The Cluttered Corpse by Mary Jane Maffini Read Free Book Online Page B

eighties, Woodbridge was booming. Why not? Less than two hours from New York City and you could afford a “loft” conversion on the water. You could walk to your choice of restaurants, bistros, and bars. Or hit the Hudson in your kayak after work. What’s not to love?
    On a typical Friday night people jam the cafés and this one was no different. The Woodbridge boom was surely fueling Dwayne Rheinbeck’s restaurant success. I wondered which of the many new spots was his.
    On the other hand, Jack’s cycle shop lurks in the middle of an untrendy strip on Long March Road halfway between the uptown action and the downtown trendiness. His strategy: large space, easy parking, cheap rent, and a huge storefront window that makes CYCotics easy to spot on your way to somewhere else. Bright young guys with BlackBerries are Jack’s targets for his pricey European bicycles. He also keeps an eye out for aging boomers with empty nests and full wallets.
    Despite the trends, CYCotics is never jammed. Not that it matters. Jack has enough of an inheritance from his parents to weather the growing pains. I worry about location, location, location, and lack of same. If Jack’s bicycles don’t sell, he can always market optimism. Which is a good thing.
    I arrived in a surly post-Pepper mood. Truffle and Sweet Marie were in charge of happy. Jack worked alone, hunkered down next to boxes of Italian bike parts that must have arrived on the late Friday delivery. For once, he didn’t have a foster dog with him. He stood up and grinned, resplendent in his yellow and green Hawaiian shirt. I won’t say anything about the baggy khaki shorts.
    â€œHey,” he said.
    â€œHey. I thought we could give you a hand with all these boxes. Oh wow. It’s cluttered in here. How is anybody going to get to the cash register with all these obstacles in the way? How about if I—”
    A crash from the rear of the shop told me that the dogs had knocked over a tower of boxes. From the sound of it, there was metal in those boxes. Both dogs came racing back to the front, tails tucked between legs.
    â€œI have to do this stuff myself, Charlotte. I need to check out the items, figure out where they’re going, or if they’re what I ordered. Reconcile orders with invoices and invoices with contents. Then match them up with the right customers.”
    â€œSpeaking of customers, I notice you don’t have any. This is not surprising. How is anybody going to find this place?” I said. “It’s not like people are going to walk by.”
    Jack gave me a puzzled look. “It’s a destination store.”
    â€œIs that why it’s empty?” I said.
    â€œHey, who’s a bossy little organizer tonight? Got some problem you want to get off your chest? Or did you come over to rain on my parade?”
    â€œSorry, Jack. I ran into Pepper again and I was taking it out on you.”
    Jack looked me straight in the eye. “You’ve been home long enough now. You should be getting used to Pepper.”
    â€œI should be, but I’m not.”
    â€œO kay . Have some ice cream. You’ll feel better.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œAnd CYCotics isn’t empty. Not when you and your dogs and Ben & Jerry are here. Even if you are whiny and grumpy.”
    â€œMmm.”
    The ice cream calmed me down. Or maybe it was Jack. Whining and bad moods don’t stick to him. Somehow this is catchy.
    â€œSo,” he said, “how come Pepper upset you so much this time?”
    â€œIt’s a long story.”
    â€œLike you said, no customers here. Start talking.”
    â€œI have to begin at the beginning.” Jack’s always patient, so I took a deep breath and filled him in, from the Emmy Lou situation to the encounter with Pepper outside of Tang’s. “So I didn’t want to leave that kind of message with names and everything and she was ticked off that I hung up