Killed by Clutter

by Leslie Caine

  “It’s happening again!” She was sobbing too hard to speak.

  “What is?”

  “Somebody’s in the house again!”

  “Are the police there yet?”

  “No, but they will be soon. Can you come over, right away?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I drove as fast as I dared to Helen’s house and found, to my horror, no signs of activity and not a single police car as I parked in the driveway. The garage door was open, and the dome light was on in her car. Helen was sitting in the front seat. I shut off my engine and charged into the garage, my pulse racing, terrified that she’d been killed herself.

  She turned and saw me as I ran up to her. She opened her car door. She was ghost white.

  “Helen. Are you all right?”

  “I heard a strange noise in the basement. And a cry of pain. I just know it was a body hitting the floor. I just...was too scared to go down there.”

  “Why aren’t the police here?”

  “I couldn’t call. If I confess a second time, they’ll think I really am guilty. Why does this keep happening?”

  I punched 911 into my cell phone, telling Helen, “I’m going to sit right here next to you. This time, we’re making darn sure that if there is someone’s body in your home, the police find it this time, not you or me.”

  She nodded, her lips nearly as white with fear as her cheeks.

  Eleven minutes later, two policemen were pounding on Helen’s front door, although Helen and I were sitting in a squad car with a third officer, who took Helen’s statement. She’d, once again, insisted that I stay and keep her company, and the policeman was kind enough to oblige.

  The other two went inside to investigate. One of the officers returned a couple of minutes later. He looked badly shaken.

  “Ma’am, was your basement door ajar when you left home?”

  “Definitely not,” she immediately replied. “Was there another body down there?”

  The cop made eye contact with the officer behind the wheel and said quietly, “I already called it in. Looks like homicide.”

  “Oh, dear. I knew it,” Helen said sadly. “Who is it? What does the victim look like?”

  “He still had his wallet, with his driver’s license. Ma’am, do you know a Peter Miller?”

  “Oh, my God! Oh, no. Not Peter!” She crumpled, sobbing.

  I comforted her as best I could, as she wept on my shoulder. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I explained to the policeman, “Peter is her nephew.”

  “And you said before that you’re her interior decorator?”

  I nodded.

  “She lived here alone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Er, Miss?” he asked me quietly, “Do you happen to know if she kept a harpoon on the premises?”

  Chapter 21

  A uniformed policeman who’d been investigating the crime scene entered the garage from the house and appeared to be surprised to see that we were still here. He gave Officer Mansfield a reproving stare, then said, “Ma’am?” to Helen, “you have to leave the premises now.”

  “But why?” Helen asked. “There’s no evidence in the garage, and I’m perfectly comfortable out here.”

  “Garage is off-limits, too,” he declared. “You’ve been out here for more than an hour. You were only supposed to collect a few personal items, then leave. We’ll let you know when you can return home.”

  “Helen,” I pleaded, “Audrey will never forgive me if I allow you to check back into a hotel. You absolutely must come home with me.”

  She sighed, rocking herself in her perch at the edge of the pink loveseat. “Well...I suppose if Audrey needs her guest room, I could always stay in her garage.” She rose and turned toward the officer. “Can I at least take my car this time?” Mansfield, meanwhile, reentered Helen’s house.

  “Uh, sure. Fine.”

  I gave the officer my address and number, then, after a struggle to get Helen’s engine to start, she and I caravanned to my house. We had a brief tug of war with her lightly packed electric-blue suitcase. She reluctantly allowed me to carry it up the slate walkway for her, and I unlocked the door and held it open for her.

  “Audrey isn’t here?” Helen asked the moment she stepped inside the foyer.

  “No, she’s—”

  “In Kansas City.” She picked up the note that I’d left on the foyer table. “Oh! David and his wife had a little girl,” she said happily. “How marvelous!” Then she turned and swept up her suitcase, which I’d momentarily set down on the marble floor. “I’m going back to the hotel, Erin. I’d feel like I’m taking advantage of Audrey’s generosity by staying in her house a second time, when she doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  “But it’s my home, too.”

