The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I straightened up and swallowed. I hadn’t thought about Rose knowing anyone on the other side of town, although I wasn’t sure why not.

  “So who did you know on Bell Street, Rose?”

  She closed her eyes. “Let’s see. Feeneys. Mrazeks. Van Loons. Lots of folks, older than me, so they’re probably all dead,” Rose said.

  “Van Loons and Mrazeks are still alive, I heard.”

  “That’s a good sign. I didn’t know the Wrights. You were talking about them last night. I knew Myrna and Fred Dingwall. He worked with my late husband. She’s about my age, but he was older. So he’s long gone, of course. Why don’t you ask her about Emmy Lou Wright?”

  “Um, I’m not welcome at the Dingwalls. A misunderstanding about her son.”

  Rose couldn’t muffle the grin in time.

  I ignored it. “And of course, there’s Patti Magliaro. Everyone knows her.”

  Rose chuckled. “She’s a good soul and a great asset to Betty’s. I don’t know that I’d believe a word she says though. Smoked a bit of funny tobacco in her time. She gets a bit more vague every year. But you know, I run into Myrna Dingwall every now and then at Hannaford’s. I could ask her about this Emmy Lou when she was growing up. If that would help.”

  “It would. Now I’m heading off to talk to someone I should have seen much earlier.”

  I braced myself for one of the hardest tasks I’d ever done. I waited until after lunch, even though I don’t usually procrastinate. “Do the worst first” has been one of my mottoes. My heart was pounding as I rang the doorbell to Rhonda Starkman’s house. I knew I should have come by earlier to express my condolences to Tony’s mother. But I’d found nothing online about a service or visitation. No suggestion for donations. No fund to help the family. It was as though Tony Starkman had never existed. And, of course, I’d hated the idea of it, especially since I’d had that encounter with Tony and Kevin. I was more ashamed of myself by the minute. For sure, sudden death can bring out the coward in us.

  The woman who answered the door was pallid, brimming with sorrow, and wore her despair like a heavy garment. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen, her dark hair streaked with silver. She was slim and neat though. I never would have recognized her as the greasy-haired harridan shown in the newscasts.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “I’m Charlotte Adams. I’m the person who found Tony. I am very sorry for your loss,” I said. I offered her the azalea and the sympathy card. I had struggled with the words to express my sympathy. She stared at the plant and finally reached out for it. Her dark eyes filled with tears. One rolled down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away.

  “I don’t know what to say. I love plants,” she said. She stared at me, then said, “Do you want to come in?”

  I followed her into the apartment, which was clean, homey, and comfortable, not what I’d expected. A framed photo of Tony sat on top of the television set. A Bible sat on the coffee table, next to a stack of library books. No one else appeared to have sent flowers.

  “I still can’t believe it,” she said as she stood gently fingering the frame on the photo with her free hand.

  “I didn’t know when the funeral was.”

  “They haven’t released his”—she gulped—“body yet. I guess it takes a while. I can’t stand thinking about it.”

  I had a sharp stab of guilt sitting in this woman’s living room under the worst sort of false pretences.

  She sniffed. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was all I had in the world.”

  “I didn’t know him well,” I said. I chose not to add that I had shouted at, and in some interpretations, threatened her son. Obviously, she wasn’t the person who had phoned the police.

  “Tony wasn’t very easy to know. He had his problems. But he was a good boy, in his own way.” She flipped open a cigarette package and lit up. “Filthy habit,” she said. “Can you believe I was off these things since Tony was born? Now, look.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Not that it matters anymore. I felt I needed something.”

  I had wanted to ask her some questions, but now the raw pain of what she was experiencing caused them to catch in my throat. Finally, I managed to speak. “Eventually they’ll figure out what happened to him.”

  She sighed. “What difference will it make? Won’t bring him back. It was an accident anyway, no matter what they say.”

  “You don’t believe Emmy Lou…?”

