Closet Confidential

by Maffini, Mary Jane

  “They didn’t bark at me.”

  “That’s because you’re family.”

  “And anyway, they have to behave for me, because I’m the person who’s going to take them to visit people and cheer them up. We can’t be barking in a hospital or a seniors’ residence. Do you hear that, you turkeys?”

  But Truffle and Sweet Marie were now in the tiny galley kitchen staring up at the containers from the Kowloon. They looked like they might be hatching a plot. But at least they weren’t barking.

  “You seem down, Charlotte.”

  “I guess I am. I’m thinking about Anabel Beauchamp, and how one day she’s happy and beautiful and helping people and making the world a better place and the next day she’s dead.” I snapped my fingers. “Gone. Like that.”

  “I knew her, too. That was very bad.”

  “Remember I told you I was doing a closet job for Lorelei? Seven closets jammed with high-end goods?”

  “You didn’t say who for. But I guess I should have figured it out. Who else would have seven closets? Sort of our local glamour queen. Would you call her a celebrity?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve known her as long as I can remember. She and my mother had a strange, love/hate relationship. At first I thought she was deluded by grief. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe, she’s just—”

  “Huh. Are you going to eat the rest of that General Tso’s chicken?” This came as no surprise. Jack took a lot of calories to keep that rangy frame of his filled.

  “Yes I am, and exactly what do you mean ‘huh’?”

  “It’s an expression.”

  “It’s an expression that means ‘I think that’s a crock.’ ”

  “I—”

  “Don’t bother to deny it.”

  “I am denying it. It’s a speech filler, like, ‘um’ or ‘like.’ ”

  “Is not.”

  “Is.”

  “Listen, Jack. We’re getting our groove back, but you can’t play word games with me.”

  “Okay, fine. Huh! It means in this case, don’t go finding more trouble, Charlotte. You almost got killed last time. And the time before and . . .”

  “And you took a bullet to save me. I am very grateful and sorry I dragged you into it, Jack. You take the chicken.”

  “It’s not about the chicken, Charlotte. It’s about you living a normal life without murders in it.”

  “I’m trying. These are my clients, and they, well, she brought it up.”

  “And you should let it go.”

  “Trust me, there’s nothing I’d like better. And I think I can. Anabel’s father said there was nothing odd in the way she died. He thinks this is the form that Lorelei’s grief is taking. What I have to do is get enough information to reassure her.”

  “Must be awful for the parents.”

  “The pits. Anyway, I had already decided that there was nothing to it. A grief-stricken mother seeking answers, although there’s nothing high-strung about Lorelei. So I asked Pepper what she thought.”

  “You saw Pepper? And the little dude?”

  “Yes, today and—”

  “Did you ever see a baby so cute?”

  Here’s where I was in an awkward moment. I don’t mind babies. But I am not captivated by them. For one thing, they all look alike. Give me a toddler any day. Naturally, I would have cut out my tongue before I admitted this.

  I tried a neutral comment. “He’s cute all right.”

  “Unbelievable,” Jack said.

  I upgraded my end of the conversation to say something sincere. “Pepper wanted that baby so much. She seems happy.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Jack said.

  Well, I for one wouldn’t be. Particularly if Nick the Stick came as part of the package. I felt a chill. Better to let it go. The thing was, of all my baby-crazy friends, Jack turned out to have the worst case. I’d learned to change the subject, early and often.

  “I figured Pepper would be in the know, and sure enough, she had even been to the funeral.”

  “So was I,” Jack said. “St. Jude’s was overflowing. Everyone liked Anabel.”

  “And Pepper said to her knowledge there was nothing untoward about her death. Tragic, but an accident.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It was. I need to know how to deal with Lorelei. Harry seems to humor her. Maybe I need to, too, but if she’s going to badger me to do something about this death, then—”

  Jack’s level blue eyes met mine. “Then you tell her you’re not going to. Period. No arguments.”

