Chapter Six
T he next few moments were the most awkward that Charlotte had experienced in a long time. She desperately wanted to leave, and she would have, in a heartbeat, but pain and loss were things she understood all too well. She too had lost people she’d loved. She too had lashed out at those around her because of her losses. And even now, so many years later, at times, the pain was still unbearable.
She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I’ll just have water, please.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked purposefully toward the kitchen.
The moment she stepped inside the kitchen, the wonderful aroma of French bread warming in the oven assailed her. Bread of any kind was her Achilles’ heel, but she especially loved fresh French bread.
The kitchen itself was neat and orderly, and she noted that Louis had already set the table, complete with place mats, matching napkins, silverware, and beautiful china.
Would wonders never cease? she thought. And what a contradiction. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the gruff detective could be so…so civilized.
While Louis busied himself taking the bread out of the oven, Charlotte seated herself at the table and tried to think of some safe, neutral topic that would end the strained silence between them.
“These dishes are beautiful,” she ventured. “I’ve always loved this particular rose pattern.”
His only reaction was a dismissive shrug and what sounded like a grunt.
What now? she wondered, glaring at his back. With a sigh of impatience, she glanced around the room. Then she saw it. Stacked haphazardly on the countertop, near the back door, she spied what she hoped would be just the thing to end the awkward tension between them.
“Are those the carpet and tile samples you mentioned earlier?”
When he finally glanced over his shoulder, she tilted her head toward the countertop.
“Yeah, they are,” he answered.
“Mind if I look through them? I’ve been thinking about doing some renovations,” she quickly added, since she certainly didn’t want him to think that she was being nosy…again.
“Actually—” He slipped the hot bread into a small wicker basket. “I had an ulterior motive for inviting you to supper. I was hoping I could persuade you to give me some pointers. I figured that since you’ve been in so many different houses, you’d know which types of tiles or carpet were the best to use, and which types require the least amount of upkeep.”
Feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, Charlotte ventured a small smile. “Ah-ha! The truth finally comes out. So that’s why I get a free meal.”
Her ploy to ease the tension worked like a charm. The strained look on his face faded.
“After we eat, though,” he said as he brought the basket to the table and set it down near the edge. “Sorry I don’t have a salad, and I thought we’d just serve ourselves from the pot if that’s okay with you.”
“Hey, I’m for whatever is easiest,” she told him.
At the stove, Charlotte spooned a generous helping of rice into her bowl. The gumbo was a dark, rich color, and as she ladled it over the rice, she noted that it was chock-full of shrimp and crabmeat. “This looks delicious,” she commented.
Seated back at the table, Charlotte helped herself to the bread. Still warm from the oven, the bread was exactly how she liked it, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.
When Louis finally joined her, he brought her a glass of ice water, along with his own bowl of rice and gumbo.
“So—why were you so late getting home?”
It was a good thing that Louis’ question caught her with a mouthful of bread. Otherwise she might have been tempted to tell him that it was none of his business and let him see how it felt.
But getting back at someone was not her way, and she had always tried her best to live by the golden rule. Besides, since he’d asked, why not take advantage of the situation? Why not tell him what she’d discovered at the Devilier house. That way she could get his reaction without really asking for his advice after all.
Charlotte finally swallowed the bread. “You know that old Devilier house that’s been renovated into apartments?”
He looked up and his expression grew hard. “Yeah. What about it?”
Though she thought his reaction was a bit odd, she explained. “I submitted a bid for the cleanup and won the contract. We’re scheduled to start early tomorrow morning, so after work today, I went over there to look things over.”
“So Roussel and his bunch are finally done there.”
Charlotte nodded, puzzled by his contemptuous tone.
“Well, that’s a relief! I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? That whole crew is nothing but a bunch of thugs and troublemakers. Most of them have rap sheets as long as your arm. And Roussel and that delinquent son of his are the worst of the lot. They’re nothing but trash, Charlotte. Does Judith know about this contract of yours?”
Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Why, no. But I don’t make a habit of checking out my clients with my niece,” she replied curtly.
“Well, maybe you should, especially considering your recent track record.”
Every defensive bone in Charlotte’s body stiffened. “If you’re referring to the Dubuissons, you can—”
Louis raised his hands. “Sorry! Guess that was a pretty cheap shot.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it was,” she snapped.
“Hey—I said I was sorry. But seriously, Charlotte—” He lowered his hands to the table and leaned closer. “You really shouldn’t be dealing with the likes of Roussel.”
“But he seemed like such a nice man,” she stressed.
His lips tightened into a grim line. “Well, he’s not. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask Judith. She’ll tell you the same thing.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered, as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Poor Cheré.”
Noting Louis’ bewildered look, she explained. “Cheré Warner is one of my employees—a bright young woman working her way through school. Anyway—she’s been seeing young Todd. It was through her connections that I knew about the bids going out for the cleanup to begin with.”
“Well, she couldn’t be too bright if she’s hooked up with Todd Roussel.”
“I’ll have you know that she’s a lovely girl. She’s dependable, smart, and has—”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture. But if you care so much about this Cheré person, you’d better warn her to steer clear of the Roussels. We’re talking Mafia ties here—the kind of men that nice girls run from if they know what’s good for them. And believe me, Vince Roussel is in up to his eyeballs. We’ve never been able to prove anything—not and make it stick—but we’ve been after Vince for years.”
“But just because you believe the father is shady,” she argued, “that doesn’t necessarily mean that the son is part of it.”
“Not just shady, Charlotte. Corrupt! Through and through. As for his son, he’s nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum. He already has a juvy record. And if you ask me, I say a rotten apple never falls too far from the tree.”
“Guilt by association,” she challenged.
“Well,” he drawled, “you know the old saying about birds of a feather.”
“That’s ridiculous. Todd can’t help what his father is.”
“No—no, he can’t, but there’s another saying too, something about children learning what they live.”
Charlotte didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to think that Cheré would have such poor judgment in men. But she was a realist too, and she knew that even the brightest, most intelligent women were sometimes fooled into falling for the wrong men.
“Charlotte, all I’m saying is that your friend needs to be warned. If you really care about her, just urge her to be cautious.”
Charlotte nodded, but during the rest of the meal, as she tried concentrating on eating the gumbo, she kept thinking about what Louis had said. The gumbo tasted just fine, and in fact, was surprisingly good, almost as good as her own. But Louis’ revelation about the Roussels had succeeded in chasing away any appetite she’d had. Though she managed to eat what was in her bowl, her concern for Cheré took all of the enjoyment out of the meal.
To Charlotte, her employees were like an extension of her family. And Cheré in particular was dear to her heart. She’d long admired the young woman’s spunky approach to life. Like herself, Cheré hadn’t had an easy time of it, but had made the most of what life had dealt her.
Once they had finished, to her relief, Louis quickly cleared the table. Then he dragged out every sample of tile and carpet that he’d collected, along with several brochures on cabinets, kitchen appliances, and bathroom fixtures.
