Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “No, thank you. You’re very kind. I’ll leave my information so we can settle up for the fence. I don’t know if the insurance will pay for it.”

  He bent and picked up my broken boot heel. He raised his spectacularly expressive eyebrows and said, “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “The police?”

  “Yes, the police. I believe you just told me that someone tried to run you off the road.”

  “I don’t think I want the police. My head is really spinning. Perhaps I just imagined it.”

  He glanced back at his ruined fence. “Imagined it?”

  “No, I suppose it really happened. But it’s just so hard to believe.”

  He shrugged. “There are lots of insane people out on the road. But you are definitely shaking.”

  “And I’m not sure where I put my umbrella,” I said idiotically.

  “Really? You have to watch out for shock, you know. In you go.” He took my arm and led me, half limping, half hopping, up the stairs and through the shiny black front door into the house, before I could even admire the brass knocker.

  “I must get to my client’s before her husband gets home.”

  “Brandy first, police second. I’m afraid your client is way down the list.”

  To tell the truth, I felt very reassured that this professorly type was taking care of me. My knees were knocking, my chin had started to throb, and I felt as though I was only one degree from being an ice cube.

  Of course, he was bald and that helped. I have always liked bald men. My mother’s third husband was bald, and I have fond memories of him. So, for whatever the reason, I found myself in a warm, traditional, inviting foyer with white wainscoting and soft light. I sniffed just a hint of pipe smoke.

  He led me into what must have been the living room. I collapsed into a wingback chair with a faded burgundy stripe. The room was warm; a fire burned in the fireplace. Deep built-in bookcases flanked the fireplace. Unless I was mistaken, the books were double lined on the shelves. Good use of space, even though it might make them hard to find. In addition, books tumbled here and there in piles around the room. Volumes were stacked in between the lovely antique chests and the comfortable old chairs. More books lurked under the coffee table. Five or six lay open on top. I must have interrupted a project.

  My hands were still shaky when he returned with a brandy snifter. I clutched it while he stepped out the front door and returned in about thirty seconds.

  “Drink up. And I’ll call the police unless you’d prefer to. And there’s one less problem to worry yourself over,” he said. “As far as I can tell, that damn fence is salvageable. Came down in one piece. I suppose I’m stuck with it.”

  “I’ll come over with my friend tomorrow and put your fence back up,” I said. “If there’s any damage, I’ll pay for it. I shouldn’t be nosy, but are you working on a big project?” I pointed to the open books on the coffee table.

  “Always working on a project. Historical society stuff. Great fun. Keeps me out of trouble now that I’m retired from the university. By the way, in the confusion, I quite forgot to introduce myself. I am Simon Quarrington.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” I said.

  He cleared his throat. Kindly. “I don’t believe I quite got yours.”

  “Oh. I forgot.”

  Alarm flooded his face. “You forgot your name? We really must call for help.”

  “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Charlotte Adams. And normally I make a bit more sense.” I stared with dismay at my muddy knees and broken boot.

  He showed no reaction to my name. I figured he wasn’t the TV-watching type. Good.

  “Well, Charlotte Adams, you’ve had a nasty scare. I believe this is exactly the sort of circumstance under which one does call the police.”

  “I don’t even know if I can explain it and make sense,” I said. If this was the one person in Woodbridge who didn’t know, I preferred not to fill him in on the situation with Miss Henley and Pepper.

  “Your choice, I suppose. But I do believe they have to be informed about accidents.”

  “You said the fence was all right, and there doesn’t seem to be any damage to my car. And I really have to get to see my client.”

  “Actually I don’t think you should drive anywhere. And heavens, you’ve worked your way through that brandy too. Is there anyone we can call?”

  “I might just walk home.”

  He held up his hand. “Not a good idea. And since you’ve knocked over my fence and refused my offers to call the police, the least you could do is indulge me in this, Charlotte Adams.”

  I said, “I can call my friend Jack. He’ll bike over.”

  “Did you say bike over? Oh dear. On a night like this? I’d take you home myself, but I’m not allowed to drive anymore. Meddling doctors, you know.”

  Jack’s on my speed dial, naturally. I took out my cell and pressed “1.” As it rang, I said, “Please don’t worry about me. It’s strange but I was trying to locate your house. I wanted to speak to you and I couldn’t reach you on the phone.”

  “Speak to me?” The spectacular eyebrows rose higher. “Whatever for?”

  “Why doesn’t he pick up? Sorry. Yes, I wanted to talk about the Henley family,” I said.

  “Oh well, yes. Lots to talk about there,” he said, giving the eyebrows a waggle.

  “I’ll have to leave a message for Jack and then we can . . .” At that point, my eyes rolled back in my head and I slid onto the faded blue carpet.

  Keep an ongoing list for grocery and cleaning items, and schedule a regular time for shopping. That way you’ll never run out.

  13

  “On the bright side,” Sally was saying to someone I couldn’t see, “some of those EMS guys are probably ready to settle down.”

  I opened my eyes. Jack’s baby blues stared down at me. Sally leaned over his shoulder. A pair of flamboyant eyebrows appeared over her shoulder.

