Notoriously Neat (11 page)

Bry slid in beside me and we zipped on out to meet Vaughn Pilsner.

When we started furnishing my Airstream, Bry and I knew its spotlessness would be our calling card. We also knew we’d be in and out on jobs constantly and didn’t want cleaning it to eat up time and productivity.

Keeping a small place tidy presents its own set of challenges, whether it’s a trailer, the motor home you’re using for your cross-country vacation, your one-room office, or a shoe-box studio apartment.

It sounds obvious, but the best way to keep a small dwelling or workplace clean is to avoid clutter.

With this ground rule in mind, I’ve got a few more helpful tips for setting up and cleaning small interior spaces.

1. Be picky with your furnishings. The simpler they are, the easier it is to be orderly and organized. Stick to pieces with nice straight lines. Ornately carved table legs and chair-backs might look great in the family home or multiroom apartment, but where space is limited, they gather dust, take longer to clean, and can make for a dingy atmosphere.

2. Hide things in plain sight. An old-fashioned storage chest is the best place for . . . well, just about everything you aren’t sure where to stash away. Looking through the chest in my Airstream, you’ll see extra blankets, office and sewing supplies, seasonal decorations, lightbulbs, paper towels, bottled water, even CDs and DVDs. A chest of this sort can also provide extra seating or double as a coffee table.

3. Opt for natural-fiber area rugs. They can be removed and laundered, or flipped over and snapped to rid them of superficial dust and dirt. Furthermore, they don’t have that nose-itching synthetic/chemical carpet smell that can permeate small quarters.

4. Use sliding doors wherever possible. They’re ideal for kitchen cabinets, closets, dressers—you name it. It’s a lot easier to maneuver when you don’t have to back up when opening a door—or dance around it.

5. Taylorian Cleanliness Logic: Small spaces get dusty faster than large ones because the dust has fewer places to settle. Most dust in our work and living places comes from outside, and we can control the amount that enters with window coverings—so it’s important to choose them carefully. Mylar shades are a good first cover because they’re smooth and easy to clean. They let in light while keeping out heat and cold. A bamboo or rice-paper shade as a second covering offers further protection from outside elements and offers a soothing ambience.

6. Leave your shoes at the door. Think about it. We always hear about washing our hands often because they pick up germs—and we should. But who knows what we’re tracking in on the bottoms of our shoes? If it was on the street, we should be sure to keep it off our floors and rugs.

Twenty minutes later Bryan and I were at the Pilsner home. Just last night, I’d run breathlessly from across the road behind Chief Al, stuffed to the gills with sushi. Now I’d again found myself short of breath going up the steep wooden stairs to the door—but for a very different reason. As I may have mentioned, I’d gotten in great shape at Get Thinner’s that winter. The climb wasn’t what bothered me.

I supposed what did was just returning to the place so soon. When I’d parked the Versa out front, everything I’d seen inside had flashed through my mind. Gail’s body in the entry hall, the ransacked veterinary offices . . . everything. I don’t know how to describe the way I felt. Not exactly. I can only repeat that the sheer force of those images knocked the wind right out of me. And add that I was almost gasping for air as I reached the hilltop and rang the bell.

Naturally Vaughn Pilsner answered the door before I could pull myself together.

A tall, rail-thin man with a light natural tan offset by a mane of white, wavy hair, he smiled at me from the entryway, wearing perfectly pressed jeans and a pale blue oxford shirt that matched the color of his eyes. Pushed behind his ears, that snow-white hair fell at least three inches below his collar and instantly caught my attention. So did the fact that he was barefoot, though I couldn’t have explained why . . . and yeah, I know I’m a newspaper columnist, a basic requirement of which is that I be able to express myself with words. But when I’m at a loss, I’m at a loss.

“Sky?” Vaughn said in a quiet voice, offering his hand.

“Not to be confused with Bry,” Bryan said from beside me. “That’s my name tag. Making us ‘Sky and Bry’ when we’re together.”

Vaughn’s smile grew larger as he shifted his attention to Bryan. I might have cringed otherwise. But he seemed slightly removed without being aloof, and the result was an air of calmness about him.

