Organize Your Corpses (22 page)

“You may as well come in.”

I stepped in and followed her to the kitchen. A pile of dishes sat on the counter. A red and mushy lump was concealed on a plate. I found it hard to believe a home could go downhill so fast. It had been only a few days since my first visit.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she said with a sly smile.

“Oh,” I said, “it seems fine.”

“Get real. It looks like shit on a stick. You need a lot more practice if you are going to be a good liar, lady.”

Sometimes it’s a terrible burden being a polite person.

“I’m on strike. Imagine the state of it by the end of the week,” she snorted. “I can hardly wait.”

“Ah.”

“Just take those shirts on that chair and toss ’em on the floor,” she said. “I’d like to have a peek at this impossible dream. Oh here, let me do it.”

I noticed she planted her heel right on one of the shirt collars as she studied the sketches I had made.

She said, “Very nice. Very, very nice. I would have loved that. Sure would have. Not that it matters anymore.”

Her tone seemed different. Possibly even dangerous.

I left the sketches and departed with a sense of impending disaster.

With three ex-stepfathers, a boatload of ex-step-boyfriends, and one ex-fiancé in my life, I am not so comfortable around marital disarray.

 
I picked up a message from Sally on my cell phone. That’s what I get for turning off the phone when I’m with clients. Even the reluctant ones.

“Charlotte? You won’t believe this, but that evil ice queen out there recognized me from a cocktail party. She’s actually threatened to report Benjamin to the medical board all because I went to see Olivia.”

My mouth hung open.

Sally continued, “Of course, Benjamin did nothing wrong and neither have I. And neither have you. But he’s furious. He’s told me not to make contact with Olivia. And to let you do your own investigating. No doctor wants complaints lodged against him, but even so, I sure wish I’d picked a man with a bit more fight in him.”

I was headed for Hannaford’s. My cell phone trilled and I pulled the Miata over to answer. Normally, I would just let it go to message, but normal was before. Every phone call could be about a life-or-death situation. Or it could just be Jack with an update on his cycle shop. I was hoping it was Margaret Tang returning my call.

“Hi. It’s Dominic. I’ve just been wondering what professional organizers eat for dinner.”

“It all depends. Food usually. Why, what do freelance photographers eat for dinner?”

“Those poor fools, they don’t even know where to eat, let alone what. They need guidance. Especially the ones who are not from this neck of the woods.”

“Really? Well, if I were offering advice to someone new, I’d say you can’t beat the Jubilation Café.”

“Sounds uplifting.”

“The food sure is.”

“How about I buy you dinner?”

I didn’t hesitate long. “On the other hand, maybe I should buy yours to show my gratitude.”

“But I haven’t helped you.”

“Not yet.”

“Tell you what, this one’s on me. You can show your gratitude the next time.”

“Deal.”

Damn. I forgot about my swollen chin.

14

It’s not like me to try on every article in my closet and then fling each rejected outfit in a heap on the bed. But every outfit was wrong. The colors too bright, the blacks too black. Clothing I loved seemed too short, too long, too boring. Truffle and Sweet Marie were happy to curl up on each discarded outfit and wait until the next one came along.

What was wrong with me? My closet is organized by season, color, and type of clothing. I have a fully planned wardrobe that can get me from a meeting to a nightclub with a shuffle of a camisole and a flick of a chandelier ear-ring. I have invested time and money in being ready for any occasion with a minimum of effort and a maximum of effect. Any occasion but this dinner apparently.

Forty-five minutes later, I finally settled for my pencil skirt, a lace-edged camisole in champagne silk, a fitted cotton velvet jacket in black. I’d been saving that for something special. I added my black wedge boots with the frisky little bow on the back. I would normally wear large fishnet stockings with those. But I wasn’t sure that would send the right message. What message did I want to send? I turned my thoughts to jewelry. On the fourth try, I settled on double hoop earrings and a chunky bead necklace. Too much? Too little? Too late? And who was at the door?

