Barbara Colley - Charlotte LaRue 01 - Maid For Murder p.08

Chapter Twenty-Three
Charlotte felt as if a heavy fist were squeezing her heart, but all she could do was wait, wait and wonder what Jeanne could have possibly wanted her to know. She didn’t have to wait long.
“My mother asked me to tell you that she doesn’t blame you for what you did. She said that she understands why you had to do it, and in spite of everything, you’ve been more of a friend to her than anyone she knows.”
Charlotte felt a single tear slide down her cheek, but she was too choked up for words.
In a controlled voice that Charlotte barely recognized, Anna-Maria continued. “Now I must get to the hospital, and I’d like to lock up before I leave, so you’ll have to go now.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ll just get my purse,” she murmured, stepping toward the doorway. When she drew even with Anna-Maria, she stopped and looked her in the eyes. “For what it’s worth,” she told her, “I wish you and your grandmother well. And if you ever need me—for anything—all you have to do is call.”

Outside, the warm afternoon was fast turning into dusk. When Charlotte realized how late it was, a sudden weariness came over her, a weariness born of a sorrow that went bone-deep. It grieved her deeply that her association with the Dubuisson family had to end as it did.
It should have been gratifying to know that she’d helped solve Jackson’s murder, but thoughts of Jeanne and what she had come to mean to her haunted and confused her. For the most part, she was horrified by what Jeanne had done, horrified and angry. When all was said and done, she’d grown to love Jeanne like the daughter she’d never had. Even so, Charlotte had learned over the years that loving someone could be a double-edged sword. It didn’t mean you had to like what they did or even condone their actions.
Judith’s car was still parked out front, and she was waiting for Charlotte by the van. Charlotte joined her, and they both stood and watched as Anna-Maria backed out of the driveway and drove down the street.
Though Charlotte was pretty sure that Judith had waited for her to see if Anna-Maria had divulged anything different from what she’d said earlier, she was also itching with curiosity about the letter Jeanne had left. Did she dare hope that Judith would let her read the letter? she wondered.
“Ah ... where’s your partner?” she asked as soon as Anna-Maria’s car disappeared from sight.
Judith gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not really sure, but he said something about following up on a lead.”
“A lead about Jeanne?”
Judith shrugged again. “Maybe. Like I said, I’m not sure where he went. But if they’re still in the city, we’ll catch up to them sooner or later.”
“They?”
Judith nodded. “Brian O’Connor is with her, wherever she is” Her gaze slid away, and she stared at the ground. She shifted from one foot to the other, then fidgeted with the strap of her purse.
“Just say it,” Charlotte told her, recognizing her niece’s nervous gestures.
“I don’t want to ask this, Aunt Charley.” She glanced up, and her eyes reflected the strain she was under. “I have to, though. It’s my job.”
“Judith, honey, just do what you have to do. I’ll love you, anyway.”
A tiny smile pulled at Judith’s lips. “And no matter what you tell me, I’ll still love you, too.”
Charlotte grinned. “Touché.”
Judith suddenly grew serious again. “Did you know, Auntie? It doesn’t stand to reason that you did, considering how you helped trap Jeanne in the first place. For the record, though, I have to ask. Did you know that there was a secret passage in the library?”
Unlike her reaction to her niece’s partner when he’d as much as accused her of knowing, Charlotte felt sorry for Judith. She held up her right hand, palm out, fingers together straight up. “As God is my witness, I didn’t know about it.”
“I didn’t really think so, but—”
“You had to ask.” Charlotte finished the sentence, then smiled. “I understand, honey, so stop worrying about it.”
Judith sighed. “Okay, but I’m afraid there’s a couple of other things I need to clear up, too. First of all, do you have any idea whatsoever where Jeanne and Brian could have gone or where they might be heading?”
Charlotte frowned in thought. Something, some fleeting memory, nibbled at her subconscious, but the harder she tried to remember, the more vague it grew. “I honestly don’t know,” she finally said. “But if I think of anything, I’ll get in touch.”
“One last thing, Auntie. What did Anna-Maria have to say to you? Anything I should know about?”
For reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, Charlotte found herself reluctant to share the message from Jeanne. She slowly shook her head. “No, it was personal,” she said. “Nothing you should be concerned about.” Charlotte cleared her throat. “Now I’d like to ask you a question.”
Judith nodded.
“What was in that letter that Jeanne left? In fact, I’d like to read it.”