“I heard you’ve done a wonderful job with Gail’s kennels,” he said. “Come on in. It’s chilly out here. We can chat in the sunroom.”

So much for Vaughn having a problem with Bry’s hard-core bodywork. As he led us through the foyer, in fact, he carried himself with such ease that my cringefulness was almost dispelled.

But when my eyes landed on the still-broken mahogany rail along the staircase . . . well, so much for not cringing.

“I truly apologize.”

I looked up at Vaughn.

“For what?” I said.

“You were here the night of the attack. Right after they found Gail.”

I shook my head. “It’s all right.”

“No. No, it isn’t.” He’d remained soft-spoken. “This is a big house. I should have had enough sense to have you come through one of the side entrances.”

I stood looking at him a moment. And though I knew people’s eyes shaded darker only in sappy romance novels, it seemed to me they’d done just that.

“I really am okay,” I said. “But how’d you know? That I was here, I mean. Did you talk to the police?”

“Several times since I arrived in town. Last night, this morning . . . they didn’t tell me, though.” He hesitated. “I’ll explain. But first let’s get out of this hall and sit down where it’s warm and bright.”

He turned down the hall and we followed. Again there was something about his bearing, a sort of quiet serenity, that was infectious. I knew he’d been an investment banker once upon a time, but honestly couldn’t see him in that role. His slender build and striking long white hair—not to mention bare feet—reminded me of those British rock stars my mom used to costume in her flower child days. Give him a cloak with stars and crescent moons on it and he would’ve looked like a crown prince of mystical Avalon.

What was it I said about sappy romance novels?

The sunroom was spacious and airy, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden, a skylight with some hanging plants below it, a small couch to one side, and cane chairs around a polished, modern slate coffee table. On a trivet in the middle of the table was a glass French press filled with a rich dark brew. There was a delicate pearl porcelain coffee set on a lacquered tray beside it.

“This is beautiful,” I said, looking around from the entry.

“When Gail and I bought this place, it was a porch with rotted floorboards and railings that wobbled,” Vaughn said. “She made it what it is.” He stood in apparent reflection for a second, motioned us toward the table, and courteously pulled out our chairs. “We have water boiling in the kitchen if either of you prefer tea. The coffee might be a bit strong . . .”

“Strong coffee
goooood
.” Bryan grinned as he dropped into the chair beside me. “I’m ready for a caf fix.”

I considered giving one of his lip rings a hard twist. “Coffee’s fine with me too,” I said.

Vaughn lifted the press and poured.

“I bought this in Europe years before Gail and I were married,” he said. “I don’t recall her ever taking it out of the cabinet . . . She always preferred appliances with electrical cords and push buttons. It surprised me to find they’d been using it.”

I looked at him. I didn’t want to snoop around in his personal affairs—no, check that—I didn’t want to be so blatant about it that he
noticed
. On the other hand . . .

“I apologize for rambling on,” Vaughn said before I could finish my thought. “I’m at complete loose ends, I suppose. It’s the suddenness of Gail’s death. And the circumstances even more so.” He sat opposite us at the table. “I won’t take too much of your time. Morrie Silverberg highly recommended your housecleaning services. He mentioned you’d already been helping Gail maintain her kennels . . .”

“Actually, Bry’s handled that all along,” I said. “Gail engaged our services last winter when I had a leg injury—”

“Got piped in the knee by a drunken fisherman working for a nutjob,” Bry said. “She was messing around with some married bigwig at City Hall . . . I mean the nutcase, not Sky—”

“I’m not sure we need to go into details, Bry.”

“All the expensive stuff around here, I don’t want it to seem like you’re a klutz gonna break anything,” he said, and faced Vaughn. “What happens is Sky’s boyfriend brings a stripper home from Boston one night. Then Sky does a good deed and takes her in as a roommate. Turns out the stripper was also messing with the bigwig, who busted up with her before he hired Sky to clean his offices, where she found—”

I kicked Bry under the table, figuring it wouldn’t be as conspicuous or potentially gory as the lip-ring twist. Then I reached for my coffee cup and sipped without looking over at him.

