business. I haven’t made any friends out there. Anyway, I have a few other plans while I’m in the area.”

  “Really. Like what?” I said, relieved that he wasn’t ticked off about Stone Wall Farm.

  “Well, it’s very beautiful country around here. As long as I’m in the area, I think I can put together a pretty decent coffee-table book of historic sites in the Hudson River Valley. You have mountains, river, woods, and all that wonderful mist.”