Killed by Clutter

by Leslie Caine

  “So your aunt wouldn’t have a police record because of that incident, surely?”

  “Absolutely not. Neither did my mother. Or my father. No charges were filed. You can ask Aunt Helen if you don’t believe me.”

  I rose. “Thanks, Peter. That clears everything up for me.”

  “What was this about? Did some cop tell you Aunt Helen had a record, or something? She doesn’t.”

  “I figured as much. I’m sure the police are just digging hard to get at the truth.”

  He was staring at me in alarm. Before he could ask me more questions, I said, “Have you thought about turning your spare bedroom into a more personal space, such as a TV room, and converting this room into a cozy office? That could do wonders for the professional impression you make for walk-in clients.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Huh. That’s not a bad idea.”

  After my freebie consult at Peter’s, I had every intention of spending the rest of the day in bed, restoring my health. When I entered our foyer, however, the first thing I saw was that the Scalamandre wallpaper for the accent wall at the foot of my bed had finally arrived. This particular design was so amazing—its colors so vibrant and the detail so exquisite—that it was like applying a floor-to-ceiling Van Gogh to one wall. Nothing was going to make me feel better faster than installing the glorious wallpaper. My heart sang at the very notion of the vision that would soon greet me when I opened my eyes every morning.

  This marvelous old house with its high ceilings and impressive scale allowed me to take some liberties with my designs. I’d recently found a custom furniture builder whose painted surfaces were smooth as glass. My bedroom furniture was currently a veritable flower garden of color. My headboard and frame was cornflower blue, my dresser mint green, my nightstand sunflower yellow, and my mirror frame was a cross between lavender and magenta. The link to pull the whole room together was my customized colors within the delectable wallpaper.

  I hugged the rolls with unabashed glee and dashed upstairs, calling out a quick hello to Audrey, who was on the phone in the kitchen. I changed into cutoffs and an old hot-pink T-shirt and flip-flops, then trotted downstairs and through the kitchen so that I could get my supplies from the basement.

  Audrey was off the phone and standing by the stairs when I emerged. “Erin? Are you all right?”

  “Just fine, Audrey. Thanks. My wallpaper’s here!”

  “I know, dear. I signed for it. But I got a disturbing call from your friend Mr. Sullivan just now.”

  “You did?” Even though I knew better, I found myself opting for the I’m-too-busy-to-talk diversion and began to measure the paste and water into my bucket, which was really stupid, because it meant I’d have to carry the mixture upstairs, as opposed to using water from the tap in my bathroom.

  “Is it true that he had to take you to the ER for inhaling poisonous gas?”

  “Kind of.”

  “‘Kind of’? So that’s only partially true. Which part isn’t accurate?”

  I poured my measured contents and commenced stirring with a paint stick. “Um, it was just fumes, so I doubt that would qualify as ‘poisonous gas.’ Plus, it wasn’t much of a medical ‘treatment’...they just had me inhale some oxygen, ran some tests, and released me. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I see,” Audrey said, crossing her arms. “So the doctor suggested you go home and wallpaper your room?”

  “She said to take it easy and get some rest...and wallpapering is easy for me and very restful.” I snatched up the three-step aluminum ladder that I’d left by the door and stashed it under one arm, and grabbed my now-heavy paste bucket in the other hand. “Want to help?”

  “I think I should. If you get dizzy and fall off the step ladder, I’ll catch you. Alternatively, if I miss, I’ll be there to call nine-one-one.”

  Although she let me carry the bucket and ladder, she grabbed my cutting tools and T-square, and we went to my room. She helped me open the wallpaper and held it up to the wall, noting the marvelous color pattern. “Like you were telling me, this is truly going to be the glue that pulls all your pieces together in here, isn’t it?” Audrey said.

  “The furniture maker and I matched all the paint exactly to the wallpaper sample that I brought him.” Pointing with my chin at my favorite chair, I continued, “And my jumping off point was that indigo-colored settee, which I bought years ago in New York.” I love to do that with my designs...pick my one favorite piece in the room to highlight, and choose my palette accordingly.

