The Cluttered Corpse

by Mary Jane Maffini

  After what felt like an hour, I talked myself into slithering ahead. If I waited much longer, my hands would be too numb to maneuver. My bladder throbbed. So what the hell did I have to lose?

  Plenty as it turned out.

  After nine or ten gentle shuffles forward over the slippery garbage bags, I heard the dreaded crunch of glass. I froze again. I had to remind myself of how much worse it would be when the compactor truck collected me in the morning. That was motivating.

  Something shifted underneath me. Unstable bags? Loosely packed debris? I had no idea, but every panicky breath I took seemed to cause the rubble to sink. I squeaked. I heard the worst sound in the world: breaking glass.

  Where was it? I shifted slightly to the left. A jagged shard bit into my upper arm. I bit back tears. I steeled myself to reposition toward the right. More shards. I heard them crack.

  I was well and truly trapped.

  “Is anybody out there? Mmmph hyoo mmm hhhhhrrr?” I tried again, louder and louder. Useless, useless. But you can only play the cards you’ve been dealt.

  I jerked at a sound. What was that? Could it be sharp little barks?

  I listened intently.

  Yes.

  Truffle and Sweet Marie.

  Of course. Jack would have worried when I didn’t show up. He probably figured out I’d gone to Bell Street.

  I heard another round of barking or two. A man’s voice shouted, “Shut that dog up!”

  That brought on a blizzard of barks. Except for Jack’s, Truffle and Sweet Marie did not care for men’s voices. Especially telling them to shut up.

  My brave feisty little dogs. I’d never see them again. I would die so close to them and to Jack, the best friend anyone ever had, not that I had mentioned that to him in a while. There was a good chance no one would ever know what happened to me. I tried my duct-taped scream again, useless as it was. As loud as I could. As long as I could.

  I heard the man’s voice call out again. “That’s it. I’m calling the cops.”

  Jack yelled back, “Go right ahead.” He sounded close, although the acoustics weren’t all that great.

  I gave it my best shot. My muffled yells: “Where’s Charlotte! Wwwrrrrssssssssslllllllddddd!”

  “What is it? What’s wrong, you guys?” Jack hollered. “Where are you going?”

  The barks came closer, turning to high-pitched yips. Or so it seemed. My throat was raw from forcing out the sound.

  “What is wrong with you two? Wait? Is it Charlotte?”

  The Dumpster shook a bit, thumped on the outside.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Hhhhlllppp!”

  Jack’s face appeared overhead. The sight of his glasses glinting in the moonlight brought tears to my eyes. “Holy crap. You are in here. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”

  I shook my head frantically. If Jack jumped in, he’d slice his legs and probably bleed to death by my side.

  “No, no, no!” There is no way to shout intelligibly with duct tape on your mouth. Truffle and Sweet Marie continued to yip in triumph, which didn’t help communications.

  “Wait a minute,” Jack said, “Don’t move. Looks like this sucker is full of broken glass. I’ll be back in a second. I’m calling 911. And I’m getting help too.”

  Seconds later Jack tipped the battered plywood sheet from the lot into the Dumpster, making a bridge to safety for both of us. Apparently, he did not find me heavy.

  I wasn’t sure how much time elapsed since I’d been pulled out of the Dumpster. I was trembling, sweaty, and dizzy. My mouth hurt from having the duct tape removed, even though Jack did his best to be gentle. Myrna Dingwall hustled over almost as soon as we emerged. She was wrapped in a plaid dressing gown and lugging a blanket and a pillow. Behind her Kevin, in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, eyed me warily. Jack sent Myrna rushing back home for a pair of scissors. He sat me down on the pillow and draped the blanket tightly around me. Truffle and Sweet Marie climbed onto my lap and snuggled in.

  “Don’t try and talk,” he said.

  I snuffled. “I have to talk. Bonnie and Bill did this. They are looking for something in one of the stuffed animals. Oh, Jack, I told them it was in Nick’s garage. He has heavy security to protect his stupid cars. I figured if they tried to get in, then Nick would hear them and…But what if that back-fires? What if they try the house? What if they’re over there and—They’ve had enough time.”

