Relative Chaos (15 page)

"Is Vicki home?" I asked.

"Come in, come in." She smiled broadly. "Sorry the music so
loud. I like to-how do you say?-knock over two birds with one
rock. Houseclean and exercise together. You see?"

I nodded. "Good idea. I should try that." I really should-either
that or appropriate one of Ida's girdles. I'd need one soon if I didn't
make exercise a priority.

"One minute." She held up an index finger and hurried into the
other room. The music subsided, and the woman returned.

"So sorry. How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for Vicki," I said. "Is she here?"

"Not this minute." The woman offered her hand. "I am Blanca
Sandoval. I clean house for Miss Vicki, a very long time. Since before babies."

I introduced myself and explained that I was working next door, including a rundown of the type of work I did so Blanca wouldn't think
I was the competition.

"I know that house," she said. "I work for Miss Ida too, even
longer than Miss Vicki. Very, very long time."

"I heard good things about Ida," I said to make conversation.

"Good sometimes." Blanca nodded, and her gaze took on a faraway look before she focused back on me. "I guess Mr. Steve is
back."

I had the impression Steve Featherstone had left the area so long
ago that he and Blanca never would have crossed paths, but I didn't
know how old she was when she'd first worked for Ida.

"He's in town now," I said. "Probably not for long."

"Then I must speak with him soon. To see when I may pick up my
silver."

I didn't know how to respond.

"I admire for years when I am polishing," she went on, "and Miss
Ida says, one day it shall be yours Blanca, for all your good work."

"It?" Maybe Ida had promised Blanca some small inconsequential piece.

"The set." She pantomined pouring, then outlined a rectangle with
her hands. "It is on a tray. You know, for tea."

Steve hadn't mentioned any special bequests in Ida's will, and I
couldn't imagine him giving up the eighteenth-century English silver to this lady.

"I don't know anything about that," I said, "but I can ask Steve
about it later today if you like."

"Please," she said.

"Okay," I said, "and would you tell Vicki I need to speak with
her? She can call my cell phone." I handed Blanca a business card.

She studied the card, frowning. "Killer," she said.

"It's just a turn of phrase," I said. "I clean up junk. You know, get
rid of stuff. Kill clutter. Nothing to worry about."

"There is much to make me worry," she said. "Everyone talks about
the man who is dead."

"What do you know about him?" I asked.

"Me? I know nothing, except he is dead."

"You said everyone is talking about him. Does anyone know who
he is?"

"I do not know who he is." Blanca shook her head.

"What have you heard?"

"So many things." Blanca's hands fluttered. "I cannot remember.
How do you say? My brain, it is like a sink."

I didn't correct her. "Have the police spoken to you?"

More head shaking. "Police no talk to me."

"Do you spend much time in this neighborhood?" I asked.

"Every day."

Blanca was exactly the type of person Troxell should be focusing
on instead of calling me in for a meeting.

"I'm trying to help the police," I said. "If you remember or hear
anything important, I'd appreciate your giving me a call. We want
the neighborhood to be a safe place for everyone."

"Yes. Is important to be safe."

"So you'll call me?"

"I can call you," she said, "or you can talk to Miss Birdie. She
knows everything."

"Who is Miss Birdie?"

"Birdie Peterson," Blanca said. "She lives two streets over. I think
she is the oldest lady around here"

"How old is she?" I said.

"Almost ninety," Blanca said. "But her mind is-how do you
say?-smart as a tack."

I wanted to go straight to Birdie Peterson's house and chat about
neighborhood gossip, but Wayne McCall hadn't made it to Featherstone's yet. Not a good idea to leave the house unlocked, and he
didn't have a key. I felt selfish and ungrateful for wanting McCall to
work while I was out asking questions. The man had stayed up all
night helping me. But this was about Kevin, and I couldn't be in two
places at once.

Maybe McCall had run into a snag at the storage place. I'd give
him more time. It was early to pop in unexpectedly at Birdie's anyway.

Reluctantly, I went back to work in Ida's room. I segregated some
nice garments-nightgowns and sweaters that might find a second
home-and pitched the rest into a garbage bag. That done, I checked
the drawers to make sure I'd gotten everything. The floral paper lining
one drawer bulged in a corner.

Under the paper were a few wallet-sized school pictures-those
that parents often enclose with Christmas cards so friends and relatives can be amazed at how much the kids have grown. One larger
group shot had been taken in a classroom, the students lined up in
rows. I doubted Steve Featherstone would have an interest in the
photos, but I'd leave them in his room so he could have a look.

I trudged down the hall and opened his bedroom door far enough
to leave the photos with those we'd found the other day. The dresser
top was empty.

I pushed the door inward and peeked into the room. Not only were
there no photos in sight, but the place looked like a vacated hotel
room with the haphazardly made bed and a lump of dirty towels on
the floor. Empty water bottles and balled-up trash lay in and around
the wastebasket.

Curious now, I entered the room. Nothing personal in sight. No
clothes. No shoes. Nothing.

I checked the empty closet rod and pulled out a couple of empty
dresser drawers. This was the room he told me he was staying in-I
was sure of it. Was he living out of his car or what?

The more I thought about this, the more I realized I shouldn't be
surprised. I'd run into plenty of anal personalities working in the
real estate business with Doug. Featherstone seemed the type who'd
think that personal belongings would taint prospective buyers' viewing of the house. He may have already had them shipped home.

Which reminded me how much work I had to do before those
buyers showed up.

