Closet Confidential

by Maffini, Mary Jane

  We carted the coats downstairs to the cedar storage area, which was larger than most people’s living rooms and lined with sturdy hanging rods. Another trip each with an armful and the coats were stashed for the winter. We did the same with boots, putting one gorgeous pair of buttery soft leather ones aside to have the lifts repaired and setting aside a pair of black patent leather platform boots, which Harry said he’d clean. Hats and scarves followed. I carried a black trilby, a poor boy cap, and a puffy fur number.

  Harry said, “She loves hats. I think she prefers the rain and snow because she always has an excuse to wear one.”

  I knew that Lorelei would acquire a new wardrobe of outerwear when fall rolled around and she’d keep everything she had. I would have liked to see some of these items go to the women’s shelter. Woodbridge winters are cold and damp, and genuine wool and cashmere would seem like a miracle to people who had nothing.

  When we were finished, Harry said, “Thank you. I know it’s been frustrating.”

  I said, “I hope to be able to put her mind to rest at some point.”

  Harry hung his head sadly. “I don’t know if anyone will ever put her mind to rest, Charlotte honey. But I am glad you are here for us.”

  I decided to drop the items off at the dry cleaner’s. That would give me a sense of doing something for Harry if not Lorelei. And another reason to go back to Friesen Street. First I checked in with Woodbridge General to see if I could visit Pepper. I got no answer in her room. A call to the nursing station told me she’d been taken for tests, whatever that meant.

  I checked out the three motels within a short drive of the Beauchamps’. None of them had purple key cards. That would have been too easy.

  I was back on Friesen Street and heading into the dry cleaner’s minutes before they closed their doors at the unusual time of seven. I put the amethyst trench and the cashmere car coat on the counter, with the blue knit cape next to it. I realized that I had forgotten to check these pockets, something I am always telling my clients to do. There were a few unused tissues in the car coat and a torn envelope and a crumpled note in the pocket of the trench.

  As the dry cleaner filled out the slip, I tossed the tissues and checked the crumpled paper to see if it was trash, too. The woman behind the counter looked up as I gasped. The note said: Dimitri and I will already be married when you read this, Lorelei. No fuss, no big deal. The way I want it. I hope you and Harry will accept that and welcome Dimitri into our lives. Despite the way it seems, I do love you both, but I am going to live my own life on my terms.

  Anabel

  How had Lorelei reacted to that note? She’d obviously opened it and read it. Had Dimitri betrayed the love and trust that Anabel had promised him? My cell phone was bleating insistently. I answered it the third time it vibrated in case it was news of Pepper. Too late. Harry had left a message to call him. I thought this note was better returned to him and Lorelei in person, not discussed on the phone. As I always believed, every closet has its secret.

  A strange and horrible thought crossed my mind as I stared at the coat. The lovely amethyst trench was covered with splashes of dirt. I snatched it back from the cleaner and said, “Sorry, I’ll leave the other things. But I need this back.”

  I returned Harry’s call. “Is it the coat, Harry?” I said when he answered.

  “She’s pitching a fit, Charlotte honey. I explained that you had only taken it to be cleaned, but you know what she’s like.”

  I said, “Was she wearing it the day Anabel died?”

  I heard Harry’s intake of breath. “How did you know?” I lied a little bit. “I know it was a dirty day. What was she wearing with it?”

  “The black patent boots, I think, and the trilby. She looks wonderful in that outfit. Of course, she hasn’t worn it since.”

  “Tell her I’ll bring it back tomorrow. It hasn’t been to the dry cleaner’s yet.”

  Minutes later, I was across the street, ringing Thalia Waverman’s door. I waited for the slow progress of her cane. She opened the door and smiled at me with delight.

  This time she insisted on plying me with ice tea before she would talk what she called “business.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Waverman.”

  “Thalia, please. We agreed.”

  “Thalia, do you recognize this coat?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s very beautiful. Should I?”

  “Think back to the day Anabel died across the street. You said you saw a man in a blue coat and Anabel seemed to be avoiding him. At first I thought it was Dimitri, a young man with a dark leather jacket.”

  Thalia snorted. “Dimitri?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course it wasn’t Dimitri. We all know him. He’s done a lot to make our little neighborhood safer.”

  Why hadn’t I asked about Dimitri before and saved myself some trouble? Once again, a surprise.

  I said, “Could this be the coat the man you saw wore?” “Yes, but now, my dear, I see that this is a woman’s coat. The person was far away and so tall, I suppose I thought . . .”

  “A six-foot-tall model wearing three-inch heels and a hat with a crown might give that impression. Especially wearing a hat you might expect a man to wear.”

  “I should have realized. Men today don’t wear hats like that, do they? Except for Rudy.”

  I hadn’t asked Rudy the right questions. A woman in a hat? That might have done it. Even if I’d said “person,” I could have saved myself some time and trouble. Now I had my information: Lorelei had been on Friesen Street the day Anabel died, although she hadn’t gone to the construction site. Lorelei had read Anabel’s note and gone down to stop the wedding to the unsuitable young man, Dimitri. Anabel had not wished to deal with her formidable mother at that moment, so she had dodged behind the fence in the construction site to avoid a confrontation. While there, she’d slipped on the muddy walkway in her unfamiliar high-heeled shoes. Lorelei must have realized this in some part of her disturbed brain. No wonder she was in such bad shape. Of course she wanted to believe someone had murdered her daughter. Who could blame her for that?

