Address to Die For Read online

  “Oh, good,” he said. “Leave the water running for a few moments until it clears. It’s a bit rusty, but the plumbing seems solid. I’m taking the ladder up to David. He’s going to check for burned-out bulbs and replace them.”

  “Good work. What’s Brian up to?”

  “He’s getting the cats and their litter box organized.”

  I followed Max up the stairs and was delighted to find a built-in window seat and cupboard on the landing. Above the seat, the top of the windows held stained glass. Late-morning sun shining through the glass wisteria vines spilled lavender and green splotches of light on the stairs. The house was doing its best to charm each one of us.

  As we turned the corner at the top of the stairs, Brian crested the top of a second staircase, lugging a cat carrier in each hand. Back stairs? Just like Downton Abbey! I took one of the cat carriers as Brian held it out. Holmes, our grumpiest cat, growled his disgust with the lurching trip from the car.

  “We’ll get you settled as soon as we can, Holmes,” I said, trying to comfort the four-year-old orange tabby. “Brian found you a great hidey-hole.”

  “I did!” Brian said. “I swept out the closet and put Dad’s old sweatshirt on a shelf in there.”

  I knew that Holmes’s partner, Watson, would be the first to explore. A small female, Watson had large splotches of white in her orange coat, including one on her face that made her look as though she’d had a comic encounter with a dish of whipped cream.

  It would take time, but if we kept the cats contained to one room for a few days, I was sure they’d settle in. I hoped the same would be true for the rest of us.

  Max carried the ladder and bucket down the hall. “David? I’ve got the ladder so you can get started on the bulbs.”

  “In here, Dad,” David called from the bathroom at the end of the hall, his voice echoing off the tiles. “Look at this toilet! The tank is way up there and you pull this chain to make it flush. Gravity! How cool is that?”

  David perched on the curved edge of a voluminous claw-foot tub. He stepped from tub, to sink, to toilet, and jumped down.

  “This house is great, Mom,” David said, beaming. “There’s a desk that turns into a bed—the bed comes out of the wall—in the next room.”

  David would be starting high school next week. He’d been reluctant to leave his Stockton friends and seemed wary of starting the next chapter of his school career without them. His enthusiasm for the new house was a welcome change from his sadness over leaving the old one.

  Holmes howled and the normally quiet Watson joined in. I put a hand on David’s shoulder to stem the flow of questions, surprised anew at how fast he was growing. He was almost as tall as I was. I straightened my posture and turned to Brian.

  “Did you get their litter box set up?”

  Brian nodded.

  “Food? Water?”

  “Yup.”

  “And the closet is secure?” I didn’t want the cats escaping and freaking out before they’d had a chance to learn they were home.

  Brian nodded and rolled his eyes like the young teen he was becoming. “All checked out and ready to go, Mom.”

  “Perfect, go for it, then.”

  He disappeared into the bedroom with the two complaining cats and shut the door behind him.

  Max’s new work phone rang with the doom-filled Darth Vader’s theme. Apparently we had cell service.

  “Hey, Jim,” Max answered the phone. “Yup, just arrived, thanks. Really? You’re kidding, right?” Max looked at me, covered the phone, and mouthed, “Be right back.” He walked down the hall with his head down.

  Uh-oh. Something was wrong.

  I turned to David. “Can you open that window? It’s still a bit whiffy in here.”

  The window screeched and stuck, but David muscled it up.

  “Can you flick that light switch?” he said. “This should be working.”

  I pushed the old-fashioned two-button switch. Nothing. I hoped the problem was as simple as a few blown fuses.

  From the bathroom, I could hear tension in Max’s voice as he paced in the hall and talked to his new boss on the phone. “Okay, Jim, I see. Let me talk to Maggie and I’ll call you back . . . yes, tomorrow. . . that’s right . . .” Max looked up at me, grimaced with a What can ya do? look, and ended the call.

  I lifted my eyebrows.