  “Where’s Pepper and Nick’s house?” Jack pecked at his cell and spoke rapidly to the 911 operator. He passed on the address as soon as I croaked it out. He clicked off the phone.

  When Myrna returned, Jack unwrapped the blanket and cut the duct tape. I said, “How did you know where I was?”

  Jack said, “Patti Magliaro showed up at the house in your car, hysterical. She told me she didn’t know how to use your cell phone, so she came to get me.”

  “Why didn’t she go ask someone here on Bell Street?”

  “She claimed ‘they’ saw her, whoever ‘they’ were and she panicked. She got in the driver’s seat and took off. She said it was real lucky she remembered how to drive after all these years. Patti and I burned rubber getting back to hunt for you. I drove, you’ll be glad to hear that. When the police showed up, there was no sign of anyone at the Rheinbecks’ or the Baxters’. We couldn’t find you anywhere. Now I know why. I went home again, expecting you. Then I couldn’t relax and I came back with the dogs, in case they could help, although I left Schopie at home. I knocked on every door. These people were helping search for you,” he said, pointing to Myrna Dingwall, Kevin, Dwayne, looking more rumpled than usual, and a sheepish Patti Magliaro. They’d formed part of a small, hovering crowd.

  “How long was I in that thing?”

  “Not that long, I don’t think.”

  “It seemed like forever. Thank you for the blanket, Mrs. Dingwall. I’ll probably ruin it. I stink,” I said, staring at the small crowd and beyond it to the white van still parked on the site. I wondered if Bonnie and Bill had escaped in the old blue Colt or in the delivery vehicle. Where was the delivery guy? My head swam with shock and confusion.

  Myrna said, “It will wash.”

  I beckoned her to come forward. She knelt, wincing as she bent. I whispered, “You have to talk to Emmy Lou about Kevin. She’s paid a terrible price for that secret.”

  She swallowed. “I realize that. I ran into Rose Skipowski in the hospital cafeteria today and she broached the topic. I kept silent so long and now that it’s out, it’s a relief. I was so afraid I would lose Kevin to Emmy Lou, but in my heart I know it was wrong. I should never have listened to my brother. He’s a harsh and unfeeling man.”

  “Your brother?” Clink, clink. Another piece of the puzzle. That must have been what Rose couldn’t remember. “You mean, Mr. Wright?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know how Emmy Lou could bear to live right across the street from him. He never spoke to her after she became pregnant. I couldn’t believe it when she bought the house next to me. She must have been desperate to be near Kevin.”

  I kept my voice low. “Don’t worry. Emmy Lou must know how much you love Kevin and what good care you take of him. I believe you and Kevin will gain something, and so will Emmy Lou. Let’s hope it’s not too late for her…stability.”

  She stumbled to her feet, blinking away tears. “Yes.”

  Meanwhile, Dwayne, oblivious to our conversation, shook his shiny head. “I can’t believe all these weird things keep happening on Bell Street.”

  “I think it’s over. And we have proof Emmy Lou didn’t kill Tony. Now I know that Bonnie Baxter did that. She was searching for something in the house, and he saw her and she pushed him.”

  “Shhh,” Jack said. “Don’t get agitated.”

  Myrna gasped. “Bonnie Baxter?”

  At the sound of the name, Kevin jumped up and down and tugged at her sleeve. “I told you, Ma.”

  Patti Magliaro stumbled forward, a vision of guilty panic. “I’m
so sorry, Charlotte. I wanted to help. Sorry about the bumper too.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Patti,” I said. Turning to Jack, I pointed toward the white van. “Bill beat the El Greco guy. Then I think they must have shot him. Can you look and see if he’s in there?”

  Jack said, “You’ve had a horrible traumatic experience. Maybe you’re imagining—”

  “Listen to me. They must have dumped his body somewhere. Maybe he was even in there with me,” I snuffled, staring back at the Dumpster with a shiver. “Maybe he’s only injured. We have to find him.”

  “He can’t be in the Dumpster. I would have seen him.”

  “Then please check the van.”

