The Cluttered Corpse Read Free

face anything head-on.”
    â€œMmm.” Double meaning, I know.
    â€œI’ve worked hard to make a lovely home for us. Dwayne and I are late bloomers. We haven’t been married all that long. Not even a year.”
    Okay. That explained a lot.
    â€œHe’s such a lovely man and he puts up with so much,” she said, blushing.
    Oh please. What did he have to put up with? A stunning wife, a gorgeous home, and food to die for?
    â€œWell,” she said, “I guess there’s no point in putting it off any longer.”
    I put down my fork. The cake would be on the table when we got back. I followed her to the second floor. Halfway up, I stepped on something squishy.
    It squeaked.
    I gasped.
    Emmy Lou shrieked and whirled.
    I bent down and picked up a toy lamb, with a tiny smirk embroidered on its fluffy white face. It hung limply in my hand. I can’t tell you how much that creeped me out.
    She reached out and snatched the limp lamb and tucked it under her expensive silk and wool arm. “Oh! That’s where you’ve been, you naughty boy.”
    I was pondering that when I stepped on a pair of battered toy cats. Again, Emmy Lou held out her hands for them. “They get out of control sometimes.”
    From that point on, I held on to the banister. By the time I reached the top stair, I’d stepped on and over more pastel fuzzy toys than I’d owned in my entire childhood. Had there been an explosion?
    Emmy Lou said, “Now you see how silly I feel.”
    â€œSo this is the collection?” More stuffed animals lined the corridor, tiny guards against something. But what was the big deal? They were cute, clean, harmless. I thought we’d have no trouble getting these little guys into some sort of order.
    Emmy Lou threw back her head and laughed. “Oh no. Not by a long shot.”
    She squared her shoulders and sailed down the hall, carrying the stuffies. “We haven’t redecorated upstairs yet. This whole level was an earlier renovation from the previous owners. We have great ideas, but…we need to get things under control first.”
    I checked out the hallway. Except for stuffed animals lined up against the wall, three deep, it was pleasant and well appointed. Maybe it lacked the wow factor of the first floor, but you’d hardly call a few toys out of control. Most people would be ecstatic to have a bedroom level like this.
    Emmy Lou stopped at a closed door and paused. I found myself holding my breath. She turned the handle slowly and said, “Dwayne has been so good about it. Really, it’s for him that I want to get the…situation in hand.”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    The door swung open to…what? Santa’s toy shop post-tornado? Every surface was covered with something fluffy and huggable in a nontoxic pastel shade.
    Emmy Lou bit her lip.
    I found my voice. “So, this is…?”
    â€œThe bedroom.”
    â€œ Your bedroom?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI see. Where’s the bed? Oh, there it is. I didn’t actually notice it at first because of the giant pandas and all that. Is that a stuffed snake?”
    â€œCute, isn’t it? I think the rainbow stripes are adorable.”
    I draw the line at snakes, however pastel and striped. “Adorable” and “snake” do not belong in the same sentence. Still, Emmy Lou needed my advice, not a list of my phobias—with snakes as number one. Plus I’m supposed to be helpful, not be a smug, judgmental pain in the butt. I gave the room a second look, trying to assess the large space. The previous owners must have opened up the ceiling into the attic level and installed the cathedral window overlooking the backyard, where an enormous oak tree was starting to bud. It would give wonderful shade in the summer. Under normal circumstances, I would have loved this room.
    â€œMaybe you can sit here,” Emmy Lou said, sweeping a family of plush yellow