Killed by Clutter

by Leslie Caine

  “No, Erin. Peter, Stephanie, and I need to patch this up right away. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that things only get worse when you let them fester.”

  I dearly wished that I wouldn’t have to witness either the patching or the festering quite so soon. My vision happened to fall on the cake. “Maybe I should have the police analyze the cake, just in case.”

  “Before more mice are killed, you mean?” The phone rang. Suddenly looking both world-weary and old, she shuffled toward it. “Go ahead and take it, Erin. Although I very much doubt Rachel would be so brazen as to poison it.” She smiled and winked at me, but that was an obvious—and heart-rending—attempt to cover for her immense sorrow. “Well, Erin, provided the phone hasn’t been rigged to explode when I pick up the receiver, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I picked up the cake while she answered. She gave me the okay sign as she said a shaky: “Hello?” Then she turned her back to me. I took that as a sign that I should let myself out as she said, “Oh, hi, Stephanie. What a coincidence that you called. I was just...thinking of you.”

  The next morning, Linda called to inform me that she’d pulled in all kinds of favors to get the cake tested for poisons immediately, but it was “just plain cake.” The phone rang a second time moments after I’d hung up. I assumed it would be Linda who’d forgotten to tell me something, but it was Sullivan. He told me that he was going to pick me up an hour earlier than planned; Stephanie had just now informed him that, before she could “‘make an informed decision on whether or not to fund an addition at Aunt Helen’s house,’” she needed to see our design for her game room. “Weird, eh?” he added.

  She wants to grill me about what happened last night with her brother. This was a designer’s biggest nightmare—getting caught between warring family members. If I wasn’t careful, Stephanie was going to want to kill the messenger, as they say; we could get the boot from both of her assignments. Maybe I could circumvent matters simply by refusing to go. “I’m running a bit late, Sullivan. Why don’t you show our design to Stephanie yourself? I’ll catch up with you at Helen’s house.”

  “No way. You’ve got our presentation board, remember?”

  “Oh, right.”

  “So I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. You can be ready by then, can’t you? Otherwise, just...come as you are. Okay?”

  I told him I’d be ready, and we muttered our goodbyes.

  An hour later, Stephanie let us into the posh Turkish-tile foyer of her spectacular house and remained standing by the door as she asked to “see what you’ve got cooking so far.”

  With the three of us standing awkwardly near the door, she flipped through our presentation board and drawings. I persisted in pointing out the photographs of gorgeous wrought-iron bar stools we’d selected. “The pictures don’t do justice to the cognac leather, Stephanie. Just wait until you touch them. They’re buttery soft.”

  “And we’re picking up the buffed sandstone in your window well to use in the stone columns to either side of the bar,” Sullivan said. “Pulls the outside indoors.”

  “Looks good,” she said, and handed them back to Sullivan.

  Good? It was freaking brilliant! “Oh, and I wanted to show you this, too,” I said, handing her the picture of an astonishing, tiny chandelier. “I happened across this the other day. I was thinking you could hang two of these fixtures on either side of the mirror in the downstairs powder room.”

  Her eyes lit up and she mouthed a silent: Wow.

  “Each one of those glass pieces is beveled and hand-made. It’ll be like giving the room diamond earrings. Aren’t they spectacular?”

  “Yes. Yes, they are, Erin.” With obvious reluctance, she handed the photograph back to me.

  “I was thinking that, when you’re ready to spruce up that bathroom, we could do Bordeaux walls with a pewter wash, and a silver ceiling...maybe even turn that rosewood console you’re not really utilizing in your office into a vanity...put a smoked-glass bowl on top and use a swan-like antiqued-bronze faucet.”

  “Oh, my, Erin. That sounds—”

  “It will feel almost like you’re walking into a luscious, bejeweled plum.”

  “Yes. Precisely!” The woman was practically drooling!

  I grinned, thrilled that my plan had worked and I’d distracted her from all possible ulterior motives for asking us here.

  Sullivan, who finished slipping our artwork back into the portfolio case, said, “Let’s set our next appointment, Stephanie. We need to choose some of the accessories for your wet bar.”