  I shivered as Jack strode toward the van, checked the driver’s side, and then yanked open the rear door and stuck his head in. I watched, frozen, as he leaped back and was sick on the gravel. Myrna grabbed Kevin and hugged him close.

  Jack staggered toward us, stabbing in 911 on his cell phone and shouting something that I couldn’t make out.

  “They’re coming. It might take a while,” he said when he reached me. “Mona Pringle said they’ve had a dozen 911 emergency calls about events at the other end of town. Mostly false alarms, but they have to check everything. All the first responders are stretched. And it’s way too late.”

  I said, “The delivery guy, is he…?”

  Jack shook his head, “Not him.”

  “What? But—”

  “It’s Bonnie and Bill, Charlotte.”

  Just when I thought my heart couldn’t race anymore, it turned out I was wrong. “They’re in the van? You mean they’re dead?”

  “Oh yeah. They’d have to be.”

  “But if Bonnie and Bill are dead, where is the delivery guy? Why didn’t he call the police? Why didn’t he send—?” I glanced at the circle of faces, stopping with Myrna and Kevin. They’d been asleep earlier, their house dark when the El Greco guy pulled up. Who delivers pizza to a house where everyone’s asleep? The last pieces fell into place. “He shot them. And now he must be…Jack, we have to stop him.”

  Jack squeezed my hand. “Be calm. The paramedics will be arriving any minute. They’ll treat you for shock. You have to go to the hospital.”

  “There’s no time. We have to get to Pepper’s! Try 911 again and tell them to forget Bell Street and get the hell over to Old Pine Street before someone else is killed.”

  As we rocketed toward Old Pine Street, I felt nothing except fear. The delivery guy had killed Bonnie and Bill. And he had heard me give the address for Nick’s garage, which was next to Pepper and Nick’s home. I’d tried to lay a trap for Bonnie and Bill, but what if Pepper and Nick were caught in that trap?

  Pepper’s cell phone went straight to message. I dialed 911 yet again.

  Mona Pringle must work the world’s longest shifts. “I hear you, Charlotte. And I heard you the last time. And the time before. The call is out, but all our units have been deployed at the far end of town. You know that. But we’ve got personnel heading to the Monahans’. Just calm down and stay where you are.”

  “We’ll be too late,” I said as I hung up. “I know it. Why did I waste time talking to people after you hauled me out of the Dumpster?”

  Jack said, “Because you were in shock and bleeding and you needed medical attention. And you still do. We’ll check Pepper and Nick’s place just to be on the safe side. Then I’m taking you to the emergency room, and I don’t want any more arguments.”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly, but that’s no excuse.”

  Jack listened as I explained once again my desperate ploy of sending Bonnie and Bill to Nick’s secure garage to find the wedding mice. “Not your fault. Get used to that,” he said. “Guy must be a psychopath to do what he did to Bonnie and Bill. His fault. Their fault. Not yours.”

  I babbled endlessly. “He was badly injured. Bill whacked him a couple of times with the board. I don’t see how he could drive. Maybe he’ll have lost consciousness by now. Maybe he wouldn’t make it all the way to Old Pine Street. But anyone who gets in his way could be in big trouble. We have to call the police and tell them to be on the lookout for an orange Neon. Unless, what if he changes vehicles?”

  Jack slid the Miata to a stop in front of Pepper and Nick’s house. All seemed normal. Quiet. Lovely, sleepy streetscape. Nice houses, nice hedges, dark yet tranquil.

  Jack said, “Huh.”

  I said, “Oh. Well, good. Still, I have to wake them and tell them what I’ve—”

  An unfamiliar car crept around the corner. The new-looking black Acura sedan skidded to a stop, half on the sidewalk. Jack and I ducked down out of sight. A crouched loping figure slipped from the car and staggered toward the garage.

  I said, “He must have stolen a vehicle. You keep an eye on where he goes and I’ll wake up Pepper and Nick.”

  “No, you stay here and lock the car door and I’ll—”

  “I’m going, Jack. This is my fault.”

  “You are hurt and I can’t—”

  The shriek of an alarm cut through the night. Motion-detector lights on the garage lit up the street. The figure ducked out of sight into the hedge by the side of the Monahan property.

