The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I arrived in a surly post-Pepper mood. Truffle and Sweet Marie were in charge of happy. Jack worked alone, hunkered down next to boxes of Italian bike parts that must have arrived on the late Friday delivery. For once, he didn’t have a foster dog with him. He stood up and grinned, resplendent in his yellow and green Hawaiian shirt. I won’t say anything about the baggy khaki shorts.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey. I thought we could give you a hand with all these boxes. Oh wow. It’s cluttered in here. How is anybody going to get to the cash register with all these obstacles in the way? How about if I—”

  A crash from the rear of the shop told me that the dogs had knocked over a tower of boxes. From the sound of it, there was metal in those boxes. Both dogs came racing back to the front, tails tucked between legs.

  “I have to do this stuff myself, Charlotte. I need to check out the items, figure out where they’re going, or if they’re what I ordered. Reconcile orders with invoices and invoices with contents. Then match them up with the right customers.”

  “Speaking of customers, I notice you don’t have any. This is not surprising. How is anybody going to find this place?” I said. “It’s not like people are going to walk by.”

  Jack gave me a puzzled look. “It’s a destination store.”

  “Is that why it’s empty?” I said.

  “Hey, who’s a bossy little organizer tonight? Got some problem you want to get off your chest? Or did you come over to rain on my parade?”

  “Sorry, Jack. I ran into Pepper again and I was taking it out on you.”

  Jack looked me straight in the eye. “You’ve been home long enough now. You should be getting used to Pepper.”

  “I should be, but I’m not.”

  “Okay. Have some ice cream. You’ll feel better.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And CYCotics isn’t empty. Not when you and your dogs and Ben & Jerry are here. Even if you are whiny and grumpy.”

  “Mmm.”

  The ice cream calmed me down. Or maybe it was Jack. Whining and bad moods don’t stick to him. Somehow this is catchy.

  “So,” he said, “how come Pepper upset you so much this time?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Like you said, no customers here. Start talking.”

  “I have to begin at the beginning.” Jack’s always patient, so I took a deep breath and filled him in, from the Emmy Lou situation to the encounter with Pepper outside of Tang’s. “So I didn’t want to leave that kind of message with names and everything and she was ticked off that I hung up on her machine, but anyway, when Margaret wasn’t listening, Pepper said that she’d look into it.”

  “That is a long story, but I must have missed something, because I don’t see any reason to be upset with Pepper. Is that because I’m a guy? And we don’t understand stuff?”

  “I didn’t finish my long story yet. The worst part was that Margaret blabbed about Sally’s shower and now Pepper wants to show up and ruin everything.”

  Jack’s spoon paused midway to his next mouthful of Chunky Monkey. “Sally’s having a shower?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No one told me.”

  “Listen, Jack. You’re a guy. You admitted it.”

  “Who’s organizing this shower?”

  “Margaret. And me.”

  “And who’s going?”

  “Margaret. And me. Sally too, of course. And, now, apparently Pepper.”

  “Huh.”

  “What do you mean, ‘huh’?”

  “You know what I mean. ‘Huh’ is fairly unequivocal.”

  I shook my head. “‘Huh’ can mean anything.”

  Jack said, “In this case it means that I go every bit as far back with Sally and Margaret and Pepper as you do. But I don’t rate an invitation.”

  “But I told you it’s girls only.”

  “You’d rather have Pepper than me?”

  “Of course not. You’re not scary, not even a little bit. And you’re my best buddy. You are so good to me. But as I keep explaining, you are also a guy.”

  “Got a calendar on you?”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to check the century, that’s all. I thought it was the twenty-first. But I could be wrong on that. You know how vague I am.”

  “Fine, it’s nothing to do with equality of the sexes, but if it makes you happy, you can come to the stupid shower.”

  “Great, thanks. The more the merrier. Hey, what happens at a shower anyway?”

  “We were going to talk girl talk and eat and give Sally something for the new baby. It’s not even a proper shower.”

  “Now we have to talk people talk.”

