Organize Your Corpses (5 page)

The shoes had feet in them, feet with nice-quality trouser socks. There were legs too, covered in charcoal wool.

Miss Henley.

What was I doing thinking about shoes and socks and worsted wool? The unimaginable had happened. Frantically I tugged at her feet. A shoe came off in my hand. For some reason, the foot was rigid. I scrambled to free her from the pile of paper. The dogs raced around yelping.

First things first.

I reached into my handbag with one hand and fished out my cell phone. I tried to pull the piles of paper from Miss Henley with my free hand.

911.

“Woman under a pile of rotting newspaper,” I shouted.

“Can I have your name?”

“Charlotte Adams. This is an emergency.”

“Charlotte Adams. Wow. I remember you. I heard you were back in town. This is Mona Pringle.”

“Mona Pringle? I don’t think I—”

“Yeah, yeah, St. Jude’s. Grade eight. I was Mona Jones then.”

What the hell? Even in Woodbridge, emergencies should be taken seriously. “There’s an emergency here, Mona.”

Mona got the point. “Sure. Can I have your location?”

“We’re in the dining room. I don’t know if she’s breathing,” I said. “Her feet aren’t moving. They’re . . . I think she may be . . .”

“Calm down, Charlotte. I mean the address.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m at the Henley House. Top of North Elm at Washington Avenue. It’s the big house on the corner.”

“I know it. What exactly is the situation?”

“Miss Henley is buried under a stack of . . .” I paused. Perhaps newspapers would sound insufficiently dangerous.

“What?”

“Debris,” I said. “She’s buried under debris.”

“Charlotte?”

“Yes.”

“Is that Hellfire Henley you’re talking about?”

I raised my voice. “I have to put down the phone and try to dig her out. Hurry up and get someone here!”

“The paramedics are on their way. Is she breathing?”

“She might be suffocating.” I dropped the phone and hoped Mona could hear. An unintelligible crackle came from the phone.

With both hands, I tossed papers over my shoulders. The dogs raced around in circles, happy to play. My shoulders ached as I yanked layer after layer away. The smell of rotting paper and rodents was overwhelming. What must it be like for Miss Henley buried under there? How had the paper fallen over on her?

I kept shouting, “Miss Henley. I’ll get this off you in a minute. You can make it.”

The question I didn’t really want to ask kept surfacing in my mind. Had Truffle and Sweet Marie caused the paper to cascade, trapping Miss Henley? As I yanked another stinking chunk of paper away, I whacked my hand on something hard.

I yelped.

With my other hand, I pulled off another clump of paper. I stared at an oak beam stuck in the middle of the paper pile.

The beam was too heavy for me to move. I swept away a bit more paper and jerked back. Part of Miss Henley’s charcoal sweater was clearly visible. But the beam lay on the point where her head would be.

My vision clouded. My head swam. My stomach turned. I screamed long and loud. No one heard, except for two small, very alarmed dogs.

“Stay away, guys,” I yelled.

I tugged off more paper until I could see more of her chest and part of her arm. I sat back on my heels and tried to breathe. I stared at the small pink and white cameo brooch on her sweater and shook like a wet poodle.

It took every ounce of courage I had to reach forward and touch the arm. It was horribly cold. A ripple of relief shot through me. At least the dogs hadn’t knocked over the paper and the beam. The relief was followed by a rush of guilt. Miss Henley was dead. An awful accident. I didn’t want Truffle and Sweet Marie to be responsible for it. It would be my fault for letting them run loose.

There was no sign of the paramedics. I grabbed the cell phone. Mona seemed to have disconnected. My hands shook as I dialed Jack’s number. Please don’t screen this call, Jack, I prayed.

“Get over here quick,” I said as soon as I heard his voice.

“Where’s here?” he said cheerfully.

“Henley House. Miss Henley’s buried in paper and I just got her partly dug out and her head’s crushed and the paramedics aren’t here yet.”

“Try CPR.”

“She’s already cold and stiff.”

“On my way.”

As I hung up, I heard the shriek of an ambulance. I knew it was way too late.

Had she been there since last night when she’d called and asked me to meet her? Good grief. Maybe it really was my fault.