  “Of course not. She couldn’t do that to Tony. Or anyone. I don’t know why she’s saying it. She’s having another breakdown, I guess. I told the police, and I told that blockhead on the television, but that didn’t get on the air. Sorry, have a seat. I’m not myself. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks. I’ve had plenty.”

  “And I’ve had way too much.” I had a belated flash of insight. This woman was nothing like the impression I’d had of her. Yet, I’d believed the images that flashed in front of me, even though I hated how they presented me: unfair, unkind, unreasonable. Looked like I wasn’t the only one. “I guess the media is misrepresenting both of us.”

  “And everything else as far as I can see. I need to mourn my boy, and they keep showing up with the stupidest questions.”

  I did my best not to add to the stupid-question list. “You said that Emmy Lou wouldn’t have hurt Tony. I didn’t realize that you knew her.” I hoped my nose didn’t start to grow as I spoke.

  “Emmy Lou? Sure. I’ve known her since Tony was a little thing. She used to go out with my brother.”

  “Does he live in Woodbridge too? It must help to have family close by at a time like this.”

  Liar, liar, my good angel said.

  She bit her thin lower lip and shook her head. “Roger’s dead too.”

  “Oh no.”

  “It happened a long time ago. He died a month after high school graduation—that’s nearly twenty-four years ago.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  So Roger Starkman was dead. I wanted to ask about the stunts that Tony and Kevin were pulling, but I decided against adding to this woman’s misery. “Is that when Emmy Lou had her first breakdown?”

  “Yes. Roger was killed racing his motorcycle. He could be a wild and crazy guy. Emmy Lou went to pieces afterward. They had to send her away. Then after a while she got in touch with me and Tony. Tony was about four when she started to go out with Roger. She never forgot my little boy, always sent him a birthday card. Even this year. Roger’s death is what pushed her over the edge.”

  Of course, that explained why Emmy Lou tolerated the foolishness from Tony and Kevin. She’d known them since they were little boys. Nothing was what I’d thought. The idea that Emmy Lou’s confession was evidence of another breakdown gave me plenty to think about. Of course, it didn’t explain why she’d been on edge in the first place. Mind you, I kept coming back to Dwayne. If Emmy Lou hadn’t been terrified of Tony and Kevin, why had she been afraid?

  I took a deep breath. “And of course she has no family except for her new husband.”

  “I have no family either, but at least I did have people who loved me.” She snorted. “Emmy Lou would have been better off with no family at all than that old bastard of a father.”

  “You knew them?”

  “Knew of them. The Starkmans weren’t good enough for the Wrights. Emmy Lou wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with Roger. They had to sneak time together.” She shivered. “You know, I saw her father on the television, watching while my Tony was carried out. Cold as ice, then and now. Poor Emmy Lou. I don’t know why she moved back there. She might have a big job and money and a beautiful home, but she sure has been unlucky in love, starting with her parents.”

  Back at home, I left a message for Lilith asking her to call me about a favor. Then I called Margaret to entice her to an early dinner at Betty’s. She was at her desk because she’s always at her desk except when she’s in court.

  “You ha
ve to eat,” I said. “Or you won’t be able to continue to call yourself a misfit.”

  “Wouldn’t want that to happen. See you there.”

  I was grinning when I hung up. One of the best things about coming back to Woodbridge was reconnecting with Margaret. Jack and I had never lost touch, including during my unfortunate and brief engagement. He’d been there as a shoulder to cry on and a quick source of emergency ice cream. Sally had never missed one of our weekly catch-up calls, even when she was in labor. But Margaret had vanished into her Ivy League college and then law school. I wasn’t sure where she’d practiced afterward, although she’d alluded to a firm where all work and no play made Margaret a dull girl. She still worked too hard, according to Jack. Why yes, that would be the same Jack who couldn’t join us because of pressures of the totally empty cycle shop.

