Organize Your Corpses (3 page)

I kept my eyes open in case I spotted trouble in the form of the upturned nose and expensive blonde hair of Pepper Monahan, née O’Day. At home, Pepper had been Mrs. Nick Monahan for the past two years. And about Nick Monahan, the less said the better. At work, Pepper had been recently promoted to detective sergeant in the Woodbridge Police. Once she’d been my very best friend in the world. But that was then.

The cop cars were clustered around a battered baby blue Honda Civic, crumpled nose first into the guardrail. I swung past, keeping my head low. Another patrol car, lights flashing, blocked the intersection. So much for getting to Hannaford’s.

Plan C. I turned left to avoid the problem, drove around the block, and pulled up in front of Tang’s Convenience. I was grateful that attempts at trendy redevelopment uptown hadn’t changed Tang’s much. It had ten times more stuff than you’d expect to find in a store that size, plus many intriguing concessions to the changing demographic in Woodbridge. Inside, I picked out some nice navel oranges and headed to the back for the ice cream. I’d just turned by the ten-pound sacks of basmati rice when a guy with light brown hair and sad eyes careened into me. We both claimed to be sorry and kept going. I ignored him when I arrived at the cooler and found him there ahead of me. I was angling to reach the Ben & Jerry’s when he fumbled a tub of ice cream. I yelped in surprise when it landed on my foot. I teetered on the four-inch heels.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” my attacker said. He grabbed my arm just in time to keep me from toppling backward into a detergent display.

I latched onto his leather jacket as I tried to get my balance. Maybe I was just thrown off by a man who said “gosh.” I found that sort of charming. Now that I got closer, his eyes were more like a shy woodland creature’s. Large, dark, and vulnerable. My weakness.

Here was a man who would easily pass inspection by any of my girlfriends. Even Sally would have approved. I knew that his simple leather jacket and faded jeans were the current trend in the city. He was carrying a camera case. That seemed interesting.

His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t usually throw ice cream at unsuspecting women. Or not Neapolitan anyway.”

“These things happen,” I said with as much dignity as the situation permitted. “Especially with Neapolitan.”

He managed a lopsided grin that went straight to my knees.

I blushed.

How dumb was that? Hadn’t I sworn never to think about another man after my craptacular engagement? If not, I certainly should have.

He picked up the tub of ice cream and said, “No broken toes?”

“My feet are fine.”

I watched him amble away and wondered where my notorious wit was when I needed it.
My feet are fine?
Not that it mattered because here was a guy who made my knees melt on first sight, so naturally I’d already spotted his wedding band. I didn’t need a man in my life. Not even one who fumbled ice cream and said “gosh” and looked really good in those faded jeans. This jerk had a wife he should have been thinking about.

Five minutes later, I headed to the counter with two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream and a fistful of Mars bars.

I smiled bravely at Mrs. Tang. She never acknowledges me even though her daughter Margaret has been my friend since grade school. Margaret has never been big on small talk either.

“Hang on a minute.” I scurried back to the cooler and grabbed a third tub of ice cream. I believe it pays to be prepared.

I slid my business card across the counter along with my cash. “Mrs. Tang, can you tell Margaret I’m back in town? Ask her to call me, please.”

Like me, Margaret had returned to Woodbridge. She was supposed to be setting up a law practice, but she wasn’t in the phone book yet. Mrs. Tang’s expression remained unchanged. This was the third card I’d left with her. Three times lucky maybe.

“Already paid,” Mrs. Tang said.

“What?”

“Man paid.” Mrs. Tang pointed toward the window. I saw Mr. Gosh I’m Unavailable amble out of sight.

I left swinging the plastic bag and whistling bravely.

On the sidewalk, I froze. There were now seven patrol cars at the corner of River and Hudson. I didn’t think we had that many in Woodbridge. I spotted an unmarked black sedan with a snap-on round red light. Sure enough, Pepper stepped out, thin as a whippet and wearing a form-fitting black coat that made her seem more like a model than a detective. She glanced around elegantly.

