Relative Chaos (13 page)

"I'm not. Troxell gave us the go-ahead. They're all finished here."

"So where's Millie?"

"At my house with her daughter."

McCall crossed his arms, nodding. "Now I get it. The infamous
Janice arrived, and she hasn't seen the house."

"Not yet. Which is why I need to get back to business."

"You can't work all night," he said.

"Yes, I can. Wouldn't be the first time."

"What about the Featherstone job?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll show up. Over there, I have you to
help me."

"I'm here too."

We stared at each other for a few seconds. McCall had intense
dark eyes, and I found it difficult to look away.

"Go home," I said.

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving. Wouldn't get any sleep knowing you're here alone."

I decided right then that there's a time to stand your ground, and a
time to give in and accept help. And I needed help. I ran down the game plan for McCall over a cup of coffee, then he attacked the
dining room, and I took on the master bedroom.

My approach to this bedroom would differ from Ida Featherstone's, where my goal had been to empty the room. But after looking at some of the clothes overflowing from Aunt Millie's closet and
piled all around the room, it was obvious that three-quarters of them
had to go. I didn't see Aunt Millie fitting into her size tens anytime
soon.

I went through the mindless chore of packing all clothes marked
size fourteen and under into storage boxes, my thoughts on Wayne
McCall. Working with him might not be the smartest move. He could
be the killer for all I knew-a skillful liar with a hidden agenda.

Get real, I told myself. You're delirious from lack of sleep. You want
a reason to keep your distance from the man. No self-respecting murderer would put up with this job, no matter what his agenda. That's if
I seriously thought of McCall as a suspect, which I didn't.

I wouldn't let myself think about the real reason being close to
McCall bothered me, so I turned off my inner critic and concentrated
on moving faster. Still, it took me nearly two hours to get through
Millie's clothes. By 3:00 A.M., all sixteens, eighteens, and Triple X's
were on the closet rod, the hallway lined with boxes stacked three
high.

I blasted through Millie's bathroom and tossed everything that
looked grungy. Didn't leave much, but the room looked two hundred
percent better. If Millie freaked out, I'd take her on a Wal-Mart spree
to replace the necessities.

I splashed cold water on my face to revive myself, then pasted on
a businesslike facade and went to check on McCall. He had packed
as many boxes as I had-his filled with excess dishes and Aunt Millie's endless bric-a-brac. He stood in the now-pristine dining room,
closing up his last box.

"What's next, boss?"

"These boxes need to go," I said. "There's no other way. You have
your pickup here?"

He did. We loaded up his truck and the Durango and headed for
Millie's storage units. I figured we could make the round trip in an
hour, before starting on the upstairs.

The streets were deserted-a good thing, since my eyelids kept trying to slam shut. We made it to Simply Storage in First Colony without mishap. No other crazies were accessing their unit at this ungodly
hour, so we had the place to ourselves.

Lucky for us, Millie had rented side-by-side spaces we could access by driving right up to them. Each roll-up door was illuminated
by a small light fixture. Weak beams shone on the driveway, and
McCall parked his truck so his headlights would shine on our work
area.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would have labeled each box
with the precise contents, but to save time I'd made do with D for
dishes and C for clothes.

Millie's units were empty, and we unloaded and stacked boxes in
comfortable silence. The first unit was filling quickly, and I wondered if we'd have enough space for all the junk we'd eventually
bring.

I yawned and decided to worry about that another day. For now,
just get this stuff inside. I picked up two boxes marked D and was
heading into the unit. But I lost my footing when a wave of dizziness
passed over me.

McCall was right there to take my elbow and keep me from keeling over. He grabbed the boxes. "I got 'em. You sit."

I backed up to a stack and sat. I closed my eyes and leaned against
the cartons behind me.

"What is it?" McCall said. "You hot, too cold, thirsty? What can I
do?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired." I opened my eyes and looked at him.

He wore an expression that reminded me of the one I saw sometimes in the mirror. The one that said you're pushing too hard-take
a break.

"Don't say it," I said. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You're plenty young," he said, "but you work too hard and too
long."

I moved to stand. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed
me down, then sat beside me. "We'll both sit if that's what it takes to
keep you down for a few minutes. Have you eaten anything lately?"

"Cookies," I said. "Fast and nutritious."

"You wanna keep at it all night, you need gas in the tank," he said.
"Premium, not regular. That's what I always told the guys"

"Where was that?"

"At work," he said. "A million years ago."

"I mean where? What city?" I tried to place his accent. Somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, I'd bet.

"Nowhere close," he said. "You grow up around here?"

"Yeah. In Houston." Was he purposely changing the subject?

He leaned forward and checked my face. "Feeling any better?"

"I think so." The dizziness had passed. "Let's finish up."

"Give it a few more minutes," he said. "While we're waiting, I'm
curious. What drew you into the organizing business?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I asked first." He grinned. "Bet you're the type who could never
stand a mess. I can see you as a kid, alphabetizing your Little Golden
Books"

"You're close." I looked away, remembering that horrible day so
many years ago. I spoke in a near whisper. "I was eighteen when my
mother's house burned down. She died in the fire."

"Poppy." He put a hand on my arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
pried."

"It's okay." I turned to him. "I made my peace with this a long
time ago. And even though I was an orderly kid, the event turned me
into an anal neat freak."

"How so?"

"My mother and I were complete opposites. She never put anything away, spent her life collecting junk, piled up papers in every
nook and cranny. And she smoked. In bed."

McCall grimaced.

I went on. "Spent my whole childhood trying to keep the place
neat. Did a decent job. But then I went off to college. A month into
the semester ..." I let the sentence die.

