Ignoring her total lack of enthusiasm, I said, “Lovely. And Lorelei?”
“Yes.”
“I have a little homework for you.”
“Homework!”
“That’s right. But you’ll be equal to the task.”
“What is it?”
“I need you to come up with a charity to donate your surplus clothing to. That is anything we decide not to keep or sell or throw out.”
“A charity?”
“That’s right. Lots of them use clothing donations to fund their services to people.”
She hesitated. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
“Excellent. See you tomorrow.”
“A lot of those clothes have never been worn, you know.”
“That’s fine, too. You don’t have to donate them if you don’t want to. Give some thought to which charity you will use for whatever you do discard.”
“All right. I don’t know what to suggest. Harry takes care of all that sort of business.”
“Why not discuss it with Harry in that case? I’m sure you’ll find some group that you like the sound of, someone who is doing good work with disadvantaged people in Rheingold or even Woodbridge. Even a national charity. You’ve lent your name and face to support more than one organization.”
As we said good-bye I was reminded of why Wendy’s project would be so much more fun. I knew that Lorelei needed this project, needed to reach out to me, and even more needed to give her wounded heart a rest. It had nothing to do with closets at all.
I finished up by making consultation appointments with two of the three potential clients for the following week. I figured Wendy’s job would be done very quickly, even if Lorelei’s might drag out. I decided to dash into the library that evening. I hoped I wouldn’t run into the rats who had reported me.
For some reason, Pepper wasn’t answering her cell phone.
7
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Girls’ night was at Sally’s place. By the time I drove up, Margaret’s glossy black Volvo S80 and Jack’s dung-colored Mini Minor were parked side by side behind Sally’s huge SUV. It takes a lot of vehicle to haul Sally’s family from place to place. Not that she’s on the run that much: Four young children keep her fairly tied down. Sally’s husband, Benjamin, was a busy physician. He’d wisely scheduled a meeting for that night. No sign of his Lexus.
Margaret and I were exhausted by the time Dallas, Madison, Savannah, and little Shenandoah had settled in. Of course, we’d been left downstairs to straighten up. Sally and Jack got the kids to bed. Apparently there’s something about me that keeps them revved up for hours.
Margaret wasn’t into kids, although her parents made up for that. May I add they were not shy about mentioning it? She must have had a rough day in court, as she was snoring softly on Sally’s white leather sofa by the time Sally and Jack tiptoed down the stairs. That sofa had been the height of cool when Sally and Benjamin purchased it. It didn’t look as sleek now with the felt-tip marker designs that decorated one arm.
I said, “I’ll make the s’mores. You wake up Margaret.”
“I’ll make the s’mores,” Jack and Sally said in unison.
“No way. What are you two, chicken? What do you think she’ll do to you anyway?”
“Remember last time?” Sally said.
“Oh right. Yeah. Well, let’s let her snore then. Newly-weds need their sleep.”
“She better get it now,” Sally said. “She won’t have a hope once ‘baby makes three.’ ”
Margaret opened her eyes and yawned. “Someone change the subject.”
“Did any of you know Anabel Beauchamp? I know you did, Jack. I’m talking to Sally and Margaret.”
“Anabel Beauchamp?”
“Lorelei and my mother go way back. I have a job to do for her, and I’ve been thinking about Anabel.”
Sally scrunched up her face. “Well, she was the opposite of Lorelei, that’s for sure.”
Margaret yawned again and said, “She was a couple of years younger than us. I heard that she had a very good brain and her parents wanted to send her to an exclusive boarding school, but she insisted on St. Jude’s. I thought she’d go on to Harvard law or medicine or something. She had the smarts and the family money.”
Jack said, “I knew her from some of the animal rescue activities. She mobilized some of the kids she was working with to help at events. What does that mean, ‘the opposite of Lorelei’?”
“Well, working on a volunteer event would be one example, I’m guessing,” Sally said. “I can’t see Lorelei ever doing anything like that, can you?”
I said, “She does lend her name and face to some high-profile fund-raisers, but doesn’t seem involved with community activities. I suppose I shouldn’t say that when she’s been through a horrible tragedy.”
I didn’t mention that Lorelei had no idea where to donate her clothes, although I was bothered by that. Most people have some charity or organization that they donate a bit of time to, even if they can’t afford to donate cash. Lorelei’s annual income was probably worth more than most of the annual budgets of our local nonprofits. Perhaps her inability to think of one grew from the concentration problems that often accompany trauma.
Sally was on a roll. “And the other thing was that Anabel didn’t give a hoot what she looked like. She never wore makeup, and she always dressed like a construction worker. What? What are you giving me the evil eye for, Jack?”
“That seems unkind, Sally. It’s easy for you. You always look pretty.”
“Without trying,” I added, “which is actually a form of cheating.”
That was true enough. Sally wasn’t quite in Lorelei’s league, but she was a knockout. Her naturally tumbling blond curls and bright coloring worked in her favor. A touch of lip gloss was all it took to dress her up. Plus she was tall and her figure snapped back almost audibly after she gave birth. If I didn’t love her, I would find her quite annoying.
