The Cluttered Corpse (10 page)

Perhaps the person who'd killed Tony.

The voice had been deep, possibly disguised. Was there something familiar about it? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?

I drifted back to sleep after an hour or so of replaying the prank call over and over in my memory. I slept until my subconscious sent me another urgent memo: Why would Emmy Lou pretend to have killed Tony if she hadn't?

Once again, my eyes popped open.

I had asked myself the same question more than once when I was wide awake, but my sleeping brain had a few suggested answers. I had nothing better to do than to lie there and try to reconstruct what must have happened. This might have been more effective if I'd been at the scene, but I worked with the material I had. I closed my eyes and imagined the inside of the Rheinbeck residence. The straight staircase, dark hardwood, solid, new sleek wood banister. In order to fall down, Tony must have been upstairs, or at least at the top. Why would he be upstairs in Emmy Lou's house? For no good reason that I could imagine. Kevin had gone out with his mother. Tony had been seen in the car with them. Had he come back early? Why? Dwayne was at the restaurant. Emmy Lou was expecting me at two thirty. Would she have invited Tony into the house? Not impossible, I decided, but highly unlikely. But even if she had, she never would have encouraged him to go upstairs. I couldn't buy that for a minute. Therefore, if he had been upstairs, and he must have been, it had been without her knowledge or without her permission. I decided to work through both of those scenarios: What if he'd decided to play one of his little tricks? What if he'd thought this time it would be amusing to hide and give her another scare? With or without a camera.

This time I got out of bed. The dogs opened their eyes as if to say, “Have you lost your tiny human mind?” They immediately went back to sleep. I made my way to the entrance to my apartment. I opened the door and stared down the long, straight staircase. Not so different from Emmy Lou's. Maybe I couldn't be in her home, but I could approximate what might have happened.

Emmy Lou's bedroom was roughly in the same position relative to her staircase as my kitchen was to my own stairs. It was also across a small section of hallway roughly the same size. I scooted back to my bedroom and picked up my pillow. I moved back to my tiny kitchen and stood there. Suppose I was Emmy Lou and coming out of the bedroom, getting ready to come downstairs. And suppose I came face-to-face with Tony, hulking, greasy, and unpredictable. What would I do? Suppose he lumbered toward me? Instinctively my hands shot out. Emmy Lou was a substantial woman. She was also in a state of nerves already because of Kevin and Tony. Could she have pushed him away in a panic? She'd be strong enough. I tried my reenactment with my pillow. It bounced off the walls and tumbled toward the first floor, hitting the newel post and flopping on the floor. Damaging if it had been a person. I hurried down the stairs, grabbed the pillow, and raced back up. I worked out several possible reconstructions: perhaps she'd been in the bedroom and he'd come up behind her. She'd scream and try to fight. He might have panicked too and tried to get her to stop screaming. She'd struggle to get away, give him a shove…

I closed my eyes and tried again to imagine the whole space. Of course, unlike my staircase, hers was littered with stuffed animals. Some had even been scattered under Tony's body when I found him. Their pastel fur had been spattered with blood, an image I was hoping to forget soon. Perhaps she'd screamed and he'd run away, but tripped on a stuffed duck or a kitty cat and tumbled to his death.

One final theory: What if Emmy Lou had been heading upstairs and spotted Tony at the top? The same thing could have happened for sure. Maybe she hadn't done anything. Tony was clumsy and shambling. He could have been hurrying down the stairs or up the stairs, and merely tripped on those animals. I knew how easily that could happen.

So if any of these propositions held water, it was definitely not murder. An accident. Or worst case, self-defense. Emmy Lou must have been overcome with guilt and remorse over Tony's death. And she'd been emotionally on edge for days because of Tony and Kevin. She'd probably felt like killing him. That would explain her bizarre confession.

I felt better.

Emmy Lou hadn't murdered Tony. And she hadn't lost her mind. Of course, once the police interrogated her, they'd figure that out themselves. They'd probably already released her. She was most likely sleeping soundly beside Dwayne and a giant stuffed zebra at that very moment.

