Dead Storage

by Mary Feliz

  3) Donate duplicates you don’t need.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald, Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Thursday, February 23, Morning

  “You left Sacramento in a bit of a rush,” I told Rafi as we left the room. “I’ve got two boys of my own and between them we can probably outfit you with whatever you need.”

  “Do you really think she’ll be able to get Stephen out of jail?” Rafi asked. His face was furrowed with worry and he had deep circles under his eyes as though he’d had very little sleep for weeks.

  “It was Stephen’s choice to avoid answering the police officers’ questions,” I reminded Rafi. “Don’t feel guilty. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

  “I do feel guilty. If I’d stayed . . .”

  “We can only look forward, Rafi. Trying to change the past is a waste of time. According to Nell and another lawyer we’ve been working with, Forrest Doucett, Stephen will likely be released tomorrow. You’ll meet with the judge and get the court order. Then you’ll go to the county clerk recorder’s office to get your actual birth certificate. After that, we’ll focus on Stephen, and Forrest has a team working on scheduling the interviews, meetings, and whatever else is needed to set Stephen free. Have you thought about what you’re going to tell the police?”

  “The truth, I guess. Why?”

  “I’ve done some snooping around the other businesses near the Golden Dragon while I was waiting to get in touch with you. All the shop owners seemed to like Mr. Xiang, but I got the sense that they were tense and afraid of something or someone they didn’t want to tell me about. They were definitely keeping something from me. Do you know why those men attacked you and Stephen, or who they were?”

  “I can describe them pretty well, I think,” Rafi said. “That night wasn’t the first time they’d come to the restaurant. Those jerks were after money, like before, but they were angry that last time. They said things like they were going to make Mr. X pay, one way or another.”

  “Was there any pattern to the time of day or day of the week that you’d see them?”

  “Not really, except that I saw them only on the nights that I was working late and most of the other staff had gone home. They’d meet with Mr. X and some other people I didn’t recognize in one of the small private dining rooms. Mr. X took them food and drinks but he wanted me to stay away from them.”

  “Was he afraid of them?”

  “I think so. At least, he treated them differently from any of the other customers.”

  “How so?”

  “He liked his job and his customers. He had regulars that he’d tell me about. There was one couple that was finally getting married after having dinner at the restaurant every Tuesday evening for two years. He gave them a bottle of really good champagne. And there were other people he’d known since they were babies coming to dinner with their parents. Now they’re bringing their own children. He loved that and had their pictures on a wall in the kitchen. There really aren’t that many restaurants successful enough to stay in business for long, but the Golden Dragon is one of them.”

  I thought Rafi had finished, but he went on. “There was a man who picked up the same take-out order every Sunday at 5:30 p.m. so his wife wouldn’t have to cook dinner. Every Sunday. Mr. X loved that, and would toss in extra fortune cookies and coupons. But the bad guys? He never talked about them and seldom smiled when they came in. I could tell he didn’t enjoy serving them the way he did the other customers. Most people, even if it was their first time in the restaurant, he’d treat ’em as if he’d known ’em for years. It was his way of saying he hoped they’d come back.”

  “Do you know why he didn’t like the bad guys?”

  Rafi paused, sighed, and pushed his hair off his forehead. “Mostly, I just did my job. I cleaned up and got things ready for the next day. Vacuumed, wiped down the chairs and tables, put new tablecloths on and bagged up the old ones to go to the laundry. I swept in front of the restaurant and in the back. That kind of thing. I had a lot to do and didn’t pay too much attention to anything else. Sometimes Mr. Xiang would get done early and tell me stories while he helped me finish up.”

  “But if you had to guess?” I pressed Rafi a little harder than I’d originally planned, believing that he knew more than he thought he did.

  “I think they were forcing Mr. X to do something he didn’t want to do. Maybe something illegal. I know he’d want to put a stop to that sort of thing. That’s the kind of guy he was.” Rafi swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “ ‘It ends with me,’ I heard him tell them once.”

  “That fits what I heard from some of the shop owners.”

  “Maybe the store people knew what was going on with Mr. X and were afraid they’d get pulled into it,” Rafi said. “I saw the bigger of the two guys coming out of the back of one of the stores one night last week. Er, not last week. I mean . . . the week before Mr. X got shot.”

  “Do you know which store?”

  Rafi shook his head. “They all look the same from the alley. And they all have old signs that don’t match up with the stores that are there now. It wasn’t the Pet Wash on the corner though. It was maybe the second, third, or fourth.”

  That meant the flower shop, the quilt store, or the yarn shop, I thought. But I still wasn’t sure what it could mean. Had Rafi seen the thug coming away from helping to plan a crime or committing one? Was one of the shop owners the mastermind behind all the violence, or were they all victims? Was the landlord involved? And who was he? I thought back. They’d all mentioned the landlord, but I’d never met him. Could he be one of the crooks, or the ringleader, hiding in plain sight?

  “Did you ever see anyone vandalizing the stores?” I asked Rafi.

  “No, I heard about it though. Mr. X had his front window broken. It happened before I started working there.”

