The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  After I left Rose, I left a message for Nick Monahan, asking if the witness who’d mentioned the white van had actually seen the van hit Lilith. I wasn’t sure if he’d have the guts to call me back, but I had to do something.

  Lilith was still unconscious when she was wheeled back to the room. Her spectacular turquoise tips were a thing of the past, replaced by sterile bandages. I spent the rest of the day by her bed, alternating with Rose, who was catching up on her sleep in the relatives’ lounge. Rose tiptoed in from time to time, looking ten years older, wan and worried. I used the time during Rose’s visits to step out and call Sally and bring her up to speed. I phoned Dwayne and let him know the project would be a bit slower because Lilith was in the hospital. Finally, I told Gary Gigantes the news about Lilith and also my break-in.

  “That’s too bad, Charlotte. I heard about that hit-and-run, but I didn’t make the connection with your friend. You do what you gotta do. I’m ready anytime,” he said. “The trim’s cut. Got good deals on the bookcases, so I used the savings to get you some lighting to show off the collection. Won’t take long to install. You’re number one on the list, so whenever you’re ready, give me a shout. Even if I start another job, I’ll slot yours in. I’ll let the next client know right up front.”

  “You’re amazing, Gary. As soon as Lilith’s out of the woods, I’ll be able to concentrate. I have a lot to do, because of my break-in and everything else.”

  “I’m here.”

  In between visits from Margaret and Jack, who both wanted to be in the loop, I kept an eye on Lilith’s sleeping form and did a bit of work to take my mind off my guilt over putting her in that situation. Logic told me the hit-and-run had to be connected to Tony’s death and Emmy Lou’s situation. Lilith’s presence had stirred up Tony’s killer in some way.

  I fiddled with notes and diagrams. Tried to remember what Patti had said about who lived where. Made mind maps. Drew arrows connecting people. I proceeded with a few assumptions. First, the chances were good the person was connected with Bell Street and specifically with Emmy Lou. Second, that all or most of our bizarre experiences over the last few days were linked.

  I did a little map of the block.

  On one side:

  Numbers 2 and 4: Demolished, now vacant lots

  Number 6: The Van Loons, a housebound couple in their eighties

  Number 8: Kevin and Mrs. Dingwall

  Number 10: Emmy Lou and Dwayne

  Number 12: Bonnie and Bill Baxter

  Number 14: Someone away on road trip

  On the other side:

  Number 5: The Mrazeks, a couple in their late seventies

  Number 7: Mr. T. Wright and Mrs. Wright, who probably had a name too

  Numbers 9 and 11: Vacant properties being demolished. Owned by Mr. T. Wright and possibly Mrs.

  Number 13: Patti Magliaro upstairs

  Number 13: Downstairs, Patti’s landlord, Ralph—visiting his son in Florida

  Number 15: Vacant—sold but not yet occupied

  Fine. What about Mr. Wright? A bully? For sure. Heartless? Sounded like it. A child growing up without a pet or even a stuffed animal. A man who would disown his daughter. A man who would coerce her to give up a child she wanted. A man who appeared to dominate his timid wife. Would such a man kill Tony, the nephew of the boyfriend who set things in motion? Mr. Wright owned the property where my tires had been slashed. He’d seen me asking questions of people on the street. He was obviously hostile. Did he have something to hide? He could have made the call to Pepper saying I’d threatened the boys. He might have overheard, perhaps even from an open window. He would have seen Lilith outside the house with me. My face had been all over the news. My address and phone number were listed in the phone book. He could have trashed my house. One more way to frighten me. A major question was how he could have obtained a key. But for all I knew he’d been a career locksmith. I wrote “KEY????” next to his name.

  He was the most appealing villain, hands down. But why would Emmy Lou lie to protect such a vile person? Did she still love her father in spite of everything? Did she want to protect him? That seemed likely.

