Closet Confidential (33 page)

Wendy said, “Oh, I don’t know. I hate to ask him that.”

“Do you mind if I do? I know other couples who manage quite well.” I would never have held up Lorelei and Harry or Pepper and Nick as model couples in any other ways, especially as Wendy and Brad seemed so affectionate and compatible. But the separate closet approach had a lot to recommend it.

Wendy said, “You can sound him out. Couldn’t hurt. He might not like to change. And that will be all right with me.”

“I’ll go ask him now,” I said.

“Too late. I think he left.”

“He can run but he can’t hide,” I said. “I’ll get him later.”

I attached the double-hanging rod to the existing rod and said, “Show me the blouses and jackets you wear most often.”

Wendy pointed to the items that Lilith had stacked and folded and stored on top of the bins. I tucked the chosen batch of tops into the middle. “Most often used, most accessible.” We went through the other piles until the sweater “shelves” were filled.

“Keep your wardrobe simple, and keep getting rid of what you don’t use. It will allow you to maintain a useful cupboard.”

“Like magic,” Wendy said. “I’ve seen those cloth shelves, but they always looked so flimsy that I couldn’t imagine them working like this.”

More magical moments. Before we began to rehang her clothing, we changed the mismatched and mangled wire hangers for the sturdy new plastic ones.

I slung the bargain clear plastic shoe pockets over the door. The shoes slid into the shoe pockets in a flash. I rolled up her collection of scarves and tucked them into the top pockets, clearly visible and easy to access. I stood back to admire the closet. Almost done and looking good.

I bent to pick up the bin with clothing to donate. “I’ll get this out of the way so you won’t be tempted to dive in and rescue anything.”

Wendy kept saying, “Wow!”

“Not completely finished yet. I know Lilith has a last-minute surprise for you.”

“What a sweet girl. That reminds me, I have some chili to send to her and Rose. There’s plenty for you and a friend, too. Oh wait, before you take away that stuff, I keep forgetting to check the pockets. What do you bet I find some change and five of my front door keys?” Wendy quickly inspected all the pant pockets and came up with about twelve dollars in change and, as she had suggested, three extra copies of her front door key.

I said absently, “If you have one place for your keys and you always put them there, you’ll be able to find them.”

Wendy laughed. “I know the theory. It’s the practice that comes up short.”

Even as I smiled at her, I was distracted by a pocket thought: how had I forgotten about the paper I’d taken from Nick’s uniform pocket? There was way too much happening in my life, too many hospitals, police, and unknown malefactors. It was interfering with my priorities. But even so, I felt like a doofus. I whipped out my notebook and penned in a reminder to do that ASAP.

I grinned at Wendy. “One more visit and you’ll be done with us and free to enjoy your wonderful closet.”

Unfortunately, I was off to face the Beauchamps.

Yes, I was aware of the evils of procrastination, but I didn’t have an appointment with Lorelei until three. I headed for CYCotics with a large insulated container of Wendy’s chili and rolls, plenty for Jack and me, too. Wendy couldn’t have shown her gratitude in a better way. Jack had been overrun with midday customers, and I offered to distract Little Nick for a few minutes while he ate an early lunch in case the noon crowd overwhelmed him. His part-time repair guy was also run off his feet. I would have changed the baby’s diaper, too, but that had all been taken care of. Jack was hitting his stride rather than losing interest as I had hoped. I reminded myself that he’d never lost interest in rescuing dogs and fund-raising for WAG’D. Apparently babies were just as fascinating, if not more so. He didn’t seem to require any more assistance, so I dashed home to let the dogs out. Left to their own devices they will sleep until I arrive. This time was no different. There was no sign of gratitude when I woke them up and took them out. They were back busily dreaming in minutes. That reminded me,
Go back
. My own dreams had instructed me to go back.

Shortly after, I sailed down Long March Road. I had plenty of time. It was just after noon as I headed down to Friesen Street.

Go back
echoed in my head. “This is not going back,” I said out loud. “This is merely checking something.” I slowed in front of the apartment building across from the building site and stopped. I looked up. There was no one in the window with the flowers, but a woman was peering out the door to a second-floor balcony with a thick row of thriving plants. An elderly man shuffled slowly into the building.

I locked the car and hurried through the front door at the same time. He turned and held it for me. He held the interior door for me, too. So much for security measures. I reined in my inner bossy boots and refrained from telling him not to let strangers into the building. You can’t go by appearances. However, it was convenient for me. I figured the second floor was the place to start. I headed to the end of the corridor where I assumed the occupants would have windows and balconies overlooking the street and the construction site. There was no answer at the first door. If my guess was right, the second door would probably be the unit with the balcony plants. I knocked on the door and waited as a tapping sound came closer. An angular woman who would have been tall if she hadn’t been quite so stooped opened the door and asked in a quavery voice what I wanted. I put her somewhere in her late eighties, still going strong and elegant in her periwinkle silk blouse.

