Barbara Colley - Charlotte LaRue 02 - Death Tidies Up p.06

Chapter Twenty-four
“M y name is Darla Shaw,” the woman snarled.

Darla Shaw. A memory clicked in Charlotte’s mind. Darla Shaw was the woman Drew Bergeron had been living with in Key West, but worse, Darla Shaw was also Judith’s number-one suspect.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” the woman spat. Using the pressure of the gun, she forced Charlotte backward, into the foyer. Once they were both inside, she used the heel of her muddy shoe and kicked the door shut.

The sound of the door slamming was like the crack of a whip, and Charlotte jumped. Think, Charlotte! Think! But Charlotte’s heart was hammering against her rib cage so hard that she could hardly catch her breath, never mind think.

The woman’s dark eyes flashed contempt as her gaze slid over Charlotte from head to toe. “You’re a lot older than I thought you’d be,” she sneered.

Older?

“What gets me, though, is why he’d want some old broad like you when he had me?” Punctuating each word with a jab of the gun, she added, “Of course, all he wanted from you was money.”

Marian! She thinks I’m Marian. Charlotte opened her mouth in denial, but nothing came out but a squeak.

“All I’ve heard for weeks was Marian this and Marian that,” the woman ranted, confirming Charlotte’s suspicions. “Oh, yeah—” the woman gave an exaggerated nod. “I know all about you and what you did. And I know all about your little arrangement with Drew.” She shook her head, then moaned, “I told him not to come—the idiot! I begged him.” Then she shouted, “But would he listen? Oh, no—not him, not Mr. High and Mighty Know-it-all. Not Mr. Stud,” she spat.

The woman’s lower lip curled into a snarl. “And I was right, wasn’t I? He shouldn’t ’ave come ’cause you killed him—killed him deader than a doorknob.” Spittle flew out of her mouth. She licked her lips, then narrowed her eyes. “But I got news for you, sister. You’re gonna pay and pay big. Only this time—” She thumped herself on the chest. “This time you’re gonna pay me.”

The woman was convinced that she was Marian, and though Charlotte wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her she had the wrong person, every instinct she had warned against it.

Charlotte swallowed hard, and praying that Marian had overheard the woman ranting and raving and wasn’t too far gone to have sense enough to call the police, she decided that the only way to stay alive was to play along…or play dumb.

Gathering every ounce of courage she had within her, she decided to play dumb. She slowly shook her head. “There’s been a mistake of some kind. I don’t know any Drew, and I don’t know what or who you’re talking—”

“Liar!” the woman screamed. “You’re a damned liar. This is the right address, and you’re Marian Hebert! I know ’cause Drew told me all about your fancy house in the uppity Garden District. And I know all about you and what y’all did—you and Drew and that husband of yours—how you all got drunk as skunks that night and stole that professor’s car, and how you were the one driving.”

He’s found out…somehow he’s found out.

If Charlotte hadn’t already been scared speechless, she would have been shocked speechless as well, and if she’d had any doubts about Sam Roberts and Arthur Samuel being the same man, those doubts had been put to rest, once and for all.

Even as Darla continued ranting, everything she’d said began to make a weird kind of sense. They were all connected: Drew, Bill, Marian, and Sam aka Professor Arthur Samuel. And if what Darla was saying was true, then it was no wonder that Marian suffered from emotional problems, along with alcohol abuse, and it was no wonder that Sam had changed his name and attempted to change his looks. Sam didn’t want to be recognized.

If Marian, Drew, and Bill had stolen the professor’s car that night, then they had let an innocent man pay for their crime. Even worse, though, somehow, some way, Sam had figured out that the three had stolen his car and that one of them had been responsible for the murder he’d been accused of.

A cold chill ran through Charlotte. Two of the three, Bill and Drew, were dead.

Sam had worked for Bill, and Bill had been killed in a suspicious explosion.

Then there was Drew. Charlotte had no doubt that Sam had also killed Drew as well…the cigar butt outside the closet, just like the one at Sam’s house, and just like the one she’d seen outside the closet at the Devilier house…the purple Mardi Gras mask on Drew’s face. Purple, green, and gold, all traditional Mardi Gras colors: purple for justice, green for faith, and gold for power. Sam Roberts aka Professor Arthur Samuel was out for justice, and in his own macabre way, he was letting the world know that he was finally getting it.

But how? How had Sam even known that Drew was still alive to begin with? He must have, though, and now, out of the three, only Marian was left.

Darla suddenly poked Charlotte hard with the gun. “You did it. You were the one who killed that man, and you let that professor take the rap.” Her breath was coming in short gasps. Then an evil looking smile pulled her lips into a parody of the emotion, and she whispered loudly, “And I know something else too. I know exactly how much you were paying Drew to keep his mouth shut, so don’t go trying to weasel out of it. But now you can pay me instead. Last I heard, there’s no statue of limitation on murder, so if you don’t pay, I’ll go to the cops.”

Call her bluff. It was a desperate ploy, one that could easily push the woman over the edge, but Charlotte figured she didn’t have a lot of choices. In what she hoped looked like a defiant gesture, she lifted her chin and glared down her nose at the woman. “I think that’s the best idea yet,” she told her. “Go ahead. Go to the cops. Better yet, use my phone and call them right now.”