  “She’s the actual owner, though, and she’s already done so much for me...especially considering the two of us hadn’t even spoken in more than ten years.”

  “But, Helen, she credits you with saving her son’s life!”

  Helen clicked her tongue. “Well, the woman’s a television star. She’s prone to being overly dramatic.” She headed toward the door. “Thanks just the same, but really—”

  “Then I’ll call her right now and get you a direct invitation. I’m absolutely certain she—”

  “Please, don’t! I don’t want you to cloud her family’s joyous occasion with my troubles.”

  “She’d want to know, Helen. She’ll be angry with me for not convincing you to stay, and for keeping her in the dark.”

  “Maybe so, but this is my life, and I get to make my own decisions. Up until Stephanie gets a hold of a good lawyer and declares me incompetent, that is.”

  Heartsick, I watched her shuffle back to her car; the bag that had seemed so insubstantial when I’d carried it appeared to be a heavy burden for her. She heaved it into her passenger seat. Without a glance behind her, she started her car and drove away.

  The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call from Sullivan, who greeted me with: “Gilbert! What the hell did you say to Stephanie Miller?”

  “Nothing!” I retorted automatically, discombobulated and needing to battle my way out of sleep fog. “Um, when?”

  “The last time you saw her!”

  “Oh, right. At the police station. The night before last.” Once again, I’d done a woeful job of keeping my “partner” informed; yet another reason I should always work alone. “I ran into her under the worst possible circumstances. I was waiting for Helen, and it was immediately after her brother had been killed. Stephanie felt I was overstepping my bounds.”

  “Because you were acting like a member of the family, instead of their designer?” he asked snidely.

  “Something like that,” I fired back, livid. “You obviously agree with her.”

  “She called me up just now and fired us. She’s furious with you, Gilbert. She doesn’t want you to step in her house. Those were her exact words.”

  “Oh, jeez. I was hoping she’d calm down by now...realize that she’s really upset over her loss, not at me for simply being kind to her aunt in her time of need.”

  “I might have managed to clear this up yesterday, if you’d bothered to tell me about her brother’s murder, Gilbert! Instead I found out about Peter’s murder on the ten o’clock news.”

  My thoughts immediately flashed to how hurt I’d been a couple of weeks ago when I found out through the grapevine that Sullivan was already back in town. “You’re right. I should’ve called you. Though it’s not like you’re Walter Cronkite when it comes to keeping me informed.”

  He ignored that and snapped, “I’ll keep our scheduled appointment with Stephanie by myself and see if I can do some damage control. I don’t want to lose her as a client.”

  “Of course not,” I said, my voice simmering. “Business first, at all cost.”

  “Exactly. Because I’m a business man. I run my own company for a living. So I’m going to try and smooth over the rift betwe
en you two. You got a problem with that?”

  “No,” I said in a small voice, realizing he was completely in the right.

  “Good!” He hung up on me.

  I flopped back down and threw my arm over my eyes, feeling frustrated and miserable. Hildi picked up on my distress and nestled against me, purring.

  I went to my office and did my best to stay productive for the next couple of hours, but failed miserably. Steve was keeping what would have been our joint appointment at Stephanie’s. As time passed with no word, I finally couldn’t stand to wait any longer and called his cell phone. He growled, “Yeah?”

  We both knew full well that his phone had displayed my name and number. “Hi, Steve. I was just wondering how things were going. Is Stephanie—”

  “Can’t say one way or the other. Is our working at Helen’s this afternoon still on?”

  “No, the house is cordoned off while the police hunt for evidence. Helen hasn’t been able to move back in yet.”

  “Yeah, she has, Gilbert. Stephanie raised a ruckus with the police chief. They allowed Helen to move back to her place about an hour ago.”

  “That’s news to me.”

  “Unless I hear otherwise, I’ll meet you there at three. I gotta run.” For the second time that morning, he hung up on me.

