Harry smiled as he arranged the three flutes on a stylish tray from the Museum of Modern Art. “I’m awfully glad you agreed to come. You can see that she needs some kind of distraction. She’s not getting back to normal. Not at all. I have to confess, Lorelei sounded intrigued when I told her about your new occupation. That’s when I got the bright idea to call you. I thought that playing in those closets would be fun for her and would give her a chance to spend time with someone who was almost family. And I felt confident that you would understand if she’s not herself.”
“I’ll do my best. I hope it works.” I knew the closets might be improved when we finished, but there was no way of fixing Anabel’s death. No surprise that Lorelei wasn’t herself.
Harry picked up the MOMA tray and nodded for me to lead the way back to the living room. “And if you find Lorelei sometimes makes comments that are a little less than kind about your own mama, I hope you won’t let that get you down. It’s not personal. You know she has her funny little ways. But she thinks the world of you and she always has.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised a half hour later when Lorelei threw back the ebony-trimmed etched-glass doors to her own dressing room, the first of many closets that lay ahead of me. Like everything in the house, the doors were custom-made. She’d stood there for a while inhaling softly before the dramatic opening flourish. I admired her perfect posture as I believed I was intended to.
“What do you think? It’s a bit like a Jackson Pollock, isn’t it? All jumbled up.”
It might have been, too, except that everything in it was a soft shade of white, cream, gray, or the official family color: champagne.
How to respond? “It does have a certain artistic purity.”
She laughed, showing her perfect teeth to advantage. “You are a cute little thing, Charlotte. I hope Esme realizes what she has in you.”
Let it go, I told myself.
“Is this closet a problem? It looks as though it was custom designed for you. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong, and you know it, Missy Smarty Pants. It was designed for me. They all were, naturally. It only makes sense.”
Great. We were getting nowhere. “Why don’t you give me an idea about what you’d like to achieve in this project?”
Lorelei nodded, approving. “Nicely done. And now the ball’s in my court. Well, of course, it is and it should be. Let me see, what would I like to achieve? That’s a very good question, Charlotte Adams. And I don’t know the answer to it. Do you have to know right this minute?”
I chuckled politely. “I don’t. But we’re unlikely to achieve whatever that turns out to be if we don’t figure out what it is.”
Lorelei sank into a soft gray velour chaise that sat in the middle of the dressing room, like a fainting couch perfectly positioned for those days when there was a wardrobe malfunction. With those gorgeous looks and all that money, it was hard to imagine Lorelei ever having any kind of problem at all. But of course, Lorelei had a huge problem and one that money couldn’t fix. Nothing would bring Anabel back. It would take more than a closet makeover to bring the meaning back to her mother’s life.
“Sometimes I can’t seem to find something.”
I blinked and Lorelei laughed her silvery laugh. “I don’t mean that I have nothing to wear. Of course, that’s ridiculous. But I often can’t find the one perfect article I’m looking for. I don’t know where it is, and I don’t even know where to begin looking. Finding what I want, that is something I’d like to achieve.”
“Sounds well worth striving for.”
“Hmm.” She yawned languidly. “I suppose it is. What else am I going to do with my time?”
She got to her feet with one fluid movement, and we passed through her bedroom on our way to closet two. I gave a backward glance at the room with the largest bed I’d ever seen, no doubt also custom constructed for Lorelei. The headboard must have been six feet high and upholstered in white leather. A shimmering white silk spread covered the bed. I supposed the eight pillows would be enough even for Lorelei, with one or two for Harry.
As we turned to go, she stopped abruptly. “I don’t think I can cope with any more today.”
I raised an eyebrow without thinking. If she couldn’t cope with looking at the second of her seven closets, I wasn’t sure how she’d react to the more challenging part of sorting them out, not that I believed for a second she was serious about the project.
“I can tell that you think I’m being silly.”
“It’s your project, Lorelei. Naturally, you make the decisions. I have to say that it doesn’t get any easier. And looking at the closets is usually the first step.”
“I get so tired lately. You have no idea.”
I found myself regretting my raised eyebrow and stodgy comments. Lorelei was so beautiful, so elegant, and so inclined to play to the imaginary camera every minute, it was easy to forget she’d suffered such a terrible tragedy so recently. I’d always found her hard to deal with, but that didn’t mean I could overlook what she’d lost. I reached out and touched her hand.
“When would you like me to come back?”
She smoothed her already smooth hair and smiled wanly. “Can we be flexible? I never know how I’m going to feel.”
“I’m booked up lately, but I was able to pop in when Harry called because I leave my Sundays free as a rule. He’s very persuasive.”
“Isn’t he? Well, I don’t know what to do, Charlotte.”
“No pressure. Call me when you feel like going ahead and I’ll come as soon as I’m free.” I was surprised at myself as I am a stickler for making and keeping appointments. But then Lorelei always expected special treatment and got it. She has that in common with my mother.
“Monday then. Monday would be good for me.”
“You mean tomorrow?”
“Isn’t tomorrow Monday?”
