The Cluttered Corpse (23 page)

“I told you so, you idiot,” Bonnie said. There were streaks down her cheeks. “You are going to blow everything again.”

Of course, I was the idiot, but I didn't bother to say so. The delivery guy groaned, and Bill whacked him again.

“Look!” I said, pointing behind them. “The cops!”

As they both whirled, I sprinted toward the street shrieking my head off. I didn't get far. Bill tackled me and I found myself on the gravel, flattened by his weight.

“Where are they?” he said.

I managed to grunt. “Can't breathe.”

I gasped for breath as he stood up. He yanked my jacket and pulled me to my feet. He spun me around. I found myself staring into Bonnie's eyes. She continued to hold the gun, quite steady. I thought those things were heavy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the delivery guy was passed out cold.

“Where are they?” Bill repeated.

“They're across the street, and you can't get away with this. They'll be here in a second. People have heard me. They heard your names.”

“Nobody heard and if they did, they're not going to be here in time for you. Don't play stupid games with us.” Gone was Bonnie's gentle voice. This one made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Where are they?”

“I'm not playing games. I don't know who you want. Just put it in words and if I know I'll tell you. I'd like to get out of here.”

“Emmy Lou had something belonging to me. You have it now. Where is it?”

“I don't have anything of Emmy Lou's. What could I have? Except for a bunch of stuffed animals.”

“That's better. Maybe we won't have to kill you.”

I tried hard to make this compute. Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? “You want the toys she had when she ran out of the house after Tony died?”

I twisted to look up at Bill. He was watching Bonnie. She kept her eyes on me. How had I never noticed how cold and hard those eyes were?

“You know what I mean.”

“I don't have anything else.” I don't know anything about guns, except that they can kill you. The one Bonnie was holding seemed terribly big. Huge. But they hadn't shot the delivery guy, so maybe they were bluffing, maybe it was a replica. Maybe they didn't want to take the chance of a gunshot waking the sleeping neighbors on Bell Street.

“Do you believe we won't shoot you and him too? Don't delude yourself. Tell me where the mice are and you'll get out of here alive.”

“The wedding mice? That doesn't make any sense at all.”

Bonnie turned to Bill. “I guess we should shoot her.”

I said, “The police will hear that for sure, and there's only one way out of here.”

Bill said, “You can see that Bonnie's under a lot of stress. Why don't you tell us where they are? When we have the safety deposit key, we'll leave you alone.”

Bonnie exploded. “What are you blabbing about that for? You are so stupid, Bill. I should shoot you too.”

Safety deposit key? My mind whirled.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to blab. This isn't easy, you know.”

“But I don't have them anymore. They're with the book—” I snapped my mouth shut. I didn't believe that Bonnie would shoot me while I had information that they needed.

“Where?” Bill said. The menace in his voice sent an icy chill racing down my spine. How could I have thought these people were pleasant? How could I ever have wanted to help them?

“They're gone,” I said. “I didn't want them. I never keep stuffed toys.”

“You said with the book,” Bonnie said, narrowing her eyes.

“I'm an organizer. I clear surplus items out all the time. I took them to the Goodwill, along with some books.” That seemed safe. The Goodwill was closed. Even if they went in waving their gun, no one would get hurt.

Bonnie turned to Bill. “That girl was talking about bookcases yesterday. For Emmy Lou's project.
Bookcases.
Someone was building them for you. Is that where they are?”

“No,” I said shrilly. “I told you, Goodwill. You can check in the morning. Trust me.”

“I trust that you're lying. I can see through you. Where are the bookcases and the mice?”

I thought fast. I'd witnessed the brutal way Bill hit the delivery guy. I'd observed the merciless expression on Bonnie's face. I'd seen Lilith lying near death in the trauma unit after she'd been run down by a white van. As much as I wanted to save myself, I couldn't send them to a defenseless Gary Gigantes.

“Promise me you won't hurt my friend,” I said.

Bill yanked my hair. “Look at me,” he said. “Bonnie's upset. If we get the mice, we're out of here. No one will get hurt.”

I tried not to turn and stare at the wounded delivery guy. A board across the head would do more than hurt. Was he alive? And even if he was, I didn't believe that Bonnie and Bill would leave me around to describe that assault to the police. There wasn't much I could do for either of us. I did my best to stay calm, keep my heart rate under control, keep my breathing natural. After all, they hadn't shot him. Maybe they wouldn't shoot me either.

