Organize Your Corpses
Page 17
“I’ve known her for more than seventy years, not close but real congenial. I can tell you, I’m shaken up over this.”
“Sally didn’t even know her.”
“Olivia’s going downhill fast. Sure she’s been upset by Randy and then Helen, but she’s getting on in years, like me. Past a certain age, you have to get used to people dying.”
Jack said, “Maybe she just reacts badly to guests.”
I said, “But she was fine with me, until I mentioned Crawford.”
Rose said, “I don’t know why she’d pitch a fit over Crawford. I told you he was her favorite. If he wanted her millions, all he’d have to do is ask and she’d give him the world on a plate. But Crawford was never all that interested in money. Otherwise he might have knuckled under to the old man. Instead, he walked away from the Henleys. I don’t think it was Crawford’s name that got her going when you were there.”
“Possibly I misinterpreted the whole incident.”
Jack said, “But it could make sense if they are really trying to separate Olivia from anyone who cares about her. Maybe they know about this Crawford guy. Maybe they’re aware that he might stand to inherit. They wouldn’t want her making contact. Maybe they’ve told her stuff about him. Scared her a bit.”
I gasped, “That would be awful.”
Jack shrugged.
Rose said, “If they cut her off from everyone she knows, she’ll just sicken and die. And nobody would think twice about it, at her age.”
I shivered. “It’s horrible. We have to intervene. I’ll get in touch with Margaret Tang. She’ll have some advice about reaching Olivia.”
Rose said, “But I don’t like that place. It seems to have been taken over by completely new people. I never saw any of them before. I wished I’d caught sight of Wynona. We should get in touch with her.”
Uh-oh. “Um, about Wynona, Rose.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Wynona’s dead.”
“Dead? She can’t be dead. She’s not even sixty!”
“She was shot, last week. That drive-by shooting uptown.”
Rose paled and slumped in her chair. “Must have been while I was in the hospital. I missed out on everything.”
I said, “I’m sorry I just blurted it out like that.”
Jack said, “And someone ran Charlotte right off the road last night. See that big honking bruise starting up on her chin. That’s got to be connected.”
Rose lifted her own chin. “I think we should go to the police.”
“That’s part of the problem. Inez Vanclief has been threatening to call the police on us,” I said. “Maybe she already has. We need a bit more to bolster our case, or else they might suspect us of trying to get at Olivia. As soon as I get the last bit of information about Crawford, we’ll approach them.”
Rose nodded. “But we can’t wait long. What if something bad happens to Olivia?”
“I think if we have some solid information for them, it will help.”
Jack sniffed. “Hey, there’s a buzzer ringing. Does that mean those cookies are done?”
I left a message at Margaret Tang’s office before I headed out. I drove down Long March Road with my boots in the passenger seat. I took my damaged boot and heel to First Rate Shoe Repairs, one of the few spots in Woodbridge without an alliterative name. I held my breath as the elderly stooped shoemaker turned the boot over in his hand and gazed sadly from it to the heel, the way a doctor might regard a patient who had short hours to live. After a while, I cleared my throat.
He blinked as if he had forgotten I was there.
“What do you think?” I said, still holding the perfect mate.
He nodded and turned the boot over a few more times. He stroked the buttery soft leather.
“Nice. Very gude quality.”
No kidding. I’d just paid the bill for them, so I knew that.
“Can you fix it?” I said after a longish pause.
“Mebbe,” he said.
“Great!”
“Have to be efter Christmas. To do a gude job.”
“Christmas? But it’s not even Thanksgiving.”
“I got a bicklog here.” He pointed toward a back room where a mountain of sad boots and shoes towered. “Everyone wants shoes fix right away.”
I could understand that. I wanted my boots fixed right away. I said, smiling, “It will be hard to wait that long. I really, really need those boots. It’s winter.”
He peered over the counter to see what I had on my feet. Boots, of course. Last year’s black suede, still pretty yet practical.
I said, “Well, the red ones are special.”
He shrugged.
“And they’re way better in the snow.”
He gave a skeptical glance at the stiletto heel and grumbled, “Maybe New Year’s.”
“I’ll be back.” I grabbed my boot, backed out of the shop, popped the boot and the heel into the back of the Miata, and made tracks for the library.
Don’t ask me why I was so hung up on Crawford Henley. I just couldn’t let go. Anyway, Ramona had probably worked hard and I didn’t have the heart to pull the plug.
“Good news,” said Ramona, snazzy in a denim skirt and knee-high indigo suede boots with flat heels. All Ramona’s outfits were blue and drew attention to her eyes.
“I could use some,” I said.
“I guess so. What happened to your chin? You look a bit, um, pugnacious perhaps.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“Ha. I’ve loved that joke all my life. So, back to business. I found an item that suggests he died about twenty years back. I’m searching for an obit, but it’s been one interruption here after another all week. Must be the full moon.”
“You’re sure he died?”
“Nope. Not sure. Just found a couple of articles that you might want to read. One in particular. Always good to have confirmation. Could be a mistake. Or a different Crawford Henley.”