  Not surprisingly, I said, “What?”

  “You lost consciousness, my dear girl,” said a voice I dimly associated with the eyebrows.

  “But how . . . ?”

  “I finished the message to your friend and these two turned up. Bit of luck, really, the timing of the message beep, I mean. Not the car on the lawn.”

  “Too weird,” Jack said.

  At that point a nurse stuck her head into the room and said, “Doctor’s here. Patient only, please.”

  Much later, after a very boring series of neurological tests, the doctor set me free, with some painkillers and a lecture about driving. Sally drove me home. We dropped off the professor on the way. Jack retrieved the Miata from the lawn and followed us.

  Jack accompanied me up the stairs to my apartment and offered to walk the dogs. I sat, still stunned, on the sofa, as he hooked up their leashes. He glanced over at me and said, “Did you recognize the van?”

  “No. There must be a thousand dark vans in Woodbridge.

  Everyone seems to have one.”

  “But this particular one was aiming for you. Do you think that this whole Henley mess might be getting just a little bit dangerous?”

  My to-do list was crammed:

  • Find job for Lilith.

  • Babysit kids for Sally during Stone Wall Farm trip.

  • Locate obit for Crawford Henley.

  • Laundry client—apology

  • Red boots?

  • Buy food.

  Perhaps I should have added “Get head to stop throbbing” and “Have chin amputated.”

  I wobbled into the kitchen and put on the coffee, before walking the dogs. The fresh air didn’t help. I dragged myself up the stairs toward the coffeepot and watched Truffle and Sweet Marie scamper back to bed. I winced as I took the first sip. My jaw hurt when I opened my mouth. I’d found that out the hard way while brushing my teeth. That was too bad. I had a lot of talking to do.

  I finished the coffee and picked up the phone. After nine. Okay to call someone.
r />   “Is this Lilith?” I said, wincing with every word.

  “Mumph?” A very sleepy voice.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Adams. We met at Stone Wall Farm. And later in the park. I’m . . .” Ouch.

  “Oh right. How did you get my number?”

  “I was a bit worried. I saw you downtown and you seemed so—”

  “Freaked out?”

  “I was going to say ‘despondent.’”

  “That’s me, all right. Someone stole my bike.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. Now I’m up the creek.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but someone I know might be needing some occasional help. I know you’re a certified caregiver, but I thought, just temporarily, it might help to get some extra cash until you find a new job in your chosen field.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend of mine. She’s an older lady on a home oxygen program and can’t really get around, although she has a perfectly good car in the backyard. If you were willing, I thought I’d pass your name to her.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “I don’t know, actually. It’s under a tarp. An old one.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lilith said. “I don’t even know why I asked. Sure, give her my name. I could work in a few drives, even when I find a new position. Sometimes older people just need someone to drop in. They need to talk and maybe just reach stuff on high shelves.”

  “If business picks up, I’ll have occasional jobs,” I said. “Sorting and packing for clients. It’s occasional and intense.”

  She snickered. “I hope none of your clients are like Miss Henley. And, before you answer that, yeah, you can call me. Thanks.”

  “And before I forget, would you know if Olivia Simonett ever had a visit from her cousin, Crawford? That’s who I was asking her about when she pitched that fit.”

  “Crawford? Randolph used to come in. He was an old weird dude, but Olivia loved his visits. And then Miss Henley, of course, used to bring her chocolates and then sit there with a face like a lemon. That’s it.”

  “But no cousin Crawford.”

  “I wasn’t there all that long. The person who would have known was Wynona. She took care of Olivia for years. Olivia was a lot better off with Wynona than with that ditz Francie.”

  “Wynona. Any idea where I could reach her?”

  “What do you mean, reach her?”

  “To ask her about Crawford.”

  “She can’t answer.”

  “Perhaps if I ask her very, very discreetly.”

  Lilith snorted. “I doubt that since she’s very, very dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “She was killed in that uptown shooting. How could you not know that?”

  “Oh my God,” Sally gasped, clutching the baby. “Shot? Do you think it’s connected?” We were whispering in the dining room so the children wouldn’t hear any talk of random shooting. Even though the dining room was blanketed in toys, the kids were in the kitchen. So far the latest box-decorating project was keeping them quiet. The theme was Thanksgiving. I’d picked up some paper turkeys and pilgrim’s hats at the Dollar Do! on the way over. Dallas and Madison were gluing with glee.

  “Of course it’s connected, Sally. First Olivia’s caregiver is killed and then Miss Henley. It’s obvious someone is trying to—”

  I was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream coming from the kitchen. Sally poked her head around the corner and said, “Don’t glue your sister’s hair, angel.”

  She whipped back again. “Trying to what?”

  Further screams erupted from the kitchen, each fresh shriek bringing goose bumps to my arms.

  “Keep people away from Olivia,” I shouted over the wails.

  Sally said, “I told you so. Right from the beginning, taking on Hellfire as a client was a mistake.”

  “That shooting did not happen because I took on Miss Henley as a client.” I headed toward the kitchen. To hell with chain of command. Someone was being murdered if the shrieks were any indication.