By the time emergency services arrived, mascara streaked my face. I smelled of mice poop and mold and I was starting to hyperventilate. Naturally, my dogs took a demonic dislike to the paramedics.

The paramedics didn’t seem to hold a grudge. One of them draped me in a blanket and patted my shoulder.

The other one said, “Better watch out for shock. You don’t look so hot, miss.”

Truffle snarled at him. Both dogs struggled in my arms. Twenty-two pounds of combined fury. I used the blanket to keep them confined. I sat there sniffling while the paramedics worked to free Miss Henley’s body.

Where was Jack? I wanted Jack there. Right that minute.

But next, a pair of police officers arrived, all business.

“What the hell happened here?” one of them said. “It’s like a horror movie.”

“Hellfire Henley,” his partner said, glancing my way.

“Huh. Some kind of payback, I guess.”

Minutes later, Jack burst through the door, covered in sweat from biking across town. My lower lip wobbled. I absolutely hate that. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was stepping along the cluttered hallway, heading toward us, svelte and willowy with elegant blonde highlights and a form-fitting black wool coat.

“Why, Charlotte Adams,” Pepper said, showing her sparkling teeth. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

 
“But why was she there at all?” I whimpered to Jack, once we were home, long after I’d given my statement and waited for Pepper to say it was all right to go. I was surprised at just how terrible I felt. Jack had dragged me off to Benjamin’s office to make sure the shock wouldn’t kill me. I now had a small vial of mood-altering substance in case I had nightmares, plus a pat on the head from a teddy-bear man with a white jacket, a stethoscope, and a sprained toe.

It was nice of Jack not to mention that my voice was still a bit funny hours later. Even though the heat was turned up to blast, I couldn’t seem to get warm. I was bundled on my sofa and covered in a pair of Jack’s mother’s heirloom quilts, sipping hot cocoa prepared by Jack’s own hand. The drinks had arrived on a tray with a plate of tiny shortbread cookies. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off. Jack had thoughtfully taken the phone off the hook and switched off my cell phone.

Jack had been entertaining Truffle and Sweet Marie by making paper airplanes. Apparently paper airplanes are fun to chase and chew up. Jack seemed to be enjoying himself too, except when I asked questions.

“Why was who there?” he said.

“The person we’re talking about. Pepper.”

“Take it easy. I wasn’t sure if you meant Hellfire.”

“Don’t call her that, Jack. She’s dead. You can’t call her Hellfire anymore. And she had a good reason to be there. But why did Pepper show up?”

“I think you might be in shock.”

“I can’t get that sight out of my mind.” I shivered.

“Drink your chocolate. It will help.”

“If only I’d gone last night, it could have made a difference.”

“We’ve been all over this. It is not your fault.”

“But if I’d agreed to meet her, then it might not have happened. Maybe she felt overwhelmed and decided to get started on the project.”

“When did you turn into a crazy lady?”

“It bothers me. I wish I knew when she died. Maybe it was right after she called me and—”

“I’m going out to get you some Mars bars.”

“Well, I don’t care what you say, Jack. It creeps me out that Pepper stuck her nose in so fast.”

He paused at the head of the stairs. “She’s a cop. It’s her job to show up at accidents.”

“It is not. She’s a detective. It’s her job to find crimes and blame people.”

“What’s your point? You go so over the top about Pepper.”

“You’re right. Maybe Mars bars will help.”

“Coming up. One of these days you should make up with her.”

“Maybe.”

If hell froze over.

 
Hell froze over the next morning. I woke up and peered out the window to see an inch of snow covering the ground and a thick swirl of white in the air. Whee. Another November surprise. Apparently, Truffle and Sweet Marie do not do snow. They burrowed back under the covers. I gave up on my efforts to drag them out when they jumped onto the floor and scrambled under the bed.

Fine. I needed a cup of coffee before I crawled under the bed to catch them. While the coffee brewed, I squinted around at the mess in my living room. Empty Mars bars wrappers. Socks. Quilts tumbled from where I had fallen asleep on the sofa. Chewed-up paper airplanes on every surface. Except for the paper airplanes, it looked like the aftermath of a very kinky party.

