Organize Your Corpses

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I couldn’t remember telling Sally I’d been at Tang’s that afternoon, but I’d certainly blubbered it to Jack. In fact, Jack knew everything. The same Jack who was supposed to meet me at the Henley House, so I wouldn’t go in and meet with Dominic—or whoever Dominic really was—alone. The same Jack who never showed his face, although his bicycle had been there. The same Jack who was tall, fair, and blue-eyed, like Olivia and Crawford. Not short and dark and intense like his fond adoptive parents. The same Jack who had easy access to my car. My friend, Jack. Who was he, really? Could I trust him to help me now?

  And what about Sally? She was blonde, tall, and graceful like Crawford. I remembered Sally’s own mom as a small, grey, bitter woman, leading a joyless existence with the stepfather who treated Sally like gum under his shoe. Could Sally have been a Henley born on the wrong side of the blanket? Could she have plotted the deaths of Helen Henley and Dominic because they stood in the way of her inheritance?

  No one else made sense except one of these two. I didn’t know Lilith well, but she hadn’t been around at the early stages. She had no way to know what I’d been up to with Miss Henley or where I was when Wynona was killed. The same with Rose, who’d ended up a victim herself. The only two who made sense were Jack and Sally. If Esme Adams were writing this story, one of them would have been the guilty party for sure.

  “Well, that’s real nice, Charlotte,” I said out loud. This isn’t one of your mother’s hyped-up tales, I reminded myself. And Sally and Jack are your lifelong friends. You know what’s in their hearts. You know you can trust them.

  A thought struck me. Sally keeps that television blasting on WINY day and night. She would have seen the news alerts. She’d be frantic with worry. All it would take was one quick phone call to reassure her. But Pepper would anticipate that. I didn’t know how long it took to tap phone lines, but Pepper would know which ones to go for: Sally, Jack, and Margaret. All the misfits.

  I was truly on my own.

  The police would be taking Rose’s place apart by now. It was just a matter of time until they found that gym bag with my bloodstained clothing. What if someone had seen me run next door? Plus my car was still in Rose’s backyard, covered with the tarp. The cops would want to talk to the neighbors. They’d come here too. Would they kick the door down?

  This kind of thinking gets your adrenaline going. I sat up, heart pounding, head buzzing, and front tooth aching. I could hardly call my dentist. Wait, there was something about dentists. Something I’d heard at the memorial. Something that may have been important. And better, something that might help me get out of this tight spot.

  I crawled back downstairs. The flashing from outside gave off enough weird flickering illumination for me to see as I moved around. I located the phone and the phone book. Next I found a door in the kitchen and opened it, hoping it led to the basement. I made my way tentatively onto the stairs and pulled the door closed behind me. I felt for a light switch and flicked it on. If my luck was still holding, I could find what I wanted and no one would see the light from outside. I fumbled through the phone book until I found the telephone number I needed. My hands were shaking as I pressed the keys on my cell phone.

  First I took my five messages. Sally sounded hysterical. Jack was just as bad. Even Margaret had a touch of emotion in her voice. Of course, I couldn’t call them back.

  The fourth message was from my laundry client, now the least of my problems. She said with a chuckle, “We’ll be going ahead with that project now. He’s been watching the news with his mouth hanging open. I said you were real ticked off at him. I told him I’d picked up a few pointers from you. He’s looking at things a bit differently.”

  The last message was a welcome one from Glenda Baillie. I guess she hadn’t caught the television news about me. “Hello, Charlotte. To answer your question, my mom said she was on her way to get some chocolate truffles for Olivia. Someone had asked her to pick them up. She was always happy to do something extra for Olivia and it got her killed.”

  Click, click, click. The pieces started to fit together: the prank phone call to Kristee, the closed chocolate shop, the presence of the Dominic Lo Bello impostor at Tang’s around the corner so soon after the shooting. His sudden interest in me.

  I needed to get the hell out of here and move fast.

  Ramona was surprised to hear from me.