“Why don’t you show me what appeals to you?” she suggested. “Then I’ll try and give you the pros and cons about it.”
“I think I’d rather see what appeals to you first,” he countered.
Charlotte stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she narrowed her gaze and a shrewd smile pulled at her lips. “You haven’t picked out anything yet, have you?”
A sheepish look came over his face. “Caught red-handed,” he admitted. “But I like how your place looks,” he hastened to add. “It’s comfortable but nice without being fussy.”
“Fussy?”
Louis waved a dismissive hand. “You know, frilly, woman-type stuff.”
She was certain that in his mind, he thought he was paying her a compliment, and though she wanted to point out how chauvinistic he sounded, she held her tongue and tried not to take offense.
Going through the samples and brochures did serve a good purpose, though. Not only did she get some ideas for updating her own home, but it took her mind off the disturbing revelation about the Roussels and provided a brief diversion from her concerns for Cheré.
When Charlotte returned to her own half of the double, the cuckoo clock was signaling the hour. “Great,” she muttered, when she realized that it was already ten o’clock. “That’s just great,” she added tiredly.
All too soon, it would be time to go to work again…to the Devilier house. As she locked her front door, it suddenly hit her that she never had told Louis about the open window or the intruder.
“Tomorrow,” she told Sweety Boy, who was perched on his favorite spot on top of the cuckoo clock. “I’ll call Marian and report it tomorrow.”
But Sweety ignored her and continued squawking with each sound the cuckoo made. “Not that you care, huh, you little rascal?” Charlotte shook her head and laughed. She’d long suspected that the silly little parakeet thought the cuckoo was a real bird, but what she couldn’t figure out was if Sweety was jealous or simply starved for companionship.
While she listened to her phone messages, she coaxed the little bird back into his cage. Once she’d covered him for the night, she prepared the coffee pot and set the automatic timer. The last thing she always did before climbing into bed was brush her teeth and wash her face, and tonight was no exception, despite her exhaustion.
She’d told her crew to meet her at the Devilier house at seven Saturday morning, so she set her alarm clock for five-thirty, figuring that an hour and a half would give her plenty of time to go through her regular morning routine. Then she automatically picked up the book sitting beside the clock.
There were few things she enjoyed more than burying herself in a good mystery novel, and she tried to make time to read at least a little each night at bedtime.
But not tonight, she decided as the words blurred and swam before her eyes after she’d read only a few lines. With regret, she placed the book back on the table. Just as well, she thought. Five-thirty would come around all too soon.
Once she’d switched off the bedside lamp, she snuggled down in her bed. Though faintly, she could hear music coming from Louis’ half of the double, and she smiled when she recognized an old Righteous Brothers song. She and Louis might disagree on a lot of things, but evidently, one thing they had in common was their choice in music.
She was just drifting off when Louis’ words about Todd Roussel intruded. He’s nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum. Again she thought of Cheré and wondered what, if anything, she could do.
Then the song ended, and within seconds, yet another one she recognized all too well began. Charlotte felt her throat grow tight as she listened to the familiar lyrics, a sad song full of longing…of lovers separated yet hungering for each other.
For her, it had been a lifetime of hungering for someone she could never have. There was no wondering if he was still hers. And it did no good to wait for him. A terrible war in Asia and death had ended her wait…forever.
Chapter Seven
O n Saturday morning, Charlotte was still a bit uneasy when she unlocked the back door to the Devilier house. Before she left home, she’d called Marian and told her about the missing screen and the raised window, as well as the evidence she’d found that indicated someone had been camping out in the old house.
Marian hadn’t seemed concerned in the least. She’d quickly assured Charlotte that if someone had been staying in the house, they weren’t there anymore. Marian had said that she knew for a fact that Katherine Bergeron had gone by around eight the night before to check out the apartments, and Katherine hadn’t mentioned finding anyone there then.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Charlotte stepped just inside the Devilier entrance hall. For several seconds she stood perfectly still and listened for any sounds of life in the old house. But there was nothing. No squeaking floorboards, no footsteps. Nothing at all.
Charlotte hesitated a moment longer. Then, as an added precaution, she cupped her hands on either side of her mouth and shouted out, “If anyone’s here, you’d better leave now!”
Her voice echoed throughout the cavernous hallway, and then there was silence. Still a bit uneasy, but somewhat satisfied that she’d given fair warning just in case someone was still lurking around inside, she backed out of the entrance hall and firmly pulled the door shut. All she could do now was hope that if anyone was hiding out, they would leave the same way they got in. With one last backward glance at the door, she walked purposefully to the patio table in the small garden to wait for the rest of her crew. While she waited, she stared at the back of the old house and debated whether or not to tell her crew about the possibility of an intruder. She didn’t want to frighten them, but she didn’t want them going into a possibly dangerous situation without being forewarned either.
Charlotte wasn’t surprised in the least that the first of her crew to arrive a few minutes later was Cheré Warner. Dependable and energetic were Cheré’s middle names, and for the two years she’d been employed by Charlotte, not once had a client ever complained about her work.
Charlotte smiled, and as she motioned for the attractive younger woman to join her, she decided that Cheré would be the perfect one of the crew to ask about warning the others.
Like Charlotte, Cheré was dressed in the Maid-for-a-Day standard uniform that Charlotte insisted all of her employees wear. With Cheré’s dark, bouncy hair and her shining black eyes, the cotton navy top and pants covered by a white bib-type apron were a perfect foil for her slim figure.
Cheré flashed her a smile as she seated herself across the small table. “Please tell me you brought extra coffee,” she said. “I intended to stop at P.J.’s on the way, but when I passed by, there was a crowd and I didn’t want to be late.”
With a grin, Charlotte reached down beside her and pulled a thermos from a tote bag. “It’s not that fancy stuff you prefer, but it’s strong and hot.” She set the thermos on the table. “I figured the least I could do was furnish everyone a cup of coffee.”
While Cheré was busy unscrewing the lid off the thermos, Charlotte pulled out a stack of Styrofoam cups and a Ziploc bag containing plastic spoons, sugar packets, and creamer packets.
Cheré sniffed the coffee. “Hmm, if your coffee’s as good as your iced tea, who cares if it’s fancy?”
Charlotte laughed. “I brought some of that too, for later on.” But as she watched the younger woman pour herself coffee and stir in sugar and creamer, her laughter died.
“Cheré, I need your advice about something.”
“Sounds serious.”
Charlotte shrugged. “It could be.” Then she went on to tell the younger woman about what she had found the night before.
When she got to the part about shouting out a warning, a look of horror came over Cheré’s face. “I can’t believe you went in there by yourself. You should never have gone back inside without someone else being here.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I didn’t exactly go all the way in—just inside the back door—but that’s not the point. The point is, should I warn the others?”
“That is the point, but no, I don’t see any reason to warn anybody. If anyone was in there, he’d be pretty stupid to stay there after all of that. Besides, with all of us trooping in, he’ll be outnumbered. But if you’re really worried, I can call Todd to come over. I think he’s working over on Seventh Street today.”
