Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Just like her in what way?” I said encouragingly.

  She snickered. “Helen always figured she was special. Better than the rest of us. I would have enjoyed that service, but I couldn’t get there under my own steam, as you can tell. And yesterday was a real bad day for me anyway. Couldn’t take a chance with all that perfume people dose themselves in. Goddam fragrances should be illegal in public spaces.”

  “Did you know Miss Henley well?”

  “Knew the whole family well. Every one of those Henleys.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure, hon. I grew up less than a mile away, and they grew up right up the hill.” She nodded in the direction of Henley House.

  “You mean Miss Helen Henley and Mr. Randolph Henley? And Mrs. Simonett?”

  “That’s what I said. The cousins, of course. My mother worked for old Mr. Henley before she got married, and she helped out a lot at the Henley House when I was a girl. Whenever there was a special event on, they’d need extra hands. Back then, there was always a party or some kind of celebration. Ma used to get called in, and I went along for the ride.”

  “Wow. Oh sorry, I was just trying to imagine Miss Henley as a little girl.”

  “Don’t waste too much of your imagination, hon. She never changed all that much from the time she was a little girl. Always a bit mean-spirited, liked to have her own way, be the center of attention. She used people, including me from time to time. All I can say about Helen, she was never cheap. She liked nice clothes, good cars, and fine food.”

  “Did it run in the family?”

  “What? Not being cheap?”

  “Mean, controlling, and a bit cruel.”

  “The rest of them were fine. Crazy as coots in recent years, but pleasant enough.”

  “What about Randolph?”

  “What about him?”

  “Didn’t he torment the other children? Destroy their new toys? Hurt their kittens?”

  “First I ever heard of it. Randy had his head in the clouds, but he was a harmless fool.”

  “Oh. It’s just that Miss Henley said he could ruin things for other children. Birthdays, Christmas.”

  “The only way Randy could have ruined a birthday party would be if he accidentally fell in the cake.” She stopped to chuckle at her own joke. I waited and worried until she caught her breath.

  She said, “Seems to me that did happen once. Randy was jumping around and being a clown, and he tripped and landed on the table with the cake. What a ruckus. It was Helen’s birthday and I thought she’d never stop howling. She gave Randy a bloody nose over that. They both ended up being sent to their rooms by old Mr. Henley. I remember thinking how stupid it was. They were lucky to have everything they wanted, and then one of them would spoil it by acting like a brat. I got an extra piece of cake that day, so it was all right with me. Of course, back then, I didn’t realize that I was the lucky one. I had Ma to tuck me in at night and give me a hug.”

  “Where were their parents?”

  She shook her head. “The Henley family was always plagued. Olivia’s mother ran off when Olivia was a toddler. Left with a piano player. Just sent cards from Paris and Berlin and places like that. Must have been quite the life in Europe before the war. No one ever heard from her after war broke out in Europe. Helen’s parents died in a car accident. Another boy died of TB. And Randy’s father hung himself during the Depression. So . . .”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Sure was.”

  “And their grandfather took care of them?”

  “I suppose you could say that. Along with a small army of maids and nannies and governesses.”

  “Was he a fierce person?”

  “Not at all. He was a hard-nosed businessman, ran a successful foundry. But he loved those children. He just wasn’t much for physical affection. Even at the time, I knew I was better off with my hand-me-down clothes and my own mother.”

  “I had no idea. I never thought about Miss Henley as a sad little girl without parents.”

  “Well, don’t start now. She was never sad.”

  “So Randolph didn’t make Miss Henley’s childhood miserable?”

  “The other way around more like it. Can you imagine Helen Henley putting up with someone treating her badly? Even when she was a child?”

  I thought about it. “Not too likely. Do you remember hearing about a puppy? Does that ring a bell?”

  “Another dustup. But I thought it was Olivia who had the puppy. Never mind. I don’t even remember what kind of dog it was. But I do recall Ma saying that Randy left the gate open—just like him, really. And the puppy ran out into the street. End of puppy. A childish mistake. Anyone could have made it. Helen never forgave him for that, even though poor Olivia did.”