  “Charlotte?” she said, for the second time.

  I said, “At the memorial reception, you mentioned you saw Miss Henley on that last day. I really, really need to know exactly where she was going.”

  “The last time? Oh right. Let me think. I was going to the doctor’s.”

  “And you saw her there?”

  “I saw her heading down the hallway toward the office when I was on my way out. I told you she could still rattle me. But why do you want to know?”

  I said, “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  “But what have you got yourself into? The news . . .”

  “It’ll all blow over. I’ll just head on down and see if I can figure out what was going on.”

  Ramona shrilled, “Head on down where? To the Medical-Dental Building? To Dr. Janescek’s office?”

  “No choice. Benjamin’s my doctor too, you know. Thanks.”

  “Please, Charlotte, don’t go anywhere. You have to turn yourself in before something terrible happens.”

  “They’ll never take me alive,” I said.

  Ramona’s sense of humor had deserted her. “Listen to me! You’re up to your patootie in . . .”

  I clicked off, secure in the knowledge that Ramona would have no choice but to call the cops. But just in case, I had one more number to look up.

  “Yes, of course, my dear,” Professor Quarrington said when he heard my request. “Of course, I’ll be happy to help. You’ll be where?”

  “Miss Henley’s home. Her own home, not the Henley House.”

  “Would you like me to meet you there?”

  “No thanks. Just tell the police I’m on my way. I have to run now. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.”

  “No trouble at all, my dear.”

  Don’t be so sure, I thought, after I hung up.

  I needed to speak to Lilith, but her number was in my address book. I’d left my purse in the bedroom. I switched off the light and headed back upstairs. I waited long enough to hear the slamming of car doors. I peeked through the blinds to see the cop cars careening off. That was my cue: I grabbed the blanket with the sleeping dogs and raced downstairs.

  I couldn’t drive the Miata. With an APB out on me, I could hardly take a cab, and Stone Wall Farm was well beyond walking distance. That left Rose’s old LeMans. At least I had the keys, and after my break-in, blanket snatching, and calls to mislead the police, what was a little joyride? Rose had said that one of her neighbors checked it every now and then. Was there a chance it was still running? It wasn’t like I had a better plan. The engine sputtered, then coughed and turned over.

  “Snuggle up and hang on,” I told the dogs.

  My heart rate skyrocketed as I passed a pair of police cars, facing each other, at the corner of the street where I’d last seen Nick the Thick.

  My cell phone rang, and I held the wheel with one hand and answered, something I would disapprove of normally.

  “I found her,” Lilith said.

  “Who?”

  “Rose’s daughter, of course. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

  “Sorry, I’m a bit . . .”

  “Anyway, she’s an actress. She’s shooting a movie in Vancouver, and she doesn’t see how she could get back here right now.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “That’s just plain bad,” Lilith said. “People should take care of their elderly relatives.”

  I said, “Um, maybe you could . . .”

  “Go to the hospital and pretend to be her daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m walking over now. You can’t believe the
number of cop cars on the road.”

  “If you get in to see her and if she’s conscious at all, ask her who she let into her home. She keeps that door locked. She must have opened the door to the person who attacked her. I have this crazy idea . . .”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way to Stone Wall Farm.”

  “You don’t think anyone would go after Olivia? Oh my God, Gabriel would freak. What am I talking about? There’s really good security at Stone Wall Farm. They have staff on twenty-four hours a day. Nothing can happen to her with Francie right in the room.”

  “I hope you’re right. But two people were attacked today, three if you count me: Dominic’s dead and Rose is in the hospital. We’re talking about a killer with a lot of nerve.”

  “Call the police! They’ll protect Olivia.”

  “The police are not going to believe me. Especially since I don’t have everything figured out yet. The murderer will just take cover and wait for a better time. Let me do this now. Call me when you talk to Rose. I’ll have my phone on vibrate. If I don’t answer right away, it might be because I don’t want anyone to hear me.”

