Barbara Colley - Charlotte LaRue 02 - Death Tidies Up p.04

Chapter Sixteen
“S o far there’s Katherine Bergeron, Vince Roussel, Marian Hebert, and a woman named Darla Shaw.” Judith rattled off the names of the suspects as if she was reciting a grocery list.

All of them had been clients at one time or another, all except the last one. “Who’s Darla Shaw?” Charlotte asked. It was a delaying tactic at best, and from the look on Judith’s face, she knew her niece wasn’t fooled one bit.

“Actually, she’s the best possibility I’ve got so far. We’ve done a bit of backtracking and found out that after Bergeron faked his death—”

“You know that for sure?”

Judith shrugged, then laughed humorlessly. “As the old joke goes, nothing in this world is a sure thing, nothing but death and taxes.”

Charlotte winced at her niece’s cynicism. More often than not, being a police officer brought her in contact with humanity at its very worst. Add that to the background of being abandoned by her father, then having to grow up with a mother as unstable as Madeline had been after Johnny Monroe broke her heart, and it was no wonder the poor girl had such a jaded view of life.

Only the good Lord knew how hard she’d tried to make both Judith and Daniel feel secure and loved in spite of their parents. But one person could only do so much, and besides taking care of her sister’s children, she’d had her own son to raise as well as a business to run so that she could feed all of them.

“Anyway—”

The sound of Judith’s voice abruptly jerked Charlotte back from her brief mental journey into the past.

“Bergeron’s been holing up on Key West for the past two years. But—as best we can determine—he’d been living with this woman named Darla Shaw for about a year. The theory is that he was just using her. After all, he needed somewhere to stay and probably needed money. Anyway, we figure that somehow she found out about his wife and little girl and followed him to New Orleans.” Judith shrugged. “Maybe once she discovered for sure that he really had lied to her, she killed him in a fit of jealous rage. For now it’s the best bet we’ve got, especially since no one has seen hide nor hair of Ms. Shaw since the murder.”

Charlotte frowned. “But why would he come back to begin with?”

Judith shrugged again. “Who knows? Maybe he had unfinished business or maybe he got homesick.” She shook her head. “It’s just a theory. I didn’t say it was a perfect one, but—” Judith narrowed her eyes. “Until we track down Darla Shaw, we have to explore all possibilities. Which brings me to Katherine Bergeron.”

“I haven’t worked for Katherine for several years,” Charlotte quickly retorted. “But from what I remember about her, I can’t imagine that she would be capable of committing murder.”

“Oh, Aunt Charley, after what happened with the Dubuissons, you of all people should know better.”

Charlotte flinched at the not-so-subtle reminder of how she’d been duped once before. Then, after a moment, she finally conceded. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I should know better.”

Judith reached across the table and touched her arm. “I didn’t say it to be mean or cruel, Auntie. It’s just that…” Her voice trailed away.

“Of course you didn’t, hon,” Charlotte reassured her. “I didn’t think that for one minute. So—why Katherine? What motive could she have?”

After a moment, Judith nodded, then continued. “From what we’ve gathered, after Katherine’s father died, Drew Bergeron began running things. After a few months, he conned his wife into signing over her shares of the company. Maybe she got suspicious and found out that he was ruining her real estate company and having an affair—who knows? Or maybe she figured he was getting ready to dump her, so she put out a hit on him. Thus, the reason he faked his first death.”

Charlotte nodded in understanding. “But somehow she finds out he’s still alive. And this time, she kills him herself?”

Judith nodded. “That about sums it up. Only one thing wrong with it, though. Vince Roussel is ready to swear that he and Katherine were together for most of the night that Drew was murdered. Which brings us to yet another suspect. Just how much do you know about Vince Roussel, Auntie?”

“I’ve actually only spoken to the man once, and that was when I signed the contract to do the Devilier house. All I know about him is what Louis told me—told us—on Sunday morning.”

Judith nodded. “The real estate deal stuff. Yeah, I looked into that and it’s certainly enough motivation, given Roussel’s reputation. Louis was right about there being a deal between Roussel and Bergeron, a deal that went sour a year before Bergeron faked his first death. From everything I found out, Bergeron persuaded Roussel to back a real estate venture, an exclusive, gated neighborhood and country club along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Vince was supposed to double the return on his investment once the houses sold. No one really knows what happened. Maybe Bergeron blew the investment money or gambled it away. Whatever happened, it’s possible that Roussel finally demanded his money or else, thus the reason Drew decided to fake his death.

“So—for whatever reason, Bergeron comes back, Roussel finds out, and this time Roussel makes sure Bergeron pays…with his life. Of course there’s also the relationship between Katherine and Roussel to add fuel to the fire. Maybe Drew somehow found out about the affair, and maybe he came back to warn Katherine. Roussel got wind of it and killed him to get rid of him once and for all. But since Roussel is Katherine’s alibi, that makes Katherine his alibi too.”

“That’s a lot of maybes, and a lot of conjecture.”

Judith nodded. “I know that,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m hoping you can tell me something that might point me in the right direction…which brings me to Marian Hebert.

“Admittedly, she’s the weakest suspect of all, but Ms. Hebert had plenty of reason to hate Drew Bergeron, the main reason being that he’d fired her husband. Though she didn’t come right out and say it when we interviewed her, it was more than evident that she blamed Drew Bergeron for her husband’s state of mind before his so-called accident. And I say so-called because there’s been a lot of speculation about his death despite what our investigators found. Everyone we’ve talked to thinks he committed suicide.”

In spite of what the police said, I don’t think Bill’s death was just an accident, and I still have nightmares. It haunts me, and now it’s haunting my son too. Charlotte grimaced. And now Marian’s words were haunting her.

“What is it, Auntie? Why the look?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Just remembering something Marian said. For what it’s worth, she doesn’t think her husband’s death was an accident either. Like everyone else, she suspects he committed suicide. But unlike everyone else and for the sake of her children, she doesn’t want to believe it. She’s a very troubled lady.”

Judith nodded. “Yes—yes, she is, but I strongly suspect she’s got other problems as well.” She shrugged. “It’s either drugs or alcohol—I’m not sure which, and maybe it’s both.”

When Judith leveled a look that invited Charlotte to offer her own observations, Charlotte hesitated.

“Aw, come on, Auntie. You work for the woman three days a week. Surely you’ve noticed something.”

As Charlotte battled with revealing what she suspected about Marian’s abuse of alcohol, the perfect solution to the problem abruptly presented itself. “Marian couldn’t have killed Drew, so none of this makes a difference anyway.” She gave Judith a shrewd look. “As I recall, she had a dinner appointment with Jefferson Harper Friday evening. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

Judith sighed heavily. “Yes—unfortunately, that’s true.”

“Then why all the prying into her personal life?”

“There’s an old saying, Aunt Charley. Knowledge is power.”

“Yes, Judith,” she retorted. “I’m very familiar with that saying.”

“So—in keeping with that saying—is there anything else, anything at all that you can tell me further about Katherine Bergeron, Vince Roussel, or Marian Hebert that might help?”

“Judith, hon, please don’t think I’m just being obstinate, but—” She held up her right hand, and, using the forefinger of her other hand, she emphasized each point by ticking off each of three fingers. “For one, I haven’t worked for Katherine in over four years. Two, I only met Vince Roussel once, and three, there’s no point in discussing Marian since she has an alibi.”

Judith grunted in disappointment. “Humph! I should’ve known. Lou warned me I wouldn’t get anything useful from you. But silly me, I thought that since you were my aunt…” She shrugged, leaving the sarcastic words hanging in the air.

“Judith Marie Monroe! Shame on you.”

“Uh-oh, guess I’m in trouble now, huh?”

“If I knew anything helpful I’d tell you, young lady,” Charlotte retorted. “And furthermore, I resent this—this attitude of yours and Louis’. Besides, we both know that Louis is more than a bit prejudiced when it comes to me. It still galls him that I was the one who solved the Dubuisson murder.”

Judith held up her hands. “Okay, okay, Auntie, I surrender. And I’m sorry,” she added meekly.

“As well you should be. And speaking of Louis—what’s all this nonsense between him and your new partner, Will? What’s he got against him?”

For long moments, Judith simply stared at her. Then, looking decidedly uncomfortable, she crossed, then uncrossed her legs, all the while drumming her fingers against the tabletop again.

“I’m not trying to pry,” Charlotte assured her. “My main concern is your safety. Though Louis aggravates the tar out of me, I do respect his opinions, and it’s very clear that he has a low opinion of your new partner.”

“Ah—er, my safety isn’t exactly the issue here, Auntie, so there’s no need for you to worry about that.”

“So—what is the issue, then?”

“Why don’t we just say that Lou doesn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure and leave it at that?”

Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Why don’t we not leave it at that? Are you or are you not involved with this Will? And if you are, what’s wrong with him that Louis would be so—so—”

“Oh, good grief!” Judith released a long-suffering sigh. “If you must know, yes—yes, we’re involved. And the reason Lou is being such a stinker about the whole thing is because Will has a wife and kid.”

“Oh, Judith, no…”

“It’s not like that, Aunt Charley. Will is separated and getting a divorce. His wife’s the bitch from hell, and he’s trying to get custody of his little girl. Will doesn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize his chances, so we have to be…careful right now.”