  I shivered, thinking of Truffle and Sweet Marie. Maybe Jack needed to fence the front yard as well as the back.

  Rose continued. “Randy, though. He was such a foolish dreamer. He loved reading and writing and art. He wanted to travel the world.”

  “Did he end up doing that?”

  “Not really. He had health problems. Never was all that stable. In the end, I think he lost his marbles. He turned into a pathetic old pack rat, ruined that house. I remember when it was grand. Lots of parties and fun. So many beautiful people.”

  “Did you ever visit Randolph?”

  “I couldn’t breathe up there. But he’d drop in from time to time for tea and cookies. He had that sad, sweet, goofy smile. I felt bad when he died. It’s a shame, for sure.” She closed her eyes. “I remember the food they’d serve for the parties. And the dresses. Boy. Those Henley girls always had the fashions first.”

  “Tell me about the other cousin, Olivia.”

  “Ah, poor Olivia.”

  “I guess she’s not well either.” Maybe Benjamin wouldn’t tell me about the Olivia problem, but I figured Rose wasn’t bound by any oath of confidentiality.

  “No. She was never the same after the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  “You don’t know that story, hon?”

  I shook my head.

  “That was the saddest thing ever. Olivia had only been married a few years. Oh, that was the wedding of the decade. I’ll never forget it. Of course, it was back in the fifties, before everyone and his dog had a big fancy wedding they couldn’t afford. But old Mr. Henley, he put on a show for his favorite girl. Olivia was very beautiful, you know. Even with that Henley nose, she was lovely. I can’t forget her in acres of white taffeta, all that ivory skin, that silver blonde hair piled high. Olivia had such beautiful hair. I think her veil stretched for half a city block. I can recall the scent of orange blossoms. Olivia and John Clinton Simonett. Those Simonetts were steel money, way more wealthy than the Henleys, and John Clinton was their only child. A real good catch and a fairy-tale couple they’d say today. The bridesmaids wore mint green taffeta and flowers in their hair. Now how many bridesmaids were there? Oh brother. Seven? I’m trying to think.”

  I cleared my throat. “The accident?”

  She jerked herself out of the memories. “What? Oh right. Well, that came long after. A couple of years.”

  “A car accident?”

  “No, no. A boat. A canoe. Olivia and J.C. and the babies were . . .”

  “Babies?”

  “Well, yes. You got to let me finish, hon. What exactly is your big rush?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Olivia and her husband had twin boys. Silver blonde like the mother but big and strapping lads like their father.”

  I found myself holding my breath.

  “They had a summer place up the river a ways. It was a beautiful day in the fall. I remember it like it was yesterday, trees just starting to change and we had a bit of Indian summer. They were out on the little bay in canoes. It was late in the season, but Olivia always loved the water.”

  I found my hand pressed to my mouth.

  “Who knows if it was a random wave or if one of the chil
dren tumbled over and that upset the canoe. Back then, there weren’t any, what do they call them?”

  “Personal flotation devices,” I whispered.

  “The children drowned, of course, and John Simonett died trying to save them. Randolph hauled Olivia out. She was half-drowned herself. He gave her mouth-to-mouth, but I guess it was too late. She’d been underwater too long. Her poor brain was never the same. She’s been in one institution or another ever since. Always expensive places. Always the best of care. Of course, her grandfather made sure that she was well taken care of.”

  “What an awful story.”

  “You said it. Old Mr. Henley died less than a year later. I think his heart broke because Olivia hardly recognized him, after the accident. He loved that girl in his own way. Of course, losing those beautiful little boys too. And Randolph never forgave himself. He always said if he’d jumped in the river two minutes earlier, he might have saved one of them. Silly boy. He was always so afraid. I’m surprised he could even swim, let alone know anything about mouth-to-mouth. He didn’t have common sense at the best of times. No one could ever tell him that, of course. He made himself miserable over it. Ruined his life too.”

  “Was Miss Henley there?”