  Instantly, the spell was broken. Stephanie was back to being curt and bossy as we blocked out time on our schedules. Then she glanced at her watch. “Good. Our meeting didn’t take long at all.” She glared at me. “Now that we have some free time, Erin, what exactly did you catch Peter doing at Aunt Helen’s house?”

  Damn! In my peripheral vision, I could see Sullivan’s eyes widen in surprise. I felt a pang of guilt. I’d neglected to tell him about last night, even though I’d known full well about Stephanie’s true purpose for asking us here. Was I subconsciously punishing him for not instantly canceling his date in order to be with me? “Pardon?” I said, stalling.

  Her glare intensified. If she furrowed her brow any further, her beady eyes would be squeezed shut. “You heard me.”

  “How much did Peter or Helen tell you?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you just answer my question, and let me worry about how much repetitive information I’m getting. All right?”

  So much for my staying out of a family squabble. I sighed. “Your aunt and I discovered that he’s been letting himself into her house and removing things. He said that everything he took belonged to his mother and was his rightful inheritance.”

  Every muscle in Stephanie’s body tensed, and her cheeks turned almost scarlet, but she said only, “I see.”

  Sullivan and I exchanged glances. “I guess you’ll want to postpone our meeting with the two of you and your aunt later this morning,” he said to her. “So why don’t we—”

  “No. Today is perfect. If nothing else, that will allow me to see my darling brother in person. He won’t have the guts to stay away from this particular shindig. He’d be too afraid Aunt Helen would cut him out of her will.” She opened the door. “So I’ll see you there at ten o’clock sharp. All rightee?”

  “Maybe it’d be best if Steve and I came a few minutes late. We wouldn’t want to interrupt a—”

  “Be on time,” she snapped. “It’s all I can do to cram these frivolous meetings about Aunt Helen’s house into my schedule as it is.”

  We left. “You know what makes this career so terrific, Gilbert?” Sullivan asked as we walked down the driveway. “The power! Our clients treat us like gods!”

  “It is something of an ego trip.”

  “And next up, we get to go to a ‘frivolous meeting.’ On a Saturday morning, no less! Hoo, boy! Who wouldn’t love that?”

  I laughed. I’d underestimated the man. He was being incredibly nice to let me off the hook; we both knew I should have warned him about a source of contention with our client.

  “Since we have some time, let’s go back to your office and fine-tune our presentation.”

  “I was just about to suggest that,” I said happily and beamed at him like a love-sick school girl. It was so nice to discover that I could get along with Sullivan, after all.

  He frowned, his mood suddenly darkening. “Good, ‘cuz you need to fill me in on whatever happened at Helen’s house last night. What the hell was Stephanie talking about?”

  Chapter 18

  “We’re holding your presentation in the garage,” Helen called to Sullivan and me a short time later, gesturing for us to hurry up her driveway. “We’re just waiting on Stephanie.”

  “Be right there,” I replied with a smile, although my expression changed to a grimace the instant she’d ducked back into the empty half of her garage. The lighting and ambiance we
re dreadful there; this would be a terrible setting for our presentation.

  As we unloaded our easel and portfolio, Sullivan asked under his breath, “Think it’ll work to bribe her with a five-percent discount if we can meet in the living room instead of the garage?”

  “No, but we could give it a shot even so.”

  Peter was pacing in front of the pink polyester sofa when we entered the garage. I’d managed to forget the fact that he and Sullivan had never met. He dashed up to Steve to introduce himself, then shook his hand vigorously. His giddiness was probably due to his relief at having one person present who wasn’t mad at him.

  “Peter arrived early to apologize to me another dozen times,” Helen said matter-of-factly to me. “And before you ask, we can’t move this discussion into the house. I’m letting Ella and Vator have free run there, so that they don’t get anxious at having a whole crowd in the joint.” Before we could make a counter suggestion, Stephanie’s Mercedes pulled into the driveway. She emerged and swept toward us, her eyes locked on Peter. “There you are! You sniveling little worm! Isn’t it bad enough that you all but bankrupted Mother? Now you have to try to do the same to Aunt Helen?”