“Like being seen in public with you? Oh, hon, don’t you know, that’s the oldest line in the world?”



Long after Judith left, a tumble of confused thoughts and feelings plagued Charlotte as she mulled over everything they’d discussed.

“So what do I do now?” she asked Sweety Boy as she stood by his cage, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular outside the window. Within reason, she knew there was nothing to be done about Katherine or Marian, or even Vince Roussel being suspects in Drew Bergeron’s murder investigation. They all had alibis. Besides, she’d learned her lesson once already, learned to mind her own business and leave police concerns to the experts, thanks to the Dubuisson family.

But Judith was another matter. Judith was family, and Charlotte loved her like a daughter, had, in fact, helped raise her and her brother.

More times than she cared to remember, while Madeline had been drowning in one of her depressive episodes, Charlotte had been the one who had nursed Judith and Daniel through chicken pox, measles, and stomach viruses. She’d been the one who had encouraged Judith to try out for high school cheerleader, and she, not Madeline, had been the one who had cheered Daniel on when he’d won the lead role in the school play.

“So how can I persuade her that this relationship is wrong, Sweety? How can I make her see that in the end, it’s going to break her heart?”

Though the little bird chirped and squawked, it took Charlotte several moments before the sounds actually penetrated her self-absorption. Suddenly she grinned from ear to ear.

“Missed you. Squawk. Missed you, Charlotte. Squawk.”

Charlotte felt like shouting. Sweety’s words weren’t exactly as clear as a bell, but they were clear enough for her to understand them. She wanted to jump up and down or dance a jig. For months she’d been trying to get the little stinker to say something besides “crazy” and had been just about ready to give up. And now…

Afraid to distract him, Charlotte tried not to move or even breathe heavily, for fear the little parakeet would stop.

But stop he did, and no matter how much she tried to coax him into repeating what he’d said, she finally had to give up.

Without the little bird for a distraction, her thoughts quickly returned to the conversation she’d had with Judith.

Over the years Charlotte had learned that the best therapy for worry and confusion was to either sleep on it or do something positive or productive instead of giving in to whatever was bothering her.

A nap was out of the question now, she decided as she glanced at the cuckoo clock and saw that it was almost three o’clock. With the house clean and her bookkeeping done, she could either read, go shopping, weed the flower beds, or cook. Reading didn’t appeal to her at the moment, and neither did shopping. And the last time she’d looked, there were relatively few weeds. That left cooking.

Maybe she’d cook something to take to Louis. After all, he was sick, and she owed him a meal anyway…sorta kinda. Something nourishing but not too spicy or rich, she decided. Comfort food, like chicken and dumplings, maybe.

After checking to make sure she had the necessary ingredients, Charlotte pulled out a package of chicken parts from the freezer. While the chicken boiled, she placed a call to Louis.

On the fourth ring, his answering machine picked up. Figuring he was probably asleep, she decided to leave a message.

“Louis, this is Charlotte. Judith told me you were ill, so I—”

“Yeah, Charlotte, I’m here,” he interrupted, his deep voice a hoarse croak. “Hold on a sec while I turn off the machine.”

“You sound terrible,” she told him a moment later. “Judith told me you’ve been ill. Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s just the flu.”

“So you haven’t been to a doctor.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor, Charlotte. It’s just a light case.”

“Doesn’t sound light to me—” Though she wanted to point out that someone his age could have all kinds of complications like pneumonia and dehydration, she thought better of it. No one liked to be reminded they were getting old. “Anyway,” she continued. “I’m cooking supper for you. I should have it ready in about an hour and I’ll bring it over then.” Abruptly, Louis gave in to a fit of coughing, and Charlotte winced at the harsh, barking sound in her ear.

“Sorry about that,” he finally choked out. “I appreciate the food.” He cleared his throat. “But there’s no use in you getting exposed and catching this stuff too, so just leave it outside the front door.”

“Well…” Charlotte hesitated. “I guess you’re right. When it’s ready, I’ll just knock on the door to let you know it’s there. But Louis, if you’re not better in a couple of days, you really should consider seeing a doctor.” Before he could argue, she promptly hung up the receiver.

“Men!” she grumbled. As she glared at the phone, it abruptly rang, and Charlotte jumped at the sound. Taking a deep, calming breath, she finally answered it on the third ring.

“Maid-for-a-Day. Charlotte speaking.”

“Aunt Charley, one thing I forgot to mention.”

Charlotte frowned. What now?

“I’d just as soon my mother didn’t know about my—er—relationship with Will right away—or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Anyone meaning your brother, I assume.”

“Daniel wouldn’t understand either,” was Judith’s reply.

Charlotte wanted badly to point out that if Judith was ashamed of her relationship, maybe she should get out of it. But she didn’t. “You’re a grown woman, hon,” she replied instead. “I don’t approve, but what you do is your business.”



The Friday morning sky was overcast and gray, and the air was heavy with humidity, all of which conspired to make Charlotte’s already morose mood even worse as she climbed into her van.

One last day, she thought, her stomach tightening with dread as she backed out of the driveway. Only one day left to be fifty-nine, then she’d be sixty…a whole other decade.

So far, none of her family had mentioned any type of birthday celebration, and while she really didn’t want a lot of fuss and bother, a part of her feared that no one would even remember…or care.

The short trip to Marian’s house was uneventful. For once she didn’t encounter delays due to the ongoing battle of maintaining the sinking streets and aging sewer system. Nor were there any problems because of the downed tree limbs that she’d had to contend with the week before.

By the time she pulled alongside the curb of Marian’s house and parked, she’d decided that whether anyone in her family remembered her birthday or not, she certainly wasn’t going to remind them. And if they didn’t remember, then she’d just spend a quiet night at home with a good book. And maybe she’d have a good cry while she was at it.

When Marian answered the door, Charlotte was glad to see that once again she was dressed, and she was equally glad that there was no telltale smell of alcohol on the younger woman’s breath.

“I’ve got a house I’m showing this morning,” Marian told her at the door. “I should be back before noon.” She motioned for Charlotte to come inside. “And this time I made sure the battery in my cell phone was charged, so you won’t have to worry about answering the phone.”

Charlotte stepped past her and set her supply carrier down on the floor in the foyer.

“Oh, and another thing—” Marian stopped a moment to search through her purse. Not finding whatever she was looking for, she refastened the clasp with a snap. “Just so that you’ll know, if Sam finishes a job he’s working on over on Napoleon in time, he might drop by to put a second coat of paint on the porch.”

Marian turned, and with a harassed, worried look, muttering every step of the way, she hurried down the hall toward the kitchen. “Now, if only I could find my keys…But where did I put them…”

Shaking her head and wondering how anyone so unorganized could run a business, especially a real estate business, Charlotte picked up her supply carrier and followed.

“Here they are!” Marian triumphantly scooped up the keys off the island countertop. “Right where I left them, of course.” Just as Marian sauntered past her, Charlotte spied her cell phone on top of the counter near where Marian had found her keys. The phone was still sitting on the charger.

“Marian, wait up.” She grabbed the cell phone and hurried after her. “Your phone—don’t forget your cell phone.”

With a groan, Marian stopped in her tracks. “What would I do without you, Charlotte? Thanks.” She took the phone, then disappeared through the back door.



For a change, the kitchen was fairly clean. B.J.’s bedroom was a different matter. Charlotte wrinkled her nose the moment she entered the boy’s room. What on earth was that awful smell? she wondered.

In addition to stinking to high heaven, dirty clothes were strewn from one end of the room to the other. Paper plates, with what looked like the remains of pizza on one and a hamburger on another, along with several empty drink cans, crowded the dresser top. A huge, open bag of chips lay beside the bed, and another bag peeked out from beneath the edge of the bed. Some of the chips had spilled out of the open bag and were crushed and ground into the rug. Charlotte shuddered to think what else might be lurking beneath the bed besides the chips.

“Just do it,” she muttered as she approached it and cautiously kneeled down to peer beneath the bed rail.

The moment she leaned down, she almost gagged. “Oh, gross,” she grumbled as she got to her feet. “At least now I know where that smell is coming from.” With one last disgusted shake of her head, she gathered up all of the dirty clothes, then left the room. Once she’d dumped the clothes in the laundry room and had put on a load to wash, she collected the cleaning supplies she would need to tackle B.J.’s room.

When she returned a few minutes later, she was armed with a broom, a dustpan, and her supply carrier. Using the broom, she began carefully raking out everything from beneath the double-wide bed. With the second pass of the broom, a small milk carton came tumbling out, the source, she strongly suspected, of the sour stench.

Sure enough, when she examined the carton, it was still about a quarter full of now curdled, sour milk. As she dropped the carton into a garbage bag, she supposed she should be thankful that it had curdled; otherwise, spoiled milk would have been strewn everywhere.

Two more passes of the broom beneath the bed yielded various dusty objects, some Charlotte recognized, like a shoe box and several socks. And others she didn’t.

Charlotte bent down to pick up the shoe box to add it to the garbage bag too. Thinking it was probably empty, the weight of it surprised her and caused her to fumble and drop it. The top came off, and what looked like newspaper clippings, as well as several other items, scattered over the floor.

