The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  At least once a week he’d try to entice me to take another foster dog from the canine rescue group he belongs to. He had effective ploys for that too, but I’d managed not to fall into his traps. He taught Truffle and Sweet Marie tricks and games. Their favorite was Where’s Charlotte? That wasn’t my preference since it involved me hiding behind doors or in the shower or on the stairs. Never mind, it beat their other fave game, Let’s Hide Charlotte’s Stuff.

  But since Jack had opened CYCotics, the cycle shop of his dreams, he was no longer there to meet me when I got home. I felt a small pang every time I walked past his apartment and up the stairs to mine. I opened my door while holding my breath. I never quite knew what I was going to find.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, looking around.

  Four beady black eyes regarded me with interest. I am the food lady and that’s definitely cool. I put my keys in the container on the hall console. That was high enough to be out of their reach, unless Jack had popped in and moved a chair. I glanced around to see if the toilet paper had been unfurled throughout my tiny apartment. Nope. No mountains of white.

  I peered into my bedroom. The closet door was closed, as I’d left it, so that meant my shoes and boots hadn’t been hidden at the furthest point under the bed. Also good.

  The cushions were on the sofa; no dishes lay on the floor. I smiled. Perhaps they were starting to settle in. They’d been with me the better part of a year, a pair of flea-bitten, half-starved siblings abandoned on the median of the interstate. Jack’s rescue group had taken the time to clean them up, get them medical attention, and find them a foster mom to rehabilitate and housebreak them. Jack had set out to find a permanent home for them. The three of us owe him.

  Our walk was speedy and efficient. The temperature had suddenly plummeted, and Truffle and Sweet Marie do not care for nippy spring afternoons. They are creatures made for summer.

  Back in the apartment, I made a place for the wedding mice: the highest shelf in my cupboard. For all I knew Emmy Lou might demand their return. I spooned out dog food and fresh water. Then I left the pooches to it while I checked voice mail, e-mail, and snail mail. All right, I had no snail mail or e-mail, but I did have voice mail.

  “Don’t forget about tomorrow night,” Margaret Tang’s voice said.

  Whatever happened to hello?

  I blinked. I had already forgotten about tomorrow night. That’s not like me. I’d obviously been distracted by the drama at Emmy Lou’s. Did I have a consultation booked? Time to check my agenda. I keep only one and it’s paper. Not fashion forward but it’s easy, effective, and inexpensive. I reached for my purse.

  Margaret continued. “But in case you have forgotten about it, tomorrow night is Sally’s baby shower.”

  “Oops,” I said out loud. “Of course. I knew that.”

  “I bet you didn’t even remember.”

  “Yes, I did, Margaret,” I said, feeling a bit ridiculous fibbing to the voice mail. I skipped the rest of the message and called her back.

  She said, “I need your help. This is my first baby shower and—”

  “Oh, it is not.”

  Margaret hesitated. “It is.”

  “Your first? How can that be?”

  “Hey, listen, I’ve been working on getting a law degree and setting up a practice and I haven’t been invited to any. I used to be a misfit, worked my way up to being a nerd, and now I’m a full-fledged wet blanket. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  “But even if you are a wet blanket, not that I’m admitting that, you’re good for some shower loot. You surprise me. Even in the city, I got invited to baby showers for people I’d never met. They usually took place the week before the person moved to a smaller community never to be seen again.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Margaret said.

  “No, especially since that’s what we did, moving back to Woodbridge. However, we were able to do it without having to actually produce a child.”

  “We always did pick the easy way.”

  “How can it be your first? Weren’t you at any of the other showers for Sally? That’s amazing.”

  “I hadn’t moved back when Sally had her first three babies.”

  “Neither had I, but I was tracked down anyway. And NYC isn’t that far away when there’s a party to be had.”

  “So, what happens? Is it like in the movies?”

  I hated to think about what movies Margaret was watching if they featured baby showers. “It’s for Sally, so it will not follow any rules and it will be fun. And we bring something excellent to eat and a present for the munchkin-to-be and that’s it. I have dibs on s’mores.”

  “No games?”

  “Nope.”

  “No hats with bows on them?”

  “Not on my watch. Nothing but good old-fashioned gossip, snacks, and laughs.”

  “Girls only?”

  “For sure. That mixed shower trend hasn’t hit Woodbridge yet. Anyway, since this is the fourth time, the girls consist of you and me and Sally. So not actually a shower, just an excuse to get together and give her a gift for the latest.”

  “I can deal with that.”

  “With your Ivy League education, you will rise to the occasion, challenging as it may be.”

  “Not so fast. It’s the gift that’s the hurdle. I have no idea what to get her. I don’t know anything about babies. Can we get together to pick out something?”

  “Okay. Lunch tomorrow. We’ll go to Cuddleship. It will make a nice change from your usual criminal occupations.”

  “Don’t be jealous,” Margaret said, getting in the last word before she hung up. “We can’t all be struggling lawyers in small towns. Which reminds me, time to get back to work.”