  “Exactly. And a word of warning, Jack. That means no, count ’em, no sports references, including cycling statistics of any kind, and, do not slip up here, not one single reference to obscure European thinkers of the nineteenth century. Also, a little bit about rescued dogs will go a long way.”

  Jack said, “But what if—”

  “No buts, no what-ifs. It’s the price of admission, Jack.”

  “I can do that. So was that all that was bothering you? Because if it was, maybe you need more of a life, Charlotte.”

  I considered that. I was eating Ben & Jerry’s out of the container in a cycle shop with my old school friend and a pair of dogs. On Friday night. “I guess I always overreact about Pepper. Thanks for pointing that out.”

  “Maybe it’s time to put the past behind you.”

  “Maybe. But it was more than Pepper. I am bothered by this situation with my client.”

  “Professional organizing is a pretty safe occupation. You know that. As a rule, I’d say your biggest danger is developing a dust allergy.”

  I nodded.

  Jack continued. “Last fall was an anomaly. It’s unlikely that you’ll have another project where people die. You don’t need to worry so much. Don’t get me wrong. You did the ethical thing to contact the police about this. I’m proud of you. And you can talk to your client again when you see her next.”

  “If.”

  “You said you spoke to her husband. And he’s there tonight?”

  “I think so. And the neighbors are on the alert.”

  “So tomorrow talk to her about keeping safe.”

  “I realize there’s not much I can do, but I can’t stop worrying about Emmy Lou. She’s such a big, strong, capable, lovely woman, and yet, underneath, she seems frightened and vulnerable. You and Pepper weren’t there. You didn’t see the effect this stupid joke had on her. And she was already pretty nervous. I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “I hear you. Where’s the shower tomorrow?”

  I sighed. “Sally’s place, after the kids are in bed.”

  Okay. Friday night. Ten thirty. Spring was in the air. What could be better? Well, almost anything if you have enough residual adrenaline in your system and no outlet for it.

  After I left Jack at the shop, dealing with some inventory horror story, I whipped through my apartment like an undone balloon. I did the kind of things that I usually enjoy. I cleaned my winter boots and packed them away. I updated my contact list. I made a schedule to call back potential clients. I looked over my strategic business plan to see if I was meeting my benchmarks. I checked that my spices were still in alphabetical order.

  The list of projects I had scheduled after Emmy Lou included the usual garages in disarray, estates needing to be sorted out, family rooms with no room for the family, and home offices drowning in seas of paper, technology, and wayward wires. My bread and butter. I love that stuff. I enjoy helping people get their homes or businesses back on track. I bask in the gratitude of clients. I had one client waiting to have her linen closet overhauled, a small but amusing job. I could slot her in ahead of schedule if Emmy Lou decided to stall.

  Once Emmy Lou’s project was over, everything else looked promising. But of course, I was bugged by this one. Not the toys. Every week I dealt with far worse than t
hat. Plus Emmy Lou knew she had a problem. That was half the battle. Sure she had zillions of plush toys, but they were new, clean, and indoors. There might have been a few on the stairs, but they didn’t block fire exits. They didn’t involve crawling through basements, or getting rid of the dusty detritus of a lifetime. There were no rodents except for the stuffed ones in the box in the Miata. Emmy Lou’s collection didn’t stink of mildew or worse. Piece of cheesecake, I would have said normally.

  But something was out of kilter at the Rheinbecks’. It didn’t seem to be the stuffies. After a lot of thought I had to admit it was Emmy Lou herself. That mass of emotion under her elegant exterior wasn’t about the toys. It wasn’t because she was worried about Dwayne. I sat back on my sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to relive the afternoon at her home. I recalled the nervous tic below her eye. The way her gaze jumped from one spot to another. The fact she couldn’t sit still even in her lovely, tranquil living room. The way she insisted that Dwayne lock the doors.

  Emmy Lou was scared to death of something. Could it be Kevin and Tony? They seemed hopeless and goofy, yet she’d flipped when they showed their faces in the window. Because they had been harassing her? Or was it something else?