“Uh-oh.” Now she’d done it, she thought, staring at the spilled contents. Besides her confidentiality policy, a client’s privacy was of the utmost importance to Charlotte. Rummaging through a client’s personal belongings was another of her big no-nos, and any time she hired a new employee, they got a full-blown lecture on the matter.

With a shrug and a muttered, “Oh, well,” there was nothing to do but pick up the mess and explain the situation to Marian later. She only hoped that B.J. wouldn’t think she’d been snooping through his stuff. Teenagers were especially touchy about their belongings.

Kneeling down, Charlotte reached for the clippings, then froze when the name in the headline jumped out at her. “What the—” She picked up the top article. “Murdered Man Found at Devilier House,” she read aloud. With a deep frown etched across her forehead, she examined the other three articles. All were recent and all were also about Drew Bergeron’s murder.

Still frowning, she stared with unseeing eyes at the remaining contents of the shoe box. Why would B.J. be collecting articles about Drew Bergeron’s murder? What earthly reason would he have to do such a thing?

In hopes that the rest of the contents of the box would present some kind of explanation, she reached inside and pulled out one of the long, narrow tubes wedged into the bottom. “And what have we here?” she murmured, as she slid the tube apart.

Again Charlotte froze. But her heart began to pound like a jackhammer as scenes of the room where Drew Bergeron’s body had been found flashed through her mind. The duffel bag…the scattered pictures…the ground-out cigar on the floor in front of the door leading into the closet, a cigar that looked exactly like the one she was holding in her hand.

Charlotte closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered, recalling what Marian had told her. He’s failing in school, and just last week he got suspended two days for smoking. “No!” Charlotte said louder, thinking about B.J.’s most recent suspension for fighting. “Not possible.” There had to be another, more reasonable explanation, anything but what she was thinking.


Chapter Seventeen
F eeling a bit shaky, Charlotte sat on the bed. Staring at the suspect cigar and its case, still clasped in her fingers, she took a deep breath, then slowly released it.

Think, Charlotte…think.

She took another deep breath, and another.

While it was true that B.J. was a troubled teenager, there was no way that Charlotte could imagine him killing anyone. Fighting with boys his own age? Yes. But murder…

Charlotte shuddered, and instant shame washed through her for thinking such thoughts about the teenager. Still, the damning evidence was there, plain as day, and no matter what she wanted to believe to the contrary, she couldn’t completely ignore the cigars and newspaper clippings.

B.J. had known how his mother felt about Drew Bergeron, had known that she also believed it was possible that his father’s death had been a suicide. Even worse, he’d known that she held Drew accountable for his father’s state of mind during the months before his death.

Had Marian’s bitterness spread to her son, so much so that he would commit murder?

Ordinarily, Charlotte wouldn’t have given much credence to the thought that a young teenager like B.J. from such a fine upstanding family could commit murder, but newspaper headlines in the past few years had proved different. The news had been full of young boys in different parts of the country who were committing mass murder, using guns to kill their teachers and classmates.

Guns.

Judith had said…or was it Louis? Charlotte couldn’t recall which, but one of them had said that Drew Bergeron was killed by a single gunshot to the forehead with a twenty-two-caliber handgun. And if she remembered right, it was Louis who had said that the particular type of gun used could be bought anywhere and was almost impossible to trace.

Charlotte knew for a fact that there weren’t any guns in the Hebert household. She’d cleaned that house from top to bottom and had never seen the first sign of a weapon. Would a boy like B.J. know where to get such a gun?

Even as she contemplated the issue of the gun, something kept nagging at the back of her mind, a loose end that didn’t fit at all. But what?

When she finally realized just what it was that bothered her, she was even more confused than ever. For B.J. to have killed Drew Bergeron, first he would have to have known that Drew Bergeron was still alive, that he had faked his death two years ago. But how would B.J. have known such a thing when no one else knew? Everyone, including Drew’s wife, had thought he was dead.

Clinging to that thought and feeling only marginally better because of it, Charlotte carefully slipped the cigar back into the tube. Then she placed it, along with the newspaper clippings, back where she found it inside the shoe box and shoved the box back beneath the bed.

Should she tell someone what she’d found? she worried as she busied herself with cleaning off the top of the dresser. Or should she keep quiet about it? She tossed the paper plates and empty cans into the garbage bag. If she did decide to tell someone, then who?

Not Louis, that was for sure. Besides, though she wasn’t certain, she didn’t think he was officially on the case anyway. But maybe she should tell Marian, or possibly Judith.

Marian.

Whether she told Marian or didn’t tell her, how on earth was she going to face the woman after what she’d discovered? But how could she tell her? Charlotte had been dusting the dresser, but she paused. How did you tell a mother that there was a possibility that her fifteen-year-old son had murdered someone?

Charlotte shook her head. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t do it. So that left Judith. But telling Judith wasn’t the answer either, she decided as she plugged in the vacuum cleaner, turned it on, and began vacuuming the rug in B.J.’s room. Though she trusted her niece with her life, Judith was first and foremost an officer of the law.

In her mind’s eye, Charlotte could already picture the whole scenario. B.J. being arrested. Marian going hysterical and having a nervous breakdown. Eight-year-old Aaron watching it all, having to be placed in a foster home because his mother was in a mental ward and his brother was in jail…

“No, no, no!” Charlotte muttered, shaking her head again as she switched off the vacuum cleaner. The only thing to do was do nothing at all. For now, anyway. Besides, there was still the question of how B.J. could have known that Drew Bergeron was still alive in the first place.

Charlotte unplugged the vacuum cleaner, then dragged it into the hallway. The next room she tackled was the dining room.



When Marian hadn’t returned by noon, Charlotte couldn’t help feeling relieved. All morning she’d mentally debated the pros and cons of telling Marian what she’d found, but had yet to come up with a solution to the dilemma.

By the time Charlotte was ready to leave by two, Marian still hadn’t returned. Charlotte figured that if she hurried, she just might be spared facing Marian at all.

She was rushing around, gathering up her supplies in the kitchen, when she heard a noise at the back door. When she whirled around, Sam was standing in the doorway.

“Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you.”

Despite his words of apology, the amused glint in his eyes said he’d known exactly what he was doing. It was hard, but Charlotte bit her tongue to keep from yelling at him for scaring the daylights out of her. He should have knocked first. And he knew that he should have. The fact that he knew galled her, but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her, so she just continued staring at him.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally explained. “I just thought I’d better warn you against leaving through the front door. While I was at it, I went ahead and gave the whole front gallery a fresh coat of paint.”

“Well, thanks for the warning,” she retorted, forcing a brittle smile as she picked up her supply carrier with one hand, then hefted the vacuum with her other hand.

“Here—” Sam hurried toward her. “Let me help you.”

“That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I can—”

He took the vacuum from her anyway. “It may not be necessary, but a lady like you shouldn’t have to lug around this heavy thing. And by the way, I put up a ‘wet paint’ sign on the porch for when the boys come in from school.”

Left with little choice, Charlotte followed him out the back door. Pausing only long enough to make sure the door was firmly locked once she’d closed it behind her, she then turned and followed him down the steps. But at the bottom step, she hesitated. “Marian and the boys usually come in through the back door, but maybe I should leave a note about the wet paint, just in case they don’t notice the sign.”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary. I plan to hang around for a while until someone comes home. That little scamp, Aaron, would be just the one to ignore the sign on purpose.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“There’re a couple of shingles loose on the backside of the house that need fixing anyway. And I promised B.J. I’d help him with his science fair project.”

As Charlotte followed the handyman around the side of the house to the front where her van was parked, the thought crossed her mind that maybe Sam would be the person to talk to about what she’d found in B.J.’s room. Marian trusted Sam and relied on him. Charlotte knew for a fact that B.J. spent a lot of time around Sam, and on more than one occasion, she’d seen the boy helping Sam with one of the many odd jobs he did around the house.

Just about the time she’d made up her mind to talk to Sam, though, she spotted Marian’s black Mercedes turn the corner at the end of the block, and she immediately changed her mind. The moment Sam put the vacuum in the van, she slammed the back door and hurried around to the driver’s side.

“Thanks for the help,” she called out as she climbed inside.

“So when are you going to let me take you out to dinner?” she heard Sam say.

Marian’s car was getting closer, so Charlotte pretended she didn’t hear the question and firmly closed the door. Jamming the keys into the ignition, she switched on the engine.

Charlotte sent up a quick prayer of thanks that her van was parked in the opposite direction from the path of Marian’s approaching car, and still ignoring Sam, she put the van in gear, then pulled away from the curb. Being rude to Sam didn’t bother her. She figured he deserved it after he’d purposely scared the daylights out of her earlier.

But running away like a coward instead of facing Marian did bother her, and she was still berating herself when she turned into her driveway and spotted the small tray of dishes stacked by her front door.

Once on the porch, she recognized the bowls as the same ones she’d used to take Louis his dinner the day before. Since his car was gone, she figured either he was feeling well enough to go out or he’d gotten worse and finally decided to go to a doctor.

Charlotte unlocked the door, then picked up the tray and carried it inside. As usual, Sweety Boy began his routine of chirping and squawking as he pranced back and forth on his perch inside the cage.

“Hey, boy, did you miss me?” His only answer was a loud squawk followed by what sounded like several indignant chirps. “Come on, boy, say, ‘Missed you, Charlotte…missed you, Charlotte.’”