  There was a nip in the air, a harbinger that autumn was imminent. Fall was achingly beautiful in Colorado, when the aspen leaves turn as bright yellow as the sun. The maples in our neighborhood display a brilliant array of orange and red colors against the brightest blue sky imaginable. The sight is totally breathtaking! Yet now the seasonal change meant that I had to get Helen out of her garage once and for all, before she caught pneumonia or her space heater started a fire.

  I arrived ten minutes early at Helen’s, hoping to beat Sullivan. He pulled in behind me just as I was emerging from my van. “What’s the latest with Stephanie?” I asked when he finally joined me. “Am I off the job?”

  “Not completely. She still wants your input...just doesn’t want to have to deal with you face to face. She and I are cool, though.”

  “Congratulations. You must feel great. Meanwhile, she wants me to work for her, but never actually see her!”

  “Or speak to her.” He gave me a smug grin. “Luckily, you’ve got me as an intermediary, so that’s not going to be a problem.”

  I let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. “Maybe not for you, it isn’t. But I accepted her job primarily because Stephanie’s such a mover and shaker in Crestview real estate. She’s never going to recommend me to anyone now. And all because I was trying to help out her aunt under hideous circumstances!”

  He wisely held his tongue, and we made our way up Helen’s brick walkway. We stepped around a box on the stoop that I assumed was items that Helen had put there herself, and I stabbed at the doorbell.

  My confidence-and-optimism mantra was letting me down.

  Helen gingerly opened the front door for us, as if ready to slam it shut again if we turned out to be murderous intruders. Her “good afternoon,” was cheerless. “What have you brought me?” she asked, glancing at the box at our feet.

  “It was here when we arrived,” Sullivan replied.

  Keeping her screen door ajar against one ankle, she pulled open the box flaps and peered inside. Among the various items was the Raggedy Ann doll, still in its valuable box, which Kay had stolen.

  “Oh, dear!” she cried.

  “What is all this stuff?” Sullivan asked.

  She turned her injured gaze to me. “Now I’ve lost my best friend! She won’t even keep the things she stole from me!” She pursed her lips for a moment, then announced, “I’m sorry, Erin and Steve, but there’s no point in your continuing to work on my house. I’m just going to let my niece ship me off to a nursing home.” With a grunt of effort, she picked up the box.

  Sullivan gave me a worried glance, as he stepped forward. “Let me carry that for you, Ms. Walker.”

  “No, thank you,” she said firmly. She took a couple of wobbly steps inside and kicked the door shut behind her.

  Sullivan looked at me in surprise. “Kay was stealing from her?”

  “Kay’s a closet kleptomaniac, apparently. I’m sure I exacerbated the strain Kay’s compulsion has put on their friendship by asking Helen about it the other day. She’ll calm down and pull herself together soon, though.”

  He released a weary sigh. “Let’s go.”

  “I’d rather give her a minute or two then make sure she’s all right. I don’t want to give up on her this easily.”

  “She just slammed the door in our faces!”

  “That was hardly a ‘slam,” I replied.

  He spread his arms. “And yet here we are, stranded on her front porch.” He started down the walkway. “She’s probably going to hole herself in her house for a day or two. Maybe longer. You’re wasting your time.”

  After Sullivan had driven off in his macho hissy fit, I walked over to Helen’s garage door and knocked on a panel. When she didn’t answer, I counted to ten and knocked again. At last she opened the door to the garage and even mustered a smile as she stood with arms akimbo at the back of the garage near the opener button. “Come on in, Erin. I’m glad to see I was right.”

  “About what?” I stepped inside, noting that her floor lamp and space heater were missing.

  “Oh, just that you’re much more patient than your boyfriend is.”

  “Sullivan’s not my boyfriend.”

  Once the door had completed its noisy descent, she said, “I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve misjudged things terribly, Erin.”

  “My relationship with Steve Sullivan, you mean?”