For what seemed like an eternity, the woman stared at Charlotte. Then sudden anger flashed in her eyes and her face turned beet red. “I don’t think so,” she said, her voice harsh and chilling. “You think you’re so smart, but I’ve got news for you. I’m smarter. Those two brats of yours are due home any minute now, aren’t they? Either give me the money or I’ll kill them both.” She leaned closer to Charlotte’s face, then screamed, “I mean it! I’ll kill the little brats, so give it to me now!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught a glimpse of movement from the front porch through the side window. The boys! Were they home already?

“Okay, okay!” Charlotte threw up her hands and tried desperately to think of some way to distract the dangerous woman. Time. She needed to buy time. Praying that Marian would hear her and keep the boys out of the house, she raised the pitch of her voice. “I’ll get you your money!” she told her. “Anything—but please don’t hurt my boys.” She motioned toward the end of the hallway. “I keep money in my office back there.”

Darla poked Charlotte with the gun. “That’s much better. Now let’s go get it. Turn around—” Charlotte turned. “Slowly now,” the woman warned. “And you’d better not try anything.”

All the way down the hallway, Charlotte felt the pressure of the gun in the small of her back as she forced her trembling legs to move toward Marian’s office.

Once inside the room, Charlotte motioned toward the desk. “The money’s in the desk.”

When they reached the desk, Darla snapped at her, “Get it, but you’d better not try anything.”

“H-how much do you want?” Charlotte asked as she eased slowly to the other side of the desk.

“All of it,” Darla snapped. “I want all that you’ve got.”

Now what? Not knowing what else to do, Charlotte leaned down, pulled open a drawer, and began riffling through it. Since Darla was on the other side, Charlotte was pretty sure she couldn’t see what she was doing. The drawer she’d pulled out was full of folders that contained what looked like invoices. But there was also a box of envelopes as well. She pulled out an envelope, and in hopes of making it look as if it were full of money, she began slowly stuffing it with the invoices. What she needed was to buy time.

She had almost stuffed it full when she suddenly noticed that her supply carrier was within reach. As she eyed the contents of the carrier, an idea began to slowly take shape. Could she do it? Did she have enough courage to even try?

Charlotte had noticed that Darla was nervous and kept glancing around the room, especially toward the doorway. Still pretending to stuff the envelope with money, out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte watched and waited, hoping for just the right opportunity. The moment Darla glanced away, she grabbed one of the spray bottles that she was sure contained ammonia.

With her finger on the trigger, she hid the bottle behind her back. Holding out the envelope in her other hand, she sent up a short prayer for courage, then slowly stood. She thrust the envelope toward Darla. “Here’s your money,” she told her. “Take it and get out.”

Just as Charlotte had hoped, Darla had eyes only for the envelope. And just as she’d hoped, the greedy woman had to lean across the desk to get it. Leaning across the desk would throw her a bit off balance. The second she leaned forward, Charlotte whipped the bottle of ammonia from behind her back, aimed it directly at Darla’s eyes, and pumped the trigger.

Ammonia spewed out, coating Darla’s face. Darla screamed, dropped the gun, and began clawing at her eyes. The gun fell with a heavy thud on top of the desk.

Charlotte dropped the ammonia bottle, and keeping a wary eye on Darla, she immediately scooped up the gun. Once she had it, she ran for the door.

The sound of police car sirens reached her ears, and Charlotte sprinted down the hallway toward the foyer. The moment she jerked open the front door, she froze.

For the second time in the course of an hour, she found herself facing the wrong end of a gun.

Two policemen were already on the porch, their guns drawn, and more were spilling out of patrol cars.

“Put it down, lady,” the taller of the two policemen shouted. “Put the gun down now!”

“Okay, okay!” she shouted back. “See—” She bent down and placed the gun on the porch. “I’m putting it down.”

“Easy, lady. Now kick it this way.”

“Gladly,” she muttered, as she kicked the gun toward the two policemen.

The moment the gun slid away, the shorter policeman approached her. “Hands above your head.”

“Officer, if you’d just let me explain—”

“Do it, lady! Hands above your head.”

Charlotte raised her hands. “Please, sir, I’m just the maid. My name is Charlotte LaRue and my niece is Detective Judith Monroe. The woman you want is inside, and that’s her gun.”

“Hey, Joe,” a familiar voice shouted. “She’s telling the truth. She’s okay.”

Charlotte sent up a prayer of thanks as Billy Wilson bounded up the steps. “Oh, Billy, am I ever glad to see you.”

After Charlotte gave an abbreviated version of what had happened, Billy sent two of the other officers inside the house after Darla Shaw.

Within minutes, Darla was in custody and an ambulance had been called to transport her to the nearest hospital.

With Darla subdued, Charlotte explained that her employer was still inside the house somewhere. Accompanied by Billy, she went back inside to look for Marian.

“That ammonia trick was some smart thinking on your part, Ms. LaRue,” Billy told her at the doorway to the kitchen. “That took a lot of guts. Just one thing, though. It sure seems strange how you’re always around when this stuff happens.”

Charlotte shuddered. “Not my choice, I assure you. Just lucky, I guess,” she mumbled sarcastically. “Seriously though, I am lucky that you were here and vouched for me…again. Thanks, Billy.”

Billy shrugged. “No big deal.”

When they entered the kitchen, it was empty. Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t understand where she could be. I—”

Billy heard the noise at the same time that Charlotte heard it. He pointed to the pantry, and Charlotte nodded.

“Marian, it’s Charlotte.” She walked to the pantry. “You can come out now. The police are here.” She opened the door, and her face fell. “Oh, Marian…”

The pantry was the walk-in type, but there was barely room to turn around inside. Marian was scrunched up, sitting on the floor, her whole body shaking. In one hand was a butcher knife, and in the other hand she was clutching an empty liquor bottle.