  “No. If she had been, she probably could have saved those babies. Helen was an excellent swimmer. But like I said, it was fall, and she’d gone back to college. She missed the tragedy. Maybe that tragedy turned her into the kind of person she became. Cold, bossy, mean. Who’s to say? She talked to me about it at her grandfather’s funeral. That was quite a splashy event too. Randy was in charge of flowers and he always went too far, poor boy. They said he bought up every lily in the state.”

  I didn’t want to get off topic and onto splashy funerals and flowers. I steered us back to Miss Henley. “What did she say to you?”

  “Well, I had a new fella at the time, and I was over the moon over him. Helen said to me. ‘You know, Rose, why bother getting close to people? They’re only going to die on you.’”

  “Maybe it explains her attitude to others.”

  “Probably does. But she was wrong. I married that boy. I had fifty wonderful years with him. And I didn’t regret one single minute. Not while he was living and not afterward, rest his soul. He might be dead this past six months, but I have lovely memories.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Practical too, hon. He built this house himself, on a scrap of a lot. Worked two jobs to buy it. I wish Ma could have lived to see us in our own home on North Elm Street. Good investment too. Worth a pretty penny now. If I’m lucky, it will pay for a decent nursing home for my last days.”

  I was starting to feel a bit depressed, but Rose seemed happy enough. I said, “The house means a lot to you. And you keep it nice too.”

  “Well, maybe I’m crazy to stay here when I can’t even manage the stairs anymore. Luckily, my late husband put in a full bathroom on this level a couple of years back. Then when he was sick, we turned the dining room into a bedroom. Means I can stay here anyway. I just wish I could get to the second floor. I’ve got some furniture I’d like to keep for my daughter. She’s out on the West Coast. Course, most of it’s junk—my husband’s clothes, old tools, magazines—but I can’t even get up there to throw it out. I guess if I end up in what they call an assisted facility, the upstairs will become someone else’s problem.”

  I didn’t want to forget our discussion. “Olivia is in a home. Would you go to that one?”

  “I’d never be able to afford Stone Wall Farm, where she is. That’s out of my league. In fact, pretty much out of everyone’s league. Folks call it Millionaire’s Manor.” She chuckled. “But, never mind. I’ll do all right. I like to have some nice people around. I like to have a chat now and then.”

  I could see that. “Olivia had an attendant with her at St. Jude’s for Miss Henley’s memorial. She had to be subdued a bit.”

  Rose’s eyes glistened. “Did she now?”

  “She got out of her wheelchair, waving and blowing kisses to everyone.”

  “Poor old crazy Olivia. I think that’s good news. Lucky she can stand up. There was a time she couldn’t get out of bed. She’s a lot better than she used to be. They got better drugs now, I guess.”

  “Did she get along with Miss Henley?”

  “Helen was good enough to her, I guess, in a practical way. Weekly visits, I heard. Not a warm person, Helen, but dutiful. Why are you asking, hon?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “Wondering if poor Olivia killed Helen? Because if you are, you can forget that. Even if she could have, she wouldn’t have hurt her. Olivia thought the world of Helen.”

  “But she seemed so . . . overjoyed at the service. Like a victory dance.”

  I waited until Rose finished one of her long, scary chuckles. I raised my eyebrows encouragingly. “Olivia would have seen flowers and heard music, and seen all those people in the same church she was married in, and she would have thought it was a party. Most natural thing in the world for her to get up and try to dance and wave. In fact, I’m darned glad to hear that she was able to do it.”

  “Wouldn’t she associate the church with the funerals? Her husband and her children? Her grandfather?”

  “Olivia wasn’t able to attend any of those. She was in bad shape for a year. And if she had been conscious, well . . . no, whatever you’re thinking about poor Olivia, you’re wrong. You’ll have to look somewhere else to find out who killed Helen Henley.”

  “Not that I’m trying to find that out, but that reminds me. Helen wanted me to find some documents that Randolph might have hidden in Henley House.”

  Rose snorted, “Hidden up there in that mess? Not much chance for finding them in that case.”

  “You’ve known the family for years. Any idea what they’d be?”

  “No idea at all. What’s the matter? You didn’t like the coffee, hon?”