Jack wasn’t done, though. “She was a person who made a difference in the lives of vulnerable people. And animals. Who cares what she looked like or how she dressed?”
Sally flushed. Of course, a flush looks good on Sal. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. We were talking about how she is the opposite of Lorelei. You were the one who asked that particular question. I’m answering it. She didn’t care about her appearance. She was clean and neat and full of energy. But she wore work clothes, plain and practical. Lorelei probably doesn’t appear for breakfast unless she’s in full makeup and wearing designer loungewear.”
I said, “You know what? That’s true.”
Margaret lifted an eyebrow. “Big deal. Not like we’re paying for it. She’s a successful model and a business-woman. She can do anything she wants with her money.”
For some reason, Jack seemed to be sulking. “Why did you even bring this up, Charlotte?”
“I’m sorry I did. I am trying to figure out what’s going on with her, that’s all. Lorelei’s not an easy person to connect to. And she is convinced that someone killed her daughter. The police don’t believe this and I have to admit, I have trouble buying into the idea, too. ”
“You never know. Maybe someone hated Anabel. People aren’t always what they look like.” Was Sally deliberately trying to get under Jack’s skin?
Jack said, “Yeah. Sometimes pretty people can turn into real bitches.”
Margaret said, “Ouch!”
Sally lobbed a cushion at Jack’s head. “I speak the truth. Whether you can take it or not, dude. I’ve seen them both in action and Charlotte’s right. I’d say they had nothing in common at all.”
“When did you see them in action?” Margaret asked.
“Benjamin and I were invited to a cocktail party at their home. Harry had m
ade a substantial donation to the Woodbridge General Hospital Foundation and had a party to celebrate it.”
Margaret said, “A money man then. What’s he like?”
“Lovely,” Sally said.
“A big courtly bear,” I added. “Kind and gentle.”
“Generous to a fault,” Sally added.
Margaret said, “Sally, may I remind you that a minute ago you said that people are not always what they look like.”
I shook my head. “Forget the cross-examination, Margaret. I’ll go with my instincts on this one. Harry’s a wonderful man.”
Jack said, “Your instincts aren’t always the best, you know.”
Margaret and Sally both shot him a look. Those looks flew right over his messy head.
I said, “Well, Harry is not a problem. He’s trying to find a way to help Lorelei cope with her horrible loss. He’s suffering himself. And he’s still looking out for her.”
Jack piped up, “Time for a DVD?”
“Wait a minute,” Margaret said. “What’s in the closets, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know. I’m betting spectacular designer stuff, high-end. Amazing stuff. It will be like looking through Vogue and Glamour.”
“Didn’t you once tell me that every closet has a secret?” Sally said.
I grinned. “I did. And I found yours, if I remember correctly: a framed head shot of the teeth that walked like a man, Todd Tyrell. How was it signed? Oh yes: To my ardent fan! XOXO, Todd.”
Margaret snorted. “Ooh. Hiding that from Benjamin, I bet.”
Sally flushed. “Benjamin’s a busy man. No need to hide anything from him. He’d never notice. And if he did, he wouldn’t react. He’s a man of great confidence, not always merited. But what’s the secret in your closet, Margaret?”
“Nothing you’ll ever find out about.”
Knowing Margaret, I suspected that was true. If she had secrets, she’d know how to keep them.
Sally turned to me. “And you, Charlotte? Do you have your own secrets in your color-coded cupboard? Are they in alphabetical order?”
“I must be the only person who doesn’t have a hidden secret.” Time to change the subject. “Except Jack, of course.”
We all chortled at the idea of Jack keeping or even having a secret. Even his close-call relationship with a woman I loathed had been fairly obvious some months back. Jack said, “Don’t underestimate me.”
I was glad when the conversation switched to a lively debate on which DVD to watch. I like to keep my own closet off-limits.
Margaret and I tidied up after the movie as Sally and Jack had put the kids to bed. They kept saying, “Fair’s fair.” Jack headed out, claiming he had to get up early the next morning.
“How’s it going?” I asked Margaret as we finally tucked the last glasses into the rack and closed the door of the dishwasher.
“Life is good. You’ll notice I’m yawning a lot. Interpret that in a romantic way.”
“I thought you might have had a rough day in court.”
“Nothing to do with court.”
“Well, I’m glad you are still hanging out with the misfits, seeing as you’re practically still on your honeymoon.”
“We all need space. Frank went out with some guys from the station tonight.”
“That works well.”
“Speaking of guys, Frank says that Connor Tierney brings up your name in every single conversation.”
“What’s that about? He stopped me for speeding today. They must be desperate to fill their ticket quotas.”
“Detectives don’t have ticket quotas. It’s a ploy.”
“I’ve had some bad luck, or bad choices if you prefer. I don’t know how ready I am to see anybody. But you’re the first to know that we’re having dinner together tomorrow night.”
“How’s Jack taking it?”
“What does Jack have to do with it? What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have to clear every date with my friends? And this from the woman who surprised us by eloping with a man she’d kept secret.”