She glanced up at Charlotte. “Oh, Ch-Charlotte! I—I was s-so scared.” When she stumbled to her feet, the knife and bottle clattered to the floor, and Charlotte had to grab her to keep her from falling. “Is—is she gone?” she stammered, her words slurred. “Is that awful woman gone?” Her breath reeked of liquor and Charlotte frowned.

“Not yet,” Charlotte told her. “But it’s safe. The police have her now.”

Marian was deathly pale and continued to shake. “I don’t feel so good.” Then she suddenly groaned. “Oh, noooo—I—I think I—I’m going to be sick.” She crossed her arms, hugging her stomach, and doubled over.

“Okay, okay—just hold on!” Charlotte told her.

“Here, let me help you,” Billy offered.

Between them, they got her to the bathroom just in time before Marian threw up. Knowing how embarrassed Marian would be later, Charlotte assured Billy that she could handle things, then shooed him out of the bathroom. Once she’d firmly shut the door, she wet a washcloth and wrung it out, then waited. When it seemed that nothing else could possibly come out of the poor woman, Charlotte flushed the toilet, then kneeled down beside Marian and began blotting her forehead with the wet washcloth.

“Thanks, Charlotte,” she whispered, still pale and shaky a few minutes later. “I—I was so scared and I just couldn’t seem to stop drinking, especially after I heard what that woman said.” She stared at Charlotte with miserable eyes. “I—I guess I owe you an explanation.”

Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything, Marian, but I’m afraid the police are going to have a lot of questions. And—I have to confess—I am curious. But I’m more concerned than curious. About you,” she added, “and about B.J.”

Marian suddenly grabbed Charlotte by the arm. “Please, Charlotte—please don’t tell them all that stuff that woman said.”

Charlotte covered Marian’s hand with her own. “I’m not the one you have to worry about. Who you have to worry about is Darla Shaw and what she tells them.”

“Well, she can tell them anything she damn well pleases, but it’s not true—not about me driving the professor’s car that night. Oh, I thought it was. For almost twenty years I thought it was my fault—that I was the one driving when that poor man was killed.” She shook her head. “We were all so drunk that night, but I was the worst of the lot. I was so spaced out that I don’t even remember what happened. But one thing I know now—it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t steal the professor’s car, and I swear to you, I didn’t run over that man. I wasn’t the one who was driving that night. I didn’t kill him.”

Given Marian’s inebriated state, Charlotte decided that she was telling the truth. And because she was a bit less inhibited than she might have been sober, Charlotte pressed her advantage. “And what about Drew Bergeron?” she asked softly. “Did you kill him?”

“I wish I had. I’ve wished it a thousand times. If anybody had reason to”—She thumped herself on the chest—“it was me. For the past two years, ever since his so-called first death, Drew’s been soaking me dry—blackmailing me. And this whole mess—everything—is all his fault. His and Bill’s,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward to stare at the floor.

After a moment, she sighed. “Poor Bill. He was so angry when he found out. It was only then that he finally told me the truth, only after he realized that Drew was still alive and had been blackmailing me. That was the day before Bill—before he died.”

Her expression grew hard. “You see,” she said bitterly, “it was Drew all along. Drew was the one driving that night, and he’d persuaded Bill to let me think that I’d been at the wheel. Then they both persuaded me to let the professor take the blame.”

Charlotte frowned. “All those years, your own husband let you think that you’d killed a man?”

Marian shook her head. “We weren’t married then.”

“So why didn’t he tell you later, after you were married?”

“Guilt,” she answered. “Plain and simple—he felt too guilty about everything, and by that time, things had gone too far. After the professor was convicted, I—I had a nervous breakdown and tried to—to commit suicide—too much booze and drugs, and too much of my own guilt, thinking that I had not only killed a man, but had let an innocent man go to prison.

“It was after my suicide attempt that Bill told me he hadn’t realized how much he loved me until then. But seeing me like that—” She shrugged. “He blamed himself and said that was when he decided to spend the rest of his life trying to make it all up to me.

“At that time I was a basket case, and so needy—” She shook her head. “I’d always loved Bill anyway, so it was easy just to give in and let him take over, let him take care of me. And you know how those things go. Time passes and it gets harder and harder to tell the truth.”

Unfortunately, Charlotte did know. She’d spent years living her own lie, pretending that she had married her son’s father before he left for Vietnam when she hadn’t. Only after Hank was almost a grown man and had begun asking questions had she found the courage to tell him the truth.

Marian sighed. “Once Bill told me the truth, I was furious—so angry, so hurt, and—” She swallowed hard. “All those years—” She bowed her head and rubbed her forehead. “Anyway—” She dropped her hand and raised her head. “We had a huge fight—lots of yelling and screaming—and I threatened to take the boys and leave him, divorce him. Then, the next day—” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “The next day he was gone—killed in that explosion.

“Oh, Charlotte—” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It was all my fault. In spite of his lies and deceptions, Bill really loved me and the boys. We were his world, and when he thought I was taking them away, he—” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed softly.

Several moments passed before Marian spoke again. “I didn’t kill Drew,” she finally whispered. “But he deserved to die.”

Though Charlotte was relieved and satisfied that Marian was telling the truth, she had still needed to ask, had still needed to hear Marian deny it.

