Monster in My Closet (12 page)

When I was done, I opened my eyes again. Walter was gone. I was relieved, but wary. I didn’t trust him to give up and go home so easily. I scanned the area, making out the shadows in the dim moonlight.

Halfway to the tree line, I saw him. He dangled by his shirt several feet off the ground, being escorted from the area. Apparently, the skunk-ape had no moral issues with treating him that way. The joy I felt at the sight seemed hypocritical. I now had “people” to do for me what I refused to do for myself.

This was a moral dilemma I wasn’t prepared to tackle. I’d been up since three-thirty and was on my last legs. I hauled myself to my feet and made my way to the house, almost wishing the skunk-ape would come back and carry me, too.

I wondered if he really smelled as bad as his name suggested.

* * *

I overslept, of course. Not having an appointment until nine-thirty meant I could sleep in a little later than usual. Because of this, I ignored my alarm clock when it went off and woke up much later than I had planned.

I had enough time to throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, grab my sample book and fly out the door. Maurice trailed after me waving a toaster waffle with peanut butter.

“You have to eat something.” He followed me to the car and shoved it through the open window. “Eat.”

I grabbed it with one hand and backed out of the driveway with the other. “I’ll eat it, I promise. I’m only going to be gone for a few hours.”

He shouted after me as I pulled out. “I’ll have a nice lunch ready!”

I hate being late. I was running about fifteen minutes behind schedule. Rush hour was over, so I could probably make it up on the drive out to Helen’s house on the north side of Sausalito.

I needn’t have rushed. When I got to her house, it was surrounded by a large collection of emergency vehicles and personnel.

A chill ran up my back. I could only think of one reason why paramedics would be milling about. Helen was dead. And it was probably my fault.

Chapter Twelve

I parked my Bug on the curb behind two cop cars. An ambulance sat in the driveway, pointed toward the street.

I sat for a moment in the quiet car, contemplating what to do. I shrugged off the feeling of certainty that Helen was dead. If I acted like it wasn’t true, maybe it wouldn’t be. Should I call her from my cell? Should I just walk in?

Denial is one of my best skills.

I practiced it on my way up the walkway.
She’ll want to reschedule, of course. I won’t intrude. I’ll only stay a moment, long enough for her to know I came for the appointment.

A police officer met me at the door.

“Ma’am, you can’t come in here.”

His considerable girth blocked the doorframe. I couldn’t see in, and I wasn’t getting past him.

“I have an appointment with Ms. Cranston,” I said. My mouth was dry and my stomach was clenched. I could go through the motions of denial all I wanted. My body knew exactly what was coming.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He didn’t say anything else. He fixed me with his eyes and refused to budge, with no further explanation.

“Would you please tell her I’m here? I don’t mind rescheduling. I can see she has other things going on. But I’d appreciate a word with her, or at least if you could pass on a message.”

The big man swallowed. He looked uncomfortable. His mouth moved as if he were trying to form words when a low voice prodded him from inside the house.

“Excuse me, Nick. We’re coming through.”

Officer Nick wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stepped aside. I could feel my eyes widen as I moved out of the way on autopilot.

Two men rolled a stretcher toward me, a sheet pulled up to cover the still form laying on it.

A small part of my otherwise-occupied brain registered the familiar paramedic at the far end of the operation.

The men lifted the stretcher over the steps and wheeled it to the waiting ambulance. I watched, horrified. My denial skills were thinning by the second.

I tore my eyes from the sight of the body being closed up in the back of the ambulance and focused on Officer Nick.

“Please tell me that wasn’t Helen.” My heart sank. If I wished and begged hard enough, maybe I could change reality.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. May I ask the nature of your business with Ms. Cranston?”

My throat tightened up and I had trouble forming words. “I’m…I’m her wedding planner. She’s getting married.”

“I’m going to need a number where I can reach you, in case the detectives have any questions.”

“Of course.” I fumbled in my bag and pulled out a business card. As I handed it over, I noticed how much my hand shook. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m not really at liberty to say, but at the moment, it looks like natural causes. We’ll know better after the autopsy.”

The whole thing had a surreal quality, like a dream sequence. My thoughts were scattered and disconnected. How could she die of natural causes when she was so young and healthy? Where was Steve through all this? One of the cops trampled through Helen’s flowers. It was a shame. She’d told me how much trouble she had getting those roses to bloom. Sara was going to have a fit over all this. The loss of income on this wedding was going to hurt the business. I looked down at my leg. I had a run in my hose. That would teach me to get dressed in a hurry. The taste of my morning coffee lingered on my tongue. I’d never have coffee with Helen again.