At the mention of Todd Roussel, Charlotte suddenly grew decidedly uncomfortable. He’s nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum. She quickly shook her head. “No—I mean, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Was Louis right about Vince and Todd Roussel? It’s really none of your business.
Yes it is, Charlotte argued with her conscience. Cheré is my employee and that makes it my business. But what to do about it? she wondered. Only one way to handle it, she thought. Just say it, straight out.
Charlotte squared her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about something else too.”
Cheré nodded. “Sure, what’s up?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look. You’re not firing me, are you?”
Charlotte quickly shook her head. “No, of course not, silly. It’s nothing like that.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I learned something disturbing that I think you should know,” she finally said. “It’s about—”
Behind her, the sound of an approaching car intruded, and Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to see the other half of her cleaning team pulling into the parking lot. “Later,” she murmured as Janet Davis and Emily Coleman climbed out of the vehicle. “We’ll have to talk about it later.”
“Charlotte?”
“Not now, dear.” She nodded meaningfully toward the two women approaching them. “It’s a private matter, just between you and me.”
Besides Cheré, Emily Coleman was another of Charlotte’s full-time employees. Emily, a stout woman in her late forties with salt-and-pepper hair, had been with Charlotte for five years. The other woman, Janet Davis, was in her early thirties. Tall and thin, with dishwater-blond hair, Janet had worked for Charlotte on and off as a temporary, part-time employee for the past three years.
“Good morning,” Charlotte called out. “There’s coffee.” She motioned at the thermos. “Join us.”
After greeting Charlotte and Cheré, Janet and Emily poured themselves coffee, then seated themselves around the table.
“Is Nadia coming too?” Emily asked as she added sugar to her coffee.
Nadia Wilson was another of Charlotte’s full-time employees, a young single mother who had worked for Charlotte for a couple of years.
Charlotte shook her head. “She couldn’t find a baby-sitter for Davy.”
Emily frowned. “That poor girl has really had a time of it, hasn’t she?”
Janet let out a sound of disgust. “That Ricco character should be hung up by his toenails,” she snapped. “First he gets the poor girl pregnant, then lives off her like a leech for the past three years and treats her like dirt, and now he’s just upped and disappeared.”
Though Charlotte agreed with Janet about Ricco Martinez, it was a strict policy of hers never to discuss her employees or clients, but before she had a chance to steer the conversation in a different direction, Cheré added her two cents worth.
“What a louse,” she said. “If you ask me, good riddance to bad rubbish.” Cheré made a face. “I always figured he was the criminal type, but stealing artifacts from a graveyard—” She shuddered. “I say they should have let him rot in jail—him and all those antique collectors who sold the stuff, as well.”
“I heard poor Nadia had to borrow money to bail him out,” Emily added. She turned to Charlotte. “Is that true? Come on, Charlotte. If anybody knows, you do.”
“Yeah, Charlotte, do tell,” Janet urged.
Charlotte sighed. “Ladies, ladies, ladies.” She shook her head. “I think that’s enough gossip for one morning. It’s time to get down to business.”
Though they groaned in protest, the women finally settled for quietly sipping their coffee while Charlotte spent several minutes briefly outlining what needed to be done in each apartment.
“There’s a lot of sawdust and dirt that’s been tracked in,” she finally concluded, “so I brought along extra vacuum cleaner bags. And I think working as teams would be best.” She nodded at Cheré. “You and Janet will be a team, and Emily and I will work together.”
Charlotte caught the sly look that passed between Janet and Cheré, but she ignored it. Though Emily was dependable and thorough doing her job, the middle-aged woman was also slow and tended to get distracted easily. Both Cheré and Janet knew that Charlotte had teamed herself up with Emily on purpose, to keep her on track.
“There are four apartments—two up and two down,” Charlotte explained. “Emily and I will work downstairs, and you two will be upstairs. And if we get a move on, I’m hoping we can finish up today. I really don’t like working on Sundays.”
Cheré laughed. “I think that’s a hint, ladies. Just Charlotte’s way of saying we need to work our butts off.”
Janet gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, Harry will be relieved. I promised the kids a trip to the zoo tomorrow, and he was really dreading having to take them by himself.” She suddenly grinned. “Last time he took them, he made the mistake of making faces at one of the monkeys.” She snickered. “The monkey retaliated though. He spit at him, and there my darling husband was, with this big glob of who knows what all over the front of his shirt.”
“Oh, gross,” Cheré squealed.
Emily groaned, then added, “I could have gone all day without hearing that.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Well I wouldn’t want poor Harry to get stuck going to the zoo again, so let’s get to work, ladies.”
While the three other women unloaded the cleaning supplies from Charlotte’s van, she packed up the thermos and stuffed the used cups inside a trash bag.
One of the things that Charlotte liked about her employees was that they all shared her appreciation for the beauty of the elegant old homes they cleaned. As they entered the back hallway, each woman in turn ooh’d and aah’d over the superb workmanship that had gone into the renovation as they divided up the cleaning supplies.
Once Janet and Cheré were armed with their supply carriers, they headed up the stairs.
When they were about midway up, Cheré shouted down, “Hey, Charlotte, did you know there’s a deep gouge on the sixth step?”
Charlotte smiled. Of the three women, she wasn’t surprised that Cheré had been the one to notice the flaw. But she also figured Cheré was using it as an excuse to issue her own warning to the would-be intruder, just in case he’d been stupid enough to hang around.
“I saw it last night,” Charlotte told her, just as loudly. “It’s on my list of things to bring to Mr. Roussel’s attention.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte could see that Emily was looking at her oddly.
“What’s with all the shouting?” Emily asked. “Geez, you’d think you both suddenly went deaf or something.”
Charlotte just smiled. “Echoes,” she explained. “Big old empty houses always echo and sound louder.”
Charlotte could tell that Emily wasn’t buying her excuse, but when Charlotte didn’t offer any other explanation, Emily simply shrugged and picked up her supply carrier. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked.
Charlotte motioned, indicating they would begin cleaning in the apartment on their left. “Your choice,” she told her as they entered the living room of the apartment. “But I know how the dust gets to you, so why don’t you do the bathroom, and I’ll work on wiping down the walls and cleaning the windows? Then we’ll both tackle the kitchen.”
Emily nodded. “Thanks, Charlotte. My allergies have been acting up, ever since that front came through night before last.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Charlotte told her, thinking of her own minor allergy irritations.
For the next half hour, as the women worked, the only sounds that broke through the silence were the rumblings of traffic along the avenue in front of the house and an occasional honking horn.
Charlotte had almost finished cleaning the last window in the living room when there was a sudden, ear-splitting shriek from upstairs.
“Charrrrlotte!”
For a moment, she was too stunned to move as the sound echoed throughout the empty house.
Not a cry of pain, her mind registered, but terror. It was a cry of sheer terror.
Chapter Eight
“C harrrrlotte!”
Janet, Charlotte thought, her heart pounding. Janet was the one screaming out her name.
