Killed by Clutter

by Leslie Caine

  I went back to the newspapers and rifled through them. A brief search verified my initial suspicion: the newspaper Kay had been reading was now missing. “Drat,” I muttered. I had really wanted to give that edition to Helen so she could begin to recreate the missing pages from her scrapbook. Seeing that announcement had been so painful to Kay though, maybe it was best if she did claim it for herself.

  Something else was missing, too. Kay had just run off with a considerably bigger prize. The Raggedy Ann doll had disappeared.

  Helen finally returned from the store with three bags of groceries, which I helped her to carry in from the garage. “How’s the work going, Erin?” she asked while, upon my insistence, we put the items away.

  “Okay, I guess, but Kay came over for a quick visit and...I’m pretty sure she took your Raggedy Ann doll with her.”

  To my astonishment, Helen said mildly, “She couldn’t help herself, the poor dear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kay is a kleptomaniac. This has been going on for more than fifty years.”

  “Her...stealing things, you mean?”

  “I’m afraid so. Kay runs off with my things periodically, and has for all this time. She feels guilty about it, though. She’s well aware of the fact that I know about her compulsion. It’s a tremendous annoyance at times, of course, but I look at it as a simple way for me to help her. My allowing her to take things from my house lets her resist the urge to steal from stores. And, eventually, I find them in Kay’s home and take them back.”

  “But what about the shoplifting ring?” I blurted out.

  “Pardon?”

  “That Teddy and George were mixed up with at one point. Is there a connection with Kay?”

  “That’s all water underneath a very old bridge,” Helen snapped, turning her back on me to stare at the contents of the refrigerator.

  We worked in silence for a while; she’d purchased mostly healthy foods—fresh vegetables and fruits—also two jars of prunes and a host of vitamins, which I arbitrarily stuck in the pantry for her. I asked, “Kay was a friend of your sister’s too, right?”

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely. The three of us were sharing an apartment at one point.”

  “Wasn’t that...difficult? Lois’s having a friend with a problem like that, when she was working in a department store?”

  “We didn’t know about her kleptomania at the time.” Helen eased herself into a Captain’s chair. “And, yes, you’re right. The confusion about who was behind the shoplifting did cause lots of strain among the three of us. Lois knew items from her store kept showing up in our apartment, and for a while she was certain it was me with the problem, so she kept sneaking the stolen merchandise back into the store. When we finally compared notes and realized that the thief was poor Kay, we confronted her, and she cried her eyes out, explaining her compulsion.”

  “And yet, here Kay was engaged to George Miller, a police officer.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I located the edition that had run Kay and George’s engagement announcement.” Helen’s eyes instantly brightened, but dimmed again when I added, “Kay took that paper, too.”

  Helen fidgeted with her messy bun. “It was so ironic...a kleptomaniac engaged to a policeman. Then, of course, George decided he preferred Lois and dumped Kay. Which broke Kay’s heart. But eventually, she accepted my sister’s apology. Lois had tried very hard, for Kay’s sake, not to fall for George, but ‘true love’ won out in the end. Much to everyone’s misfortune.”

  “So...Kay wasn’t actually involved in the shoplifting ring that led to charges being filed against George and Teddy?” I tried again, gently.

  “Oh, she was. That’s how Kay and George first met. George caught Kay in the act when he was on security duty at the store. But the major thefts took place later. Kay swore she never set foot in the store again; she’d promised George she wouldn’t, in exchange for his letting her go scot-free.”

  Before I could formulate another question, Rachel came to the door and called hello to us through the screen door, letting herself in and striding into the kitchen. “I noticed Kay leaving a few minutes ago,” she said to Helen. “She seemed terribly upset. Is everything all right?”

  “Fine. Yes. It was probably just the dust, making her a bit sneezy.”

  “I never knew she had allergies.”

  “Well, then, apparently you’ve learned something today.”

  Rachel ignored Helen’s tone and took a seat opposite her at the table, shoving the collection of junk between them aside with a careless sweep of her forearm. “Helen, I’m returning the porcelain dancers on one condition.”

  I exclaimed, “You’re making conditions for the return of stolen property to its rightful owner?”

  “I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded. I simply want you to actually display the pieces, Helen. They’re too lovely to be hidden away, and maybe they’ll bring some blessings on this house. Heaven knows the place needs it.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Rachel, but I am planning on displaying my collection. In the den.”

  “The den? You mustn’t be in much of a hurry to get them back.” Rachel chuckled and said knowingly to me, “That you’re even able to enter that room now is a minor miracle.”

  I glared at her. “Something’s puzzling me about the events of the night your husband was killed.”

  “Join the club,” she muttered. “Lots of things puzzle me about that night.”

  “Did your husband know you were the lookout so that Peter could sneak in here?”

  “No. I would discretely place a call to Peter’s cell phone and hang up before he answered. If Jack happened to be there at the time and saw me, I would pretend that I misdialed, and I’d place another phone call to someone else.”

  “So did you signal Peter that the coast was clear that night?” I persisted.

  “No. I couldn’t.”

  “You couldn’t?”

