Closet Confidential (23 page)

“I suppose you’re right, but it is terrible about Pepper Monahan. I remember her as a child, too. I’m sure I first met her at your mama’s place. I can’t believe her husband would do such a wicked thing.”

“
If
Nick did it,” I said as evenly as I could. “We don’t know exactly what happened yet.”

“Humph. Well, let’s hope she makes it through her surgery. Then maybe she can tell the police what he did. I hope she has a guardian angel because she’s been dealin’ with a devil.”

I had to think that this outburst was very unlike Harry, who was usually the most courtly of southern gentlemen. Well, for all I know of the species anyway.

“Do you think Lorelei will be up to seeing me? Is she . . . ?”

“Yes, honey, she sure is. She’s up and she’s dressed and lookin’ gorgeous. We’re finishing our coffee. Care to join us for a minute? Since it’s a beautiful day, we thought we’d have our breakfast in the conservatory.”

For sure coffee was a better start for me than champagne cocktails. I followed Harry, sniffing the aroma as we went. The conservatory had even more glass than the rest of the house, but it had only two plants. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the ficus looked like it might be silk. Never mind. Who am I to talk? I don’t even have a single plant in my sunniest window.

Lorelei was stretched out on a chaise, ignoring a plate with a muffin and some apple slices and a few grapes on a small side table. She seemed puzzled by their presence.

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee, Charlotte honey,” Harry said.

“It smells heavenly,” I said.

“That’s our house blend. I do a mix of Kona and Guatemalan and a hint of dark roast, in case we need a boost.”

“I need a boost for sure.”

“Well then, I’ll bring it in the biggest mug we have.”

I wasn’t sure if one mug would be enough to get me back to normal, but if it tasted half as good as it smelled, I’d be happy.

Lorelei was lovely in a casual printed silk tunic, the background color the pale corn silk of her hair and a lovely azure blue as a contrast color. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot. She had on slim chinos, and her feet were bare. It was a very unstudied look, perhaps the Beauchamp version of casual country, but I knew better than to believe anyone looked that good by happenstance. However depressed she might be, Lorelei still kept up her appearance: fresh soft highlights in her hair, a well-kept pedicure, eyebrows recently done, too. Good, very subtle jewelry, pale brushed gold earrings winked in her ears.

“Maybe today’s the day,” I said, taking a seat on a matching chair.

I hadn’t done a great job with my wardrobe that day. For one of the rare times in my life, I’d grabbed the first thing I saw in the morning. I was lucky both shoes were from the same pair.

“Maybe.” She smiled.

“I have an idea.” My main job was to get this show on the road. Otherwise, I’d be dropping by every day to stare at the water with them. The Beauchamps might pay thousands of dollars of services without a blink, but that didn’t mean I could take advantage of them with a clear conscience. She raised one of her pale sculptured eyebrows.

I said, “Seven closets seem a bit overwhelming for me.”

She nodded. “You could be right.”

“So why don’t we start with one and take it from there? This is something you want to do to improve your life, not to bring stress.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Good. You should pick the one you’d like to begin with.”

She actually frowned, two tiny lines marring the perfect forehead.

I soldiered on. “Would you like to start with the one that’s giving you the most trouble?”

She shook her head. “That’s my main closet. It’s the largest one. You’ve seen it. No, I’m not up for that.”

“Fair enough. Is there another one that you’d like to try?”

“Well, darlin’, we could always do—” Harry had arrived back with a pot of fresh coffee and their largest mug, which was about the size of my smallest cup.

Lorelei whirled, a move that was anything but languid. She said, “No, we can’t.”

“Of course not. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland trying to figure out the coming reactions of the Queen of Hearts. As Harry poured my coffee, I decided that the closet he shouldn’t have suggested must have been Anabel’s.

“How about the one with the Christmas decorations?” Harry was determined to be helpful. But I could have told him that one wasn’t going to fly.

“Not Christmas.” Lorelei folded her arms in front of her. “Not Christmas. Too many memories.”

“Christmas would be too difficult. I agree. Do you have one closet specifically for winter clothing?” I said, keeping my voice cheerful.

“Two actually,” Lorelei said with a twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Harry spoils me, you know.”

I did know. I wondered how much of her behavior was acting spoiled for the fun of it and how much was genuine misery. Of the two, Harry seemed to be the most heartbroken by Anabel’s death.

“We could start with one of those. Make space for new purchases in the fall. What do you think?” I asked.

“Perhaps that could work. We can see.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. Harry broke it up. “How is your mama, Charlotte?”

Getting past the idea that anyone would ever think of Esme as “my mama,” I grinned.

“Maybe someday you three gals can get together again,” Harry said. “That might be fun, wouldn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it would,” Lorelei said with a smile that didn’t come anywhere within a long block of her beautiful eyes.

“Sure,” I said, imagining Harry and me witnessing as Lorelei and Esme tossed verbal bombs at each other, leaving us splattered with the resulting damaged egos.

“We could have a party?” Harry’s eyes lit up.

“Absolutely no parties,” Lorelei said.

“A dinner, darlin’, not a party per se.”

“There are no visits planned,” I said, hoping to put an end to it.

After all those years of being a captain of industry, Harry must have been desperate for things to keep him busy and yet still leave him time to dote on his fragile and difficult wife. An imaginary visit from my mother for instance.

Lorelei said nothing, got to her feet, and led the way. Two minutes later all three of us were standing in front of the closet in a third bedroom on the second floor. This one seemed to be a room given over to clothing. There was an oversize ironing board and a Rowenta iron, as well as a steamer and a huge three-sided mirror. I couldn’t imagine Lorelei steaming anything herself, but surely she had people to do those things for her.