It was the thump-thump of running footsteps above her that finally jerked her into action. Was someone chasing Janet and Cheré? Were they in danger?
A weapon. She needed a weapon of some sort. Charlotte glanced frantically around the room. Nothing. There was nothing she could use except…her fingers tightened on the spray bottle of ammonia in her hand. Better than nothing.
Vaguely aware that Emily had bolted from the bathroom, Charlotte dashed out into the hallway and sprinted for the stairs. “You stay down here,” she shouted at Emily.
Halfway up the staircase, she met the other two women scrambling down.
“What on earth?” Charlotte cried. “What’s going on?”
Janet was shivering so hard she could barely talk. Crowded close behind her, Cheré’s face was drained of color, and her dark eyes were wide with horror.
“D-dead,” Janet stuttered, her voice cracking. “I—I turned on th-the light, and th-there’s a dead man in—in the closet.”
A dead man…dead… Charlotte’s stomach turned queasy, and she heard Emily utter a startled cry from the foot of the stairs.
“Okay, okay, hon.” Charlotte squeezed Janet’s arm. “Now just calm down. Are you sure—sure he’s dead?”
“Well, he’s not moving,” Janet cried. “And—and I don’t th-think he’s breathing.”
Charlotte squeezed her arm again. “But you don’t know for sure.” Janet shook her head with short, jerky motions.
Chere shuddered. “He—he looked dead to me,” she whispered.
“But neither of you felt for a pulse?” One look at the horrified expressions on their faces told her they hadn’t. “No, of course you didn’t.” She took a deep breath, and though she was already pretty sure what the answer would be, she asked anyway. “Which apartment—which one were you cleaning?”
“The one to the left of the landing,” Cheré told her.
Charlotte swallowed hard. It was the same one, the one she’d found the food sacks in during her walk-through, the one that had the toothpaste smeared in the bathroom sink. “Which room?”
“The m—master bedroom,” Janet whispered. “He—he’s in the walk-in closet.”
Charlotte knew what she had to do. Whether she wanted to or not—and she most definitely did not want to—she was going to have to check it out for herself. What if the man wasn’t really dead? What if he was just unconscious and needed help?
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she told them. “You two join Emily downstairs while I go check. And here—” She handed Janet the bottle of ammonia. “Take this with you.” Then she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and thrust it at Cheré. “You take this and call the police. Be sure and ask for my niece.”
Cheré took the phone. “But Charlotte!”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’ll be okay. Just go.” Willing her legs to move, she squeezed past the two women and hurried up the remaining stairs.
Once she was inside the apartment, though, she hesitated at the door to the master bedroom to catch her breath.
A sleeping bag was spread out in the middle of the room on the floor. Near the foot of the sleeping bag was an open duffel with clothes spilling out of it, and in the midst of the clothes was a small camera, one of the disposable kind, she noted. And beside the camera were several pictures scattered about.
“Weird,” she murmured. For one thing, the sleeping bag and the duffel bag both looked almost brand-new. And expensive. And don’t forget the toothpaste in the sink.
It was just as she’d suspected, she thought, eyeing the dark green sleeping bag. Someone, probably the man in the closet, had been camping out in the empty house after all.
With a heavy feeling of dread, Charlotte moved farther into the room. Maybe she’d been wrong about the homeless angle after all. But if the man in the closet wasn’t a homeless person, then who was he? And why had he been camping out in the old house?
The walk-in closet door was open. A wave of apprehension swept through her as she edged nearer the opening. Any minute she expected to see a hand or foot or some evidence of a body. But there was nothing yet, nothing but an odd-looking, half-smoked cigar that had been ground out into the floor.
Charlotte took the last two steps that would bring her to the closet door. Swallowing hard, she leaned forward and peeked around the door.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, as she reached out and grabbed the door frame to steady herself. The man was in the back corner of the closet, half sitting, half slumped sideways against the wall.
Though she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected, the one thing she hadn’t expected to see was a half-naked man wearing nothing but a purple feathered Mardi Gras mask and boxer shorts.
A Mardi Gras mask?
For what seemed like forever, all she could do was stare at the mask. It was a cheap one, the kind sold mostly to tourists, but it wasn’t so much the mask itself that kept her gaze riveted as it was the dried blood along the side of the man’s head.
The blood and his eyes. She was only about four feet away from him, but under the harsh glare of the closet light she could see that his eyes were wide open, staring out at her from behind the rounded eye slits of the mask. Like huge black holes, the pupils were already fixed and dilated.
Other than at funerals, she’d never actually seen a dead body, but she’d read enough mystery books and true-crime novels over the years to know the signs of death. She was almost ninety-nine point nine percent sure that the poor man was truly dead.
With a sinking heart and drawing in a deep breath for courage, Charlotte approached the man. Her eyes still glued to the mask, she leaned over him and touched him near the underside of his jaw, checking for any small sign of life.
Just as she’d expected, his skin was death cold to her touch, and there was no pulse.
She frowned. Strange; now that she was closer to him, something about the man seemed almost familiar, as if she’d seen him before. There was something about his build, or maybe it was because of the reddish-brown color of his thick hair.
For a moment more her hand hovered near the mask. If she could just see his face without the mask….
The muted sound of a distant siren suddenly broke through the silence. The police were coming…Judith.
It was then that the reality of the whole situation really hit her. With a cry of horror, Charlotte jerked her hand away and backed quickly toward the closet door. This was not fiction. This was not some murder mystery out of a book. This was the real thing.
Charlotte kept backing up until she was once again out of the closet and inside the bedroom. Only then did she realize how badly she was trembling. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she hugged them tightly as she stared downward.
Outside the house, the police siren grew louder. But inside, it was several moments before Charlotte could stop shaking, before she felt more in control.
She needed to vacate the room, she thought. It was a crime scene, and without thinking, she, along with Cheré and Janet, had already contaminated it. Charlotte winced. Judith would have a conniption fit.
Then suddenly, Charlotte narrowed her eyes as her vision once again focused. She’d been staring downward without really seeing what she was looking at. And what she’d been staring at was the stack of pictures beside the camera.
The top photo was a picture of a little girl who looked to be about four years old. It had been taken in an outside setting. Behind the little girl, a white gazebo sat beneath a huge oak. Again, a feeling of familiarity swept through her and niggled at Charlotte’s memory. She’d seen that setting before…but where?
Think, Charlotte! Think! But it was no use. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t remember. First the dead man, and now this. What was wrong with her? Lord, maybe she was getting old after all. Or worse. Maybe she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s?
Abruptly outside, the police siren died with a squawk. Then, in the distance, another siren sounded.
The police had arrived and more were on the way, which meant that even now, Judith could be coming through the front door. With one last searching glance at the photo, Charlotte hurried from the room.
Downstairs in the front foyer, two uniformed police officers were already questioning Cheré, Janet, and Emily by the time that Charlotte reached the first floor.
