The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “This might be crazy, but I had a thought last night. Emmy Lou might feel responsible because Tony died. Maybe he tripped on the stairs or something. That might be what she meant.”

  “She’s not the type to feel guilty. She does what she has to. And she doesn’t waste time second-guessing her decisions or changing her mind.”

  I wished I was more like that myself. I am way too inclined to worry about what people think and whether I’ve let anyone down. I said, “Emmy Lou must have a chink in her armor somewhere. She needs us to figure out what it is. The cops like an easy solution. The DA likes a quick result, and the media likes a good villain, as you can see. Emmy Lou is probably quite photogenic so they’ll appreciate that. Who can help us change her mind about the lawyer? Doesn’t have to be Margaret, but she needs someone.”

  Dwayne sighed, a waft of hopelessness drifting over the phone line.

  I felt like screaming: be a man! You say you love this woman. Work with me here. Instead, I said, “What about her parents?”

  “No way. Emmy doesn’t want anything to do with them.”

  “But you could—”

  “You know something? We’ve been married a year and we’ve lived in this house nearly that long and I’ve never even met those people.”

  “What about brothers and sisters?”

  “No idea. She never said.”

  “You don’t know if she has any siblings?”

  “Weird, I know, but we didn’t talk to her family and we didn’t talk about them. They must be something, that’s all I can say. Emmy’s like an angel with my parents, kind to them, thoughtful, remembers their birthdays, visits them. She’s the perfect daughter-in-law. My brothers love her. My sisters-in-law love her. My nieces love her. Everyone thinks Emmy walks on water. My parents are going to be devastated. How am I going to tell them?”

  “I’m not sure, but you better do it soon, before they see it on the news. Look at it this way: you said they love her. They’ll believe she didn’t do it. I met her for the first time on Friday and I know that. I’m sure they’ll support you. Maybe even have some ideas for getting her to accept legal help. And, you have my number. I’ll see what I can find out in the meantime.”

  “I see the light at the end of the bucket, so to speak,” Sally chirped when I checked in. “Dallas is back to normal, and Madison is starting to feel better. I think Savannah will turn the corner soon.” In the background a steady wail continued. Where did she get the strength? And what would it be like with four? Of course, they wouldn’t be sick all the time, but even so.

  “That’s fabulous,” I said, stifling a yawn. I wasn’t at my best after only a few hours’ sleep.

  “Not exactly fabulous,” Sally said dryly, “more like barely endurable. Small mercies and all that.”

  “Can I get you anything? Bring over a latte? Do you want me to watch the kids and give you a break?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. The slightest change sets them all off. They even screamed when Benjamin took over last night. Not that it kept me awake. I’ll let you know when the time’s right to get together. By the way, speaking of the right time, an acquaintance of mine has a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Of course, I should have known better than to rush Sally when she’s trying to explain something. You have to sit back and wait. I sat back and waited.

  “More an acquaintance than a friend. I met her at Moms and Tots swim class.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She’s having problems keeping her mudroom under control. She keeps yammering on about it. I have three plus kids, and Benjamin, and I don’t have a mudroom, so…”

  “You’re thinking about getting a mudroom?”

  “Hardly. Apparently, they’re nothing but trouble.”

  I love mudrooms, but I didn’t have a husband and multiple children, so I kept that to myself. And anyway, I had a lot on my mind that morning and none of it had to do with my organizing business.

  “Anyway, I got tired of listening, so I told her about you.”

  “Oh thanks, I—”

  “Don’t thank me. She’s kind of a flake. But I saw on television that your client’s in jail.”

  “It’s all a mistake.”

  “Okay, whatever. But you need new clients if you want to pay your rent and eat quality ice cream.”

  “That’s probably true. But I have lots of other clients already scheduled and others waiting for cancellations. I’m booked for three months.”