“Tell you what,” Bonnie said. “If you lie to me about this and I don't find what I'm looking for, I will kill your friends one by one until you tell me the truth. Then I will take you somewhere that the sound of a gun doesn't matter. Understand?”

Bill said, “Bonnie, please.”

I felt a wave of anger and hatred toward this woman. How many people had she harmed? It hit me like a board across the head: Bonnie had come from the Rheinbecks' house. She must have had keys. She'd been searching for the wedding mice. Who owned the key Bill had mentioned? Emmy Lou? Whatever I didn't know, I was sure I was staring at Tony's killer. Had Bonnie been driving the van that hit Lilith? Did Bill have the cruel edge to do it?

“Shut up, Bill. She's sitting on our ticket out of here.” She focused on me again. “You heard me. The girl in the hospital. I'll finish her off this time. The old lady. Why not? Your friend Jack. Right between the eyes.”

It was essential to keep calm, rational. I said, “But why?”

Bill turned to Bonnie. “I told you it was crazy hiding it over there. They're never going to track us down here. You're really paranoid about that. Now we really have to go into hiding again. But we can't kill people. If we have to, we can say the other thing was an accident.”

Bonnie said, “It was an accident.”

The other thing: Would that be poor dead Tony? Or Lilith?

Bonnie's voice sliced through me. “I need those goddamn mice. Don't argue. Pull yourself together. You're either with me or you're history.”

“I'm with you, Bonnie. Always. No matter what. You know that.”

I tried to see something I could use as a weapon, but there was nothing but the Dumpster, the demolition site, and the Wrights' garage. There were no windows in the garage, and even if there had been, no one was there to see us. That's the problem with garages, I thought, they're—An idea rocketed through my brain. I tried to keep the hope off my face.

“And this one knows where they are. Now, Charlotte, talk or else.”

“All right,” I said, taking yet another calming breath. “I gave them to my friend because she's having a baby. They were with some baby books,
Jemima Puddle-Duck, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle
, the Beatrix Potter collection. They're painting the baby's room now and she's stored everything in her garage, with the baby equipment she's been collecting,” I babbled on. “They don't know if it's a boy or a—”

“Stop stalling” Bonnie said. “Just give me the address.”

I raised a hand in entreaty. “Okay, okay. She's on Old Pine Street. Let me think, um, number 42. Everything's stored in the garage. It's a separate building, to the left of the house.”

“You'd better be telling the truth.” She raised the gun. This time her hand shook, but that only made her seem more dangerous. “You're staying here. Bill, take care of her until we get it.”

Bill whipped a roll of duct tape out of his pocket.

“Remember, better be telling the truth,” Bonnie said.

Behind her I saw the delivery guy stir. The moon was so bright I could see the blood trickling down the side of his head, but his eyes had opened. His hand slid silently toward the board he'd been hit with.

I had nothing to lose by my question: “I told you what you wanted, now tell me, why did you kill Tony?”

She snorted. “That creepy Neanderthal jumped out at me, screaming and cackling. Enough to scare a person to death. I gave him a good shove and down the stairs he went. Better off dead anyway.”

The delivery guy was inching forward, behind Bonnie. Bill grabbed my hands and held them together in front of me. He wrapped the duct tape expertly around them. “For your friends' sake, I hope we find it. She's not kidding,” he said. He pulled a box cutter out of his pocket to sever the ends of the tape.

I tried not to let my eyes drift to the injured man's progress. Inch, inch, inch.

My back was to the Dumpster, with Bonnie's gun trained on me. I willed myself to be still. I looked at Bill and tried to hold eye contact with him as long as possible, so that he didn't see the delivery guy rise silently to his knees and then into a crouch behind Bonnie.

I said, “I see you have the white van everyone's talking about. I guess it belongs to Nerd on the Spot. I suppose you were driving that when you slashed my tires as I was talking with your wife. I just want to know why.”

Bonnie bent over and said, “Why do you think? Because you're a nosy, meddling busybody and you were going to ruin everything for us.”

I figured stalling was the only tactic I had left. Perhaps Patti would come back before Bill finished wrapping that strip of duct tape twice around my ankles. “Of course, it's all clear now. No wonder she was edgy. You sneaked the stuffed mice into her house, maybe other stuff too, knowing that she didn't even remember half the ones she bought but would never get rid of any of them. I imagine Emmy Lou told you she was bringing me in. So you had to get rid of me and you had to get in the house and get back your mice and whatever else you had there before I sorted through and perhaps discarded them. I guess it was easier to get a copy of Emmy Lou's keys than it was of mine. I am guessing that Bill got his mitts on Jack's while they were sitting on the counter in the bike shop. Jack's so trusting. Did he tell you about the customer waiting for the delivery of the brakes, so you could make a call and send him on that wild-goose chase to Troy?”