Though Charlotte didn’t recognize the older officer, she was pretty sure she recognized the younger of the two. If she remembered right, his first name was Billy, and though she couldn’t recall his last name, she did recall that he’d been pushy and rude the last time they’d met.
The last time they’d met…the day she’d learned that Jackson Dubuisson had been murdered….
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she approached the small group. She nodded a greeting at both of the men; then, ignoring them, she turned to Cheré. “Did you speak to Judith?”
“Yes, ma’am. She said she was on her way.”
“Ah, excuse me,” the older office interrupted in a no-non-sense voice that dripped with sarcasm. “But who are you?”
Before Charlotte could answer, the younger officer spoke up. “It’s okay, Hal,” he told his partner. “She’s Detective Monroe’s aunt.” He turned to Charlotte. “Isn’t that right, ma’am? Aren’t you Judith’s aunt?”
“Yes—yes, I am,” Charlotte answered. “And your name is Billy—” Still unable to recall his last name, she shrugged.
“Wilson, ma’am. Billy Wilson.”
Charlotte felt something tickle the back of her neck, and when she reached up to rub it, she realized she was sweating. “Well, I’d say it was good to see you again, Billy,” she murmured, suddenly distracted by the realization that she was sweating profusely, “but under the circumstances…” How could she be sweating when she felt so cold?
“I understand, ma’am. And speaking of circumstances, what can you tell us about the situation here?”
Charlotte began by explaining that her crew had been hired to do the clean-up of the Devilier house, but just as she got to the part where Janet had discovered the dead man, Judith burst in through the doorway. Following close behind her was a man Charlotte didn’t recognize. Must be Judith’s new partner, she thought.
“Hey, Aunt Charley, are you okay?”
Was she okay? Even as Charlotte nodded, she felt her knees go weak. And why, all of a sudden, was it so hot…and stuffy?
“What’s this about a dead body?”
Dead body…dead body… Again Charlotte opened her mouth to explain, and again she was interrupted when Louis Thibodeaux barged through the door. Charlotte frowned and felt a sudden chill again. Why was Louis there? He was supposed to be off duty and on his way to the camp.
Judith glanced his way and voiced the exact same thing Charlotte had been thinking. “Hey, Lou. What are you doing here?”
But Louis’ dark eyes were boring a hole through Charlotte, and he ignored Judith and her question. “Charlotte? What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who’s dead?”
Dead…someone’s dead… He was there because he’d been worried about her, Charlotte realized. He must have heard something over his radio about a dead body and thought that she was—
The room blurred, and it was all that she could do to motion toward the ceiling. “Upstairs,” she whispered, swaying on her feet. “A—a dead man upstairs.”
Before she knew what was happening, Judith grabbed her on one side and Louis grabbed her on the other. “Whoa now, don’t you pass out on us,” he said.
Charlotte was horrified. She shook her head. “Never—never passed out in my entire life,” she said. But her voice sounded strangely weak and distant, even to her own ears. In an effort to prove her point, she made a feeble effort to pull away from him, and that’s when the lights went out.
Chapter Nine
C harlotte came to with a start. She was flat on the floor and Judith was hovering over her, waving a foul-smelling vial under her nose. She could hear voices murmuring somewhere just behind her…Cheré and Janet. She shoved Judith’s hand away.
“No—don’t try to get up—not yet,” her niece ordered softly, gently pushing on her shoulder. “You’re still pale, Auntie, so just lie still a moment more. Please,” she added.
As if someone turned up the volume, the voices grew more clear and distinct.
“She’s coming to.” Janet’s voice.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her go up there in the first place.” Cheré.
Charlotte was confused. What were they talking about? And what on earth was she doing on the floor? “Wh—what happened?” she whispered. But as soon as the words left her mouth, it all came back.
“You passed out, Auntie,” Judith told her, confirming Charlotte’s own conclusions.
“Here, Monroe.” Louis’ face swam into her vision just behind Judith. He handed Judith what looked like a wet cloth of some kind. “All I had was a handkerchief, but it’s clean.”
“Thanks, Lou.” When Judith began blotting Charlotte’s forehead and cheeks, Charlotte pushed away her niece’s hand yet again.
“I’m okay, hon. Please stop making such a fuss.”
“Yeah, right, Aunt Charley. You’re just peachy. That’s why you passed out.”
“Judith.” Emily Coleman appeared. “Here’s some water.” She handed Judith a cup.
“Thanks, Emily.” Judith took the cup. “Drink this, Auntie.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Drink it anyway.”
Only because arguing was too big an effort did Charlotte finally give in and allow Judith to lift her head enough to drink the water.
Behind them, out of Charlotte’s line of vision, a gruff male voice called out, “Hey, Judith!”
Judith gently lowered Charlotte’s head back onto the floor again, then turned toward the direction of the voice. “Yeah, Will.”
“I’m going on up and check out the D.B.,” he said.
Judith stiffened, and Charlotte saw her hand tighten around the wet handkerchief. “Wait up a minute, Will, and I’ll go with you.”
Only because Charlotte knew her niece so well was she able to detect the slight edge in her tone. That and the panicky look on Judith’s face confirmed what she’d suspected when she’d first talked to Louis about her niece’s new partner. Something was going on between the two, something that Louis was aware of and didn’t like, judging from his attitude.
“I’m okay, hon,” Charlotte reassured Judith. “Go do your job.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Louis drawled. “Monroe, you stay here with Charlotte, and I’ll go baby-sit Willy boy.”
“Now, Lou. Take it easy.”
Louis shot Judith a smug look. “I’ve been around a long time, little girl, and believe you me, I can handle that snotty hotshot with one arm tied behind my back.”
“Lou, don’t—”
But either Louis didn’t hear her or he purposely ignored her. “Hey, Richeaux,” he yelled. “Wait up.”
Charlotte caught the look of alarm on Judith’s face, and while her niece was distracted, she pushed herself up off the floor. “What on earth is going on?” she asked, easing herself into a sitting position. “Is there a problem with this Will character?”
“Nothing,” Judith murmured distractedly, her gaze following the two men heading for the stairs. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Nothing, my foot,” Charlotte scoffed. “Something’s going on and I want to know what.”
Judith didn’t answer until the men had disappeared up the staircase. “Give it a rest, Auntie,” she said, turning her attention back to Charlotte. “Believe me, now is not the time or the place.” She cast another worried glance toward the stairs. Then, with a sigh, she turned back to Charlotte. “I hate to, but if you’re feeling up to it, I need to ask you some questions, Auntie. But when we’re finished here, I want you to have one of your crew drive you home. And when you get there, I want you to promise me that you’ll call Hank and tell him about this fainting spell you just had.”
The best defense is an offense. Charlotte knew her niece was worried about her, but she was also well aware that Judith was purposely changing the subject. Before she could protest, though, Judith shook her finger at her. “If you don’t tell him, I will,” she threatened. “When’s the last time you had a good checkup?”
Charlotte pursed her lips stubbornly and glared back at her niece.