  “Good heavens, no. That’s none of my business.” She turned on a heel, opened the door to her house, and set the catch so that it would remain wide open. “We’re moving the loveseat back into the living room.” She grabbed one arm of the small sofa. “Don’t worry. It’s not too heavy for me.”

  Surprised but glad that she was finally moving out of her garage, I picked up my end, and we shuffled our way into the kitchen. “That’s far enough, for now,” she puffed when we’d cleared the doorway. We set down the loveseat, and she dropped onto a cushion and fanned herself. “Whew! Don’t tell anybody this, Erin, but I’m turning into an old lady.”

  I chuckled, but then chewed on my lip. Knowing Helen, she’d be happy to leave this ugly loveseat in her kitchen.

  Helen caught her breath, then sat up and patted the tops of her thighs twice as if resolved to stand up and take action. “I didn’t want to let Steve Sullivan see what I’m about to show you. You’re the only one I dare to trust. Lois was so secretive about it.”

  I swallowed hard. Her pronouncement felt more than a little ominous, considering that two people had died in this house in the past week.

  The doorbell rang, and someone promptly opened Helen’s front door. Looking perplexed and unnerved, Helen rose just as a voice called, “Yoo hoo. Helen?”

  “Rachel! Why do you think it’s okay to just let yourself into my house?” Helen cried indignantly. I followed her into the living room. There Rachel stood, holding the two porcelain figurines that she’d ignobly obtained from Helen.

  “I’m sorry, Helen. Your door was unlocked. I thought I could just slip these inside.” Even as she spoke, she took it upon herself to come fully inside and set the delicate figurines on top of the upright piano. “I also brought you this.” Ducking back outside, she returned with a lush flower arrangement of white chrysanthemums, baby’s breath, and yellow daisies in a white basket, which she handed to Helen. “There’s no need to thank me. I just feel so horrible about your poor nephew. I can’t tell you how deeply I regret agreeing to go along with his plan.”

  Without as much as taking a step, Helen set the flowers on the green-gold rug. She was blinking back tears.

  “Rachel? Was he still working with you on Monday night...the night he was killed?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Is that
why he was here?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Rachel replied. “I hadn’t spoken to him since his scheme to take things from Helen backfired. I have no idea what he thought he was doing, coming over here again.”

  Helen said evenly, “Rachel, I really—”

  “I know,” Rachel interrupted. “Now is not a good time. Sorry to have intruded. I’ll let myself out.” She left, but an instant later leaned through the doorway. “Erin? Don’t forget to contact me about some design work, just as soon as this sordid ordeal has worked itself out, would you?” She gave Helen a benign smile. “Take care. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do. I feel like we’re soul sisters, now that we’ve both lost a loved one.” She gave a little wiggly fingers wave, then left for real.

  Helen promptly stomped over to the door and threw the lock, saying, “At least Rachel’s assault on my home was reasonably well-timed, for once.” She gestured for me to follow as she returned to the kitchen. She removed the loveseat cushion she’d recently occupied and reached her spindly arm inside along the armrest. “I was afraid the police would find this, but they didn’t. Lois kept it under lock and key, and you’re the only person I can trust to give this to Stephanie for me. Since she and I are no longer on speaking terms.”

  Just as I was about to confess that I, too, was no longer on speaking terms with her imperious niece, Helen extracted a white athletic sock, slightly soiled, from the lower recesses of the sofa. She reached into the sock and removed a glittering pink-and-gold object.

  I found myself looking at a jewel-encrusted Faberge imperial egg carved in rose quartz.

  Chapter 22

  In mute dismay, I held out my hand, and she slipped the Faberge egg into my palm. My heart was thundering. This was all too strange. I’d had clients reveal some heirloom to me that they were hoping I’d say was worth a fortune, which had yet to be the case. This egg, however, might actually be worth a fortune.

  Not trusting my voice, I cleared my throat before I asked, “How exactly did your sister get this?”