“Listen,” I started to say.
The door to the administration office opened and a frazzled man stuck his head out. He crooked his little finger.
Ramona turned to me and rolled her eyes. Her silver earrings swung. “I’m needed by the committee of the bemused. Don’t worry. I’ll keep at it.”
“One more question,” I said. But her denim backside and indigo boots had already vanished behind the paneled door.
The front door opened. My client glared out at me.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“I hope you got my message last night. I mean about the accident.”
“Yeah. Your chin’s kind of swollen. Might as well come in out of the rain although I don’t want to waste your time.”
I stared around at the front entrance. On my first visit, it had been immaculate. Now a man’s suit jacket lay on the floor. A pair of boots was upended. Newspapers were stacked haphazardly. I tried not to stare at them. They reminded me of Miss Henley’s horrible death.
“If it’s a bad time,” I said.
“No worse than any other time,” she said.
“I brought by those catalogs and preliminary sketches for you. Like I said, I thought you might want to keep them in case you decide to go ahead with the project in future.”
“You may as well come in.”
I stepped in and followed her to the kitchen. A pile of dishes sat on the counter. A red and mushy lump was concealed on a plate. I found it hard to believe a home could go downhill so fast. It had been only a few days since my first visit.
“Don’t mind the mess,” she said with a sly smile.
“Oh,” I said, “it seems fine.”
“Get real. It looks like shit on a stick. You need a lot more practice if you are going to be a good liar, lady.”
Sometimes it’s a terrible burden being a polite person.
“I’m on strike. Imagine the state of it by the end of the week,” she snorted. “I can hardly wait.”
“Ah.”
I noticed she planted her heel right on one of the shirt collars as she studied the sketches I had made.
She said, “Very nice. Very, very nice. I would have loved that. Sure would have. Not that it matters anymore.”
Her tone seemed different. Possibly even dangerous.
I left the sketches and departed with a sense of impending disaster.
With three ex-stepfathers, a boatload of ex-step-boyfriends, and one ex-fiancé in my life, I am not so comfortable around marital disarray.
I picked up a message from Sally on my cell phone. That’s what I get for turning off the phone when I’m with clients. Even the reluctant ones.
“Charlotte? You won’t believe this, but that evil ice queen out there recognized me from a cocktail party. She’s actually threatened to report Benjamin to the medical board all because I went to see Olivia.”
My mouth hung open.
Sally continued, “Of course, Benjamin did nothing wrong and neither have I. And neither have you. But he’s furious. He’s told me not to make contact with Olivia. And to let you do your own investigating. No doctor wants complaints lodged against him, but even so, I sure wish I’d picked a man with a bit more fight in him.”
I was headed for Hannaford’s. My cell phone trilled and I pulled the Miata over to answer. Normally, I would just let it go to message, but normal was before. Every phone call could be about a life-or-death situation. Or it could just be Jack with an update on his cycle shop. I was hoping it was Margaret Tang returning my call.
“Hi. It’s Dominic. I’ve just been wondering what professional organizers eat for dinner.”
“It all depends. Food usually. Why, what do freelance photographers eat for dinner?”
“Those poor fools, they don’t even know where to eat, let alone what. They need guidance. Especially the ones who are not from this neck of the woods.”
“Really? Well, if I were offering advice to someone new, I’d say you can’t beat the Jubilation Café.”
“Sounds uplifting.”
“The food sure is.”
“How about I buy you dinner?”
I didn’t hesitate long. “On the other hand, maybe I should buy yours to show my gratitude.”
“But I haven’t helped you.”
“Not yet.”
“Tell you what, this one’s on me. You can show your gratitude the next time.”
“Deal.”
Damn. I forgot about my swollen chin.
Organize your closet by color, type of clothing, and season.
14
It’s not like me to try on every article in my closet and then fling each rejected outfit in a heap on the bed. But every outfit was wrong. The colors too bright, the blacks too black. Clothing I loved seemed too short, too long, too boring. Truffle and Sweet Marie were happy to curl up on each discarded outfit and wait until the next one came along.
What was wrong with me? My closet is organized by season, color, and type of clothing. I have a fully planned wardrobe that can get me from a meeting to a nightclub with a shuffle of a camisole and a flick of a chandelier ear-ring. I have invested time and money in being ready for any occasion with a minimum of effort and a maximum of effect. Any occasion but this dinner apparently.
Forty-five minutes later, I finally settled for my pencil skirt, a lace-edged camisole in champagne silk, a fitted cotton velvet jacket in black. I’d been saving that for something special. I added my black wedge boots with the frisky little bow on the back. I would normally wear large fishnet stockings with those. But I wasn’t sure that would send the right message. What message did I want to send? I turned my thoughts to jewelry. On the fourth try, I settled on double hoop earrings and a chunky bead necklace. Too much? Too little? Too late? And who was at the door?
“What’s wrong with your legs?” Jack said, frowning slightly at the large fishnets.
“This isn’t a good time. And what are you talking about? You’re wearing biking shorts in the middle of winter.”
