Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Did he make a fuss? Is that why you can’t go back?”

  “A bit. You can’t really understand what he’s saying. It must take awhile to get used to it. He had some kind of an attendant, but she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. All of a sudden this ice queen shows up breathing frozen mist and my ass is so out of there.”

  “That’s Inez Vanclief. She’s a bit scary.”

  “More than a bit. She threw me out.”

  “But she must have told you why.”

  “Yep. She said that I was a disruptive influence. And not to come back if I didn’t want legal action.”

  “Welcome to the club. I’m worried about what’s going on there. Did you catch sight of Olivia?”

  “Just a brief glimpse. She was walking on the second level when I went in, but I got booted out before I could find a way to see her.”

  “What’s going on out there? It’s all so weird.”

  My new client clearly had a problem. I could sum it up in four words: her husband, his toys.

  She was a sweet lady in her midfifties with a tight copper perm, a bandage on her knee, and a two-story, immaculate home that smelled of furniture polish and potpourri. She bit her lip and clasped her hands together as she led me to the site of the problem.

  “My, my,” I said, as the garage door swung up.

  “Like I told you,” she said, “I just can’t stand it anymore.”

  “Is it always like this?” I stared into the interior. Two huge motorcycles, an all-terrain vehicle, and a motorboat. A ride-on mower, a machine to blow leaves, and another one to blow snow. A few extra motors and lots of cans of 10W-40 stood around to give the place ambiance. Three tall, shiny red toolboxes, the type with wheels, looked on proudly. As did a lot of stuff I couldn’t identify.

  “Sometimes it’s worse.”

  “And your laundry equipment is on the far side of all these vehicles?” I stood on my tiptoes but could barely see the washer and dryer.

  Tears formed in her eyes. “He puts things on top of them. Greasy tools, gears.”

  I gasped, “Not machine parts.”

  She had a catch in her voice. “It’s always been bad, but it’s been getting worse this past couple of years. We finally have a bit of money, and we bought this lovely house. He has the kind of toys he’s always wanted. Now he wants to enlarge the garage. Because he has his eye on a vintage Harley. I’m worried. I’ll have to use the Laundromat soon.”

  I closed the door to the garage firmly and said, “Let’s head back to the kitchen.”

  “But don’t you need to check out what’s in there? See how much stuff he’s got? Otherwise how are we going to organize the space so that I can get my laundry done without bruising my knees and banging my head?”

  “We’ll make our plan over another cup of your very good coffee.”

  The kitchen was homey, neat, and smelled of the apple cake we’d shared when I arrived. I’d eaten it because you never know when there might be a shortage. And I’m very polite.

  “Maybe your husband should just take over the laundry,” I said. “That might solve your problem. Lots of men do laundry.”

  She frowned in surprise. “He wouldn’t. Never. And if he did, I wouldn’t like that.”

  “Do you enjoy doing laundry?” I said as she poured the coffee.

  “Really, I do. I used to love it. Sorting, selecting water temperatures, softeners. Making clothes nice and clean again. I never thought it was drudgery. Now . . .” She sat down and massaged the bandage on her knee. “I get so far behind. I’ve started to put it off. It’s become a nightmare.”

  “I’m not surprised. But you know what? You don’t have an organizational problem. You’ve got a turf war.”

  “Oh.”

  “First, you obviously have a comfortable life, enough money to buy vehicles and a really nice, big house. So why are you doing your laundry in the dark back corner of the garage? Think about that. Second, why compete with your husband and his toys for space when you have a perfect spot in your house?”

  She said, “I do? Where?”

  I stood up and pointed to the bright mudroom that led to the backyard. “Lots of room here for your washer and dryer. You can have a few drying racks, cupboards over the machines for your products, and you’ll have plenty of room for an ironing board and all that. You can whip your washing outside on a clothesline, if that’s fun for you.”

  “But that would be a renovation. It would be really expensive. I thought you’d help me sort out the garage.”

