Organize Your Corpses (15 page)

“I might know the perfect person. Just to get you over the hump.”

Kristee handed me the boxes and the bill. “The problem is, Charlotte,
I’m
really fussy.”

“I know someone who needs a job in the short term but is also studying. She’d probably be happy to get some hours. But don’t let me make you feel pressured.”

“That’s real nice of you, Charlotte. If you want a job done right, you do it yourself. I’ve had real bad luck with part-timers here.”

“You know your business,” I said as I paid for my candy and pocketed my change.

“I feel mean about it, but I’ve been fooled before,” Kristee called out just as I opened the door to leave.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she’s found a better job anyway.”

As I headed for the Miata, I reminded myself that I am not responsible for everyone’s well-being. I don’t have to solve everyone’s problems. And that was just as well because I figured Lilith might have just had a real close call.

 
My cell phone was ringing as I got into the car. I hoped it wasn’t a client rescheduling. Luckily, it was just Jack.

“You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Bad news. Get it over with.”

“Okay. Guess who else won’t be allowed back to Stone Wall Farm?”

“I have a client meeting in ten minutes, Jack. And I’m not there yet. No guessing games, please.”

“Me. I am now persona non grata at a nursing home. Me. The nice guy who went out to check up on an old school friend. Does this make sense in any way?”

“Oh crap. What happened?”

“I biked out to Stone Wall Farm this morning. It was Gabe Young all right. And he was glad to see me.”

“Did you ask him about Lilith?”

“Yup. Worked it into the conversation. Took awhile. You gotta really concentrate with Gabe. And there were some parrots that kept interrupting. Anyway, you were right. I’d say he’s pretty broken up over that girl.”

“Did he make a fuss? Is that why you can’t go back?”

“A bit. You can’t really understand what he’s saying. It must take awhile to get used to it. He had some kind of an attendant, but she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. All of a sudden this ice queen shows up breathing frozen mist and my ass is so out of there.”

“That’s Inez Vanclief. She’s a bit scary.”

“More than a bit. She threw me out.”

“But she must have told you why.”

“Yep. She said that I was a disruptive influence. And not to come back if I didn’t want legal action.”

“Welcome to the club. I’m worried about what’s going on there. Did you catch sight of Olivia?”

“Just a brief glimpse. She was walking on the second level when I went in, but I got booted out before I could find a way to see her.”

“What’s going on out there? It’s all so weird.”

 
My new client clearly had a problem. I could sum it up in four words: her husband, his toys.

She was a sweet lady in her midfifties with a tight copper perm, a bandage on her knee, and a two-story, immaculate home that smelled of furniture polish and potpourri. She bit her lip and clasped her hands together as she led me to the site of the problem.

“My, my,” I said, as the garage door swung up.

“Like I told you,” she said, “I just can’t stand it anymore.”

“Is it always like this?” I stared into the interior. Two huge motorcycles, an all-terrain vehicle, and a motorboat. A ride-on mower, a machine to blow leaves, and another one to blow snow. A few extra motors and lots of cans of 10W-40 stood around to give the place ambiance. Three tall, shiny red toolboxes, the type with wheels, looked on proudly. As did a lot of stuff I couldn’t identify.

“Sometimes it’s worse.”

“And your laundry equipment is on the far side of all these vehicles?” I stood on my tiptoes but could barely see the washer and dryer.

Tears formed in her eyes. “He puts things on top of them. Greasy tools, gears.”

I gasped, “Not machine parts.”

She had a catch in her voice. “It’s always been bad, but it’s been getting worse this past couple of years. We finally have a bit of money, and we bought this lovely house. He has the kind of toys he’s always wanted. Now he wants to enlarge the garage. Because he has his eye on a vintage Harley. I’m worried. I’ll have to use the Laundromat soon.”

I closed the door to the garage firmly and said, “Let’s head back to the kitchen.”

“But don’t you need to check out what’s in there? See how much stuff he’s got? Otherwise how are we going to organize the space so that I can get my laundry done without bruising my knees and banging my head?”

“We’ll make our plan over another cup of your very good coffee.”