I left the photos on the dresser top-in my mind, this was the spot
designated for photos until I was told otherwise-and closed the door
behind me. I went to a window to see if McCall had shown up.

He hadn't. What was taking so long?

I opened my phone and found McCall's cell number, glad that I'd
had the foresight to program it in, and punched SEND.

Three rings, and then I heard a woman talking a blue streak in the
background even before McCall could say hello. Janice. I'd recognize that condescending tone anywhere.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Met your cousin," he said. "She's everything I heard she would
be. And more."

"What's her problem?"

"I'm not sure," he said slowly.

A sound like falling boxes came over the line. I cringed.

"What is Janice doing?" I asked.

"You don't want to know," McCall said.

"Try me."

"Says she wants to help."

"Help with what?"

"I'm not clear on that."

"Where are you?"

"Your aunt's place."

I closed my eyes. "I thought you were coming to Featherstone's."

"That was the plan," he said.

"What went wrong?"

"As luck would have it, I drove by when Janice pulled into the
driveway."

"Where's Aunt Millie?"

"She pulled in right behind Janice. Appeared to be chasing her."

"Oh, God."

"Exactly."

"And you got involved how?"

"Millie spotted my truck and flagged me down. She's calm now,
but it's forced."

"I'll be right there."

I ran down the stairs and grabbed my purse, locked up, and pocketed Featherstone's house key. I'd been wanting to knock Janice upside the head my whole life. Today might be my lucky day.

Aunt Millie's place was so close, it seemed silly to drive, but I
wasn't wasting any time. With three vehicles already parked out front,
it looked as if she was hosting a Tupperware party over breakfast. I
slid to a stop at the curb, jumped out, and jogged up the sidewalk.

McCall opened the door. "Good morning," he said with false
cheer. "Glad you could join us."

I shot him a look. "Where are they?"

He raised his eyes to look at the ceiling as bumping and knocking
noises sounded above us.

"You want me to get to work," he asked, "or stay and referee?"

"Go." I pulled out Featherstone's key and slapped it into McCall's
palm. "I'll handle this."

He left, and I took the stairs two at a time, then stopped on the
landing to determine exactly where the noise had come from. They
were in the room that had been Janice's bedroom eons ago.

I stopped in the doorway, speechless at the sight before me. Boxes,
shopping bags, stacks of clothes-things that were packed away in
the closet a few short hours ago-littered the floor. Aunt Millie stood
at the foot of the bed, her back to me, wringing her hands. Janice was
inside the walk-in closet. I saw only her arm when she tossed a pair of
tiger-striped slippers out to the floor.

"But, Janice," Aunt Millie was saying, "I don't want you to spend
your vacation working so hard."

"This isn't hard work," Janice said. "You need somebody to help
you get organized."

I growled.

Aunt Millie turned around, her eyes wide. "Poppy, honey," she
whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," I snapped.

"What was that?" Janice poked her head out and wrinkled her nose
when she saw me. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at
work"

"I was." Matter of fact, worked all night. "My job's right down the
street."

"You didn't need to take a break on my account," Janice said. "I
am capable of taking care of my own mother, you know."

She was so aching for me to slap her.

Aunt Millie put a hand on my arm, squeezing gently.

"What are you looking for, Janice?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm going to help Mother get rid of some
junk"

"You're going about this all wrong." I wasn't willing to admit her
method was actually the best way to clean and organize a closet.
Empty the entire closet, then put back only those items you need to
keep. "What exactly is your goal here?"

"My goal?" She rolled her eyes.

"Right. What's your plan? Your goal?" I was talking too loudly,
but I didn't care. "In other words, why are you ripping apart your
mother's closet when the room was already neat?"

"The room did look nice," Millie said. "Very nice. Whole house
looks nice, or at least I thought so."

"Until Janice came along," I said. "Who does this to her mother?
I don't get it."

"Poppy," Millie said.

"I'm sorry Aunt Millie, but something is up here."

Janice came out of the closet and stepped over her mess to approach me. She was wearing designer sportswear accessorized with
diamonds-not exactly closet-cleaning attire. She needed better concealer to cover the dark circles rimming her eyes.

Janice shook her head as if I was some poor, misguided soul. "The only thing `up' seems to be your temper, cousin. You should
see your doctor about getting some Prozac."

"I don't need drugs. I need-"

"You're jealous," Janice said. "Admit it. You don't want me spending time with my own mother."

"That's ridiculous. What are you looking for?"

"Girls, girls, girls," Millie said. "Why don't we go downstairs and
have some coffee and blueberry muffins?"

"You two go on," Janice said. "I don't like getting interrupted in
the middle of a project."

Like she had ever done real work with those inch-long fake nails.
I wasn't finished speaking my mind, but Millie took my arm and
dragged me from the room.

"We need to talk," she said in a low voice. "Downstairs."

I bit my lip to keep from ranting to Aunt Millie, but when we
reached the kitchen, I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"You can't honestly believe she wants to help you clean house," I
said. "She's-"

Aunt Millie put up a hand. "Of course not. I'm old, Poppy, not
stupid."

"I didn't mean-"

"You and I both know that Janice has an ulterior motive. I wish
she'd tell me what's on her mind, but she never has before, and I
don't know why I expected she'd change after all these years." Millie's eyes misted.

"Sorry if I've upset you." I put my hand on her shoulder.

"It's not you," she said. "That's Janice's specialty. But truth be
told, I'm happy to have her here no matter what. Better here than in
New York City."

I bit my lip again, harder. Aunt Millie didn't know about Janice's
move to New Jersey. I wasn't surprised.