  Whatever was wrong, Emmy Lou was taking it very seriously. I decided that I’d better too.

  By midnight, I was huddled under a quilt with the dogs. At least they were able to sleep. I was worrying. And I’d moved on to worrying about why I was worrying so much.

  When Truffle signaled that he might need a midnight outing for personal reasons, I thought it might be a relief to catch a bit of fresh air. And I could pick up those stuffed rodents from the Miata and put them on the shelf. No point in procrastinating about that. Once the project was over, if Emmy Lou didn’t demand them back, I could donate them to a day care or a shelter.

  “Come on, guys. One last walk before bedtime.” I threw a fleece jacket on over my Kermit pajamas, grabbed my keys, and thudded downstairs in my fluffy pink slippers. I tucked one dog under each arm. They played along, acting like overcooked noodles.

  After the briefest of dog business, I unlocked the Miata and reached for the box with the romantic rodents. I hesitated. What the heck. I couldn’t sleep anyway.

  I tucked the dogs into the passenger seat. They curled up and were asleep before I climbed in and shot off into the night. By the time I reached Bell Street, I was having third thoughts. How could my life have changed like this? Once I was a hip young financial analyst in the city, eating in trendy restaurants, meeting friends in the hot clubs, shown off by my studly fiancé. Now I’d turned into a wacky woman in Kermit pajamas, curb-crawling along a residential street looking for trouble.

  A lot can change in a year.

  I geared down and rolled along the street. The downstairs lights were out in Emmy Lou’s house. Dim lights glowed from the upstairs windows.

  Normal, normal, normal.

  Unlike me.

  Time to head home to bed. As I pulled away from the curb, a large shadow loomed out of the side yard to the left of Emmy Lou’s house. Make that two shadows, one large and one scrawny, both wearing baggy pants, giant runners, and dark hoodies, with the hoods covering the back of their heads. I couldn’t see faces. I squinted as the shadows moved along the sidewalk. Kevin and Tony? Would they turn into Kevin’s house?

  They turned right toward Emmy Lou’s.

  I exhaled. Nothing to get excited about. Two young men walking along the sidewalk in a neighborhood at just after midnight on a weekend. No big deal. They weren’t trying to be furtive, for sure. The larger one had a swagger and the scrawny guy more of a scurrying walk. Every now and then Big would slap Scrawny on his skinny back.

  I drove along, picking up speed as I went. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I passed them. They paused under a street lamp. I got a clear view of Kevin’s pinched face and Tony’s thuggish features. Where were they off to? To frighten some other woman?

  Tony was laughing, and for some reason I felt a rush of rage. Emmy Lou was miserable, her neighbors worried, her husband on edge. I was having a craptacular Friday night and why? Because of these two losers and their stupid frightening games at her expense.

  I slammed on the brakes at the corner and gunned the Miata in reverse. To hell with the engine. I rolled down the window as I reached them. Kevin jumped backward and shrieked when I called his name.

  At the sound of my voice, Truffle and Sweet Marie woke up barking.

  Kevin jerked around, then broke into an awkward dash across Emmy Lou’s lawn.

  He might have kept running, but Tony shouted, “It’s all right, Kevin.”

  Don’t be so sure, I thought.

  As soon as they caught sight of Tony, the dogs added snarling and teeth baring to their look. They hate hats and hoods.

  Kevin edged back toward the sidewalk. His long baggy pants and supersize running shoes made him seem even more awkward.

  “This message is for you too, Tony,” I said.

  Kevin said, “What do you want?”

  “I want you both to know that Emmy Lou might let you get away with harassment, but other people won’t. Not only the Baxters, but anyone who finds out about what you’re doing.”

  Kevin said, “But what are we doing?”

  “The police know about you and that stunt in the tree outside Emmy Lou’s bedroom window.”

  Kevin stammered, “Hey, that was a joke.”