“Why isn’t it a good time?” he asked as Truffle and Sweet Marie leapt around him, wanting to be picked up.
“It just isn’t.”
“No problem. I’m just checking to see if you’ve given any thought to that dog yet.”
“Yes. And the answer is still no. I’m getting dressed, Jack.”
“But you are dressed.”
“I might have to change. See you later.”
“Hey, I’ll check in later this evening in case you’ve had second thoughts. Where are you going anyway?”
“Out to dinner.”
“Hey, great. Maybe I’ll come along.”
“Uh, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s like a . . .”
“Like a what?” Jack said. “A diet?”
Good question. I took a deep breath. “No. Like a date.”
“A date?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Well, I mean . . .”
“What do you mean, well I mean? Is there some reason I wouldn’t be able to get a date? If there is I’d like to know what it is.”
“No need to yell. Sorry. No reason. Just that I didn’t know you knew anybody to have a date with. How come you didn’t tell me?”
“It just happened. It’s not important. I don’t have to tell you everything. And even if it’s not important, you can’t come along.”
“Okay. What happened in your bedroom? There’s stuff all over the place.”
I reminded myself that it was time to get a decorative screen or divider so that my bedroom would not be visible from the hallway.
“Just having fun with the dogs,” I said. “Time to go, Jack. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure thing. Who’s your date with?”
“Dominic Lo Bello.”
“That photographer guy?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
I hate that. “Don’t you pull that ‘huh’ stuff on me.”
Jack shrugged. “How can you just drop the investigation to go gallivanting around with some guy you hardly know?”
“Gallivanting? You sound like your own grandmother. And for your information, if things work out, it will advance the investigation.”
Jack said, “There’s something about him. Something untrustworthy. Maybe it’s the way he dresses. Maybe it’s those shifty eyes. I wonder if he has a criminal record. Anyway, don’t worry about the stockings; they sort of draw the eye away from your chin.”
“Whatever,” I said in a suitably huffy way.
I stepped back in after a quick walk with the dogs to find the message light flashing.
“Miss Adams? This is Simon Quarrington. I do hope you are doing better after your ordeal last night. It has occurred to me that you wanted to ask me something and that’s why you paid me a visit originally. Something to do with the Henleys, I believe you said before you lost consciousness. I will be most happy to answer your questions, and I will make a point of picking up the phone should it ring. I certainly don’t do that for just anybody.”
Well, obviously my luck was about to change. I checked my watch. No time to call before dinner.
The Jubilation Café earns its name. There’s a sense of exhilaration about the place, maybe because the food is so damn good. Nothing breaded and fried has ever been served there.
I chose the citrus-glazed salmon with risotto and asparagus. Dominic had the free-range chicken stuffed with walnuts and blue cheese, and a barley and porcini mushroom casserole. I had to pass on the wine since it wouldn’t go too well with the painkillers for the jaw. Dominic said he could do without any too. The sympathy vote, he claimed. Since he wasn’t staring at my chin, I had to assume that my artistic application of makeup had done the trick. Of course, the expensive and dim lighting didn’t hurt either.<
br />
“So,” I said when the last bite of risotto had disappeared, “are you finding lots of material for your book?”
He grinned. “You have the most unbelievable architecture in this town. And in the surrounding areas too.”
“Yes. I’m glad I moved back here from the city. Too bad you missed the fall colors.”
“Might have to come back for those. Or just stay around.”
I felt like a teenager when I heard this, despite the elegant and adult ambience of the Jubilation.
He said, “You haven’t told me what I can do for you yet.”
“It will sound a bit strange.”
He leaned forward and grinned. “Try me.”
“I think I told you I’m not permitted to visit Stone Wall Farm.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You did.”
“I am really worried about one of the residents. Olivia Henley Simonett.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said.
“You were at Miss Helen Henley’s funeral. You must have seen her. She did a little . . .”
“Wave and dance at the front of the church?” He chuckled.
“That’s her.”
“I know who she is. Poor old lady. I felt sorry for her. What are you worried about?”
Words poured out of me like coins from a lucky slot machine. “It’s probably crazy, but she’s supposed to be the last of the Henleys. Helen Henley was murdered and the other cousin died not long ago. And Olivia’s absolutely loaded. Massive chunk of change. The rumor’s out that she’s leaving her money to the Stone Wall Farm Foundation.”
He shrugged. “That’s a good thing, no? It’s a place that cares for damaged people who need special care. Seems like an excellent place to leave a massive chunk of change if you have it to leave.”
“Normally, I’d agree. But the staff seem to be trying to keep Olivia away from people. I’ve been tossed out. Do I look dangerous? Or difficult?”
He glanced at my chin. “Maybe a little bit.”
“I told you about my friend, Jack, being thrown out. Now Olivia’s former neighbor, Rose Skipowski, got the boot too. And Sally caught hell from her husband, Benjamin, about going out there. Benjamin’s a doctor and your Mrs. Vanclief threatened to report him to some medical authority.”