I grinned. “In that case, I must be Charlotte.”
“Everybody in Woodbridge knows you after . . .” She turned pale and averted her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I said soothingly, “I’m well aware that in the last year and a half I’ve been all over the WINY news showing up on every television in town looking crazed and dangerous.”
“You don’t look dangerous,” she interjected. “And not crazed, either.”
“I’ve seen the tapes. I’ve adjusted to it. Anyway, this is the real me. Sort of normal.”
“I got your name from Rose Skipowski. She was a pal of my mom’s, and she speaks so highly of you. She said you solved the second biggest problem of her life.”
“Rose is a good friend. Makes great cookies, too.”
“Oh boy, that reminds me. I whipped up some ice tea for you and lemon squares, too. Please come in and have a seat.”
I would have liked to take a peek at Wendy’s kitchen. Sometimes you get an idea of how the household is run by checking that, but I am well aware of the etiquette of waiting until asked. People need to keep their dignity when allowing someone like me to see into their darkest organizational problems. It also pays to see their living rooms. Wendy’s was a celebration of her family. A wedding picture of a much younger Wendy and a huge grinning groom sat on the mantel. It shared space with larger framed photos of three boys who took after their father: big lads with oversize grins. All of the photos seemed to involve sporting events or graduations.
The coffee table held magazines: Woman’s Day, National Geographic, and Sports Illustrated.
Wendy was back in a flash with a glistening pitcher of ice tea and lemon squares that looked like they’d melt in my mouth.
“I am so nervous,” she said, putting the plate of lemon squares on the Formica coffee table. “This is a big deal for me.”
“Please don’t be worried.”
“I know I’m going to feel pretty goofy when such an organized person sees the state of my closets.”
“If it’s any consolation, I could no more make lemon squares like these than I could fly.”
“They’re as easy as pie.”
“I can’t make pie, either, although I could eat one all by myself.”
Wendy passed me a napkin with the image of a golden retriever. I had a feeling there would be more retriever icons around the place. I wasted no time in testing the lemon squares. Perfect. The ice tea was perfect, too. I made a bet with myself that Wendy was a woman with firm priorities and that she herself came well down the list of those priorities.
I said, “These are fabulous, so tangy.”
“One other thing that’s kind of embarrassing,” Wendy said.
Of course, I’d popped my second lemon square and my mouth was full. I lifted my eyebrows to indicate that she should go on.
“I, um, don’t have a lot of money for this project.”
I nodded.
“Money is tight because we have three boys in college.”
This time I managed to say, “Expensive time of life.”
“They all work part-time during the term, and Seth is able to live at home, but Aaron and Jason are at Cornell. Jason has a scholarship, but we’re scrimping. I’m not complaining. I think it’s the best investment we could ever make, and our boys deserve everything we can do for them.”
I nodded again. Nodding is a good way to keep the conversation going.
Wendy continued. “What I’m trying to say is that my hubby and the boys chipped in to give me a hundred dollars and told me to get as much closet advice as I could for that. Is that nuts?”
“Not at all.”
“I realize now that I should have told you this before. You probably charge that much to look at a place.”
“Well, I sure won’t be charging you for the time and opportunity to eat these fabulous squares. But let me have a look at what we’re dealing with, and I’ll give you the best value I can. You may have to do some of the groundwork yourself, but we’ll make that one hundred dollars go as far as we can.”
“Thank you! I’ll throw in the recipe for the squares, if that helps.”
“Sure does.” Maybe I could talk Sally into making them.
I smiled and raised an eyebrow at Wendy. “Let’s have a look. If I stay here any longer, I might even eat the plate those squares came on.”
“All right,” she said, “but I’ll be holding my breath.”
The bungalow had three bedrooms, and it must have been bursting when those boys were all under the roof.
Wendy said as I followed her down the hallway, “Luckily my boys spend a lot of time in the rec room downstairs. You must be wondering if anyone can even inhale in this space.”
I admired the framed photos of the boys that decorated the hallway walls. “Wendy, your home is obviously full of love.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
It was a sincere comment. My own upbringing had been in a series of fairly glamorous surroundings with whomever my mother’s latest husband had been at the time. My happiest years had been growing up in Woodbridge when hubby number three, an IBM executive, had been in the area. I’d always envied the kids whose moms made cookies and squares. I’d had lots of smoked salmon and caviar as a child, but I’d hidden most of it behind the designer cushions.
Wendy had a sheepish grin as she opened the bedroom door. The furniture was probably the same set they’d bought when they married more than twenty years ago. Seemed as solid and enduring as it was dark and gloomy. The closet doors stood open, revealing everything that Wendy was worried I would see. Clothing hung on a sagging closet pole that was so jammed it would be hard to extract anything. I spotted a mix of women’s and men’s duds as well as what looked like uniforms.
“Is it beyond hope?” she whispered.
I said, “No way. This may be the best hundred dollars you’ve ever spent.”
“Really?”
“It’s a promise.”
