Organize Your Corpses (7 page)

“But it’s true and you know it.”

“In high school, sure, but not as adults. I can’t speak for the rest of Woodbridge, but I didn’t have any kind of dispute with her when she died.”

Sally gasped, “Of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest that.”

“The project would have been great. Except that I felt guilty about not meeting her that night.”

“How could you have known?”

“I might have found her in time to call 911.”

“I doubt that. If an oak beam falls on your head, there’s not much 911 can do for you. That’s what Benjamin said and he should know. So what else happened at the station? What was the interview room like? Is it the same as television?”

“It was just a room. Pepper sort of filled it, and she made me very nervous.”

“But why would you be nervous?”

I shook my head. “I’d like to get started on our project. We should have fun getting these toys sorted out.”

Sally said, “We don’t have to do that today. We shouldn’t just jump right into it.”

I nudged a broken doll with my foot. “It’s a good time to start. It will take my mind off Miss Henley.”

“Okay. You want a snack?”

“I’m good. Let’s take a couple of minutes and think about what you want to accomplish with our little organizing problem.”

Damn. That just slipped out. I’d meant to say organizing project. So much less judgmental.

Sally said, “I don’t have a problem.”

“But, Benjamin . . .”

“Yeah,
Benjamin
has a problem. I don’t. I don’t even know why I called you about it in the first place. I told you Benjamin’s being really anal lately and it was getting on my nerves.”

I didn’t plan to tiptoe through that particular marital minefield. I kept my mouth shut. For once.

Sally said, “I want my kids to be happy. I want them to have food to eat when they want it, and where they want it. I want them to have music and fun and toys and love. I want them to have lots of friends. I want them to be cuddled and valued and . . .” Sally choked up at this point.

I could have finished the sentence for her. She wanted them to have everything she’d missed. I remembered Sally letting herself into a dark house after school, never having me or Jack or Pepper or Margaret visit in case we left a glass out of place or a smudge on a piece of furniture. Sally keeping quiet so Mom’s headache didn’t get worse or her step-grouch didn’t get behind on his sleep.

This was going to take some pussyfooting on my part. I remembered Benjamin’s glower as he left. Whatever it took, it would be worth it.

“That’s all part of my plan too, Sal. Hard to argue with kids being happy and loved.”

“How would we know, right?” she said. “No wonder we were all such freakin’ misfits.”

“Hey,” I said.

“The truth always hurts, Charlotte. Hang on, let’s catch the news. Where’s that stupid remote?”

“What? Please don’t . . .” I wanted to say don’t add the racket from the television to the chaos we already have. Instead I said, “How about we wait for that? I brought these really neat boxes for the kids to keep their favorite toys in. Benjamin says he wants one room without toys. What do you want, Sally?”

“I want the remote.”

Both the kids started to blubber. “We want to keep our toys. Don’t let Charlotte take our toys.” The baby joined in, a wordless accusing shriek.

“I’m not taking your toys,” I said, but nobody was listening.

Sally clicked on the remote and Todd Tyrell’s giant teeth flashed across the screen again.

“He’s so gorgeous,” Sally said.

I stared at her. Had she lost her mind? She had Dr. Benjamin Janescek, an intelligent humanitarian, a fine doctor, a good father, a rumpled, cuddly teddy bear. She had three beautiful children and enough family income to stay home with them. She had a five-thousand-square-foot house and a trillion dollars worth of sharp-edged toys. Why would she give Todd Tyrell a thought? Maybe he had been a total stud muffin when he was head boy and we were in eighth grade, but surely a mother of three children should be long past that stage.

“You think?” I said.

“Just look at him. That gorgeous smile.”

“Oh yeah, the teeth. I was wondering if he plugged them in at night.”

Sally shot a scowl in my direction. “Very funny.”

“How old do you think he is?” I said. “Fifty?”

“What are you talking about? He was only three years ahead of us at St. Jude’s. Remember he was head boy?”

“I had forgotten,” I lied. “Maybe the fake tan just makes his skin seem that much older.”

Sally had developed a small pout by this time. “It’s not like you to be mean, Charlotte.”