“What’s wrong with your legs?” Jack said, frowning slightly at the large fishnets.

“This isn’t a good time. And what are you talking about? You’re wearing biking shorts in the middle of winter.”

“Why isn’t it a good time?” he asked as Truffle and Sweet Marie leapt around him, wanting to be picked up.

“It just isn’t.”

“No problem. I’m just checking to see if you’ve given any thought to that dog yet.”

“Yes. And the answer is still no. I’m getting dressed, Jack.”

“But you are dressed.”

“I might have to change. See you later.”

“Hey, I’ll check in later this evening in case you’ve had second thoughts. Where are you going anyway?”

“Out to dinner.”

“Hey, great. Maybe I’ll come along.”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s like a . . .”

“Like a what?” Jack said. “A diet?”

Good question. I took a deep breath. “No. Like a date.”

“A date?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Well, I mean . . .”

“What do you mean, well I mean? Is there some reason I wouldn’t be able to get a date? If there is I’d like to know what it is.”

“No need to yell. Sorry. No reason. Just that I didn’t know you knew anybody to have a date with. How come you didn’t tell me?”

“It just happened. It’s not important. I don’t have to tell you everything. And even if it’s not important, you can’t come along.”

“Okay. What happened in your bedroom? There’s stuff all over the place.”

I reminded myself that it was time to get a decorative screen or divider so that my bedroom would not be visible from the hallway.

“Just having fun with the dogs,” I said. “Time to go, Jack. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing. Who’s your date with?”

“Dominic Lo Bello.”

“That photographer guy?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

I hate that. “Don’t you pull that ‘huh’ stuff on me.”

Jack shrugged. “How can you just drop the investigation to go gallivanting around with some guy you hardly know?”

“Gallivanting? You sound like your own grandmother. And for your information, if things work out, it will advance the investigation.”

Jack said, “There’s something about him. Something untrustworthy. Maybe it’s the way he dresses. Maybe it’s those shifty eyes. I wonder if he has a criminal record. Anyway, don’t worry about the stockings; they sort of draw the eye away from your chin.”

“Whatever,” I said in a suitably huffy way.

 
I stepped back in after a quick walk with the dogs to find the message light flashing.

“Miss Adams? This is Simon Quarrington. I do hope you are doing better after your ordeal last night. It has occurred to me that you wanted to ask me something and that’s why you paid me a visit originally. Something to do with the Henleys, I believe you said before you lost consciousness. I will be most happy to answer your questions, and I will make a point of picking up the phone should it ring. I certainly don’t do that for just anybody.”

Well, obviously my luck was about to change. I checked my watch. No time to call before dinner.

 
The Jubilation Café earns its name. There’s a sense of exhilaration about the place, maybe because the food is so damn good. Nothing breaded and fried has ever been served there.

I chose the citrus-glazed salmon with risotto and asparagus. Dominic had the free-range chicken stuffed with walnuts and blue cheese, and a barley and porcini mushroom casserole. I had to pass on the wine since it wouldn’t go too well with the painkillers for the jaw. Dominic said he could do without any too. The sympathy vote, he claimed. Since he wasn’t staring at my chin, I had to assume that my artistic application of makeup had done the trick. Of course, the expensive and dim lighting didn’t hurt either.

“So,” I said when the last bite of risotto had disappeared, “are you finding lots of material for your book?”

He grinned. “You have the most unbelievable architecture in this town. And in the surrounding areas too.”

“Yes. I’m glad I moved back here from the city. Too bad you missed the fall colors.”

“Might have to come back for those. Or just stay around.”

I felt like a teenager when I heard this, despite the elegant and adult ambience of the Jubilation.

He said, “You haven’t told me what I can do for you yet.”

“It will sound a bit strange.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Try me.”

“I think I told you I’m not permitted to visit Stone Wall Farm.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You did.”

“I am really worried about one of the residents. Olivia Henley Simonett.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said.

