Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I did pull myself together enough to hunt up Wynona Banks’s number in the phone book. I tried the number in case someone in her family wanted to talk about Wynona and Olivia. I remembered vaguely that Wynona had been a single mother who raised five children. None of them lived at home apparently because the line had already been disconnected. I found four more Bankses in the book. The first three turned out to be no relation and the fourth simply didn’t answer. I let it ring fifteen times to be sure.

  Jack and the dogs were doing their best to cheer me up. Truffle and Sweet Marie used the time-honored ploy of chasing each other and barking, while Jack relied on his standby: tempting me with ice cream. He pointed out that although Tang’s had been out of New York Super Fudge Chunk, he had stocked up on Chunky Monkey as a fallback plan. And he socked away a few Mars bars for insurance.

  “Say the word,” he said.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said.

  He shook his head in astonishment. “Did you just say no to ice cream?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll get it.”

  “I meant yes, I did say no to ice cream.”

  “Get over it, Charlotte. Nothing’s that bad.”

  “Something is even worse,” I said.

  “I thought it was kind of funny actually,” Jack said, giving his middle fingers a workout.

  “Not that,” I said, running my tongue over my front teeth and flinching.

  “What?”

  “You know, I think I damaged my front teeth when I hit the steering wheel the other night.”

  Jack leaned in and squinted. “Huh,” he said.

  “Do you see a crack?”

  “Maybe.”

  A tap at the door set the dogs in motion. Jack flicked on the television set just to ratchet up the commotion.

  “I was worried sick. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Sally said breezing in. “Oh wow. There’s Todd Tyrell!”

  “Big whoop,” I said. “What if my teeth break off? What then?”

  Sally gazed at the television. “He is so gorgeous.”

  “He is?” Jack said.

  I said, “Well, he thinks he is. What about my teeth?”

  “I agree with him,” Sally said.

  “Yes, we know that. Brings the total believers to two,” I said.

  “That many?” Jack said. “Hard to imagine.”

  Fine, I thought. Forget the teeth. Obviously no sympathy here.

  Sally shrieked, “And there you are, Charlotte! On the news flash!”

  “We know, Sally. We’ve been watching. That’s one of the reasons for the long faces,” Jack said.

  “Check out that digit.” Sally bounced on the sofa, laughing and clapping like the kid she was not. “You go, Charlotte, girl! I have always wanted to do something like that.”

  Jack said, “Who hasn’t?”

  “I haven’t. And I can’t believe I did. I’m so embarrassed.” I sank lower into the sofa cushions. I could always move back to the city and start over again.

  Sally said, “Ooh, hey, a close-up! You look a bit . . .”

  “Demented?” Jack said.

  “Let me die now.”

  Jack leaned forward and speculated. “I wonder if that’s the first recorded incident of reference rage.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It is,” Sally said. “And very sulky too.”

  “So what if I am?” I said. “I feel awful. I haven’t done a single thing on my to-do list today. Come on. What are you laughing at? Like Wynona Banks’s family. How am I going to find them? I’ve tried every Banks in the book, but there’s either no answer or they’re not related.”

  “I still think that’s a long shot,” Jack said.

  “Maybe she doesn’t have a family,” Sally said.

  “I’m pretty sure she does. They’re probably listed in the newspaper obituaries,” I said, “but the library’s closed. Not that I can ever go there again.”

  Sally said, “Benjamin always gets the paper. It goes right in the recycle bin because he’s so busy, but I’ll check.”

  “That’s the first piece of good news I’ve had all day. Can we go over?”

  “Puleeze, don’t make me go home. He’s been in a vile mood ever since I took Rose to the Farm. He’s hardly talking to me, and I was so glad to get away.”

  “Why is he so upset? It seems like an extreme overreaction,” I said. “You were trying to help. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Sneaky, yes. Wrong, no,” Jack said.