  “That’s right. Jack was really worried about Helen.” Rachel cast a quick apologetic glance at Helen, but continued to speak about her as though she wasn’t in the room. “We were both afraid she was going over the deep end...you know, living in the garage, like she was. That night, instead of his usual activities...reading or tinkering with his projects in the basement...Jack took my usual surveillance spot in the window. When we saw someone duck out the door, at first I thought Peter must have gone on in without my okay. So I tried like the dickens to stop Jack from going over there himself. He refused to listen to me. I told him I was calling the police, but...I didn’t, of course. I was so sure he was going over to an empty house, where Peter had only just left. I figured the worst thing that could happen to him was he’d slip and fall in the dark. So I called across the street to him to turn on Helen’s lights. He did, and he gestured back at me from Helen’s doorway to keep my voice down. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

  “Haven’t you been saying all along that it wasn’t Peter?” Helen asked.

  “Yes, but for all I know, Peter could have taken on a partner and still been inside the house. I told the police as much.”

  “So you told the police about your conspiring with my nephew?”

  “Saturday,” Rachel confirmed matter-of-factly, “right after I witnessed all that bickering in your garage. I have nothing to hide. The police understood that Peter’s only been taking things that he inherited, and if he chooses to give them away, that’s his own business.” She rose and peered at Helen. “I just hope I didn’t horridly misjudge your nephew, Helen. I very much hope he didn’t shove my Jack down those stairs after all.”

  Steve never arrived at Helen’s house. I guess he’d really meant his parting comment about seeing me on Monday only if he felt like working with me. I was relieved, then, when he arrived at Stephanie’s house for our appointment later that afternoon. I waited out front for him and said, “Steve, I want to apologize for—”

  “Don�
�t worry about it,” he interrupted. “You didn’t louse up my plans for the evening, and the paste came right out in the wash. Shirt’s good as new.”

  “Oh, great. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Yeah, so let’s just forget it ever happened.”

  “But...I really think I at least owe you an explanation.”

  “Nah. You don’t owe me a thing, Gilbert. Let’s just drop it. Okay?”

  I mustered a smile and echoed, “Okay,” but had to squeeze the word past the lump in my throat. I could see by the lack of sparkle in his hazel eyes that he was over me. Splattering him with wallpaper paste had been the last straw. He’d no doubt fallen for the woman he was now seeing. He was now being the mature one and had decided to move on. What choice did I have but to do the same?

  We shared an awkward silence as we waited on Stephanie’s porch. Wrenching my thoughts toward a less painful pattern, I mulled my conversation with Rachel; something niggled at me but wouldn’t reveal itself in full color.

  At last, Stephanie arrived, several minutes late. She wove a bit as she navigated her circular driveway and parked in the garage. She seemed a bit unsteady on her feet, too, as she swung open her door, and I asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, sure. Just got back from a power lunch.”

  I could smell alcohol on her breath. “I hope you’re not planning on driving anywhere else.” I felt Sullivan stiffen beside me, and when I glanced over, he was giving me the evil eye.

  “Goody-two-shoes type, are you, Erin?” Stephanie scoffed.

  “When it comes to drinking and driving, yes.” Ignoring the heat of Sullivan’s glare, I added, “No offense, Stephanie, but if forced to pick, we’d rather lose you as our client over my having voiced concerns about your sobriety than as a result of a fatal car accident. Wouldn’t we, Steve?” I smiled sweetly at Sullivan.

  “Absolutely.”

  Stephanie chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m working from home the rest of the day.” But her smile faded as she stumbled on the small Berber area rug. Sullivan grabbed her arm to steady her. “Jeez. I guess I really did have a bit too much liquid with my lunch.”

  “Did you still want to go over our designs?” he asked.

  She let out a bark of laughter. “Why not? I agree to everything when I’m loaded. Probably why my husband’s and my marriage lasted as long as it did. So long as I was schnockered, we got along just fine.” She laughed again as she wove her way to her chaise and plopped down. “So let’s see those final plans. I’m bound to adore whatever you’ve done.”

  “In that case, maybe we can work up a contract for all your properties.” The twinkle in Sullivan’s eye let us both know he was joking. “You can hire Sullivan and Gilbert to design all the interiors of your show homes from here on out.”

  “Done.”

  “Would you like me to fix you some coffee?” I asked.

  “So I can be an alert drunk, you mean?” She waved off the suggestion. “Tell me again what the purpose of this meeting was?”

  “We need you to make the final selection in the materials we’re going to use for your wet bar.”

  “Materials. Good. Right. Let’s face it...I’m a Material Girl.” She laughed heartily.

  “So for starters, we have the stone for the floor and the countertop narrowed down to six choices total, and we’ve brought samples.”

  “You decide for me. I trust you.”

  Sullivan and I exchanged glances. “If nothing else, we’ll need you to break a tie vote,” I told her, “and besides, this is your house. It has to be to your taste, not ours.”

  “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to postpone our meeting after all. This is what comes when you’ve been burning the candle on both ends for as long as I have. But, as they say, you don’t get to choose your family. I’m stuck with my crazy aunt and my no-count brother.” She made a dismissive noise. “My dad was, frankly, something of a jerk. I know that’s not politically correct, but he’s kind of the one that got Peter off on the wrong foot.”