  “Let’s hope you can hang on to them after the local media has you tarred and feathered, which would not be a good look for you. I’m thinking you should sue over some of those shots. They have to be bad for business. Anyway, I thought you’d be at loose ends today and you might need a distraction, so I told Bernice you’d drop by around nine thirty. She owns a jewelry boutique uptown, but she opens late on Mondays.”

  I checked my watch. It was just after nine. According to Sally’s directions, Bernice lived two blocks from her. That’s the thing about Woodbridge: nothing’s far. I had a bit of time to kill before I could call Lilith anyway. By this time, I’d left three messages with Pepper, and I needed something to take my mind off the fact there was little I could do for Emmy Lou. Sally was probably correct; a mudroom might be what I needed for a moment’s distraction. I swung by to see Bernice after her two older children left for school.

  “Oh,” she said, “you caught me. I thought Sally said you’d be by tomorrow.” The side entrance to her house, aka the mudroom, was strewn with papers, sneakers, jackets, and what looked like a half-eaten tuna sandwich.

  I jotted down a few notes, took a quick count of the sneakers in the corners and the jackets and discarded fleeces. I added soccer balls, baseball, bat, and gloves. School supplies, notes. I assumed that more backpacks and books would return with the two kids who were in school. Perhaps carting more stuff than we single, childless people could even imagine.

  Bernice whinnied, “Oh no, what are you writing down? Is it that bad that you have to write things down?”

  “Part of the job. I always do it. Helps me remember.”

  She continued to chew her lip. “I wanted to clean up before you saw what it was like here.”

  “It’s better if I see it like this. I can get an idea of what you need.” I whipped out my digital camera and started to take a few pictures.

  “What are you doing?” Bernice gasped. “I don’t want a record of this!”

  “I don’t have to take pictures if it makes you uncomfortable. I should have asked first. Sorry about that. But no one else will see them, and they’ll help me when I’m doing my plan.”

  “Kids,” she said. “Kids are a problem for me. With their school papers and projects and their stinky footwear and their old lunches.”

  “Never mind.” I grinned. “I wish we’d had shoes like that when I was in grade school. I am retroactively jealous.”

  “They each have three more pairs. Of course, we’re not sure where those are. Might be missing or stolen.”

  “Ah. Mind if I open the closet?”

  “Do you have to?”

  “Yes.” Sometimes it’s better to make up rules. What the hell. I opened the door cautiously. More shoes, more paper, more jackets. Scarves and mittens tumbled out. I lifted a few items and discovered another pair of lunch boxes underneath.

  “Oh dear,” Bernice said, biting her lower lip. “I’ve been looking for them for ages. We bought new ones.”

  I unzipped one and recoiled. Something old and green had taken over whatever forgotten snack had been inside.

  Bernice snatched it from my hand. “Another one in the garbage. Yuck. How can I live like this and manage a business?”

  “How many children again?”

  “Three. Ten, seven, and three. A hundred school projects and a thousand mittens, no two alike.” She finally noticed that tuna sandwich and bent to pick it up. “Are we beyond help?”

  “Looks fairly typical to me,” I said, not r
evealing my single, childless status. “Now that I’ve seen what it’s like after they leave in the morning, I should see what happens before they leave and when they get home. Mind if I come by this afternoon? And one morning too.”

  She grimaced.

  I said, “It won’t hurt a bit. Let them behave as if I’m not here. It will be one morning and one afternoon, and then you’ll be rid of me. I think we’ll get a better plan out of it.”

  “If you say so,” she said.

  “Let’s get it over with. It’s not going to be a huge project, but it will have a big impact on you and the kids if we get it right,” I said.

  She nodded and bent forward to pick up a form. “Drat. Here’s a permission slip. There will be a total hissy fit if I don’t go by the school with it.”

  Bernice shrugged into her jacket, grabbed her car keys, and set off down the hallway to chase the three-year-old, who had vanished. “See you,” she said.

  It seemed like the right time to leave.

  Pepper had not returned my call. Was I surprised? I decided I would leave half-hourly messages with her and also try the desk sergeant at the police station. I left my cell number, although she already had it.