I wandered to my car, unsure what to do next.

“Hey, you all right?”

I looked up from the pavement and six feet of dreamy paramedic was leaning against my car.

Because that’s exactly what I needed right then. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

My eyes focused on the top button of his shirt. I couldn’t pull them any higher. His undershirt peeked out, and the button was only half in the hole, looking undecided as to whether it wanted to remain closed.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I just need a minute to process. I saw her yesterday and she was fine. We had coffee. We were going to go over fabric samples today.”
That was good. Coherent, almost.
My attention wandered to the front seat of my car where the sample book lay forgotten. “I left my waffle in the car.”
And now you’ve moved into babbling again. Come on, Zoey. Pull your head out.

“You brought her a waffle?”

Okay, this was getting worse.

“No, I was supposed to eat it.”

“Breakfast is important. You should always eat breakfast.”

I nodded. “That’s what Maurice says.”
Oh, great. Why’d you have to mention Maurice?

“Maurice is your boyfriend?”

“No! Oh, God, no. He’s my, well, he’s a houseguest? Roommate? I don’t know what to call him. He cooks for me.”

“He’s your housekeeper.” He cocked his head, clearly puzzled by my poor explanation.

“Well, no. Though he did get the stain out of the rug. It’s been there for years. I don’t even like red wine. It looked like Phyllis Diller.”
Oh, much better, Zoey. You’ve now gone into full-on idiot mode. Go on. Tell him about the yeast infection.

I tried again. For some reason it was important to me that this man knew I wasn’t a complete bubblehead. And that I didn’t have a boyfriend.

“His wife threw him out,” I said. “He needed a place to stay. She was sleeping with a bridge troll.” The words dropped out of my mouth so fast I had no time to recall them. In panic, I finally looked up at the man’s face. He really had such beautiful eyes. He was grinning at me.

“A bridge troll? Well, that hardly ever happens. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

He was obviously humoring me. Waffles and bridge trolls—I was quite the conversationalist.

My brain flailed around, grasping at something to change the subject. I stuck my hand out. “I’m Zoey, and I’m an idiot.”

He grabbed my hand with a firm grip and shook it. His face was solemn. “I’m Riley, and I like idiots.”

After we shook, he held my hand for a moment longer, releasing it a few beats short of being uncomfortable.

“Fate does seem to be moving us around in each other’s way,” he said. “Normally I have Tuesdays off.”

“Lucky me.”

“It could be luck.” He drew his face closer in a conspiratorial wink. “Or a nudge from the universe.”

I felt my cheeks get hot. He smelled incredible.

“The universe is pretty twisted then. So far the only thing drawing us together is coffee and dead bodies.”

“Not entirely true. I’ve seen you around. You’re…well, you’re special. People notice you. That day on the street was the first time I’d managed to get you to make eye contact with me, and I’d been trying for months. I’m especially fond of the black fedora with the peacock feather, by the way.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with this information. I had a stalker. A stalker besides Sebastian. A
gorgeous
stalker. I should have been a little unnerved, but instead I felt a wicked thrill.

A commotion on the front stoop pulled me out of the exchange before I had to respond. Steve Welsh came tearing down the steps, sobbing.

Grief.

Guilt.

Loss.

As if someone had hurled a stick of dynamite at me, my walls shattered, and I stood emotionally naked and vulnerable on the sidewalk.

“I just want to check on her before she goes to the hospital,” he said. “Maybe she woke up. She needs me.”

His anguish was overwhelming and I had to lean against the car for support. Emotion burst from him like a charging bull and rammed me in the center of my chest. I inhaled with shock, but the air was trapped. I couldn’t exhale.

Two officers had followed him out of the house to the back of the ambulance. They each put a gentle hand on his elbows and pulled him toward the house.

“Sir,” one said, “she’s in good hands, I promise you. There isn’t anything more you can do. Let’s get you back inside where you can be more comfortable.”

“What about Helen’s comfort?” A sob hitched in his throat.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

“She’s as comfortable as possible, sir. Really, you should come inside.”

They led him like a lamb gone astray. He was docile, but mumbling to himself. His sadness carried down the pristine lawn to the sidewalk and puddled around my ankles, sucking at me.

“I should have checked on her before I left. She looked so peaceful and happy. I didn’t want to disturb her.”

I struggled to draw air into my lungs, my palms flat against the car door, grasping at bricks of solid light to rebuild my mental walls. It wasn’t working. Steve’s devastation squeezed at my chest and made it impossible to concentrate.