“Maybe I’m changing. Necessity is the mother of invention and all that.”

“Shh! He’s saying something important.”

“I doubt that.”

“Pay attention. It’s about Miss Henley. You would have heard that if you hadn’t been so . . .”

I plunked myself on the sofa and paid attention.

Todd Tyrell had lowered his voice about an octave. That’s always a bad sign. “In breaking news, Woodbridge Police have revealed that the death of Woodbridge’s beloved teacher, Miss Helen Henley . . .”

I blinked twice at that. Beloved teacher?

“. . . was not a freak accident as previously believed. Police have revealed”—Todd lowered his voice into the basso profundo range—“foul play was involved.”

“Foul play?” I said. “That’s craptacular, but what does he mean?”

Sally gave me a condescending smirk. “He means murder, silly.”

The children danced and sang, “Murder, murder, murder.”

Truffle yipped in panic, and Sweet Marie shook like a dying leaf in the November wind.

 
“That’s as far as we got,” I said to Jack when I arrived home. I was more than a bit shaken by what I’d heard. I’d banged on his first-floor door and walked in to blurt out the news. I plunked myself down on the floor, surrounded by bikes, wheels, and racing gear, and box after box of supplies for the shop he hoped to set up. Truffle and Sweet Marie snuggled up to me. There were no other soft surfaces in Jack’s place.

Jack slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged facing me. “What did Sally mean, ‘misfits’? I thought we were just the weird kids.”

“Come on, Jack. Consider the families we had. Remember the kind of stunts Margaret’s mom used to pull to keep her away from the rest of us? The dying relatives who weren’t really dying. The crisis of the day at the store?”

“Mrs. Tang was a pussycat compared to Sally’s family. What a sour bunch they were. Supercritical. Mean.”

“Oh yeah. They were miserable, all right. It’s a miracle that Sally turned out to be such a warm, affectionate person.”

Jack said, “And Pepper’s were just as bad.”

“Worse. Remember the bruises on her arms? Miss Henley always used to pick up on the bad days and make life harder for her.”

“She could sure sniff out vulnerability. And there was no way Pepper could complain about it at home. She’d just end up with more bruises,” Jack said. “Made my folks seem normal.”

I hadn’t mentioned Jack’s swarthy, roly-poly mom and dad, barely five feet tall and perpetually terrified some disaster would befall the blue-eyed, white-blond beanpole they’d adopted.

Jack said, “They had nightmares about me starving to death.”

I had to laugh at that. “Hey listen, the rest of us didn’t mind. All those pies and cookies. They just kept coming. Endless snacks. Sally and I used to eat until it hurt.”

“I didn’t have such a bad deal, I guess.”

“I adored your parents. Maybe that’s part of the reason I like living here so much. I have really nice memories of this house from when we were growing up.”

“Yeah, I think the folks would be real happy to know you were living here too.”

“You’re probably right.” I didn’t add that they probably would have been just as happy that Jack had totally filled one entire floor of their lovely old Victorian with bicycles and parts, with a side order of philosophy books and university assignments. As long as he was eating lots.

“They were pretty cool, weren’t they?” Jack turned his face away, and I felt a catch in my throat.

I said, “For sure. And they thought you were the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

“You mean I’m not?”

“Of all of us, you were the lucky one, Jack.”

“Thanks, Charlotte. It’s hard for me to talk about them since the accident.”

I gave his hand a squeeze.

Jack produced a half-hearted grin. “Come on, your mom was pretty neat. She was so glamorous, and she sure could get the rumors flying around Woodbridge. And you can’t complain about the way she treated you. You got all those neat trips. Paris. London. Venice. L.A.”

“But life was always all about Esme Adams, best-selling author. Right through four marriages, each one wackier than the one before. And I never even got to know my own father. And I can’t even remember the name of this latest guy. No wonder I can’t pick a decent human being for a fiancé.”

“Never mind our parents. We had a lot of fun. I don’t think we were misfits. That’s harsh.”

“Let it go, Jack. That comment was just Sally’s way to distract me. Although the WINY news took care of that.”