“These things are easy when you know how,” Bonnie said snidely.

“Speaking of phone calls, reporting me for yelling at Tony and Kevin was real cute. And staging the false fire call to my cell phone to delay me. You had me fooled for sure. I guess we'll learn that Emmy Lou got some kind of an emergency call to get her out of the house so you could retrieve the wedding mice, but they were already gone. Tony died for nothing. And you burgled my house for nothing too.”

“Just shut up,” Bonnie said. “Make that happen, Bill.”

With the box cutter, Bill sliced off another strip of duct tape, and though I turned and twisted my head to avoid it, he slapped it over my mouth. I told myself that they couldn't shoot me until they had the wedding mice in their hands, and with luck, that attempt would blow up in their nasty murdering faces.

Behind them, the delivery guy got to his feet and reached into his pocket.

Just as my hopes soared, Bill leaned forward and picked me up. I weigh ninety-five pounds, but he merely grunted and heaved. All that practice lifting his wife when she was ill had paid off for him, but not for me. I struggled hopelessly as he tossed me over the sides of the Dumpster.

As I landed inside, Bonnie yelled a warning to Bill. A shot rang out. And then another. The slippery bag I'd landed on seemed to collapse. I felt myself falling. A sharp pain. Then nothing.

I awoke in the dark. Where was I? Dead? If so, I definitely hadn't made the cut for heaven and who could imagine that hell would smell so disgusting. A million bags of doggy do might have added up to this.

I stirred. What was wrong with my arms? I struggled to move them, without success. The memory of the Baxters flooded my brain. Of course, duct tape. Were they still outside the Dumpster? Was there any point in screaming? But obviously, the duct tape across my mouth prevented that. My feet weren't any better off. My ankles were bound. And my soles were paying the price for running without shoes.

A cloud drifted past, uncovering the splendid full moon. How long had I been out cold? And speaking of cold, the night air had developed a nasty chill. I had to get out of there. Had to call the police. Had to see if the delivery guy was lying in a pool of blood. Had Bonnie shot him? The moon was bright enough for me to see that debris and garbage bags were piled deep in the Dumpster. That was good. If I could reach a higher mound of refuse, perhaps I could fling myself over the top. Lucky for me the Dumpster wasn't empty or I would have been four feet down. That thought was replaced by a chilling realization

What had Patti said about the garbage? That they emptied it every second Friday and this was the week? My heart began to pound. What would happen in the morning? Would the workers toss in another load of drywall and decayed wood? Maybe an old toilet or a length of antique wire? Did anyone check Dumpsters before the contents were tossed into some garbage-crushing vehicle?

I tried to get my mind off that. I had lots to think about. I took a long time to ponder where Patti Magliaro had gone in my car. I wouldn't have been on Bell Street if it hadn't been for her call. She'd definitely been on the scene for all of my visits. She had the most harmless way of getting you to tell her everything you knew. She kept an eye on the street and all its inhabitants. Surely Patti must have known that the Baxters were up to something. Was she involved too?

How long would it take the police to find the empty delivery car? Or the guy's body? If he were alive, he could tell the police where I was. But what if he was in the Dumpster with me? Maybe Bonnie and Bill hadn't killed him, just injured him. Maybe…It was time to find out. Duct tape can keep your mouth closed, but as I soon found out, a determined person can make a bit of noise. “Help! Help!” turns into a high-pitched humming sound, with a pathetic hint of whimper. I made as much noise as I could. Then I lay there, listening for an echo.

Nothing.

I tried again several times, pausing and waiting in between muffled yells.

Where were the police?

Thank heavens they hadn't blindfolded me. Perhaps I could make that work in my favor.

I tried to sit up. Bad move. The debris kept shifting under my back. Okay. What was nearby? Mostly jagged bits of drywall. I moved my knees and hit something hard and round. Pipes, I decided. I tried the other direction. I felt a sharp pain in my shin and pulled back. I yelped, not that it made any difference to anyone, since the yelp was muffled by the tape. My shin throbbed. Glass? Shards of glass. I froze. Where else was it? If whatever I was lying on shifted again, would I find myself impaled next time? I lay there long enough to watch the progress of the moon. Every time I decided to try to move, my nerves failed me. After a long pep talk, I inched along, moving as slowly as I could, trying to gauge where the glass was. I'd already learned how sharp it was. I needed to position myself to use that glass to slice through the duct tape binding my wrists. Could I do that without slicing an artery at the same time?