  I used the time before the dinner date to catch up on voice and e-mails and to play around with the mudroom project, the one with no client. I used my favorite computer planning program to try out a few different wall colors. Not having a client took a bit of the pressure off. Maybe that was a good thing.

  Another good thing: since I’d confirmed that Emmy Lou had grown up on Bell Street and her parents lived across the street, I no longer needed to track down any of her old classmates. I tossed the photocopies of the yearbook pages into the recycle bin. If I’d made my visit to Tony’s mother earlier, I might have saved myself the trip to the high school. Not that I was overwhelmed by work. I took an hour to reschedule my more resilient clients into the slots left by those who’d bailed. I called Sally and told her I’d like to drop by after the kids were in bed to show her a project.

  I had time to get ready. I woke up Truffle and Sweet Marie and gave them a brisk walk around the block. I managed to keep them out of the waves of tulips springing up on the front lawns. The dogs went back to sleep the second we got home. I barely paid attention as I was busy worrying about my new information. What if I was totally wrong? What if Emmy Lou’s confession was nothing more than the manifestation of another breakdown, triggered by the accidental death of her first love’s nephew? That made sense. Tragic, but logical. Emmy Lou had been showing signs of stress, and Tony’s death would have been a horrible echo of Roger Starkman’s, twenty-four years before. I was guessing that death would still be fresh in her mind. But how could I ever make the police believe it?

  Still, I wasn’t ready to shelve my suspicions of Dwayne and his girl in red. I Googled Bryony Stevens again. I pulled up her Web site and checked out the photo gallery. I picked the three best views of the singer and printed them out on my color printer. I tucked them into an envelope, changed into my jeans and new yellow leather casual jacket, and recharged my hair and makeup. I packed up my laptop and made tracks for Betty’s Diner.

  Patti Magliaro slapped the menu down in front of us and grinned. “Of course, you always get the club with fries.” She turned to Margaret. “You, I don’t know.”

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” Margaret said.

  When Patti hustled off with the order, I said, “So what can we do about Emmy Lou?”

  Margaret said, “I knew that was why you wanted to have dinner together.”

  “It’s not the only reason.”

  “If Emmy Lou doesn’t want me to represent her, I can’t contact her. You have to accept that, Charlotte.”

  “But how do we know that she doesn’t want you to represent her?”

  “Because she said so?”

  “But did she really say that, Margaret?”

  “She did. Now give it up.”

  We went round and round that mulberry bush until our food arrived.

  “Here we go, ladies.” Patti slid massive plates with turkey club sandwiches and the world’s best fries in front of us.

  Betty makes her clubs with real roasted turkey, crisp double-smoked bacon, crunchy lettuce, heirloom tomatoes, and homemade wheat or white bread. The fries are hand-cut, fresh, and fragrant. If I hadn’t had so many reasons to move back home, maybe Betty’s would have been enough. Betty, who was pushing eighty, still ran the place and knew all the customers. An excellent role model.

  We fell on the food like turkey buzzards.

  “So back to the topic,” I said when nothing but the ghosts of the sandwiches remained. “I have only Dwayne’s word that she refused to see you and wouldn’t talk to him and didn’t want to see the public defender and didn’t want any other legal assistance. I didn’t speak to her. You didn’t speak to her. Pepper thinks she’s guilty, so she wouldn’t go out of her way. Dwayne says he’ll find another lawyer, but I’m beginning to doubt that. She’ll come up before a judge again this week.”

  Margaret picked up the last lonely hand-cut fry on her plate. “These are so good, I hate to see the end of them. And as for Emmy Lou, the public defender must have spoken to her.”

  “Whatever. But do you get what I’m saying?”

  Margaret stared back at me speculatively and munched the fry.

  I said, “He could have asked for your advice, even if she didn’t. You could push for an insanity defense. Wait a minute, can you do that even if you don’t have her support? Or his, for that matter?”