“I don’t object to you reading it, but I don’t have it. Lou took it with him. But I can tell you what was in it. Jeanne said that it wouldn’t do any good for us to look for her or Brian. Evidently, she’d planned ahead in case something went wrong, because she said that she’d arranged for the two of them to disappear, but she needed a twenty-minute head start.” Judith’s face flushed. “And, like an idiot, I gave her the twenty minutes.”
“Don’t,” Charlotte admonished. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. There was no way you could have known, and you took every precaution possible.”
Judith waved away Charlotte’s reasoning. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but it still ticks me off, and you can bet I’ll hear about it from the chief. I’ll be lucky if they let me give out parking tickets. Anyway, the only other thing Jeanne said was that finally her inheritance would go to the person she’d always intended it to go to—her daughter. She inferred that a long time ago she’d set up a trust fund for her daughter that would pay out on the girl’s twenty-first birthday. And that’s just about it,” she added.
Charlotte could tell that Judith was still worried. Knowing her niece, she figured she wouldn’t rest easy until Jeanne was caught. She wished there was something she could say or do to make Judith feel better, but all she knew to do was be there for her when she needed her. She reached out and squeezed her niece’s hand. “You’re a good detective, hon, but even more than that, you’re a decent, caring human being.”
A sad little smile pulled at Judith’s lips. “Thanks, Auntie. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Charlotte grinned. “I’m glad you think so. But seriously, hon, you know I love you, and if you ever need to just talk or if you ever need anything, if it’s within my power, I’ll be there for you.”
Judith nodded. “I know. But enough of all this serious stuff. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired of thinking about it all. How about a bite to eat or a cup of coffee somewhere? This time, my treat.”
All Charlotte really wanted was to go home and soak in a warm tub of water, away from prying questions and from the reminders of her part in the whole affair. Still, it was getting close to suppertime, and after what she’d just said, there was no graceful way of refusing. She forced a smile and enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “Sounds good to me. I could use a bite to eat, especially if you’re treating.”
“Oh, good. How about the Trolley Stop? It’s not exactly Commander’s Palace, but the food is excellent.”
Charlotte had eaten at both places over the years, and she’d always enjoyed the food and the ambience. Most of the times she’d dined at Commander’s Palace had been for special occasions, occasions of celebration. For tonight and considering the circumstances, the more casual atmosphere of the small café, built in the shape of the trolleys that still ran along St. Charles Avenue, would be a welcome relief. “Then the Trolley Stop it is,” she said. “Do you want to ride along with me or take your car?”
“We’d better ride separately,” Judith answered, “in case I get called out on a case.”
“Since I’m parked in front of you, why don’t you follow me, then?”


Finding a parking place along St. Charles Avenue was always a pain. Luckily for Charlotte, she spotted a car pulling away from the curb just before she reached the Trolley Stop. Once she’d maneuvered the van into the narrow space, she shoved the gearshift into park and shut off the engine.
Judith wasn’t so lucky, she noted, as she watched her turn onto one of the side streets past the Pontchartrain Hotel.
Since traffic was heavy and she’d be risking her life as well as the door of her van if she got out on the driver’s side, Charlotte figured that the safest exit would be from the passenger side.
But climbing over the hump between the front seats to the passenger side wasn’t as easy as it seemed, and by the time she stepped out of the van and locked the door, she was out of breath. With her eyes searching up ahead for sight of Judith, she didn’t see the man approach her from behind.
“Having problems?”
Charlotte jumped at the sound of the deep male voice that belonged to Louis Thibodeaux. She whirled around, her hands clenched into fists, and it took every bit of restraint that she could muster to keep from hauling off and slugging him. “That’s the second time this week that you’ve scared the daylights out of me!” she snapped.
He held up his hands in a defensive motion. “Hey, I’m sorry.” His craggy face wrinkled into a frown. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered, not believing him for a second. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “Last time I heard, it was still a free country. Besides, the Trolley Stop is sort of a watering hole for some of the detectives in this district. Fast service, good food at a decent price,” he added. Then the infuriating man had the gall to grin. Charlotte couldn’t remember ever seeing him even smile, and the transformation was astonishing.
“And what are you doing here?” he asked. “After all”—he winked—“turnabout’s fair play.”
She couldn’t believe her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was actually flirting with her. Something weird was going on, she decided. Either the man had a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde complex or he was drunk. The amiable, likable man standing before her couldn’t be the same bully who, less than an hour earlier, had all but accused her of plotting to help a murderess escape.
“I’m here with Judith,” she blurted out. “To eat.” Charlotte glanced nervously up the street and was relieved to see her niece striding toward them.
