Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score

19

10:43 a.m., Sunday, August 16

Bianca Hornberger was an asshole.

There were no two ways about it. After spending two hours watching 4evaYoungBitchez videos, Riley was convinced the woman was Satan and had been called back to hell for a management emergency.

Bianca’s advice on living one’s best life was limited to: Marry rich. And lead your man around by his testicles.

“Like I said before, your most important asset is your body. You need to take care of it so you can use it to encourage your man to give you everything you want,” Bianca said on-screen, dressed in a mini romper open to the belly button. She was obsessively stroking her hair extensions—which had earned their own video—like a cat.

“I wasn’t blessed with 30 double G breasts. I bought them.” Bianca smirked. “Well, my husband bought them. But what’s his is mine. Wink!”

Bianca had to say the word “wink” because not only had the fillers rendered her incapable of completely closing her lips, but she had also lost significant eyelid function. She’d probably spent half of her husband’s fortune on eye drops.

Riley covered her face and let out a half-scream, half-moan.

“What’s going on? What happened? Who’s screaming?” A disheveled and confused Mrs. Penny popped up over the back of the dusty divan.

Riley yelped. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to fall asleep listening to that dummy talk about the importance of balancing your lip fillers with butt implants,” Mrs. Penny said with a yawn.

“Is there something I can assist you with?” Gabe asked from the doorway. He was sweating from his morning marathon, and instead of a bowl of ice cream, he held a giant mixing bowl of kale and nuts.

“I thought Dickie was bad. But this lady? She made the nanny stand in for the daughter on the family Christmas card because she didn’t lose enough weight to be in it and it was ‘affecting her brand.’” Riley shuddered.

“Sometimes people are horrible,” Gabe agreed.

“About time you said it,” Mrs. Penny said. “I was starting to think you weren’t human with your bullshit equanimity and niceness.”

“That’s a very un-Gabe-like thing for you to say,” Riley said, ignoring Mrs. Penny. She liked that Gabe was so kind it made him seem not human.

“I am feeling un-Gabe-like,” he admitted. “Adrift. Unanchored. Floating without meaning or purpose.” He stabbed a piece of kale with uncharacteristic violence.

Oh, boy.

Riley scrubbed her hands on her knees. “Hey! How about you teach me how to detox my mental spaces so ghosts like Bianca don’t hang out in there and start to rot my brain?”

Gabe loved teaching her stuff.

He shrugged his seventeen-foot-wide shoulders. “I suppose I could attempt to help.”

His lack of enthusiasm made her overcompensate. She jumped out of her chair. “It’ll be great. You can explain to me again why I can’t contact the newly dead like Bianca and Titus.”

He looked down at his pile of greenery and frowned. “Is your feigned enthusiasm for my benefit because I am now pathetic?”

“Gabe, buddy. Why in the world would anyone think you’re pathetic? You’re smart, kind, handsome—”

“Built like two hot linebackers smashed together,” Mrs. Penny added.

The complimentary bullet points were cut off by the window next to the fireplace shattering into a cloud of glass.

Burt woke up under Riley’s desk, barked once, then rolled back over and immediately began snoring again.

Fred poked his toupeed head in through the broken window over the protruding two by four.

“Ooops! We’ll have that fixed in a jiffy. Right after lunch and a nap,” he promised before disappearing.

“You’re so Zen you can withstand living here,” Riley continued, waving a hand toward the destruction. “You’re wise and strong. Everyone thinks you’re awesome.”

Gabe looked at the toes of his sneakers. “Not everyone.”

“The people who count the most think you’re awesome. I do. My sister does.”

At the mention of Wander, he turned into a gigantic marshmallow. “Does Wander really believe that I am an excellent human being?”

“Of course she does,” she insisted. “She lights up every time you walk in a room. And why wouldn’t she? Don’t let anyone make you feel like you are less than totally awesome.”

His smile worked its way across his face in a blinding flash of teeth and hope. “Thank you, Riley. You are a good friend.”

“I learned from the best,” she said. He frowned, and she patted him on the bulging forearm. “I meant you. You’re the best.”

“You are very kind and thoughtful.”

“Let’s get out of here, and you can teach me stuff,” she yelled over the noise of the leaf blower Mr. Willicott was wielding outside.

She nudged Burt awake, and together the three of them headed into the kitchen, where they found Lily giggling over a laptop and a plate of scones. The scones were blackened and still smoking.