Judith’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh! Just as I thought. You can’t even remember, can you? Well, it’s past time. Now promise me you’ll call him.”
Charlotte released a heavy sigh. Judith was right. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a checkup. But there hadn’t been a reason to go running to a doctor, she consoled herself. It was probably just the stress of the moment. After all, it wasn’t every day that she found a half-naked dead man. And up until then, she’d felt just fine.
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Well, almost fine, she amended. She had been a bit more tired than usual lately. But the thought of turning sixty was enough to make anyone tired. Wasn’t it? Of course it was.
But you fainted…you passed out cold…. Charlotte grimaced. Bottom line was that in spite of all of her excuses, and as much as she would have liked to pretend that she hadn’t fainted, she had.
“Aunt Char-ly. I’m waiting.”
Charlotte never had been one who could give in graciously, and she most certainly didn’t like to be bullied, not even by her niece whom she knew loved her and meant well. “Okay, okay, I promise,” she muttered irritably.
While Judith questioned Charlotte and each of her crew, Charlotte rested on the chaise longue. Cheré had wiped most of the dust off of the plastic cover, and she, along with Judith and the others, had insisted that Charlotte sit there until they were allowed to leave.
Though Charlotte was extremely uncomfortable with all the fuss everyone was making over her, she still felt a bit weak in the knees and was glad to have somewhere to sit.
When Louis and Will returned from upstairs, Judith broke away to confer with her new partner.
From where Charlotte sat, she had a perfect view of all the goings-on. Cheré, Emily, and Janet huddled around the marble-top table across from where she sat, Will and Judith were talking near the entrance door, and over by the foot of the staircase, Louis was grilling Billy Wilson and his partner, Hal.
Watching Louis cross-examine the patrolmen, Charlotte thanked her lucky stars that Judith, and not Louis, had been the one who had interrogated her crew.
Louis could be intimidating when he chose to, and though they had called a truce of sorts since he’d begun renting her double, the gruff detective seemed to have a gift for getting on her last nerve. Part of her bias toward him, she knew, had a lot to do with his outdated macho, chauvinistic attitude, but she also still felt the sting of humiliation every time she remembered his harsh accusations and the shabby way he’d treated her during the Dubuisson investigation.
As if he could feel her watching him, he glanced her way. For a long moment, he stared at her, and the searching look of concern he gave her did funny things to her insides. After what seemed like forever, as if satisfied that she was okay, he turned back to the patrolmen.
Such an enigma, she thought. The man was a puzzle she’d yet to figure out. In his own way, he truly cared about people, and he was completely trustworthy and honest to a fault, albeit sometimes brutally so. And if she were equally honest, she’d have to admit that, all in all, despite his many shortcomings, he’d be one of the first people she’d call if she were ever in a real bind.
Louis pointed up the stairs; then, with a nod to the two patrolmen, he walked over to where Judith and Will were standing.
At that moment, more police arrived. From the looks of the equipment they were carrying, Charlotte figured they were from the crime scene division. With all of the commotion, she couldn’t quite hear what Louis said to Judith, but she had no trouble whatsoever hearing Judith’s response.
“No way!” she argued.
“I swear it,” he retorted.
“This I’ve got to see.” Judith did an about-face, and with Louis and Will trailing after her, she threaded her way through the crowd of policemen who had gathered near the foot of the stairs.
“Ah, Charlotte?”
Charlotte turned her head to where Cheré was standing.
“How are you feeling now?”
Charlotte made a face. “Contrary to everyone’s opinion, I’m doing just fine. My goodness, such a fuss over nothing.”
“It wasn’t just nothing and you know it. Judith’s right. You need to get a checkup.” Then she waved a dismissing hand. “But meantime, about right now I think we could all use some of that iced tea you brought. No—no, don’t get up. Just tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”
Charlotte sighed. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Look behind the driver’s seat in my van. It’s in the blue ice chest. Cups are in the plastic grocery sack beside the ice chest. And while you’re at it, you might as well bring me some too, since it looks like we’re going to be here a while.”
Cheré only got as far as the door, where a policeman stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you leave until the detectives say so.”
“I’m not leaving,” Cheré told him. I’m just going to the van to get something to drink for Ms. LaRue—Detective Monroe’s aunt.”
He shook his head. “No can do, but if you’ll tell me where it’s at, I’ll send someone after it for you.”
“Oh, good grief,” Cheré retorted. “In the ice chest in the back of that white van—a jug of tea. And tell whoever you send to bring those plastic cups in that grocery sack too.”
A few minutes later, Cheré returned with the tea. She had just poured Charlotte a cup when Judith came down the stairs.
“Gather around, ladies,” she told the crew. “I’ve got some more questions to ask—and if there’s any to spare, I’d love to have some of that tea.”
She waited until Cheré poured her a cup of the tea, took several swallows, then set the cup on the marble-topped table. After a searching look at each of the women, she motioned toward the stairs. “I know I asked this before, but I have to ask it again. Did any of you recognize the man in the closet?”
“I didn’t go up there,” Emily said.
“Yes—yes, I know,” Judith replied. “You said you stayed downstairs. Right?”
Emily nodded.
“How about you, Cheré? Janet?”
Both women shook their heads.
“Aunt Charley?”
Charlotte hesitated a moment before she answered. “Not right off the bat,” she finally said. “I kinda thought he looked familiar, but I really couldn’t see him that well, what with that mask he has on.”
Judith nodded. “He looked familiar for a good reason, Auntie. Lou—Detective Thibodeaux—says the man is Drew Bergeron, and I believe I remember that you once worked for him and his wife.”
Drew Bergeron. Charlotte’s insides quivered with disbelief. “That’s impossible,” she blurted out. “Mr. Bergeron died over two years ago. Why, I went to his funeral.”
Chapter Ten
“S urely Louis is mistaken,” Charlotte insisted. But even as she denied the possibility, she knew that the half-naked dead man in the closet upstairs was truly Drew Bergeron. That was why he had seemed familiar, why she’d thought she had seen him before. She had seen him before.
Because he was supposed to have already been dead, her conscious mind had rejected recognition, but her subconscious had identified him as someone she knew.
“The victim still has to be officially I.D.’d,” Judith told her, “but since Lou once had some dealings with Bergeron, unless the body upstairs is a twin, he’s almost one hundred percent certain the I.D. will check out. No trace of Bergeron’s body was ever found in the wreckage after his so-called accident, so it’s very likely that he bailed out before his plane exploded.”
“But why—How is that possible?” Charlotte asked.
“Easy,” Judith said. “His plane exploded twenty miles out into the Gulf of Mexico. Since there were a lot of sharks around, everyone just assumed…” She shrugged.
“No.” Charlotte shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not what I meant. If the man is Drew Bergeron, then, like you said, he probably bailed out. Either he was rescued and had amnesia—which isn’t very likely—or he had to have staged his first death. What I meant was, why would he have done such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re going to have to find out,” Judith replied. “Once we know why, then we might have a better idea as to who killed him.”
