Death Loves a Messy Desk

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Sally, you’re always watching WINY.”

  “Not always.”

  “Okay, but you follow the news on that channel.”

  “Sure. You know how I feel about Todd.”

  I let the Todd part slide. “That wasn’t the footage we saw the other night, was it? When he first talked about the body being found in the woods? Todd was in those shots and I’m sure that tent wasn’t there.”

  But, of course, the news had moved on to another item by that time: Todd had put his “brain” to work talking about rising prices in our town.

  Sally had turned her attention back to him.

  I grabbed the remote and flicked off the television.

  I said more to myself than to her, “In that case, they must be using voiceover with earlier footage of the crime scene.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “See? That red-haired guy hasn’t changed his clothes.”

  “And that’s important because?”

  “It means it wasn’t from today. We were able to see the car before, although I couldn’t make out what make it was. Now it’s under that tent.”

  “Have you lost your—”

  “Plus, and this is really important. It was raining in this footage, but the sun’s shining today and Sunday was a beautiful day, so the WINY camera must have been there during that rain shower yesterday afternoon.”

  Sally shook her curls. “What difference does it make?”

  I sat up straight. “It started to rain just before two, although it could have been a bit earlier or later wherever that stretch of wood is.”

  “Todd said Vineland Estates. It’s off the highway north of Woodbridge. You take the exit near the bridge.”

  “Not too far out of town. And the rain didn’t last very long. Maybe an hour.”

  “Is that important?”

  “I think it is, because she would have been there sometime between two and what, three?”

  Sally said, “Who?”

  “I just saw the woman who almost ran me off the road yesterday.”

  “You mean the owner of the weirdly messy desk and the flawlessly spotless apartment?”

  “Exactly. Barb Douglas. Now what was she doing at the site of this murder?”

  7

  Assemble all the papers and documentation

  you need the day before a meeting.

  Sally was right, of course. I did have my job to do, and I didn’t mean to get overly involved in the Barb Douglas situation. By way of being normal, I dropped off a detailed work plan contract to my new closet client. It felt good having her squeeze my hands in gratitude when I hadn’t even done anything yet. We agreed that I could start the next week with an inventory of her contents, much of which I knew would make my mouth water. I promised to drop off some closet designs and ideas on Thursday night, just to keep her in the mood for the purge the following week. Once that tough part was over, we’d work together to find just the right space for every object that remained. I loved my job.

  Next, I headed back to Quovadicon. I hurried past Autumn without being noticed. I poked my head into Fredelle’s office and said, “Barb wasn’t home. I’ll try again later. I’d like to have a quick look at that desk again. Will I run into Robbie?”

  She shook her head. “He’s gone. Do you need me with you?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  I thought she looked relieved, and I couldn’t blame her.

  In the office, I hurried, not just because of the nasty smell of old cups and sneakers, not to mention the sardine can. I didn’t want Robbie to come back and threaten me again. Fredelle didn’t think he was dangerous, but I had my doubts. I headed for his desk. The file folder was still there. I peeked back into the hallway and glanced around just in case. Then back to the desk, where I lifted the file folder. Sure enough, there were a number of photos of the woman I now knew as Barb: several shots of her at her desk, on her cell phone, smiling, tying her shoes, gazing at her computer screen. Did she know Robbie had taken these? My guess was no. I slid the photos back under the file, minus one with a clear image of her face. With one backward look at the unbelievable desk next to Robbie’s and a shake of my head, I got the hell out of there.

  The reasons why I hate the Woodbridge police station are too many and varied to go into here. Let’s say I wasn’t comfortable about dropping in and confiding my concerns about Barb Douglas to the red-haired detective with the icy eyes. Something about him made me nervous. Naturally, I wouldn’t have considered discussing my observations with officer Nick Monahan, although I’ve known him since high school, as he could be counted on to do something inappropriate with the information.

  That was why I was parked in the Miata on Old Pine Street getting up the nerve to knock on Pepper Monahan’s door. Pepper is Sergeant Monahan, outranking her husband, when she’s not on sick leave because of her difficult pregnancy. Old Pine Street is not my favorite place nor is Pepper my favorite person to visit. A shiny Chrysler Town and Country in deep crimson was parked in the driveway. It didn’t merit the garage, of course, because that’s where Nick’s vintage ’Stang was parked. It sat there along with his totally ridiculous giant truck when Nick wasn’t speeding through Woodbridge pretending he was still a foot-loose chick magnet. I figured he was at work muddying the waters for the police force, and if my luck held, he’d stay at work until I was finished.

  First I made a quick cell phone call to Quovadicon to see if Barb Douglas had shown up. If yes, my visit to Pepper could be purely social. I would have preferred that. But Barb hadn’t shown up, nor had she called, according to Autumn. I had to believe her, as Fredelle and Robbie weren’t available. And considering it was Autumn, she did seem quite certain of her facts.