  I moved to another house on the list: number 8. Kevin might have accidentally killed his friend, or even been at the scene, but Kevin was no conspirator. Bonnie and Bill had seen the Dingwalls leaving around noon. But we had only Mrs. Dingwall’s word about when they’d returned. For sure, she would have lied to protect her son if he’d caused Tony’s death. But it was more likely that she had done it. Ridding herself of a troublesome bad influence in her son’s life. I closed my eyes and recalled our conversation in her living room. She had a deep voice. She’d have no trouble sounding like a man on the phone. She was close enough and strong enough to slash the tires on the Miata. On the other hand, I was pretty sure she hadn’t been a locksmith or a burglar, and anyway, she hadn’t had any opportunity to get her mitts on my keys.

  It was fairly obvious that a demolition team had been working on the site of numbers 9 and 11, but I hadn’t seen any of them. Still, tradespeople were in short supply with the renovation boom in Woodbridge. On the other hand, those properties are owned by T. Wright. I put a “?” next to them.

  Across the street at number 10 where I’d started, there was Dwayne, seemingly loving husband. I had suspected he might be better off with Emmy Lou out of the way, although now that I knew he was Bryony’s father, not her lover, I found it hard to give that idea any weight. And he certainly wouldn’t be better off with Emmy Lou on trial or in a mental hospital. In fact, the legal costs would probably bankrupt him. However, unlike Mrs. Dingwall, he could have easily copied my keys when I was checking out the house. He’d been alone in the room with my handbag. Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with a plausible reason for him to trash my house or slash my tires.

  Also at number 10 was Emmy Lou herself. But Emmy Lou was locked up in the psych ward, which was why I was so upset in the first place.

  Was I wasting my time? I bit my lower lip and stared at what I had so far. A moan from the hospital bed distracted me. Lilith’s eyelids fluttered. I dropped my papers and stood up.

  “Lilith?”

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m so glad you’re back.” I squeezed her hand.

  The eyes closed again.

  “Lilith,” I said, “who ran you down?”

  Soft breathing, then a raspy, “Don’t know.”

  “Who did you see on Bell Street? Did you talk to Mr. Wright? Mrs. Dingwall? Bill and Bonnie?”

  A soft, soft, “Yes.”

  “The workers at the demolition sites?”

  “My head hurts.”

  What was I doing? Lilith had regained consciousness. The medical staff had to be informed. Rose needed to know. I leaned over and rang the bell for the nurse.

  “You rest,” I said.

  Lilith whispered again, “Needed distraction. Talked about the toys. Tried to trick them…about Sunday.”

  At that moment the nurse bustled through the door. “What can I do?”

  “She’s awake.”

  “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Do your errands in a circuit so that you are always

  moving forward—save your gas, shoe leather, and time.

  21

  Rose settled in and prepared for another night at Lilith’s side, claiming she’d slept all day and was completely refreshed. One look at her told me that wasn’t true. She frowned and said, “There’s something I’m supposed to tell you and darned if I can remember what it is.”

  “That’s the stress of worrying about Lilith, Rose. It’s hell on the concentration. Whatever it is, it will keep.”

  “Hope so. I feel like an old fool though. And this old fool is staying here.”

  Before I could put up an argument, Margaret arrived.

  “You look worse than Rose does, if that’s possible,” she said. While I was recovering from that comment, she added, “Hit the road
and get some sleep. I have a lot of files to catch up on, might as well do it here. Don’t argue.”

  On the way out, I called Jack and told him I was on my way home from the hospital.

  “I walked Truffle and Sweet Marie. And Schopie,” he said. “The four of us will be waiting for you. Make that the six of us. I replaced your melted Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk with two new tubs.”

  As soon as I hung up, the phone trilled again.

  “Charlotte?” A vague tremulous voice.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Patti. Patti Magliaro?”

  “Oh, Patti, of course. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to hear about your friend. But something weird is going on across the street. Can you hear me? I’m whispering.”

  “What is weird? Are you okay, Patti?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Can you come over? I’m home. It’s my night off. Because I worked an extra—”

  Before Patti could head down a dozen conversational bypasses, I intervened. “If you’re worried, you should hang up and call the police.”

