Closet Confidential (36 page)

I waved merrily. He waved back grouchily. As the patrol car inched forward, I realized my knees were weak.

Dimitri melted back into the building as DeJong pulled up by my side.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure,” I said. After all, Dimitri didn’t know my full name or my address or anything else about me.

“Can I do anything?” he said. “You look like you’ve had a scare.”

“I guess I have had.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to lowlifes. I shouldn’t have told you where to find this guy. I didn’t think he was dangerous or I wouldn’t have. Detective Tierney will have my head on a spike.”

“Not your fault. Our little secret. And anyway I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’m only talking to police officers. Ha-ha.”

He grinned, something that didn’t happen often from what I’d seen. I took advantage of the grin to say, “Do you know Dean Oliver?”

He blinked. “Dean? Of course I know him. We’re a small force in Woodbridge. Why?”

“Because the whole reason I wanted to talk to Dimitri is that I need to reassure Anabel Beauchamp’s mother that her death was an accident and not murder. I was convinced it was an accident, and then all this stuff with Nick Monahan made me wonder. I read in the paper that this Officer Oliver was on the scene as well as Nick. I thought he might clear things up.”

Officer DeJong’s brow furrowed. He hesitated and stared at me. After a long pause, he said, “I didn’t know he was there. But if it was in the paper, I guess it can’t do any harm to talk about it.”

“Exactly. What harm could it do?”

“Don’t ask me. I keep getting everything wrong lately. Anyway, you already know Dean, I think. He was at Bakker Beach and at the hospital, too. Didn’t he drive you home?”

“Oh.” I barely stopped myself from saying,
He’s the smart, cute one
. DeJong’s day had apparently been bad enough without insulting his own intelligence or mustachioed appearance. “Of course. I’ll look for him.”

“Don’t tell Tierney I told you anything,” he said with another failed attempt at a hairy grin. “Dean’s a golden boy. He can’t put a foot wrong. So he won’t have to worry about getting roasted.”

“Thanks. And thanks for being here when I needed you, Officer DeJong. I appreciate it.”

DeJong flushed. I guessed he wasn’t used to being thanked. “Hey, be careful. Let the detectives work it all out. We don’t know what’s happening lately. Maybe when they turn up Nicky Monahan we’ll get to the bottom of things.”

“I’m not convinced he could have done these things.”

DeJong shook his head sadly. “Doesn’t make sense, does it? I’ve known Nicky since he joined the force. I can’t figure what went wrong. That girl’s death hit him real hard. He must have snapped. Lost his marbles. You ask me, he needs help.”

“Maybe,” I said with a sad smile.

Harry was waiting at the door when I arrived. He shook his head sadly.

I said, “Oh.”

He shrugged. “The champagne cocktail today is ambrosia. Would you like one?”

“No thanks. I don’t need anything, but I think we should talk.”

He gestured toward the grand, stark living room, and I followed him in.

“It’s not working, is it?” he said.

“Maybe when Lorelei has some closure over Anabel’s death, she’ll be able to take care of her closets. Right now, they’re the least of her problems. Let it go.”

“You’re right, Charlotte honey. I suppose I am trying to distract her. But there’s good news, though. She has decided to humor me, in turn, and let me pack away those winter coats in the front closet. We usually put them in the cedar closet. It’s got a climate control so the fur trims are all right.”

“I can help you with that,” I said.

Harry wouldn’t relax until I had ginger ale in a champagne glass. As I sipped, he said, “I keep hearing about this attack on Detective Pepper Monahan. It’s a terrible story. She’s a beautiful woman. I can’t believe her husband could treat her like that.”

“We don’t know what actually happened yet.”

After some casual chat and a plate of crackers and cheese, we headed to the crowded closet. We separated out those coats and jackets that needed cleaning. One beautiful silky trench in an unusual shade of amethyst was covered with splashes of dirt, and a cashmere car coat had a large coffee stain. A blue knit cape had some kind of unidentified grease on it. We laid those aside for cleaning, and Harry took an armload of coats. I did as well. “It’s a small thing,” he said, “but I have to feel I’m getting something accomplished.”

We carted the coats downstairs to the cedar storage area, which was larger than most people’s living rooms and lined with sturdy hanging rods. Another trip each with an armful and the coats were stashed for the winter. We did the same with boots, putting one gorgeous pair of buttery soft leather ones aside to have the lifts repaired and setting aside a pair of black patent leather platform boots, which Harry said he’d clean. Hats and scarves followed. I carried a black trilby, a poor boy cap, and a puffy fur number.