  23

  When decluttering, hang on to these basic wardrobe foundations as long as they fit well and are in good condition: classic jeans, blazers, tees, white shirts, versatile cardigans, and pants in neutrals, black, tan, and navy blue.

  Lorelei’s predicament was not my only problem. I put in a call from my cell phone to Margaret to see if she’d been able to see Pepper today. I got her voice mail. The blessing and curse of our times. I couldn’t concentrate on my business. I decided to knock off the rest of the hotels in the interim. I checked out two off I-87 and one near the south end of Woodbridge. No purple key cards in either case. Plus the staff of all three looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. It was tedious and it made me glad I hadn’t chosen private detective as a job. I had the belated thought that perhaps a private eye would have called and asked.

  Still, it was a positive action and it took my mind off waiting for Margaret to call me back, and kept me from wondering if I should get something in for dinner as Jack was bound to have worked up an appetite looking after Little Nick.

  Most important, it kept me from dwelling on what Pepper had asked me to do, which was find Nick, and what I wanted to do, which was find out how Anabel had died.

  I pulled over as my cell phone trilled. I was surprised to hear Thalia Waverman’s sweet quavering voice on the line.

  “I am sorry to bother you, but I was chatting with my friend who lives on Potter Street and I told her you were here asking questions. It’s so nice to have a bit of news to share. At any rate, she mentioned something that she’d seen. I thought you might like to hear about it.”

  “Thank you, Thalia. What is it?”

  “I’ll put my friend on, will I? Turns out the police didn’t come to her door, either,” she said.

  An even more quavery voice came on the line. “That’s right,” she warbled. “No sign of them. Aslee
p at the wheel my late husband would have said. This is Jane Cantley speaking. Thalia can’t be allowed to think she’s the only one who could ever come up with a scrap of news.”

  “I’m glad you’re both on the job,” I said with a smile in my voice.

  “I certainly am. And I didn’t see the person that Thalia described, but I wondered if the police officer wouldn’t have seen everything.”

  “Which police officer?” I asked.

  “Well, the one who went behind the fence, of course.”

  “Behind the fence at the site? You mean the first officer to respond? They didn’t—”

  “No, dear. I mean, the officer who was already there. He seemed to be meeting with someone that I couldn’t see. It may have been your Anabel Beauchamp, but I don’t think so. I had the sense of a large person. I didn’t see the young woman because, naturally, the Friesen Street entrance isn’t visible from my apartment. I could only see him entering.”

  “He must have been responding to a 911 call.”

  “Oh no, dear. I don’t think so. It was ten minutes at least before there was the first hint of a siren.”

  “Thank you, Jane,” I said. “May I have your telephone number if I need to call you again?”

  “Oh, Thalia knows where to find me,” she said as the line went dead. After that, I heard only the sound of things falling into place in my mind.

  Margaret arrived at my place seconds after I did. She seemed to be missing her usual air of cool, detached competence.

  The dogs leaped off the sofa and raced to the door doing their best Rottweiler imitation.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, pampered little pets,” Margaret said to them as she walked in. They were all over her. I was in their bad books because of the training regime and the fact I’d hardly been home that week.

  Margaret said, to me this time, “Do you think that everyone in the world has lost their mind lately? The whole idea of the guardians for Little Nick has me creeped out. I hate the idea that he might need guardians, although we have to accept the idea that brain injuries can be very unstable. I lost a client not too long ago after what looked like a slight injury. And there’s a chance Pepper might not make it.” Margaret ditched her lawyer suit jacket and flopped on the sofa. Truffle and Sweet Marie jumped up to snuggle. They love women. Soft, cuddly, and nice smelling. And in this case, worried.

  I said, “I refuse to believe that Pepper won’t make it, and I don’t believe that Nick is behind her injuries. I understand why she wouldn’t want Little Nick raised by the same people who made her childhood miserable. Isn’t it good to get these things taken care of legally before rather than have a court battle if it . . . not that it will come to that.”

  “But we’ll have to have everything nailed down to make sure he’s the guardian. Both sets of grandparents would have a stake. The right lawyer could make the case that Pepper’s decision was flawed by her head injury.”

  I said, “But her own father was abusive. Surely that would . . . what do you mean ‘he’? ‘He’ who?”

  “Jack, of course.”

  “What? Jack? The buddy who doesn’t wear winter clothes in the snow? The guy who has bike parts stored in his oven?”

  “Well, to repeat, she does have a head injury. Like I said, I don’t know that any decisions she makes under these circumstances would hold up in court anyway. But is Jack such a surprise?”

  “He’d be great emotionally. But you know, not the most conventional of homes. Someone else would have to be in charge of snowsuits and baking cookies for school events.”

  “I hear you and I think we’d have better luck if it was Sally and Benjamin.”