I wasn’t about to find out what was going on. On a day where I’d had to deal with Miss Henley, I couldn’t face Pepper without a chocolate fix. Call me chicken, but I slipped discreetly into the alley next to Tang’s, unwrapped a Mars bar, and ate it in two bites. I waited where I could see but not be seen. I stayed there until Pepper disappeared down the block, accompanied by a cluster of uniformed officers. They kept their hands on the butts of their weapons. But whatever they were doing down at the end of Hudson Street was none of my business.

I made a dash to my car, made a first-rate U-turn, and raced like hell for home. I took some mean-spirited pleasure thinking that Pepper probably couldn’t chug-a-lug New York Super Fudge Chunk with impunity and keep that figure.

Seemed only fair.

 
I pulled into the driveway and felt the warm glow that comes from getting home on a wet November workday when it’s already dark in the late afternoon. The pale yellow wood-frame Victorian with the gingerbread trim was starting to feel like my own place. A welcoming light burned in the window of my tiny, perfect second-floor apartment.

I spotted a face in the first-floor bay window as I parked and struggled out of the car with my purchases and briefcase. Dim streetlights reflected off rimless glasses. The glasses suited Jack Reilly. They were just right for his cute old-young-guy look. Perfect for a onetime dweeb with an equal interest in nineteenth-century European philosophy, high-end racing bicycles, and animals in need of rescue. Normally, I would have loved to stop and chat with Jack. But I needed a few minutes alone to calm my spirit. I planned to put my medicine cabinet in order. Or maybe fluff my towels.

I wasn’t fast enough. Jack’s door swung open. He leaned his six-foot-two lanky body casually against the frame. Behind him, where anyone else would have living room furniture, I could see the stock from the cycle shop he was planning to set up. I reminded myself that Jack is my good buddy and landlord, not my client, and the state of his living room is none of my concern. Who knows? Maybe hanging tires from ceiling hooks is a cutting-edge trend in interior design.

“By any chance, could I interest you in a dog?” he said.

I wasn’t fooled by his expression of extreme innocence. From behind my door on the second floor came the unmistakable sounds of the last dogs Jack had tried to interest me in.

“I’m trying to cut down. But thanks for asking.”

“It’s not a terribly large dog. Not huge,” he said.

“Nope.”

“Harmless, affectionate, well behaved.” He leaned over and called up the stairs.

“Actually, I’m good for dogs right at the moment,” I said over my shoulder.

Jack was undeterred. “The kind of dog who could save your life in an emergency.”

Like what? A St. Bernard? “It’s so not happening, Jack.” I scurried up the stairs and stuck my key in the lock. I felt a bit silly with a brand-new, high-end dead bolt now that I was back in Woodbridge where a fender bender brings out seven cop cars and a police detective.

Jack’s size-thirteen Nikes thumped on the stairs after me, although it was hard to hear above the yipping. I opened the door and braced myself for the assault. Two small velvety creatures launched themselves at me, their metronome tails working hard. Truffle, the black mini dachshund, and Sweet Marie, the tan one, were ready with homecoming kisses.

Unconditional love. I needed that.

The phone screamed. Naturally, I reached for the receiver. A lifetime of conditioning is a curse.

“Are you all right?” Sally shrieked.

I stood in my tiny front entrance, with the door open to the stairs, holding the phone with one hand, while the dogs leaped joyously, tugging at my grocery essentials. I dropped my house keys. The bag from Tang’s followed. The dogs went after the spilled goodies.

“Can I call you back? This isn’t the perfect time. You two leave those Mars bars. I mean it.”

“Come on, you must have been traumatized. Remember how terrified we used to be? That hideous old bat. I hope you told her to take her stinky old project straight to hell.”

“I’m not traumatized and I am taking on the project.”

“How could you after everything she did to us?”

“Can we talk later? I just got in.”

The fact was I didn’t think I could explain to Sally why I wanted this. It wasn’t just the potential media exposure. It was Miss Henley herself. Sure I’d been terrified of her. Everyone had been. But I’d been impressed too. Miss Henley’s classroom had been a model of order, her desk a work of art. Her lesson plans were done a month in advance; color-coded highlighting illustrated her board notes. Her files were the same size, with crisply printed labels. She was never late, never flustered, and never chaotic. I was sure she’d never missed deadlines or had awkward man trouble, like say, for instance, my mother. I couldn’t imagine that Miss Henley’s underwear ever turned up draped over lamps. She understood the value of written goals and milestones. And she always wore such lovely shoes.