Harry said, “She loves hats. I think she prefers the rain and snow because she always has an excuse to wear one.”

I knew that Lorelei would acquire a new wardrobe of outerwear when fall rolled around and she’d keep everything she had. I would have liked to see some of these items go to the women’s shelter. Woodbridge winters are cold and damp, and genuine wool and cashmere would seem like a miracle to people who had nothing.

When we were finished, Harry said, “Thank you. I know it’s been frustrating.”

I said, “I hope to be able to put her mind to rest at some point.”

Harry hung his head sadly. “I don’t know if anyone will ever put her mind to rest, Charlotte honey. But I am glad you are here for us.”

I decided to drop the items off at the dry cleaner’s. That would give me a sense of doing something for Harry if not Lorelei. And another reason to go back to Friesen Street. First I checked in with Woodbridge General to see if I could visit Pepper. I got no answer in her room. A call to the nursing station told me she’d been taken for tests, whatever that meant.

I checked out the three motels within a short drive of the Beauchamps’. None of them had purple key cards. That would have been too easy.

I was back on Friesen Street and heading into the dry cleaner’s minutes before they closed their doors at the unusual time of seven. I put the amethyst trench and the cashmere car coat on the counter, with the blue knit cape next to it. I realized that I had forgotten to check these pockets, something I am always telling my clients to do. There were a few unused tissues in the car coat and a torn envelope and a crumpled note in the pocket of the trench.

As the dry cleaner filled out the slip, I tossed the tissues and checked the crumpled paper to see if it was trash, too. The woman behind the counter looked up as I gasped. The note said:

How had Lorelei reacted to that note? She’d obviously opened it and read it. Had Dimitri betrayed the love and trust that Anabel had promised him? My cell phone was bleating insistently. I answered it the third time it vibrated in case it was news of Pepper. Too late. Harry had left a message to call him. I thought this note was better returned to him and Lorelei in person, not discussed on the phone. As I always believed, every closet has its secret.

A strange and horrible thought crossed my mind as I stared at the coat. The lovely amethyst trench was covered with splashes of dirt. I snatched it back from the cleaner and said, “Sorry, I’ll leave the other things. But I need this back.”

I returned Harry’s call. “Is it the coat, Harry?” I said when he answered.

“She’s pitching a fit, Charlotte honey. I explained that you had only taken it to be cleaned, but you know what she’s like.”

I said, “Was she wearing it the day Anabel died?”

I heard Harry’s intake of breath. “How did you know?” I lied a little bit. “I know it was a dirty day. What was she wearing with it?”

“The black patent boots, I think, and the trilby. She looks wonderful in that outfit. Of course, she hasn’t worn it since.”

“Tell her I’ll bring it back tomorrow. It hasn’t been to the dry cleaner’s yet.”

Minutes later, I was across the street, ringing Thalia Waverman’s door. I waited for the slow progress of her cane. She opened the door and smiled at me with delight.

This time she insisted on plying me with ice tea before she would talk what she called “business.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Waverman.”

“Thalia, please. We agreed.”

“Thalia, do you recognize this coat?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s very beautiful. Should I?”

“Think back to the day Anabel died across the street. You said you saw a man in a blue coat and Anabel seemed to be avoiding him. At first I thought it was Dimitri, a young man with a dark leather jacket.”

Thalia snorted. “Dimitri?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it wasn’t Dimitri. We all know him. He’s done a lot to make our little neighborhood safer.”

Why hadn’t I asked about Dimitri before and saved myself some trouble? Once again, a surprise.

I said, “Could this be the coat the man you saw wore?” “Yes, but now, my dear, I see that this is a woman’s coat. The person was far away and so tall, I suppose I thought . . .”

“A six-foot-tall model wearing three-inch heels and a hat with a crown might give that impression. Especially wearing a hat you might expect a man to wear.”

“I should have realized. Men today don’t wear hats like that, do they? Except for Rudy.”

I hadn’t asked Rudy the right questions. A woman in a hat? That might have done it. Even if I’d said “person,” I could have saved myself some time and trouble. Now I had my information: Lorelei had been on Friesen Street the day Anabel died, although she hadn’t gone to the construction site. Lorelei had read Anabel’s note and gone down to stop the wedding to the unsuitable young man, Dimitri. Anabel had not wished to deal with her formidable mother at that moment, so she had dodged behind the fence in the construction site to avoid a confrontation. While there, she’d slipped on the muddy walkway in her unfamiliar high-heeled shoes. Lorelei must have realized this in some part of her disturbed brain. No wonder she was in such bad shape. Of course she wanted to believe someone had murdered her daughter. Who could blame her for that?