Closet Confidential by Mary Jane Maffini Read Free Book Online

personnel.” He paused before adding, “I hope you realize that not every police officer is like Nick Monahan.”
    I nodded. “I do.”
    Jack said, “Five feet of water and a slippery walkway. Sounds like the company was irresponsible.”
    Tierney shook his red head. “I heard there’s a lawsuit pending, but Anabel was definitely trespassing. She wasn’t wearing any safety gear, and she had the wrong kind of shoes for sure. I think it would be hard to make the case that she died because of negligence, but I’m no lawyer. The main thing is that her family has a lot of influence in these parts, so there were no chances taken in the investigation, no sloppy work.”
    “I suppose you talked to every possible witness and all that?”
    “We did, in fact. Even though we didn’t think it was murder, we still needed to know what had happened. Our guys interviewed people on the street, neighbors, and anyone who might have been able to see the site.”
    I said, “But—”
    “They even did a door-to-door. I’m telling you: This is not some rinky-dink force and Anabel Beauchamp’s death was taken seriously. Her father thanked us for everything we did.”
    “And her mother?”
    Tierney shrugged. “Can’t blame her. But it doesn’t change the facts any.”
    Harry was always gracious. Lorelei’s words wouldn’t count as she was not the most grounded woman in the world even when not ripped up by such a tragedy.
    “Okay then, so I’m going to ignore what Nick said about his own initial impression.”
    Oddly enough, Tierney didn’t ask me what Nick had said. “Sometimes you have to consider the source.”
    “That’s more or less what Jack told me. Pepper didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary.”
    “You should listen to her. She’s a first-rate detective.”
    I smiled and lifted my coffee mug. But the unwelcome thought kept skittering through my head. If someone had killed Anabel, then they definitely got away with it.

4

    Don’t overlook your public library as a great source of organizing books and magazines. You can always purchase copies of the ones you can’t live without.

    I arrived at the home of my other new client ten minutes early. I like to build in a time buffer in case of traffic. I sat in the car and used the buffer to check my voice mail.
    At ten sharp I knocked at the door of the faded bungalow. The paint was peeling slightly, and the awnings showed rust at the edges. Still, the lawn was neatly kept, and the place had a welcoming air about it. A pair of hanging baskets held impatiens in a riot of color. I felt a cheerful vibe about this home.
    The door swung open and a round smiling face greeted me. I swear the woman actually bubbled. “I am so glad you are here! I can’t wait. Come in! Bluto is very excited to meet you, too.”
    Beside her a golden retriever wagged his tail furiously, waiting—without much patience—to be stroked.
    I stepped through the door into a home: a real home, not just a house. Unlike Lorelei and Harry’s glamorous glass and metal sculpture, this was a place where people lived and loved and relaxed. I always approve of that. A stack of sports gear was contained by a plastic bin in the front hall. Four pairs of running shoes—in giant sizes—sat on a mat near the front door.
    Wow , I thought, who lives here and what species are they?
    “I made some—” She stopped herself. “Oh boy. I almost forgot to introduce myself. I’m Wendy Dykstra.” She ran a hand through her curly salt-and-pepper hair.
    I grinned. “In that case, I must be Charlotte.”
    “Everybody in Woodbridge knows you after . . .” She turned pale and averted her eyes.
    “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly, “I’m well aware that in the last year and a half I’ve been all over the WINY news showing up on every television in town looking crazed and dangerous.”
    “You don’t look dangerous ,” she interjected. “And not crazed, either.”
    “I’ve seen the tapes.