  “I already had too much today. Do you think the documents would be connected with the property?”

  “Can’t imagine. Old Mr. Henley kept on top of all his legal stuff. Not likely there’d be documents floating around. But if they are, maybe the police will find them. They’re taking it all seriously. A blonde detective talked to me already. I told them pretty much what I told you. Of course, they were in a bit more of a hurry.”

  “That reminds me, I’d better get going. Dogs to walk and feed. Thanks so much for all this information. It helped me understand these people a bit more. I wish I’d known more about Miss Henley.”

  “If you come back again for a visit, I can show you some pictures of those girls. My, they were lovely.”

  “Thanks. I will come back, and when I do I’ll rig up a gadget to catch your mail, so it doesn’t fall on the floor.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Here, I’m going to put you in my book. Hand me it, hon. It’s on the table in front of you.” I passed her a little address book with a happy spaniel on the front of it and waited until she’d written in my phone number and address. “You never know,” she said.

  I said, “Don’t bother walking me to the door. I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you joking? I don’t leave my door unlocked these days, hon. People are getting murdered in this neighborhood, and I’m not planning to leave this world before my time. So you’re going to drop in again sometime?” Rose trailed behind me all the way to the front door, her breath rasping.

  “Sure I will, Rose. And you know what? I’ll bring my grubbies by and I’ll help you clear out your second floor if you’d like. We can do it bit by bit over time. I can haul stuff down, and you can decide what to do with it.”

  “Well, that’s just sweet of you, hon. I look forward to that. Now, I need my nap,” she wheezed, “but when you come back, remind me to tell you about Crawford, the other cousin. They all grew up together.”

  “Who? Crawford?” I said, but the yellow metal door closed and the lock clicked.

  Put your spices in alphabetical order. In th
e long run, you’ll save time.

  7

  By the next day I took stock of my situation. My major client was in the morgue. My dogs were sleeping. My phone was bombarded by crank calls. Jack was checking out point-of-sale systems for his cycle shop. Sally had taken the kids to the pediatrician. Margaret was doing whatever lawyers do. And I was just plain stuck.

  I reminded myself that an important tactic is to keep busy when you get bogged down. Have some pleasant little projects to take your mind off your problems and reinforce your serenity. I made a new set of color-coordinated files for my office and paid my bills. I had already put my spice shelf in alphabetical order and stocked up on the toilet tissue, paper towels, and candles on sale at Hannaford’s. I arranged them neatly in the lovely little storage closet I have next to my bedroom. I shook Truffle and Sweet Marie awake and took them for a much longer walk than they wanted. Then I went back to being stuck.

  So much for theory. I could not take my mind off Miss Henley’s death and the documents I’d been paid to find. Were they connected to her death? If I could find them, would that point to a culprit? I could hardly complete the project. For starters, the site was off limits, surrounded by police tape. But I didn’t feel comfortable about keeping the money. It wasn’t a legal issue. More of a niggling moral quibble. It was a large enough sum that I felt I had to earn it.

  For reasons that seemed solid at that particular moment, I decided to visit Olivia Henley Simonett. Maybe she could shed some light on the documents.

  But first I hit Kristee’s Kandees.

  The front entrance to Stone Wall Farm was flanked by twin pillars. The two-story white building sprawled across a broad lawn. At the far end of the long grassy expanse a fringe of woods framed the area. In the distance, a range of misty Catskills loomed. Pretty spot. But if it was a farm, I was an astronaut.

  I admired the immaculately trimmed grass, with not a stray leaf in sight. There might not have been any wood smoke, but you could sure smell money in the air. I pulled into the visitors’ parking lot and slid the Miata into an empty spot. It was half the size of the shiny black Lexus SUV parked on one side and the aged blue Cadillac on the other. In the row of parked vehicles opposite mine, a new bright green Echo and a red Jeep made a cheerful statement next to a brown utility van and the large wheelchair-accessible van with Stone Wall Farm’s name and logo tastefully displayed in black letters on the glossy white surface. The only vehicle out of place was an ancient, badly rusted Toyota Supra.