“Marian—” She reached up and squeezed Marian’s shoulder. “About your husband. If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe that he killed himself. In fact, I don’t think his death was an accident either. I’m convinced that Mr. Hebert was murdered. I’m also convinced that you need to tell the police exactly what you’ve just told me.”

Marian suddenly jerked away. “No!” Her eyes were wild with panic as she glared at Charlotte. “Don’t you see? If I tell the police, they’re going to think I killed Drew. Then, who’s going to take care of my boys?” She shook her head. “No way—and if you tell them, I’ll deny it—deny it all.”

“Whoa—just calm down,” Charlotte soothed. “In the first place, I’m not telling anybody anything. But just listen to me for a minute. If I’m right, Sam Roberts is really Professor Arthur Samuel, and he’s seeking retribution and revenge for his life being ruined. He wants justice.

“I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he found out about that night. Somehow he found out that the three of you stole his car and killed that pedestrian, then set him up to take the blame. He’s already murdered Drew, and I believe he also murdered Mr. Hebert. Two out of the three of you are dead….” Charlotte’s voice trailed away, and she gave Marian a moment to mull over what she’d said.

Then, softly, she continued. “Don’t you get it? If you don’t go to the police, he’ll eventually kill you too, just like he killed Mr. Bergeron and your husband.”

Marian’s face was a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions, and Charlotte pressed her advantage. “One other thing you need to consider. Sam has already befriended B.J. and Aaron. They both trust him. What if he decides to take his revenge out on them?”


Chapter Twenty-five
“N o!” Marian moaned. “Not my boys! He—he couldn’t. He really cares about B.J. and Aaron.” She shuddered. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte grabbed Marian by both shoulders and shook her once, hard. “Are you willing to bet your sons’ lives on it?”

For long seconds Marian stared at her, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“Don’t be naive, Marian. We’re talking about a man who lost everything because of what the three of you did to him—his family, his job, his reputation—everything! I was there when they found Drew Bergeron. I saw his body. Sam shot him at close range in the head, execution style. This is a man who has already systematically killed off two of the three people he blames for ruining his life. And if you don’t stop him, he’ll kill you too. Even worse, what better way to get his revenge on you than to first take away everything that means anything to you? And even if he doesn’t kill your sons, what will happen to them if he kills you?”

Once again, Marian’s eyes filled with tears that spilled over onto her cheeks, and finally she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”

Relief flooded through Charlotte. “Good!” She released her hold on Marian. “The first thing we need is a sympathetic ally. I’m going to call my niece, Judith. If you remember, she’s one of the detectives that questioned you after Drew’s body was found.”

“That’s why she looked so familiar that day.”

Charlotte nodded. “After I phone Judith, you need to call your attorney. For now, though, just let me do all the talking out there until Judith gets here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Marian whispered.

“Now—” Charlotte pushed herself up off the floor and stood. “Let’s get out of here. No—wait! On second thought, maybe we should just stay in here as long as we can. That way, we won’t have to answer so many questions until Judith comes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marian agreed. “Believe me, I’m not in any hurry.”

Charlotte nodded, then pulled her cell phone out of her apron pocket. She’d just dialed Judith’s number when Marian suddenly lurched to her feet. “The boys!” she sputtered. “What time is it?”

The number was ringing, but Charlotte quickly glanced at her watch. “It’s a little past three, but I thought I—”

Marian closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, good.” She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. “It’s still a while before they get home from school.”

Then who was on the porch? Charlotte didn’t have time to think about it. At that moment, Judith answered her call.

“Judith, hon, it’s me. I’m at Marian Hebert’s house, and I need you to get over here as soon as possible.”

“What’s wrong, Aunt Charley?”

“I’ll explain when you get here—and Judith, it’s urgent, so please hurry.” Charlotte ended the call, then handed the phone to Marian. “Call your attorney.”

While Marian was on the phone, Charlotte put her ear to the bathroom door and listened. Was Billy still out there, waiting for them to come out, or had he posted another officer at the door to wait for them?

She didn’t hear any movement or voices, but there was only one way to find out for sure, she decided. Easing the door open, she peeked out into the hallway. So far, so good. No one was standing guard at the door, and from the sounds she was hearing, no one was even in the house. They were all out front or on the porch.

Now if they could only keep stalling until Judith got there. She eased the door shut again. Marian was still talking on the phone, and though the bathroom was adequate, it was small.

Charlotte had never been claustrophobic before, but the small confines of the bathroom, along with the lingering smell from Marian being sick, was starting to get to her.

Delayed shock, she decided as she gripped the edge of the countertop. But who wouldn’t feel weak and queasy after what she’d just been through? Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap on the bathroom door. The noise reverberated and echoed in the small tiled room, and Charlotte almost jumped out of her skin.

“Ms. LaRue! Everything all right in there?”

“Ah—yes, Billy,” Charlotte answered. “Everything’s fine.”

“Ma’am, we need to ask a few more questions.”

“Okay,” she told him. “Just give us a couple more minutes.” To Marian she whispered, “Is your attorney coming?”

Marian nodded and handed Charlotte the phone. “He’s on his way.”

“Good. Now remember—let me do all the talking.” She helped Marian to her feet. “Ready?”

Marian shrugged. “Not really, but I guess I don’t have any choice.” She glanced in the mirror, then made a face. “At least I won’t have to lie about not feeling well. All they have to do is look at me.”

Charlotte gave her a quick smile for courage. Then, ever conscious that she needed to buy time until Judith got there, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Billy, why don’t we all go into the family room? I’m sure Ms. Hebert would be much more comfortable in there than standing around on the porch. She’s still feeling a bit weak,” she added for good measure.