No problem. I walked down to the foot of the stairs and picked up my pillow for the third time. Jack, wearing pajama bottoms, opened the door to his apartment and stood blinking nearsightedly without his glasses. His sandy hair stood on end. He looked like the world's tallest seven-year-old.

“Why do you keep thumping up and down the stairs? Is there something I should be aware of?” he said, stifling a yawn. “Do you need any help with that pillow? I'm good at pillows. Pillows fear me.”

“Long story. Probably has a happy ending. Don't worry about it, Jack. I'm heading for bed.”

I also planned to call Pepper with my theories as soon as she got to work in the morning. I climbed back into bed with a big relieved smile on my face and flaked out almost immediately. I slept until five thirteen, when my subconscious sent a supplementary message: don't forget that prank call.

Monday makes the week. So I wanted to get off to a good start, after the third worst weekend of my life. As awful as events had been, I didn't want to get dragged down by them. I had people, and dogs, depending on me.

The pooches found themselves having a brisk early morning walk. The timing didn't suit them, but I reminded them that I was in charge, no matter what they may have been led to believe. They were too sleepy to argue. As we hiked up and down the residential streets in our neighborhood, Truffle and Sweet Marie kept an eye out for squirrels. I enjoyed watching bright tulips opening in the spring air. Nothing beats spring for improving the spirit. The walk cleared my sleepy mind.

At home, I fed the dogs, made a coffee, and somewhat reluctantly flicked on the TV. WINY has only one star: Todd Tyrell. If Todd isn't on duty, some unsung hero does the voice-over while Todd's teeth grin at the world. Todd has three expressions: serious, happy, and stunned. I'm pretty sure stunned isn't one of the official ones. Todd was wearing his serious face as he stood outside the Rheinbeck residence. From the gathering of people and police cars, I could tell that this was recycled footage of yesterday's news flash. The voice-over informed viewers that as of this morning, Mrs. Emily Louise Rheinbeck of 10 Bell Street in Woodbridge had been remanded to county jail. A preliminary hearing was scheduled for Thursday. Pepper's picture flashed on screen as WINY congratulated the police on fast action in this case. As you might expect, she looked good in her dress uniform. Todd Tyrell's lips kept moving for a few seconds after the voice stopped.

Once again WINY producers had fished out the guilty-as-sin-uncombed-hair-and-bunny-slipper shot of me from the previous fall and flashed it across the screen. The casual viewer could be forgiven for thinking I'd been arrested for killing Tony and who knew how many other innocent bystanders. I lifted the remote and snapped off the news, before the voice-over guy spelled out my name.

Okay, I told myself. Never mind. Get moving.

My first call was to Pepper. I figured she should have been in by that time, but I got her voice mail. This time, I left a message. Next up was Dwayne Rheinbeck. I figured he wouldn't have slept much either and that he'd have plenty to do if Emmy Lou hadn't been released. Better to call early.

Unlike Pepper, Dwayne did answer. He blurted out, “Emmy Lou doesn't want to see that lawyer you recommended. She has waived her right to legal counsel. They assigned her a public defender. She wouldn't even talk to him. And she stared through me in court. Like a stranger. It was horrible.”

“That's bad,” I said. Bad? It was beyond bad. It was totally craptacular. I knew how awful it could be dealing with the police even if one of them had once been your best friend and even if you did have Margaret Tang by your side. What was Emmy Lou thinking?

I heard his voice catch. “Unbelievable. A nightmare.”

“There must be something we can do. Can you talk to her again? Can you see her in the county jail?”

“I don't know what good that would do. Emmy Lou can be…”

“Stubborn?”

“I was going to say resolute. Stubborn sounds wrong, and Emmy's not usually wrong. In fact, she takes pride in being right. So maybe she should waive counsel.”

Oh man. “I doubt that. This is murder. Emmy Lou may be first-rate at her job and is obviously a wonderful wife, but she'd be way out of her depth dealing with police and jail. Especially if she leads off by insisting she did it. You can see that as a strategy that would have pitfalls.”