  “Tell that to Benjamin. He’s still furious because that Vanclief iceberg phoned his office and said she would make a formal complaint to the medical board if there was another attempt by him or anyone in his family to contact Olivia.”

  Jack said, “That’s outrageous. Benjamin hasn’t even tried to contact her. Oh right. In the church when she collapsed.”

  “It’s so obvious she’s up to something.”

  Sally said, “But that won’t make it easier for me. He’s pretty steamed at me and at you too, Charlotte.”

  “Me? But—”

  “He’ll get over it. Anyway, I’d better get back. He’ll be ever grouchier if he has to manage bath time for three kids on his own.”

  “I’m heading out too,” Jack said. “Found a guy who does custom-shelving installations. I’m going to check him out.”

  “Custom shelving? That sounds like fun,” I said, struggling up from the sofa too late. The front door slammed behind them.

  Five minutes after they left I made a decision. I could spend the rest of the night staring at my front teeth in my magnifying makeup mirror and reliving my television cameo from hell, or I could do something useful without actually showing my green-chinned, tooth-endangered face around town.

  In fact, I wondered what had taken me so long to think of it.

  You couldn’t grow up around my mother without learning that the big motives were greed, sex, revenge, jealousy, power, and ambition. You could also toss in love and the desire to protect a loved one.

  I felt certain sex wasn’t too likely this time. Ditto love. Greed made sense if you were thinking about Olivia, but not for Miss Henley’s and Wynona Banks’s murders. Unless, of course, they were killed because they stood in the way of Olivia and her millions. I made a header for each motive and started to list people I knew of who might fit on that list. Of course, there could have been thousands of others that I wasn’t aware of, but I know enough to focus. I figured revenge was a strong possibility, although I couldn’t figure out how Wynona would fit into that. Still people like Gabriel Young’s mother, Mr. Kanalakis, Mrs. Neufield, even Pepper made that list. And who knew how many others. Still all that revenge related to Miss Henley. I couldn’t imagine how it could relate to Wynona. And the more I thought about it, the more I believed the two were connected. I decided I’d get the biggest payoff from concentrating on greed. I listed the people and organizations that would benefit in some way from Miss Henley’s death:

  • Inez Vanclief from Stone Wall Farm Foundation - motive: to keep Miss Henley from influencing Olivia’s will and to get Wynona out of the way

  • The Woodbridge Historical Society - inherited the Henley House and money to renovate

  • St. Jude’s - a scholarship fund in Miss Henley’s name. Doesn’t really seem worth killing over

  • Other surviving Henley relatives - with Miss Henley out of the way, would stand to inherit Olivia’s money. Who was Crawford Henley survived by?

  I’d already asked Dominic to see what he could find out about Inez Vanclief. Was there anything else I could do? I felt stopped on that one. I couldn’t go out there, nor could anyone I knew. And all I had was speculation. That wouldn’t get me anywhere with the police. With luck, Dominic would get a sense of things out there. There was always a chance I could gain some insights from Wynona Banks’s family if I could track them down.

  I’d given no thought to the historical society, except as a source of i
nformation about the Henleys. Perhaps I should consider the gentle and congenial Professor Quarrington in a different light.

  As for St. Jude’s, I couldn’t imagine anyone killing over a scholarship fund that would benefit unknown students in the future. Neither the administrators nor the teachers would get anything out of it.

  And, of course, I was stuck on the information about Crawford. Unless I could combine two things. I decided to return Professor Quarrington’s call and ask what he might know about Crawford Henley’s possible descendents. Maybe he’d let something slip about the darker motives of the historical society. Somehow, I doubted this. At the very least, he might have the paper with Wynona Banks’s obituary.

  Professor Quarrington opened his door and raised his eyebrows in welcome. “You certainly look much better than you did the last time I saw you.”

  I said, “It’s very kind of you not to mention my colorful chin.”

  “Well, one gets to an age where the current styles are not always immediately understandable.”