  “My plan exactly, perhaps stated with a bit more tact, considering this is a grieving mother.”

  “Excellent,” Jack said. “Are you finished eating?”

  “No! I told you to take the leftover chicken, but I still want the rest of my meal.”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “And I’m just saying no. With an exclamation mark. Maybe two.”

  Jack shrugged, resigned to not getting the rest of my food.

  We both knew that he doesn’t give up that easily.

  I said, “So it was all good until Nick came home, in the middle of a shift.”

  “I thought Pepper realized that you don’t have designs on her sleazy husband.”

  “She does, but that’s not the issue.”

  “Let me guess. It has to do with Anabel.”

  “Got it in one, Jacko. Nick was on the scene immediately after, and he’d thought there was something not quite right about the whole thing. But then he realized it was an accident. Of course, he’s having nightmares.”

  “But Charlotte—”

  “So before I go back to see Lorelei and her exploding closets, I should get a third opinion. A tiebreaker. Someone neutral. And knowledgeable.”

  “You mean a cop?”

  “Makes sense, no?”

  “Like the guy with the silky shirts? And the creepy eyes?”

  “They’re not creepy. They’re just icy blue.”

  “Like from a horror movie. Bad idea to talk to him, Charlotte.”

  “I thought you might come with me.”

  Jack’s jaw dropped.

  I said, “I gave you the General Tso’s chicken. You can have all the leftovers. Everything. All I want is one fortune cookie.”

  My fortune cookie said, Everything is not as it seems.

  Jack’s said, Beware a tall man.

  Mondays are busy. I always try to hit the week running, so I was up early. As it seemed to be closet season all over Woodbridge, I had three potential closet clients waiting for a slot and one lined up for a consultation in the morning, as well as a lot of people I’d referred to my website for information. If I ended up doing the job for Lorelei, her seven closets would extend the waiting time.

  My To Do list said:✦ Call Connor Tierney

  ✦ Dog training—find anti-bark techniques

  ✦ Client consult: 10 a.m.

  ✦ Library: Ramona re: Anabel

  ✦ Keep lunch for Tierney?

  ✦ Lorelei: 3 p.m.

  I put on the coffee, walked the dogs, apologized as they barked at an elderly couple, and returned to enjoy a cup of medium Guatemalan. Before I took the first sip at seven fifteen, I left a message for Tierney asking if he could join me and Jack for lunch to discuss something. If lunch was not possible, we could probably make it for breakfast.

  I took a quick shower and got ready. I put on the outfit I’d laid out the night before, right down to the underwear and spangly earrings to perk up the look. I fixed my hair and did a better than usual job on my makeup. I changed my shoes twice, finally settling on a pair of electric blue leather spikes with four-inch heels. I felt like Superwoman in them.

  The dogs watched me suspiciously. They can always spot the most minuscule change in pattern. Must have been the extra makeup.

  Tierney called when we were in the middle of a training session. It involved startling them with a loud noise and them not barking. I did my part well, but that was still one of o
ur tricky ones. So I was embarrassingly breathless when I answered the phone.

  “Breakfast would be better,” he said. “Betty’s Diner? Half an hour.”

  “Sure thing. But make that forty-five minutes so I can locate Jack.” I did not emphasize the fact that Jack and I live in the same house and he would still be snoring away. I’d have to throw a bucket of water on him or something. He sleeps like the dead.

  “Come on,” I said to the dogs. “We’re going downstairs.”

  Jack doesn’t lock the door to his first-floor apartment. Hell, sometimes he doesn’t even shut it. This was one of those times.

  “Go get Jack,” I said. “He has treats in his bed.”

  It wasn’t good news for my anti-bark program, but the resulting yelps were quite amusing. I hoped I didn’t crack the layer of foundation I’d slathered on my face by laughing too much.

  Jack sat up in bed, by which I mean his mattress on the floor, and said, “Wow. Are we going to a party?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem, well, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “I’ll say this. Betty’s Diner, forty minutes.”

