Organize Your Corpses (30 page)

“She’ll kill me.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll actually kill you. She’ll hurt you, definitely. And make your life miserable for years, I imagine. She’ll watch you like a hawk. You won’t be able to—”

“But Charley . . . you were the one I had the hots for all during high school. Remember? It was you. I was crazy about you, babe. I couldn’t help myself. It’s not my fault. I still—”

“Yeah, whatever. Pull the trigger or let me go.” I didn’t think that Nick Monahan had the guts to shoot me or the brains to find a solution. The worst I could expect would be a grope. In his nervous state, I was pretty sure even that wouldn’t happen.

I said, “Tell you what. I’ll head off now and you call for backup. No hard feelings.”

Nick stood there and slowly reholstered his weapon.

“There’s an all—”

“I know, APB. So chances are one of your colleagues will get me.”

“But listen, the other guys think you killed a bunch of people. They might really shoot you.”

“I didn’t kill anybody, but Pepper wants to think so.”

“Well, Pepper’s . . . hotheaded. And she can be kind of mean. But they still need proof to be able to charge you with murder. Why don’t you just come into the station? No one’s gonna be able to prove you killed anyone. I even think Pepper knows that. No one will get hurt if you come in. It’ll just be a bit of inconvenience, and that Korean chick will get you out.”

He had a point. It was a sensible approach. And I am almost always sensible. And no one would get hurt. Who was left at that point anyway? I must have gasped out loud.

Nick said, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I whispered. I’d just realized who else could get hurt.

A window squeaked open in the house near us. A quavery elderly voice called out, “Did you catch the prowler, officer?”

Nick turned toward the window. “No, ma’am. No prowler here. Just a nice lady, looking for her dogs.”

“Sorry, officer, I can’t hear you. Did you arrest him?”

Nick raised his voice. “No prowler, ma’am.”

“You’re putting him in the van?”

Nick moved closer to the window. “It’s just a case of mistaken identity, ma’am.”

“Do you need me to identify him?” she quavered.

Nick put his face right up to the window and shouted, “It’s all right, ma’am. Nothing to worry about.”

If only that were true.

He turned back to face me. He shrugged in a big, goofy, lovable way and flashed the famous Monahan grin at me. “Nothing to worry about at all,” he repeated soothingly.

Even my tired, overwrought brain knew there was plenty to worry about. So many people dead. Would Olivia be next? I knew I had to do something. Fast. What were the chances that if I told Nick my crazy suspicions, he would do the intelligent thing? Nonexistent. In my heart, I knew that Nick would make it worse somehow. I couldn’t let that happen.

Nick was back at the window again. Declining an offer of hot cocoa and s’mores. I heard genuine regret in his voice. If I hadn’t been there, I was certain Nick would have accepted. He was always nice to old ladies and small animals. Those were his good qualities. He leaned in farther to reassure the woman in the window. I seized that opportunity to make a run for it. I raced along the driveway, hurtled over the broken-down fence, and dashed over to the next street.

 
I was grateful to Nick for being a spineless dimwit who was unlikely to shoot me and to Rose for living close by. I found the dogs huddled in front of the yellow door, barking to be let in. I clicked the lock on the door behind us. I slid down to the floor and let the troublemakers scamper off to see if the cat was still in the bathroom.

Okay. I have a policy about doing the right thing. But what exactly was the right thing in a case like this? The idea unfolding in my brain was so wacky, I couldn’t imagine even trying to explain it to any police officer, let alone Pepper, who was in charge of the case. First of all, I could no longer pretend I didn’t know the police were looking for me. Even Nick would remember that he’d told me. I needed time to think my way through the mess of thoughts battling in my head. I needed peace and quiet.

Of course, the police were bound to put two and two together and start banging on Rose’s door. In fact, I wasn’t sure why the person who attacked Rose hadn’t told them to look for me there, but that would probably happen. I thought I heard sirens in the distance, getting closer. I reached for Rose’s key rack and grabbed her keys. The neighbors might be in Florida, but their houses were available. With a dog squirming under each arm, I hightailed it out the back door and across the yard.