“Whoa. Suspected foul play,” Jack said.

“But it’s almost impossible to believe. Who could have wanted to kill her?”

“Surely you jest,” Jack said.

I stared, astonished. “What do you mean? Jest. It’s murder.”

“She had tons of enemies, Charlotte. Think back. How many kids from her class would have nurtured anger and resentment over some humiliation at Hellfire Henley’s hands?”

“Kids are always being humiliated. It’s a rite of passage. How are you going to cope with adulthood otherwise?”

“Hellfire went way beyond. She could twist the knife and make a kid’s life a living nightmare. I know it. You know it. Everyone knew it. We were
just
talking about how she treated Pepper when her life was already the pits.”

“Even so.”

“But you had the guts to stand up to her. Imagine all the kids who couldn’t because they’d get in trouble at home if they did. Or expelled. Or just have to endure more and more bad treatment from the old witch.”

“We’re talking murder, Jack.
Murder.
I don’t care what you say. I don’t believe people commit homicide because they’re mad at someone who taught them way back.”

“Face it, the list of people who never felt like killing Miss Henley would be a lot shorter than the list of people who did. Just about everybody would have had some reason. Even Pepper.”

I shivered. “They’re not releasing the body yet.”

Jack said, “They’re not? But I heard on the radio that there’s a memorial service planned tomorrow afternoon, at St. Jude’s.”

“Really? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. That’s kind of fast, isn’t it? I wonder what the rush is.”

“I guess they figure a lot of people can get there on a Saturday afternoon. We’ll have to go.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

5

As memorial services go, Miss Henley’s had a festive air. And why not? According to the latest rumor rocketing through Woodbridge, all the instructions were in her will, right down to choice of the organ music. If you believed the wagging tongues, Father Timothy wasn’t all that happy to take orders from beyond the grave. True? Who knows? But Saturday turned out to be an excellent day to hold a memorial. People sure made a point of getting there early to get the best seat. When Jack and I drove up in my Miata, it was impossible to find a place to park anywhere near St. Jude’s. Jack is the proud owner of an ancient Mini Minor in an alarming shade of mud brown. It is currently experiencing technical difficulties, so mine is always the vehicle of choice.

We circled the block three times before spinning off to find a spot four blocks away.

“Well, crap. I can’t believe it,” I said. “We’re a half hour early. Who are all these people? You’d think it was a rock concert from the crowd.”

Jack said, “Told you we should have biked.”

“Not in this outfit, buster.”

By the time we reached the wide stairs to the church, I was doing my best not to limp in my black suede pumps with the four-inch heels. Sally and Benjamin were right behind us.

“It’s the place to be,” Sally said merrily. She was one of those blondes who were born to wear black and she knew it. She fluffed her corkscrew curls as she spotted Todd Tyrell in the clump of media types surrounding the church.

A crowd flowed behind us and swept past up the stairs. Eager beavers took the stairs two at a time. We were lucky enough to elbow our way into the last pew. I recognized quite a few people, from school and just from living in Woodbridge. Kristee from Kristee’s Kandees, Mrs. Tang, and Margaret were sitting closer to the front. I saw the two constables who had come to Henley House, the paramedics, and a pixielike woman with a sleek ponytail who I finally recognized as Mona Pringle, former schoolmate and now emergency services operator. She gave me a conspiratorial wink. I really, really hoped that no one else had spotted that.

I could feel the buzz in the air, like a midnight madness sale at the Woodbridge Mall, a swirl of excitement that seemed just plain wrong at a memorial service. Especially when the service was for someone whose body I’d found myself.

To add to the buzz, there was plenty of police presence. Sally elbowed me and pointed toward Pepper and her husband, the noted boy toy, Nick Monahan.

“There he is, God’s gift to the girls,” Sally snickered.

I kept my mouth firmly shut. The less said about Nick Monahan the better. But there was a good reason he’d earned the nickname “Nick the Stick.” It was just hard to believe that Pepper, with all her guts and brainpower, couldn’t see past that handsome face and athlete’s body. It had cost her my friendship. What else would it cost her?