  “But it’s a twenty-minute drive.”

  “Right, so don’t waste time picking fights.”

  I stomped back upstairs and scrubbed my face. I removed the three applications of midnight blue mascara and went back to my usual look. I replaced the blue spike heels with a pair of tan sling backs and the spangly earrings with my trusty gold hoops. Smart, businesslike, but not quite so ready to party.

  As we arrived at Betty’s just after eight that morning, I mused that I never saw police officers in that particular diner. As usual, our server was Patsy Magliaro, always on duty when I show up. Patsy’s one of Woodbridge’s long-time hippie residents as evidenced by her tie-dyed skirt and hemp peasant top. Sometimes I think there’s a bit of marijuana mist surrounding her.

  “Three for breakfast,” I said when she sashayed over, Birkenstocks slapping on the floor.

  Across the room, I spotted Tierney already waiting in a booth. Jack gave him a dirty look, maybe because Jack’s idea of getting dressed up is a clean pair of baggy shorts and a fresh vintage Hawaiian shirt. Jack had found today’s shirt at the Goodwill and it featured dancing pineapples. Tierney was as usual dressed to kill.

  I said, “Just don’t.”

  Tierney was looking particularly silky when we approached the booth. He was also jingling his keys. That meant something I supposed, but who knew what.

  Tierney had coffee going already.

  Patsy hovered. “Breakfast folks?”

  “Coffee for me.” Tierney probably didn’t want to get crumbs on that immaculate shirt.

  I slid into the battered red leather booth ahead of Jack and across the table from Tierney. Even so, every now and then I got a gentle whiff of his aftershave. I am particularly susceptible to that.

  “Wheat toast with raspberry jam and cream cheese,” I said.

  “Are you people crazy?” Jack said with the enthusiasm of a person who has no kitchen skills, and who finds himself in the place that serves the best breakfast in town, poised to order said breakfast on someone else’s dime. Mine in this case. “I’ll have the Americano special, extra eggs, extra hash browns, extra bacon, and extra toast. Extra jam, too. Very large coffee.”

  “Cheese with those eggs?” Patsy said.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll make it extra then. Orange juice?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Large, I’m guessing.”

  Patsy filled up my coffee cup, sauntered off toward the kitchen, her tie-dyed skirt swaying, her gray braid keeping time with it.

  “I don’t know why we came all the way out here if you guys don’t even want breakfast,” Jack said. “The food is great.”

  I had a theory that Tierney probably didn’t want to be seen eating breakfast with me. I don’t know how he felt about my buddy, but Jack’s hungry presence certainly made me look less like I might be pursuing Tierney.

  Jack’s food arrived in what seemed like seconds. We’d hardly got past the awkward part. While Jack stuffed his lanky frame, I filled Tierney in on the background of Anabel and her parents and then got to the point. “I know you haven’t lived in Woodbridge all that long, but I wondered if you could tell me, honestly, if there was any question at all about the way she died.”

  I felt the ice blue eyes on me. Tierney can be a disturbing man.

  Jack swallowed and said, “I told her that she shouldn’t get involved in anything to do with murders. What if—?”

  “Jack,” I snapped. “I’m merely getting information so that I can reassure Lorelei, that’s all. I need facts.”

  “Lorelei? That’s the mother? Cover girl? Model?”

  “Right.”

  “I remember her.”

  “Oh. I guess I should have realized that.”

  “I do live here now. And I’d met Anabel, too. She wasn’t much like her mother. Very down-to-earth, casual dresser, kind of boyish even. I don’t think she wore makeup.”

  I was glad I’d scrubbed my face. “I didn’t realize you’d met her.”

  Still jingling those keys. “Woodbridge is a pretty small place, hard to avoid people.”

  Was he talking about yesterday? Was he talking about me avoiding him or him avoiding me?

  Back to topic. “How did you meet her?”