Much to her frustration, the little bird kept squawking unintelligible gibberish, and after several minutes, she gave up.

There was only one message on her answering machine when Charlotte checked it. She pressed the play button and listened as she slipped off her shoes and slid her feet into her moccasins.

“Hey, Mom. I just have a minute, but I wanted to invite you out to dinner tomorrow evening for your birthday—unless you have other plans, that is.” He chuckled. “Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?” He chuckled again. “If you do happen to have other plans though, cancel them. I’ll pick you up around seven. Oh, yeah—I almost forgot. Dress up in something spiffy. I’m taking you to Commander’s. See you tomorrow evening. Love you.”

“I love you too, son,” she whispered, a smile of delight on her lips as the machine beeped at the end of the message.

“Did you hear that, Sweety?” she told the little parakeet. “I have a date with my son, and he’s taking me to Commander’s Palace for my birthday.” For an answer, Sweety Boy squawked and preened on his perch. But Charlotte’s mind really wasn’t on the little bird’s antics.

Her smile grew wider. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hank had eaten out, just the two of them. And just the thought of dining out with her busy son at what she considered one of the finest, most prestigious restaurants in New Orleans gave her a warm feeling.

She’d eaten at the restaurant before, but not in a long, long time. Even now, her mouth watered, and she could almost taste the bread pudding soufflé. The dessert was famous, as was the landmark restaurant and the entire Brennan family, who owned Commander’s as well as an array of other fine restaurants scattered over New Orleans.

During the remainder of the afternoon, Charlotte’s emotions wavered between excitement about the dinner invitation from her son and dread because of the reason for his invitation in the first place. But underlying each of her thoughts and actions was the nagging worry about B.J. and what she’d found hidden beneath his bed.



Charlotte had just finished a light dinner of a broiled chicken breast and a green salad when she heard a car door slam in the driveway. Though she figured it was probably Louis, she went to the front window to check anyway.

Sure enough, Louis, toting a shopping bag emblazoned with a Macy’s logo, was headed toward the porch. Even from a distance, she could tell he didn’t feel well. His gait was slower than usual and his face was a pale contrast against the dark shirt he wore. Charlotte frowned. Since it was apparent that he was still ill, what on earth had possessed him to go to the mall?

Charlotte’s lips thinned with irritation, and her temper flared. “Men!” she muttered. Most of them didn’t have the sense God gave a goose when it came to being sick. Not only should he be in bed resting instead of traipsing all over creation, but now he’d gone out and carelessly spread his germs to other poor, unsuspecting victims.

Long after Louis disappeared inside his half of the double, Charlotte still fumed as she cleaned up the mess she’d made cooking her dinner. Just what was so all-fired important that he’d had to drag himself out of his sickbed to go out shopping? And why to Macy’s of all places? Though Louis always looked neat, he never seemed overly concerned about what he wore and was the last person she’d expect to shop at Macy’s.


Chapter Eighteen
I f she discounted the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, being sixty didn’t seem that much different, Charlotte decided as she climbed out of bed on Saturday morning. Maybe she ached a bit more than she used to, thanks to the touch of arthritis she occasionally suffered from, but a couple of aspirins now and then always took care of the minor aches and pains. From experience, she knew that it was usually a temporary inconvenience mainly occurring when the city was lucky enough to have a cold front push as far south as New Orleans.

Charlotte shivered. If the chill in the air and the cold floor were any gauge to measure by, the promised front had pushed through during the night. Though she always dreaded having to turn on the heat because it gave her a closed-in feeling and dried out her sinuses, she decided that maybe she should this morning, just long enough to take the chill off the house. That, along with a couple of aspirins and a hot shower should do the trick.

By the time she’d finished her shower and had her first cup of coffee, the house had warmed up enough that she felt safe to let Sweety Boy out of his cage for a few minutes. As usual, the little bird flew straight to his favorite perch, the top of the cuckoo clock.

Most of her life, Charlotte had countered her few bouts of self-pity with all the reasons she had to be thankful. But as she sat staring at the morning Picayune headlines with unseeing eyes, for once, she couldn’t dredge up an ounce of thankfulness. All she could think about were the years stretching ahead of her, years with nothing to look forward to but a lonely retirement on a limited income and no one to share them with.

Sudden tears welled up in her eyes and her throat grew tight. If Hank’s father had lived, things might have been different. Her whole life would have been different. Just how, she wasn’t sure, but her imagination knew no bounds, and over the years she’d created many scenarios of how their life together might have been.

But he hadn’t come home, not alive, and at times like now, when she allowed herself to indulge in the memory of him, she still felt the wrenching ache of her loss deep in her heart.

He’d been her first love, the love of a lifetime, and though she’d had a few meaningful relationships over the years after his death, she’d been too busy to concentrate on anything but raising a son and trying to make a living, not to mention that she’d never found anyone who could measure up to what she’d felt for Hank Senior…

Not until recently, a little voice whispered. Not until Louis Thibodeaux…A tear slid down her cheek, and she slowly shook her head. Too late, she thought. If only Louis had come along earlier, years earlier…

Just as well, she decided, especially since Louis hadn’t given her any indication that he was interested in her as anything other than his landlady. Besides, what would a man his age want with a woman her age anyway? Men his age always went after much younger women, not some sixty-year-old, dried-up maid.

Charlotte was so caught up in the throes of her depression, it took a moment for her to realize that the ringing in her ears was the telephone.

With a sniff and swallowing hard, she pushed away from the table and answered it.

“Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”

“Ms. LaRue, Ms. Charlotte LaRue?”

Charlotte frowned. “Yes.”

“I’m Martin with Healthy Bodies. First, let me wish you a happy birthday, and second, I’m calling to let you know that you’re in for a treat, a whole morning of luxurious pampering, compliments of your son. Included in this deluxe package is a full-body massage, a facial, and a complete make-over by our licensed cosmetologist, all designed for the ultimate experience in pampering, beautification, and relaxation. A taxi will pick you up at nine.”

A bit dazed and feeling as if she were Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland rolled into one, Charlotte hung up the phone. She’d heard of the Healthy Bodies Spa, had often heard her clients rave about it. Once she’d even called to find out how much a session for herself would cost, but the price had been way out of her league and way more than she could justify spending.

“Now if only Prince Charming would come along,” she muttered as she glanced up at the cuckoo clock and saw that it was almost eight-thirty already. Thirty minutes till blast-off and counting. Just thirty minutes to dress, eat breakfast, and coax Sweety Boy back inside his cage. But what did one wear to be pampered, beautified, and relaxed?

In the bedroom, Charlotte decided that she needed something warm and comfortable, something that she could easily slip in and out of. With the beginning of a smile at the corners of her lips, she chose her favorite sweat suit, a light gray one made of cotton that had worn soft from use.



At exactly seven o’clock that evening, Charlotte’s doorbell rang. If nothing else, she could always depend on her son to be punctual, she thought, taking one last, satisfied look in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

The spa had been wonderfully relaxing, so much so that at one point, she’d actually dozed off during the massage. But the facial and make-over were even better, and Charlotte was really pleased with the new look that the cosmetologist had talked her into. It was amazing what a new shade of makeup, along with a bit of blush could accomplish. “Yep.” She nodded. “Ten years younger,” she murmured, then laughed. “Yeah, right!”

Smoothing down the collar on her new, navy silk blouse, she turned away from the mirror and hurried to the front door. She’d enjoyed her experience at the spa so much that afterward, she’d treated herself to a rare bit of shopping. The blouse and matching skirt she’d splurged on were the results and made her feel oh-so-elegant.

When she opened the door, Hank’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her. “Oh, wow! Just look at you!” he exclaimed. “Guess I made the right choice for a birthday treat, huh?”

Charlotte reached out and hugged her son tightly. “It was really, really wonderful, hon.” She pulled back and smiled. “Just perfect. Thank you.”

Hank grinned back at her. “Actually, I can’t take all the credit. The spa thing was Carol’s idea. But I thought it was a good idea too,” he hastened to add. “We both thought you might enjoy a little pampering.”

“Well, you were both right. And speaking of Carol, when are you going to make an honest woman out of her? I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I’d love to bounce a couple of grandchildren on my knees before I’m too old to enjoy them.”

Hank laughed, then leaned down and whispered, “It’s a secret, and besides, you’ll never be too old. Now—” He made a sweeping gesture with his left arm toward his car. “If we’re going to keep that reservation, we need to get going.”

“Just let me cover Sweety Boy’s cage, and I’m ready,” she replied.

The perfect ending to a perfect day, thought Charlotte, moments later as she settled on the passenger side of Hank’s BMW. Other than not being age sixty, what more could she ask for than to be pampered and beautified all day, then end it by having a cozy dinner with her son, just the two of them, at one of the best restaurants in the city?

As Hank backed the car out of the driveway, Charlotte turned her head and stared out the window into the night. Louis’ car was gone, she noted with a frown. Funny, she didn’t remember hearing him leave, so where could he have gone? Unless he was working, he rarely went out at night, especially on the weekends. It crossed her mind that he might be on a date, but she dismissed the idea as soon as she thought of it. More than likely, the detective was working overtime, probably on the Drew Bergeron murder.

Murder. B.J.

Charlotte’s stomach tightened as thoughts of the troubled teenager returned again to plague her, just as they’d plagued her off and on all day.