She sat in the upholstered chair and waited. I opened the door. As in the bedroom, clothing was jammed inside. Everything in there would have required steaming the minute it came out.

Harry said, “More coffee?”

We both shook our heads. I was finally going to do what I’d come for.

“Tell me, Lorelei. Do you wear all these clothes?”

“Of course.”

I could clearly see price tags still dangling, so I knew this wasn’t true. “Do you think you will wear them this coming fall and winter?”

“I’d like them available in case I want them. They all have some value to me. I don’t think I’ll give any of them away.”

I nodded.

“And I don’t want to sell any of them.”

“Right. So are you happy the way things are going here?”

She jerked her head to stare at me. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps the closets suit you the way they are? Maybe you just need more closets or racks to hang things so they won’t be crushed. That would be very easy to do, and it wouldn’t take any time. This room might be perfect for a few racks.”

“I never liked racks.”

“I can understand that. They have a very temporary feeling to them.”

“Worse than that. They remind me of modeling. You know, this whole thing is giving me a headache. I have to go back to bed.”

Harry watched helplessly as she left the room, graceful yet listless. Every move a slap in the face.

I said, “I am sorry, Harry. I don’t think Lorelei’s ready for it yet.”

“You’re probably right, Charlotte honey. It’s frustrating, but I can’t think what to do anymore.”

“Well, maybe she needs more closets built. You could get in a good carpenter and line the walls with them. Maybe use mirrored door on some so the room doesn’t get too claustrophobic. Lorelei would have to agree, of course.”

I was actually hoping the project would end at that very minute. I could get on with my life and not have to come here and feel the energy sucked from my mind and heart.

“We’ll try that. I know this is hard on you and I know you have troubles of your own, but I think it is helping.” He flashed me an appreciative smile. “Would you like to have a look at Anabel’s room?”

No
, I thought,
I don’t want to see Anabel’s room. It’s going to be a shrine to her and another totally strange manifestation of this family.

“Please,” he said. “I’d love to show you. We’ll give Lorelei a minute to settle in before we go.”

I figured that meant time for the next sedative, if that’s what Lorelei was on, to take effect. Lorelei’s door was closed, no light showing from under it as I followed Harry along the long, softly carpeted hallway. I realized that while the first floor was all polished stone, wood, and glass, the entire second floor was buffered in this pale silver carpeting.

Harry led the way. “It’s at the end of the hallway. I said ‘room,’ but it was more like a suite, designed especially for her. It had a separate entrance so she could come and go like any adult. Her own bath, of course, and a dressing room like her mama’s. Well, maybe not like her mama’s, but you get the picture. Then she had a little sittin’ room and her bedroom. Perfect little apartment. Lorelei never understood why she didn’t live here for the rest of her life. But Anabel always wanted to be useful, and she felt she had to be out in the world to do that.”

That gave me pause. Anabel hadn’t gone far away, or so I’d thought. But I didn’t know that much about her.

“Where did she live when she left, Harry?”

“She got a little condo downtown, practically on the river. She had a trust fund from my daddy. She didn’t want us to help her, thought she should make it on her own. But it had to be by the river. Both my girls like to see the Hudson. Anabel loved the water even more than her mama does.”

He opened the door and the light made me blink. I suppose I’d been expecting a dim and quiet space like Lorelei’s. Anabel’s face glowed from a collection of photographs on a wall montage. Her graduation photo showed a wide smile, a square jaw, and honest, serious brown eyes. She was all Harry, sturdy and sensible. I could see nothing of Lorelei about her except the soft blond hair. Not a girly girl, not a clothes horse, not a flirt. Just a nice young woman who wanted to be useful. And maybe she’d also wanted a life.

I stepped forward to stare at a shot of Anabel in hiking gear, and another one of her in a sea kayak. I stared at a group photo in the inside of a bar or a restaurant. Anabel was in the middle, laughing. Dimitri was clowning around for the camera. Gwen wore a forced smile, and to the far side was a striking dark-haired girl with a nose ring. She looked steaming mad. Jewel?

Harry said, “I put up a lot of these photos after she . . . I wouldn’t want you to think she was vain. She wasn’t at all, and she never would have kept all these around in frames. I found a lot of them in her condo when I went to close it down. It was a side of Anabel that we didn’t get to know. I think we should have. But I wanted to see them. Her mother can’t bear to see the pictures yet. She doesn’t come in here.”

I waited until his voice settled. He said, “We still keep her things. That’s why Lorelei wouldn’t want you to clear them out. We have to wait until she can at least look at them. I should never have suggested that you take care of Anabel’s closet.”

We have a mantra in the business: The artifact is not the person. That scarf is not your mother. The recliner is not your father. The pearl choker is not your grandmother. There are many strategies to help people deal with what someone else has left behind. It’s also the hardest part of organizing. People don’t want to let go.

Harry knew that if Anabel’s clothing went to someone who could use it, it would enhance her memory, not diminish it. From what I knew about Anabel, she’d want to share. Of course, the decision no longer rested with her.

Even so, that wasn’t why he’d brought me there. He wanted me to see how much he’d lost. How much they’d both lost. I was beginning to understand, even though I didn’t have much room in my heart for extra pain on that particular day.

After a long moment of silence, Harry closed the door and we walked slowly side by side along the corridor, down the remarkable stairs and to the front door. As I said good-bye he squeezed my hand. “I do not know what to do,” he said.

“Neither do I.” I returned the squeeze.

I am an organizer, not a clinician. I can help them improve their homes and their lives, sometimes even their marriages and careers. But there was not a damn thing I could do to help Lorelei Beauchamp. Or Harry.