  “I’ll fill you in later,” Max said. “I need to check out the fuses and see if we can get some lights on in here before it gets dark.”

  I headed down the back staircase, delighted to find that it ended in the kitchen. I assumed the narrow, utilitarian stairs had been planned as a way for children and staff to go about their business without disturbing the serenity of the living room. To me they seemed as much fun and as full of possibility as a secret passage to Narnia. I was a self-proclaimed gluttonous reader, prone to quoting from both children’s and adult literature without warning.

  My next step was lunch. It was time to grab the cooler from the car and dust off the back porch to set up our sandwiches and drinks. Belle joined me on the walk to the car. She butted her nose into the back of my knee. I scratched behind her ears.

  * * *

  I grabbed the cooler from the backseat with my right hand, tucked a nested set of pet dishes under my arm, and grabbed a bucket of cleaning supplies with my left hand. Loaded up, I headed back to the house.

  “Maggie!” Max called from somewhere inside the house. I picked up the bucket and struggled to open the kitchen door, giving it my shoulder and some muscle.

  “I’ve got lunch,” I called to Max, thinking he must be in the next room. “There’s a cold beer with your name on it.”

  “Maggie!” Max said, clomping up the basement stairs. He flung open the door at the top of the stairs and a dreadful smell wafted up. I gagged as Max yelled “Call 9-1-1!”

  Chapter 2

  The unexpected happens when you’re moving. Make sure your cell phone is charged.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Thursday, August 28, Midday

  I raced to the top of the basement stairs. Max had a white-knuckled grip on the banister, was sweating, out of breath, and grayer than I’d ever seen him. I grabbed the doorframe and reached for him.

  “How can I help? What’s that god-awful smell?”

  “Don’t come down here. Call 9-1-1,” said Max.

  “It’ll be faster to take you to the hospital ourselves.” I stuck my head around the door and called up the stairs. “Brian! David!”

  “Huh?” Max’s face wrinkled. Was confusion a sign of a stroke, heart attack, or both? I couldn’t remember.

  “Is it a heart attack?” I asked. “Let’s get you in the car. Boys! Get down here!”

  “Keep the kids out of the basement. And keep Belle in the kitchen. Call 9-1-1. He’s dead.”

  Dead? “Who’s dead? Are you okay? Max, are you okay?”

  He shook his head. “Me? I’m fine. Oh, no, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine. It’s some guy. Dead. Bottom of the stairs. Tripped. Fell.” Max grabbed the counter and slid to the floor, still looking as if he were having some sort of cardiac event.

  “Dead?” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I closed the door to the basement, wishing I had a towel to stuff between the door and the floor to keep the odor from escaping. I reached toward a cupboard to grab a glass and get Max some cold water before I remembered our glasses were packed in the moving van.

  David and Brian clattered down the back stairs. David took them two at a time and jumped over the last three to land in the kitchen with a thud that rattled the windows.

  “What’s up?” David asked, his gaze flitting from his dad, to me, and back. “What’s that smell? Dad, what’s wrong?”

  Brian stood on the bottommost step and peered over his brother’s shoulder. “What stinks? Is lunch ready?” His voice petered out and his eyes widened. “Mom, what’s wrong?
Is Dad okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Max said, patting his pockets. “Hand me a phone.” Max took the phone I gave him. I moved between the boys and the basement stairs.

  “Everything is fine, guys,” I said. “Let Dad talk. We’ll have lunch outside in a minute.”

  “Who’s Dad calling?” asked David.

  Brian shoved past David, grabbed Belle’s water dish, filled it at the sink, and put it on the floor for her.

  “I’m on hold,” said Max. “Everything’s fine, but I’m calling 9-1-1. I found a guy in the basement. He may have fallen down the stairs. Umm . . . he’s dead.”

  Brian paled.

  David laughed. “Seriously? You’re kidding, right? What did you find? Let me see.” He moved to get past me.