Luck was with me. The third key fit and I was in. I slithered along the floor through the kitchen and hallway and up the stairs. Of course, I couldn’t turn on the lights. I definitely didn’t want the police catching sight of my slithering backside. I felt my way through a bedroom. One of the beds had an extra blanket folded at the foot. I tucked it around the dogs, covering their heads. That always sends them to dreamland. I tried not to think of how far I’d sunk in life. How had I gone from being a helpful professional organizer to a furtive home invader? I promised myself I would do something nice for these neighbors of Rose’s as soon as I got my head straight. Through the drawn bedroom curtains, I could see the pulsating lights of police vehicles. It sure made it hard to think calmly. Finally, I flopped on the bed, closed my eyes, pulled a pillow over my head, and tried to deal with the crazy questions in my brain.

Who could help me? Margaret? No, as an attorney, she’d have to advise me to turn myself in. Maybe she’d have to notify the police. Another thought hit me: even though Margaret didn’t know about Miss Henley, her mother could have told her I was in the neighborhood when Wynona Banks was killed. Definitely no calls to Margaret.

A small, nasty voice in my head told me I had to be careful. Someone who knew me well was behind these killings. But who had known about my involvement in Miss Henley’s project aside from my friends? Who knew I planned to meet Dominic at Henley House? I’d left messages for Sally, Jack, Lilith, and even Margaret. I’d even called Rose. Sally and Jack had both known Miss Henley was going alone to Henley House on the night she was killed. Sally, Jack, and even Margaret would recognize my formerly lucky pen. They knew from my phone messages that Dominic might be the Henley heir.

I couldn’t remember telling Sally I’d been at Tang’s that afternoon, but I’d certainly blubbered it to Jack. In fact, Jack knew everything. The same Jack who was supposed to meet me at the Henley House, so I wouldn’t go in and meet with Dominic—or whoever Dominic
really
was—alone. The same Jack who never showed his face, although his bicycle had been there. The same Jack who was tall, fair, and blue-eyed, like Olivia and Crawford. Not short and dark and intense like his fond adoptive parents. The same Jack who had easy access to my car. My friend, Jack. Who was he, really? Could I trust him to help me now?

And what about Sally? She was blonde, tall, and graceful like Crawford. I remembered Sally’s own mom as a small, grey, bitter woman, leading a joyless existence with the stepfather who treated Sally like gum under his shoe. Could Sally have been a Henley born on the wrong side of the blanket? Could she have plotted the deaths of Helen Henley and Dominic because they stood in the way of her inheritance?

No one else made sense except one of these two. I didn’t know Lilith well, but she hadn’t been around at the early stages. She had no way to know what I’d been up to with Miss Henley or where I was when Wynona was killed. The same with Rose, who’d ended up a victim herself. The only two who made sense were Jack and Sally. If Esme Adams were writing this story, one of them would have been the guilty party for sure.

“Well, that’s real nice, Charlotte,” I said out loud. This isn’t one of your mother’s hyped-up tales, I reminded myself. And Sally and Jack are your lifelong friends. You know what’s in their hearts. You know you can trust them.

A thought struck me. Sally keeps that television blasting on WINY day and night. She would have seen the news alerts. She’d be frantic with worry. All it would take was one quick phone call to reassure her. But Pepper would anticipate that. I didn’t know how long it took to tap phone lines, but Pepper would know which ones to go for: Sally, Jack, and Margaret. All the misfits.

I was truly on my own.

The police would be taking Rose’s place apart by now. It was just a matter of time until they found that gym bag with my bloodstained clothing. What if someone had seen me run next door? Plus my car was still in Rose’s backyard, covered with the tarp. The cops would want to talk to the neighbors. They’d come here too. Would they kick the door down?

This kind of thinking gets your adrenaline going. I sat up, heart pounding, head buzzing, and front tooth aching. I could hardly call my dentist. Wait, there was something about dentists. Something I’d heard at the memorial. Something that may have been important. And better, something that might help me get out of this tight spot.