  After I watched Bernice shoot off wildly down the street in her tan-colored SUV, I called Sally to report on the meeting, and I use the term loosely, with Bernice.

  “Not sure she wants my help, but thanks anyway, Sal,” I said. I filled her in on the permission slip that put an end to our interview.

  “Of course, she went to the school, Charlotte. She’ll want to protect that child from disappointment. Do you blame her?”

  “But shouldn’t the child learn to look after her own permission slip?” I said. “She’ll have a lot more disappointments in her life if she doesn’t take care of paperwork. Our parents didn’t protect us that way.”

  “Don’t be such a priss. Listen to yourself! Our parents were total jerks. We’re lucky we’re not in perpetual therapy. Bernice is protecting her daughter the same way I, as your friend, am trying to protect you from economic ruin because of your strange attraction to murder on the job.”

  “Oh pu-leeze, Sal,” I said. “I so don’t need protection.”

  I sat in the Miata collecting my thoughts; Bernice and Sally had given me something to ponder: protection. Apparently a powerful need in people when it comes to the ones they care about. I’d seen a small sample of it in a minor matter: a permission slip, not to mention Sally’s desire to protect me in addition to her brood of children. Certainly, I’d experienced it myself, wanting to protect my client Emmy Lou from distress and injustice at the hands of the local police.

  A sudden thought hit me: What if Emmy Lou was the one doing the protecting? And who would she be protecting anyway? Leaving aside the stuffed toy fetish, she didn’t seem to be an overly sentimental person. Wasn’t even in touch with her family. That left, of course, the genial affectionate new husband that she was so crazy about. The same husband who appeared to be totally inept when it came to getting past the police to see his wife and, worse, in getting his wife to talk to a lawyer. The same pudgy lothario I’d seen chasing after a beautiful young woman in a slinky red dress less than forty-eight hours earlier.

  Dwayne Rheinbeck.

  Where had our boy Dwayne been on the Sunday afternoon before all hell broke loose? Hanging around Wet Paint during the quiet period between lunch and dinner? Maybe. Maybe not. Dwayne would have known that I had an appointment with Emmy Lou. And he, unlike Tony and Kevin, was intelligent enough to pull off the prank call to keep me away until the damage was done. Of course, I had no idea why he would kill Tony. But since the law didn’t seem to be one tiny bit interested, maybe it was time for me to find out.

  I decided, as Dwayne was now my chief suspect, that I should stay close to him. I squealed up in front of Wet Paint hoping it would be open for Monday lunch. Lots of Woodbridge restaurants are closed on Mondays, but this wasn’t one of them. I figured Dwayne was doing his best to build a business. That was convenient for me.

  The young server who Lilith knew zipped off to the kitchen to tell Dwayne I was there to see him. A minute later, the kitchen door opened and he barreled out. He gestured me over to a table on the side as the servers set the tables up for an anticipated crowd at lunch. Salt, pepper, silverware, napkins were being set out at speed.

  “Any luck?” I said, trying to keep my smile natural.

  “Luck?”

  “With getting Emmy Lou to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Not yet.”

  I nodded. “How did your parents take it?”

  “I haven’t had the guts to tell them yet. I’ll be heading back over to the jail to try to see her as soon as I finish talking to the kitchen staff. The place might have to run itself while we get this whole thing sorted out.”

  I fixed him with a look. “Have you thought that maybe she’s protecting someone.”

  He stared. “Who?”

  Was that a look of guilt?

  “I don’t know. Bill Baxter hated those two guys on the other side of you. Tony and Kevin.” Of course, I didn’t believe for a second that Emmy Lou was protecting her nutty neighbor Bill. I had Dwayne on the brain for this.

  His mouth hung open for a second before he sputtered, “Bill Baxter? But we hardly know him. He’s a neighbor. You don’t let yourself get locked up because you feel sorry for the guy next door. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “What about Kevin? Emmy Lou went way back with him.”