“Hey, Lou,” Judith called out. “I wondered where you got off to.” She nodded toward the Trolley Stop. “I should have guessed, though,” she quipped.
“I’ll have you know, missy, that I just got here. I’ve been out tracking down Joseph O’Connor, for all the good that did,” he added with a growl. “I remembered that I’d seen him working a couple of streets over from the Dubuissons’ earlier this afternoon.”
“So?” Judith prompted.
“Nothing, nada,” he shot back. “Made out like he didn’t know what I was talking about. Funny thing is, the old man seemed pretty upset about the whole thing.”
“Maybe he really didn’t know anything,” Charlotte suggested defensively.
Louis Thibodeaux rolled his eyes, then shrugged. Not for the first time, Charlotte noticed how dark his eyes were—so brown they almost were black. And his eyelashes, long, equally dark lashes that any woman would covet.
“I guess it’s possible,” he admitted. “Anything is possible. But enough of that for now. I’m hungry, and I hate eating by myself. Could I persuade you ladies to join me?”
Charlotte was on the verge of automatically refusing when, to her horror, Judith nodded. “Only if you’re paying,” she quipped.
Louis Thibodeaux gave a curt little half-bow that somehow came across as elegant instead of silly. “It would be my honor and my pleasure.”
Without warning, he stepped over and wrapped his arm around Charlotte’s shoulder. Though there was nothing remotely sexual in the gesture, Charlotte felt a warm flush crawl up her neck. She was sure that she was turning six shades of red, but even worse, she was mortified that the heavy warmth of the detective’s arm felt so good. Then he held out his other arm to Judith. With a giggle, Judith stepped close enough for him to sling his arm over her shoulder.
With a swinging gesture, he stepped back, then forward, pulling both women with him, and in a singsong baritone voice, he chanted, “All for one and one for all.”
The café was crowded. Charlotte was sure that they would end up waiting forever for a table. The burly detective had been forced to release her and Judith once they got to the entrance door, but because of the crush of people jammed in the waiting area, Charlotte found herself forced to stand so close to him that she could smell his cologne, a sharp, spicy scent that suited the man perfectly.
Within moments of entering the café, one of the waitresses spotted Louis and Judith. With a smile and a wave, she signaled for them to come on through.
“Thanks, Betty,” Judith told the woman once they had shoved their way through to the front of the crowd.
“Your table should be free in just a sec,” the waitress replied.
Judith leaned toward Charlotte. “They try to keep a table open for us,” she said by way of explanation. “Good public relations with the department and all of that”
Within minutes, the waitress was back again. “The table is ready now.”
Ignoring the scowls of the other customers who had been waiting, Charlotte followed Judith and Louis to a small table in the corner by the front windows that looked out onto the avenue. Still playing the part of the gentleman, Louis held Charlotte’s chair for her, then did the same for Judith, before he seated himself.
Just as Charlotte reached for the menu, the distinctive trill of a telephone sounded. Judith and Louis automatically checked their phones.
When both of them shook their heads and stared at Charlotte, she smiled sheepishly. So much had happened, she’d completely forgotten that she’d programmed her calls earlier that morning to be forwarded to her cell phone.
“Guess it must be mine, then,” she offered as she fumbled with the zipper of the compartment on the outside of her purse, which held the tiny telephone. Once she’d removed the phone and punched the TALK button, she said, “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”
“Charlotte, this is Jeanne Dubuisson.”


Chapter Twenty-four
For a moment, Charlotte was too stunned to speak. Her gaze flew first to Judith, then to Louis. Both detectives returned her look, their eyes gleaming with interest.
Her first thought was that she should she tell them that her caller was Jeanne, but Charlotte wavered. Even if she told them, what good would it do? There was no way they could possibly trace the call, she reasoned, not on the spur of the moment.
As much as she hated deceiving the two detectives, she decided against letting on that her caller was Jeanne. Instead, she turned away from the table, seeking a bit of privacy from their curious looks.
“Ah ... yes,” she stammered, not sure how else to respond.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” Jeanne said. “I’m worried sick about my mother. I’ve called several times, but no one’s answering the phone at the house. Is she okay?”
“Ah ... hold on just a minute.” Charlotte shoved out of the chair. “I’m in a restaurant, and I’m having a hard time hearing you over the noise,” she said for the benefit of the two detectives as she stepped away from the table. Without looking back, she headed straight for the door marked rest-rooms. Once inside, she locked the door behind her.
“Jeanne, my God, where are you?”