“Sir, is there someone we can call for you? You should have someone with you.”

“I should have spent more time with her. I didn’t know there wouldn’t be any more time. I didn’t know…”

They ushered him through the door and out of sight. The pressure released me and I bent double, coughing and gasping.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Riley said. He knelt beside me, his warm palm rubbing my back. “Deep, slow breaths. That’s it. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It took a few minutes, but my breathing was my own again. I stood on shaky legs.

“Thanks,” I said. I was embarrassed, but what else was new with this guy? How could I explain to him what the hell was wrong with me? I’d already proven my lack of communication skills. I didn’t need him knowing I was a freak, as well.

But he didn’t ask any questions. “I suppose I’d better get back to work,” he said.

“Sure, of course. It was nice finally meeting you.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Zoey.” He waved and walked up the driveway to the waiting ambulance.

I didn’t stay to watch him go. I threw myself into the front seat and tore away from the house. I had to get home. I had to put my walls up. I had to eat my waffle.

* * *

Of course, eating the waffle was out of the question. The way my stomach churned and flopped on the drive home would have made it an unwise choice.

There was also the crying. You should never eat when you’re crying. That’s a good way to choke yourself.

I was halfway home when the dam broke.

Helen was gone. She had a garden and wedding plans and a wonderful sense of humor. She was my friend. We’d made plans to go shopping for purses. There was so much more I wanted to learn about her. And now she was gone.

He got her. It’s my fault. He got her because of me.

I had no idea what to do next. Staying home forever and never coming in contact with anyone again seemed the best option. But I had a business to run. And groceries to buy.

Every time I stepped out my front door, I was putting people in danger.

“Bastard,” I said. The tears were beginning to dry on my face. Sadness and frustration were turning into a good strong case of pissed off. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but deep down, I knew the dream I’d had about Selma, the grocery clerk, had been real.

This was the second death I had caused, not the first.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was past pissed off and well into irate. I wanted the asshole dead.

When I walked into my kitchen, Maurice was playing Monopoly at the table with Molly’s kids. He was busy moving play money and property cards around the table for them.

I could feel four sets of eyes on me as I stormed in, slammed my purse and unused sample book on the counter, tossed the uneaten waffle in the trash, and banged the teakettle onto the burner I set on high.

“No waffle?” Maurice said. His voice was quiet, as if afraid he’d be the focus of my anger.

I felt guilty. “I forgot about it. I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” His face was still, but his eyes flicked around the table at the children.

I wasn’t about to unload this in front of them. I took a deep breath and filled a clean cup with Andrew’s tea leaves. Whether from devastation overload or crying-related sinus irritation, my head was ready to explode.

Maurice was perceptive. “Fred, why don’t you take your brother and sister outside to play? We’ll finish up the game later.”

Fred gave me a long look, then turned to the others. “Who wants to look for mushrooms?” He took Abby’s hand and waved Aaron over to the edge of the table. Together, the three tiny figures took a leap into the air and landed on the tile floor as if they’d had parachutes.

“Where’s Molly?” I asked. “What if her husband shows up while they’re out there?”

“She had some things to do. Errands, I guess. I told her I’d keep an eye on them. And Iris won’t let that drunken assclown anywhere near them.” The kids were already in the living room. “Stay inside the fairy ring!” he said before they could make it out the door.

The kettle took forever to boil.

“Sit-sit-sit,” he said. “I’ll take care of the tea. You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell. But I can’t sit down. Not yet.” I walked around the kitchen nudging canisters and opening cupboards. I picked up the sponge to wipe the counters, but since Maurice had moved in, everything was pristine.

He was patient, I’ll give him that. He followed me around the kitchen with his big yellow eyes, refraining from questions or comments. I knew it was making him crazy, but I didn’t have words yet to convey the feelings I had jumbled up on top of each other.

The kettle finally whistled at me. For someone with a headache-curing tea prescription, the sound of a kettle whistle was ironically piercing. I poured hot water over the collection of leaves and bark in the cup and brought it to the table. I sat.

“So,” Maurice said. “You’re home early.”

That was a good opener. I stared into my cup and wondered if I should buy a tea steeper instead of letting all the muck stay in the bottom of my cup.

“Appointment was cancelled,” I said.

I was still holding it in. I felt lost. I’d liked Helen. I’d liked her very much.

“You’ll reschedule,” he said. He watched me poke at the floating bits of twig in my cup. He took out a clean cup and a small strainer. “Give me that. You’d think you never made tea in your life.” He poured my now well-steeped tea through the strainer and into the fresh mug. I took it from him and sipped.