The Cluttered Corpse (19 page)

“And everything else as far as I can see. I need to mourn my boy, and they keep showing up with the stupidest questions.”

I did my best not to add to the stupid-question list. “You said that Emmy Lou wouldn't have hurt Tony. I didn't realize that you knew her.” I hoped my nose didn't start to grow as I spoke.

“Emmy Lou? Sure. I've known her since Tony was a little thing. She used to go out with my brother.”

“Does he live in Woodbridge too? It must help to have family close by at a time like this.”

Liar, liar, my good angel said.

She bit her thin lower lip and shook her head. “Roger's dead too.”

“Oh no.”

“It happened a long time ago. He died a month after high school graduation—that's nearly twenty-four years ago.”

“That's terrible. I'm so sorry.”

So Roger Starkman was dead. I wanted to ask about the stunts that Tony and Kevin were pulling, but I decided against adding to this woman's misery. “Is that when Emmy Lou had her first breakdown?”

“Yes. Roger was killed racing his motorcycle. He could be a wild and crazy guy. Emmy Lou went to pieces afterward. They had to send her away. Then after a while she got in touch with me and Tony. Tony was about four when she started to go out with Roger. She never forgot my little boy, always sent him a birthday card. Even this year. Roger's death is what pushed her over the edge.”

Of course, that explained why Emmy Lou tolerated the foolishness from Tony and Kevin. She'd known them since they were little boys. Nothing was what I'd thought. The idea that Emmy Lou's confession was evidence of another breakdown gave me plenty to think about. Of course, it didn't explain why she'd been on edge in the first place. Mind you, I kept coming back to Dwayne. If Emmy Lou hadn't been terrified of Tony and Kevin, why had she been afraid?

I took a deep breath. “And of course she has no family except for her new husband.”

“I have no family either, but at least I did have people who loved me.” She snorted. “Emmy Lou would have been better off with no family at all than that old bastard of a father.”

“You knew them?”

“Knew of them. The Starkmans weren't good enough for the Wrights. Emmy Lou wasn't allowed to have anything to do with Roger. They had to sneak time together.” She shivered. “You know, I saw her father on the television, watching while my Tony was carried out. Cold as ice, then and now. Poor Emmy Lou. I don't know why she moved back there. She might have a big job and money and a beautiful home, but she sure has been unlucky in love, starting with her parents.”

Back at home, I left a message for Lilith asking her to call me about a favor. Then I called Margaret to entice her to an early dinner at Betty's. She was at her desk because she's always at her desk except when she's in court.

“You have to eat,” I said. “Or you won't be able to continue to call yourself a misfit.”

“Wouldn't want that to happen. See you there.”

I was grinning when I hung up. One of the best things about coming back to Woodbridge was reconnecting with Margaret. Jack and I had never lost touch, including during my unfortunate and brief engagement. He'd been there as a shoulder to cry on and a quick source of emergency ice cream. Sally had never missed one of our weekly catch-up calls, even when she was in labor. But Margaret had vanished into her Ivy League college and then law school. I wasn't sure where she'd practiced afterward, although she'd alluded to a firm where all work and no play made Margaret a dull girl. She still worked too hard, according to Jack. Why yes, that
would
be the same Jack who couldn't join us because of pressures of the totally empty cycle shop.

I used the time before the dinner date to catch up on voice and e-mails and to play around with the mudroom project, the one with no client. I used my favorite computer planning program to try out a few different wall colors. Not having a client took a bit of the pressure off. Maybe that was a good thing.

Another good thing: since I'd confirmed that Emmy Lou had grown up on Bell Street and her parents lived across the street, I no longer needed to track down any of her old classmates. I tossed the photocopies of the yearbook pages into the recycle bin. If I'd made my visit to Tony's mother earlier, I might have saved myself the trip to the high school. Not that I was overwhelmed by work. I took an hour to reschedule my more resilient clients into the slots left by those who'd bailed. I called Sally and told her I'd like to drop by after the kids were in bed to show her a project.

