Closet Confidential (15 page)

“I see you two run a tight ship.”

“We’ll see if there’s anything that we can sell. We have a bin for that, too.”

Wendy laughed out loud. “That’s funny. Can’t see anyone wanting to buy any of my worn-out rags.”

Lilith said, “You might be surprised.”

I said, “You should be left with things that you love, that you wear, and that suit you and your life. Once we know what they are, we can talk about how to store them.”

“Good thing I gobbled those cookies.”

“Right,” I said, “you’re going to burn them off.”

The door squeaked as it opened behind us, and a young man ducked to get in. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be taller than the door frame, but, if the giant athletic shoes were anything to go by, that was the norm in the Dykstra home, Wendy excluded, of course.

“Toll House cookies, Seth?” his mother asked.

But Seth was staring at Lilith, his mouth open.

“Seth? Don’t be rude, honey. We have guests. This is Charlotte Adams and her assistant, Lilith Carisse. Lilith lives with my friend, Rose Skipowski.”

Without saying a word, Seth disappeared from the room, his face and neck bright red, his size-fifteen feet tripping over each other.

“Well, I don’t know what got into him today,” Wendy said. “He’s usually so polite.”

Lilith gazed at the cookie in her hand without comment, but I noticed a patch of red glowing on each of her cheeks. I never thought I’d see Lilith blush. The tips of her ears were red, too. Didn’t go all that well with the teal blue hair, but Lilith has never been one to be conventional about colors.

We listened to a stumbling up the stairs and at least two muffled “ows.” An upstairs door slammed.

Five minutes later, Lilith, Wendy, and I gathered in Wendy’s bedroom and stood staring at the closet.

“Although my husband and I sleep here, this isn’t the original master bedroom,” she said. “Seth has that because he keeps his desk and his musical instruments there. So we’re kind of wedged into the second bedroom with the queen-size bed and all. I’m not sure there’s room for all three of us at the same time to sort through it.” She chuckled. “But from the bed we have a great view of the closet, and now, thanks to your tips, Charlotte, I know what I want it to be like.”

“What?” Lilith beat me to the punch.

“I want to be able to see everything at a glance and I want to be able to find things right away and I want to feel good when I look at it. So it has to look neat and orderly.”

“That’s one of our specialties, ma’am,” Lilith said.

Once I took the “before” shot, it didn’t take long to empty the closet. Soon the bed was piled high, and Wendy was breathless and laughing. There was a slightly hysterical edge to her laughter.

I said, “Remember the key questions?”

She rhymed them off and added, “Does it make me feel fat? Old? Dumpy?”

I waited long enough to see how it would go. Wendy went to reach into the middle of the pile. I said, “It’s best not to cherry-pick. It adds to the time. Take the first item and make a decision. Then the second and so on. It’s good to have a buddy to bounce your reactions off. Your buddy, Lilith, will help you keep on track.”

The first item was a stained T-shirt from a PTA fund-raiser in 1999. Lilith held it up.

Wendy hesitated.

Lilith rolled her eyes. “I hope you’re kidding. Animal rescue!”

Wendy gave a squeal as it went into the bin for WAG’D. The second item was a pair of sprung leggings. They joined the T-shirt. I leaned back and watched Wendy and Lilith whip through a dozen items. Only one was a keeper: a crisp white shirt, never worn.

“Does it fit?” That’s always my first question.

“It does.”

“And you like it?”

She nodded.

“That’s good, because almost everyone’s wardrobe needs at least one.”

“It’s new because I don’t have anything to wear it with,” Wendy said.

“When we’re done, we’ll see what else turns up that might look smashing with it. Charlotte will give you some advice there,” Lilith told her. “You’ll be surprised.”

The shirt went into the
Keep
pile.

“This is kind of fun,” Wendy said.

I agreed. I figured it was way more fun than I was going to have dealing with Lorelei’s perfect wardrobe in her perfect and perfectly depressing house and the even more perfectly disturbing belief that her daughter had been murdered.

I toodled home after Wendy’s, still feeling good because that project was going well and in part because I’d had all those cookies. I knew Wendy and Lilith would accomplish a lot in the short time they had. I walked the dogs, chastised them for barking at a small child, and sent them back to the sofa to resume their nap while I changed to go to Lorelei’s for one.

On the way there, I found myself once again driving slowly. I was ahead of schedule and, whatever else, I didn’t want to be early for the Beauchamps. I drifted past Stewart’s, hoping to see Nick scoring a coffee. No luck. I cruised around to Tang’s. But there was no sign of Nick attempting to con Margaret’s mother out of free chips, another regular pastime.