  I blocked his way. “David. Listen. You can’t go down there. Grab some paper towels and take the cooler and the sandwiches out on the porch. Dad and I will be out in a minute and tell you what we know.”

  David craned his head around me to look at his dad, who sat on the floor with his head on his knees.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Max McDonald.” Max took a breath and stretched out his legs. “I’m calling from twenty-one eleven Briones Hill Road, Orchard View, cross street Monte Viejo Road, to report a dead body in my basement.”

  * * *

  It took a while to get everyone calmed down and set up with lunch on the back steps, but performing ordinary tasks helped calm my horror over the fact that there was a dead man in our house. I was torn between wanting to see what Max had seen and not wanting to go anywhere near the basement. I’d come down on the side of taking a peek, but the stench had me gagging before I’d taken three steps. I retreated to the kitchen. I’d leave any necessary action on the body to the professionals Max had summoned with his call to 9-1-1.

  The kids fired questions at their dad, who hadn’t taken more than a bite of his turkey sandwich. He’d sipped at his beer, then asked for cold water and held the plastic bottle to his forehead instead of drinking it.

  “I was going downstairs to find an electrical panel,” Max said. “There was this pile of what I thought was dirty laundry blocking the bottom step and the stench was awful. Laundry made no sense, since no one has lived here for years, but I kicked the clothes with my foot to shove them out of the way.” Max took a sip of water and pushed his thick, dark curly hair off of his forehead.

  David started to interrupt, but Max talked over David’s question. “I knew I’d kicked something more solid than clothes, but I didn’t put it together. I wanted to find whatever dead animal was making that stench and get rid of it before your mom freaked out.”

  “Are there, like, flies and worms?” David asked, wrinkling up his nose as if he didn’t want to hear the answer. He looked relieved when Max assured us there weren’t.

  The sound of emergency sirens ended our discussion. Max grabbed Belle’s collar while I found her leash and snapped it on. She was usually good with strangers, but we were cautious. In a situation like this one, where a dog’s family was tense and in an unfamiliar location, it was hard to know how any dog might react.

  In less than a minute our weedy drive and overgrown lawn were covered with dozens of emergency vehicles. What on earth had Max told them to bring out this enormous response? Our quiet yard looked like a scene out of Homeland or 24. I half expected Jack Bauer to leap from an SUV, talking to the president on his cell phone.

  Doors slammed and trunk lids thudded as members of the various emergency teams called greetings and instructions to one another. They moved in a practiced, choreographed dance and I admired their organized attack as they converged on the house carrying toolboxes, aluminum suitcases, and other equipment that looked industrial, scientific, and more than a little creepy.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stumbled into someone else’s nightmare. I wanted to start the day over from the beginning. I knew it was important to plan for disasters and expect the unexpected when you were moving, but . . . a dead body? Who plans for that?

  A man Max’s age separated from the crowd and approached us.

  “Detective Jason Mueller, Orchard View Police,” said the man in an authoritative bass voice, showing us his badge. “Mr. McDonald?”

  “Thanks for coming.” Max shook the detective’s hand and introduced the rest of us. I shook his hand too, but I was growing impatient. I needed the crime-scene circus to do its job. I wanted them to remove the body so we could get on with our job—settling into our new home and town.

  And then I panicked. On TV, when someone dies everything gets blocked off with police tape. Would we be able to stay? If not, where would we go? Before we’d moved, I’d tried to find a local hotel to use as a home base during the first few days of our move. I’d looked for one that would permit us to take Belle, Holmes, and Watson, but the closest one was on the far side of the San Francisco Bay. None of the pricey Silicon Valley hotels wanted to risk three animals and twelve muddy paws on their 500-thread-count sheets.

  “Nice to meet you,” said the detective. “We’ll be out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

  “Is this necessary?” I asked, lifting my chin toward the swarm of vehicles, which had been joined by a Subaru with a neon-yellow kayak attached to the roof rack. “Max said the man fell.”