  I laughed. “Something tells me blue and soon-to-be-green chins won’t ever make the must-have list.”

  “I wasn’t sure it was actually green, seems more purplish, but never mind. Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ve managed to find that article you asked for on the phone. Quite a write-up about this Wynona Banks. Terrible tragedy.”

  “That’s great. Does it list her family members?”

  “Yes, five daughters. All different names. Married, I suppose.”

  “That explains why they’re hard to find in the phone book.”

  “One of the reasons. As far as I can tell, only one of them lives here. The other four are scattered across the country.”

  I joined him in the blue room where the fire was burning merrily. Professor Quarrington busied himself getting water for me and a wee bit of brandy for himself. I sat and read the write-up. “May I keep this?” I said afterward.

  “Of course. I made you a photocopy. Not completely in the dark ages here. Have a great little gadget. You said there was something else?”

  “A couple of things really. The first is about Crawford Henley. Did you know him?”

  “Not personally. He’s supposed to have been rather . . . swashbuckling, really. Broke a few hearts and ruined more than a few reputations.”

  I laughed out loud, more because of the eyebrow activity than the comment. “That’s what I hear.”

  “Of course, that was back in the fifties and early sixties when these things made a difference. By the time I moved here, he was long gone, but his legend lived.”

  “I wondered if the historical society had any information about his family. I’m trying to find out whether he had a wife and children.”

  “Well, he had cousins, of course. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve had various bits and pieces about the Henleys, but they’re mostly old photos of the house and the foundry. A few of those family portraits, that sort of thing. Some objects, I suppose, which we will be able to put on display.”

  “Will you restore the Henley House?”

  “We’ll do our best. Helen left us some money as well, but, being Helen, there were terms. We’re not to sell either her home or Henley House. That’s just like her, not to make anything easy for anyone. It will be a costly project. I’ve been around to the Henley House this week. There’s a lot of rot, roof is gone, verandah a death trap. I doubt if we have enough to cover the costs, even with the funds she left us.” The eyebrows flickered. “We’re happy to have both houses, of course, and Helen’s own home is a little jewel. I wouldn’t like to see them torn down or divided into apartments. Still, we’ll have to get at the fund-raising. And it might not be that easy. She left provisos that her name be attached to both houses. A bit of ego.”

  I said, “Not that it’s my business, but did you like her?”

  “Actually, I admired Helen. She had spirit and mischief. It got out of hand from time to time, but I enjoyed sparring with her.”

  “I admired her too. Not the sparring part.”

  “The thing with Helen was you could never show any weakness. She’d go right for your jugular.”

  I nodded my agreement. “I’ve seen her in action.”

  “But back to this Crawford Henley of yours. The Woodbridge Library has a lot of information about the family. We worked with them to amass and organize it. We have a very cooperative arrangement. We contributed quite a few papers too. They’ll find this Crawford for you.”

  “I got there too late.”

  The remarkable eyebrows ruffled in shock. “Too late? Has something happened to the library?”

  I let that slip past, grateful that the professor hadn’t seen the middle-finger incident on television. “I’m just impatient. I’ll be there Monday as soon as it opens. I’ll find out who survived him.”

  “The official ones anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Professor Quarrington harrumphed in embarrassment. “Well, you know,” he said, “bit of a lad, this Crawford. Lots of ladies.”

  I nodded, waiting.

  “Well, could have been some Henleys born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say.”

  My green-tipped face must have fallen.

  “Didn’t mean to shock you, my dear.”

  “I’m not shocked. I’m horrified.”

  “Yes, well, of course. Moral standards and all that.”

  “No, I mean, if there are some illegitimate children, they wouldn’t be Henleys.”

  “Most likely not.”

  “It’s just worse and worse! The Henley heir could be anyone.”

  Professor Quarrington smiled sadly. “I suppose you’re right. Anyone except the two of us.”

