Closet Confidential (4 page)

After I left Tang’s Convenience, I drove by the spot on Friesen Street where Anabel’s body had been found. I pulled up and stopped. The construction site for the new condo project was set off from prying eyes by a high chain-link fence. As if that wasn’t enough, pressed-wood panels kept the project from view. Still, the fence had one of those convenient mesh window slots that keep the curious happy. I fell into that category, although I had to stand on my tiptoes to see in, and I didn’t find much of a view. There hadn’t been a lot of progress on this building. There was still a gaping hole in the middle, with a narrow pathway around it. The hole was easily fifteen feet deep and cluttered with boards and metal debris, and our recent late spring rains had left what looked like a foot of water. It was framed with wooden walls that I assumed were the formwork for the foundation. Like the narrow, slippery path around the excavated area, the wood was a muddy mess. My guess was that the project had stalled after Anabel Beauchamp’s accident and had yet to get going again. I’d heard that the foundation had been full of stagnant water when Anabel had slipped from the narrow walkway and fallen into it. I felt a chill at the thought. I shivered and not because the afternoon was unseasonably cool. What a place to die. So close to people and yet absolutely invisible. I tried not to think about poor Anabel slipping beneath the dark water when no help came. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I did wonder what she had been doing there. No one seemed to have any idea why Anabel had been in such a spot alone. And more to the point, how had she managed to get in? I walked along the boarded-up front of the site and couldn’t see a way in, not that I had any desire to check it out in person. An access door was firmly padlocked. Perhaps the wood and chain-link fence and the padlocks had been a response to Anabel’s drowning. I certainly didn’t want to question Harry about the circumstances of his daughter’s death, and that would go double for Lorelei, but I figured I could find out elsewhere. Not from Connor Tierney, though. I knew the idea of me asking questions about a death would not go down well with him.

I glanced around at Friesen Street. It was a peculiar part of Woodbridge, a mix of older homes that had been converted into apartments or businesses and low-rise office buildings, many with
FOR RENT
signs in the windows. Unlike some of the funkier uptown and downtown neighborhoods, it hadn’t yet been discovered by the artsy crowd, but this condo development was designed to change all that. In two years, if the development went ahead, Friesen Street would probably look quite different.

I wondered what that would mean for the apartment building across the street, a six-story relic from the sixties boom, now slightly shabby, if still respectable. Some sweet soul nearby seemed to be baking bread. I liked the idea that many residents had small but flourishing gardens on their balconies.

The rest of the street was normal. A mix of businesses: a dingy dry cleaner, a sandwich shop. The storefront office for the building project had the dustiest window I’d ever seen in a commercial enterprise. Behind the layer of grime was a glossy concept drawing of how the tiered condo would transform this street. Anabel had worked her heart out for Hope for Youth at Risk. That window was spotless, and the howling yellow sign brightened the row of businesses, all closed for Sunday. I didn’t spot any of the street kids or troubled youth who were the clients, although there was plenty of graffiti on the boards around the site. Still, there were signs of life and community. A few seniors were ambling by, and a jaunty man in his sixties wearing a straw fedora and riding a motorized scooter went buzzing past me. He tipped his fedora and grinned. I grinned back. An old Civic sputtered before it turned the corner where an elderly gentleman was making a slow approach to the mailbox at the corner. Friesen Street was still home to perfectly normal-looking people.

Lucky me, I had a baby gift in the tiny trunk of my car, waiting for the right moment to drop it off to my once again friend, Pepper Monahan. The right moment was defined as the one when her husband, Officer Nick (the Stick) Monahan, was nowhere to be seen. Next stop, Old Pine Street and the Arts and Crafts home that Pepper shared with Nick and the baby. I grabbed the gaily wrapped gift and turboed up the walkway.

Pepper answered the door in saggy jeans and a stained sweatshirt and carrying her son in her arms. They both seemed to be wearing a good deal of orange goop. Pepper even had some in her hair, which was due for a cut. The baby kept trying to make a swan dive toward the floor to reach the purple sock monkey he had tossed there.

I said, “Is this a good time?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I am desperate to socialize with someone who knows words and who won’t spit strained carrots at me.”

“I’ll do my best to deliver.”

“Cute.” She bent to pick up the sock monkey. The baby hugged it with his orange-stained hands. “He can’t live without this or his yellow ducky. Thank heavens they’re both washable. Come on in. Nick’s working overtime again, so Little Nick and I are hanging around throwing food at each other. Well, one of us is throwing food, the other one is wiping it up. Whoops! Almost lost him.”

I followed Pepper into her living room. The formerly trendy space had been transformed by acres of baby gear. I found an empty section of the sofa and sat down. I waggled the wrapped baby gift.

I refused to call the child Little Nick. “Look how big he is. It seems like yesterday when he was born.”

“I can’t get over that he’ll be eight months old soon. He has four teeth already. I have the bite marks to prove it. So much for breastfeeding. Anyway, we’re getting ready to show them off at his christening party.”

I hoped she meant the teeth. “But the christening was months ago.”

“We waited for the big party because Nick’s mom hasn’t been all that well, so she couldn’t come all the way up from South Carolina. Now she’s doing better and we are going to have a big bash. I meant to send invitations, but I’m behind schedule. I can’t even keep up with the house. It’s a disaster here. I sure miss my cleaning lady. I let her go because it’s not so easy on the one salary and I should be able to keep it up myself.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Pepper. Get Nick to help.”

“As if. I believe that he’d lay down his life for me or Little Nick, but that doesn’t mean he would change a diaper or run a vacuum cleaner. That’s a different part of his value system.” She positioned the baby so that he could hold on to the large ottoman, and he seemed to have fun alternating between clinging to the ottoman and bouncing while holding on to the purple sock monkey.