  “That stuff in your garage isn’t badly organized. It’s big. It’s bulky. It’s in the way. It takes up a lot of space and keeps you from your machines, but it seems to be quite orderly. Is it causing your husband any problems?”

  “No. He can get at what he wants.”

  “That’s it. It’s not your stuff. It’s someone else’s. You can’t really solve that, can you?”

  She shook her head sadly. “You’re right. I feel like I’m stopped everywhere I go. Nothing I do around here matters a bit. He has no idea what’s involved in getting his stupid clothes clean, and you wouldn’t believe how mucky his stuff gets. Lately, I’ve been thinking of packing up and moving. I have fantasies about divorcing him from a distance. Isn’t that awful? He’s not a bad person; he’s just turned into a big middle-aged kid. I’m probably way too upset over that garage. It’s not like laundry’s the most important aspect of my life. I’ve got friends and my part-time job and my two choirs.”

  “It’s important to you. That’s what counts. And think about my suggestion. You’ve got the appliances. Your sink’s on the wall right behind it. Your plumbing will be a piece of cake. It won’t be expensive. I can do a plan for you and help you pick out some nice shelving at the building center and your problem will be solved. No more dark spaces, no more bruised ankles. No disputes over who owns the space.”

  “I don’t think he’ll go for it.”

  “You might want to give a lawyer a call and find out the average legal costs for a divorce for someone in your circumstances. You’ll have to pay for the advice, but it will be worth it. Then subtract the potential cost of this little reno and decide. I think you’ll find you’re way ahead.”

  A sly little smile was playing on the corner of her mouth. “I don’t really want a divorce. And I sure don’t want the big goof doing the laundry. I just want my space. I don’t know why I didn’t think of using that mudroom myself.”

  “All’s fair in love and turf war.”

  That had gone well. I was on time and under budget as they say. I’d calculated two hours for the appointment and was out of there in less than thirty minutes. My client had a bit of homework to do: make a list of features she’d like to install in her new laundry-utility area and figure out if her old appliances would stand the transition. I was off to comb through building-supply stores, catalogs, and Web sites to see what could make her life a bit easier. We’d get together with the results. I was humming as I hopped into the Miata.

  On the way home, I whizzed by a solitary figure peddling like hell on a battered blue bicycle. I couldn’t miss the purple hair.

  I pulled over and waited.

  As Lilith passed by, I called out to her. She slowed and leapt from her bike. I would have ended up in intensive care if I’d attempted that maneuver. I wondered if Jack could have pulled it off.

  Lilith grinned. “I’m in a better mood today. Not feeling sorry for myself. I sold my old Toyota Supra, so I know I can keep going until I find a job. I won’t have to drop out of my night classes and leave Woodbridge.”

  “Great,” I said. “You seem very comfortable on that bicycle. I’d break my neck if I tried to dismount that way.”

  “Two years as a bike courier in the city. It’s like being in the Cirque du Soleil,” Lilith said. “You develop techniques and nerve.”

  “And a certain artistry too.”

  “I suppose. But I really like to work with people. That’s w
hy I’m studying. I want to be in special education. I think the right teacher can make a big difference. I’m learning a lot about the way the brain works and all that.”

  “You’ll be great at it.”

  “Thanks. I just have to find a way to keep a roof over my head until I can finish my course. Thanks, Charlotte, for being so nice. I have to go. I’ve got a batch of résumés to drop off.”

  I watched her purple head disappear around a corner. Lilith would be fine. But I felt a real sadness for Gabriel Young and what he’d lost.

  Organize a cleanup night once a week. Music and chocolate will make it easier.