When she’d first made her discovery beneath B.J.’s bed, she’d decided that ultimately the best thing to do was do nothing. But doing nothing had turned out to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. There just had to be another solution.

“Why so quiet, Mom?”

Charlotte glanced over at her son, and flashed him a quick smile. Maybe she should tell Hank about B.J., and for a moment she was truly tempted.

No, she decided. Telling Hank wasn’t the answer. Her straight-arrow son only saw black and white, and never considered the gray areas. He would insist that she go to the police. If she refused, he’d take it upon himself to give Judith the information. Then, of course, there would be a lecture from him, all about her getting personally involved with her clients again. She could hear it now.

“Just woolgathering, son,” she finally answered. “People my age tend to do that a lot, you know.”



Traffic was moderate during the short drive until Hank turned onto Washington Avenue. Within a block of the restaurant, they slowed considerably. As with everything else about Commander’s Palace, though, the valet service was quick and efficient, and the line of cars moved along in a timely manner.

In the distance, the restaurant was a sight to behold, and Charlotte smiled. Spotlighted by the surrounding street lamps and the soft glow of lights from within, it was a Victorian fantasy against the dark night, with its turrets, columns, gingerbread, and turquoise-and-white striped awnings.

Charlotte suddenly giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Hank asked.

“Not exactly funny,” she answered. “Just…well, kinda strange. Don’t you find it a little odd how this wonderful, world-renowned restaurant sits directly across the street from one of the oldest cemeteries in the city? Sort of creepy, in a way. But what’s funny is that no one seems to mind in the least or even care.”

Hank chuckled. “You know, you’re right. I never even think about it, but maybe that’s because of the wall. With the wall surrounding it, you can’t see the tombs that well, so no one really pays it any attention.”

Moments later, Hank pulled up beside the restaurant’s entrance. Immediately, two young valets dressed identically in black slacks and white polo shirts rushed over to open the doors on either side, and before Charlotte and Hank had taken more than a few steps, the BMW was whisked away to make room for the next vehicle.

The small restaurant entrance was crowded inside, but again, the line moved quickly, and within moments, Charlotte and Hank were greeted by one of the hosts behind the reservation desk.

“Ah, Dr. LaRue,” the middle-aged man greeted them with a warm, welcoming smile. “So nice to see you again. I believe your reservation is for the Garden Room.” He motioned toward the doorway. “This way, please.”

The fact that the host knew her son by name came as no surprise to Charlotte as they wound their way through the busy downstairs dining area. Hank was a regular patron of the restaurant, and she was delighted that they would be eating in the Garden Room.

Commander’s was divided into several different dining areas on two floor levels. Some were small, others large, some private, some open, but of all the rooms, the one on the second floor called the Garden Room was her favorite.

Once they had climbed the stairs to the second level, their host escorted them through yet another dining area, but when they got to the small anteroom that led to the entrance of their destination, the host abruptly stopped just short of entering the Garden Room, and Charlotte frowned as she peered past him. The room was dark, and the only thing visible at all were the twinkling lights that had been strung through the oaks just outside the windows.

“What happened?” Charlotte teased. “Did someone forget to pay the light bill, or are you just out of light bulbs?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, the lights in the room suddenly flashed on, illuminating a crowd of laughing and smiling people near the center of the room.

“Surprise!” they shouted in unison. “Surprise! Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Stunned, Charlotte froze. Next to her, Hank placed a steadying arm around her waist, and all she could do was stare wordlessly while every person in the room sang “Happy Birthday.”

It took a moment for it to all sink in, and when it did, she had to lean heavily against her son. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes, and a self-conscious warmth spread over her face and burned her cheeks.

Through a blur, she saw Madeline, Judith, Daniel, and Carol, all front and center. Crowded on either side of them were her cleaning crew, including Nadia Wilson, standing next to Daniel. Little Davy was in her arms, his face all smiles. Louis was there too, and so was Bitsy Duhe, along with other faces of neighbors, friends, and clients.

Blinking away tears, Charlotte turned to Hank. Too choked up to utter a sound, all she could do was smile and mouth the words, “Thank you.”

The second the song was over, Hank nudged her into the room, and she was immediately surrounded by a crush of family and employees, each greeting her with a hug or a kiss on the cheek.

Then others crowded around, and when Louis stepped up, Charlotte swallowed hard and her heart thudded like a drum. She’d never seen him in a suit before, and she couldn’t help admiring how the dark gray color seemed the perfect foil for his steel-gray hair and dark eyes.

“I thought you were sick with the flu,” she told him. Louis shrugged, and before she had time to realize his intentions, he leaned down and kissed her, full on the mouth.

He tasted of wine, and she felt the kiss all the way to her toes as she breathed in his unique scent, a clean smell of soap and the spicy cologne he always wore. All too soon, the kiss ended.

“Happy birthday, Charlotte,” he whispered near her ear, his warm breath sending tiny shivers down her spine. “And by the way, you don’t have to worry. I’m not contagious. I don’t have the flu after all—just a bad sinus infection.”



“Can you believe it?” Madeline said a few minutes later as they made their way to the dining table. “Hank reserved the entire room just for your party. Must have cost him a fortune—the music, the food, the cake and—” She shrugged. “Just everything.”

Charlotte was every bit as overwhelmed by it all as Madeline to realize the expense that Hank had gone to in order to make her birthday so special.

The spacious Garden Room, with its walls of mirrors, white latticework, and huge windows had been designed to enhance the outdoor setting of oaks and palms visible through the windows, and had been decorated beautifully. Festive balloons in an array of colors hovered against the ceiling and baskets of flowers were scattered about.

Divided into two sections, a group of dining tables, covered with pristine white tablecloths and gleaming china, had been formed into a horseshoe shape in the center of the front section. Along the walls were more tables. A huge birthday cake sat on one while another one was stacked with gifts; the rest of the tables were filled with silver dome-shaped serving tureens and platters of food.

Except for the small string combo of musicians in one corner and a portable bar in the other one, the back section of the room had been left open for dancing.

Once everyone had finally settled at the tables, champagne was quickly served, and Hank stood up to offer a toast.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight to celebrate my mother’s birthday,” he said. “By the way, in case you’re wondering, she’s sixty going on twenty-nine and can still work circles around me.” When the titter of laughter died, he continued. “Also, in case you don’t know it, my mom is a very special lady. She’s the kind of lady that any son or daughter would be proud to call mother.” He turned to stare straight at Charlotte, and her already tight throat tightened even more as her eyes again filled with tears. “Every good quality that I possess,” he continued, “and all that I’ve accomplished, I owe to you, Mom, to all the sacrifices you’ve made for me and to the wonderful example you set for me. So here’s to you.” He held out his glass. “To a wonderful woman who has not only enriched my life but has enriched the lives of everyone who’s had the honor and privilege of knowing her.”

“Hear, hear!” she heard Daniel and several others chime in. As glasses clinked and a round of applause ensued, the tears that filled her eyes overflowed.

“Speech!” Someone called out. And that was all it took as a chant of “Speech! Speech!” was taken up by the others.

Grinning, Hank leaned over. “If you don’t say something, we’ll never get to eat.”

Trembling with emotion, Charlotte dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief that Hank had slipped her, and with his assistance, she stood. “Th-thank you,” she said hoarsely, then had to clear her throat. “To say I’m overwhelmed is the understatement of the year. Here I was expecting a nice quiet evening with my son, and instead, I—I get this wonderful surprise.” With a shaky smile and to more applause, she collapsed back onto her chair.



An hour later, Charlotte was so stuffed she could hardly breathe.

“Time to blow out the candles,” Carol told her.

Charlotte made a face. “Do I have to?”

When both Hank and Carol nodded, she groaned. “Looks like the whole cake is on fire,” she grumbled, warily eyeing the flaming confection in the center of the table along the wall. “Did they have to put all sixty on it?”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Charley.” Judith grinned. “We’ll all help you.”

“And don’t forget to make a wish,” Daniel called out.

“Make wish, make wish,” Davy chanted.

To her relief, they were as good as their word, and once all the candles had been blown out, she was allowed to return to her seat of honor.

While several waiters cleared away the dishes from the dining tables to make way for cake and coffee, one began transferring the gifts from the gift table to where Charlotte had been sitting.

As Charlotte made her way back to her chair, she caught a glimpse of a well-dressed woman entering the room. Dread, like a deadly cancer, spread throughout Charlotte’s very being, and as Hank seated her first, then sat down, thoughts of crawling beneath the table to hide came to mind.


Chapter Nineteen
U nfortunately for Charlotte, it was already too late to hide. Marian Hebert had spotted her and was heading straight for her. Even worse, Marian was bearing a gift, which made Charlotte feel ten times worse.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marian told her breathlessly as she leaned down to give Charlotte a brief buss on the cheek. Hank stood up to greet Marian, allowing Charlotte a bit more time to compose herself.

Hank smiled politely. “Welcome. I’m Charlotte’s son, Hank.”

“Oh, my, so you’re Dr. LaRue,” Marian gushed and offered her hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Marian Hebert.” She held out her hand. “Charlotte has told me so much about you that I feel as if we’ve already met.”

Hank briefly shook Marian’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Hebert. We’re glad you could join us.”