Billy took one look at Marian and nodded his agreement. A few minutes later, he and another officer joined Charlotte and Marian in the family room. Marian was sitting in one of the two chairs that faced the sofa, and Charlotte chose to remain standing nearby, in hopes that the attention would be on her instead of Marian.

“This is Officer Hardy,” Billy told Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded, recognizing the policeman as one of the officers who had held a gun on her earlier on the porch.

“We’ve talked briefly to Ms. Shaw, ma’am, but we’d like to hear your version of what happened.”

Carefully choosing her words to avoid any references to Darla’s real motivation for showing up on Marian’s doorstep, Charlotte kept her explanation as simple as possible, starting with Darla mistaking her for Marian.

“That poor woman,” she said when she’d finished. “Evidently she was just crazy with grief over the death of Mr. Bergeron and, for whatever reason, she got it in her head that Marian had killed him. Of course, that’s ridiculous. Marian wasn’t anywhere near the Devilier house on the night that he was murdered.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I figure she was just crazy with grief, and because Mr. Bergeron and Marian had once been friends, she got confused. I’m just grateful that Marian had the good sense to phone you guys and that you showed up so quickly.”

The explanation she’d given had holes in it big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through, and she prepared herself, fully expecting to be interrogated further.

Footsteps coming down the hallway momentarily distracted the officers, and when Judith marched into the room, Charlotte sagged from relief.

After giving a nod of greeting to the two officers and to Marian, Judith directed her attention to Charlotte. “You okay, Aunt Charley?” When Charlotte nodded, Judith turned to the two officers. “Could you guys give me a few minutes alone with my aunt?”

Once the two officers had left the room, Judith approached Charlotte. “Are you sure you’re okay, Auntie? You look a little pale to me.” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down over here?”

Charlotte nodded. “I’ll sit down, but I’m okay, hon. Just still a bit shaky. It’s not every day I get guns pointed at me,” she added.

Judith seated herself beside Charlotte. “Now, what’s this all about, Auntie?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “I know who killed Drew Bergeron.”

Judith threw a suspicious look at Marian, then turned her attention back to her aunt. “I’m listening.”

“Before you jump to any conclusions—” Charlotte tilted her head toward Marian. “Let me explain. There are still some missing pieces to the puzzle, but it all started over twenty years ago. Marian, her husband, and Drew Bergeron were all friends at Tulane. As college kids do sometimes, they all got drunk one night.”

As quickly as she could, Charlotte recounted the story about the three stealing the professor’s car for a joyride and about Drew and Bill letting Marian believe that she had been responsible for the death of the man that Drew had run over during their escapade.

“According to the news articles I read,” Charlotte continued, “the man who was run over gave a description and part of the license number of the car that hit him before he died. The professor—Professor Arthur Samuel—had already been given several tickets for drunk driving, and of course the police arrested him. The professor was tried and convicted, and served a ten-year sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t know how he did it, but I believe that the professor somehow found out the truth and is now getting his revenge.”

Judith held up a hand. “That’s a pretty tall tale, Aunt Charley. In the first place, it’s kind of hard to buy that they were able to convince Mrs. Hebert that she was driving.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Marian interrupted. “As embarrassed as I am to admit it, it wasn’t hard at all. You see, I was so out of it that I really didn’t remember any of what happened that night after a certain point. As they say, drugs and alcohol don’t mix.”

Judith nodded slowly. “Hmm, yes—well, I guess it’s possible, but—” She turned back to Charlotte. “How do you know so much about this professor, Auntie, and what does this have to do with Drew Bergeron’s murder or Darla Shaw, for that matter? And where is this professor now?”

Charlotte sighed. “It’s a bit complicated,” she finally answered. “Just bear with me while I try to explain.”

Beginning with the day Bitsy had showed her the Tulane yearbook, Charlotte told her niece about the events that had transpired. Since she was now sure that Sam Roberts had murdered Drew Bergeron and possibly Bill Hebert too, she saw no reason to reveal B.J.’s presence in the Devilier house when Drew Bergeron was murdered. At least not yet.

“You see,” she continued, “Marian employs a handyman named Sam Roberts. Since I had seen Sam around here quite a bit, it struck me that there was a marked resemblance between Sam and the professor.” Then she explained about the cigars beneath B.J.’s bed, and leaving out the reason she’d been at Sam’s house, she told Judith about seeing similar ones there as well as at the Devilier house. “B.J. had kept some of his dad’s things, and that included the cigars. I guess since he and Sam had struck up a friendship of sorts, B.J. had given him some of the cigars. Of course there’s also the purple Mardi Gras mask thing. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and the only thing I can come up with is that the color purple stands for justice. The professor is finally getting justice for what was done to him.

“When Darla Shaw showed up at the door today and began ranting and raving, it all began to make a weird sort of sense.” Charlotte’s gaze slid to Marian, and Marian, understanding that it was her turn to talk, nodded.

“You see,” Marian began, “for the past two years Drew Bergeron has been blackmailing me. I guess Darla Shaw knew about it and when Drew was murdered, she went a little crazy and got it in her head that I had killed Drew. Lord knows, I had enough reason to, but I didn’t,” she quickly added. “Anyway—this Darla Shaw woman decided to take up where Drew left off with the blackmailing thing.”

“But there’s more, Judith,” Charlotte added. “I also believe that Sam Roberts killed Marian’s husband as well. If you check into it, I think you’ll find that Bill Hebert’s death was under suspicious circumstances—and did I mention that Sam Roberts worked for Marian’s husband first, before he worked for Marian?”