After what felt like an hour, I talked myself into slithering ahead. If I waited much longer, my hands would be too numb to maneuver. My bladder throbbed. So what the hell did I have to lose?

Plenty as it turned out.

After nine or ten gentle shuffles forward over the slippery garbage bags, I heard the dreaded crunch of glass. I froze again. I had to remind myself of how much worse it would be when the compactor truck collected me in the morning. That was motivating.

Something shifted underneath me. Unstable bags? Loosely packed debris? I had no idea, but every panicky breath I took seemed to cause the rubble to sink. I squeaked. I heard the worst sound in the world: breaking glass.

Where was it? I shifted slightly to the left. A jagged shard bit into my upper arm. I bit back tears. I steeled myself to reposition toward the right. More shards. I heard them crack.

I was well and truly trapped.

“Is anybody out there? Mmmph hyoo mmm hhhhhrrr?” I tried again, louder and louder. Useless, useless. But you can only play the cards you've been dealt.

I jerked at a sound. What was that? Could it be sharp little barks?

I listened intently.

Yes.

Truffle and Sweet Marie.

Of course. Jack would have worried when I didn't show up. He probably figured out I'd gone to Bell Street.

I heard another round of barking or two. A man's voice shouted, “Shut that dog up!”

That brought on a blizzard of barks. Except for Jack's, Truffle and Sweet Marie did not care for men's voices. Especially telling them to shut up.

My brave feisty little dogs. I'd never see them again. I would die so close to them and to Jack, the best friend anyone ever had, not that I had mentioned that to him in a while. There was a good chance no one would ever know what happened to me. I tried my duct-taped scream again, useless as it was. As loud as I could. As long as I could.

I heard the man's voice call out again. “That's it. I'm calling the cops.”

Jack yelled back, “Go right ahead.” He sounded close, although the acoustics weren't all that great.

I gave it my best shot. My muffled yells: “Where's Charlotte! Wwwrrrrssssssssslllllllddddd!”

“What is it? What's wrong, you guys?” Jack hollered. “Where are you going?”

The barks came closer, turning to high-pitched yips. Or so it seemed. My throat was raw from forcing out the sound.

“What is wrong with you two? Wait? Is it Charlotte?”

The Dumpster shook a bit, thumped on the outside.

“Charlotte?”

“Hhhhlllppp!”

Jack's face appeared overhead. The sight of his glasses glinting in the moonlight brought tears to my eyes. “Holy crap. You are in here. Don't move. I'm coming to get you.”

I shook my head frantically. If Jack jumped in, he'd slice his legs and probably bleed to death by my side.

“No, no, no!” There is no way to shout intelligibly with duct tape on your mouth. Truffle and Sweet Marie continued to yip in triumph, which didn't help communications.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said, “Don't move. Looks like this sucker is full of broken glass. I'll be back in a second. I'm calling 911. And I'm getting help too.”

Seconds later Jack tipped the battered plywood sheet from the lot into the Dumpster, making a bridge to safety for both of us. Apparently, he did not find me heavy.

I wasn't sure how much time elapsed since I'd been pulled out of the Dumpster. I was trembling, sweaty, and dizzy. My mouth hurt from having the duct tape removed, even though Jack did his best to be gentle. Myrna Dingwall hustled over almost as soon as we emerged. She was wrapped in a plaid dressing gown and lugging a blanket and a pillow. Behind her Kevin, in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, eyed me warily. Jack sent Myrna rushing back home for a pair of scissors. He sat me down on the pillow and draped the blanket tightly around me. Truffle and Sweet Marie climbed onto my lap and snuggled in.

“Don't try and talk,” he said.

I snuffled. “I have to talk. Bonnie and Bill did this. They are looking for something in one of the stuffed animals. Oh, Jack, I told them it was in Nick's garage. He has heavy security to protect his stupid cars. I figured if they tried to get in, then Nick would hear them and…But what if that back-fires? What if they try the house? What if they're over there and—They've had enough time.”

“Where's Pepper and Nick's house?” Jack pecked at his cell and spoke rapidly to the 911 operator. He passed on the address as soon as I croaked it out. He clicked off the phone.