Judith turned to Janet and Cheré. “I know we’ve already been over everything, but this time I need you to tell me exactly what happened again, starting from the time you entered the house. We need to know just how much of the evidence has been disturbed. Let’s start with you, Mrs. Davis.”
As Charlotte watched Janet and Judith walk off toward the end of the hallway, memories of the first time she’d met Drew Bergeron and his wife, Katherine, swirled through her mind…
Katherine. “Oh no,” she groaned.
Abruptly, Judith and Janet glanced her way, and Cheré turned toward her. As if by design, almost in unison they asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I just thought about Katherine—Drew’s wife,” Charlotte explained. She shook her head slowly. “That poor, poor woman.”
Judith and Janet walked back to join Charlotte and Cheré. “What about Katherine?” Judith asked her.
“Can you imagine? For the past two years she’s thought that her husband was dead. And now this.” She shuddered. “Horrible—it’s just horrible. She’s already been through one funeral for him, and now—” She shook her head again. “Now she’ll have to go through it all again.”
“I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her yet,” Judith cautioned in a stern tone. “She might have been in on it.”
Charlotte frowned. “In on it?” she repeated. “But why would she—”
“All kinds of reasons, Auntie. All kinds,” she emphasized. “And money’s at the top of the list. Now—” She motioned at Cheré. “Your turn, Ms. Warner.”
In spite of what Judith had implied about Katherine Bergeron, Charlotte couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her as she watched Judith question Cheré at the end of the hallway.
When Cheré and Judith joined Charlotte and Janet again, Judith addressed them all. “I’m going to need written statements from each of you. I’ll get one of the patrolmen to take you to the precinct, and once you’ve given your statements there, you’re free to go home.” She reached out and took Charlotte’s hand. “How about it, Auntie? Are you up to giving a statement?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Please stop being such a worrywart.”
Judith squeezed her hand before releasing it. “You just remember what I said about calling Hank.”
“I’ll make sure she calls him,” Cheré offered.
“Gee, thanks, Cheré,” Charlotte drawled sarcastically. “Just what I need. Two conspirators.”
Cheré flashed her a sassy smile. “You’re welcome,” she quipped. “And it’s only because we love you.”
Judith cleared her throat to get their attention. “One last thing. I’m going to need the shoes you’re wearing, fingerprints, and a DNA sample—head hair will do—everyone but you, Ms. Coleman, since you didn’t go upstairs at all.”
Judith ignored their protests. “And Aunt Charley—” Her lips thinned with disapproval. “I understand why you did it, but if you ever run across a dead body again—God forbid—do not go near it.”
“But I didn’t know if—”
Judith held up a hand. “I realize that, Auntie, but you can get into big trouble. You might even be taken into custody as a suspect, and I might not be around to smooth things over.”
It was midafternoon before Charlotte was finally able to go home. Despite her vigorous protest, none of her crew would hear of her driving herself home. Instead, Cheré drove Charlotte’s van. Since Janet had caught a ride with Emily that morning, she followed in Cheré’s car. Emily brought up the rear of their little caravan in her vehicle, so she could pick up Janet.
True to her word, Cheré refused to leave until Charlotte phoned Hank. While Charlotte dialed the number, Cheré entertained herself by playing with Sweety Boy. From the moment they had entered the room, the little parakeet had begun his normal routine of squawking and pacing back and forth on his perch, all designed to get attention.
As it turned out, Hank had to be paged.
“Are you as hungry as I am?” Charlotte asked Cheré as she hung up the phone.
Cheré had her finger in the birdcage, rubbing the back of the little bird’s head. “Starving,” she quipped, pulling her finger from the cage. “Hey, we could order a pizza?”
“Sounds good to me. Why don’t you order while I see about a salad? I think I have some of that prepackaged stuff in the refrig. I usually add a few carrots and tomatoes to it, if that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds great. Pepperoni, mushrooms, and onions on the pizza okay with you?”
Charlotte nodded. “And order extra sauce too,” she suggested. “They never put enough sauce on it,” she muttered.
While Cheré ordered the pizza, Charlotte headed for the kitchen. Within minutes, Cheré joined her. “The pizza should be here in about twenty minutes,” she told Charlotte. “Now, what can I do to help?”
Charlotte held out a tomato and a bag of raw baby carrots. “You can wash these.”
Within minutes, the salads were ready. Cheré suggested that they should go ahead and eat while waiting for the delivery of the pizza, and Charlotte agreed. They had just sat down at the table when the phone rang.
“That’s probably Hank,” Charlotte murmured as she stood. Motioning toward Cheré’s plate, she added, “Don’t wait on me. Go ahead and eat.”
Charlotte hurried into the living room and snatched up the phone receiver. “Maid-for-a-Day. Charlotte speaking.”
“Momma, what’s wrong?” Hank asked with an edge of worry in his voice.
“Why does anything have to be wrong for me to talk to my own son?”
“Mother, the only times you’ve ever paged me was because something was wrong.”
“Yes, well, I guess you have a point.” Charlotte hesitated, dreading having to explain everything. She hated giving him any more excuses than he’d already come up with to nag her about retiring.
“Mother?”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong,” she hedged, “but Judith insisted that I call you.”
“Call me about what?”
“It’s nothing—really it isn’t. Judith’s just being a worrywart as usual.”
“Mother! Out with it.”
“Oh, okay, I fainted.” She said it quickly, as if by doing so, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.
“You fainted! And you don’t think anything’s wrong? What am I going to do with you? Mother, people don’t faint for no reason.”
“Well, I was a bit stressed out at the moment.”
“O-kaay.” When he stretched the word out, then sighed heavily, she almost grinned. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the exasperated frown he always got when he was at the end of his patience. “Start from the beginning, please,” he finally said, “and tell me exactly what happened.”
Once she’d told him everything, she had to listen for endless minutes while he lectured her on the dangers of ignoring certain warning signs at her age, and it seemed to take forever to end the conversation.
“Enough, already,” she finally told him, interrupting his spiel about regular checkups. “I get the message, loud and clear.”
“Now, Mother, don’t go getting stubborn on me. You know I love you, and it’s for your own good.”
“And I love you too,” she told him, “but I’m not senile yet, son. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around lecturing your mother.”
When Charlotte returned to the kitchen, Cheré took one look at her and asked, “Gave you a hard time, didn’t he?”
With a sigh, Charlotte seated herself at the table again. “He wants me to have some tests run, and he’s setting up an appointment with a colleague of his for me to see next week.”
“Good. Better safe than sorry.”
Charlotte scooped up a forkful of salad. “I suppose so,” she agreed, somewhat grudgingly, “but if you ask me, it’s just a lot of fuss over nothing.” Or was it? she wondered uneasily. Were Hank and Judith right? Was she just being too stubborn for her own good? She had been feeling more tired lately, but she also had been working longer hours than usual. She’d just put the bite of salad in her mouth when the doorbell rang.
“Pizza time,” Cheré quipped.
“Oh, great,” Charlotte grumbled around the mouthful of food as she shoved away from the table.