  Pepper’s belly preceded her to the door. One of these days I am going to get used to having my friends be pregnant. That must be the curse of being in your thirties. People get baby crazy. In the last year or so, even Jack would get pretty excited about babies. But no one else was nearly as baby crazy as Pepper. No baby had ever mattered as much as this one.

  “Don’t laugh,” she said.

  “Who’s laughing? That baby bump looks great.” In fact, the bump did look cute. Pepper was another story. As she was the most elegant, put-together blonde I knew, it was a shock to see her with dark blue circles under her eyes, sallow skin, and—I could hardly believe it—a zit on her chin. The checkered flannelette pajamas and striped socks might have been comfortable, but they made Pepper look like a walking wall. Her normally perfect do was pulled back in a stubby ponytail.

  “The bump, sure, but not the rest of me.”

  “Come on,” I fibbed. “You look fine.”

  “Give it a rest,” she said. “I own mirrors.”

  She had a point.

  “Don’t trust your mirrors. You look happy and pregnant, and that’s really wonderful.”

  “Happy to be pregnant, yes. That is wonderful. Happy?” She shrugged her checked flannel shoulders. Of course, the Monahan household could easily be a minefield of buried marital explosives. Nick the Stick had a wandering eye at the best of times, as I knew the hard way. He’d be hard to keep on a leash by a pregnant wife who was on sick leave for a difficult pregnancy.

  “I heard you haven’t been well. Is it okay to drop by?”

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  I followed Pepper into the house she and Nick had bought less than a year ago. So much had happened since then.

  “Nice place,” I said, glancing around.

  “Right.” She yawned. “This is the first time you’ve been here. Inside, I mean.”

  Resisting traps, I kept it straight. “Yes. I love what you’ve done.”

  That at least was true. The style of the older home had been respected, but updated, warmed, and brightened.

  I said, “The yellow walls are really great.”

  “Thanks.” She sank onto the sectional sofa and pointed to the matching chair. “Have a seat. You want somet
hing? Coffee? Soda?”

  “I’m fine.” I would have liked a coffee, but seeing Pepper with those deep circles under her eyes, radiating exhaustion and worry, I preferred to have her relax on the sofa. Obviously, that’s what she’d been doing. A well-worn patchwork comforter was flung across the streamlined microfiber sectional. I remembered that comforter from our adolescent years. We’d always called it Pepper’s security blanket.

  She glanced at it and back at me.

  “I hope everything’s all right,” I said.

  “So do I.”

  She said, “Thanks for sending the flowers and everything. I appreciated it. I should have got in touch, but I was too . . .”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t need to get in touch.”

  “But that was nice. Thoughtful.”

  I waited, watched, and prayed she’d be able to blink back the tears shining in her eyes. I knew she was desperate to have this baby, and I’d heard she was worried.

  “It’s nice to be sitting here together just like old times. In the middle of the day, too,” she said finally.

  “Couple of misfits, playing hooky.”

  “Brings back memories.”

  “Sure does.”

  “Can I get you something, Pepper? I’m happy to do that.”

  “The kitchen’s a mess,” she said.

  “Misfits don’t give a crap about messy kitchens.”

  She managed a weak smile.

  I added, “Neither do friends.”

  “I’ll have milk and cookies,” she said. “And if I remember correctly, it’s your turn to get them.”

  She had a good memory. After years of estrangement, that was not one of the things that stuck in my brain.

  I returned with the milk and a plate of Oreos on a tray and settled it midway between us on the yellow leather ottoman.

  “It’s good to be back,” I said.

  “You know, Charlotte, I’ve come to realize that nothing really ever happened with you and Nick.”

  I felt a catch in my throat. I croaked out an answer. “You’re right. Nothing ever did.”

  “It just looked . . .”

  “You were my friend and I couldn’t ever do that to you, even if the opportunity had really presented itself.”

  “I’m sure the opportunity did present itself. I know my boy. But I guess I didn’t know him that well then. I was so angry,” she said. “I thought you would take him from me. He had that thing for you in school. Every time I heard him call you Charlie, I’d just freak. I blamed you.”

  “He’s just a flirt,” I said. “He can’t help it. We always knew that about him. Part of his charm, I guess.”

  She hiccuped. “Part of the challenge.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I can’t even talk about it. Let’s say we had a conversation about a transgression and I threw it at him and he threw it back at me. This time I believed him.”

  “I’m glad. I’ve always known that you’re the person he loves.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “There’s more at stake now.”

  “I am.” I wasn’t sure why I was offering this totally unmerited bit of support to Nick, but I was in friendship mode, and grateful to be there, and I thought that was what Pepper needed to hear.

  “That’s good. Because if we’re lucky, we’re finally going to have a baby.”

  I hesitated. There was a lot of subtext in that sentence. If we’re lucky?

  She blurted, “Tell me why Sally can pop out beautiful children as often as she wants and she doesn’t even mess up a curl on her head. And I can’t even . . .”