“Oh, thank you so much for inviting me, and I’m sorry I’m late. As I was about to tell Charlotte, I’m afraid I can’t stay but a moment.” She turned to Charlotte. “But the boys made me promise to bring you this.” She set the gift, wrapped in gold foil paper and topped with a gold satin bow, down in front of Charlotte on the table.

“B.J. and Aaron helped me pick it out,” she said. “Both of them really wanted to come, but there’s a special post-homecoming activity at the school, and the boys were required to be there.” She smiled at Hank. “My boys just love Charlotte.”

Marian’s words stabbed Charlotte right in the center of her guilt-ridden heart. Charlotte swallowed hard, and though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Marian straight in the eyes, she forced a smile. “Won’t you at least stay and have a piece of cake and some coffee, Marian?” Please don’t stay…please don’t stay…

“I’d really love to, Charlotte—I really would—but I guess I’d better get back to the school myself.”

Charlotte could only hope that the relief she felt didn’t show on her face. “At least let me send the boys a couple of pieces of cake for later.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mom,” Hank offered.

“Oh, no,” Marian protested. “That’s very kind of you, but I really must go now.”

This time Charlotte’s smile was genuine. “Please tell the boys thank you for me.”

Marian nodded. “Oh, I will, and again, happy birthday, Charlotte.” Then, with a fluttery little wave, she rushed off toward the door.

The moment Marian disappeared through the doorway, Charlotte let out a relieved sigh and sagged against the back of her chair.

Tilting his head, Hank eyed her with a calculating expression. “Anything wrong, Mom?”

“Why, no,” she lied, feeling even more guilty than she had felt before. “Of course not. What on earth could be wrong on such a lovely night?”

Her son knew her too well, and the look on his face said he didn’t believe a word she was saying. “Are you sure? I got the distinct feeling that you really didn’t want her to stay.”

“Oh, Hank, don’t be silly.”

Since everyone had just about finished their cake, he didn’t push it. “Time to open your gifts,” he said.

The first gift that Charlotte opened was the one from B.J. and Aaron. It was a darling little jewel-encased music box. Perched on top of the lid was a tiny white dove. When she opened the box, the song “Wind Beneath My Wings” played. Amid the ohs and ahs from her guests, Charlotte had to swallow several times to keep from sobbing out loud.

As if sensing how emotionally charged the moment was for her, Hank quickly handed her another gift to open.

Charlotte lost count of the number of lovely gifts she’d opened, and yet Hank kept placing more in front of her until finally there were only two packages left.

The smaller package of the two turned out to be a sweater set from Madeline.

“Oh, Maddie, it’s beautiful, and so soft. Cashmere?”

Madeline nodded. “I thought that color blue would look good on you. And it will go nicely with those cream-colored slacks that Judith gave you.”

“Thanks, Maddie. It’s gorgeous.”

The final and last gift was rather large, and the small gold tag on top of the ribbon indicated it was from Victoria’s Secret.

Victoria’s Secret! Who on earth would be giving her something from there?

She had yet to receive a gift from Louis, but surely he wouldn’t…She lifted up the gift card, and her face grew hot with embarrassment. Whatever was in the box was from Louis.

Her instinct was to look at him, to see what kind of expression was on his face, knowing that she was about to open his gift. But Charlotte fought the urge and kept her eyes on the package instead. Just the thought of Louis shopping for her at all made her feel kind of funny, but only the good Lord knew what kind of gift the man had ended up with from Victoria’s Secret.

Be nice, Charlotte. No matter what it is, be nice.

Charlotte tore off the wrapping paper, then lifted the lid off the box. There seemed to be layer upon layer of tissue paper that she had to go through before finally unearthing the gift itself. With a frown marring her forehead, all she could do was stare at the contents. Leopard print?

“What on earth?” she murmured, silently praying that it wasn’t a nightgown. She’d never hear the end of it from her family if it was. Then, with trembling fingers, she lifted it out of the box. It wasn’t a nightgown, but it might as well have been. The luxurious robe was made of satin on the outside and lined with a sumptuous soft terry. Beautiful…even sexy…but also practical.

“Oh, wow!” Madeline exclaimed. “Who on earth is that from?” Before Charlotte realized her intention and could stop her, Madeline grabbed the gift card. “Louis? Louis gave you that?”

Judith leaned across in front of Madeline. “Uh-huh, now we know,” she drawled. “And all this time you’ve been telling me that he was just a tenant and nothing else. Yeah, right, Aunt Charley.”

Madeline nudged Charlotte with her elbow. “Come on, now, sister, dear. Do tell.”

Rolling her eyes, and with as much dignity as she could muster, Charlotte ignored the teasing. All she could do now was hope that Louis hadn’t heard the remarks.

Intending to thank him, she glanced over in the direction where he was seated. But his chair was empty, as empty as her insides suddenly felt.

While part of her was glad, relieved that he hadn’t been around to hear Madeline’s and Judith’s teasing remarks, another part of her was truly disappointed…and puzzled. Where was he? she wondered, craning her neck to search for him. Had he left already, left without even saying good-bye?

Suddenly there was the piercing squeal of a microphone, and everyone at the table winced and groaned.

“Sorry about that,” the leader of the string combo apologized. “But I have an announcement to make. We have the first request of the evening. So get your dancing shoes on and grab your partner. It’s time to work off all that great food and birthday cake.”

Charlotte immediately recognized the beginning, bittersweet strains of “Unchained Melody,” and she recalled the last time she’d heard it, coming from Louis’ half of the double. She closed her eyes for a moment. She was so caught up in the feelings the tune always evoked that when she felt the light tap on her shoulder, her eyes flew open and she jumped.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Charlotte jerked her head around and up.

Louis.

He hadn’t left after all.

He made a little half bow, then held out his hand. “May I have the honor of this dance, milady?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. More pleased than she wanted to admit that he hadn’t left, she gave him a warm smile. In keeping with his mock formality, she nodded once, placed her hand in his, and said, “But of course, kind sir.”

The dance floor was only a few steps away, and as Louis pulled her firmly into his arms, Charlotte had the strangest feeling that she was exactly where she belonged, that in some odd way, she’d finally come home. Probably too much champagne, she thought, dismissing the sensation.

“So, did you like the robe?” he asked, his warm breath tickling her cheek as they swayed to the music. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you, giving you something like that. The salesgirl assured me it would be appropriate enough, and to tell you the truth, I got tired of seeing you in that old ratty thing you wear around all the time.”

“Ratty!” Charlotte pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s not that ratty, and I’ll have you know I do not wear it all the time.”

“Aw, come on, Charlotte. Admit it. You needed a new one. Now didn’t you?”

A grin tugged at her lips. “Well…I suppose so,” she drawled. “I guess my old one is getting a bit worn looking—but not exactly ratty,” she hastened to add.

“So you’re not mad at me?”

Of all the men she’d ever met, she would never have dreamed that Louis Thibodeaux could be so insecure about something like a gift. “Louis, the housecoat is lovely, just perfect, and if you hadn’t run off, I would have told you so right after I opened it.”

“Humph! Well, that’s a relief—and I didn’t run off. Hank said it was time to get the dancing started, so I got the ball rolling.”

“I should have known,” she murmured. “So you’re the one who made the song request?”

Louis shrugged. “Hey—I happen to like this song. It brings back a lot of memories of the good old days, if you know what I mean.”

“For your information, I happen to like it too,” she retorted. “For all the same reasons. And by the way—” With her hand that was resting on his shoulder, she smoothed the fabric of his suit. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all night that I really like your suit too. It looks very nice on you.”

“Well, I hope so,” he drawled. “It cost enough, but hey—I needed a new one anyway—or so that niece of yours keeps telling me.”

“You just bought it?”

“Yeah, thanks to Judith. She’s a lot like you, you know—pretty stubborn at times. The other day when she came by, she wanted to see what I was planning on wearing to this shindig. Well, when I showed her my old suit, she snatched it right off the hanger and stuffed it in the trash can.” He chuckled. “Just like a woman, throwing away a perfectly good suit just because the lapels aren’t the right size or some such nonsense. Anyway—she called up this friend of hers who works at Macy’s and—” He shrugged. “I ended up with this.”



It was almost midnight before the last of the guests finally said good night. Since Davy had fallen asleep on Daniel’s shoulder earlier, Daniel and Nadia had already left.

With only Louis and the rest of her family still remaining, Charlotte didn’t feel like she was being rude when she announced, “I’ve had the most wonderful day that anyone could ever ask for, but this old birthday gal is tired and ready to call it a night.”

She stepped over to where Hank and Carol were standing. “Thank you, son. And thank you, Carol.” She gave Carol a quick hug. “Thank you both for everything. It’s been a dream come true and a day I won’t ever forget.” She wrapped her arms around Hank’s waist and hugged him tightly.

“You’re very welcome, Mom,” he said, hugging her back, then releasing her.

“We just wanted to make it special for you,” Carol told her.

Louis walked over to join them. “I’m kinda pooped myself,” he said, “and if you’d like, I can give Charlotte a ride home.”

Hank glanced over at Charlotte. “Mom?”

“That would be just fine.” She turned to Louis. “Thank you for offering.”

“Well, let’s get those gifts packed up and hit the road then.”



Louis was quiet during the short drive home, and after all the noise and chatter of the party, the silence was a welcome relief for Charlotte.

