Organize Your Corpses (21 page)

 
“Oh my God,” Sally gasped, clutching the baby. “Shot? Do you think it’s connected?” We were whispering in the dining room so the children wouldn’t hear any talk of random shooting. Even though the dining room was blanketed in toys, the kids were in the kitchen. So far the latest box-decorating project was keeping them quiet. The theme was Thanksgiving. I’d picked up some paper turkeys and pilgrim’s hats at the Dollar Do! on the way over. Dallas and Madison were gluing with glee.

“Of course it’s connected, Sally. First Olivia’s caregiver is killed and then Miss Henley. It’s obvious someone is trying to—”

I was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream coming from the kitchen. Sally poked her head around the corner and said, “Don’t glue your sister’s hair, angel.”

She whipped back again. “Trying to what?”

Further screams erupted from the kitchen, each fresh shriek bringing goose bumps to my arms.

“Keep people away from Olivia,” I shouted over the wails.

Sally said, “I told you so. Right from the beginning, taking on Hellfire as a client was a mistake.”

“That shooting did not happen because I took on Miss Henley as a client.” I headed toward the kitchen. To hell with chain of command. Someone was being murdered if the shrieks were any indication.

Sally yelled, “Oh no, her hair.”

Oh crap. Who knew you could cut hair with safety scissors?

“It will grow back,” I said, bending to cuddle Madison. “Better than ever. You wait.”

Sally held a fistful of blonde curls in one hand and shook her finger at her son with the other. He was wailing too. That was wise under the circumstances.

It crossed my mind there might be more to this motherhood business than I had imagined. I was beginning to find the prospect terrifying. Perhaps I should trade my biological clock for a wake-up call.

“So,” I said in my softest voice, “Olivia is the one in the Henley family with the big bucks.”

Sally nodded.

“And the two people closest to Olivia have been killed: Wynona Banks and Miss Henley.”

“Code name Hellfire,” Sally whispered.

“It could be connected to this cousin Crawford or—”

“I thought we were worried about the people at Stone Wall Farm.”

“We are. But maybe this Crawford is lurking around and plans to pressure her to change her will.”

“I bet the Stone Wall Farm people took out a hit on Miss Henley and Wynona to get at Olivia’s money.”

“Took out a hit? You watch too many movies. This is Woodbridge, Sally. We don’t hire hit men to knock off our teachers.”

“Maybe we do if we have a hundred million reasons.” We stared at each other over the heads of the sobbing children. Sally hissed, “Okay, Rose and I will see what we can find out.”

“I hope Rose can get in. They’re cutting Olivia off from everyone.”

Sally said, “You distract the ankle biters. I’ll sneak out now.”

A note to those with ticking clocks: you can only distract small children with piggybacks for so long. Eventually, not even making milk shakes in the blender or having bubble baths will calm them down. Sooner or later, you hit the wall.

Sally left at nine forty-five. At ten fifteen I called Jack. “I’m at Sally’s. Get the hell over here. Now.”

Sally was back by eleven thirty and not one second too soon. Jack was lying on the living room floor. Dallas was riding him like a horse. That had been fun for the first fifteen minutes. I had been trying to show Madison how to organize the can cupboard, but that venture hadn’t gone all that well. Baby Savannah had finished flinging her applesauce at the humans in the house and was killing time by banging pot covers on the kitchen floor. I had forgotten to turn off the water in the sink.

“Thank God you’re back,” I wailed at Sally.

“What’s that in your hair?” Sally said.

“Applesauce. Jack has strawberry yogurt in his.”

Sally glanced around her former designer kitchen. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting us organized.”

Jack limped in from the dining room and squeaked, “Save me.”

“What happened, Sally?” I asked.

“Oh boy,” Sally said. “It was—”

The bang came from the front hall. We all jumped. The glass rattled in the cupboard doors.

The kids shrieked, “Daddy, Daddy!”

Benjamin seemed more grizzly than teddy as he lumbered through the door. “Sally, what the hell have you . . . ?”

Jack managed to break his fall.

Oh crap. “Sorry about the applesauce, Benjamin. I guess I must have missed that bit.”