  “It’s probably nothing or I would call them, except I don’t like them much.”

  Understood. “Can you tell me what is happening?” I refrained from adding, “It’s late and I need to get home.”

  Patti sighed. “It’s probably nothing. Dwayne will be home soon anyway. Sorry to bother you, Charlotte. Don’t worry, Princess, I’m coming.”

  “It’s okay, Patti. Just tell me what it is and…” I waited. “Hello? Hello? Are you there? Oh for Pete’s sake.”

  Patti was vague enough to hang up on me and go about her business, but I would worry about it all night if I didn’t know. I checked my phone so I could call her back. “Unknown Number.” Truly unhelpful.

  I snapped off the phone, jumped in the Miata, and broke the speed limit getting to Bell Street. I decided that the dogs, the ice cream, and Jack could wait a few minutes while I checked out Patti’s problem. I would make it up to them with extra cuddles and treats. The dogs anyway.

  As I pulled up in front of Patti’s place, I noticed her half-hidden behind her evergreen hedge, beckoning. I rolled down the window. She put her fingers to her lips.

  I bit back my words. Patti is sweet even if she’s totally ditsy. She pointed across the street to number 10. I opened the passenger door so that she could stumble into the Miata.

  “Do you see that?” she murmured, pointing across the street again.

  “It’s okay, Patti. We don’t need to whisper in the car.”

  Princess apparently didn’t care for my tone. She hissed at me. I had a feeling the next message would contain claws.

  Patti gave Princess a soothing stroke. “So do you see that light?”

  “I do. Is that why you called me over?”

  “Well, yes. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

  No, I thought. It’s a light inside a house. “I imagine Dwayne is home getting ready for bed.”

  “Did you see Dwayne’s car when you drove past?”

  I frowned. “I didn’t look.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen it if you had looked, because Dwayne’s not home.”

  “Maybe his car is in the garage.”

  “Emmy Lou’s car is parked in front of the garage, blocking it. Dwayne has to park in back of hers. Anyway, the light is flickering.”

  She was right. It did look more like the flicker of a flashlight than normal interior lighting. “Oh, I see. And you think it’s…?”

  “Burglars.”

  It was my turn to blink. “So why didn’t you call the police? I don’t handle burglars, although I would put them in the category of people who need to be cleaned up.”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not so good with the police. There are issues.”

  Wacky tobaccy issues maybe.

  “You can make an anonymous call,” I suggested.

  She shook her head violently. “I don’t trust them. What if they have my phone bugged?”

  No point in wasting my breath on that. I’d obviously upset her.

  “Tell you what, I’ll call them. I’ll say it looks suspicious, but it could be the homeowner. Maybe he blew a fuse or something.”

  She said, “Except his car’s not there.”

  I had a thought. “What if it’s Kevin? I’d better say it might be the kid next door and not to shoot him by mistake.”

  Patti gasped. “That would be real bad.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Hey? Who’s that?” Patti said, leaning forward and squinting.

  “What? Where?” I paused, my fingers hovering over the 9 on my cell phone.

  A furtive crouching figure scurried alongside the Rheinbeck house. As I watched he—or she—dashed across the lawn and into the Baxters’ backyard. Another figure followed. They would have been invisible if it hadn’t been for the glow of the brilliant full moon.

  “We can’t let him get away,” Patti gasped.

  “I don’t intend to tackle a pair of burglars, but I’ll see where they go. Maybe they’re planning to break into Bonnie and Bill’s place next.” I thrust the phone into Patti’s hand and hopped out of the car. “Patti, call 911 and tell them what has happened. Do not mention my name whatever you do, but tell them to check number 12 too.” I closed the Miata door softly. I wanted to see where these creeps went and then spring back to the safety of the car, which was just a few yards away.

  I scurried across the street toward the Baxters’ place. I hugged the wall and made absolutely certain I had time to dash back to safety if the break-and-enter artists spotted me. Even though I know that burglars aren’t usually dangerous, my heart was pounding. But I knew that Patti had called 911 and the police response was very fast in Woodbridge. Particularly if I was in the vicinity. Usually that wasn’t such a bonus. Tonight it would be.