For long moments Judith simply sat there, silently staring first at Charlotte, then at Marian, and Charlotte held her breath.

Judith abruptly stood. “You know what, ladies?” She gave each of them a pointed look. “I think I believe you—at least enough to bring Sam Roberts in for questioning.”

Charlotte released her breath in a huge sigh, and Marian dropped her head as if offering up a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Judith cleared her throat. “But Mrs. Hebert—”

Marian raised her head and looked at Judith.

“Don’t plan on leaving town any time soon.”



Charlotte stayed with Marian until the police had cleared out. “Why don’t I fix you a fresh cup of coffee?” she offered, when the last police car drove away.

“Oh, Charlotte, I’m sure you have other things to do besides wait on me.”

What Charlotte really wanted was to stay a bit longer, mostly to satisfy herself that Marian was going to be okay. “Well, I was hoping to wait around for the boys to get home anyway. I’ve been meaning to thank them for that lovely music box they gave me.”

“Thanks, Charlotte. Thanks for everything.” Marian closed the front door. “The boys should be home any minute now, and I could sure use a cup of something.” Then she gave a nervous laugh. “I’d say I could use a drink, but that’s what got me into this whole mess to begin with.”

Charlotte nodded, and knowing she could be jeopardizing her job to even suggest what was on her mind, she decided that she had to try, job or no job, for Marian’s sake as well as the welfare of Marian’s sons. “Marian, I know it’s none of my business, but have you ever considered AA?”

Marian shrugged and began walking slowly toward the kitchen. “I used to go, but I quit. Now, though—after all that’s happened—who knows, maybe now would be a good time to start up again.”

In the kitchen, while Charlotte prepared the coffeemaker, she decided she might as well broach another touchy subject while she was at it.

Marian had seated herself at the kitchen table, and Charlotte turned to face her. “Ah—Marian, I was just wondering about something. I was just wondering if there’s some way we can get around B.J. knowing that I blew the whistle on Sam. I don’t want B.J. to think that I betrayed him—you know, about the cigars,” she added, still uncomfortable about the secret she was keeping about B.J. being present on the night that Drew Bergeron was murdered.

Marian smiled. “Well, he won’t hear it from me.” She shook her head. “Poor B.J. No wonder he’s been so moody lately. I had no idea that he’d kept some of Bill’s things. That’s how out of it I’ve been since Bill died.”

Charlotte had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Marian that she’d been more out of it than she could dream when it came to B.J.

“But not anymore,” Marian added firmly. “Life’s too uncertain and too short. Bill loved our sons with all of his heart, but Bill’s gone. And I owe it to him and the boys—and myself—to get on with my life and to take care of our boys.”

“Yes,” Charlotte murmured. “Yes, you do.”



Charlotte and Marian had just taken their first sips of coffee when they heard the clatter of the boys on the back porch. Within seconds, like a whirlwind, Aaron and B.J. burst through the kitchen door.

“Did not!” Aaron yelled at his brother.

“You little brat!” B.J. yelled back. “You did too.”

“Mom! B.J. said I—”

“Zip it!” Marian ordered.

“But Mom,” Aaron whined.

Marian shook her finger at him. “I said zip it. Right now! I’m tired of this bickering and it’s going to stop.”

The astounded look on both boys’ faces was priceless, and Charlotte had to bite her lower lip to keep from grinning.

“There’s going to be some changes around here,” Marian told them in a stern, no-nonsense voice. “Some new rules, starting today, and the first rule is no more fighting. Now, both of you, show some manners and say hello to Ms. LaRue.”



When Charlotte finally decided it was time to go home a few minutes later, Marian walked her to the van. “I just wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done today,” she told Charlotte. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

Charlotte smiled. “No thanks needed. Besides, you’re the one who called the police.”

A puzzled frown shadowed Marian’s face. “That’s just it. I didn’t—didn’t call the police, that is.”

Charlotte went stone still. “You didn’t?”

Marian shook her head. “No.”

It was Charlotte’s turn to frown. “Then how—who—”

After a moment, Marian gestured toward the house next door. “Maybe one of the neighbors?” she suggested.

Charlotte sighed, still a bit confused. “Maybe.” She paused, then finally shrugged. “Oh, well, guess it doesn’t really matter who called in the long run. The point is that someone called them and they came.”



Later that evening, Charlotte had just loaded the dirty dishes from her supper into the dishwasher when she heard a car door slam out front. Within minutes, there was a knock at the door.

“I was just thinking about calling you,” Charlotte told Judith when she opened the door. Judith came inside, and Charlotte closed the door. “Have you eaten supper yet, hon?”

Judith shook her head. “Not yet, Auntie. I just stopped by for a moment, though. I have a dinner date at seven.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “With Will?”

“No, Auntie, not with Will. That’s over.”

“Over as in you’re not partners anymore?”

Judith rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Over as in we’re not lovers anymore,” she said bluntly. “And I’ve put in a request for a new partner.”

Though it was difficult, Charlotte was able to maintain a neutral expression instead of grinning from ear to ear with relief.

“Actually, I’m meeting Billy Wilson,” Judith told her.

This time Charlotte did grin. “I think that’s just wonderful. He seems like such a nice young man.”

“Yeah, right! That’s not what you said a few months ago. As I recall, I think what you said was something like, ‘Someone needs to teach him some manners.’”