  “Morning, Sis-boom-bah,” he said, in what I gathered was a pet name for his sister.

  She put her hands on her hips and gave him a visual once over. Casting a quick glance at Sullivan and me, she explained, “Bet he never told you that Mother had to bail him out of a financial jam a few years ago. She had to mortgage our childhood home to the hilt. That’s why she had to move in with Helen. By the time we paid off all the creditors after her death, there wasn’t a penny left.”

  Peter muttered, “So now you’re trying to recoup your losses, at Aunt Helen’s expense.”

  “That’s a lie! I’m trying to protect my own interests, yes, but Aunt Helen’s as well. And you’ve been going through everything in her entire house, haven’t you? That’s why the boxes in the basement are so nicely labeled, isn’t it? I’ll bet you put my stuff on the very bottom, because you knew you were going to flood the place to try to kill her!”

  “That’s outrageous!” Peter shrieked. “How dare you accuse me of trying to murder Aunt Helen!”

  “You—”

  “Stop it, Stephanie, Peter,” Helen demanded. “You’re scaring the cats.” The accuracy of the statement was highly doubtful, considering that Ella and Vator were nowhere in sight, but before Stephanie could call her on it, Helen said, “Peter, you can set up the folding chairs, if you please.” She pressed the button on the wall and the door began its noisy descent. “Steve, right in front of the sofa is a fine spot for the easel.”

  Stephanie’s jaw dropped. “We have to sit in the garage, Aunt Helen? Again?”

  “It’s the largest open space.”

  “But I saw your living room just last night! It’s as close to neat as I’ve ever seen it, thanks to Gilbert and Sullivan!”

  I wasn’t willing to interrupt and admit that Helen had been the one to clear out her living room—at the expense of the kitchen. But Stephanie must have come over after her phone call to her aunt. So Stephanie had been deliberately pulling me into the middle earlier this morning by insisting that I tell her myself about her brother’s transgressions.

  Helen said to Stephanie, “Be that as it may, a man died in my house because of a booby trap. This is the only place I feel safe.” She sat down on the closest chair, and Peter quickly claimed the one beside her. He’d left the folding chair for Stephanie leaning against Helen’s sedan.

  “Why is that? Does the smell of gasoline and motor oil invoke a sense of security in you? Is it the car fumes? I’m sure we can get some spray can of Eau de Garage for your living room so you can feel safe there, too. Meanwhile your houseguests can sit in relative comfort.”

  “Steph!” Peter said, “If she wants us in the garage, let’s sit in the garage and get this over with.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Stephanie grabbed her chair and thumped it down directly in front of her brother’s, blocking his view of the easel. “This isn’t going to help you, you realize, Peter. Aunt Helen knows you’re taking her side because you’re desperate to get back on her good side. It’s going to take a lot more than—”

  “Let’s talk about room design now, shall we?” Helen cut in. “We can resume our delightful conversation after Erin and Steve leave.” The doorbell rang, the remote doorbell that Jack had installed playing the first stanza of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Helen promptly rose, pressed the button, and the doublewide garage door growled open once more.

  “This is not exactly how I envisioned this presentation going,” I whispered to Sullivan.

  “We’re in here, Rachel,” Helen called. “Peter,” she instructed, “Set up another folding chair. This will be Rachel, too curious at all the commotion to stay away.”

  Sure enough, it was Rachel who ducked through the doorway. She scanned our faces, cleared her throat, and said, “There you are, Helen.”

  “Yes, and here you are, Rachel. Again.” She punched the button for the door, which began to shut behind Rachel, and she reclaimed her seat, turning her back on Rachel.

  Rachel looked at Sullivan and me. “You’re showing a new design for Helen’s house?”

  “Yes, or at least we hope to do so, eventually,” I replied.

  She returned her gaze to Helen, putting a hand over her heart. “Oh, Helen, I’m so relieved! I saw everyone arrive and was afraid you’d had some sort of emergency. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. As I’m now so painfully aware, life can be quite fragile.”