  “Who already have four kids of their own?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Stable. Respectable. House full of toys. Yada, yada. Not my decision of course. Pepper wants your name as a guardian, too.”

  I squeaked, “Are you kidding me?”

  “It is pretty weird. You have a hard enough time raising your dogs. Discipline is definitely an issue.”

  I hoped that wasn’t a growl I heard from Sweet Marie. I said, “Margaret, what’s going on? How can all these terrible things have happened to Pepper and Nick?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What does Frank say?”

  “He has no idea, either, which is the main reason why I have no idea. You know cops, they clam up.”

  “What’s the good of marrying one if you can’t extract information from him? Have you never heard of pillow talk?”

  “I hate to break it to you, but the police have cornered the market on investigating. You shouldn’t make it one of your new business lines.”

  “But I have helped before.”

  “And you got hurt. Other people got hurt, too. Leave it to the pros.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “Mainly because it makes sense. For a sensible girl like you, it shouldn’t require explanation.”

  “Very cute. Of course, the police, that is to say, Pepper and Nick, are the ones in the messy situation.”

  “Well, whatever is behind it? You should steer clear. That’s my advice as your lawyer and even more so as your friend. And don’t bother sulking. I get enough of that from my parents. It rolls right off my back and trickles away.”

  “I’m not sulking,” I said sulkily. I headed into the kitchen to get some treats for the dogs. Unfortunately, we were out of ice cream.

  “Doesn’t matter either way is my point.”

  “Where do you think Nick is hiding out? Ah, c’mon, Margaret, don’t roll your eyes.”

  “Huh. I’m amazed that you can see that from the next room. You’re very good, Charlotte.”

  “Okay, never mind Nick. Listen to this: Lorelei went to Friesen Street because she’d had a note from Anabel saying she was getting married. I am almost certain it was her. She was seen. I think that Anabel ducked behind the fence to avoid her mother and she was wearing girlie shoes and lost her footing.”

  Margaret stared. “That would be the most awful thing that a mother could ever deal with.”

  I nodded. “But there’s another wrinkle. One of the women in the neighborhood says that a police officer was already behind the fence. And that he was meeting with someone else who entered on the Potter Street side.”

  “What?”

  “There’s more. The cops don’t seem to have talked to any of the people who might have witnessed this. So since Nick was the first on the scene, that could mean—and I hate to say this—that he was there, that he saw Anabel fall in, but for some reason failed to help her or to phone it in in time.”

  “You think Nick killed her?”

  “I can’t believe that. But he could have mismanaged the whole thing. He might not have figured out how to save her or, being Nick, even that she needed saving. Living with that might explain why Nick has been acting so crazy lately. Pepper said he was afraid of something. Felt threatened. And if someone else knew he’d let Anabel die, they could be blackmailing him.”

  Margaret said, “Letting a girl drown? That’s heavy stuff. Nick would be terrified of exposure. Losing his standing in the police.”

  “That’s it. And in the end, maybe it all took a toll. Maybe it triggered some kind of psychotic break and that explains what happened to Pepper.”

  Margaret rubbed her forehead.

  I added, “That’s my thinking to date, but I could be wrong. It doesn’t seem enough to account for his behavior. I wouldn’t have thought Nick capable of any of this, but of course, it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about a man. Maybe DeJong was right and he just snapped.”

  After Margaret left, I decided to check on Pepper in person before I tried to find Dean Oliver to get his spin on the whole tale. I needed to know that she was all right. And she needed to know that Little Nick was all right. I called Jack first. I also needed to know what he might like to eat when he got home and if he needed more baby food. “We’ll be late. Business is booming,” he
said. “We had an excellent day. And we’re good for dinner. Sally dropped off some jars of weird strained concoction for the little dude and people food for me. And I had that great chili for lunch. I think the dude can’t wait to grow out of all that jarred grub and eat chili like a man. Anyway, don’t worry about us getting dinner.”

  I called the hospital and once again, the nursing station staff was evasive. I fed the dogs, popped them out for a constitutional, promised them a nice long walk the next day, and tore off to Woodbridge General.

  Pepper was not in her room. An unfamiliar police officer was guarding an empty space. He did not know where she was. The nurse in charge was unwilling to say where she was as I wasn’t family. “I’m a lot closer than family,” I protested, but it got me nowhere.

  After an hour or so of frustration trying to find out where Pepper was, I was informed that visiting hours were over. The cop was still guarding the empty room, waiting for Pepper to return from wherever. Surgery? Tests? No one had told him, as he wasn’t family, either. More to the point, he was told to stay put. I asked conversationally if Dean Oliver was on duty that night.

  “Dean?” he said. “I think he’s days this week.”

  I left and headed home. I called Sally from the parking lot and asked her if she could find out through Benjamin what had happened. Next I phoned Tierney and got, naturally, his voice mail. I mentioned I had something that might be a lead on Nick’s whereabouts. Let him follow purple key cards all around town. See if people looked at him as if he had two heads. I added that I had an interesting tidbit from witnesses in the Friesen and Potter Street area, witnesses who had not ever been interviewed by the police, although far be it from me to criticize the pros. The voice mail cut me off before I said everything that was on my mind.