I had time to get ready. I woke up Truffle and Sweet Marie and gave them a brisk walk around the block. I managed to keep them out of the waves of tulips springing up on the front lawns. The dogs went back to sleep the second we got home. I barely paid attention as I was busy worrying about my new information. What if I was totally wrong? What if Emmy Lou's confession was nothing more than the manifestation of another breakdown, triggered by the accidental death of her first love's nephew? That made sense. Tragic, but logical. Emmy Lou had been showing signs of stress, and Tony's death would have been a horrible echo of Roger Starkman's, twenty-four years before. I was guessing that death would still be fresh in her mind. But how could I ever make the police believe it?

Still, I wasn't ready to shelve my suspicions of Dwayne and his girl in red. I Googled Bryony Stevens again. I pulled up her Web site and checked out the photo gallery. I picked the three best views of the singer and printed them out on my color printer. I tucked them into an envelope, changed into my jeans and new yellow leather casual jacket, and recharged my hair and makeup. I packed up my laptop and made tracks for Betty's Diner.

Patti Magliaro slapped the menu down in front of us and grinned. “Of course,
you
always get the club with fries.” She turned to Margaret. “You, I don't know.”

“I'll have what she's having,” Margaret said.

When Patti hustled off with the order, I said, “So what can we do about Emmy Lou?”

Margaret said, “I knew that was why you wanted to have dinner together.”

“It's not the only reason.”

“If Emmy Lou doesn't want me to represent her, I can't contact her. You have to accept that, Charlotte.”

“But how do we know that she doesn't want you to represent her?”

“Because she said so?”

“But did she really say that, Margaret?”

“She did. Now give it up.”

We went round and round that mulberry bush until our food arrived.

“Here we go, ladies.” Patti slid massive plates with turkey club sandwiches and the world's best fries in front of us.

Betty makes her clubs with real roasted turkey, crisp double-smoked bacon, crunchy lettuce, heirloom tomatoes, and homemade wheat or white bread. The fries are hand-cut, fresh, and fragrant. If I hadn't had so many reasons to move back home, maybe Betty's would have been enough. Betty, who was pushing eighty, still ran the place and knew all the customers. An excellent role model.

We fell on the food like turkey buzzards.

“So back to the topic,” I said when nothing but the ghosts of the sandwiches remained. “I have only Dwayne's word that she refused to see you and wouldn't talk to him and didn't want to see the public defender and didn't want any other legal assistance. I didn't speak to her. You didn't speak to her. Pepper thinks she's guilty, so she wouldn't go out of her way. Dwayne says he'll find another lawyer, but I'm beginning to doubt that. She'll come up before a judge again this week.”

Margaret picked up the last lonely hand-cut fry on her plate. “These are so good, I hate to see the end of them. And as for Emmy Lou, the public defender must have spoken to her.”

“Whatever. But do you get what I'm saying?”

Margaret stared back at me speculatively and munched the fry.

I said, “
He
could have asked for your advice, even if she didn't. You could push for an insanity defense. Wait a minute, can you do that even if you don't have her support? Or his, for that matter?”

“I hardly know where to start with that, Charlotte. It's certainly vile if the husband's trying to make sure she doesn't have proper legal representation. But even if he did approach me you can forget insanity as a plea. It's a tough sell even with seriously ill people. With someone elegant and articulate, there's virtually no chance. However, there's even less chance of me, with no previous connection to the Rheinbecks, butting into the case. Give it up.”

“I thought people got off on insanity defenses all the time.”

“A common misperception. I'd say less than one percent. And if they do, they may end up in a worse situation.”

“Forget that then. What if you could demonstrate that Dwayne had reasons for wanting Emmy Lou hauled off to jail?”

Margaret massaged her temple. “Like what?”

I opened the envelope and slid out the photo of Bryony Stevens. “Like her.”

“Charlotte, I know you are concerned about your client, but you're not a police officer. You're not a private detective. You can't go around making allegations about people. Pepper will destroy you.”

“You know Pepper. She may destroy me anyway.”

“And Dwayne Rheinbeck could take legal action against you.”

“But—”

“Ah, who's the lawyer here?”

I sighed. “Margaret is.”

“Margaret is also your friend. So for your own good, don't get arrested or slapped with a lawsuit.”

“Okay. So supposing that I don't go around—”

“—showing the picture and asking people about this girl, which I suspect is your plan.”

“But I have to do something about this case.”

Margaret wagged her finger at me. “Uh-uh. There is no case as far as you are concerned. You are usually so sensible and organized and in control of your emotions. What's wrong with you? Ask yourself why you are overly involved with this client.”