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “Oh, Peter had this basic fatherly love thing going. He worshiped Dad and couldn’t see that he was someone who always took the path of least resistance.”

  “I’m surprised Peter didn’t follow in his footsteps, then, and become a police officer,” I said.

  “He would have, if Dad hadn’t insisted that he couldn’t possibly handle the job. That he was too...unathletic, let’s say.”

  I gave a quick glance at Sullivan, who was packing up our samples, clearly not happy. Stephanie’s current loose-lips state could help me test my theory that Kay might have been seeking to avenge George’s death. “That reminds me,” I said, “has Helen ever discussed her suspicions about someone having swapped out your father’s medication?”

  “Yeah, right. Aunt Helen started seeing the boogeyman hours after my mother died.”

  “Meaning she grew paranoid?”

  She nodded, with drunken exaggeration. “I immediately called my father’s cardiologist to ask if such a thing was possible, and it wasn’t. Dad had undergone a recent, thorough screening that included blood tests, and there was nothing wrong with his medication. He died because he stopped watching his waistline. Just like my brother’s doing now.”

  We said our goodbyes and left, Sullivan muttering, “Seems like we’ve got some unexpected time on our hands. Just as well. I’ve got to phone my client in California for some basic PR.”

  “I’m going to swing by Peter’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “Something that Stephanie said is bugging me.”

  “What?”

  “She mentioned Peter’s weight and his not being athletic. Which led me to thinking: Jack Schwartz could conceivably have been confused with him, but never with Helen.”

  I glanced at Stephanie’s window as we headed away from her circular drive. Stephanie stood there, but she stepped away when she spotted me. Was she merely pretending to be drunk in order to feed me false information of some kind?

  Peter was seated at his desk, going over some papers that looked like legal documents, and I couldn’t help but feel flattered and proud. He’d taken my suggestion of swapping his office furniture into this room, and it worked wonderfully. The effect was that of walking into a homey, personalized office space—extremely functional and efficient-looking, yet displaying an appealing lived-in familiarity and comfort within the room. I loved the way the wing chair—cream colored with tiny black polka dots—and the burgundy brocade love seat could serve as either a conversation nook for consultations or for simply lounging with morning coffee. That area nicely balanced the oak desk and credenza in the opposite corner. Framed photographs and whimsical metallic figurines had been placed among his numerous law books. Those eye-catching personal items lightened his bookcases and kept them from being too ponderous. He enthusiastically insisted on showing me the upstairs as well, then asked what brought me out to his house again so soon.

  “I had a conversation with Rachel Schwartz today, which, after I thought about for a while, really worried me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, you see, she mentioned that her husband had turned the lights on in Helen’s house when he went there to investigate.”

  “So?”

  “I strongly suspect that Jack was pushed into the water. If the killer was hiding near the basement stairs in wait for Helen, there’s no way tiny Helen can get confused for the tall, rather husky Jack Schwartz. Especially not in a well-lit house. But you’re not all that much taller than Jack was.”

  “So you’re saying the trap was set for me? That I was the intended victim?” He shook his head emphatically. “That’s not possible, Erin. The only person who knew I was entering Helen’s house to remove my mother’s possessions was Rachel Schwartz.”

  “And when Rachel called you that night, did she give you any indication that something might be wrong at Helen’s house?”

  “Rachel never called
me that night. Which meant that it wasn’t safe for me to get in and out.”

  “So you didn’t speak to Rachel at all?”

  “No. Of course, even if she had called me, we wouldn’t have spoken. She used to hang up after my phone rang once. I...didn’t want to have to pay for the minutes on my cell. But I’d know it was her, because my cell phone had her number in its phone book, so we never had to actually speak to one another.”

  “I see.” My thoughts raced. Rachel had told me the truth about how their signals were passed. It still would have been possible for Rachel to have killed her own husband. Which she might have wanted if she was uncontrollably jealous of Jack and Helen’s relationship. Rachel could have gone over there with him to investigate her own false claim that she’d seen a prowler entering and then leaving the premises. She might have stayed a step or two behind him, shoved him into the water, and fled from the house when Helen had become anxious and returned to her garage.

  As if he was reading my mind, Peter said, “Rachel might be lying about the lights being on, you know. She’s definitely lying when she says I was the one who engineered this thing. She put me up to entering Aunt Helen’s home in the first place. She claimed she wanted to hire me to write her and her husband’s will...made at least a half-dozen appointments with me, only she’d always have some excuse for why Jack couldn’t make it. Then she’d start talking about how bad it must have made me feel to know that my parents’ possessions were being mistreated at my aunt’s place—”

  “You’re sure nobody else knew you were sometimes entering your aunt’s house in her absence?”

  “I’m positive. There’s no way I could have been the intended victim, thank God. Like I don’t have enough to worry about without worrying that someone’s trying to kill me.”

  I took a much needed respite from my work that night and went to dinner and a movie with some friends. The phone was ringing as I stepped through the door. I recognized Helen’s panicked, “Erin?” instantly.

  “Yes, what’s wrong, Helen? Are you all right?”