“Morning Lily,” Riley said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m flirting with a British gentleman in a fan group for The Crown. He says he’s a duke!”

Riley could only handle so many crises at one time. “Whatever you do, don’t give him your social security number or any money. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Wait up. I’m coming with you,” Mrs. Penny announced.

“Why?”

Mrs. Penny shrugged. “I want donuts.”

“Donuts?” Gabe and Burt both perked up.

“Okay. I guess we’re getting donuts.”

They all piled into Riley’s Jeep and grabbed a dozen donuts in the Dunkin’ drive-thru, including a Boston Kreme for Uncle Jimmy.

“This is a wonderful day,” Gabe said, clutching a donut in each hand, powdered sugar dusting his lips and black tank top. Burt licked his chops with his mile-long pink tongue as Mrs. Penny fed him bites of a plain donut.

“Do not let him eat any of the ones with cream or jelly. He has a very delicate digestive system,” Riley warned.

Riley drove them to Italian Lake, a lush chunk of greenery sandwiched between Green and Third Streets.

Their little entourage with donuts and dog in tow tromped to a shady copse of trees on the edge of the man-made lake.

A group of sweaty joggers trotted past, and Riley was inundated with their thoughts.

“Greg’s shorts are the perfect length on the inner thigh. I wouldn’t need nearly as much Body Glide on my thighs if my shorts were that long. Is this what shorts envy feels like?”

“Why does Gary keep staring at my ass?”

“Ugh. If Greg and Gary hook up, I’m finding a new running club.”

“We really need to start doing these exercises at home,” she muttered.

Mrs. Penny happily slurped her way through an extra-large iced coffee and held Burt’s leash while he watched the ducks.

With a six-pack full of sugar, Gabe’s mood had drastically improved. Riley was happy to let him guide her through the friendly pink and blue clouds, wielding a psychic bottle of disinfectant and metaphorically scrubbing at any smudges of Bianca’s negativity that were left behind. It felt like a spring cleaning for the mind.

Riley had to admit, it wasn’t horrible. She made a mental note to talk to Wander about adding it into the yoga studio’s meditation class.

She was scrubbing at a particularly sticky spot when her phone rang, yanking her out of Cotton Candy World and depositing her back on the goose-crap-splattered park grass.

“Ooof,” she said, falling over on her side.

It was Detective Weber. Apparently civilian consultants didn’t get things like days off.

“Don’t tell me you have another dead body,” she answered.

Two moms with strollers full of kids stopped in their tracks and then spun off in the opposite direction at a fast clip.

“None that you need to worry about,” Kellen said, sounding tired. “I do, however, have a housekeeper for you to talk to today. I’m up to my elbows in court preparation for a case tomorrow, and I just caught a fatal hit and run.”

Riley winced. Wading into death all day, every day had to take a toll. She was glad Nick had left that profession behind. Instead of piecing together body parts, he handled legal papers and sat in cars to take pictures of people.

In her opinion, it was a much healthier gig.

“You want me to interview a witness?” She gulped.

“I can’t get away, and she wants to talk away from the Hornberger house so she doesn’t get fired.”

“Am I your only option?”

“Thorn. There’s no reason to be nervous. I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re going to interview a witness as a representative of the Harrisburg PD. You don’t have to be worried about impressing her. She’s already terrified.”

“That’s comforting,” she said dryly.

“I just need you to get the details of the glitter bomb. When it came. Where she opened it. If there was a note. Where the packaging went. Who cleaned it up.”

“Got it. Glitter bomb focus.”

“Can you handle this?” Kellen asked.

“Yeah.” Probably. She’d asked people questions before. How hard could it be with a murder investigation at stake?

“Great. She’s at the West Shore Farmers Market working at the pretzel stand. Her name is Marina.”

Riley glanced back at her crew. Gabe was still meditating. Mrs. Penny had fallen asleep with her mouth open, and Burt was covered in jelly and powdered sugar.

“Is it okay if I have company?”

“As long as she talks to you and you get me the information, I don’t care if you take a naked marching band with you.”

A naked marching band.Riley wondered if there might actually be a market for that.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Great. Send me your notes, and don’t do anything embarrassing.”

Weber disconnected.

Riley dragged Burt out of the donut box. “Guys, we have a pit stop to make,” she told her friends.

* * *

“Hold still, big guy,”Mrs. Penny said, reaching into her backpack and producing an orange vest. She clipped it on Burt, who was immediately terrified of it.