“I have asked myself that. I've thought about this a lot. You weren't there when I met with her. Underneath the capable exterior, she was so fragile and vulnerable. That was even before this terrible thing with Tony happened. It's haunting me. I feel she truly needs my help, maybe more than anyone ever has.”

Margaret said, “Huh.”

Patti chose that moment to materialize and rattle off the dessert menu without being asked. “Devil's food special, ice cream sundaes, pecan pie, and carrot cake. Same as always.”

I said, “Two devil's food specials. The whole thing's on my bill.”

“I hope you don't think I can be bought,” Margaret said as Patti ambled away with the orders.

I said, “I know in my heart that Emmy Lou didn't kill Tony. She may think she did because she's having a breakdown, but—don't roll your eyes. Why is everyone rolling their eyes all the time?”

Patti Magliaro reappeared magically and placed two plates of dark, moist, chocolately layer cake in front of us.

I breathed in the fragrance.

Margaret closed her eyes and inhaled.

Patti nodded in Margaret's direction. “First-timer?”

“Yes.”

“On the house then.” Patti winked. She glanced down at the pictures of Bryony. A flicker of recognition danced across her face.

I said, “This is the jazz singer Bryony Stevens. I hear she's going to be famous one of these days. Kind of neat that she's making her name here in Woodbridge.”

Margaret glowered, but Patti brightened. “I've seen her around.”

“Really? Here?”

“No, near my place. When I was walking Princess. Pretty girl.”

“When was that?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“Not this past Sunday?” I blurted.

She shook her head. “No, not Sunday. But it was some other afternoon, not long ago. She was with Dwayne Rheinbeck.” Patti drifted off to one of her other tables where someone was frantically trying to get her attention.

“You see,” I hissed at Margaret. “Bryony Stevens was with Dwayne one
afternoon
when his loving wife was at work making enough money to underwrite his endeavors.”

Margaret rolled her eyes again. “You have to stop obsessing about this. Promise me you won't go to Bell Street and ask the other neighbors about this girl. I am way too busy to haul your butt out of the slammer again.”

“Sure, I'll do it,” Lilith said when I caught up with her in between jobs. “I'll ask around on Bell Street. I'll be less noticeable.”

I grinned at her turquoise tips and facial piercings. “Less noticeable than what?”

“You. I don't know how to break this to you, but on a noticeability scale of one to ten, you're eleven.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know: skirt, high heels, makeup, hairdo. People notice you. City girl. And then there's that air of determination.”

I held up my hand. “Never mind.”

“I'll let you know what I find out.”

I handed over the printed photos of Bryony Stevens, and since I had a bit of time until Sally's kids would be tucked in and dreaming, I drove to the edge of town to browse in the building supply store. To each her own. I like to see what kind of new materials they have. Especially shelving.

On my way to Sally's that evening, my cell phone began to trill. I pulled over to take it, in case it was Lilith with a question about her undercover assignment. Rose's voice shrilled, high and hysterical. As long as I've known her Rose has been unflappable no matter what.

“What are you saying, Rose?” I said soothingly. “What happened?”

“Lilith's been hit by a…” Rose choked up.

“What?”

“A hit-and-run driver. Left her lying in the road.”

My mouth went dry with shock. How could this be?

“They took her to Woodbridge General.”

“I'll go over.”

Rose said with a quaver, “Take me with you, please. This girl is closer to me than my own family. What will I do if…?”

“Don't think the worst, Rose,” I said. “We'll go together.”

Five minutes later I picked up Rose on North Elm, which was as usual deserted. Rose had a little bit of trouble bending into the Miata, but we had no choice. Lilith had taken Rose's old LeMans. I figured it was parked wherever she'd been hit.

“I'm sorry I was out of control, Charlotte,” Rose said as I gunned it down the street.

“No worries, Rose.”

We squealed into the emergency room parking lot. “She has me listed as family,” Rose said. “I don't know if she has anyone else.”

Lilith had lived on the streets before finding an assortment of personal-care and bicycle-courier jobs in Woodbridge. She was a damaged but caring person who'd seemed alone in the world until she moved in with Rose. Come to think of it, Rose fit the same description, except for very occasional, halfhearted efforts from the daughter in L.A.