“Never mind that, Charlotte. It’s better if you don’t know. But please, I’ve been frantic with worry. What’s happening? Why isn’t anyone answering the phone at my house?”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “I hate to tell you this, but Miss Clarice has had another stroke. An ambulance was called, and they took her to St. Charles General.”
“Is she—do you know her condition?”
“Not yet,” Charlotte admitted, suddenly ashamed that she hadn’t bothered to even check on the old lady. “But Anna-Maria called James to meet her there, so Miss Clarice isn’t alone.”
“Oh, thank God.” Jeanne paused. “I-I guess I could call the hospital.”
Charlotte could hear the worry and tears in Jeanne’s voice, but for once, she couldn’t dredge up even an ounce of sympathy for her. Jeanne had no one to blame but herself for her circumstances. “You should turn yourself in,” she blurted out. “The police are looking for you and Brian. They’ll find you sooner or later. With a good lawyer, you ...” Her voice trailed off, and she wondered if perhaps she’d said too much.
Jeanne sniffed, then cleared her throat. “You’re probably right, but I can’t turn myself in. I’d rather die first than go to jail, and I can’t risk Brian having to spend more time in jail than he already has. One last thing, though, before I hang up. How—how is Anna-Maria? Is she okay?”
In her mind’s eye, Charlotte could still picture the confusion and terror on Anna-Maria’s face as she’d sobbed her heart out while being interrogated by Judith and Louis. Deep within Charlotte, a seed of anger took root, then suddenly erupted into full-blown fury. “How can you even ask such a question!” she demanded, her voice harsh with disbelief. “Of course she’s not okay. She’s heartbroken and confused, and now, if her grandmother—God forbid—dies, she’ll be left with no one—no family whatsoever. How could you do that to her? No amount of money is worth that kind of price.”
For long moments, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry,” Jeanne finally whispered brokenly. Then she disconnected the call.
Charlotte’s knees suddenly went weak, and she sagged against the wall of the restroom. It took several minutes before she was finally able to stand without feeling as if she were going to pass out. She was horrified at what she saw in the mirror. She was almost as white as the walls of the tiny restroom.
For the first time in a long time, she suddenly felt old and very weary. How on earth had she gotten into this predicament? she wondered. How had she allowed herself to become so involved with these people?
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Hank was right. He was always telling her that business was business, that the people she worked for were her clients, not her friends. Good advice, she decided. Too bad she hadn’t listened to him.
Well, never again, she silently vowed. From now on she’d keep things strictly business where clients were concerned. If she would have done so to begin with, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Just who did she think she was, anyway, for Pete’s sake, scurrying around, gathering clues, trying to catch a murderer? And now this latest twist with Jeanne, a fugitive and murderer, calling her.
Charlotte sighed. Wouldn’t Louis Thibodeaux just love to pounce on that little tidbit? He already had his doubts about her part in Jeanne’s escape, and withholding vital information from the police could get her into even more trouble ... if they found out.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump. “Ah ... just— just a minute,” she stammered. Oh, Lord, she thought. How was she ever going to face Judith and Louis now?
“Aunt Charley, it’s Judith.” The muffled sound of her niece’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you okay in there?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered. “I’m anything but okay.”
“Aunt Charley?”
Now what was she supposed to do? Charlotte wondered, her mind searching frantically for an answer. But no answer presented itself. With a bone-weary sigh, she turned, unlocked the door, and opened it.
“Oh, Auntie, what’s wrong?”
Unable to look her niece in the eyes, Charlotte cast her gaze downward. “Actually I don’t feel so well,” she mumbled. At least she wasn’t lying, she thought. She was sick, sick at heart. “I think I need to go home.”
“That phone call—did that upset you? Was it bad news? Is Hank—”
“No, no.” Charlotte shook her head. “Nothing like that. The call was business. I-I guess I’m coming down with something.” She was coming down with something, all right, coming down with a huge case of the guilts.
“Maybe you just need to eat something.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, hon.” Just the thought of food made her want to gag. “I’m tired, and I just want to go home.” There was no way on God’s green earth that she could sit across the table from Judith and Louis and choke down food as if nothing had happened.
“I’d better drive you, then.”
“No,” Charlotte immediately protested. “It’s not that far, and I—I’ll be just fine. Please give my regrets to Detective Thibodeaux.”
Judith eyed her with worry. “Call me when you get home so I’ll know you’re okay.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

Charlotte phoned Judith as soon as she got home. After reassuring her niece that she would be just fine, she made a second phone call to St. Charles General Hospital. She was told that she could speak to the patient’s family in the waiting room, but just the thought of talking to Anna-Marie made her nervous, so she asked to speak to someone in ICU instead.