“Humph, that was different,” Charlotte retorted. “That was before I got to know him a little better.” She paused. “You know, it just now occurred to me that Billy and one of my employees have the same last name. Wonder if they’re related?”

Judith shrugged. “Could be distant cousins.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’ll have to ask Nadia. Anyway—” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “If I can’t feed you, would you like something to drink? Some iced tea or coffee?”

“No, thanks, Auntie. I just came by to check on you and to let you know that we’ve arrested Sam Roberts.”

“Arrested him?”

Judith nodded. “One thing led to another, and he ended up confessing to murdering Drew Bergeron. I have to tell you, though, that was the strangest interrogation I’ve ever conducted. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for us and was relieved when we finally showed up. In fact, even more strange, he seemed more concerned about Marian Hebert than his own arrest. He kept asking was she okay and were her boys okay. He even asked about Darla Shaw—asked if we’d caught her. And that was way before anyone even mentioned anything about her.” Judith shook her head. “Like I said, though, I just dropped by to tell you he’s been arrested and to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, it’s a relief that he’s been arrested, and I’m just fine, hon. Now stop being such a worrywart, and get on out of here.” Charlotte nudged her toward the door. “Go get something to eat and—” Charlotte gave her an exaggerated wink. “Tell that nice Billy Wilson hello for me.”

Judith burst out laughing. “Okay—okay, I can take a hint.”

As Charlotte stood at the door and watched her niece drive away a few minutes later, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Judith had said in regard to Sam Roberts’ concern for Marian and the boys. And what of Darla Shaw? How had he even known that Darla Shaw was there…unless…

Just as Charlotte closed the door, she froze, her hand still on the doorknob. “Of course,” she murmured. The reason Sam knew about Darla Shaw was because he’d been there, on the porch. The movement she’d seen through the window had been Sam, not the boys. Could he also have been the person who had called the police as well? But why? If he’d been out for revenge, then why would he want to help Marian?

Charlotte locked her front door and walked over to stare out the window into the dark night. She would probably never know for sure who had called the police, but in spite of everything, she’d like to think that Sam had been the one. She’d like to think that there was some part of him able to recognize that, like him, Marian had also been an innocent victim.

Charlotte turned away from the window and stepped over to Sweety Boy’s cage. “People sure do get themselves in a mess, don’t they, Boy?”

The little parakeet pranced back and forth on his perch. “Crazy,” he chirped. “Crazy, crazy.”

“Yeah, and birds too, huh, Boy? Even little birds get themselves in a pickle sometimes.”

Judging by his looks and actions, the little bird had completely recovered from his mishap in the shower. Even so, Charlotte was still nervous and a bit gun-shy about letting him out of his cage again.

“So tell me. What do you think about Judith and Billy? Any possibilities there?”

For an answer, Sweety Boy squawked and fluffed his wings.

“Well, if you want my opinion,” Charlotte told him, “going out with Billy Wilson sure beats the heck out of having an affair with a married man.” She shook her head. “The very nerve of that—that Will Richeaux person. And him with a wife and a child.”

Charlotte turned away from Sweety Boy’s cage and walked over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. On the table was a small spray of silk flowers and the special candle that she intended placing on Hank Senior’s tomb.

She smoothed a finger over one of the red roses in the spray. All Saints’ Day was on Saturday, so on her way home from Marian’s earlier, she’d stopped off at a florist on Magazine Street.

“I should have bought candy too,” she murmured. Though there didn’t seem to be as many trick-or-treaters as there used to be in her neighborhood, she figured it was better to be prepared, just in case. Besides, she was sure that Nadia and Daniel would bring Davy by. Charlotte smiled. She’d have to pick up an extra-special treat for the little boy.

Still staring at the flowers, she thought of Hank’s offer to take her to the cemetery. Would he remember?


Chapter Twenty-six
C harlotte’s doctor appointment was scheduled for ten o’clock on Thursday morning. With dread heavily weighing down every footstep, she walked up to the front desk to let the receptionist know she was there.

The waiting room was full, with few available empty chairs. Charlotte had just seated herself and picked up a three-month-old issue of Good Housekeeping magazine when, to her surprise, her name was called.

Even more surprising, a nurse led her back to a small, well-appointed office instead of an examination room.

“The doctor should be in momentarily,” the nurse told her.

Charlotte barely had time to look around the office before the outer door opened, and the doctor walked in.

“Good morning.”

Charlotte acknowledged his greeting with a nod and a tentative smile.

After seating himself behind the desk, he opened a folder and studied it for several minutes. Then he glanced up.

“Everything looks good, Ms. LaRue. Since you don’t have a history of fainting and, according to the test results so far, you appear to be healthy for a woman your age, I really think your fainting spell was probably due more to the stress of the situation.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Charlotte muttered.

The doctor held up his hand. “But there is one more test I’d like to run.”

“What kind of test, and for what?”

“It’s a glucose tolerance test.”

Charlotte’s stomach tightened. “Isn’t that a test for diabetes?”

The doctor nodded. “Make an appointment to come in as soon as you can.” He stood. “The nurse will give you instructions.”

Diabetes. Charlotte shuddered. “Ah—excuse me, but is that really necessary?”

He shrugged. “Mostly precautionary, but the sooner you take the test, the sooner we can rule out the possibility of you having diabetes.”

The minute the doctor disappeared through the doorway, Charlotte pulled out her cell phone and placed a call to Marian Hebert. He’d said “as soon as you can,” and Charlotte figured she might as well get it over with and be done with it.

Marian’s answering machine picked up the call.