  Life is full of humiliations. Who doesn’t know that? The ribbon of toilet paper trailing from your shoe as you reenter the board meeting, the brilliant glob of spinach on your teeth at the dinner party, or that magical zit that flares on your nose only during job interviews. They all let you know your place in the cosmos. But getting out of a police cruiser, for the second time in eleven days, and stumbling past a salivating crowd into the police station tops everything. I’d never seen a crowd there before, let alone had to push through one. I spotted the WINY logo among other media vans. I wondered if there was some high-profile event going on. A visiting politician? A ribbon cutting? Why would they have to pick that particular moment?

  It wasn’t until Todd Tyrell thrust a microphone toward me that I realized I was the main attraction. The TV guys were getting a close-up of the real me, no makeup, insufficient coffee, tousled hair. Apparently your civil rights in this country do not extend to being allowed to change out of your bunny slippers before being hauled off to the slammer.

  The cameras panned downward.

  Todd said, seriously, “Do you have anything to say to our viewers?”

  I knew he was hoping I’d say yes. I shook my unstyled head. The officer nudged me forward, and I trudged up the stairs to the station. My knees wobbled. If I’d been thinking clearly, I might have asked myself exactly how Todd Tyrell knew I’d be taken in. As it was, I merely figured I was descending into hell. And that was before the interrogation room.

  Inside the station, people swiveled to watch our progress. I felt dwarfed by the two lanky police officers who flanked me. Pepper marched ahead, her very special nose in the air, radiating triumph. Let me just point out, if you are feeling a bit down and dazed, worrying about being fingerprinted won’t improve your mood. It just leads to you being stressed and slack jawed if they do take your mug shot. I can’t imagine anyone not looking guilty by this point.

  I sat fidgeting in the interrogation room for hours, although it seemed more like weeks. I reminded myself that I was just there for questionning. I hadn’t actually been arrested. I had nothing to do but stare at the imaginary ink stains on my fingers. Normally, I try to take advantage of “downtime” to plan something, meditate, and think some useful thoughts. But of course,
normally, my mind does not reflect the spin cycle on my washing machine. I tried recounting my blessings in life: a wonderful job, a town I thought I loved, a great apartment, good friends, and best of all, two terrific guard dogs. But every blessing had a downside. Who would hire me after my face had been all over every television screen in town in connection with a bird-flipping incident and a murder? How could I keep my apartment if I was in jail? Who would help Rose get a driver? Who would help Lilith find a job and a place to live? And worst of all, who would rescue Truffle and Sweet Marie if Mommy went to the big house?

  I leaped to my feet when the door opened. For one crazy blink, I thought about making a run for freedom.

  Not much chance of that.

  When Pepper swept into the room, her makeup was fresh, every hair in place. She could have been a runway model in her cool blue suede jacket and top-stitched black skirt. Worse, she knew it and I knew she knew it and she knew I knew she knew it. Not even the small bandage on her ankle detracted. She didn’t bother to keep that cool, amused sneer off her face. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned police detectives with their ratty raincoats and nicotine-stained fingers? The guys who could solve everything in an hour in someone’s living room. They never needed to toss perfectly innocent people into interrogation rooms. They knew what they were doing.

  The door swung open again and Margaret Tang entered. She gave Pepper and the other detective an enigmatic nod, and took the plastic seat next to me. Her eyes swept over me, from my hair to my pink, fluffy feet.

  “Hi, Charlotte,” she said as she snapped open her leather briefcase and pulled out a notebook and a Montblanc pen. “I got your message and five more from Jack.”

  Pepper’s manicured index finger pressed the start button on the tape recorder. Pepper gave the background info, date, location, persons present. Her partner, whose name I hadn’t quite heard, began with the questions. They seemed so harmless. All about who I was, what I did for a living, how did I know the victim. As far as I could tell, he was on my side. That was kind of sweet. After ten minutes or so, I was beginning to relax a bit. The police coffee tasted like iron filings, but it was reassuring to hold something in my hand.