From a nurse in ICU she learned that Clarice was still critical, and as she hung up the receiver, she whispered a prayer for the old lady.
After checking to make sure that Sweety Boy had plenty of food and water, she glanced at the clock. It was only half past six, but since she didn’t plan on going out again and didn’t expect visitors, she decided to go ahead and change into her pajamas.
In the bedroom, she eyed the bed longingly as she pulled off her uniform. She was tempted to simply crawl into bed and be done with this awful day once and for all, but common sense prevailed, and she knew she should eat something first.
None of the leftovers in the refrigerator appealed to her, so she opted for her old standby, a can of chicken-noodle soup out of the pantry. She opened the can, and while the soup was heating in the microwave, she poured herself a glass of milk.
Maybe she’d call Hank after she’d eaten, she thought as she unwrapped a package of crackers to go with the soup. It had been several days since she’d talked to him, and she knew that just the sound of her son’s voice would be reassuring.
No, she decided. Given her present state of mind, calling Hank probably wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Knowing her son, he would immediately sense that something was wrong, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he found out exactly what it was that was bothering her. Not only would she have to listen to a lecture on keeping her emotions separate from business, but this latest dilemma she’d gotten herself into would only add more fuel to his arguments for her to retire.
The microwave timer beeped just about the same time that her doorbell chimed. Charlotte decided to ignore the doorbell in the hope that whoever was outside would simply give up and go away.
But her visitor proved to be persistent and kept ringing the bell. Then Sweety Boy began squawking.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered as she rushed into the bedroom to grab her robe. Throwing on the robe, she hurried to the door. She flipped on the porch light. “Who’s there?” she demanded, irritation lacing her words.
“It’s Louis Thibodeaux,” a deep male voice answered.
Charlotte groaned. Louis Thibodeaux was the last person she wanted to see tonight. What on earth was he doing there? Then a frightening thought hit her. Had he found out about Jeanne’s phone call?
“No way,” she muttered, dismissing the thought. There was no way he could possibly know that her caller was Jeanne unless he’d been eavesdropping at the restroom door, and somehow she couldn’t picture his doing such a thing.
So what did he want?
“Charlotte, are you okay in there?”
“Ah ... yes, I’m fine. Just a minute, please.” Her hand shook as she threw the deadbolt, and with a firm grip on the doorknob, she swung the door just wide enough to stick her head through the opening.
He was standing close to the door. Too close for comfort. “Judith was worried about you,” he said, eyeing her with a calculating expression that made her want to squirm. “She had some paperwork to finish up at the office,” he explained, “so I told her I would check on you on my way home. Here—” He held out a small styrofoam container. “It’s an order of fried shrimp and a salad. We figured you might get hungry later.”
We? He’d said we. Not just Judith. Charlotte took the container and tried to ignore the tingle of pleasure in the pit of her stomach. “That was very thoughtful,” she offered. “Thank you.”
He nodded, but instead of leaving, he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Could I come inside for a minute? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about I won’t stay long,” he hastened to add.
Charlotte figured that other than being downright rude, she didn’t have much of a choice, especially after he’d been nice enough to check on her and bring her food. Still, she couldn’t imagine what he’d want to talk about other than the Dubuissons, and she was truly sick of even thinking about the whole affair.
“I’m really tired,” she told him. “And I’m not feeling well.”
She expected him to give her an argument. What she didn’t expect was the look of sympathy and genuine concern that crossed his face. “Hey, no problem. It’s nothing urgent, anyway.” He backed away. “We can talk another time. I’ll call you.” With one last worried look, he turned and crossed the porch to the steps.
Charlotte shut the door and locked it again. She placed the container of food on the small table by the door, then stepped over to the window. As she pulled the curtain back just enough to peek out, her stomach did a funny flip-flop as she watched Louis Thibodeaux get into his car, and for a moment, she regretted that she’d sent him away. Even after the blue Taurus disappeared from sight, she continued to stare out into the night.
What had he wanted to talk to her about? she wondered. Jeanne? Maybe, but she didn’t think so. If he’d wanted to question her about Jeanne, he would have done so in spite of her excuse of being tired and not feeling well ... wouldn’t he? If not Jeanne, then what?