  I knew that Mr. Xiang had been reluctant to share any of his problems with the police, but I wondered if he’d called the landlord about installing a security system or replacing the front window. And that thought brought me to another question. Why was there no video surveillance anywhere on that block? Did the landlord or the store owners have a special need for privacy, or was the lack of security another way to pinch pennies and maximize the skimpy profit margins inherent to running a small local business? I wish I’d thought to ask that question when I was talking to the store owners. Were there surveillance cameras I hadn’t noticed? If there were, surely the police would have picked up the video recordings following any of the break-ins that were reported.

  Or had any of them been reported? Eileen, Liz, and Ed had all told me they’d phoned the police, but I wondered if they really had. I was beginning to question everyone’s honesty, but certainly no one from the police department had arrived the morning I’d helped Liz clean up, even though she’d said she’d called the station to report the problem. I’d been in her shop for quite a while, and hadn’t seen any officers or even a patrol car.

  I’d started to feel as though I was getting close to solving the puzzle, but now I felt I was further away than ever.

  And then I remembered the health inspector, another person who had been mentioned frequently but whom I’d never met.

  Rafi had reported to Stephen that he’d heard the thugs threatening Mr. Xiang. With the tight profit margins most restaurants were experiencing in the slowly recovering economy, Mr. Xiang would likely be bankrupted by blackmail demands. Paying the bad guys off would eat into his profits, but so would ever-expanding bills for repairs if they made good on their threats to plague the restaurant with unexpected “accidents.” But who was the inspector? A corrupt public official or someone pretending to be a county employee? I had no way of knowing. Not yet, anyway.

  Nell called from downstairs, “Rafi, can you come down as soon as you’ve finished? I want to type up a statement for you to give to the police.”

  “Go ahead,” I told him. “I’ll get some clothes tog
ether and you can try them on later.”

  Rafi hesitated. “Can you come back down with me? She scares me a little.”

  I laughed, but started down the stairs. “I know what you mean, but she’s super smart and I think she’s harmless. Hopefully, she’ll scare the court into acting quickly on your behalf.”

  Nell’s new questions were about Rafi’s dad, Rafael Senior. “I don’t want to upset you,” Nell said. “But we can try to locate him for you. If he has a reasonable job, he could be liable for back child support. And if, as your grandmother fears, he hasn’t been in touch because he’s deceased, we can obtain a death certificate or have him declared dead so that you and your sisters are eligible for Social Security benefits and veterans benefits if he was honorably discharged.”

  “I don’t know where I would find those documents,” Rafi said slowly, looking uncomfortable talking about the possibility that his father had abandoned his family or was deceased. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course,” said Nell. “When you’re ready, let us know and we can file all the forms for you.”

  Just then, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen. It was Jason.

  I gulped, squared my shoulders, and walked into the kitchen so I wouldn’t disturb the legal proceedings.

  Jason didn’t know anything about what had happened to Stephen or Munchkin. All he knew was what I’d last told him—that everyone was fine. I cleared my throat, leaned against the kitchen counter, and answered the call.

  “Maggie, I’m so glad I caught you. What’s going on up there? I can’t get a text through to Stephen and haven’t spoken to him in days. He hasn’t answered my e-mails. I know that communications have been sketchy, but e-mails should be getting through.”

  I paused before responding, delaying the inevitable.

  “Maggie, you’re scaring me. You texted that everything and everyone was fine. What aren’t you saying?”

  “I’m sorry, Jason. You’re right. There’s more to the story. How much time do you have?”

  “As much as it takes. No more stalling. What’s happened?” Jason, normally the coolest man in a crisis, couldn’t prevent the hint of panic I heard in his voice. I thought for a moment about how to ease him into the news I’d been keeping from him, but there was no gentle way.

  “Stephen’s in jail. We hope he’ll be released tomorrow.”

  “Did you say jail? How long? What’s happened? Is he okay? He can’t be cooped up. You know that. I’ll make some calls. Pull some strings.”

  “Jason—”

  “I can’t believe you kept this from me. Did Paolo know? Why didn’t he say something? This is Stephen we’re talking about. I thought we were friends.”

  “It’s a very long story and it’s probably best if you hear it directly from Stephen. He asked us explicitly not to tell you. Not until he was released. He didn’t want to disrupt your trip.”

  “But what happened to him? And what happened to Munchkin? You said you took him to the vet. If Munchkin was hurt, that means . . . Oh, Maggie, how bad is it? How badly is Stephen injured?”

  “I don’t blame you for being angry. I’ve been uncomfortable with this whole thing myself. But Stephen’s my friend, and he asked me to trust him. We’ve been working as hard as we can to get him out, I promise.” My heart hurt in sympathy with the tumult of emotions Jason must be feeling. Hurt because Stephen had turned to me for help instead of to Jason. Frustration and confusion because Jason was the one person who could have pressed to have Stephen’s arrest delayed until more witnesses had been questioned and more of the facts were established. And that could have meant that Stephen wouldn’t have spent a single day in jail. Jason was the one person, other than Stephen and Munchkin, who knew how tormented by PTSD Stephen was, and I knew he must be aching in sympathy for his husband’s pain.

  “Do you really have time to talk? I can give you a little of the background . . .”