When Myrna returned, Jack unwrapped the blanket and cut the duct tape. I said, “How did you know where I was?”

Jack said, “Patti Magliaro showed up at the house in your car, hysterical. She told me she didn't know how to use your cell phone, so she came to get me.”

“Why didn't she go ask someone here on Bell Street?”

“She claimed ‘they' saw her, whoever ‘they' were and she panicked. She got in the driver's seat and took off. She said it was real lucky she remembered how to drive after all these years. Patti and I burned rubber getting back to hunt for you. I drove, you'll be glad to hear that. When the police showed up, there was no sign of anyone at the Rheinbecks' or the Baxters'. We couldn't find you anywhere. Now I know why. I went home again, expecting you. Then I couldn't relax and I came back with the dogs, in case they could help, although I left Schopie at home. I knocked on every door. These people were helping search for you,” he said, pointing to Myrna Dingwall, Kevin, Dwayne, looking more rumpled than usual, and a sheepish Patti Magliaro. They'd formed part of a small, hovering crowd.

“How long was I in that thing?”

“Not that long, I don't think.”

“It seemed like forever. Thank you for the blanket, Mrs. Dingwall. I'll probably ruin it. I stink,” I said, staring at the small crowd and beyond it to the white van still parked on the site. I wondered if Bonnie and Bill had escaped in the old blue Colt or in the delivery vehicle. Where was the delivery guy? My head swam with shock and confusion.

Myrna said, “It will wash.”

I beckoned her to come forward. She knelt, wincing as she bent. I whispered, “You have to talk to Emmy Lou about Kevin. She's paid a terrible price for that secret.”

She swallowed. “I realize that. I ran into Rose Skipowski in the hospital cafeteria today and she broached the topic. I kept silent so long and now that it's out, it's a relief. I was so afraid I would lose Kevin to Emmy Lou, but in my heart I know it was wrong. I should never have listened to my brother. He's a harsh and unfeeling man.”

“Your brother?”
Clink, clink
. Another piece of the puzzle. That must have been what Rose couldn't remember. “You mean, Mr. Wright?”

She nodded. “I don't know how Emmy Lou could bear to live right across the street from him. He never spoke to her after she became pregnant. I couldn't believe it when she bought the house next to me. She must have been desperate to be near Kevin.”

I kept my voice low. “Don't worry. Emmy Lou must know how much you love Kevin and what good care you take of him. I believe you and Kevin will gain something, and so will Emmy Lou. Let's hope it's not too late for her…stability.”

She stumbled to her feet, blinking away tears. “Yes.”

Meanwhile, Dwayne, oblivious to our conversation, shook his shiny head. “I can't believe all these weird things keep happening on Bell Street.”

“I think it's over. And we have proof Emmy Lou didn't kill Tony. Now I know that Bonnie Baxter did that. She was searching for something in the house, and he saw her and she pushed him.”

“Shhh,” Jack said. “Don't get agitated.”

Myrna gasped. “Bonnie Baxter?”

At the sound of the name, Kevin jumped up and down and tugged at her sleeve. “I told you, Ma.”

Patti Magliaro stumbled forward, a vision of guilty panic. “I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I wanted to help. Sorry about the bumper too.”

“Don't worry about it, Patti,” I said. Turning to Jack, I pointed toward the white van. “Bill beat the El Greco guy. Then I think they must have shot him. Can you look and see if he's in there?”

Jack said, “You've had a horrible traumatic experience. Maybe you're imagining—”

“Listen to me. They must have dumped his body somewhere. Maybe he was even in there with me,” I snuffled, staring back at the Dumpster with a shiver. “Maybe he's only injured. We have to find him.”

“He can't be in the Dumpster. I would have seen him.”

“Then please check the van.”

I shivered as Jack strode toward the van, checked the driver's side, and then yanked open the rear door and stuck his head in. I watched, frozen, as he leaped back and was sick on the gravel. Myrna grabbed Kevin and hugged him close.

Jack staggered toward us, stabbing in 911 on his cell phone and shouting something that I couldn't make out.

“They're coming. It might take a while,” he said when he reached me. “Mona Pringle said they've had a dozen 911 emergency calls about events at the other end of town. Mostly false alarms, but they have to check everything. All the first responders are stretched. And it's way too late.”

I said, “The delivery guy, is he…?”

Jack shook his head, “Not him.”

“What? But—”