Benjamin picked himself up and thundered, “What the hell have you done to that poor old woman, Sally?”

Sally said, “Bye, Charlotte. Bye, Jack. See you later.”

 
Jack and I headed straight for North Elm Street. As we walked up the stairs to Rose’s place, I said, “I’d rather be single all my life than marry a cute little person who turns into a savage beast over a teaspoon of applesauce.”

“That goes double for me,” Jack said, rubbing his back.

“You still have a bit of strawberry yogurt in your hair. I suppose it’s a look.”

“Never mind that. I feel lucky to be alive.”

“What happened to you, hon?” Rose said when she opened the yellow door. “You’re kind of . . .”

“Long story,” I said.

“Is this your young man?” she batted her pale eyelashes in Jack’s direction.

“No. He’s my . . . Jack.”

Jack brightened. “Do I smell chocolate chip cookies?” He didn’t appear to notice Rose’s neon yellow jogging suit with the black contrasting piping or her blue hair or her oxygen equipment. Jack has a one-track mind and we’re not talking sex.

“Still in the oven. To tell you the truth, I was so upset by that visit to Olivia, I headed right into the kitchen when your friend dropped me off.”

“That’s why we’re here,” I said.

“Will they be ready soon?” Jack said.

“You better come in. I’m still a bit shaky. And I’m awfully sorry to let you down, hon. But the visit didn’t quite turn out right.”

“What happened?”

“We didn’t even get up the stairs. Olivia caught sight of us and started howling and swinging her arms like a wild woman and shouting, ‘Get out! Get out!’ Then she just collapsed. It set that poor lad in the wheelchair off too. A woman—that executive director you talked about, I guess—came running out of her office and started barking orders. Even the parrots were screaming.”

“Wow,” Jack said. It sounded like he was sorry he’d missed it.

“So you didn’t even get to ask her about Crawford?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, hon. She was walking in the corridor with her helper and she spotted us downstairs and all hell broke loose. The staff came running and Sally and I were out of there like last week’s garbage.”

“But you were always friendly with Olivia, right?”

“I’ve known her for more than seventy years, not close but real congenial. I can tell you, I’m shaken up over this.”

“Sally didn’t even know her.”

“Olivia’s going downhill fast. Sure she’s been upset by Randy and then Helen, but she’s getting on in years, like me. Past a certain age, you have to get used to people dying.”

Jack said, “Maybe she just reacts badly to guests.”

I said, “But she was fine with me, until I mentioned Crawford.”

Rose said, “I don’t know why she’d pitch a fit over Crawford. I told you he was her favorite. If he wanted her millions, all he’d have to do is ask and she’d give him the world on a plate. But Crawford was never all that interested in money. Otherwise he might have knuckled under to the old man. Instead, he walked away from the Henleys. I don’t think it was Crawford’s name that got her going when you were there.”

“Possibly I misinterpreted the whole incident.”

Jack said, “But it could make sense if they are really trying to separate Olivia from anyone who cares about her. Maybe they know about this Crawford guy. Maybe they’re aware that he might stand to inherit. They wouldn’t want her making contact. Maybe they’ve told her stuff about him. Scared her a bit.”

I gasped, “That would be awful.”

Jack shrugged.

Rose said, “If they cut her off from everyone she knows, she’ll just sicken and die. And nobody would think twice about it, at her age.”

I shivered. “It’s horrible. We have to intervene. I’ll get in touch with Margaret Tang. She’ll have some advice about reaching Olivia.”

Rose said, “But I don’t like that place. It seems to have been taken over by completely new people. I never saw any of them before. I wished I’d caught sight of Wynona. We should get in touch with her.”

Uh-oh. “Um, about Wynona, Rose.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“Wynona’s dead.”

“Dead? She can’t be dead. She’s not even sixty!”

“She was shot, last week. That drive-by shooting uptown.”

Rose paled and slumped in her chair. “Must have been while I was in the hospital. I missed out on everything.”

I said, “I’m sorry I just blurted it out like that.”