Sally said, “I want to hear all the gruesome details. I was so afraid for you.”

“I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“I won’t be able to stand the suspense.”

“Be strong.”

I bent down and snatched a Mars bar from Truffle. Luckily, an orange rolled under the hall console and both dogs raced after it, teeth bared. They lost interest in a few seconds and made a bid for the Ben & Jerry’s containers. Sweet Marie spotted the keys, and I had a serious tussle to get those back.

“I have to get my ice cream in the fridge. It’s already melting.”

“Remember who your friends are, Charlotte,” Sally said before she hung up.

Meanwhile Jack had arrived and repositioned the chair in my entryway. He was sprawled, waiting, with his long legs stretched out. Bike boy was wearing shorts in November. Still he’d been kind enough to lift the Ben & Jerry’s out of harm’s way. “Wow. Three tubs,” he said.

“You betcha.”

“Ben & Jerry’s too.”

“Nothing but the best for the best people.”

“Maybe it’s time for me to get out of the bike business. Where’d you get it? On sale somewhere?”

“Tang’s.”

“You must be kidding. You bought three containers of Ben & Jerry’s from Tang’s? Did you win the lottery?”

“The cops were blocking the way to Hannaford’s.”

“Really? What was going on?”

“Just a lot of flashing lights.”

“More than that. The radio said it was some kind of shooting,” Jack said, staring with longing at the Ben & Jerry’s.

“A shooting? In Woodbridge? Unbelievable. That explains why Pepper was there.”

“Pepper? No way. You talked to her?” He attempted to remove the lid from one of the containers.

“Hands off the treats, Jack. And no, I didn’t talk to her.”

“You just let her walk by?”

I must have looked a bit sheepish because Jack said, “Baaaaa.”

I threw a Mars bar at him. “Cut it out.”

“Did big scary Sergeant Pepper speak to you then?”

I said, “She didn’t see me. Now get out of my way. I have to walk the dogs.”

“You want me to put this stuff in the freezer?”

“Thanks. Make sure it’s uneaten and unopened.”

“Take your time.” Jack is always patient. That’s more than I can say for Truffle and Sweet Marie.

“Are you kidding? It’s pouring rain out. These cream puffs will be back in a New York minute.”

I picked up the dog leashes and made a lunge for Sweet Marie. She’s the hard one to catch.

Jack said, “Why don’t I make some dinner and we can talk about that other dog opportunity when you get back?”

Jack’s an enthusiastic cook. The problem is, his kitchen’s so full of bike parts he can’t reach the stove. He creates a cyclone in my miniature galley kitchen every time he gets the urge to sauté. Anyway, my plan was to have a large bowl of Super Fudge Chunk for dinner. It’s my signature dish. I thought Mars bars would make an elegant dessert.

“No thanks to dinner and dog.”

Jack said, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

I snapped the leash on Sweet Marie. “There will be no other dog, Jack. See these two? They’re quite enough.”

Jack picked up the rest of the oranges and deposited them on my tiny kitchen counter. “No harm in trying. This poor fella is due to be euthanized.”

“Low blow, Jack. I didn’t just fall off the ice-cream truck, you know. And, speaking of ice cream, you stay away from that Ben & Jerry’s.”

“You think you can’t trust me? I’m your friend.”

“Leave it. This means you.”

I thumped down the stairs with a dog under each arm. Okay, I was smiling. There are way worse fates than having a couple of souped-up pooches and a landlord who is big in pet rescue. And who could fix your bicycle and engage you in a conversation about Heidegger at the same time. If that was what you needed.

Most women would be driven nuts by the fact that Jack rarely opened his mail, or that he loved to cook but never had any ingredients. Any woman with a tendency to plan might think Jack should finish his PhD, ditch the bike shop, get a real job, and start contributing to a 401(k). He might be damned cute with that lean body, the mussed-up hair, and that lopsided goofy grin, but he’d be a serious relationship challenge. If he were your boyfriend, your first task would be to change him.

But friends accept each other the way they are. So five minutes later we were curled up in my cozy living room. Jack took my word for it: aside from unconditional dog love, sometimes the only solution to getting your life back on target is the right ice cream. This was one of those times. I decided I could refresh the medicine cabinet and fluff the towels later.