  10

  Who knows why I turned left instead of right after talking to Lilith. I didn’t take long to realize that I’d blundered into Forest Glen and had lost my bearings in the endless tree-lined crescents. Jack had mentioned that Gabriel Young grew up in this neighborhood. But of course, Jack was checking out a possible storefront for his retail dream, so he didn’t answer his cell when I tried to call. I cruised slowly through the crescents, not sure what I was searching for. All the houses were similar: large split-levels or two-stories on treed half-acre lots. Some had the family name hanging on little signs, but most didn’t. I didn’t spot any Youngs. I’d just decided that this was a waste of time, when I drove by a white Cape Cod nicely situated on a well-kept lawn. A long ramp had been added to the front. I noticed the battered basketball hoop attached over the black garage door and felt a lump in my throat. Leaves danced across the lawn, and a woman walked briskly from the side of the house brandishing a rake. I pulled the Miata over and parked. In my mind, all people who rake leaves are basically decent.

  I stepped out of the car and approached her.

  She had Gabriel’s wide dark eyes and prominent cheek-bones. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short. She wasn’t the type for makeup. As I got closer I could see the lines on her face, as if each one had been scratched on by her son’s tragedy.

  She stopped raking and stood watching me, with an un-welcoming scowl. “I’m not planning to sell it. Thank you.”

  I blinked. “Oh. The house. I’m not house hunting. It’s a beautiful property though.”

  “Sorry. I thought you were another real estate agent. Seems like every day there’s a different one hanging around.”

  “Are you Mrs. Young?”

  She nodded and frowned again.

  “I’m Charlotte Adams. I was hoping to find you. It’s about your son, Gabriel.”

  The rake tumbled to the ground. “Gabe! Did something happen?”

  “As far as I know, he’s fine. But I’m not so sure what’s going on at Stone Wall Farm. That’s why I wanted to speak to you.”

  “Stone Wall Farm has been a wonderful place for Gabe. He’s been making such great progress lately.” Leaves swirled merrily around her. Her smile lit up her face, erasing the wrinkles.

  I said, “I think some of that might have to do with Lilith Carisse, his caregiver.”

  The smile slipped. “Oh. Lilith.”

  “I have been trying to help Lilith find another job, but before I recommend her, I need to know why she was fired.”

  “I’m not so sure I should tell you. There are . . . issues.”

  “So I hear. But I have seen her with Gabriel, and she seemed to be so caring, so tuned into him.”

  “Poor Gabe is very fragile emotionally. He doesn’t need to be distressed.”

  “Lilith caused him distress? Really?”

  “She was talking about going back to school full-time. Gabe would become very worked up every time she mentioned it. Apparently Gabriel’s outbursts upset the other residents. Mrs. Vanclief asked us to take action on it.”

  “It’s hard to believe that Lilith would upset him.”

  “She’s quite young. She probably had no idea of the impact of her casual conversation. I wasn’t sure it was the right choice, but Mrs. Vanclief insisted I sever the contact now before Gabe’s behavior got worse.”

  “So would there be any reason not to recommend her for a job?”

  Her eyes met mine, then slid away. “I’m not sure I treated Lilith fairly. I know she truly cares about Gabe. Perhaps I should have given her a chance to tell her side of the story.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate this.”

  “Charlotte Adams, you said. I know your name from somewhere. Where would I have seen you?”

  “I have no idea.” It seemed very unlikely that anyone at Stone Wall Farm would have told her about me. They didn’t even know I’d noticed Gabriel.

  She pointed her finger at me. “Of course. I saw you on the news. You’re the woman who found the body in that awful old house. Hellfire Henley.”

  I don’t know what shocked me more: that people in Woodbridge would be thinking of me as the woman who found a body or the loathing in Mrs. Young’s voice when she said “Hellfire Henley.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was a tragedy.”

  Mrs. Young’s face contorted. “I don’t think it was any kind of tragedy. That ghastly woman. She tormented Gabe in school. When she started to come to Stone Wall Farm to see her cousin, he got practically hysterical. His emotions are so unstable. In a way, he’s stuck at the adolescent boy stage and she really set him back. Lilith helped a lot, but it was very difficult for him and for me.”

  “Miss Henley tormented Gabe? But the poor guy’s in a wheelchair.”