  “She was working with some kids at Hope for Youth at Risk, and we thought they were a little too close to some badass types we were keeping an eye on. There are some serious criminal activities in that area, and we’re having trouble keeping a lid on.”

  This took me by surprise. “Did she cooperate with you about that?”

  Tierney laughed. “Not even a little bit. Basically told me to get lost. Her job was helping these kids, not the police.”

  “Do you think there’s some kind of connection? I mean with these badass types you were keeping an eye on?”

  “No I don’t. We didn’t find any connections, so I don’t think there’s anything there. Bad as they are, these people have no history of attacking unconnected civilians. Anabel was a special young woman, and she died accidentally. It was a horrible tragedy, but it shouldn’t be too surprising. I saw the site myself. It was a muddy mess the day she died. It had been raining for a week or more, and the earth from the excavation had turned completely to mud. There must have been five feet of water in that hole. The walkway around the inside of the site was a slick disaster waiting to happen. And anyway, it was all investigated thoroughly by competent personnel.” He paused before adding, “I hope you realize that not every police officer is like Nick Monahan.”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  Jack said, “Five feet of water and a slippery walkway. Sounds like the company was irresponsible.”

  Tierney shook his red head. “I heard there’s a lawsuit pending, but Anabel was definitely trespassing. She wasn’t wearing any safety gear, and she had the wrong kind of shoes for sure. I think it would be hard to make the case that she died because of negligence, but I’m no lawyer. The main thing is that her family has a lot of influence in these parts, so there were no chances taken in the investigation, no sloppy work.”

  “I suppose you talked to every possible witness and all that?”

  “We did, in fact. Even though we didn’t think it was murder, we still needed to know what had happened. Our guys interviewed people on the street, neighbors, and anyone who might have been able to see the site.”

  I said, “But—”

  “They even did a door-to-door. I’m telling you: This is not some rinky-dink force and Anabel Beauchamp’s death was taken seriously. Her father thanked us for everything we did.”

  “And her mother?”

  Tierney shrugged. “Can’t blame her. But it doesn’t change the facts any.”

  Harry was always gracious. Lorelei’s words wouldn’t count as she was not the most grounded woma
n in the world even when not ripped up by such a tragedy.

  “Okay then, so I’m going to ignore what Nick said about his own initial impression.”

  Oddly enough, Tierney didn’t ask me what Nick had said. “Sometimes you have to consider the source.”

  “That’s more or less what Jack told me. Pepper didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary.”

  “You should listen to her. She’s a first-rate detective.”

  I smiled and lifted my coffee mug. But the unwelcome thought kept skittering through my head. If someone had killed Anabel, then they definitely got away with it.

  4

  Don’t overlook your public library as a great source of organizing books and magazines. You can always purchase copies of the ones you can’t live without.

  I arrived at the home of my other new client ten minutes early. I like to build in a time buffer in case of traffic. I sat in the car and used the buffer to check my voice mail.

  At ten sharp I knocked at the door of the faded bungalow. The paint was peeling slightly, and the awnings showed rust at the edges. Still, the lawn was neatly kept, and the place had a welcoming air about it. A pair of hanging baskets held impatiens in a riot of color. I felt a cheerful vibe about this home.

  The door swung open and a round smiling face greeted me. I swear the woman actually bubbled. “I am so glad you are here! I can’t wait. Come in! Bluto is very excited to meet you, too.”

  Beside her a golden retriever wagged his tail furiously, waiting—without much patience—to be stroked.

  I stepped through the door into a home: a real home, not just a house. Unlike Lorelei and Harry’s glamorous glass and metal sculpture, this was a place where people lived and loved and relaxed. I always approve of that. A stack of sports gear was contained by a plastic bin in the front hall. Four pairs of running shoes—in giant sizes—sat on a mat near the front door.

  Wow, I thought, who lives here and what species are they?

  “I made some—” She stopped herself. “Oh boy. I almost forgot to introduce myself. I’m Wendy Dykstra.” She ran a hand through her curly salt-and-pepper hair.