  We moved my highboy and went to work. Audrey was proving to be a surprisingly good assistant, though she kept checking her watch. She also denied that she was checking the time—never a good sign where Audrey’s concerned. Especially considering how easily she’d let me off the hook regarding my hospital visit. The fourth time I caught her in the act, I said, “You’re sure you don’t need to be someplace?”

  “Must be a nervous habit I’ve acquired.”

  Hanging the last piece, I glanced out the window. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were expecting a visitor. Steve Sullivan didn’t say he was coming here, did he?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Experience. And the fact that I just spotted his van turning onto the street.”

  “That would be a good clue, all right,” she replied.

  The doorbell rang. I cocked an eyebrow.

  “He’s worried about you. That’s the first sign, you know.”

  “The first sign of what? And please don’t say love, because if anything, we’ve been drifting even farther apart since he got back into town.”

  “It’s the first sign that he’s a decent, caring person,” Audrey declared as she descended the stairs to show Sullivan inside. I couldn’t overhear their brief, quiet conversation, but he soon stood alone in my doorway and said, “Hey, Gilbert.”

  “Hi. It’s nice of you to check in on me, and I’m sorry if I was a bit brusque with you earlier.”

  “That’s okay.” He scanned the room. “Whoa. This is a lot more colorful than I imagined your bedroom would be.”

  “You’ve been imagining my bedroom?” I couldn’t help but tease.

  He chuckled. “I’m taking the fifth on that question.”

  “What do you think? Too froo-froo?”

  “No, actually. I like it. It’s inviting. Makes me want to take my shoes off and stay a while.”

  “I...have no response to that remark, Sullivan.”

  “Want me to suggest one for you?” Although I’d gone back to smoothing the paper with my brush and couldn’t see his expression, his sexy tone of voice was all too obvious. Unfortunately, my pulse started racing, my stomach clenched, and I could feel the typical flight-or-fight instincts kicking up in me already.

  “Not really. As you’ve no doubt realized, I’m feeling much better. But thanks again for stopping by to check.”

  “No problem.” He ignored my obvious hint to leave and plunked himself down at the foot of my bed. “Did the police say if they had any more leads as to who doctored up the bleach?”

  “Not really.” I stepped back to study my handiwork. The wall was complete, the seams straight, the pattern matching up perfectly. There was no more delaying the inevitable. I turned and faced him. Damn! He looked so good. I averted my gaze. What was he doing here? “Don’t you have another hot date tonight, Sullivan? After all, it’s Saturday...Date Night number two.”

  He immediately glanced at his watch. In a blatant change of subjects, he said, “I’m still not certain that Helen is innocent. I think you’ve allowed your affection for her to cloud your judgment.”

  So he was seeing somebody, but didn’t want to discuss it with me. “Yeah? Well, that shows how wrong you are. I double-checked on her guilt just today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I went to see Peter Miller after you dropped me off at my office. To ask about Helen.”

  “Why?”

  �
�Detective O’Reilly implied that she might have been arrested before, for attempted murder of her brother-in-law. But it was nonsense. Helen’s sister, Lois, was the one who’d gotten into a bad fight with her husband, and Helen simply called the police.”

  “According to Peter? Have you called Linda to get the real story?” I shook my head. “She’d never tell me. She’s not about to give me insider information that could jeopardize the investigation.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “This is just plain dumb, Erin.” He rose. “Quit working at Helen’s house immediately. I’ll take over the job.”

  “Why? What good what that do? Other than make you feel like the knight in shining armor, ready to take over for the damsel in distress, I mean.”

  “For one thing, I would be much harder for a killer to overpower than you would be.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I flicked the brush, wet with wallpaper paste, at him. The paste splattered on his chest. “If that were a knife or a bullet fired from a gun, you’d be dead right now, you realize.”