“Hard to be more real than you, Rose.” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

Rose glowered. “Whoever did this terrible thing, I'd like to kick his butt.”

“And I'd like to help,” I said. “His or hers.”

Lilith was in surgery to reduce pressure on her brain. I alternated between pacing in the waiting room and squirming on the hard plastic seat. Rose slumped in a chair, exhausted and drawn. The purple jogging suit wasn't enough to lift the grey from her face. She'd been hauled into Emergency so many times because of her breathing and heart problems that the hospital itself probably spelled stress for her. Add to that our joint panic over Lilith and it was taking a toll. I got her a cup of what they called coffee and waited until she relaxed a bit. Then I excused myself and stepped outside the hospital to phone Sally. Benjamin worked in that hospital and I thought if I could reach him, he could help me wade through the information guardians.

As I walked past the emergency desk, a uniformed police officer was leaning over the desk, flirting with the nursing staff. He turned to ogle me. I scurried through the doors and outside as fast as I could.

Not fast enough though.

I heard his boots behind me. I turned and sighed.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said, grinning.

Nick Monahan smoothed his dirty blond hair and continued to flash his smile. That smile had been the undoing of many a girl at St. Jude's when we were growing up. There used to be a rumor that Nick had the largest collection of girls' panties in New York State. Needless to say, mine were not in that collection. Nor were Pepper's, I am absolutely certain. Nick always preferred a challenge.

As much as I disliked running into him, he did present an opportunity. And I figured Nick's tiny reptile brain would never give him the slightest hint about that.

I smiled falsely. “Do you know anything about a hit-and-run? A young woman? She was brought in here maybe an hour ago.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I was first on the scene. I was checking up on her.”

“She's my friend. Lilith Carisse. What happened to her?”

He blinked. “You know. A vehicle hit her. And then took off.”

Even with all the previous generations of Monahans on the Woodbridge police force it was hard to imagine how Nick had passed any of the entrance exams. Sometimes I wondered if Pepper had taken them for him. “I know what a hit-and-run is. I was wondering about the circumstances of this one.”

“Like what?” he said, confirming my most unflattering suspicions.

I sighed. “Like where did it happen?”

“Here in town.”

“What street?” You can't give up with Nick, even if you're fighting the urge to bang your head on the cement walkway.

“River Road, at the corner of Bell Street.”

I inhaled sharply.

“What's wrong?” he said.

“And do you know anything about the vehicle that hit her? Aside from the fact that it hit her and drove off, I mean.”

He frowned in concentration.

I clarified. “Car? Truck? Snowmobile?”

“Gee, Charlie. I know what a vehicle is. I told you it—”

“Was a hit-and-run. Yes, I know. But this was in daylight on a street that has lots of coming and going. So were there any witnesses?”

“Yeah. There were.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “What did they say?”

“Come on, Charlie, I know you think I'm dumb, but I can't tell you that. Pepper doesn't want you involved in investigations.”

“I'm not sure what that's about, Nick. I simply want to find out what kind of vehicle slammed into my friend. What harm can that do? It's not like I can track them down or anything. Ha, ha. That's your job.”

His noble brow creased as he thought hard.

While he was thinking, I chipped away. “So did the witnesses see a car?”

“I guess it can't hurt. But don't you let on I told you anything.”

“Cross my heart,” I said, crossing my fingers.

“A couple of people saw a white delivery van, but there's a million of 'em out there.”

“No license plates?”

He shook his handsome head. “Nope.”

“But if it struck Lilith enough to put her in the hospital, there'd be some damage to the van too, wouldn't there? A garage might be able to…”

He went white.

“What?” I said.

“Don't go asking around about this, Charlie, promise me. Pepper will murder me if she finds out I told you anything.”

“Frankly, any one could figure out that a garage or body shop might have repaired a white van.”

“They haven't released that information. Nobody knows it was a white van. So she'd put two and two together.”

“Maybe a witness told me. Anyway, she can't read minds.”

“You're wrong about that. And she's in a real bad mood today.”

I shrugged. Pepper had been in a bad mood every time I'd seen her for the last twelve years.

He said, “Most likely she's not pregnant again, but I didn't stick my neck out to ask. She wants a baby more than anything and it doesn't seem to be happening. We're working hard at it. We've been trying everything, even—”

I held up my hand. “Too much information.”