“It is, but . . . okay, let me check.” I fished out my agenda, the old-fashioned paper kind. Sure enough. I had a two-hour opening in the middle of the afternoon. I’d planned to use that to work on a time management seminar I was designing, but I could accommodate that easily enough later. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I looked up to find Lorelei watching me with interest, all signs of fatigue gone.
“Three o’clock? I can be here then.”
“I know I’m not always easy to deal with. Harry’s been suggesting that I try harder.”
I kept my mouth firmly closed.
“Thank you, Charlotte.” Lorelei clasped my hand.
“You’re welcome. I hope I can help. Why don’t we agree that tomorrow we’ll take a look at the other closets? And then I’ll have a better idea where to take it from there.”
“Lovely.”
She was getting paler by the minute. A modern Lady of Shalott. She’d tossed back that mimosa. Had it combined with some sedative she was taking?
“Perhaps you should lie down, Lorelei. You seem unwell.”
The silvery laugh echoed through the room. “Unwell? I suppose I am.”
“I’ll let myself out.”
As I reached the bedroom door, Lorelei swayed and sat on the edge of the shimmering silk-covered bed. “Charlotte?”
Reluctantly I turned back. “Yes?”
“Do you think we will ever find out who murdered my beautiful Anabel?”
2
Before you start your closet project, select a favorite charity and donate your surplus clothing.
I tracked down Harry in the rock garden by the back of the house. He’d changed into khaki Bermudas, a faded blue cotton shirt, and a pair of thick rubber gardening gloves. He was leaning forward on a garden kneeler, yanking out weeds, surrounded by the hum of bees. He had a determined look on his deeply tanned face, as if he was trying to avoid sympathy for the trespassing greenery. That look was overtaken by a smile as he saw me approaching. He stopped and got to his feet.
I took a deep breath first. “I don’t know quite how to s
ay this, Harry, but I had no idea that someone had killed Anabel.”
The smile vanished. His brow furrowed. “Oh, Charlotte honey. What has Lorelei been sayin’?”
“She wondered if we would ever find out who murdered Anabel. I had no idea that anyone had. I thought . . . well, a horrible, tragic accident.”
I actually felt my stomach lurch. I’ve had way too much murder in my life these last two years.
“Charlotte honey, it was an accident. There’s no question about that. Everyone agrees. The police, the witnesses. Everyone except Lorelei. Some days she seems to accept it, but then, when I least expect it, she’ll start up about Anabel being murdered.”
“Oh. So . . . ?”
“A tragic misstep. There’s no reason to think otherwise, except perhaps if you are a heartbroken mother.”
I glanced at him. In my opinion, Harry was far more heartbroken than Lorelei. What impact would this talk of murder have on his healing? “I’m glad to hear she wasn’t murdered.”
His shoulders slumped. “I do not want to think that my beautiful baby girl was killed by anyone. I always wanted the best for her, and now I need to know her spirit will rest gently.”
I felt tears sting my eyes. I found myself patting his arm to comfort him. “I can certainly understand that. I would want the same thing.”
“Lorelei is having problems. She can’t process it. Things have always gone so well for her and now this senseless tragedy.”
I nodded.
“Try not to let her distress you, Charlotte honey.”
“Lorelei won’t distress me. And I can understand why you both feel the way you do.”
“That’s real good. Let me know if she asks you to do anything too . . . unusual.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him.
“I’m so sorry, Charlotte honey. I should have realized when I suggested the closet project that she might have wanted you especially because of all your involvement in, well, um, you know what I mean.”
“That makes sense. She doesn’t seem to have much interest in the closet refit.”
“As usual, I walked in with my eyes wide open and still not seein’ what she actually wanted.”
Damn. I was doing my best to steer clear of murders for the rest of my life. At least this one wasn’t real.
“I can’t look into murders, and I don’t want to mislead Lorelei about that.”
“Don’t you worry about misleadin’ her. I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t mislead you.”
Was it possible that Lorelei could truly mislead me? I consider myself to be practical and not in the least naïve. Of course, I have been known to be wrong on both counts.
“Don’t worry about it. She took me by surprise.”
“She takes a lot of people by surprise. You’ll find yourself bamboozled again when she doesn’t pay any attention to whatever you have both agreed to. Maybe you should humor her. I think in time she’ll come to accept what’s happened as I have. She’ll never have any closure otherwise. I was hoping that you would distract her with your organizing project. You’re young, you’re a real pretty gal, and she’s known you since you were this big. If you can steer her mind away from this crazy idea, it’ll be good.”
“I’ll tell her that I’m happy to do the closets or to come and visit, but I can’t investigate.”
Harry squeezed my hand.
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. And Harry, I am so sorry for what you’ve been going through.”
“Why thank you, Charlotte honey.”
I hated to take Harry from the solace of his garden, but I did have to say, “One more thing. Lorelei didn’t seem to be feeling all that well and I wondered if you should check on her. Maybe it’s sedatives and mimosas? She didn’t seem herself at all. I wasn’t sure, but it worried me.”
Harry hurried back toward the hard-edged glass and rock architectural marvel, and I headed for my Miata and home.