I had one more spot to try: Hank’s, the greasy spoon that Nick had been hanging out in since he was a teenager. Sure enough, there was the Woodbridge Police Services black-and-white parked outside.

I peered in and spotted him, alone at a table, staring morosely at a hamburger and a pile of fries. This would be my chance to push back a bit and find out what he knew about Anabel’s death. I tapped on the dingy front window. I thought Nick’s beautiful head would hit the ceiling and dislodge the flaking paint. I saw panic fill his eyes. He did his best to cover it up, but he was still pale under his rugged-guy tan when I approached his table. “Ow, Charley, what are you doing?”

I tried not to inhale the smell of ancient grease that has always been the signature scent of Hank’s. Even if Wendy hadn’t stuffed us full of snacks, nothing would induce me to eat anything I could hear sizzling on the grungy grill.

I said, “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Ha-ha.” Nick tried a sort of smile.

I could tell that whatever else was going, Nick didn’t want me to know that he’d had a scare. Wouldn’t want that to slip out during casual girl talk with Pepper.

“I’ll try to help you with whatever you are worried about, Nick. But I also need a favor.”

“Worried? I’m not worried about anything, Charley.”

“Tell it to someone who believes you.”

“There’s nothing you could do to help me, and you shouldn’t be involved in this. I’ll work it out without involving anyone I care about.”

“Okay. If you change your mind and need to talk about whatever ‘this’ is, you know where to find me. In the meantime, I need to know why you thought there might have been something funny about Anabel Beauchamp’s death.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Of course, the fact Nick turned white put the lie to his words.

“Well, to refresh your memory, you mentioned there might have been something ‘funny’ about that death. I assume you meant disturbing or unusual and not humorous.”

He shivered. “Come on, Charley. That was terrible. There wasn’t anything funny about it.”

“But there must have been something that felt wrong.”

“Hey, they bumped me down from detective because they said I get stuff wrong. Maybe this was one of those things. Anyway, it was an accident.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it, Nick? Explain what seemed odd. Maybe you didn’t get it wrong. I could—”

Nick banged the table, causing the dishes to clatter. “Do you have a death wish?”

My jaw dropped. I managed to shake my head no anyway.

“Me neither. And that means you have to stay away from me.”

“You mean that I might be in danger by chatting with you?”

“Well, duh.”

“But you just—”

“You keep pushing me, Charley. I have to warn you.”

“Warn me about what exactly?”

“Girl talk wouldn’t be enough to save you, Charley. You gotta believe me. This is serious.”

“But—”

“Leave it alone, Charley. It’s none of your business. And don’t be around me. It’s bad enough I have to worry about Pepper and Little Nick.” He turned his handsome head and went back to staring at his hamburger and the pile of fries rapidly cooling on the plate next to his coffee.

As I headed back to the Miata, I turned back to Nick again. The waitress scowled at me through the window.

On the road out to the Beauchamps’, I thought about Nick and his reaction. Pepper was right. He was definitely jumpy. And he was very worried about Pepper, too. What kind of problem could he have that would have him afraid for her? And what about her reaction? She knew his weaknesses. He wasn’t very bright. He was lazy and shallow and vain. He was useless around the house and unlikely to rise in the police. He couldn’t resist women or trucks. But she’d known his flaws before she married him. Whatever she was worried about was much more serious. To the best of my knowledge, Nick didn’t gamble. Didn’t have the concentration, I’d once joked. He didn’t do drugs. Wouldn’t want to mess up his body or end up with bad hair. If it was a woman, Pepper would have gone after her and made her wish she’d never been born.

Maybe I was wrong about those things.
Did
Nick have a gambling problem? Was he being threatened by someone he owed money to? Could he have been stupid enough to get into drugs at this age? He wouldn’t have been the first person I’d known who’d done that. Or, despite Pepper’s protests, was it a woman? Someone with a blackmailing streak or a murderous husband?

Of course, he’d said it was none of my business. But whatever was wrong in Nick’s life was very serious, and if he’d put Pepper and the baby in the middle of it, this truly was my business. Especially since after all these years, she’d come to me for help. I wondered if I should talk to Tierney about it. Too bad I didn’t have even a scrap of useful information to share with him or with Pepper as a result of this talk. I didn’t think I’d get far on my gut feelings.