  Sally yelled, “Oh no, her hair.”

  Oh crap. Who knew you could cut hair with safety scissors?

  “It will grow back,” I said, bending to cuddle Madison. “Better than ever. You wait.”

  Sally held a fistful of blonde curls in one hand and shook her finger at her son with the other. He was wailing too. That was wise under the circumstances.

  It crossed my mind there might be more to this motherhood business than I had imagined. I was beginning to find the prospect terrifying. Perhaps I should trade my biological clock for a wake-up call.

  “So,” I said in my softest voice, “Olivia is the one in the Henley family with the big bucks.”

  Sally nodded.

  “And the two people closest to Olivia have been killed: Wynona Banks and Miss Henley.”

  “Code name Hellfire,” Sally whispered.

  “It could be connected to this cousin Crawford or—”

  “I thought we were worried about the people at Stone Wall Farm.”

  “We are. But maybe this Crawford is lurking around and plans to pressure her to change her will.”

  “I bet the Stone Wall Farm people took out a hit on Miss Henley and Wynona to get at Olivia’s money.”

  “Took out a hit? You watch too many movies. This is Woodbridge, Sally. We don’t hire hit men to knock off our teachers.”

  “Maybe we do if we have a hundred million reasons.” We stared at each other over the heads of the sobbing children. Sally hissed, “Okay, Rose and I will see what we can find out.”

  “I hope Rose can get in. They’re cutting Olivia off from everyone.”

  Sally said, “You distract the ankle biters. I’ll sneak out now.”

  A note to those with ticking clocks: you can only distract small children with piggybacks for so long. Eventually, not even making milk shakes in the blender or having bubble baths will calm them down. Sooner or later, you hit the wall.

  Sally left at nine forty-five. At ten fifteen I called Jack. “I’m at Sally’s. Get the hell over here. Now.”

  Sally was back by eleven thirty and not one second too soon. Jack was lying on the living room floor. Dallas was riding him like a horse. That had been fun for the first fifteen minutes. I had been trying to show Madison how to organize the can cupboard, but that venture hadn’t gone all that well. Baby Savannah had finished flinging her applesauce at the humans in the house and was killing time by banging pot covers on the kitchen floor. I had forgotten to turn off the water in the sink.

  “Thank God you’re back,” I wailed at Sally.

  “What’s that in your hair?” Sally said.

  “Applesauce. Jack has strawberry yogurt in his.”

  Sally glanced around her former designer kitchen. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting us organized.”

  Jack limped in from the dining room and squeaked, “Save me.”

  “What happened, Sally?” I asked.

  “Oh boy,” Sally said. “It was—”

  The bang came from the front hall. We all jumped. The glass rattled in the cupboard doors.

  The kids shrieked, “Daddy, Daddy!”

  Benjamin seemed more grizzly than teddy as he lumbered through the door. “Sally, what the hell have you . . . ?”

  Jack managed to break his fall.

  Oh crap. “Sorry about the applesauce, Benjamin. I guess I must have missed that bit.”

  Benjamin picked himself up and thundered, “What the hell have you done to that poor old woman, Sally?”

  Sally said, “Bye, Charlotte. Bye, Jack. See you later.”

  Jack and I headed straight for North Elm Street. As we walked up the stairs to Rose’s place, I said, “I’d rather be single all my life than marry a cute little person who turns into a savage beast over a teaspoon of applesauce.”

  “That goes double for me,” Jack said, rubbing his ba
ck.

  “You still have a bit of strawberry yogurt in your hair. I suppose it’s a look.”

  “Never mind that. I feel lucky to be alive.”

  “What happened to you, hon?” Rose said when she opened the yellow door. “You’re kind of . . .”

  “Long story,” I said.

  “Is this your young man?” she batted her pale eyelashes in Jack’s direction.

  “No. He’s my . . . Jack.”

  Jack brightened. “Do I smell chocolate chip cookies?” He didn’t appear to notice Rose’s neon yellow jogging suit with the black contrasting piping or her blue hair or her oxygen equipment. Jack has a one-track mind and we’re not talking sex.

  “Still in the oven. To tell you the truth, I was so upset by that visit to Olivia, I headed right into the kitchen when your friend dropped me off.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” I said.

  “Will they be ready soon?” Jack said.

  “You better come in. I’m still a bit shaky. And I’m awfully sorry to let you down, hon. But the visit didn’t quite turn out right.”

  “What happened?”

  “We didn’t even get up the stairs. Olivia caught sight of us and started howling and swinging her arms like a wild woman and shouting, ‘Get out! Get out!’ Then she just collapsed. It set that poor lad in the wheelchair off too. A woman—that executive director you talked about, I guess—came running out of her office and started barking orders. Even the parrots were screaming.”

  “Wow,” Jack said. It sounded like he was sorry he’d missed it.

  “So you didn’t even get to ask her about Crawford?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you, hon. She was walking in the corridor with her helper and she spotted us downstairs and all hell broke loose. The staff came running and Sally and I were out of there like last week’s garbage.”

  “But you were always friendly with Olivia, right?”