I would have gone straight home, too, if I hadn’t stopped at Hannaford’s to restock my supply of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. I dashed over to my favorite section and squealed to a halt at the end of the nearest aisle. I spotted a familiar redhead. In front of the ice cream cooler was one man I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. Detective Connor Tierney of the Woodbridge Police managed to look like a million in his jeans and T-shirt. He was taking his time over the ice cream and jingling his keys.
That’s the strength and a weakness of living in a small city. You are bound to run into people you know in the main grocery store, restaurants, movies, and any place you might want to frequent. Two and a half years after I moved back from Manhattan to my hometown, and I couldn’t go anywhere without tripping over people I knew.
Not this time, I decided. He was turned away from me, so I didn’t have to meet his ice blue eyes.
I backed up quietly and whipped around on my platform heels. I had other sources of ice cream. And after one lackluster date three weeks earlier, with no call the next day, I sure didn’t want Connor Tierney to get the impression I was following him. I snatched a giant box of Cheerios as I flew down the cereal aisle. No point in going home completely empty-handed. Truffle and Sweet Marie, my miniature dachshunds, like them, and they make great training aids in my ongoing battle to keep them from barking their pointed little heads off. We need training. I spotted some jumbo bags of Mars bars at the end of the row and picked those up, too. I’d need some soothing when training was over. Of course, this all meant I had to go through the checkout lane.
Tierney emerged from the end of the coffee aisle as I reached the cashier. Just when I thought I was in the clear.
He grinned. “You’re in a hurry.”
“Forgot my list,” I said breathlessly.
“Cheerios and Mars bars. I can see where you’d need a list for that. What would be on the list? Buy? Not buy?”
“Ha-ha. There were other things, but I can’t remember what they were. Of course, the dogs may have eaten the list. You know what they’re like.”
I tossed my money at the cashier and added, “Gotta run. Very busy day. Good to see you.”
“Wait, there’s something I—”
But I’d already waved good-bye.
I zipped out the door of Hannaford’s, head down and speed walking to the Miata. I floored it for the few blocks to Tang’s Convenience where I had the privilege of paying a higher price for my New York Super Fudge Chunk while being glared at by my good friend Margaret Tang’s mother. I could have stopped at another convenience store, but when it comes to B & J’s, Tang’s is the only other game in town. I ignored the cost and purchased a half dozen tubs. You never know when there will be an emergency.
As I headed for home, I kicked myself for not asking Tierney about Anabel Beauchamp’s death. I would have felt more comfortable resisting Lorelei’s requests if I had some common sense answers from a working police detective.
Of course, it was too late for that.
I didn’t want to make a move. It wasn’t only his ice blue eyes or the red hair or the silk shirts. I never felt that I was completely in control. My behavior in Hannaford’s being Exhibit A. When you make your living as an organizer, it doesn’t pay to become unglued in public.
After I left Tang’s Convenience, I drove by the spot on Friesen Street where Anabel’s body had been found. I pulled up and stopped. The construction site for the new condo project was set off from prying eyes by a high chain-link fence. As if that wasn’t enough, pressed-wood panels kept the project from view. Still, the fence had one of those convenient mesh window slots that keep the curious happy. I fell into that category, although I had to stand on my tiptoes to see in, and I didn’t find much of a view. There hadn’t been a lot of progress on this building. There was still a gaping hole in the middle, with a narrow pathway around it. The hole was easily fifteen feet deep and cluttered with boards and metal debris, and our recent late spring rains had left what looked like a foot of water. It was framed with wooden wa
lls that I assumed were the formwork for the foundation. Like the narrow, slippery path around the excavated area, the wood was a muddy mess. My guess was that the project had stalled after Anabel Beauchamp’s accident and had yet to get going again. I’d heard that the foundation had been full of stagnant water when Anabel had slipped from the narrow walkway and fallen into it. I felt a chill at the thought. I shivered and not because the afternoon was unseasonably cool. What a place to die. So close to people and yet absolutely invisible. I tried not to think about poor Anabel slipping beneath the dark water when no help came. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I did wonder what she had been doing there. No one seemed to have any idea why Anabel had been in such a spot alone. And more to the point, how had she managed to get in? I walked along the boarded-up front of the site and couldn’t see a way in, not that I had any desire to check it out in person. An access door was firmly padlocked. Perhaps the wood and chain-link fence and the padlocks had been a response to Anabel’s drowning. I certainly didn’t want to question Harry about the circumstances of his daughter’s death, and that would go double for Lorelei, but I figured I could find out elsewhere. Not from Connor Tierney, though. I knew the idea of me asking questions about a death would not go down well with him.
I glanced around at Friesen Street. It was a peculiar part of Woodbridge, a mix of older homes that had been converted into apartments or businesses and low-rise office buildings, many with FOR RENT signs in the windows. Unlike some of the funkier uptown and downtown neighborhoods, it hadn’t yet been discovered by the artsy crowd, but this condo development was designed to change all that. In two years, if the development went ahead, Friesen Street would probably look quite different.
I wondered what that would mean for the apartment building across the street, a six-story relic from the sixties boom, now slightly shabby, if still respectable. Some sweet soul nearby seemed to be baking bread. I liked the idea that many residents had small but flourishing gardens on their balconies.
Closet Confidential Page 2