  “Never mind. I’m coming straight home. I’ll text you with the details as soon as I have them.”

  “I’ll send you an e-mail with the background. And updates on our progress. There’s a good explanation, Jason.”

  He laughed, but I could tell he found nothing about the situation at all funny. “There better be.” He paused. “Okay, I changed my mind. Is there a short version of the story? If I don’t get some solid facts, I’ll go nuts. My brain is already creating a horror story. Stephen in jail. I don’t want to imagine it.”

  “We’re taking care of that. I’ve got a lawyer here at the house writing up the paperwork. We’ll go to the DA. Stephen’s been charged with murder, but we have a witness who was there. He knows that Stephen tried to save the man who was killed. The forensic evidence will back up his statement. Stephen’s release will be a formality—”

  “Murder? Not Stephen. Never.” Jason’s voice broke. “And the DA? There’s no way they’re going to admit they made a mistake. No way.”

  “Forrest Doucett says there won’t be a trial. The DA will submit a motion for nolle prosequi and have the case dismissed.... Stephen’s record will show the arrest, but also the dismissal. If you want to pursue it further, you could ask Forrest to file a motion requesting that Stephen be declared factually innocent. That’s a little more complicated and probably unnecessary, but Forrest can explain all that.”

  “Who is this Forrest person?”

  “Max’s roommate from college. He helped us earlier—”

  “I remember now. He’s sure the DA won’t throw up roadblocks?”

  “I asked the same question, but Forrest says everyone in the justice system likes it when situations like this happen. I mean, they don’t like prosecuting innocent people, but it happens so seldom that they won’t waste any time telling everyone about it. And the judge? In a case like this, most of them will drop whatever they are doing to sign the release order.”

  “So . . . what happens now?”

  “We continue working here, and you get on a plane as soon as you can. I’ll keep you updated while you’re in flight. I’ll get someone to meet you at the airport.”

  “I still don’t understand what happened, why he had to go to jail, and why he trusted you but not me.” I heard the hurt in his voice.

  “It’s best you get all that from Stephen. But the short version is that he was in jail to protect someone else. He knew you’d move heaven and earth to get him released if you knew, and he couldn’t let that happen. Whether he was right, wrong, or making bad decisions in a bad situation is something you’ll have to decide for yourself when you get all the facts—from Stephen, not from me.”

  “You’ll let me know if anything changes?”

  “Absolutely. If you can get Wi-Fi on the plane, do that. I will bury you in updates.”

  I ended the call and hid my face in my hands, exhausted. I didn’t know if Jason would ever trust or forgive me, but I couldn’t worry about that now. The only thing that was important was helping Nell and Forrest sort out all the legal matters that stood between Rafi and Stephen and the freedom they deserved.

  Nell entered the kitchen through the pantry. “I heard the end of that call,” she said. “Jason sounds like one extremely annoyed Marine Corps officer,” she said. “I take it he’s the husband?”

  I nodded. “He’s in Texas helping out with the storm damage and flooding. Stephen asked us to keep him out of the loop. He’s not happy. He’ll be here later today or tomorrow.”

  “All the more reason for us to finish our job.”

  I agreed. Admitting I’d misled Jason was hard enough over the phone. The best way to deflect his anger and hurt was to succeed in our mission to free Stephen as soon as possible so that Stephen could explain the situation to Jason himself.

  “Maggie, if it’s any comfort, I want to tell you how important your contribution was. I had all the legal details hammered out, but I couldn’t do a thing until we found Rafi. And with Stephen in jail refusing to talk to anyone, I had no hope of finding him. I can’t b
elieve the key to locating him was essentially stalking a homeless woman none of us had met.”

  “I didn’t see that one coming, either.” I could only hope that finding Annie had marked the end of any surprises. I wasn’t sure we could take any more.

  Chapter 18

  Let there be light. No one wants to store things in the dark. No one can find things they can’t see. For example, when we first moved to Orchard View, I always left my clean socks in the laundry basket. When I stopped to ask myself why, I realized the lighting over my dresser was so limited that I couldn’t tell black from brown or navy. When I added a lamp, I was able to put the socks away and select them with ease.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald, Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Thursday, February 23, Late evening

  By the time Nell pronounced the paperwork complete, we were all exhausted, mentally and physically. The dining room looked like a bomb had hit it, with empty plates, glasses, and cups intermingled with crumpled papers and edited drafts of the final legal documents.

  I handed Rafi a garbage bag and gave Julio a paper grocery sack to gather up the recycling. I loaded the dishes onto a tray and Gabriela wiped down the table.

  “What do you think you’ll do with your new birth certificate first, Rafi?” Nell asked.

  Julio cleared his throat. Rafi laughed. “I’ve already promised my uncle that I will take driving lessons. But I also want to get a better-paying job so I can help the family out more.”

  “I have some ideas about that,” said Gabriela. “We’ve asked so much of you in the last few years. You need to concentrate on school and I’d like you to go to college. Julio and I were talking last night. If I were to sell my house, I could buy another small one near Julio, where it is not so expensive to live. We would have more money and it would be nice to live near family again. There’s time to decide. You will want to finish up this school year before we go anywhere else.”