  “Be careful, Charlotte.”

  “You too.”

  With any kind of organizing project, it’s important not to give up, no matter how bleak things look.

  20

  The road to Stone Wall Farm is scenic and curvy in the daytime. The undulating hills make for a gorgeous drive. Translate that to nightmare as soon as the sun goes down. Add a high wind and occasional blasts of rain and it’s a Tim Burton fantasy. My hands were frozen in the steering wheel grip by the time I reached the property. I wasn’t dopey enough to park where anyone could see or hear me. I left the car near the edge of the property and told the dogs to keep sleeping in their new blankie. I called Lilith. She didn’t pick up. I left a message saying that I’d left the dogs in the brown Pontiac sedan just past the gate. Just in case.

  Without looking back, I crept along the hedge near the driveway, until I was even with the main building. Most of the rooms were dark, but here and there a corridor light shone. I tried the back door and found it locked. No surprise. I crept around to the side door, which I thought was the kitchen entrance. That too was locked. The same thing for the five sets of French doors along the wide verandah. By this time, I was near the front. I crouched down and peered through the glass at the staff desk in the front hall. There was no sign of a staff member. Surely there was a night nurse on duty. And what about security?

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. Bad timing.

  I slunk away from the house and took shelter behind a large cedar tree. It could be only one person. I called Lilith again.

  “That was fast,” she said.

  “What happened with Rose?”

  “You were right. I said I was the daughter. No one argued with me. No one asked for ID. Nothing. They just let me in.”

  “That’s good,” I whispered. “How is she?”

  “She’s unconscious still. I couldn’t get any information from her. I’ll try again in the morning. But now, I’m on my way to meet you. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

  “Do you still have your key?”

  “Don’t need it. There’s a keypad on the side door, near Gabe’s room.”

  “I don’t know where Gabe’s room is.”

  “Main floor just off the common room. It’s set up specially for his motorized chair. Got its own ramp and everything.”

  “The common room? The big sitting room off the front foyer? The parrots are there, right? Okay, how do I use the keypad?”

  “Everyone has their own code. Mine was SWFL—so, like, Stone Wall Farm Lilith—unless they changed it after they fired me. They’re planning to switch to security cards, but they hadn’t installed the new system when I got the boot.”

  “Would they have changed your code?”

  “Probably. But I don’t imagine they’d expect me to break in. Watch out for the night nurse and the security guard.”

  SWFL didn’t work. So much for the Stone Wall Farm staff not expecting Lilith to break in. I tried SWFF for Francie and I was through the door. I crept along the hallway. Off in the distance, I thought I could hear the soft murmur of late-night television. As I approached the desk in the front foyer, I scuttled on all fours and hid behind the drapes. Life was turning into a hokey stage play. My heart froze. There was someone there. The night nurse sat slumped on the chair, her head resting on the desk. A spilled cup lay by her hand.

  Her chest rose and fell. Definitely alive. I scurried up the stairs, hugging the wall. Straight out of one of my mother’s wilder novels. The hallway was dim, but light filtered up from the lobby level as I crept toward Olivia’s suite. The television noise seemed to be coming from it. Did that mean Olivia or her caregiver were awake? I edged closer. The television droned on.

  I paused outside the door, breathing hard. Was that the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs? Or just my imagination? Without thinking I slipped into Olivia’s suite. A ragged snore erupted from the daybed in the corner. Francie. How many people were involved in this crazy plot? Was Francie one of them? She seemed pretty dozy. Was that an act? I had two doors to choose from. Which one was Olivia’s bedroom? I tiptoed through the closest door and found myself in the bathroom. My heart rate shot up when I heard the door open to the suite. A staff member checking up on Olivia? Why would they do that with Francie in the room?