“Huh? Oh yeah. Whenever she finds out she's not pregnant, she's meaner than a snake for a week.”

I felt a rush of sympathy for Pepper. Not only because she was married to Nick, but also because I remembered the expression on her face when she saw Sally's children. Absolute agonized longing. And what was ahead for her? Either frustration and heartbreak if she wasn't successful. Or the dubious blessing of raising a brood with Nick. While I searched for the right words, Nick said, “Do you ever wonder how it would be if you and me had stayed together, Charlie?”

I didn't have to wonder. I knew darn well it would have been a slice of hell on earth. “Don't go there, Nick.”

He looked down at his feet. Big, sad pistol-packing cop. Pathetic.

“Let the past go, Nick. Think about Pepper. Think about this baby that you'll succeed in having one of these days. Think about your future together.”

“That's the trouble, Charlie. I am thinking about it. Pepper and me, we had a good thing going. Parties and cars and trips and great sex. A baby's going to ruin all that stuff. I'm not the one who wants kids. She's a crazy lady on the subject. Like out of her mind. It's real scary.”

“We've all got to grow up sometime.”

I left him standing there, moping over the prospect of growing up, not that there was much chance of that happening soon.

When I finally got outside the hospital, I checked my cell phone. I found a message from Jack.

“Just letting you know that a guy just called me about a shipment that went astray. High-end Italian parts. I'm driving up to Troy to get them. The guy said he'd wait up for me, which is beyond the call of duty for sure. I have to go, because I have an excellent customer who's taking his bike on holiday and he's counting on those brakes for tomorrow. Didn't want you to worry. I should be back by two, two thirty latest. If you're awake then, maybe we can share some Ben & Jerry's. I'll need to get my strength back.”

“Don't go to Troy,” I said out loud. “I really need you. Lilith's been hit and she's in bad shape.”

You know you're losing it when you start talking to people who aren't there. But Jack had no way of knowing how much I needed his support. Luckily I had other friends.

“Benjamin's tied up in surgery,” Sally said when I reached her. “I'll ask him when he gets out. Where was she when it happened?”

I felt my throat constrict. “That's it, Sally. She was doing something for me. Trying to find out if anyone on Bell Street had seen Bryony Stevens.”

Sally gasped. “But this was an accident?”

“The cops say it's a hit-and-run. Seems like a pretty unlikely coincidence to me.”

“I'll track down Benjamin.”

I choked out my thanks, hung up, and gasped.

Pepper stood behind me, waiting, the way a lioness waits for a baby gazelle to stray from the pack.

She said, “Seems like a pretty unlikely coincidence to me too.”

With Pepper you have to fight the fear and simulate bravery. “Can you tell me where they found her?”

“Where did you send her?”

“What?”

“Don't dick around with me, Charlotte. Tell me what was going on and make it snappy.”

I guess I'm not the type who could hold out under torture. I spilled my guts. “Bryony Stevens sings at Wet Paint. I think she's involved with Dwayne Rheinbeck, my client's husband.”

“I know who Dwayne Rheinbeck is.”

“I wondered if Bryony might have been on Bell Street on the day Tony died. That's all. There might be a connection.”

Pepper snorted. “That's all? Let's see if I understand this. Then Lilith went around snooping?”

Uh-oh. Danger lurked. “Maybe.”

“News flash: this is a police issue. There's a murder investigation going on, and you have no business sticking your pointed little nose into it.”

“I thought if I could prove to you that Dwayne was having an affair with a younger woman, that might change the way you looked at the case.”

Pepper's nostrils flared. “I don't need you to show me how to do my job.”

“Of course not, but you had no way to know this. It was based on a glimpse, the look on his face when he talked to this girl. There was so much emotion between them. Then I started to wonder why Emmy Lou confessed so easily. Why is she freaking out?”

Pepper watched me the way I might regard a bug on my white sheets. I felt like freaking out a bit myself. Still, I continued. “So maybe she's protecting him.”

She slapped her forehead. “I was too dumb to think of that. Oh wait, maybe I wasn't, being a
police
detective and all, rather than a busybody. Maybe that's why we, that would be the police, thought that her confession was a touch too hysterical. Maybe that's why we checked out Mr. Dwayne Rheinbeck. Too bad he had an ironclad alibi, Charlotte.”