“My name is Charlotte Adams. I would like to ask you a few questions about the construction site opposite. Are you comfortable talking to me?”

A chuckle followed. “Well, you’re no bigger than a minute. I think I’ll be safe enough.”

This presented another opportunity to warn about judging people by appearances and how that can be dangerous for older people. But, she got it right: I am not very big and she’d be safe with me.

I stepped inside a tiny apartment, stuffed with enough furniture to fill a two-story house. I like to help people who are in that situation, but that wasn’t why I was there.

“I am Thalia Waverman. Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing around to the two oversize sofas and the cluster of chairs.

She moved with a slow, arthritic gait. It didn’t dampen her mood, though, and I got a whiff of Chanel as she limped past me.

I said, “I’d love to see the plants on your balcony. They look quite amazing from the ground floor.”

She brightened. “Why don’t we talk out there? Spring and summer are too short. We should enjoy them while we can, although you probably have a few more years than I do ahead of you. You’ll need to carry an extra chair, though. I can no longer manage that.”

“Happy to.” I selected the nearest dining chair and carted it to the outdoor space.

She glanced down as the man in the fedora scooted past on his motorized scooter. Across the street and down, people came and went from the Hope for Youth at Risk office.

I said, “I thought that the construction site would be visible from here. But I see it’s obscured by these plants.”

She nodded. “Hibiscus. I put them there because I didn’t want to look at it.”

“I can’t blame you. What was there before? Familiar buildings?”

“It’s not that,” she said. “They were derelict and boarded up. A danger to our neighborhood. People were afraid to walk past them.”

“Did people in the neighborhood resist the redevelopment?”

“If they did, it’s news to me, dear,” she said, picking a nonperforming leaf off the nearest hibiscus.

“Oh, well. I must be mistaken. The reason I am here is that my friend was killed on the site and—”

“A friend, was she? How sad.” She patted my hand kindly. I felt bad at lying to this lovely woman. Anabel had not been a friend, although I’d known her since she was a child.

“It was very sad. I wondered if you happened to see her the day she died?”

“Oh!” she said.

“I am sorry to ask you to revisit that day. It must have been upsetting enough talking to the police about it.”

“The police?”

“Yes. They must have asked you questions after the accident happened.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t. I would have been happy to talk to them. I don’t get that many visitors up here, you know.”

“Maybe you were out when they came around?”

She shrugged. “I don’t go out that often except on my balcony. This was, let me see, back in March? I have no idea what I was doing then. The days do blend together. I might have had a doctor’s appointment, I suppose. Or gone for groceries. I could check my calendar, but I’d have to find it first. Silly me, I didn’t even offer you a glass of water or a cup of coffee. I still make good coffee. I spent enough time in Europe to learn how to make a decent brew.”

I accepted that. She turned down my offer of help, and I stayed on the balcony watching the car and foot traffic below. When she teetered out with a tray, two cups, and a steaming little Bodum of wonderful smelling coffee, my heart was in my mouth. I gave myself a mental talking to. After all, I couldn’t even make coffee that smelled that wonderful.

Once the coffee was poured, she said, “Yes, I had wondered about that, too.”

Letting my cup pause in midair, I said, “Did you see anything?”

“I believe so. It had been such a rainy week, coming down in buckets for days and days. It was a Friday, I believe, because there was no one left working on the site. Then the sun finally came out, very late in the afternoon, and for a short time it was beautiful. In March we are desperate for a bit of sun. I came out to enjoy the last bit of warmth and plan a bit for my balcony in the summer. I like to ponder what to plant and what to buy and what containers to use.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw the young woman who died slip in behind the gate to the construction area. I wish now I had realized how dangerous it would have been after all that rain, so slippery. I could have called for help. It would have made a difference. And she seemed to be wearing a lovely swirly cream-colored skirt and pretty shoes, high heels.”

“Can you see someone’s shoes clearly from here?” We were on the second floor.

She chuckled. “Oh, you caught me out. I do have a pair of binoculars. I often take a peek at birds or people. Better than television. I’m old. Need a bit of diversion. I’m probably not the only one.”

It was convenient that a witness had been using binoculars at the right moment. Of course, the fact that Anabel had been wearing dress shoes didn’t do much more than confirm it would have been dangerous on that slippery site. I reminded myself that that was what I wanted to establish.