  “I’m fine, Rachel,” Helen said in a monotone. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Oh, dear. I’ve interrupted, haven’t I? I’m a little jumpy, in the wake of my husband’s death. But as long as I’m here...Stephanie? Did your aunt already tell you our good news?”

  “Good news?” Stephanie scoffed. “No, I’d have remembered that.”

  “Your aunt and I have patched things up between us,” Rachel announced. “Although the police have foolishly decided to write off poor Jack’s death as an accident, I’m now quite certain it was the prowler who killed him.”

  “And by the ‘prowler,’ you mean my brother, Peter?” Stephanie asked pointedly.

  “I told you already, I was not here the night of the accident!” Peter yelled. “That must have been the killer who ran off, not me!”

  “It wasn’t Peter,” Rachel echoed. “He’s never worn a ski cap, and he usually wears his regular clothes when he enters the house. Furthermore, he never once came here without my first giving him the coast-is-clear phone call. This was the real thing...an authentic prowler. My Jack died valiantly, trying to rescue Helen. As well as dear little Kitty Vator.”

  Stephanie chortled.

  Rachel’s cheeks colored to same hue as the roses in her floral-print blouse. With hands on her hips, she demanded, “I beg your pardon? You find my husband’s death amusing, do you?”

  Still chuckling, Stephanie said, “Sorry, Rachel, but...come on. Save Helen from what? Aunt Helen wasn’t even here at the time. So Jack was merely rescuing a cat from getting her paws wet.”

  “That is a cruel thing to say! You’re going to sit there and make fun of my husband’s death?”

  “I didn’t mean to be indelicate. I was merely—”

  “Indelicate? You mocked the love of my life, who’s been wrenched from this world!”

  “Oh, please! Just how much sympathy do you expect me or anyone else in my family to show you? You’re the one who plotted to steal from my family’s estate!”

  “Your brother’s to blame for that, not me. Peter’s the one who called me and convinced me to take part in it. Which I only did because I could see how desperate he was, having to protect his inheritance from the likes of you!”

  Peter shouted at Rachel, “It was your—”

  “Shut up!” Stephanie sprang to her feet and headed for the door to Helen’s kitchen. “I’ve been p
atient long enough! Come on, Aunt Helen. We’re moving into the house.”

  “No, Stephanie,” Helen said, rising. “And, Rachel, this is my garage, not yours, and if you don’t care for the company—”

  Stephanie raised her voice another notch and continued, “As executor of my mother’s estate, I need to take immediate possession of my mother’s personal effects. Aunt Helen, I’ve reminded you on more than one occasion that my brother and I only agreed to delay allocating her personal effects. We did not agree to let you keep them indefinitely. ”

  She took another step toward the house, but Helen blocked her path. “This isn’t your property. Not yet, anyway. You have no right to make a demand like that!”

  “Actually, Aunt Helen, she does,” Peter said meekly. “There was no rider on Mother’s will saying you could keep her possessions. She probably never envisioned her estate being combined with yours.”

  “And whose fault is that, Peter?” his sister snarled. “Our mother lived here for more than two years. You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake! You should have suggested she update her will.”

  “You should have, too!”

  “I did! But she would only listen to you!” Stephanie glared down at Helen, who hadn’t budged from her post at the door. “You won’t let me leave through the front door? Fine. We’ll do this your way, then.” She punched the button for the garage door opener. “Let’s just let all the passersby see what a ridiculous old ninny you are...sitting out here with your guests in the garage.”

  “One of us is going to watch out for our aunt!” Peter shouted at his sister. “It’s obviously going to have to be me!”

  “Oh, get off your high horse, Peter!” Stephanie all but pushed Rachel out of her path as she headed for her car. “You’re not going to convince Aunt Helen to make you her sole beneficiary, no matter how you act now. So you can just drop the phony Prince Charming routine.”

  He faced his aunt. “I have never sought to be your sole beneficiary, Aunt Helen. Regardless of how much more I need the money than she does.”