  He stood with his arms spread wide, glaring at his shirt for several seconds. With a deep scowl, he shifted his furious expression toward me. “And you’d better realize that you just deliberately got glue on my favorite shirt.”

  “Sorry. I was just making a point that men and women are equally vulnerable to certain weapons. The paste washes right out, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know that. If that had been latex paint, you would be dead.” He stormed down the stairs, grumbling, “See you Monday. If I feel like working with you.”

  Even though I’d had all day Sunday to gather strength from my stunning bedroom—the bright colors were utterly soul cheering and the perfect antidote to the worst of the blahs—it did nothing to assuage my guilt. I’d broken my own dubious record for childishness toward Sullivan.

  By Monday morning, I felt so terrible about my behavior that I decided I owed it to him to pay the ultimate price. I was going to have to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth that I’d tried to withhold, even from myself. I had messed up his sexy-looking shirt so that he couldn’t flirt with me one minute, then dash off to his date with some other woman the next. As I headed to Helen’s house, my prayers went unanswered—not a single semi-truck crashed into me or flattened me on the sidewalk when I got out of my van.

  Time passed at Helen’s, and he still hadn’t arrived. My agony only escalated. Even so, I kept working away on the den. Helen told me repeatedly how mortified she’d been when the police came to investigate the tainted bleach, which had made me ill. Eventually she calmed down and said that she wanted to run to the grocery store, with me there to “keep an eye on the place...and Ella and Vator.” Though I didn’t point this out to Helen, I never had the chance to keep an eye on Ella, who hid herself away the instant there was company. Vator, however, entered the room periodically to meow at me.

  As I worked my way to the far corner of the room, I found a Raggedy Ann doll, still in its original box. That could very well be worth three grand or so. Too bad for Peter’s thriving eBay business that he apparently overlooked this.

  I heard a key scrape in the front door and went into the living room, feeling a bit on edge. It was Stephanie, who gave me a hundred-watt smile. “Hi, Erin. I’ve just dropped over to check on the progress you’re making at sorting my mother’s possessions from my aunt’s.”

  “You have your own key, too, I see.”

  “Yes, but I’ve used mine for good” —she jingled a pair of keys on a plain ring cheerfully— “rather than evil. I’m here to return Peter’s and my own keys. Without being asked. It’s the very least we can do.”

  And in no way guaranteed that they hadn’t both made duplicates, I thought sourly. Nevertheless, I mustered a smile. “Thank you. I’m sure your aunt will appreciate the gesture.”

  She set the keys in the red plastic colander that had somehow found its way onto the smoked-glass coffee table. “I already apologized to my aunt for my unfortunate outburst in her garage on Saturday. I owe you one as well.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. You’re under a lot of stress.”

  “Yes, I am.” She wandered over to the den. “So how’s the work going?”

  “I’ve been separating her easily resalable items from the rest, and I’m waiting for Helen to return so we can determine who owned what.”

  “Oh, look at this.” She grabbed the Raggedy Ann doll. “I wonder if this is worth.... This doll was my mother’s. I remember her showing it to me in our house. I’d wanted her to take it out of the box, and she wouldn’t, because she knew how much more valuable it was this way.”

  “It’s unfortunate that she didn’t have an item like that written into her will specifically. With your brother’s legal training, I’m surprised that he didn’t recommend she do so.”

  “As you’ve no doubt gathered, Peter isn’t the brightest of lawyers. He barely passed law school. Took him three tries till he sneaked through his law boards.” She gave me a magnanimous smile. “I’ll help you sort these things.”

  “Thanks, although I should tell you that I already promised your aunt that nothing will be removed from the house until she’s had the chance to inspect it.”

  She put her hands on her ample hips and clicked her tongue. “What a stupid thing for you to promise. This is your best chance to get rid of this crap.”

  “You did give us a week to go through everything in the house and separate it into your mother’s and your aunt’s things, and it will take every minute of that time to complete the job.”