“Agreed. And I'm way out of my depth myself.”

“And I came in to help her organize these toys so that you would be more comfortable about the collection from hell.”

“More comfortable about the collection from hell?”

“Yes. I can see how they would bother you, but we were planning to fix it.”

“Didn't bother me. I never noticed them much. It's my fault in a way. I bought her a few when we were dating and that started an avalanche, I guess. I was living in a bachelor pad with two other guys. My home is a thousand times better than that, even with plushies everywhere upstairs. They sure beat empty beer cans and pizza boxes lying around. Anyway, they made her happy. So no biggie. Why would I ask her to get rid of them?”

“Sorry, she didn't say that you'd ask her to get rid of them. I thought that…well, sometimes I jump to conclusions.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm glad you want to help her. After yesterday. I saw you on television, and, well, all I can say is that I'm sorry you got dragged into all this. And I apologize for yelling at you.”

“Not your fault. You'd had a shock. But I believe if she's behind bars for a while, there's a good chance she'll change her mind about the lawyer. The confession too. You could keep working on that.”

“Emmy's not one to change her mind. But I'll keep trying.”

“This might be crazy, but I had a thought last night. Emmy Lou might feel responsible because Tony died. Maybe he tripped on the stairs or something. That might be what she meant.”

“She's not the type to feel guilty. She does what she has to. And she doesn't waste time second-guessing her decisions or changing her mind.”

I wished I was more like that myself. I am way too inclined to worry about what people think and whether I've let anyone down. I said, “Emmy Lou must have a chink in her armor somewhere. She needs us to figure out what it is. The cops like an easy solution. The DA likes a quick result, and the media likes a good villain, as you can see. Emmy Lou is probably quite photogenic so they'll appreciate that. Who can help us change her mind about the lawyer? Doesn't have to be Margaret, but she needs someone.”

Dwayne sighed, a waft of hopelessness drifting over the phone line.

I felt like screaming: be a man! You say you love this woman. Work with me here. Instead, I said, “What about her parents?”

“No way. Emmy doesn't want anything to do with them.”

“But you could—”

“You know something? We've been married a year and we've lived in this house nearly that long and I've never even met those people.”

“What about brothers and sisters?”

“No idea. She never said.”

“You don't know if she has any siblings?”

“Weird, I know, but we didn't talk to her family and we didn't talk about them. They must be something, that's all I can say. Emmy's like an angel with my parents, kind to them, thoughtful, remembers their birthdays, visits them. She's the perfect daughter-in-law. My brothers love her. My sisters-in-law love her. My nieces love her. Everyone thinks Emmy walks on water. My parents are going to be devastated. How am I going to tell them?”

“I'm not sure, but you better do it soon, before they see it on the news. Look at it this way: you said they love her. They'll believe she didn't do it. I met her for the first time on Friday and I know that. I'm sure they'll support you. Maybe even have some ideas for getting her to accept legal help. And, you have my number. I'll see what I can find out in the meantime.”

“I see the light at the end of the bucket, so to speak,” Sally chirped when I checked in. “Dallas is back to normal, and Madison is starting to feel better. I think Savannah will turn the corner soon.” In the background a steady wail continued. Where did she get the strength? And what would it be like with four? Of course, they wouldn't be sick all the time, but even so.

“That's fabulous,” I said, stifling a yawn. I wasn't at my best after only a few hours' sleep.

“Not exactly fabulous,” Sally said dryly, “more like barely endurable. Small mercies and all that.”

“Can I get you anything? Bring over a latte? Do you want me to watch the kids and give you a break?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. The slightest change sets them all off. They even screamed when Benjamin took over last night. Not that it kept me awake. I'll let you know when the time's right to get together. By the way, speaking of the right time, an acquaintance of mine has a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Of course, I should have known better than to rush Sally when she's trying to explain something. You have to sit back and wait. I sat back and waited.

“More an acquaintance than a friend. I met her at Moms and Tots swim class.”