“For someone so smart and together, Charlotte, you are pretty thick sometimes.”
I was still puzzling over what she might have meant when I drove into my driveway. Jack’s Mini was already parked, and the lights were out in his apartment. I hustled the dogs outside for a good-night trip. We paraded up and down in the little strip in front of my house.
“Hurry up. It’s getting nippy and it’s dark. That translates into make it snappy.”
Behind me, a car door opened. I started and whirled, and to tell the truth, squeaked. One too many guns in my recent past.
The dogs pulled out their Rottweiler barks. But those are much more effective if they’re out of sight. It was obvious by looking at Truffle and Sweet Marie that they were just over twelve pounds each. They could savage your ankles, though.
“Charlotte?”
“Pepper?”
“Can you call off those hounds?”
“I’m sure they won’t ever bite you again, Pepper. You were trying to arrest me that other time. Remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget. Tell them to be quiet. I don’t want them to wake up Little Nick.”
“Little Nick? He’s here? You’re out driving around near midnight with the baby in the—?”
“Calm your dogs. We’re going inside.”
Once we were settled in my living room, Truffle and Sweet Marie sniffed the baby. Pepper glared at them. I parked them at the end of the sofa and placed myself between them and Pepper. “I did return your call, but then I had to go out.”
“I didn’t want to do it by phone.”
“Do what?”
“Have this talk.”
“Oh. You mean you do know something about Anabel Beauchamp’s death?”
“Are you still harping on that?”
“Harping? Okay, never mind, no more harping. What is it about?” I tried to keep a pleasant tone. Pepper had once been my best friend, and we were making amends after years of insults and the occasional frog marching of me to the police station. Again, that would have been Pepper’s doing. Although it’s possible I may have contributed in some small way.
“It’s Nick.”
Of course. It would have to be. I prepared to put on my most sympathetic voice. I figured she’d need it if God’s gift to women had been out catting around again. On the other hand, I didn’t want to give her bad advice, such as This will pass, give him space or other foolishness. No matter how you cut it, Nick Monahan wasn’t what you’d call prime husband material.
“Do you think it’s serious?”
She frowned at me. “What?”
I said, “Whatever brings you out here for moonless midnight madness with your baby. I didn’t think you wanted to discuss sandwiches for Nick’s lunch.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“About what?”
She snapped, “Nick, of course. The person we’re talking about.”
I shook my head. “No. Nothing. His name hasn’t come up. And the only time I’ve run into him for months was at your own home.”
“Hmm.”
It had to be another woman. Nick has a hard time keeping his mouth shut and his fly zippered. And he is damned good-looking. He makes Connor Tierney, Todd Tyrell, and even Margaret’s tall, dark, and granite husband, Frank D’Angelo, look like also-rans.
I said, “Would this be a good time for New York Super Fudge Chunk?”
She nodded. “Got lots?”
“Believe it.”
I gave Pepper her own tub of ice cream. As underhanded as it seems, I was prepared to slip the Anabel Beauchamp issue back into the conversation once we were past the latest Nick crisis.
Little Nick at least was cooperative. He lay sleeping happily, punctuating his breathing with the occasional squeak that even I had to admit was adorable.
Truffle and Sweet Marie were poised by my side throughout the ice cream eating. They like to make off with the
empty containers. I wasn’t sure the vet would approve, but then again, there were no vets in sight.
“So,” I said, as we polished off our ice cream a few minutes later. “What seems to be the problem?” I stopped myself from ending it with this time.
“Sorry for snapping. I don’t know what’s going on. First I thought it was another woman. Nick hasn’t dealt well with all the changes of pregnancy and motherhood. He likes a woman to be trim and neat and wearing sexy underwear. Lactation freaks him out. Naturally, that’s what I suspected when he first started to act differently.”
“Well, Nick’s a big boy now. He’d better get used to real life.” I refrained from saying it was high time he grew up.
“But it’s not that.”
“So . . . ?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“Why are you worried?”
“Huh. Well that’s it. If he’s interested in a woman, and I always know when he is, he takes extra care with his appearance. Works out more than usual. Takes a razor to work so he can shave after shift. Showers there and not at home. Finds fault with everything I do. There’s a whole vibe. You don’t want to know.”
“But he’s not doing that now?”
“No. He hasn’t been to the gym. He doesn’t bother shaving on his off days. His clothes are sort of . . . rumpled. He hangs around home looking gloomy, or he pretends to be working extra shifts, even though I know he’s not.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Pepper, but maybe he’s adjusting to the whole idea of being a father.”
“I’d buy that idea if he was spending any time with Little Nick. I don’t mean feeding him or changing him because neither of those things are in the job description of the male Monahans. But if he’d even pay attention, make goofy daddy faces, give him shoulder rides, the way other fathers do. Hell, Jack even plays games with Little Nick, and he’s as single as you can get.”
“If he hasn’t seen it in his family, I guess the models aren’t there and—”
“Knock off the amateur-shrink routine, Charlotte. I’m not here to get a pep talk straight out of some useless woman’s magazine. It’s not about that anyway.”
Closet Confidential Page 8