  “I hardly know where to start with that, Charlotte. It’s certainly vile if the husband’s trying to make sure she doesn’t have proper legal representation. But even if he did approach me you can forget insanity as a plea. It’s a tough sell even with seriously ill people. With someone elegant and articulate, there’s virtually no chance. However, there’s even less chance of me, with no previous connection to the Rheinbecks, butting into the case. Give it up.”

  “I thought people got off on insanity defenses all the time.”

  “A common misperception. I’d say less than one percent. And if they do, they may end up in a worse situation.”

  “Forget that then. What if you could demonstrate that Dwayne had reasons for wanting Emmy Lou hauled off to jail?”

  Margaret massaged her temple. “Like what?”

  I opened the envelope and slid out the photo of Bryony Stevens. “Like her.”

  “Charlotte, I know you are concerned about your client, but you’re not a police officer. You’re not a private detective. You can’t go around making allegations about people. Pepper will destroy you.”

  “You know Pepper. She may destroy me anyway.”

  “And Dwayne Rheinbeck could take legal action against you.”

  “But—”

  “Ah, who’s the lawyer here?”

  I sighed. “Margaret is.”

  “Margaret is also your friend. So for your own good, don’t get arrested or slapped with a lawsuit.”

  “Okay. So supposing that I don’t go around—”

  “—showing the picture and asking people about this girl, which I suspect is your plan.”

  “But I have to do something about this case.”

  Margaret wagged her finger at me. “Uh-uh. There is no case as far as you are concerned. You are usually so sensible and organized and in control of your emotions. What’s wrong with you? Ask yourself why you are overly involved with this client.”

  “I have asked myself that. I’ve thought about this a lot. You weren’t there when I met with her. Underneath the capable exterior, she was so fragile and vulnerable. That was even before this terrible thing with Tony happened. It’s haunting me. I feel she truly needs my help, maybe more than anyone ever has.”

  Margaret said, “Huh.”

  Patti chose that moment to materialize and rattle off the dessert menu without being asked. “Devil’s food special, ice cream sundaes, pecan pie, and carrot cake. Same as always.”

  I said, “Two devil’s food specials. The whole thing’s on my bill.”

  “I hope you don’t think I can be bought,” Margaret said as Patti ambled away with the orders.

  I said, “I know in my heart that Emmy Lou didn’t kill Tony. She may think she did because she’s having a breakdown, but—don’t roll your
eyes. Why is everyone rolling their eyes all the time?”

  Patti Magliaro reappeared magically and placed two plates of dark, moist, chocolately layer cake in front of us.

  I breathed in the fragrance.

  Margaret closed her eyes and inhaled.

  Patti nodded in Margaret’s direction. “First-timer?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the house then.” Patti winked. She glanced down at the pictures of Bryony. A flicker of recognition danced across her face.

  I said, “This is the jazz singer Bryony Stevens. I hear she’s going to be famous one of these days. Kind of neat that she’s making her name here in Woodbridge.”

  Margaret glowered, but Patti brightened. “I’ve seen her around.”

  “Really? Here?”

  “No, near my place. When I was walking Princess. Pretty girl.”

  “When was that?”

  “Couple of weeks ago.”

  “Not this past Sunday?” I blurted.

  She shook her head. “No, not Sunday. But it was some other afternoon, not long ago. She was with Dwayne Rheinbeck.” Patti drifted off to one of her other tables where someone was frantically trying to get her attention.

  “You see,” I hissed at Margaret. “Bryony Stevens was with Dwayne one afternoon when his loving wife was at work making enough money to underwrite his endeavors.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes again. “You have to stop obsessing about this. Promise me you won’t go to Bell Street and ask the other neighbors about this girl. I am way too busy to haul your butt out of the slammer again.”

  Lay out your clothes for the morning the night before,

  complete with the shoes, jewelry, underwear,

  and stockings you plan to wear.

  No nasty morning surprises that way.

  18

  “Sure, I’ll do it,” Lilith said when I caught up with her in between jobs. “I’ll ask around on Bell Street. I’ll be less noticeable.”