Then, just as they turned down Milan Street, he cleared his throat, a gesture that Charlotte had learned usually indicated he was about to say something that he felt was important.

“You know, Charlotte, turning sixty is really not all that bad.”

Of all the things Louis could have said, that was the last thing she’d expected to hear from him.

He cleared his throat again. “I’ve been sixty now for a couple of years, and other than all the jokes about being an old man that I’ve had to put up with, not much else has changed.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “I think turning sixty’s the pits. It just sounds so—so old. Besides, it’s easier for men. Men only grow more distinguished looking the older they get, while women just grow older and more wrinkled.”

“Now that’s a bunch of hogwash if I ever heard it,” he argued as he turned into the driveway. He shoved the gear into park, switched off the engine, then shifted in the seat to face her. “You’d easily pass for a woman ten years younger any day. Besides, it’s what’s in here—” With his forefinger, he tapped his head near the temple. “And in here—” With his fist he thumped the center of his chest. “That’s all that really counts anyway.”

Charlotte was speechless. Louis was lots of things, some of them she liked, some of them she didn’t, but she’d never thought of him as a philosopher, and it wasn’t that often that he handed out compliments so freely.

When she finally found her voice, all she could think to say was a simple “Thank you.” And before the already awkward moment grew even more awkward, she gave him a quick smile. “And thanks for giving me a ride home.” With that, she pulled on the door handle, pushed open the door, and climbed out of the car.

Following her lead, Louis got out too. “Why don’t you unlock the front door, and I’ll start unloading the gifts.”

The moment Charlotte entered the living room, Sweety Boy chirped out a greeting from beneath the cage cover. Just to be safe, Charlotte decided to move him out of the room temporarily, at least until Louis left. “No use in you getting all upset this late at night,” she crooned to him as she gently set his cage down on a chair in the bedroom.

Charlotte directed Louis to stack the gifts on the sofa in the living room for the time being. It took three trips back and forth before everything had been unloaded.

“That’s the last of them,” he told her, motioning toward the packages he’d just deposited onto the sofa, as he strolled to the front door.

“Thanks again,” she said, following him.

At the door he paused, and when he turned to face her, suddenly she felt as if a thousand butterflies had taken wing inside her stomach. Would he kiss her again? But more to the point, did she want him to kiss her again?

“Charlotte, I—” He glanced down, then shifted from one foot to the other. “About last Friday night—when you came over to eat.” He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. “I was pretty damn rude, and I never did apologize. Tonight—seeing how all those people showed up in your honor and listening to Hank’s toast really made me stop and think. You’re a nice lady, and you didn’t deserve me taking my anger out on you.”

The butterflies settled down, and compassion welled up within her. Charlotte reached out and squeezed his arm. “Was it anger or was it grief, Louis?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “A little of both I guess.”

She smiled sympathetically. “The offer still stands, you know,” she said softly. “Any time you want to talk about it, I’ll be glad to listen.”

“Yeah, I know. And I appreciate the offer—I really do.” He shrugged. “Maybe one of these days…”

Then, once again, before Charlotte realized his intentions, he leaned over and kissed her, full on the lips. Almost before the kiss had begun, though, it was over and he pulled away.

“Good night, Charlotte, and happy birthday,” he whispered.



Long after Louis had left and Charlotte had climbed into her bed, she could still taste his kiss. As she stared up at the dark ceiling in her bedroom, she couldn’t stop thinking about him, his apology, or the dance they’d shared…or anything else about the Cinderella night she’d had, including the other kiss he had given her as well.

Even though she was tired, she kept reliving the entire evening over and over, from beginning to end…the sights and sounds, the food, all of the guests who had been there, the gifts…the music box from B.J. and Aaron…

Charlotte groaned. Turning over onto her side, she curled up in a fetal position.

B.J., again.

What was she going to do about that boy? Was he guilty of committing murder? Had he killed Drew Bergeron? Guilty…innocent until proven guilty…

Suddenly, she sat straight up in bed. “Shame on you, Charlotte LaRue,” she muttered. All this time, all weekend long, despite her gut feelings to the contrary, she’d been condemning the teenager. Without even the benefit of a fair trial, she’d played prosecutor, judge, and jury and had condemned him, had spent hours worrying about who to tell or if she should tell anyone, and all without even giving the teenager a chance to defend himself or to explain.

Like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night, relief spread through her, and she snuggled back down beneath the covers.

“Monday,” she whispered. On Monday, she would simply confront B.J. with what she’d found and see what he had to say for himself. Then she’d decide what to do about it.


Chapter Twenty
C harlotte hated confrontations of any kind, but she also hated the indecision that had plagued her over the past three days. Given a choice, she’d rather deal with neither, but Charlotte knew that there were some things in life, certain circumstances, where a person had no choice but to react.

A cold knot formed in her stomach as she glanced at the dashboard clock, then turned the van off of St. Charles onto Jefferson Avenue where B.J.’s school was located. Charlotte was well acquainted with the history of the private school B.J. attended, since Hank had also gone there during his high school days. Isodore Newman had been founded in 1903, and the exclusive school had been educating children for almost a century.

Normal time for dismissal was three-thirty, but Charlotte knew that once a week, on Mondays, B.J. stayed an extra hour for math tutoring. According to Marian, the teenager was highly intelligent and had always made top grades until recently. But since his father’s death, his grades had taken a nosedive, enough so that she’d determined he needed the extra help.

After his tutoring session, if the weather was pleasant, he would walk the two blocks to St. Charles Avenue, catch a streetcar to the stop nearest his home, then walk the remaining distance.

Since it was only four-fifteen, Charlotte was a bit early, but she’d wanted to make sure she didn’t miss B.J.

Jefferson Avenue wasn’t a wide street, but not many were in New Orleans. Jefferson was a two-way street, though, divided by what natives of New Orleans referred to as the neutral ground. As in the Garden District, the Uptown area was shaded from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun by the many trees growing along the Avenue.

As Charlotte slowly approached the sprawling light-tan brick building trimmed in white, she spotted a perfect place to park, a place where she could remain in the van but still have a good view of the entrance to the school. Since the parking place was on the opposite side of the neutral ground, she had to continue past the school and make a U-turn farther up the street to get back to where she wanted to park.

Once she’d parked and switched off the engine, for a few moments, she sat and watched as small groups of laughing, loud-talking teenagers walked past the school.

Luckily for her, Marian had left that morning almost as soon as Charlotte had arrived to clean, saving Charlotte from having to wrestle with her conscience because she hadn’t told Marian about B.J.

Charlotte suddenly sat up straight when she recognized B.J. emerging from the main entrance, a huge bulky knapsack strapped to his back. Unlike the other students who were paired off or part of a group, B.J. was all alone.

As she crossed the busy street, B.J. noticed her almost immediately, and the surprised look on his face would have been comical if not for the seriousness of the reason she was there.

“Hey, Ms. LaRue, what are you doing here?”

“Hey, yourself, B.J. Actually, I’ve been waiting for you.”

The boy stared at her for several moments, then suddenly a cloud of worry tinged with fright came over his face. “Everyone’s okay, aren’t they? My mom, my little brother?”

“Oh, hon—” Charlotte reached out and squeezed his arm. “Of course they’re okay. They’re just fine. The reason I’m here has nothing to do with your family—not exactly, anyway.” She motioned toward a concrete bench set against the backdrop of a row of hedges. “Let’s sit over here.”

The instant relief evident on his face gave Charlotte a pang of guilt. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more stress or pain than he’d already endured. But if her suspicions were right, and she prayed they weren’t, then the teenager was in for more stress than he’d ever dreamed possible.

After they had settled on the bench, she turned toward him. “Thank you for my lovely birthday gift.”

The teenager shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Then he frowned. “You came all the way over here just to thank me?”

Charlotte slowly shook her head. “No, hon. Not really.” She swallowed hard. “B.J., you know I care about you, don’t you—care about your welfare?” she qualified.

He shrugged. “Yeah—sure. So?”

“The first thing I want you to know is that I never snoop or pry into my client’s personal belongings. But while I was cleaning your room last Friday, I found something that really disturbed me. Before I go to your mother or the authorities about what I found, I wanted to give you a chance to explain.”

B.J. frowned. “Explain what?”

“Explain why you would have a shoe box full of cigars and clippings about Drew Bergeron’s murder beneath your bed.”

The boy’s expression grew wary, then turned belligerent. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “You had no right to look through my stuff.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Charlotte held up a hand in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was cleaning out from beneath your bed and the box spilled open.”

“Well you didn’t have to look, and I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Charlotte sighed. “No—no you don’t have to tell me anything, but I was at the Devilier house when Mr. Bergeron’s body was discovered, and I saw a cigar ground out on the floor just outside the closet where he was found. And guess what? It looked just like the ones under your bed.”

“So what! Could have been anyone’s cigar,” he retorted, his tone harsh and belligerent. “And why wouldn’t I be interested in Mr. Drew’s murder? He and my dad were friends, and my dad worked for him.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I suppose that sounds logical enough, but—” She crossed her arms, tilted up her chin, and peered down her nose at him. “You and I both know it’s not the truth. So why don’t you try again?”

His answer was an insolent glare.