Jack said, “And someone ran Charlotte right off the road last night. See that big honking bruise starting up on her chin. That’s got to be connected.”

Rose lifted her own chin. “I think we should go to the police.”

“That’s part of the problem. Inez Vanclief has been threatening to call the police on us,” I said. “Maybe she already has. We need a bit more to bolster our case, or else they might suspect us of trying to get at Olivia. As soon as I get the last bit of information about Crawford, we’ll approach them.”

Rose nodded. “But we can’t wait long. What if something bad happens to Olivia?”

“I think if we have some solid information for them, it will help.”

Jack sniffed. “Hey, there’s a buzzer ringing. Does that mean those cookies are done?”

 
I left a message at Margaret Tang’s office before I headed out. I drove down Long March Road with my boots in the passenger seat. I took my damaged boot and heel to First Rate Shoe Repairs, one of the few spots in Woodbridge without an alliterative name. I held my breath as the elderly stooped shoemaker turned the boot over in his hand and gazed sadly from it to the heel, the way a doctor might regard a patient who had short hours to live. After a while, I cleared my throat.

He blinked as if he had forgotten I was there.

“What do you think?” I said, still holding the perfect mate.

He nodded and turned the boot over a few more times. He stroked the buttery soft leather.

“Nice. Very gude quality.”

No kidding. I’d just paid the bill for them, so I knew that.

“Can you fix it?” I said after a longish pause.

“Mebbe,” he said.

“Great!”

“Have to be efter Christmas. To do a gude job.”

“Christmas? But it’s not even Thanksgiving.”

“I got a bicklog here.” He pointed toward a back room where a mountain of sad boots and shoes towered. “Everyone wants shoes fix right away.”

I could understand that. I wanted my boots fixed right away. I said, smiling, “It will be hard to wait that long. I really, really need those boots. It’s winter.”

He peered over the counter to see what I had on my feet. Boots, of course. Last year’s black suede, still pretty yet practical.

I said, “Well, the red ones are special.”

He shrugged.

“And they’re way better in the snow.”

He gave a skeptical glance at the stiletto heel and grumbled, “Maybe New Year’s.”

“I’ll be back.” I grabbed my boot, backed out of the shop, popped the boot and the heel into the back of the Miata, and made tracks for the library.

 
Don’t ask me why I was so hung up on Crawford Henley. I just couldn’t let go. Anyway, Ramona had probably worked hard and I didn’t have the heart to pull the plug.

“Good news,” said Ramona, snazzy in a denim skirt and knee-high indigo suede boots with flat heels. All Ramona’s outfits were blue and drew attention to her eyes.

“I could use some,” I said.

“I guess so. What happened to your chin? You look a bit, um, pugnacious perhaps.”

“You should see the other guy.”

“Ha. I’ve loved that joke all my life. So, back to business. I found an item that suggests he died about twenty years back. I’m searching for an obit, but it’s been one interruption here after another all week. Must be the full moon.”

“You’re sure he died?”

“Nope. Not sure. Just found a couple of articles that you might want to read. One in particular. Always good to have confirmation. Could be a mistake. Or a different Crawford Henley.”

“Listen,” I started to say.

The door to the administration office opened and a frazzled man stuck his head out. He crooked his little finger.

Ramona turned to me and rolled her eyes. Her silver earrings swung. “I’m needed by the committee of the bemused. Don’t worry. I’ll keep at it.”

“One more question,” I said. But her denim backside and indigo boots had already vanished behind the paneled door.

 
The front door opened. My client glared out at me.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

“I hope you got my message last night. I mean about the accident.”

“Yeah. Your chin’s kind of swollen. Might as well come in out of the rain although I don’t want to waste your time.”

I stared around at the front entrance. On my first visit, it had been immaculate. Now a man’s suit jacket lay on the floor. A pair of boots was upended. Newspapers were stacked haphazardly. I tried not to stare at them. They reminded me of Miss Henley’s horrible death.

“If it’s a bad time,” I said.

“No worse than any other time,” she said.

“I brought by those catalogs and preliminary sketches for you. Like I said, I thought you might want to keep them in case you decide to go ahead with the project in future.”