  Dwayne shook his head. “Nah. I can’t imagine it. She’s known him since he was a kid. And he is one weird little guy, but I would have said harmless. But if he’d killed his sleazy buddy, why would Emmy want to protect him by confessing? I could understand if she told the police it wasn’t his fault. He’s obviously not normal, so they’re not going to treat him as a murderer. He’s like a child. But that confession is bizarre. And it’s not like her at all. Maybe you’re right.”

  “We have to try to find out.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep you posted once I get over there again.”

  I reached up and patted his shoulder sympathetically. A nice guy. A pudgy, gentle lump, worried about his wife. Caring, concerned, confused.

  I had no problem whatsoever understanding why Emmy Lou would protect him from a murder charge.

  Be prepared for disasters.

  Keep your insurance and roadside assistance

  policies up-to-date.

  11

  I didn’t get far before my phone rang. I pulled over to take the call.

  Pepper.

  “Perfect timing,” I said, “We need to talk.”

  “Better not be about the Tony Starkman murder.”

  “Why not? I don’t think it’s so simple. I have this theory that—”

  “No.”

  “It will only take a minute, Pepper.” I am used to getting negatives from her. But it takes more than that to stop me. If I let Pepper determine my state of mind, I would have crawled into a hole and died four years earlier.

  She said, “No minute. No theory. No Charlotte involved in any way in this case. Because I have enough to deal with without you mincing around making a mess of things. Is that clear?”

  Mincing? That was a low blow. I don’t mince. Or make messes.

  She wasn’t finished apparently. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. It will be nice not seeing you.”

  At that point in a “conversation” with Pepper, I usually hear a dial tone. This call was no different.

  Fine.

  I wasn’t sure how to handle getting my idea that Emmy Lou was protecting Dwayne from my head into Pepper’s, but I’d have to work on that.

  Before I could put the Miata back into gear, the phone trilled again.

  “Have you heard anything?” I said.

  “She still won’t see a lawyer,” Dwayne groaned. “She told the public defender she plans to wave her right to a preliminary hearing.
He doesn’t think she can get bail, even if she asks for it. Her behavior’s been too erratic.”

  I asked myself how he could have found that out in the few minutes since I had left the restaurant. I’d had barely enough time to drive halfway home and to take that very brief call from Pepper.

  “That’s terrible.” I feigned sympathy. No point in alerting him to my suspicions.

  He said, “I can’t understand what’s going on. If I had my way, I’d be sitting in jail in her place.” He did a very good job of sounding choked up. Maybe he’d taken a few acting classes. He added, “I’m sorry about all the trouble this is causing you.”

  I said, “Don’t worry about me. You have to concentrate on Emmy Lou. In fact, I won’t be charging for the two visits I made to your house. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

  Okay, that was dumb. I do have a rule that says I charge for consultations, one hour minimum fee, no matter what. I don’t know why I said it.

  “Why not?”

  “Considering the circumstances, I can’t. And you’ll have legal fees and all that.”

  He sputtered, “But I told you she won’t see a lawyer.”

  “I imagine she will sooner or later. I have another idea that makes more sense than Emmy Lou protecting someone.”

  He said, “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but almost anything would make more sense than that crackpot notion. No offense.”

  “None taken. She feels guilty.”

  I heard a whoosh of impatience from Dwayne. “Guilty! What does she have to feel guilty about? She’s an innocent woman, for God’s sake. I thought you were on our side!”

  “I’m not saying she is guilty. I’m saying she feels guilty. Maybe Tony tripped on the toys and that’s how he died. Or maybe she thinks if she’d reported him to the police, he wouldn’t have been in the house. Maybe he came up behind her and she pushed.”

  “You know, that makes sense. That’s just like her. She’s got such a soft heart.”

  “Right.”

  “But she’s stubborn too. We’ll have to find a way to make her understand she’s not guilty.”