  I could see and be seen in the soft safety light. I hopped behind the shower curtain. Hard to believe, but that seemed like the most sensible thing. I tried to get my breathing under control. I looked around for something to defend myself with. There were also the usual rails and antislip guards that you might expect to find in an elderly invalid’s bathtub. One door led to the sitting room; the other must have been direct access to Olivia’s bedroom. Everything in the bathroom fit with Olivia’s luxurious but limited lifestyle. I was surrounded by high-end imported bath products. Verbena shampoo, olive and sage conditioner, lavender shower gel, and French skin cream. Large soft towels were stacked on the spa-style shelf. I could toss one over someone’s head and then make a run for it. Abandon my nutty, half-formed suspicion and hide in the woods. But after all I’d been through, I didn’t plan to leave Stone Wall Farm until I found what I needed to know. And I didn’t want to get caught first.

  When I thought I heard the door to the suite close again, I crept out silently. Or at least silently until my foot struck the trendy metal flip-top wastebasket. It clattered across the ceramic floor and came to rest against the door, spilling its contents. I grabbed one of the towels and waited for Francie to check out the noise.

  Eventually, I decided that Francie was still passed out. There was no sound from Olivia’s room. I bent down to clean up the mess I’d made on the floor. Force of habit. Who cared about a few spilled tissues and toiletries at a time like this? My hand stopped at the contact-lens case.

  Olivia might be old and fragile, but she hadn’t lost her vanity. In the dim light, I squinted at the tiny empty container. So that was the explanation for her brilliant blue eyes.

  I opened the door and peeked through. Francie still snored on the daybed. I crept toward Olivia’s bedroom. Another soft night-light showed a mountain of bedclothes. I tiptoed toward the bed, holding my breath. I leaned in closer. The bed was empty.

  I checked her sitting room again and whipped open the bathroom door. Olivia was gone. I moved softly and peered from the door into the corridor. No sign of anyone. I listened. No soft pad of footsteps. But there was something else. The distant, subtle smell of smoke.

  I scuttled down the wide staircase. As the bottom, I sniffed again. Definitely something burning. The woman at the desk continued to sleep, mouth open, a trickle of drool pooling on the desktop.

  I swallowed. The smell of smoke was faint but distinct.

  Fire? Oh crap. Why hadn’t the alarm system gone off?

  Lilith had told me that Gabe’s suit
e was on the main floor because of his motorized wheelchair. I could probably get him out, but how many other people were sleeping upstairs and downstairs?

  It didn’t matter what happened to me for breaking into Stone Wall Farm. I had to get help. I shook the sleeping woman’s shoulder. She groaned but didn’t wake.

  “Open your eyes,” I whispered. “There’s a fire.”

  As I let go, she slipped from her chair to the floor. I grabbed the desk telephone and pressed the button for emergency services. No dial tone. I jabbed the buttons in panic. Nothing.

  Okay, no phone. By this point, I would have welcomed the security guard, but there was no sign of him. Where was the fire alarm? I vaguely remembered seeing one in the common room. I raced toward it, past the covered parrot cage.

  A voice from the cage croaked, “Stupid boy, stupid boy.”

  A second said, “Cripple.”

  I stopped. The last pieces of the puzzle fell into place. My nutty idea was not so wild after all. I stared at the figure across the room. She stood erect in her pink and silver silk dressing gown, her long white hair hung in a braid around her shoulder. She moved quickly and confidently toward the window, the dressing gown flowing behind her, the braid now glowing silver in the moonlight. She bent and peered out the window. My heart thundered in my chest. I caught sight of a blur of motion outside. An owl? No, definitely human in shape. I thought I recognized the dark spike of purplish hair.

  The smell of smoke was growing stronger. Where was it coming from? The kitchen? I spotted a fire alarm on the far wall and dashed toward it.

  “Take your hand off that,” the voice said.

  Like hell. I was surprised by how fast she could move. I found my hand in her steely grip and gasped. I wrenched my hand away from her. “Don’t you smell that smoke? Something’s burning. We have to warn people.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Listen,” I said. “You have to . . .”

  “You listen,” she said in her familiar voice. The gun in her hand glinted in the dim light. “I told you to step away from the alarm.”