They were in the crowded parking lot of the West Shore Farmers Market. A two-story building home to, well…everything from butcher-fresh turkey burgers to wild-caught salmon in the middle of Lemoyne.

“What purpose does that serve?” Gabe asked, admiring the vest.

“They don’t allow pets in there, what with all the raw meat. This way, we can pretend he’s in training to be one of those support doggies.”

“It says ‘Public Safety’ on it,” Riley observed.

“Don’t see you coming up with a better idea,” Mrs. Penny said.

“Fine. Let’s go. Burt, don’t destroy anything,” she warned. “We’re going straight to the pretzel stand to interview Marina. Then we’re coming back to the Jeep without causing any scenes. Got it?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Mrs. Penny grumbled.

“Oh, my. This fresh produce would make Elanora so happy. She enjoys a daily beet juice,” Gabe said, his face lighting up.

“Forget the beets. Look at those freaking cookies.” Mrs. Penny pointed at the bakery stand.

Riley sighed. “Fine. You two take Burt and shop quietly. I’ll interview Marina, and we’ll meet back at the Jeep.”

The pretzel stand was all the way in the back corner past the Lebanese place and next to the candy stand she prayed Gabe wouldn’t spot. Riley followed her nose to the fresh-baked pretzels. It was a stand run by young women in pretty homemade dresses and aprons.

Riley got in line, intending to focus on the witness interview, but by the time she got to the register, her willpower had evaporated.

“May I help you, miss?” The girl behind the register asked.

Miss. It beat the hell out of ma’am.

“I’ll take a large pretzel and a lemonade. And I’d like to speak to Marina,” she added as she forked over the cash.

She was directed to a young woman in a flour-dusted apron worn over a pale blue dress that matched her eyes. Her hair was fashioned into a braided bun.

“Are you Marina?” Riley asked over the plexiglass.

Marina nodded and ducked out of the booth. “Are you Riley Thorn?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yes. Detective Kellen sent me to talk to you about Bianca Hornberger.”

“Let’s speak outside,” Marina suggested.

Riley followed her out a side door and into the suffocating summer sunshine. She pulled out her phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

“Do what you must.”

“So, uh, Marina.” Riley suddenly felt incapable of conversation. “You work for Bianca Hornberger, is that correct?”

The woman nodded vigorously, her head covering fluttering. “Yes. I was hired as a housekeeper and nanny until Mrs. Hornberger realized that I was not able to produce the kind of photography she needed for her social media presence. Then she hired a nanny slash social media director.”

Forgetting the point of the conversation momentarily, Riley frowned. “What does a nanny slash social media director do?”

“Yvette was part of an au pair program from France. She drives the children to and from school and takes pictures of Mrs. Hornberger.”

“How old are the kids?” Riley asked.

“Thirteen and fourteen.”

“And they still need a nanny?”

Marina looked over both shoulders. “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead.”

“Honesty doesn’t count as speaking ill. Especially not if it leads us to her killer,” Riley promised.

“Mrs. Hornberger was a terrible person. Her husband and children are better off without her.” Marina’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh, my. That felt wonderful!”

“Let it all out,” Riley advised.

* * *

Riley’s headwas spinning as images of Bianca Hornberger reinfested her newly cleaned mental crevices.

“And another thing,” Marina said, nearly breathless after ten minutes of uninterrupted venting. “When Mr. Hornberger put his foot down and said she needed to stop sinking so much money into her channel just to get a few free products, she paid for thousands of fake followers to pretend that she was getting famous so he’d have to let her continue. Yvette said if you look in the comments you can tell which ones are bots.”

As far as Riley was concerned, this interview had just widened the suspect pool to include everyone who’d ever had the misfortune to meet the woman.

Marina sagged against the side of the building. “I feel much better now. I’ve been holding that in for six years.”

“So about the glitter bomb,” Riley said, trying to steer them back on course.

A muffled crash came from inside the building, and she sent up a prayer to her spirit guides that her entourage was not involved.

“Oh, yes. The glitter bomb. Mrs. Hornberger sends me to the post office every day to check for packages.”

Inside, someone shouted something Riley couldn’t make out.

“Do you remember what day the package arrived?”

“I believe it was a Tuesday. Yes. Two Tuesdays before she met her maker.”

“Were you there when she opened the package?”

Marina nodded. “Yes. On Tuesdays after I go to the post office, I scrub the floors, clean the pool, change the bed linens, iron the draperies on the second floor, and make a home-cooked meal that Mrs. Hornberger could pretend she made.”