  “We investigate every unexpected death,” the detective said. He nodded to two jumpsuit-clad workers lugging a generator. “It’s going to get noisy around here. Do you have somewhere else that you can go?”

  “We’re moving in,” Max said. “Arrived an hour ago.”

  “The moving van’s coming first thing in the morning,” I added. “We’ve got a ton of work to do . . .”

  Detective Mueller nodded and asked, “Where’s the body? In the basement?” He gestured to the team with the generator and then pointed toward the basement door. A gangly young man wearing a bright blue neoprene jacket, fleece tights, and water shoes joined the team. He’d jumped out of the Subaru and must have come straight from kayaking.

  “Look,” Detective Mueller said. “I understand this is disruptive. A violent or unexplained death takes a toll on everyone. After our team goes through the house, and after the medical examiner has a chance to look at the body, I can let you know more. Right now, I can tell you it will take us several hours before we clear out. It will be noisy and lit up like an operating room. You might want to take off.”

  I looked at Max and raised my eyebrows.

  Max ran his hand through his curls, looked up at the house, then across the yard to the barn. “Detective, we’ve got some thinking to do—decisions and arrangements to make.”

  Max grabbed my hand. “I think we’ll head down to the barn, finish our lunch, and figure out our next step. Our cats are closed up in a closet in the big bedroom at the top of the stairs. Can you make sure your people don’t let them out?”

  The detective nodded. “We’ll need to interview you later. Please let us know if you need anything from the house or if you need to go anywhere.”

  He turned toward his team and took a few brisk strides toward the house before turning back.

  “Mr. McDonald, did you know the dead man? Had you seen him before?”

  Max shook his head. “Once I realized he was dead, I cleared out. I didn’t get a good look.” He furrowed his forehead and stroked his chin. “I suppose he could be Javier Hernandez, my aunt’s caretaker. That would explain a lot.” He wrinkled his nose and his skin turned an alarming shade of greenish gray. “Would you like me to take another look? Or I can call my aunt’s lawyer and find out if anyone else had keys, if that would help. He’s out of the office for the long weekend, but I can call him next week.”

  Detective Mueller jotted something in a dog-eared notebook with a stubby pencil. “If you can get me the lawyer’s name and number, I’ll see if we can get hold of him sooner than that.” He held up his cell phone. “Can you both give me your contact information?”

  While Max and the detective exchang
ed numbers, I focused on the kids, hoping that chores and clear instructions would provide a sense of normalcy.

  “David, take the lunch cooler down to the barn. Brian, take Belle. Dad and I will be there in a minute.”

  The kids took off at a run. Max grabbed my hand and squeezed gently. “It’s going to work out,” he said.

  We packed up the rest of our lunch, stopped at the car to grab a package of Oreos I’d been saving for later, and walked down the pathway of trampled grass, dirt, and gravel that led across the yard to the barn and the dry creek beyond. Any physician would have taken one look at us and prescribed Oreos all around.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said. “I thought this was going to be so easy: move into a turn-key house and tell the movers where to place the furniture. We unpack, make the beds, fill the refrigerator, and get the kids in school—a done deal.”

  Max stopped and looked at me. “Man plans. God laughs,” he said. It was a Yiddish proverb, passed down from his Aunt Kay. She’d spurned religion but peppered her speech with idiomatic expressions from a wide range of cultures.

  “So, I’m delusional.” I shrugged, fighting off tears of frustration. “I expected a few things to go wrong, but today has been the opposite of what we’d planned. All this mess . . .” I waved my arms to indicate the chaotic mass of people and equipment that had transformed our house and yard. “And now a dead body. A body, Max. Who plans for a dead body?”

  Max took me in his arms and hugged me, kissed the top of my head and said, “That dead body may not be our biggest problem.”

  Chapter 3

  Establishing organized systems makes it easy for most people to handle routine cleaning. But when you’re in over your head, there’s no shame in calling a professional.