  “He has a gun, Jack. If Nick comes out, he’s in danger.”

  As the alarmed wailed, Nick exploded through the front door of the house, a weapon in his hand. I jumped out of the car, just as Pepper appeared at the door, pulling on a bathrobe. I didn’t dare shout as the delivery guy was out there somewhere. Jack and I crept closer to the house, hugging the shadows. We had to warn Pepper.

  Nick swaggered toward his garage. He must have flicked off the alarm with a remote, because, suddenly, everything went silent. Nick opened the garage door and peered in, checking his babies. Jack slipped toward Pepper. I watched as a dark shadow detached itself from the bushes and inched toward Nick, behind his exposed back.

  The shadow darted, raised an arm.

  “Nick!” I yelled. “Look out. He has a gun.”

  Shots, flashes, breaking glass, shouts. Who was screaming? Pepper? Me? Both? Who knows?

  The shadow crumpled, tumbled to the ground. Nick Monahan bent to examine his would-be attacker. He stood up again. I watched as he ducked into the garage to check on his precious vehicles. It seemed as good a time as any for me to pass out.

  The worst thing about the hospital was finding a television set near my bed. My friends had provided it as a favor, since I fussed a lot about being kept in for observation. And the worst thing about the television set was Todd Tyrell’s face. This time his gelled head was visible in front of Pepper and Nick’s house on Old Pine Street. He intoned with obvious pleasure:

  It was a wild night of murder and mayhem on the streets of Woodbridge. On this quiet street, last night Officer Nick Monahan risked his life to stop a killer.

  A shot of Nick, in uniform, looking handsome and almost intelligent, flashed on the screen. I considered putting my pillow over my head.

  In a terrifying home invasion, Officer Monahan, a third-generation member of the Woodbridge police force, defended his pregnant wife against an attack by a crazed killer.

  I sat up fast enough to make my head spin. Pregnant wife?

  Pepper’s picture flashed across the screen next, followed by a shot of Nick’s garage, with the windows shot out.

  The fourth image was our own El Greco delivery guy. He looked older and harder than I’d remembered. Maybe because of his goatee and his darker hair in the picture. No arrogant flirtatious grin there. Then again, it was a mug shot.

  Ex-convict Waylon Favreau was wanted by the FBI on several charges, including a contract killing of three people in Syracuse last year. Favreau died in an exchange of gunfire as he attempted to gain unlawful entry into the property of Officer Nicholas Monahan and Sergeant Pepper Monahan. The Monahans were lucky to escape injury or worse. Their attacker was pronounced dead at the scene. Less than an hour earlier, Favreau is suspected of having shot Woodridge residents Charlotte Ad
ams, and Bonnie and Bill Baxter. Adams is recovering at Woodridge General Hospital. The bodies of the Baxters were dumped on a Bell Street construction site, before Favreau—what’s that? Oh right, allegedly broke into the Monahans’ property to continue his rampage. Favreau has also been linked to the hit-and-run that hospitalized twenty-year-old Lilith Carisse yesterday. This begs the question of whether Waylon Favreau was also responsible for the death of Tony Starkman last Sunday. Following these startling developments, an unnamed police source is quoted as saying that Emily Louise Rheinbeck should be released from secure custody at any moment. In the meantime, Nicholas Monahan remains a hero for our town.

  A shot of me being loaded into the ambulance followed. Not surprisingly, I looked like I’d spent the night in a Dumpster. Something told me that would be the new stock shot of me in the WINY files. I was followed by another shot of Nick Monahan outside his home.

  “Nobody touches my baby,” he said.

  At least his Mustang was safe, although I might have been one of the few who made that connection. There was no mention of my role or Jack’s.

  Todd Tyrell’s day was made as he added:

  Police chief Maurice Eaves has called a press conference for this afternoon at two p.m. Stay tuned to WINY for this breaking story.

  I glanced over to the door where Jack was now standing, holding a bouquet of blue irises. He was more like my idea of a hero. I hoped he hadn’t sneaked the dogs into the hospital since I’d had my share of trouble so far. On the other hand, they were heroes too.