  Margaret might want to spend the weekend working, but I didn’t. For one thing, my main task consisted of figuring out a solution to Emmy Lou’s plush population explosion that didn’t involve either of us resorting to sedatives. Even though in my business I often work on weekends when people are free, I never give up my Friday night. Friday night is for going out. Plans flexible. Dates optional. After all, I had the dogs.

  But the Emmy Lou situation was nagging at me. Before I went anywhere, I tried Pepper’s line again.

  Damn voice mail.

  Looked like I had no choice but to track her down. It was a few minutes after five o’clock. I knew that Pepper could be counted on to work long after hours. Ambition has its price. First I fixed my makeup, which is important when meeting your nemesis. I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a nifty little turquoise sweater that had been waiting for the right Friday-night occasion. I slipped on a pair of Steve Madden metallic high-platform shoes with an ankle strap. Finally I changed my earrings to giant silver hoops. You don’t want to go head-to-head with Pepper without putting on your armor.

  “Come on, poochies, we’re going for a ride.”

  The dragon had left the den before I pulled up in front of the Woodbridge Police Station.

  “You missed her,” the desk sergeant said cheerfully, pointing toward the door. Something in his tone told me Pepper wasn’t the sunniest disposition on the Woodbridge police force.

  “Want to leave a message? I can put you through to her voice mail.”

  “Been there, thanks. I’ll try later.”

  I pushed Emmy Lou and Pepper to the back of my mind. I needed a small dose of normal, uncomplicated happy human being. Someone cheerful and upbeat. Someone noticeably absent from my daily life since he’d opened his business.

  Jack.

  I climbed back into the Miata. Sweet Marie leapt into my lap, and Truffle jumped up and licked my ear. I was getting used to that. “Let’s go see Jack.”

  On the way, I stopped at Tang’s Convenience for a tub of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk for me and a tub of Chunky Monkey for Jack. I picked up an extra Super Fudge Chunk in case Jack managed to steal mine. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I selected some ch
ew treats for the dogs. As usual, Mrs. Tang appeared not to recognize me. She took my money suspiciously, although she knew darn well I had been Margaret’s very good friend for twenty years.

  A white Ford Taurus was pulled up next to the Miata when I came out the door. Leaning against it, chatting to Margaret Tang, was Pepper.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Margaret said, “Is my mother her usual merry self?”

  Pepper nodded without smiling. “Charlotte.”

  She’d changed her hairstyle a bit. Usually it was a sleek blonde bob. Elegant to the point of chilliness. This new cut was layered and softer, with subtly different shades of blonde. Very nice. Not the kind of do you could get in the small city of Woodbridge. Pepper would have gone into the city for that. And she would have left a couple of hundred bucks behind her in the salon.

  “You hung up on my voice mail,” she said.

  “Ah.” I hadn’t realized that she would know that.

  “Twice. You have a new hobby wasting my time?”

  “I didn’t want to leave a message about this problem. It’s probably nothing, but I needed a bit of advice.” I wanted to shriek, “Don’t curl your upper lip at me,” but I kept my cool.

  “And?”

  “Okay, this might sound crazy, but I have a new client. She’s a sophisticated, capable woman, maybe forty years old. Very attractive. During our consultation, two guys from next door climbed the tree outside her bedroom window and made noises and faces at her.”

  Pepper said, “Made faces?”

  “Fine, I know that sounds stupid. But it was terrifying for her. They even had a camera and took at least one photo. The neighbors think these guys are stalking her. But my client refuses to call the police. She says one of them is a harmless kid. Her husband seems annoyed but not worried. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe it’s none of my business. But I can’t let it go.”

  Pepper said, “Officially? Nothing we can do without a complaint from this woman.”

  “I wondered if—”

  “Did it set off your alarm bells?”

  “Oh yeah. It seemed creepy.”

  Pepper pursed her lips. “Sorry to let you down, but we can’t go on a fishing expedition.”

  “Well, I guess not,” Margaret said.

  Pepper agreed. “I don’t intend to harass innocent citizens.”

  “Good thinking,” Margaret said.

  I stared at her. How dumb was I? Margaret had set up her law practice in Woodbridge, and she would always keep an eye out for the rights of the accused. I hadn’t mentioned Emmy Lou’s situation to her. Too bad I’d run into the two of them together.

  “You know, you might want to take a look at your taillight here, Charlotte,” Pepper said. “You’ll end up with a whopping ticket if you get stopped by the wrong cop.”

  I stepped to the back of the Miata with her.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my lights,” I huffed.

  “Keep your voice down. Give me the name of the guy and his address,” Pepper said. “I’ll see what I come up with.”

  “Oh right and—”

  “And Margaret doesn’t need to know everything.”

  I lowered my voice. “Okay. My client’s at 10 Bell Street. Her name’s Emmy Lou Rheinbeck. Her husband is Dwayne. The kid next door is Kevin something. Dingwall. That’s it. And his friend is called Tony Starkman. Kevin lives at number 8, a grey house with a big front porch. The people on the other side of Emmy Lou are Bill and Bonnie Baxter. They think these guys are trouble. Of course, they’re a bit odd themselves. Possibly paranoid.”

  I knew enough about Pepper’s upbringing to guess how she’d react.

  “Leave it with me.”

  “Thanks,” I said in a normal tone. “I’ll get that taillight looked after.”