Chapter Twenty-five
Over a week had passed since the day of Jackson’s funeral and Jeanne’s escape. Charlotte had asked Hank to inquire about Clarice for her. According to what he’d learned, the old lady had survived her stroke, but her prognosis wasn’t good. There was little hope that she would be much more than a vegetable for what remaining time she had left.
Because of her medical condition, it was doubtful that any criminal charges would be brought against her for her part in covering up Jeanne’s crimes. Clarice was already in prison, serving a sentence that was far more harsh than any court could ever impose. She’d been sentenced to what little life she had left in a body that no longer did her bidding.
Louis Thibodeaux had yet to call, and Charlotte still wondered what he’d wanted to talk with her about.
Judith had stayed in touch, though. According to the information Charlotte got from her niece, in spite of an all-out manhunt, the police had yet to uncover even a clue as to Jeanne’s whereabouts. It was as if Jeanne and Brian had vanished off the face of the earth.
But life goes on, Charlotte reflected as she finished packing her supply carrier and went in search of her newest client.
Marian Hebert had been one of the two prospective clients who had called Charlotte on the day of the Zoo To Do festivities. A trim, dark-haired woman in her late thirties, Marian was recently widowed. She and her husband had owned one of the largest real-estate agencies in the city before a freak gas-leak explosion had claimed his life four months earlier.
Left with two young sons to raise and a business that had taken an abrupt nosedive after her husband’s death, Marian had hired Charlotte to come in three mornings a week to give her more time to salvage what she could of the failing real-estate company.
With the gaping hole left in her schedule by the Dubuissons, it had been easy to plug Marian into the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday slot.
Like the majority of the houses in the Garden District, the Heberts’ home was well over a century old; the raised cottage type was also a valuable piece of real estate. The original floor plan was simple and consisted of four rooms, evenly arranged and separated by a wide center hall. Raised six to eight feet off the ground, the main living area was on the second level, with a staircase in front leading to the entrance.
Broad galleries had once flanked the front and back of the house. Though the front gallery still remained intact, the back gallery had been replaced by two large rooms, equal in size; one was a modem kitchen-living combination, and the other was used as a home office. The rooms had been added by the Heberts when they bought the old home.
Charlotte located Marian, who was pecking away at the computer keyboard in the office.
Marian glanced up the moment Charlotte entered the room. “Is it one o’clock already?”
When Charlotte smiled and nodded, Marian shook her head. “My goodness, there never seems to be enough hours in the day” She motioned toward the large wooden desk that dominated the back wall. “Your check is over there, on top of that stack of papers in the middle. See you Wednesday morning?”
“I’ll be here,” Charlotte assured her.
With a satisfied smile, Marian turned back to concentrate on the computer screen, and Charlotte walked over to the desk. She spotted the check immediately. As she picked up the check, the papers beneath it caught her eye.
Charlotte went stone-still as she stared at the legal-sized document on top of the stack. A prickly feeling of déjà vu came over her, and a vague memory fought its way to the surface of her mind.
Like a bolt of lightning, it suddenly hit her, and Charlotte felt her knees go weak. The paper was a mortgage contract, the same type of legal document that she’d seen on Jeanne’s desk the Friday before Jackson was murdered. In her mind’s eye, she could still picture the exact location and description of the property described in the contract. At the time, she’d assumed that the Colorado real estate was simply one of the Dubuissons’ many investments. But now ... What if ...
She should call Judith right away. If what she suspected was true, then Judith needed to know about it as soon as possible.
Charlotte slid the check into her apron pocket as she turned and hurried from the room. She grabbed her purse and the supply carrier on her way out and made a beeline for her van. As soon as she was inside the van, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and punched in Judith’s number. With her forefinger poised over the SEND button, she suddenly froze.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she muttered as she squeezed her eyes closed, then groaned. Hadn’t she promised herself that she would never get personally involved with a client again? Only days ago, she’d been in a tailspin over her relationship with the Dubuissons; yet here she was, about to stick her nose in the big middle of it again.
Not again, she vowed.
Before she could change her mind, Charlotte switched off the phone and shoved it back into her purse. Before she went off half-cocked, she would think things through this time.
Though Charlotte tried her best to ignore her conscience as well as the revelation concerning the Dubuissons’ Colorado property, the drive home was pure torture. Like an itch that begged to be scratched, thoughts of the mortgage contract she’d seen on Jeanne’s desk consumed her.
She’d never been to Colorado herself, but the husband of one of her former clients had made annual trips there each year to hunt elk. Even now she could still remember how the poor woman had worried about her husband the entire time he was gone. Her client had been born and raised in the city, and though she’d appreciated the beauty of the mountains and the forests, she’d once described the place where her husband hunted as being one of the loneliest, most god-forsaken places on earth.