McCall wrapped his arms around me. "You don't have to go on."

I relaxed against him, too exhausted to cry. He smelled of outdoorsy cologne and spearmint. "Guess that was more information
than you asked for."

"Not too much," he said.

After a while, he released his hold and backed away. "Now I
know why you want to help Millie. Is she your mom's sister?"

"No, my dad's." I let out a rueful giggle. "I have this mess on both
sides of the gene pool. No wonder my son-"

I stopped abruptly.

"He a messy kid?" McCall said.

"Kind of I stood. "Thanks for that shoulder. I'm feeling much
better. Let's get this show on the road."

"Okay, boss."

McCall and I got back to Millie's house in the wee hours of the
morning and started working on the upstairs. It had been years since
I'd stayed up all night, but I felt energized by our progress. In Millie's home office, I straightened her desktop first. Then I picked up
papers cluttering an armchair and sat down to flip through them. The
next thing I knew, McCall was shaking me awake. Sun streamed
through the window, hitting me in the eyes.

I squinted at McCall. "What time is it?"

"Seven," he said.

"Jeez." I jumped up, spilling the papers in my lap onto the floor.
"What hit me?" My back felt like one big knot. Every muscle complained. Self-conscious, I rubbed sleep out of my eyes.

McCall smiled. "You'll feel better after breakfast. I have scrambled
eggs, bacon, toast. How's that sound?"

"Great, but you shouldn't have let me sleep." I followed him down
the hall, looking into neat, orderly rooms as we passed. "You finished
the whole upstairs?"

"Best I could," McCall said. "Closets aren't perfect, and don't
open any drawers. At least the place is presentable."

"More than presentable. You're a miracle worker." I followed him
downstairs, thinking I should always wake up completely before
speaking. I didn't need to start fawning over McCall. It was bad
enough I'd let him see my weak side last night.

"You did a good job yourself," he said.

"I need to do more in that office."

"I say leave it. Realistically, everyone has a junk room"

I don't, I thought, but I didn't comment.

McCall had changed to khakis and a button-down shirt. I carry a
change of clothes with me, and I guessed he did too. In our business,
you never know what kind of mess you might run into. Or maybe McCall made a practice of spending the night away from home. I
wondered if he always looked so chipper in the morning, even when
he hadn't slept.

The kitchen sparkled, and breakfast smelled delicious. McCall
was something else. I sat at the breakfast table and attacked my food
while he stood at the counter eating toast piled with jelly.

"I'll make sure Millie knows what a huge part you played in this
home makeover," I said, "but send me your bill."

"There's no charge," he said.

I looked at him. "We'll discuss this later. Time to work my own
miracle. Make myself presentable for Featherstone. He's probably
looking out his window already."

"Guy likes to stick to his agenda," McCall said.

I gulped my coffee. "That reminds me. I've got to get Millie's
keys back to her."

"It's a done deal."

"Huh?" Was he a magician too?

"Millie sent a friend over to pick them up an hour ago."

"What friend?"

"Dawn Hurley."

I frowned. "From the attorney's office?"

"That's the one," McCall said.

"And she's not still here talking?"

McCall laughed. "Dawn knew Millie was in a hurry to get the
keys."

"So Millie and Janice might show up here any second," I said.

"It's still early."

"We need to clear out pronto to pull this off."

"We will," McCall said. "I kept the storage unit keys, and my
pickup's loaded with more boxes. I'll head over there first, drop them
off, then meet you at Featherstone's. You going home?"

"I'd rather not" I finished the last bite of eggs and pushed my
chair back. "Let Janice think I leave for work at the crack of dawn."

I stood and looked around, smiling. Millie would save face in front
of her daughter. Her house was in good shape. Didn't know how long
that would last, but I'd discuss maintenance with her when I came
back to go through the closets and drawers McCall had mentioned.

McCall made quick work of washing the dishes and putting them
away. I grabbed a sponge to wipe up crumbs around the toaster and
noticed a cell phone on the counter next to Millie's legal documents.
My phone was clipped to my waistband.

"Don't forget your cell," I told McCall.

"Got it," he said.

I frowned and leaned over the counter to inspect the phone-one
of those new thin models with a blue face.

"Then what's this?" I said. "Did Dawn leave hers?"

McCall came over, drying his hands on a towel.

"No. Found that upstairs."

"Upstairs where?" Aunt Millie didn't have a cell phone, yet this
one looked familiar.

"In the guest room," McCall said. "Figured the sheets should be
changed, with Janice in town. So I pulled the dirty sheets off, and
the phone fell out."

I nodded, like no big deal, but my heart rate picked up. I knew
who was missing a cell phone, but I had no idea why he'd have lost
it here. Or why Aunt Millie had never mentioned his staying with
her.

I waited until McCall left for the storage units, then opened my
phone. I dialed Kevin's cell number and watched the phone on the
counter vibrate.

My first instinct was to call Millie and find out what else she'd kept
from me, but I didn't want Janice listening in on the conversation.
And then I thought about Kevin. Grown up, in charge of his own life,
capable of making decisions. Aunt Millie didn't have Alzheimer's. If
she hadn't mentioned Kevin's visit to me, it was because he'd asked
her not to. I had to respect that and keep quiet-for now. Besides,
I had a job waiting for me.

When I rang Featherstone's bell at eight sharp, he didn't immediately answer the door. While waiting, I looked at the Chevrolet Caprice
in the driveway and wondered if a relative had come to visit. When he
finally opened the door, I noticed that his brow was creased, the usual
smile absent.