“Mr. Pilsner—”

“Vaughn, please.”

“Vaughn, I’d be very glad to work out an arrangement with you.” I took a brochure from my shoulder bag and handed it to him. “We have monthly and yearly contracts with varying schedules and rates. Though many clients prefer calling us in as needed . . .”

“Like with my high-powered nine-eleven deal,” Bry said.

Vaughn looked at him. Then looked at me.

“Last-minute cleaning service,” I translated.

Vaughn nodded. “Ah.”

I took another sip of my coffee and waited as he gave the brochure a quick glance.

“I think we should continue with whatever agreement you had with Gail,” he said, setting it down on the table. “That seems easiest for now, don’t you agree?”

“I would, except that we didn’t do any housecleaning for her,” I said. “Bry’s work was entirely in the offices and pet-boarding kennels. Of course, I’d be happy to give you an estimate—”

I stopped talking midsentence, distracted by something I’d heard—or thought I’d heard—elsewhere in the house. And then there it was again. I was on the verge of recognizing the sound when Bry scrunched his eyebrows and turned to Vaughn.

“Yo,” he said, sniffing. “That popcorn?”

“Microwavable,” Vaughn said with a faint smile. “My ex-wife wasn’t alone in her fondness for push buttons.”

I was quiet for a long moment. I could hear and smell the popcorn getting done. My thoughts, meanwhile, returned to some of the things Vaughn had said that had gotten my curiosity up.

We have water boiling. They’d been using it
.
My ex-wife wasn’t alone.

I know, I know. I said I wanted to avoid obvious snoopiness—famous last words. There’s only so much avoidance a person can take without reaching critical mass.

“Vaughn,” I said, “I thought Gail lived by herself.”

He shook his head. “I suppose you might call the little one a houseguest,” he said very slowly. “But . . . her son had been with her for some time.”

Good thing I wasn’t sipping my coffee when he said that. It would’ve slopped out of my mouth when it fell open.

“The two you have a—?”

“We don’t.” His eyes met mine.

“Oh. I didn’t realize Gail was married before.”

Vaughn kept his eyes on my face but didn’t say anything. I was just starting to wonder if I should’ve minded my own business when he suddenly looked behind me at the sunroom’s entrance.

I heard the lip-smacking noise even before my head whipped around in the same direction.

There in the sunroom’s entry stood Orlando, Mickey the monkey perched on his shoulder. A micropop bag in one furry paw, Mickey was stuffing huge gobs of puffy yellow kernels into his mouth with the other.

“
¡Amiga!
” Orlando said, beaming at me.

“
Whoooo-hooo-oo
,” Mickey said, spitting popcorn all over the place as he launched from Orlando’s shoulder onto my lap.

Bryan looked at me for a second, scratched his head. Then he turned his attention to Vaughn. “Do I gotta ask which ’a those two’s Doc Pilsner’s son?” he said.

Phone beeps, hell-o. Surprise, yer leading man or lady’s on the way over. Be sweet to rock the cradle, but you had a busy week and it’s a wreck. Condition red? You bet. Major life-funk time? No way. Why? Cuz ya know the main thing’s to stay calm. And the reason yer calm is you read this blog and prepared.

Prepared means you’ve got a basket. Not a picnic basket, but a big, tall standing wicker basket with a cover or floor pillow on top. Either that or a hamper. No cheapo plastic hamper from the bargain store, but something nice. Tortoiseshell, say. Nice.

Now bust it into the visiting room and gather up yer personal carnage. Newspapers and mags, CDs and DVDs and television clickers, pillows and blankets, socks, slippers, empty tissue boxes, bubble gum, pooch and kitty toys, that arts-and-crafts project ya been diddling around with . . . you get the gist. Throw it all in that basket or hamper and close it up.

Break time. Take a breath so ya don’t pass out. Awright, take two and maybe swig some water. But that’s all ya get; it’s time to bring out the vacuum cleaner with max intent. Put on the nozzle attachment and do a quick sweep. Suck the dust off yer chairs and the corners and floor around yer table. Same thing with countertops, the television, and your couch and cushions. The joint should look better already—but ya ain’t done yet.