I crawled back downstairs. The flashing from outside gave off enough weird flickering illumination for me to see as I moved around. I located the phone and the phone book. Next I found a door in the kitchen and opened it, hoping it led to the basement. I made my way tentatively onto the stairs and pulled the door closed behind me. I felt for a light switch and flicked it on. If my luck was still holding, I could find what I wanted and no one would see the light from outside. I fumbled through the phone book until I found the telephone number I needed. My hands were shaking as I pressed the keys on my cell phone.

First I took my five messages. Sally sounded hysterical. Jack was just as bad. Even Margaret had a touch of emotion in her voice. Of course, I couldn’t call them back.

The fourth message was from my laundry client, now the least of my problems. She said with a chuckle, “We’ll be going ahead with that project now. He’s been watching the news with his mouth hanging open. I said you were real ticked off at him. I told him I’d picked up a few pointers from you. He’s looking at things a bit differently.”

The last message was a welcome one from Glenda Baillie. I guess she hadn’t caught the television news about me. “Hello, Charlotte. To answer your question, my mom said she was on her way to get some chocolate truffles for Olivia. Someone had asked her to pick them up. She was always happy to do something extra for Olivia and it got her killed.”

Click, click, click. The pieces started to fit together: the prank phone call to Kristee, the closed chocolate shop, the presence of the Dominic Lo Bello impostor at Tang’s around the corner so soon after the shooting. His sudden interest in me.

I needed to get the hell out of here and move fast.

Ramona was surprised to hear from me.

“Charlotte?” she said, for the second time.

I said, “At the memorial reception, you mentioned you saw Miss Henley on that last day. I really, really need to know exactly where she was going.”

“The last time? Oh right. Let me think. I was going to the doctor’s.”

“And you saw her there?”

“I saw her heading down the hallway toward the office when I was on my way out. I told you she could still rattle me. But why do you want to know?”

I said, “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“But what have you got yourself into? The news . . .”

“It’ll all blow over. I’ll just head on down and see if I can figure out what was going on.”

Ramona shrilled, “Head on down where? To the Medical-Dental Building? To Dr. Janescek’s office?”

“No choice. Benjamin’s my doctor too, you know. Thanks.”

“Please, Charlotte, don’t go anywhere. You have to turn yourself in before something terrible happens.”

“They’ll never take me alive,” I said.

Ramona’s sense of humor had deserted her. “Listen to me! You’re up to your patootie in . . .”

I clicked off, secure in the knowledge that Ramona would have no choice but to call the cops. But just in case, I had one more number to look up.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” Professor Quarrington said when he heard my request. “Of course, I’ll be happy to help. You’ll be where?”

“Miss Henley’s home. Her own home, not the Henley House.”

“Would you like me to meet you there?”

“No thanks. Just tell the police I’m on my way. I have to run now. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.”

“No trouble at all, my dear.”

Don’t be so sure, I thought, after I hung up.

I needed to speak to Lilith, but her number was in my address book. I’d left my purse in the bedroom. I switched off the light and headed back upstairs. I waited long enough to hear the slamming of car doors. I peeked through the blinds to see the cop cars careening off. That was my cue: I grabbed the blanket with the sleeping dogs and raced downstairs.

 
I couldn’t drive the Miata. With an APB out on me, I could hardly take a cab, and Stone Wall Farm was well beyond walking distance. That left Rose’s old LeMans. At least I had the keys, and after my break-in, blanket snatching, and calls to mislead the police, what was a little joyride? Rose had said that one of her neighbors checked it every now and then. Was there a chance it was still running? It wasn’t like I had a better plan. The engine sputtered, then coughed and turned over.

“Snuggle up and hang on,” I told the dogs.

My heart rate skyrocketed as I passed a pair of police cars, facing each other, at the corner of the street where I’d last seen Nick the Thick.

My cell phone rang, and I held the wheel with one hand and answered, something I would disapprove of normally.

“I found her,” Lilith said.

“Who?”

“Rose’s daughter, of course. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“Sorry, I’m a bit . . .”

“Anyway, she’s an actress. She’s shooting a movie in Vancouver, and she doesn’t see how she could get back here right now.”