“Hmm.”

“She's having problems keeping her mudroom under control. She keeps yammering on about it. I have three plus kids, and Benjamin, and I don't have a mudroom, so…”

“You're thinking about getting a mudroom?”

“Hardly. Apparently, they're nothing but trouble.”

I love mudrooms, but I didn't have a husband and multiple children, so I kept that to myself. And anyway, I had a lot on my mind that morning and none of it had to do with my organizing business.

“Anyway, I got tired of listening, so I told her about you.”

“Oh thanks, I—”

“Don't thank me. She's kind of a flake. But I saw on television that your client's in jail.”

“It's all a mistake.”

“Okay, whatever. But you need new clients if you want to pay your rent and eat quality ice cream.”

“That's probably true. But I have lots of other clients already scheduled and others waiting for cancellations. I'm booked for three months.”

“Let's hope you can hang on to them after the local media has you tarred and feathered, which would not be a good look for you. I'm thinking you should sue over some of those shots. They have to be bad for business. Anyway, I thought you'd be at loose ends today and you might need a distraction, so I told Bernice you'd drop by around nine thirty. She owns a jewelry boutique uptown, but she opens late on Mondays.”

I checked my watch. It was just after nine. According to Sally's directions, Bernice lived two blocks from her. That's the thing about Woodbridge: nothing's far. I had a bit of time to kill before I could call Lilith anyway. By this time, I'd left three messages with Pepper, and I needed something to take my mind off the fact there was little I could do for Emmy Lou. Sally was probably correct; a mudroom might be what I needed for a moment's distraction. I swung by to see Bernice after her two older children left for school.

“Oh,” she said, “you caught me. I thought Sally said you'd be by tomorrow.” The side entrance to her house, aka the mudroom, was strewn with papers, sneakers, jackets, and what looked like a half-eaten tuna sandwich.

I jotted down a few notes, took a quick count of the sneakers in the corners and the jackets and discarded fleeces. I added soccer balls, baseball, bat, and gloves. School supplies, notes. I assumed that more backpacks and books would return with the two kids who were in school. Perhaps carting more stuff than we single, childless people could even imagine.

Bernice whinnied, “Oh no, what are you writing down? Is it that bad that you have to write things down?”

“Part of the job. I always do it. Helps me remember.”

She continued to chew her lip. “I wanted to clean up before you saw what it was like here.”

“It's better if I see it like this. I can get an idea of what you need.” I whipped out my digital camera and started to take a few pictures.

“What are you doing?” Bernice gasped. “I don't want a record of this!”

“I don't have to take pictures if it makes you uncomfortable. I should have asked first. Sorry about that. But no one else will see them, and they'll help me when I'm doing my plan.”

“Kids,” she said. “Kids are a problem for me. With their school papers and projects and their stinky footwear and their old lunches.”

“Never mind.” I grinned. “I wish we'd had shoes like that when I was in grade school. I am retroactively jealous.”

“They each have three more pairs. Of course, we're not sure where those are. Might be missing or stolen.”

“Ah. Mind if I open the closet?”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes.” Sometimes it's better to make up rules. What the hell. I opened the door cautiously. More shoes, more paper, more jackets. Scarves and mittens tumbled out. I lifted a few items and discovered another pair of lunch boxes underneath.

“Oh dear,” Bernice said, biting her lower lip. “I've been looking for them for ages. We bought new ones.”

I unzipped one and recoiled. Something old and green had taken over whatever forgotten snack had been inside.

Bernice snatched it from my hand. “Another one in the garbage. Yuck. How can I live like this and manage a business?”

“How many children again?”

“Three. Ten, seven, and three. A hundred school projects and a thousand mittens, no two alike.” She finally noticed that tuna sandwich and bent to pick it up. “Are we beyond help?”

“Looks fairly typical to me,” I said, not revealing my single, childless status. “Now that I've seen what it's like after they leave in the morning, I should see what happens before they leave and when they get home. Mind if I come by this afternoon? And one morning too.”