The kitchen was homey, neat, and smelled of the apple cake we’d shared when I arrived. I’d eaten it because you never know when there might be a shortage. And I’m very polite.

“Maybe your husband should just take over the laundry,” I said. “That might solve your problem. Lots of men do laundry.”

She frowned in surprise. “He wouldn’t. Never. And if he did, I wouldn’t like that.”

“Do you enjoy doing laundry?” I said as she poured the coffee.

“Really, I do. I used to love it. Sorting, selecting water temperatures, softeners. Making clothes nice and clean again. I never thought it was drudgery. Now . . .” She sat down and massaged the bandage on her knee. “I get so far behind. I’ve started to put it off. It’s become a nightmare.”

“I’m not surprised. But you know what? You don’t have an organizational problem. You’ve got a turf war.”

“Oh.”

“First, you obviously have a comfortable life, enough money to buy vehicles and a really nice, big house. So why are you doing your laundry in the dark back corner of the garage? Think about that. Second, why compete with your husband and his toys for space when you have a perfect spot in your house?”

She said, “I do? Where?”

I stood up and pointed to the bright mudroom that led to the backyard. “Lots of room here for your washer and dryer. You can have a few drying racks, cupboards over the machines for your products, and you’ll have plenty of room for an ironing board and all that. You can whip your washing outside on a clothesline, if that’s fun for you.”

“But that would be a renovation. It would be really expensive. I thought you’d help me sort out the garage.”

“That stuff in your garage isn’t badly organized. It’s big. It’s bulky. It’s in the way. It takes up a lot of space and keeps you from your machines, but it seems to be quite orderly. Is it causing your husband any problems?”

“No. He can get at what he wants.”

“That’s it. It’s not your stuff. It’s someone else’s. You can’t really solve that, can you?”

She shook her head sadly. “You’re right. I feel like I’m stopped everywhere I go. Nothing I do around here matters a bit. He has no idea what’s involved in getting his stupid clothes clean, and you wouldn’t believe how mucky his stuff gets. Lately, I’ve been thinking of packing up and moving. I have fantasies about divorcing him from a distance. Isn’t that awful? He’s not a bad person; he’s just turned into a big middle-aged kid. I’m probably way too upset over that garage. It’s not like laundry’s the most important aspect of my life. I’ve got friends and my part-time job and my two choirs.”

“It’s important to you. That’s what counts. And think about my suggestion. You’ve got the appliances. Your sink’s on the wall right behind it. Your plumbing will be a piece of cake. It won’t be expensive. I can do a plan for you and help you pick out some nice shelving at the building center and your problem will be solved. No more dark spaces, no more bruised ankles. No disputes over who owns the space.”

“I don’t think he’ll go for it.”

“You might want to give a lawyer a call and find out the average legal costs for a divorce for someone in your circumstances. You’ll have to pay for the advice, but it will be worth it. Then subtract the potential cost of this little reno and decide. I think you’ll find you’re way ahead.”

A sly little smile was playing on the corner of her mouth. “I don’t really want a divorce. And I sure don’t want the big goof doing the laundry. I just want my space. I don’t know why I didn’t think of using that mudroom myself.”

“All’s fair in love and turf war.”

 
That had gone well. I was on time and under budget as they say. I’d calculated two hours for the appointment and was out of there in less than thirty minutes. My client had a bit of homework to do: make a list of features she’d like to install in her new laundry-utility area and figure out if her old appliances would stand the transition. I was off to comb through building-supply stores, catalogs, and Web sites to see what could make her life a bit easier. We’d get together with the results. I was humming as I hopped into the Miata.

On the way home, I whizzed by a solitary figure peddling like hell on a battered blue bicycle. I couldn’t miss the purple hair.

I pulled over and waited.

As Lilith passed by, I called out to her. She slowed and leapt from her bike. I would have ended up in intensive care if I’d attempted that maneuver. I wondered if Jack could have pulled it off.

Lilith grinned. “I’m in a better mood today. Not feeling sorry for myself. I sold my old Toyota Supra, so I know I can keep going until I find a job. I won’t have to drop out of my night classes and leave Woodbridge.”