  “You do that.”

  Margaret said, “Gotta go. See you tomorrow. Should be fun.”

  Pepper said, “What should be fun?”

  I don’t know who was the more surprised by that: Margaret or me.

  Margaret said, “There’s a baby shower for Sally.”

  “Sally’s pregnant again?”

  Margaret said, “One of these days they’ll find out what’s causing it.”

  “And there’s a baby shower?”

  “Not a real shower,” I said, feeling dread creep over me.

  “Charlotte’s bringing s’mores,” Margaret added. “I had no idea she could cook.”

  Pepper snorted and then said, “Is it a surprise?”

  “Kind of. Benjamin’s at some kind of medical conference, and Sally thinks we’re dropping in to keep her company tomorrow night after the kids are in bed.”

  “Who’s going?”

  “Me, Margaret. That’s it. The old gang of misfits.”

  Pepper looked me straight in the eye. “I was part of the old gang of misfits.”

  Who could forget that?

  “So, maybe I’ll come along to Sally’s. It would be great to see her.”

  An odd expression flickered across Margaret’s face, but quickly vanished.

  I said, “Sure. That would be…fine. About seven.”

  I whirled as a granite-faced man approached the Taurus. He could only be a police officer. No one else in Woodbridge would be wearing a trench coat. He was carrying two cups of Stewart’s coffee. He held one of the coffees out to Pepper.

  “Later,” she said to me.

  “Trouble?” he said.

  I answered, “Oh no, we’re old—”

  “No trouble,” Pepper said. “Catching up on the news.”

  Pepper got back into the driver’s side of the Taurus. Tall, dark, and granite took the passenger seat. I settled into the Miata and tried deep breathing. One of these days I will learn not to let Pepper ruin my evening.

  Margaret remained standing at the door of Tang’s Convenience. She watched the Taurus spin off. She hustled back toward me. “Oh my God. That guy was so hot.”

  “He was?”

  “You didn’t think so?”

  “Definitely not my type. He’s quite a bit older, no?”

  “Don’t be ageist. And I thought you didn’t have a type.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” I was taking a break from men, particularly handsome ones, for various reasons.

  Margaret said, “Maybe he’s Pepper’s type.”

  “Come on, Margaret. She’s married to Nick Monahan. She’s been crazy about him since forever, not that anyone can understand it. She didn’t give this guy the time of day. He’s good for fetching coffee. Nick. Nick. Nick. Nick’s so this. Nick’s so that. Nick’s such a good driver. Nick’s such a marksman. Nick’s blah, blah, blah. Who could forget that?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I remember Nick the Stick. It’s if Pepper does.”

  I climbed into the car and turned the key. “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t. Of course, Nick is dumb as a rope, vain, and a total womanizer. Aside from that he’s the perfect husband. Except I’m pretty sure he doesn’t pull his weight around the house.”

  “Exactly. And did you see how that guy looked at her?”

  “Like she was a double-fudge glazed doughnut and he hadn’t eaten in a week?”

  “I was thinking more like if she was a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and he was you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The less I have to do with Pepper the better, and that includes speculating about her personal life.”

  “We’re jealous because she has one. But we’re going to have to think about her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wants to come to Sally’s shower. That will change our dynamic.”

  I found myself chewing my lower lip yet again. Pepper had arrested me last fall and done her best to make sure the charges stuck. On the other hand, for all of my teens she’d been my best friend. And she had offered to check out the Emmy Lou problem. Part of me wanted to get that friendship back. That was my heart talking. My brain knew that Pepper was too volatile.

 
; I said, “I don’t believe she’ll show up. She was bluffing to see our reactions.”

  “Hope you’re right, because if she does show up tomorrow night, who are we going to trash-talk?”

  When a new issue of a magazine arrives,

  get rid of the oldest one.

  If you haven’t read it by now, you’re not going to.

  But someone will be glad to get it.

  4

  In the last few years, artists and young entrepreneurs have flowed into Woodbridge, picking up bargain real estate and bringing life to the town. For the first time since the collapse of SundNor Technologies in the eighties, Woodbridge was booming. Why not? Less than two hours from New York City and you could afford a “loft” conversion on the water. You could walk to your choice of restaurants, bistros, and bars. Or hit the Hudson in your kayak after work. What’s not to love?

  On a typical Friday night people jam the cafés and this one was no different. The Woodbridge boom was surely fueling Dwayne Rheinbeck’s restaurant success. I wondered which of the many new spots was his.

  On the other hand, Jack’s cycle shop lurks in the middle of an untrendy strip on Long March Road halfway between the uptown action and the downtown trendiness. His strategy: large space, easy parking, cheap rent, and a huge storefront window that makes CYCotics easy to spot on your way to somewhere else. Bright young guys with BlackBerries are Jack’s targets for his pricey European bicycles. He also keeps an eye out for aging boomers with empty nests and full wallets.

  Despite the trends, CYCotics is never jammed. Not that it matters. Jack has enough of an inheritance from his parents to weather the growing pains. I worry about location, location, location, and lack of same. If Jack’s bicycles don’t sell, he can always market optimism. Which is a good thing.