What better place as a hideaway for two fugitives ... a place away from civilization ... a place away from prying eyes and curious neighbors? If Jeanne and Brian were holed up somewhere like that, it was no wonder that the police couldn’t find them.
Charlotte tried telling herself that Jeanne and Brian’s whereabouts was none of her concern, that she should mind her own business. But her conscience kept insisting that she had a moral obligation to report the information to the police, that right was right and wrong was wrong. No one should get away with murder.
In the fifteen minutes it took to reach her house, Charlotte continued wavering over her decision, so much so that by the time she turned onto her street, she was ready to scream.
When she spotted the blue Ford parked at the curb in front of her house, she could hardly believe her eyes. With sudden pulse-pounding certainty, it was at that moment that she knew the decision had been taken out of her hands. It was an omen. Fate, it seemed, had stepped in and made the decision for her.
Why else would Louis Thibodeaux show up on her doorstep at this precise time after an entire week of silence? Why else, unless the information she possessed had been meant to be shared with the police?
Indecision was the root of all worry, Charlotte decided as she guided the van into her driveway and parked it beneath the shed. Strange, she thought, how once a decision was made, the initial worry seemed to disappear. Even more strange was the fact that she was actually relieved, even glad, to see Louis Thibodeaux.
By the time she reached the front porch, he was waiting for her near the steps.
It was odd to see the detective dressed in snug-fitting jeans instead of his usual khaki pants. But the more casual look suited him, she decided, and made him look younger and somewhat less intimidating.
“I hope you don’t mind me showing up without calling first,” he said.
“Actually I’m glad you did show up,” she told him, and for once she truly meant it. The surprised expression on his face was priceless, and though just the thought of catching him off guard for a change made her want to smile, what she needed to tell him was no laughing matter. Motioning for him to follow, she turned and climbed the steps. “Come inside. There’s something we need to talk about.”


Chapter Twenty-six
Sweety Boy began his usual antics of prancing, preening, and squawking the moment Charlotte stepped inside the living room. She set her purse down on the table by the doorway.
The detective followed her in and glanced over at the birdcage. “I think he’s glad to see you,” he said with a chuckle.
At the sound of the detective’s voice, the little bird suddenly ceased his squawking and went still so abruptly that he almost fell off his perch. If his actions hadn’t been so bizarre, they would have been comical.
“What’s your bird’s name?” the detective asked.
“Sweety Boy,” Charlotte answered, still watching the parakeet to see what he would do next. When his feathers suddenly began quivering, she narrowed her eyes.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun.” The detective stepped closer to the cage. “Look at that. Poor little fellow. He looks like he’s scared to death. Hey, boy, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The detective eased his forefinger through the cage wires.
Suddenly, with what sounded like a screech of terror, the little bird flew at the offending finger. His wings flapping, feathers flying, he attacked it with claws and beak.
“Hey, watch it! Ouch!” The detective jerked his finger back.
“Sweety Boy!” Charlotte cried.
While the detective rubbed his injured finger with his thumb, Sweety Boy squawked again, then quickly retreated to the opposite side of his cage.
“Guess he doesn’t like strangers much, does he?”
Charlotte was mortified. “He’s usually pretty friendly,” she said apologetically. “Did he break the skin?”
“Naw, no harm done.” Louis Thibodeaux held out his finger for her inspection.
There had never been a reason for Charlotte to even notice his hands or fingers before, but she liked what she saw. Though long and slender, his fingers looked strong and capable, and his bluntly trimmed nails were clean. Other than a small red welt near the first knuckle, his forefinger looked none the worse for the bird’s assault.
“Sorry about that,” she offered. “With the exception of my sister, he’s usually pretty friendly to everyone.”
“Does he attack her, too?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No.” Then she laughed. “She knows better than to get that close. But just last week she swears he called her crazy.”
The detective chuckled. “Hmm, a discriminating parakeet. Interesting company you keep, Charlotte.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry he was so rude.”
“Don’t worry about it. He probably just needs a little time to get used to me.”
The detective’s statement struck her as a bit odd. He didn’t seem the type to throw out an offhanded remark unless he meant it, so exactly what did he mean? she wondered.
“You said there was something we needed to talk about,” he reminded her.
“Ah ... yes, yes there is. Won’t you sit down?” She motioned toward the sofa. Once he was seated, she asked, “Would you like something to drink? Iced tea? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine for now. Maybe later.”