  “It certainly will, when you won’t accept anyone’s help!” She spun on a heel and banged out the door, grumbling, “It’s a good thing I forced you to team up with Steve, who does things efficiently, or you’d be wasting your time and my money.”

  “Good riddance,” I said to myself. If my home was plagued by the same visitors as Helen’s, I too would consider moving into my garage.

  Just as I’d gotten back to work, there was a familiar rap on the door—Kay’s signature knock. I called, “Door’s open. Come on in, Kay.” As she closed the door behind her, I added, “Helen’s at the store. I’m in the den.”

  She joined me, weaving her way around the piles and stacks. “How’s the pillaging and pruning going?” She laughed at her own joke.

  “Not good, actually. It’s pretty impossible for me to get much of anything at all accomplished with Helen gone. I have no idea who owned what...Helen or Lois.”

  “Maybe I can give you some insights.”

  “Do you know which sister owned the Raggedy Ann doll, by any chance? Still in its original shipping materials?”

  “I can’t swear to it, but I’m almost positive that was Helen’s. Both sisters were given their own doll, but Lois took hers out of the box. Helen felt it would be redundant to have two identical dolls that they played with, so they kept that one as a backup.”

  I smiled to myself at the image of the young Helen Walker, specifying that she needed a “backup” Raggedy Ann doll. A future packrat in the making, if ever there was one.

  Kay was staring at the short stack of newspapers that I’d unearthed earlier; they were the ones with the significant timeframes. I hadn’t looked through them myself. She’d only narrowed them down to the year and the month. “Oh, my.” Kay’s jaw dropped as she opened the top edition. “I don’t believe it. Helen told me her newspapers had been stolen.”

  “The stacks were just out of sequence. Helen will be delighted to discover that they weren’t stolen after all.”

  “You found my wedding announcement, then.”

  “You were married?”

  “Just engaged...never made it to the altar.” She showed me the picture. There she was, beaming into the camera. She appeared to be in her early twenties, but it was her fiancé who’d captured my full attention. I stared at the familiar-looking face.

  Kay had once been engaged to George Miller, Lois’s late husband.

  Chapter 20


  “You...were once engaged to George?” I asked.

  Kay was looking longingly at the picture in the paper, her eyes brimming with tears. “Until he suddenly called off our engagement and eloped with Lois.” A small sob escaped. “That was the worst time in my life. I’m sorry to get so emotional. This photograph was the last thing I expected to see when I came over here today.”

  No wonder she occasionally hinted at past troubles in her relationship with Helen. “You must have felt so betrayed,” I ventured.

  She nodded. “I really don’t want to talk about this. Let alone remember the whole thing.” She sniffled.

  “Let me get you some tissues.”

  “Thank you, Erin.” She dabbed at her eyes with her puffy cotton sleeve.

  “I’ll be right back.” My thoughts promptly dipped into the dark side as I left the room; could Kay have killed Lois in revenge? And now be seeking to kill the sister of the woman who stole her fiancé more than forty years ago? Could Kay be that crazy?

  Finding anything in the now partially reburied kitchen was easier said than done. I remembered the drawer in which I’d last spotted some Kleenexes and made my way over to it. I then dug my way through two pairs of men’s black socks, a bikini top, a mister, a dozen mini-recorder tapes, golf tees, corncob holders, and an empty harmonica case. Just when I finally located a somewhat-crushed tissue box, I heard the screen door slam. I rushed to the doorway in time to see Kay drive away. Strange woman, but that didn’t make her a killer. After all, her friendship with Helen had endured decades. There was no logical reason for her to wait all that time, and then become murderous over losing her man, after he was dead and gone.

  Unless Kay was avenging his murder—if, for instance, Kay had become convinced that Lois had swapped George’s heart medication with placebos.

  Jeez! Why was I thinking this way? Kay was a nice little seventy-five-year-old woman! And she was Helen’s best friend! I should do what my friend Linda Delgardio was always advising of me: stick to designing spaces and not motives for someone to commit murder in them.