  Oh boy. This didn’t sound good. I had no idea what to say, or do. I reached over and squeezed her hand.

  She said, “I’ve been having problems. Complications. There could be a premature birth.”

  “Oh Pepper. I’m so sorry. I knew you were off work, but I didn’t realize it was so serious. Is there anything . . . ?”

  “Keep hoping with me, that’s all.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad we’re friends again.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So stop hogging the Oreos.”

  “Me? Who are you to talk?”

  Sometimes the best thing about reconnecting with a lost friend is what isn’t said. Look forward, move ahead. Cookies and milk for the future. The plate was almost empty by the time Pepper lifted an eyebrow.

  “What?” I said.

  “So what can I do for you?” she said.

  “What? Oh. Right.”

  “You came here for a reason. You didn’t know I had forgiven you. So what do you want?”

  “You’re right. I did have a reason, but I almost forgot because this was—”

  “A special moment. Yeah, yeah. Now cut to the chase.”

  “Ah, I see you haven’t changed that much. Still the cop lady. Okay, I need some advice.”

  “As long as it’s not about some case. I love my job, but right now I’m trying to concentrate on life. I don’t want to hear about violence or crime. It’s all Nick can talk about, although maybe it’s a break from vehicles. Do you know he’s a detective now? That event last year boosted his promotion possibilities. But for me, shop talk doesn’t mesh well with staying positive and pregnant.”

  “I hear you. I just need to know what to do about someone who may or may not be missing, who may or may not be in a very fragile emotional state which may or may not be sort of my fault.”

  “As long as we’re clear about everything.” She popped the last cookie into her mouth and scowled at me.

  I filled Pepper in on the events at Quovadicon, including my reaction to Barb Douglas trying to run me off the road.

  She said, “Explain that to me again.”

  “Well, in retrospect I wonder if that’s what really happened. I’m jumpier than I used to be, and maybe I just overreacted.”

  “Did she try to run you off the road or not?”

  “Here’s the thing. She was on the wrong side of the road. She had kind of a wild look on her face, like she was in a panic or something. So I don’t really know if she was trying to get me, because why would she? She didn’t even know who I was. Or was it something else, some terrible thing that led to her disappearance?”

  “I don’t see where you have any responsibility at all.”

  “I just think if we can make sure she’s all right, then I can walk away from this really strange project and get on with things.”

  “Oh fine, what’s the person’s name again?”

  “Barb Douglas.”

  “Humph. Never heard of her. And I’m on sick leave and not supposed to think about anything stressful, like you know, missing women. But since we’re being all girlfriendy here, you might as well give me a description and I’ll get in touch with the station and see if they can keep an eye out for her.”

  “I have a photo of her. What’s the good of being an organizer if you don’t have what you need with you?” I felt that if Pepper looked at the face of a real person who might be in some kind of real trouble, she might be more likely to make sure the police really did something about it.

  Pepper didn’t quite manage to ditch the bored expression on her face. “Oh fine, let’s see then.”

  “And I was hoping you’d say that.” I slid the photo across the table. “I’m really grate—”

  “Give it a rest,” she said, reaching for her glass of milk. “I’m not saying they’ll find her for you, but you never know.”

  I did notice that she ignored the photo on the table in favor of the milk. I waited. After all, I was glad to be taking tentative steps toward repairing our ruptured relationship.

  I tried not to twitch impatiently.

  Eventually, she shot me a sneaky grin. “Okay. I couldn’t help it. You look so serious. It just screams ‘kick me.’ I’ll look at your dumb photo, not that it will do much good. Most people who go missing do so of their own free will and
don’t want to be found.”

  She leaned forward with an “Oof.” We both laughed.

  She said, “Beached whales are us.”

  I said, “But not all of us.” And I dodged the mommy magazine she tossed in my direction.

  “Don’t get overconfident.” She put the glass of milk down on the tray in front of her, which was good, because she’s got a great aim and if she’d playfully tossed that at me, she wouldn’t have missed.

  This time, I picked up the photo and handed it to her. “Here, Mrs. Whale, no dodging the question.”

  She chuckled and glanced at it, obviously humoring me. So when she turned ashen, I panicked and jumped to my feet. “What is it? A pain? A contraction?”

  Pepper glared at me. “If I didn’t have high blood pressure before you showed up, I sure could get it while you were here. Calm down, Charlotte. It’s just the baby kicking.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to overreact. I don’t know that much about these things. Let me wipe up that milk.”

  But I did know enough to detect a false note in her voice. After our years together as teenagers, I could always sense when Pepper was lying.

  Pepper’s eyes flicked back to the photo. She frowned. “As I said, there’s not much the police can do when a functioning adult doesn’t show up at work.”

  “Or at home. I know for a fact she’s not there, either. As I said, her landlord is really worried. And there’s the whole thing about the cat.”