“Come on, Pepper. You had a hellish pregnancy and a difficult birth and a baby who was sick for weeks. Who cares if your house has a few things scattered around? Let it go.”

“That’s funny coming from you, Miss Obsessive-Compulsive Organizer Freak. Of course, I mean that in the kindest way.”

“I accept the title, but believe me, my obsessions are only about things that matter.”

The familiar grin showed. “I’m bitching because Nick’s never home lately. Little Nick is crazy about his daddy, and he’s missing the small amount of attention he gets.”

“My friend Lilith Carisse is always looking for an hour or two here and there, especially if she doesn’t get her shifts. She’s working a batch of part-time jobs to put herself through college. If you let yourself see past the teal blue hair and the new nose ring, she’s a dream employee. She could do some of the heavy work for you or even vacuum the house or weed the garden—”

“Weed the garden? My mind never even gets that far. Sorry, Charlotte, I’m so tired of eating canned spaghetti when Nick’s not around and it brings out the worst in me.”

Canned spaghetti? I had actually noticed the half-eaten plate of orange food congealing on the table. It went well with the strained carrots she was wearing.

Pepper continued. “Anyway, the party’s in St. Jude’s Hall two weeks from Saturday. To be followed by a big Irish party with religious overtones and lots of drinking.”

“Wonderful. I look forward to that.”

“I’m planning to invite Sally and Ben and Margaret and Frank.”

“Don’t forget Jack. He can help, too. He loves babies more than anybody I know.”

“I already asked him because he’s been by a couple of times to visit Little Nick.”

“He has?” I felt the little frisson of jealousy that comes over me when Jack, my own personal Jack, my best friend in the world and my landlord to boot, hangs out with other people and their babies. I have to work on that.

“You know what Jack’s like with babies. I wish Nick was as excited about being a father. Sometimes he seems to be a bigger kid than the baby. Have you been talking to him?”

“Nick?” I shook my head. “Nope. Haven’t seen him for months.”

I’d been dodging Nick for years. I didn’t find Nick in the least bit appealing, but Pepper sometimes got ideas in her head that there was something between us. It had led to a years’ long rift, and we’d only put that behind us in recent months. I wanted to protect the new harmonious friendship. A distraction seemed called for.

“Crazy question. Do you remember the accident that killed Anabel Beauchamp about six months ago?”

“Of course I do. I went to the funeral. Weren’t you there?”

I shook my head. “It happened when I was on vacation in Europe.”

“Right, of course. I forgot about that.” Pepper reached over to steady the baby. “She did a lot of work with a group that tried to divert kids from crime and poverty and life on the street.”

“Yes, the Hope for Youth at Risk organization makes a difference. Lilith Carisse was one of their clients. They helped her get a place to live and her first part-time job. Look at her now. She’ll have that college degree before you know it.”

Pepper said, “Anabel didn’t have to do that. The Beauchamps are loaded, and she would have been able to have a glamorous job somewhere. Anywhere. Paris. London. Rome.”

“Actually, Anabel never needed to work at all, but she was a very down-to-earth person, not at all materialistic. I always thought of her as a person with no edge at all.”

Pepper’s cop training showed. “But of course,
I
have edge. So I’ll have to inquire why you’re asking.”

“No reason. I’m doing a closet organization job for her mother.”

“There’s always a reason when you ask something, Charlotte. And I’m guessing it’s not closets. You might as well come right out with it.”

“Fine. Lorelei Beauchamp seems convinced that someone murdered Anabel. So I’m wondering what you’ve heard.”

Pepper shook her head. “I haven’t heard a whisper that it was anything but an accident. Nick was one of the first people on site. I’ve seen my partner Frank quite often, and he didn’t mention it.”

“Of course, he might be distracted since he married Margaret.”

“He wouldn’t be too distracted to be a first-rate detective,” Pepper snapped.

“Right.”

Pepper must have felt the need for a little rant. “What is it with parents that they want to believe their kids were murdered instead of dying accidentally? I think I’d prefer the accident. Murder is so horrible, and to think that someone would kill your child, it’s incredible.” She gave Little Nick a tight squeeze. He pulled her hair.

“Agreed. Lorelei came right out and said it. I’m sure it’s the grief talking.”

“Yeah well, don’t let her talk you into driving everyone in the department nuts again.”

“Absolutely no warning needed, Pepper. I have no intention of doing anything but straightening out the closets at the Beauchamp home. Not interested in foul play or dirty deeds.”

“Or snooping around in investigations that don’t concern you and stirring up trouble.”

I straightened up. “Is there an investigation? I thought—”

“There isn’t one. It was an accidental death. And the local force has plenty to do without you meddling and wasting people’s time. I hope you’ve lost that habit.”

I can always tell when Pepper’s lying, the legacy of growing up together and telling our share of whoppers. If she believed Anabel’s death was an accident, that was good enough for me.

“I’ve been enjoying my quiet, normal life lately.”

Pepper gave me an appraising glance.

“Let’s open the baby’s gift.” I’d picked up a selection of books at Cuddleship, my favorite uptown kids’ shop.

Pepper squealed when the books came out “
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
! I loved that when I was a kid.”

“Me, too!”

Her face softened. “And
Goodnight Moon
. My mom used to read that to me.”

“Mine, too.” Well, at least she’d arranged for someone to read it to me. “I got them in the board book format so they may survive longer.”

Little Nick reached out for the caterpillar with both pudgy hands.

“He loves it,” Pepper said with a wide smile.