  I edged to the far end of the exterior wall of the Baxters’ house. I peeked around the corner and smothered a gasp. Two figures were huddled by the back door. I could hear their whispered voices. The smaller one kept looking around, nervously. I pulled back. I hadn’t got even a glimpse of their faces.

  I could hear them fiddling with the lock. In a minute or two they’d be in the house. I had to warn Bonnie and Bill. I was approaching the front of the house when my nose began to twitch. That damn white mulberry tree. My eyes watered. My nose twitched harder. I pinched it to stop the sneeze.

  Too little, too late.

  A giant sneeze wracked my body. It sounded like someone had fired off a twelve-gauge. I glanced behind me. A head appeared by the side of the house. I started to run. Feet pounded after me. I put every scrap of energy into sprinting back to the safety of the Miata. Too bad my princess heels were not built for this. One shoe slipped off my foot, throwing me off balance. I sprawled forward onto the grass, knocking the breath straight out of my body.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” the voice behind me said.

  I scrambled to my feet and thudded forward wearing only one shoe. I kicked off the second shoe and ran like hell. I heard heavy feet behind me, gaining.

  Talk about adrenaline.

  As my stocking feet hit the sidewalk, I squeaked in horror.

  Where was the Miata?

  There was no sign of my beautiful, safe little car. Or of Patti Magliaro and Princess.

  I froze. Which was not the best idea under the circumstances. I felt a rough hand grab at my shoulder and yank hard at my jacket. Bell Street stood empty. Except for Patti’s the houses were in darkness.

  Since flight seemed pointless, it was time to turn and fight. I whirled and yelled in the face of my pursuer. Loud enough to scare him, I hoped. Or at least to wake up the neighborhood. Of course, with Dwayne out and Patti gone and Mr. Wright being who he was, that left the Baxters.

  “Bill!” I shouted as I caught sight of his face.

  He recoiled.

  I laughed out loud. “What a relief. I thought you were a burglar because—” Because he
had just come out of the Rheinbeck house. How was that for a because?

  Bill eyed me warily. I assumed he was trying to figure out what I knew. I did my best to fool him. “The police are on their way. Patti called them. Someone’s trying to break into your house. I hope Bonnie’s not in there alone.”

  I don’t know who was more surprised by this, Bill Baxter or me. I stood my ground. The hooded person with him crept up alongside him and tugged at his arm. Bonnie. But why would little Bonnie have a weapon in her delicate hands?

  “Bonnie?” I said, stunned. “Is that you? What were you doing in the Rheinbecks’ place?”

  Sometimes you find yourself in a tight spot and the stuff that comes out of your mouth isn’t the most brilliant. In this case, I’d almost have to plead insanity. If I could have grabbed the words back and swallowed them, I would have.

  “Jesus, Bill,” Bonnie said. “We’ve got to shut her up.”

  “Shut me up?” I squeaked. “Why?”

  Bill ran his hand through his hair.

  “I think I hear the police now,” I said. Of course, I didn’t hear anything except my heart thundering. The cops had been everywhere this last couple of days. Where were they now that I needed them? Patti had had plenty of time to make the call.

  Bonnie barked, “Be quiet.”

  Bill laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Give me a minute to think.”

  “What do you mean, shut her up?” I said loudly enough to be heard across the street, if anyone was there. “I thought we were friends, Bonnie. You too, Bill.”

  She sneered. “Like hell you did. You were messing with my head to find out what you could.”

  “What? What did I want to find out?” I said.

  “Nosy bitch. Bill, take care of her.”

  He bent over and started talking back to her, whispering, pleading: intense, conspiratorial, appealing. She glared up at him, arguing back hoarsely.

  I thought fast. How far to the nearest house? Too far. Where was my car with my cell phone in it? No idea. What would I do to Patti when I found her? Something bad.