  “And they know you had a camera. Maybe this would be a good time for you two to visit the library and learn a bit about the laws on stalking.”

  Tony said, “The library? But—”

  “Or maybe you have a probation officer.”

  Kevin’s chin trembled. “We don’t have probation officers.”

  “If you don’t have one now, there’s one in your future if you don’t leave her alone. There are very serious penalties.”

  Kevin squeaked, “I wouldn’t do anything to Emmy Lou. Neither would Tony.”

  Under normal circumstances I might have believed him. But I had witnessed the so-called joke and seen the impact it had on her.

  I said, “Leave her alone. Or you will be very, very sorry.”

  I’m not sure if they even heard me, but as I revved the engine, I could see the whites of their eyes.

  A man strolling on the other side of the street ignored me and turned into the green house with the garden. The porch light switched off. Patti Magliaro was walking toward her house. She must have been getting home from her shift at Betty’s. The diner stays open late on Fridays. She stopped and waved.

  I waved back, a surprisingly ordinary gesture considering what I’d done. For some reason, my Ms. Rambo routine had made me feel worse. But at least I’d achieved something.

  Kevin and Tony had both been nicely frightened.

  Found a shower gift that’s a hit?

  Buy a couple if you are on the baby-shower circuit.

  5

  Emmy Lou called Saturday morning while I was at the dog park. She left a message about scheduling another session. I returned her call and got her answering machine. I suggested that she call me on Sunday to set up another appointment.

  My first commitment was shopping for the so-called baby shower. Under normal circumstances, I would see if the mom-to-be was registered and save time getting something she’d selected. But it wasn’t a real shower, and anyway, Sally doesn’t believe in registries. She likes surprises much more than I do. Maybe that’s why she was about to have her fourth child.

  Cuddleship is a fine location for anyone who wants something out of the ordinary. Margaret had never seen anything like it. She was waiting for me when I arrived.

  She gazed around the shop in wonderment. “I can’t believe places like this exist. Everything in here is the exact opposite of the way I was raised.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Extravagant, indulgent, amusing.” She looked down. “Speaking of which, nice ankle boots, Charlotte. I like the black le
ather bows.” She managed the compliment with her usual lack of facial expression. No legal opponent’s ever going to read Margaret’s mind. But lately, she’s become chattier. That’s a good thing.

  “These boots were a replacement for my red stilettos. I miss those. I may never get over their loss, but I thought these might come close to mending my broken heart.”

  “Whatever it takes. What about these little pajamas? What do they call them?”

  “Sleepers. And no thanks, I think I’ll stick with the shoes.”

  “Very funny, Charlotte. I meant for Sally’s baby shower.”

  “I knew that. But a person has to work hard to find humor in a baby shower.”

  Margaret said, “I don’t know what to get her. It’s not like she needs anything. And Benjamin brings home the bacon.”

  “And Sally likes to laugh, so no pajamas. Fun gifts only.”

  Margaret reached up to a high shelf. “What about those little yellow ducks for the bathtub? I never had anything like that when I was small.”

  “You’re kidding. What did you have in your baths?”

  Margaret said, “My mother didn’t believe in baths. Waste of water. Showers only.”

  “Huh.”

  “It’s one of the reasons I appreciate having my own place. Bubble bath, scented bath oil, refreshing bath crystals, candles. Not that I don’t get pressure to move back in with the folks.”

  “Don’t give in. Especially if you’ve gotten used to taking baths.”

  She gave the largest duck a little squeeze and chortled. “Among other things. Yes, I think these ducks will do the trick.”

  “Sally’s kids already have some. Why don’t you get them for yourself?”

  “I have to get the shower gift out of the way before I pick out anything for me.”

  “Why are you obsessing about the shower? It’s an excuse to get together and eat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s the whole baby thing, I guess. That’s all my parents can think about: get Margaret married so they can have grandchildren. I told them I had to work tonight so I could get away from family dinner. Even though I have my own place, Mom will be checking anyway. I’ll call forward my office number to throw her off. She has boundary issues.”