I spoke with absolute confidence. I could see at a glance at least ten minor modifications that would make Wendy’s closet easier on the eye and improve her life at the same time. I liked this woman. She seemed to have no connection whatsoever with murder, madness, schemes, or any of the other plagues I’d faced in recent months. I decided on the spot that if I gave her the lowest possible hourly rate, that was no one’s business but my own. That was the great part about working for myself.
She sat on the bed and said, “Oh boy, that would be wonderful.”
“Is your husband handy with tools? Or are the boys? Or maybe you are?”
“Not me, my talents are in the kitchen, but all the boys are except for Jason. Why?”
“We’ll probably need the odd bit of hammering and a shelf or three. Do you want to put them on alert?”
“Sure will. They won’t mind a bit.”
“So now I don’t want to waste any of our time. Tomorrow I’ll be here with some bins and we’ll sort out your clothing into keep, toss, donate, and sell. Do you want to prepare yourself mentally for the big purge?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“Good, then get used to thinking about these questions, because we’ll be asking them over and over again.” I ran through my standard pre-purge queries for her.
Do I love it?
Do I wear it?
Does it fit?
Is it still in fashion?
Does it go with anything else I own?
Does it make me feel good?
I added, “The only right answer to each of those questions is yes. Be wary of anything that makes you feel bad.”
Wendy interrupted. “Feel bad? You mean like fat? Old? Dumpy?”
I said, “You definitely want to turf anything that brings out those reactions.”
She grimaced. “Might be quite a high percentage.” “We’ll see how that plays out. Part two of the question series goes like this: Can somebody else make use of it? Can I sell it?
Can I donat
e it to a worthy cause?
If I didn’t have it already, would I want to buy it?
Is it too small? Too large? Needing repair?
Why am I keeping this?
“I can do that,” she said, nodding a bit uncertainly.
“It’s all a bit more challenging than you might think. So here’s a little tip sheet to remind you of the questions. I’ll be back tomorrow with a contract for one hundred dollars’ worth of work. I’ll try to keep your costs down by bringing my assistant and letting her oversee the purge. I hope she’s available. If not, we should rejig our schedules to mesh with hers. She’s also a college student, she has no family, and she’s putting herself through. And by the way, she’s always hungry.”
“Music to my ears. I love to cook, and I can’t imagine what it will be like when the other two boys move out on their own.”
“I’m sure Lilith will be happy to help out with your need to feed. You might actually know her. She lives with your mom’s friend, Rose Skipowski. They have an arrangement so that Rose isn’t alone and Lilith has a roof over her head. If you’ll excuse me a second, I’ll give her a call.”
I flipped open my cell phone. Lilith is on speed dial. She can’t always answer when she’s knee-deep at one of her three part-time jobs. I left a detailed message and mentioned Wendy by name.
Wendy blurted out, “Lilith! Of course I know that girl. Well, I met her a couple of times. She’s made such a difference for Rose. It shows you with some kids you have to look past the piercings and the tattoos and the hair to see the person underneath.”
I knew that would work out. Lilith’s hair was stunning teal blue this month, and I’d detected a new facial piercing last time. I was glad that Wendy was planning to look past all that. Of course, it helped that she knew the difference Lilith had made in Rose’s life.
That made me think. Lilith had been living on the streets when she first came to Woodbridge. I’d never found out what terrible things had happened to her during those dark times, but I figured she’d either know about Anabel Beauchamp’s work with troubled kids or she’d know someone who would.
“Charlotte?” Wendy was staring at me anxiously.
“Sorry. I thought of something.”
“Is it a problem with my closet? Or—”
“Nothing to do with it. And your closet will be finished before you know it. See you tomorrow. I am free for a few minutes early in the day, so I’ll drop in and get you started once I make arrangements with Lilith.
Wendy hesitated, usually a sign that someone’s not quite ready to take the plunge.
“You have no idea how wonderful you will feel when it’s over. By the way, this consultation’s on the house. The meter doesn’t start ticking until tomorrow.”
“I’ll start getting ready. Rose is a great cook, but even so, that Lilith’s a skinny little thing. I’ll make sure she gets lunch, on the house.”
I left feeling very good indeed and with time to get to the library and check out something that had been troubling me.
Luck was with me and my friend Ramona was working reference. I spotted her silver brush cut and denim skirt across the room. A ray of sunshine caught her dangling silver earrings. Ramona is not always such a ray of sunshine herself, but she is invariably intelligent, businesslike, and up for finding whatever you seek.
“You’re keeping out of the news lately,” she said as she approached.
The reference regulars shot her dirty looks for daring to speak while they read their New York Times or Atlantic Monthly. Of course, Ramona can trade dirty looks with the best of them, so they quickly transferred their pursed lips and narrowed eyes to me. I’m not nearly as sensitive as I was before I got hauled off to the police station in my frog pajamas and bunny slippers while the WINY cameras were rolling.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
“So,” Ramona said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Just saying hello. I planned on checking the library’s supply of organizing books and magazines for a client who’s on a tight budget. I couldn’t come by without dropping in to see you.”
“I’m always a bonus. Make sure you use the online catalog, too. We have tons of stuff and it’s not always in, but your client can request items online and we’ll let her—or him—know when they come in.”