Cheré pointed at her. “Stay put and eat your salad. I’ll get it.”
Charlotte was more than ready for a hot shower and bed by the time Cheré finally left. She’d just stepped into the shower when she heard the muted ring of the telephone.
“Too bad,” she muttered as she turned her face into the warm spray. Whoever was calling would just have to leave a message on the machine.
By the time she’d finished her shower and pulled on her favorite cotton pajamas, Charlotte was sorely tempted to not even check the answering machine. She was tired, both mentally and physically, and images of Drew Bergeron’s dead eyes staring out at her from beneath the purple Mardi Gras mask kept swimming through her mind. If she could just sink into the oblivion of sleep, maybe the images would stop haunting her.
But even as she neatly folded back the comforter and quilt on her bed, the thought of that infernal blinking light on the message machine kept nagging her.
“Oh, all right, already,” she muttered, finally giving in. She’d always been too curious for her own good, and at times, it drove her crazy. And though she hated to admit it, she knew the real reason she couldn’t ignore the call was because of her superstitious nature. It never failed that the one call she ignored would end up being something really important.
Charlotte stomped off toward the living room. Besides, she reasoned, she still had to cover Sweety Boy’s cage for the night, and just because she listened to the message didn’t necessarily mean she had to return the call.
Charlotte hit the play button on the machine then walked over to Sweety Boy’s cage.
“Hi, Charlotte, it’s me.”
The message was from her sister, Madeline, and Charlotte felt the old familiar dread well up from within as she pulled the cover over the birdcage. She hated feeling that way about her own flesh and blood, but Madeline could be a real pain to deal with at times.
“What’s this about you fainting? You’ve never fainted in your life, not that I remember anyway.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she checked to make sure she’d locked and bolted the front door. Having a close family had its advantages, and her family was closer than most. Their parents had been killed when Madeline was fifteen. Charlotte, only twenty herself at the time and a single mother, had taken over raising her sister as well as her own two-year-old son. But having a close family also meant that everyone knew everyone else’s business. Evidently Judith had wasted no time in calling her mother.
“And why aren’t you answering this call?” Madeline continued. “Surely you haven’t gone to bed already. It’s only eight o’clock, for Pete’s sake. Only old people go to bed this early, and just because you’re turning sixty doesn’t mean you’re that old yet—unless—unless you’ve passed out—” Madeline suddenly groaned. “Please tell me you haven’t passed out again! But what if you have?” she murmured. “Charlotte? Charlotte!”
Several moments passed and Charlotte could hear her sister’s harsh breathing on the recording. “Listen,” Madeline finally said. “If I don’t hear back from you within the next fifteen minutes, I’m calling 911 and coming over there, so you’d better call me back.”
Sudden panic knifed through Charlotte. She rushed over to the phone and snatched up the receiver. How much time had passed? she wondered as she punched out her sister’s number. Surely not a whole fifteen minutes yet. The very last thing she wanted was to have to deal with Madeline tonight, and she certainly didn’t want the police or an ambulance showing up on her doorstep.
The call was answered on the second ring. “Charlotte?”
“Yes, Maddie, it’s me. Please tell me you haven’t called 911.”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone the first time?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in the shower.”
“Well of course it’s my business,” she snapped back. Then she snickered. “At least now I know how to get you to return my calls.”
“That’s not funny, Maddie.”
“Neither is you fainting,” she shot back.
Charlotte sighed. Give me patience, Lord. “Look, I’ve already gotten one lecture tonight from Hank, so I don’t need another one. Why Judith felt she had to call you anyway is beyond me.”
“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Madeline snapped. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am your sister. And why wouldn’t my own daughter call me?”
Why indeed? thought Charlotte as the words unstable, irresponsible, and selfish came to mind.
Madeline’s divorce from her first husband had devastated her. She had truly loved Johnny Monroe, but Johnny had a roving eye that not even the love of his wife or two little children could compete with. For years after the divorce, Madeline had been barely able to function on a daily basis, and much of the care of her two children had fallen on Charlotte’s shoulders. Even Madeline had admitted on more than one occasion, albeit out of jealousy, that Charlotte had always been more of a mother to her children than she had.
Truth was, Judith and her brother, Daniel, were more likely to call Charlotte about something than call their own mother. It was one of those family things that everyone knew but no one ever talked about.
Charlotte sighed. “Oh, now Maddie, don’t get in a snit. You know I didn’t mean anything,” she said. “And I do appreciate your concern. It’s just that—well, it’s just been one of those days. I’m fine. Really I am. It was probably just the circumstances. It’s not every day that I find a dead man. But of course Hank insisted on setting me up with an appointment for a checkup next week anyway.”
“I suppose you’re right. Finding that dead man and all would certainly be enough to make me pass out for sure. But you might as well get a checkup anyway, just to be on the safe side.” Madeline paused, then, “Another reason I called was to find out if you’re feeling up to coming over tomorrow now that you won’t be working.”
Originally, Charlotte had excused herself from the family’s regular Sunday lunch after church due to the Devilier job. Because their family was small, years ago she and Madeline had started the tradition of taking turns hosting the Sunday lunches after church services on alternating Sundays. Even with the busy lives that their children led, without fail, everyone always tried to show up.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Charlotte replied.
“Good. Daniel is going to barbecue and I needed to know how much chicken to buy in the morning.”
“Just a breast will be plenty for me,” Charlotte told her. “Now at the risk of sounding like an old lady, I am going to bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Sorry about that,” Madeline admitted. “You know I don’t think of you as getting old. Besides, sixty really isn’t that old, not in this day and time.”
“Good night, Maddie, and just remember, you’re only five years younger than me.”
Maddie groaned. “Thanks for reminding me, dear sister of mine. And by the way, why don’t you go to bed now?” With a giggle, Madeline hung up the phone, and Charlotte did the same.
She was just too tired to sleep, Charlotte finally decided two hours later as she switched the bedside lamp back on. That had to be the reason she couldn’t sleep.
After she’d hung up from talking to Maddie, she’d gone straight to bed. She’d read a bit, just enough to relax her into thinking she could finally fall asleep. But the minute she’d turned off the lamp, visions of Drew Bergeron’s dead eyes staring at her filled her mind. She’d tried deep-breathing exercises, and she’d even resorted to counting sheep. But nothing had worked. Those dead eyes just wouldn’t go away.
Charlotte reached for the book she’d been reading earlier, but not even a chapter later, the detective in the novel stumbled upon a dead body.
With a groan, Charlotte slammed the book shut and dropped it on the floor. Maybe a glass of milk would help, she decided, pushing herself out of the bed. And maybe if she watched a little television…something nice and boring like one of the old black-and-white movies that sometimes played late at night.
He was on the porch…From the front window she could see the shadowy figure skulking around. Then, suddenly he turned and saw her staring out at him. He looked straight at her with those dead eyes of his, then he disappeared.
Thwack, thwack…Oh, dear Lord, he was trying to break down her front door….
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