Riley blinked. “Uh, just a quick clarification, where were you on the day Mrs. Hornberger was murdered?”

“I was at my great-uncle’s farm for my cousin’s wedding.” She looked suddenly guilty. “Mrs. Hornberger said I wasn’t allowed to attend because she needed me to re-organize her makeup supplies. But Mr. Hornberger took me aside and told me to take the day off and that he’d take care of it.”

Riley tried to imagine Teddy Hornberger “taking care of it.” But the image of him cramming a thong down his dead wife’s throat just didn’t compute. “Okay. So you picked up the package at the post office and brought it to the Hornberger residence. What happened next?”

“Mrs. Hornberger preferred to open all of her business-related mail in the bedroom so she could film it. I was scrubbing the deep end of the pool when I heard the explosion and the screaming.”

Riley held up a finger. “Hang on, are you saying there’s video of the glitter bomb?”

Marina nodded. “There was. I would not be surprised if Mrs. Hornberger demanded that Yvette delete it.”

She wondered if Kellen’s team had recovered any memory cards or if they’d been missing along with the rest of the electronics.

“So the glitter bomb exploded, and what did you do?”

Marina’s cheeks flushed red. “I finished cleaning the pool.”

Riley didn’t quite hide her smile. “And then?”

“When I went inside, there was red glitter everywhere. Mrs. Hornberger was standing in the middle of her bedroom screaming. There was glitter in her mouth, and she kept spitting it out. It was magnificent.”

Riley could see it. The short, sharp burst and the instant hurricane of glitter exploding into the air.

The shrill scream. The flapping of bejeweled hands. “What is this? I don’t understand! This isn’t a free sample of moisturizer!”

“I called a cleaning crew, and they arrived an hour later. It took them two days to clean it all up, and she still made them come back the next week because she kept finding glitter in new places like the refrigerator and the garage.”

“What happened to the package the glitter bomb came in?”

“The cleaning crew disposed of it.”

There was more shouting coming from inside the farmers’ market now.

“Do you recall a return address or anything special about the packaging?” Riley asked.

Marina shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

Behind them, a woman with a stroller and a crying toddler barreled through the door into the parking lot.

“Thank you for your time,” Riley said quickly. “If I have any other questions, how can I reach you?”

The woman gave her a funny look and reached into her apron pocket. She produced a cell phone. “You may call me.”

“Oh, right. Of course. If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.”

The shrill sound of the fire alarm cut them off.

Riley had a bad feeling about this. “I’d better get back inside—”

The door burst open again, and Mrs. Penny charged through it. She had a smoothie in one hand and Burt’s leash in the other. Burt’s Public Safety Vest was now around his waist, and he had a length of bratwurst clutched in his mouth. Gabe followed with a bag of vegetables, a plate of tacos, and half an apple pie in his arms.

Customers and vendors poured out of the building after them.

“Let’s hit the road before the five-oh show up,” Mrs. Penny called as she hustled toward the Jeep.

“I don’t even want to know,” Riley said when they got in the Jeep.

“Floor it,” Mrs. Penny shouted from the passenger seat.

Riley peeled out of the parking lot just as sirens split the air.

“What is that smell, and why is it lingering?” The Jeep’s roof was on, but she’d unzipped the windows for full ventilation. Still, the stench clung to the interior.

“I think it’s your four-legged friend back there,” Mrs. Penny said, slurping on her smoothie. “Might have been the pizza he stole off that toddler.”

“It could have been the bowl of pho,” Gabe guessed.

“Why did you guys feed my dog pizza and pho and bratwurst?” Riley lamented.

“Hey, don’t look at us,” Mrs. Penny said. “Burt was the one who jumped over the counter at the taco place.”

“They did not seem pleased,” Gabe announced, taking a bite out of the pie.

Riley’s phone rang, and she punched the speaker button.

“Where are you, and why do I hear sirens?” Nick snarled.

“We just left the farmers’ market,” Riley said, slipping down a side street just in case.

“The farmers’ market on the police scanner?”

“I’m not sure,” she fibbed.

Mrs. Penny leaned over. “Relax, Santiago. She’s with me. Everything’s fine. We can outrun the bacon.”

It was hard to understand Nick’s response. It sounded like garbled Donald Duck-style swearing and muttered comments that shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.

“Hey, at least she didn’t leave the Jeep at the scene of the crime this time.”