  “I mean she tormented him at St. Jude’s. He wanted a scholarship so badly, because his father had one, you know. My husband was able to go to Cornell, even though his family could never afford it. Gabriel wanted to show his father he could do it too. That awful woman would taunt him. Fail him by one mark. Give him detentions so that he’d miss a practice. Make some horrible remark just before he’d take a test. Even in his damaged state, he hasn’t forgotten that. And the wicked creature always made a point of seeking him out to speak to him every week when she visited Stone Wall Farm. She’d put her hand on his shoulder. Whisper something to him. The vile old hyena.” She bent to pick up the rake. She held it like a weapon. “I had to make a point of getting him out of there every Wednesday afternoon. Now we don’t have to worry about that. Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but I’m happy she’s dead and I hope she suffered. Whoever did it would have had a good reason.”

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open, trying not to imagine Gabe’s mother taking aim at Miss Henley’s head with that rake. As she stared at me, I finally got a grip. “It must have been a terrible situation for you. Did you ever tell Inez Vanclief?”

  “Of course I did. Couldn’t get anywhere. Olivia Simonett is leaving tons of money to the foundation. I’m sure you’ve heard that already. Olivia just loved having her cousin’s attention. I also heard that Hellfire was opposed to the bequest. So let’s put it this way: the administrator wouldn’t rock the boat with either one of those women.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He died last year. Heart attack. But he wouldn’t have been any help. He liked old Hellfire. She never tormented him. He was a fighter. She preferred to find the ones with a weakness, probe it, make them squirm. I tried to explain to him, but he always just thought that Gabe just needed to show some spine.”

  “Oh boy, that’s bad.

  She nodded.“I don’t know why I’m confiding in you. My husband would have had a fit if I’d blabbed about our personal business.” She gave a small laugh. “But now I can be as indiscreet as I want.”

  “There’s more to it. I’ve been told not to visit Olivia. In fact, I’m not allowed on the Stone Wall Farm premises. And my friend Jack Reilly, who used to play basketball with Gabriel, has been refused permission to visit him. I wondered if the decision to tell Jack to stay away came from you.”

  “A friend visiting? That would have been very nice for Gabe.”

  “I believe it was nice for both of them.”

  “But, perhaps this Jack got Gabriel upset? I told you his emotions could be triggered so easily.”

&
nbsp; “I doubt it. But let’s say, for argument, that’s what happened. Would you expect the Stone Wall Farm staff to let you make the decision about who could visit?”

  Her gaze had strayed to the driveway and the old basketball hoop over the garage door. I wondered if she was seeing her son as he had been fifteen years earlier, shooting hoops. Happy and with his life ahead of him. A scholarship, a career, someday a wife and children.

  She said in a distant voice, “Of course. Gabe was in a coma for so long. Friends . . . fall away, you know? People don’t know how to deal with what remains. No one comes anymore. He’s lonely. That’s why I got the parrots for him.”

  “He seemed to love those birds.”

  She nodded absently. “He did, but the last few days, he won’t go near them. Perhaps he’s depressed. He really needs a friend.”

  He had one, I thought. Lilith. No wonder he’s depressed.

  I had plenty to think about after I left Forest Glen. Gabriel’s mother had hated Miss Henley. She didn’t even bother to keep her raw emotion hidden. Even though Miss Henley was dead, she wasn’t quite dead enough for Mrs. Young. And it was easy to understand how she felt. How many other people nursed the same kind of rage?

  I was still pondering that as I whipped back uptown to hit Ciao! Ciao! while they were serving lunch. The tiny café was buzzing as usual with conversation and laughter. I chose a rustic roll with prosciutto, Asiago cheese, arugula, and red peppers, and a bottle of San Pellegrino sparking mineral water. I squeezed through the crowd into the last remaining seat at the little counter in the corner. It was a sandwich worth remembering and a lunch I should have shared with a friendly face, but I wasn’t in the mood for chat and I worked my way through the sandwich without savoring it. I was stuck on that idea that many people had wanted Miss Henley dead. Former students for sure, their parents too, apparently. And what about some of the teachers she’d worked with? The ones at the memorial sure hadn’t been overcome with sorrow at her passing.