“Great,” I said. “You seem very comfortable on that bicycle. I’d break my neck if I tried to dismount that way.”

“Two years as a bike courier in the city. It’s like being in the Cirque du Soleil,” Lilith said. “You develop techniques and nerve.”

“And a certain artistry too.”

“I suppose. But I really like to work with people. That’s why I’m studying. I want to be in special education. I think the right teacher can make a big difference. I’m learning a lot about the way the brain works and all that.”

“You’ll be great at it.”

“Thanks. I just have to find a way to keep a roof over my head until I can finish my course. Thanks, Charlotte, for being so nice. I have to go. I’ve got a batch of résumés to drop off.”

I watched her purple head disappear around a corner. Lilith would be fine. But I felt a real sadness for Gabriel Young and what he’d lost.

10

Who knows why I turned left instead of right after talking to Lilith. I didn’t take long to realize that I’d blundered into Forest Glen and had lost my bearings in the endless tree-lined crescents. Jack had mentioned that Gabriel Young grew up in this neighborhood. But of course, Jack was checking out a possible storefront for his retail dream, so he didn’t answer his cell when I tried to call. I cruised slowly through the crescents, not sure what I was searching for. All the houses were similar: large split-levels or two-stories on treed half-acre lots. Some had the family name hanging on little signs, but most didn’t. I didn’t spot any Youngs. I’d just decided that this was a waste of time, when I drove by a white Cape Cod nicely situated on a well-kept lawn. A long ramp had been added to the front. I noticed the battered basketball hoop attached over the black garage door and felt a lump in my throat. Leaves danced across the lawn, and a woman walked briskly from the side of the house brandishing a rake. I pulled the Miata over and parked. In my mind, all people who rake leaves are basically decent.

I stepped out of the car and approached her.

She had Gabriel’s wide dark eyes and prominent cheek-bones. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short. She wasn’t the type for makeup. As I got closer I could see the lines on her face, as if each one had been scratched on by her son’s tragedy.

She stopped raking and stood watching me, with an un-welcoming scowl. “I’m not planning to sell it. Thank you.”

I blinked. “Oh. The house. I’m not house hunting. It’s a beautiful property though.”

“Sorry. I thought you were another real estate agent. Seems like every day there’s a different one hanging around.”

“Are you Mrs. Young?”

She nodded and frowned again.

“I’m Charlotte Adams. I was hoping to find you. It’s about your son, Gabriel.”

The rake tumbled to the ground. “Gabe! Did something happen?”

“As far as I know, he’s fine. But I’m not so sure what’s going on at Stone Wall Farm. That’s why I wanted to speak to you.”

“Stone Wall Farm has been a wonderful place for Gabe. He’s been making such great progress lately.” Leaves swirled merrily around her. Her smile lit up her face, erasing the wrinkles.

I said, “I think some of that might have to do with Lilith Carisse, his caregiver.”

The smile slipped. “Oh. Lilith.”

“I have been trying to help Lilith find another job, but before I recommend her, I need to know why she was fired.”

“I’m not so sure I should tell you. There are . . . issues.”

“So I hear. But I have seen her with Gabriel, and she seemed to be so caring, so tuned into him.”

“Poor Gabe is very fragile emotionally. He doesn’t need to be distressed.”

“Lilith caused him distress? Really?”

“She was talking about going back to school full-time. Gabe would become very worked up every time she mentioned it. Apparently Gabriel’s outbursts upset the other residents. Mrs. Vanclief asked us to take action on it.”

“It’s hard to believe that Lilith would upset him.”

“She’s quite young. She probably had no idea of the impact of her casual conversation. I wasn’t sure it was the right choice, but Mrs. Vanclief insisted I sever the contact now before Gabe’s behavior got worse.”

“So would there be any reason not to recommend her for a job?”

Her eyes met mine, then slid away. “I’m not sure I treated Lilith fairly. I know she truly cares about Gabe. Perhaps I should have given her a chance to tell her side of the story.”