Though Charlotte was far too jittery to sit, she felt it would be awkward to remain standing, so she chose a chair opposite the sofa. Perched on the edge of the cushion, her hands clasped tightly together, she didn’t know any other way to say it but straight out. “I—I think I know where you might find Jeanne and Brian,” she told him. “I’m not positive, mind you, but I just remembered something I saw on Jeanne’s desk the Friday before Jackson was murdered.”
As she explained about the mortgage contract on the property in Gould, Colorado, it was hard to gauge the detective’s reaction from the deadpan look on his face. Even when she’d finished her explanation, his expression didn’t change. She wasn’t sure exactly how she’d expected him to react, but the longer the silence grew between them, the more nervous she became.
“I was going to call Judith,” she said, hating the defensive tone in her voice, “but since you were already here—” Charlotte suddenly frowned. “Why are you here, by the way? Why were you waiting for me?”
“That’s not important at the moment,” he said, quickly dismissing her question with a succinct shake of his head. “Right now I’m just trying to figure out why it’s taken you over a week to remember about this property in Colorado.”
All of Charlotte’s defenses instantly went on red alert. “Just what are you implying, Detective?”
“I’m not implying anything, but I’m wondering if there’s a part of you that wanted Jeanne to escape, so much so that you conveniently forgot about this property until now.”
Charlotte’s tenuous hold on her temper slipped a notch. “If that were true,” she shot back, “then why would I even bother telling you now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t pretend to be privy to the inner workings of the female mind. Who knows why women do half the stuff they do?”
“Because most men are male-chauvinist pigs.” The second she blurted out the words, she wished she hadn’t. After all, he was a police detective, for Pete’s sake, and the last thing she needed or wanted was to antagonize the police.
For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then, suddenly, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I wondered what it would take to get your dander up,” he finally said, still chuckling. “Well, now I know, but I had you going for a while there, didn’t I?”
Charlotte didn’t know whether to laugh along with him or throw something at him.
As it turned out, she did neither, because he abruptly rose to his feet. “We’ll check out the information,” he said, “and I’m willing to bet that you’re right on about it So far, it’s the best lead we have. Humph! Who am I kidding? It’s the only lead we have.”
He turned toward the door, and Charlotte pushed out of the chair. He’d only taken a couple of steps when he suddenly stopped and faced her again. “By the way,” he said gruffly, his dark eyes boring into hers in a way that made her pulse race. “Thanks for the tip. I realize that telling me—or anyone—wasn’t an easy decision for you to make, considering your relationship with that family. If it’s any comfort, it was the right decision.”
His insight broadsided her and caught her completely off guard. Something deep within her, some long, forgotten emotion twisted hard, and Charlotte almost melted on the spot. That he’d even recognized that she’d had a dilemma was totally unexpected. But given the circumstances, his attempt to comfort her and reassure her was truly amazing.
The firm click of the door closing behind him was what finally shook her out of her daze. Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed. “Just goes to show,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t judge a book by the cover.”
She blinked several times, then marched over to the door. Once she’d snapped the deadbolt into place, she turned toward the birdcage. “And you—” She shook her finger at the little bird inside. “You should be ashamed of yourself, attacking a policeman like that. Silly bird, don’t you know that he’s one of the good guys.”
It was true, she realized with sudden clarity. He was one of the good guys. And given her past experiences dealing with men, good guys weren’t that easy to come by anymore.
Or could it be that you like him a little too much?
Was Judith right, after all? she wondered.
“Crazy,” Sweety Boy squawked. “Crazy, crazy.”
Charlotte glared at the little bird, then burst out laughing. “Maybe so,” she said. Maybe it was crazy to be considering a relationship with Louis Thibodeaux. “And just maybe you’re jumping the gun a bit,” she muttered. Just because the man had teased her a little didn’t mean he’d been flirting. And just because he’d been understanding and showed her a bit of compassion didn’t mean he was interested in her as a woman or in a relationship ... Or did it?
Charlotte suddenly frowned. He never had told her why he’d stopped by in the first place or what it was that he’d wanted to talk to her about.
She was still frowning when she noticed that she had a message on her answering machine. She tapped the PLAY button.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry I didn’t catch you at home, but I thought you would want to know that I checked on Mrs. St. Martin for you this morning.” There was a momentary pause. “I hate telling you this, but the old lady has taken a turn for the worse. She’s developed pneumonia, and her kidneys are shutting down. It doesn’t look good for her.” After another pause, he said, “Call me if you want to talk. I love you.”