“Perfect. And it’s her. For some reason, all my clients have been female. By the way, you’ve lived in Woodbridge all your life, haven’t you?”
“Except for the two years getting my master’s in library science.”
“Great—I wondered what you know about—”
Ramona threw back her head and guffawed. “I knew you hadn’t just dropped in, Charlotte.”
Naturally that drew another round of disapproving stares from the category of folks that Ramona calls the Information Prima Donnas, IPDs for short.
“No need to break a rib laughing. But, you’re right. It so happens there is a matter that I’m curious about.”
“Out with it. I don’t have all day.”
“Fine. Anabel Beauchamp’s death.”
“Whoa. No sugarcoating there.”
“No. I’m doing some work for the family, and there’s been a suggestion that—well, that someone killed her. It’s crazy, I know.”
“Not so crazy to want to know that. I would in your position. Of course, I’d probably start by asking the police.”
“Been there. Done that.”
“And?”
“And it was a straightforward accident, with the slightest hint it might not have been.”
Ramona nodded; the silver earrings actually jingled up close. “They would prefer an accident, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re a city department, like us. Their funding depends on getting results. We all measure our results using stats. That’s what keeps us afloat. Every time you walk through the door and ask me a question, Charlotte Adams, I add you to the tally.”
“So you think the police wouldn’t acknowledge that Anabel’s death might not have been an accident to keep their stats up?”
“Of course not. But I do think they wouldn’t go looking for extra murders because they’re curious. They have plenty to do with the deaths that are obviously foul play, not that Woodbridge has all that many. Plus, a big chunk of their activity seems to be chasing after you.”
“Very funny.”
“Maybe you could become a departmental line item.”
“You’ve given me something to think about, Ramona. So tell me, did you ever babysit for Anabel or have any other connections I should know about?”
“I knew her through her work, but not well. I do have a lot of clippings and information about her. I can gather them up for you. She was very well thought of, and she made the papers with her work before her death. She wasn’t afraid to stand up for what she believed in. And the funeral was a big deal. I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“She died while I was in Europe, visiting my mother, who managed to give me the slip quite a few times. We didn’t find out that Anabel had died until too late.” I was starting to feel very guilty about missing this funeral.
“People spilled out of the church. I never saw so many tears. All kinds of people, rich and poor, old and young. Lots of media, too, but that might have been because of her mother.”
“Right. She’s the one who thinks that Anabel’s death was murder.”
“Oh right, Lorelei. She’s nothing like her daughter, that’s for darn sure.”
“And that’s supposed to convey some information?”
“And come to think of it, you dropped the ball, Charlotte.”
“In what way?”
“In the way that you asked about Anabel but never questioned if I had any dealings with Lorelei.”
“Did you?”
A library page skittered out an office door and up to Ramona. “They want you in the office. Now.”
Sometimes I wondered if
there was someone on the management side who tried to break up every conversation that I had with Ramona. But of course, that was silly.
5
Don’t overlook the dollar store and variety store containers to make your job easier.
I made a note to myself to ask Ramona about Lorelei when she called to say the clippings were ready. Knowing Ramona, that would pay off. In the meantime, I had plenty to keep me busy. I hoped she’d call before I headed back to the Beauchamps’ house at three that afternoon.
In the meantime, I hit the nearest Dollar Do! to see what might help in Wendy’s closet upgrade. I checked the storage and the kitchen section, identifying lots of useful little tools. I didn’t buy anything, because Wendy would be making those decisions and there was no point in starting until we knew what she’d be keeping in her closet.
Next I hit the building supply store to check out inexpensive closet organizers. It looked like even the most cost-effective systems were going to put her over the hundred-dollar mark, but a double-hanging closet pole could come in very cheap and double her hanging space for shirts and jackets.
I had more luck at the new linen store. I’d noted some deals on the flyer they’d sent around. What was more, I had a coupon. Sure enough, the cost of the slim-line closet system, pole, matching hangers, and a system to hang belts, scarves, pants, and shoes would come in well under Wendy’s budget. This would be our first stop when it came time to make decisions about how to settle the closet. I also liked the deal on the hanging cloth shelves—less than twenty dollars. We were unlikely to get a dresser with the amount we had, but these could go a long way to corralling T-shirts, sweaters, and anything that needed to be folded. I noted everything down in Wendy’s file and left smiling.
I didn’t plan to charge Wendy Dykstra for my browsing time. It’s all part of business reconnaissance and built into the charges for most clients. She was my first client for a hundred-dollar closet makeover, but she might not be the last. My clients tend to be quite affluent because getting the services of an organizer is perceived to be a luxury. Not that it should be: Everyone who does a thorough organizing job—on their own or with professional help—finds that it saves them time, money, and misery. Even so, it’s well down the list of most people’s perceived necessities and as scary as a root canal for lots of folks. With this in mind, I decided it would be worth developing a kit to help people do the bulk of the work themselves, with me teaching them to analyze their needs and get started. I could provide reading material, photos, illustrations, checklists, worksheets, and resources, and, if necessary, a couple of phone calls or a visit to incite them to keep moving.
Closet Confidential Page 5