“You were at Miss Helen Henley’s funeral. You must have seen her. She did a little . . .”

“Wave and dance at the front of the church?” He chuckled.

“That’s her.”

“I know who she is. Poor old lady. I felt sorry for her. What are you worried about?”

Words poured out of me like coins from a lucky slot machine. “It’s probably crazy, but she’s supposed to be the last of the Henleys. Helen Henley was murdered and the other cousin died not long ago. And Olivia’s absolutely loaded. Massive chunk of change. The rumor’s out that she’s leaving her money to the Stone Wall Farm Foundation.”

He shrugged. “That’s a good thing, no? It’s a place that cares for damaged people who need special care. Seems like an excellent place to leave a massive chunk of change if you have it to leave.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But the staff seem to be trying to keep Olivia away from people. I’ve been tossed out. Do I look dangerous? Or difficult?”

He glanced at my chin. “Maybe a little bit.”

“I told you about my friend, Jack, being thrown out. Now Olivia’s former neighbor, Rose Skipowski, got the boot too. And Sally caught hell from her husband, Benjamin, about going out there. Benjamin’s a doctor and your Mrs. Vanclief threatened to report him to some medical authority.”

“For the record, she’s not
my
Mrs. Vanclief. I don’t actually have my own Mrs. Vanclief. And I’m glad.”

“Sorry, I got carried away. This is the same administrator who told Benjamin that Olivia didn’t want him as her doctor anymore.”

“Hmm. Old people can be difficult. And if you don’t mind me saying so, this Olivia Simonett sure didn’t act normal at that funeral. But in a place like that, the staff has to make sure the clients aren’t upset.”

“Hear me out. The last thing is that Olivia’s longtime caregiver has been murdered.”

His fork clattered. “Did you say murdered?”

“I did. Shot. Right in her car. Uptown, not all that far from here. Can you believe that?”

Dominic frowned and rubbed his own perfect chin. He said, “That random shooting? I thought that was a case of someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Wrong place for her.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just try and see if Olivia’s all right. Maybe they have her drugged or something. She could easily have a fall if she’s overmedicated. There has to be some reason why they’re doing this.”

A small smile played at the edges of his very nice mouth.

“Do I sound crazy?” I said.

“Maybe a little bit paranoid. But on you that’s kind of cute.”

I felt a ridiculous blush starting around my waist and rushing upward. “I don’t want to jeopardize your contract with them. But I’m very worried. I already found one dead person this month. That’s not paranoia.”

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“And I shouldn’t have even asked you to do this. Now it sounds presumptuous even to my own ears.”

“I can understand why you’re worried. Sorry about the paranoia joke. But your reaction might be just the shock of finding that body. That kind of stress plays hell with your emotions. I know I went right off the rails after my wife died. But I’ll do what I can to check things out.”

“You might not get near Olivia. But where there’s money, there’s talk. She’s been there a long time, and people love to gossip and speculate. You could pick up something useful.”

“I’ll find a way to talk to Mrs. Simonett herself.”

I felt such a ridiculous rush of relief, all I could do was grin like a fool.

He said, “I’m a photographer. My job involves getting close to people, even if they don’t want that. Anyway, maybe she’d like to have a photograph taken.”

“Wonderful idea. She’s on the second floor. You can see the door to her suite from the entrance.”

“Suite? You mean she has more than one room?”

“Living room and bedroom, bathroom, with space for her attendant.”

He said, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The place has a Cordon Bleu-trained chef and an amazing wine cellar. Why wouldn’t the residents have suites?”

I agreed. “Stone Wall Farm really is a fabulous place. Except they may be in the business of murder.”

 
When Dominic and I arrived at my house, Jack followed us, uninvited, up the stairs to my apartment. We were going to have one hell of a serious talk about boundaries the minute we were alone.

“Glad to meet you,” Jack said, grabbing Dominic’s hand with a grip that looked more like a wrestling move than a handshake.