How could I have gone to bed and left the place like that? I was shocked to realize that I hadn’t even made my to-do list the night before. I could not remember the last time that had happened. I reminded myself that it wasn’t every day I found a body.

I shook my head to clear that image and went about picking up the mess. Clean up first, drag out dogs second, make breakfast third. I tried not to think about Miss Henley and the horrible way she’d died. I’d promised Jack not to obsess.

As I was picking up the dog toys, I remembered Sally and her kids. I needed to apologize for not being able to sort out her kiddy chaos the day before and to make a new date before the day got away from both of us. It’s never a good idea to put off apologies.

The aroma told me the coffee was ready. I poured a mugful and called her.

“Charlotte,” Sally squealed. “I know. Benjamin told me. It’s so awful. Turn on the news!”

“But—” I said.

“WINY,” she said. “Todd’s on. I’ll call you back.”

I sat on the sofa with coffee, picked up the remote, and despite my better judgment, clicked on WINY for the news. That must have been a sign of how upset I was about Miss Henley. I rarely turn the TV on during the day, particularly in the morning, and very most particularly WINY. But I should have known that Miss Henley’s death would be news all over Upstate New York.

An understatement, as it turned out.

Woodbridge was in a major tizzy. Todd Tyrell stood outside Henley House, a light snow swirling around him. Not a single hair on his styled head moved, although the bare trees were practically snapping in the background. He was wearing his serious look. Todd has two expressions for his handsome made-for-television face. Serious and happy. Occasionally there’s a third expression, best described as stunned, but I’m pretty sure that’s not one of the official ones.

Obviously Todd isn’t my hero, but Sally has had a crush on him since she was thirteen and he was a strutting senior. Marriage and motherhood haven’t made much of a dent in her adulation. Go figure.

Todd adjusted his eyebrows to appear a bit more solemn and said, “Woodbridge is facing its second tragedy in less than two days with news of the death of beloved local schoolteacher, Miss Helen Henley.”

I spewed a bit of coffee. “Beloved” had caught me off guard. As I mopped up, Todd went on. “Miss Henley perished in what, at first glance, seems like a tragic accident at this historic property in Woodbridge. Police are investigating but so far have not indicated foul play. Miss Henley was a formidable influence on generations of students at St. Jude’s Catholic School. She will be deeply mourned by all whom she touched in life. That includes me, folks.”

Todd screwed his face up a bit. I think he was trying for a new emotion. Could it have been grief? Or just a bad case of heartburn?

I sat there openmouthed.
Deeply mourned?
I’d been horrified by what had happened to Miss Henley, but it had never crossed my mind that she’d be mourned, that family and friends might grieve over her loss. And what did he mean by “so far”? I’d just flicked off the news when I noticed the loud banging at my door.

I assumed Jack was responsible for the racket. He’s always keen on breakfast at my place. But why didn’t he just walk in like every other time?

“Coming.” I took another gulp of caffeine and flung open the door. I wore my old blue-striped flannel pajamas and my hot pink bunny slippers. My nose was red, my eyes bleary, and my hair stuck out in several directions, all of them just plain wrong.

Crap. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Pepper Monahan stood on my doorstep, looking coiffed, buffed, waxed, and very official.

“Good morning, Charlotte,” she said.

“Glurk,” I said, choking on the coffee.

“Problem?” She raised a professionally shaped eyebrow.

“No.”

“You seem unsettled.”

I said, “Huh?”

Of course I was unsettled. I could have had a cardiac arrest at the sight of Pepper at the best of times. Damned if I’d tell her that, although I was guessing she knew.

“Yes. Rattled even.”

At that point Truffle and Sweet Marie remembered they were in charge of keeping strangers out. They shot into the room and hurled themselves at Pepper’s legs. For added drama, they snarled, growled, and snapped.

Pepper paled.

“Well,” I said, getting a grip on myself, “I
am
a bit surprised to see you.”

“Are you?” she said.

In all the years that Pepper and I had been closer than sisters, I never remembered having the urge to smack her face. I had it now. Big-time.