After a moment, Charlotte simply shook her head. “Look, B.J.,” she warned, “it’s no secret that you’ve been in trouble lately. Failing grades, curfew violations, fighting at school, and getting suspended. With all of that, how do you think it’s going to look to the police if they find out what’s beneath your bed, especially given your family’s connection to Drew Bergeron? Now, you can either tell me the truth or I’ll have no choice but to go to your mom or to the police.”

For what seemed like an eternity, the teenager simply glared at Charlotte, his jaw clenched while the muscles in his cheeks tightened, then loosened, then tightened again. The expression on his face was a picture of anguish, indecision, and something else that she could only guess was fear.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he suddenly blurted. His eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them back viciously. “The only reason I collected those newspaper articles was because I kept hoping the cops would find the killer. And I don’t smoke! Not since I got suspended.” He hesitated; then, in a choked voice, he said, “Those cigars belonged to my dad. When Mom cleaned out his stuff after he—he—after he was gone, I took some of his things to keep so I wouldn’t forget him. I’ve got one of his T-shirts too, but Mom doesn’t know and please don’t tell her. She gets too upset, and when she gets all uptight, she drinks.”

Charlotte had to fight against giving in to the sympathy tugging at her heart. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, then why so defensive?”

With a shudder, B.J. dropped his head. “Okay, okay,” he finally choked out. “I was there, but I—” He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, then looked up. “I—I didn’t do it, Ms. LaRue. I swear I didn’t kill him. I’ve never even fired a gun.”

And she believed him. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, hon, and tell me what happened?”

Nodding slowly, he cleared his throat. “Last Thursday, my mom needed me to deliver some papers to Ms. Bergeron, and when I was leaving her house, I noticed there was a man hanging around near the side fence. I thought it was kinda weird that he was taking pictures of Katie—that’s Ms. Bergeron’s little girl. You see, Katie was playing just on the other side of the fence.”

Charlotte went still. The photos. Of course. That was why the pictures she’d seen scattered on top of the sleeping bag had looked so familiar. She hadn’t recognized the little girl because she’d hadn’t seen her since she was born, but her subconscious had recognized the place where the pictures had been taken, had recognized that the house and grounds belonged to Katherine Bergeron.

“Anyway,” B.J. continued, “I had to walk past the man to get to the bus stop, and when I got closer, I realized that he looked just like Mr. Drew. I didn’t believe it at first, and it really freaked me out. Mr. Drew was dead, but that man looked so much like him that I decided to hang around just to see what he was up to.” B.J. paused, made a face, then shook his head. “You know—he never said a word to Katie. Just took the pictures and left.”

“And you followed him,” Charlotte offered.

“Yes, ma’am. It was just too weird, so I followed him down to that house.”

“The Devilier house?”

He nodded. “That’s when I figured out that maybe the man really was Mr. Drew and that he was hiding out there. You see, I’d heard my mom talk about the place, and I knew no one was renting it yet. So he had to be hiding out there.”

Charlotte frowned. “But that was on Thursday, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell someone—tell your mom?”

“I was going to, but by the time I got home, Mom was in a hurry to leave to meet a client, and I didn’t get the chance.”

“What about Friday?” Charlotte asked him. “Why didn’t you tell her then?”

B.J. gave her a sheepish look. “After what I pulled Thursday night, she wasn’t in any mood to listen to anything from me.”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded sagely. “That was the night you sneaked out after curfew, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So what about Friday afternoon—after school?”

“She was gone to take Aaron to the doctor.” He hesitated. “But I almost told Ms. Bergeron,” he added. “While Mom was gone, she came by to pick up a set of keys.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I—I just couldn’t—you know—find the right way to tell her. But after she left, I finally decided to call Sam. Since my dad died, Sam is the only one who really listens to me anyway, and I knew he’d know what to do.”

“And what did Sam tell you?”

“Sam said that I’d better make sure that the man was Mr. Drew before I go around telling anyone. He said if I was wrong and told someone, and Ms. Bergeron or my mom got all upset, then I would be in big trouble for sure.”

“So…Let me guess. You decided to go the Devilier house that night and make sure.”

“Well, how else was I gonna know?”

“Oh, B.J., B.J.” She shook her head. B.J. ignored her. “All I wanted was to find something that would prove the man really was Mr. Drew. I figured I could maybe sneak in and find something in his stuff—you know, like a driver’s license or something.”

“Did it ever once occur to you that whoever the man was, he might be dangerous?”

“Oh, sure. That’s why I waited till I saw him leave.”

“And did you find anything?”

“Uh-uh. Just about the time I finally got inside, I heard someone else come in and I had to hide in a closet.”

“Someone else?”

“Ms. Bergeron and some man I didn’t know. They were looking at the apartments, I guess—you know, to rent?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Well, anyway, they finally left, and I had just started looking through the man’s stuff when I heard someone else come in. So I hid again. I figured if he’d come back, then I could sneak out after he went to sleep, and if it was someone else—” He shrugged. “Then I would just wait until they left.

“I hid in a hallway closet just outside of the room where he had all his stuff and waited. It had to be him, though, because I heard him go straight to the room where his junk was and I could hear him fooling around in the bathroom—brushing his teeth and stuff.

“Just about the time that I thought he was settling down for the night, I heard the stairs creak, and then I heard voices. At first I couldn’t hear what was being said ’cause they were talking kinda low. Then, the man—Mr. Drew—started yelling at whoever was there, and that’s when I knew it really was him ’cause I recognized his voice. He kept saying ‘Don’t! Don’t do it! No, please don’t.’” B.J. abruptly paused and swallowed hard. “I heard it but didn’t know what it was until later. All I could think about at the time was getting out of there as soon as I could.”

“What did you hear?”

“A popping sound.” He shuddered. “A gunshot.” He heaved a sigh. “After that I heard footsteps. They sounded like whoever was there was leaving, but I waited anyway—waited for what seemed like hours before I finally figured it was safe enough to come out. Then I hauled butt.”

“Oh, B.J., why didn’t you tell someone—your mom, maybe? Or better still, why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Duh! My fingerprints are probably all over the place—”

“Ah, excuse me,” she drawled, “but I really don’t appreciate the sarcasm. I’m trying to help you, so show a little respect.”

B.J. simply stared at her, then after several moments, he finally gave a grudging nod. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry. But like you said before, I’ve been in trouble a lot lately. The cops would think I killed him.”

“What about your mom? Couldn’t you tell her?” B.J. rolled his eyes. “No way. She’d freak out for sure.”

“So you’ve told no one.”

“Well…not exactly. I did tell Sam.”

“And?”

“Sam said to forget it and just keep my mouth shut. He said sooner or later the cops would find the real killer.” He hesitated, then, “You believe me, don’t you, Ms. LaRue?” He held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I swear it’s the truth.”

Charlotte managed a small, tentative smile. “I believe you, hon.” And she did. But she also recalled what Judith had told her about Katherine and Vince supplying each other with alibis. What if Vince was the man Katherine was with, the one B.J. didn’t recognize? And what if when they left the house, they saw Drew and decided to follow him? What if they confronted him, then killed him?

“I believe you,” she murmured again. Then, carefully choosing her words, she said, “But I’m afraid I have to disagree with Sam. I think you need to go to the police and tell them exactly what you just told me.” For reasons she couldn’t explain, even to herself, the thought of how easily influenced B.J. was by Sam Roberts bothered her. There was just something about the man with his know-it-all attitude that set her teeth on edge.

B.J. cast his eyes downward and shuffled his feet against the concrete walk. “Hmm…maybe.”

Charlotte placed her hand on his shoulder. “Look, hon, think of it this way. Something you say just might help the police find the real killer—or at least give them a clue to the identity of the person who killed Mr. Bergeron.”

“Maybe I ought to talk to Sam about it first.”

Charlotte grimaced. Sam again. Unease snaked through her. And what if Sam said no? Then what? she wondered. If she went to Judith and told her what B.J. had revealed, she’d be betraying his confidence. Once confronted with his story, B.J. might clam up or worse, he might even deny everything. It would be better for everyone concerned if she could somehow persuade him to cooperate.

Despite her own misgivings about Sam Roberts, Charlotte had to remind herself that he had been there for B.J. when the boy had needed someone. There was also the fact that Marian seemed to trust the handyman implicitly, and after all, Marian was B.J.’s mother. So who was she to question the man’s integrity?

“Okay, B.J.,” she finally relented. “Talk to Sam again if it will make you feel better. But make it soon, okay?”

The boy nodded.

“Now, you’d better run along before your mom begins to worry.”

B.J. didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed up his knapsack, shrugged into it, and left. And as Charlotte watched him hurry down the sidewalk, an idea began to take shape. For B.J.’s sake, maybe it was time that she had a talk with Sam Roberts herself.

Almost immediately, Charlotte shied away from the idea. She was already involved more than she wanted to be, and approaching Sam Roberts was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

With a sigh of frustration, she marched across the street to the van. But like a pesky mosquito, the idea simply wouldn’t go away. If Sam knew that B.J. had confided in her, she might persuade him to rethink his advice to the boy and use his influence to urge B.J. to go to the police.

The more she thought about it on the drive home, the more it seemed like the only sensible thing to do. So if it was so sensible, why did she get the nervous heebie-jeebies just thinking about talking to Sam Roberts?