“Marian, this is Charlotte. Something’s come up, and I’ll either need to reschedule to come in on Saturday instead of tomorrow or I can send someone else out tomorrow. Just give me a call and let me know which you’d prefer.”

Charlotte disconnected the call and stood just as the nurse came in. She handed Charlotte a paper. “These are your instructions, Ms. LaRue, and an explanation of the procedure. You will need to fast—nothing to eat or drink after midnight on the night before you come in for the test.”

Charlotte nodded that she understood, and slipping the paper and her cell phone back inside her purse, she followed the nurse out of the office.

Once back out into the front office, she headed straight for the receptionist’s desk and scheduled an appointment for the next day.



It was almost noon by the time Charlotte finished running her errands and pulled into her driveway. One of her errands had been to purchase candy for Friday night. Besides a couple of bags of assorted candy, she’d bought an especially huge lollipop shaped like a pumpkin as a special treat for Davy. While picking out the candy, she’d noticed that all of the Halloween decorations had been marked down to half price. Not since Hank was a boy had she bothered decorating her porch for Halloween, so with thoughts of Davy, on a whim, she’d bought a ceramic pumpkin, a fake spider’s web, and other various creepy items to put out.

The first thing she did once she was inside was check her answering machine. There were two messages. Charlotte tapped the play button.

“Mom, about Saturday. It looks like the best time for me to take you to the cemetery is around ten. Let me know if that’s okay with you. Love you.”

The machine beeped and the second message played.

“Charlotte, this is Marian, returning your call. Don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, and I’d just as soon you wouldn’t send anyone else. Everything here is still in pretty good shape from Wednesday’s cleaning. And it’s about time those boys of mine learned how to do a few chores anyway. Just make sure you come on Monday, okay?” There was a pause, then, “Another thing, Charlotte. I went to an AA meeting last night. Just thought you might want to know. Oh, and one more thing. My attorney doesn’t seem to think I’ll have any legal problems because of everything that happened, but we’ll talk more later. Bye now.”

And the truth shall make you free. Charlotte smiled as she headed for the kitchen. It was a start. A good, positive start. Maybe now Marian could finally get on with her life and be the kind of mother her boys so desperately needed her to be.

After a quick lunch, Charlotte set about decorating the porch. The few things she’d bought didn’t take long to put out. Once she’d finished, she walked to the curb, turned, and with her hands on her hips, she stared back at the porch with a critical eye. Satisfied, she was walking back to the steps when Louis pulled into the driveway and parked.

Charlotte frowned. “Hi there, Louis. What are you doing home this time of day?”

Louis shrugged as he approached the porch. “I had some time coming, and I have some thinking to do.”

Charlotte’s frown deepened. “Sounds serious.”

“Yeah, I’d say it was pretty serious.” He seated himself on the top step and motioned for Charlotte to sit beside him. Once she was seated, for several moments he simply stared out into the street.

Finally, he cleared his throat, and still staring out into the street, he said, “I spent a good part of this morning interrogating Sam Roberts.” He shook his head. “Questioning him was a really strange experience. He cooperated fully, even seemed to be relieved that he’d been found out.”

Recalling that Judith had said the same thing, Charlotte nodded when Louis shifted his gaze to stare at her.

“He also admitted that he killed Bill Hebert,” Louis told her.

“I suspected as much.”

Louis shrugged. “Even if he hadn’t confessed, we could have still tied him to Drew Bergeron’s murder. Just this morning we finished tracing the Mardi Gras mask back to him. With DNA testing, we can also link him to the cigar found at the crime scene.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “So what’s still bothering you about it?”

Louis shoved his fingers through his hair and heaved a heavy sigh. “He had it all—reputation, a family, a position in the community—and he lost it. Lost everything. That man has spent most of his life either paying for a crime he didn’t commit or searching for a way to clear himself. According to what he said, once he got out of prison, he spent almost every penny he earned on private detectives to find out the truth about what really happened that night.

“He started out simply trying to clear his name because he didn’t want his children to think their father was a killer. But somewhere along the way, he snapped, and the lines got crossed. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy, he became the very thing he’d been accused of—a killer. Now he has nothing but more prison and probably a death sentence to look forward to.” Louis paused, then muttered, “Such a waste of a life—of three lives if you count Drew Bergeron and Bill Hebert.”

Along with Marian Hebert, Charlotte silently added as she narrowed her eyes shrewdly. It was obvious that Sam’s fate wasn’t the only thing on Louis’ mind. Something was still bothering him. “You do think Sam’s guilty, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s guilty all right. Tell you one thing, though, the whole thing really made me stop and think, made me realize that life’s too short to waste. When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world to do whatever. But if you’re lucky enough to grow older, you begin to realize just how little time you really have.”

He cleared his throat, and when he leveled a look at Charlotte that was tight with strain, she held her breath, wondering what was really on his mind.

“When Stephen—that’s my son—was about twelve, my wife left us,” he finally said. “She just packed a bag and walked out one day. Said she couldn’t take it anymore, what with the long hours I was keeping and all the trouble Steve kept getting into. The next thing I knew I was being served divorce papers.”

Charlotte inwardly winced. Louis’ admission explained a lot, and though she didn’t agree with his chauvinistic attitude toward women in general, at least she understood it better.

“I tried my best to raise Steve by myself after that,” he continued, “but guess I didn’t do such a bang-up job. After she left us, he went from bad to worse and was always in some kind of trouble. For the most part, since I was a cop, I was able to bail him out each time. But when he was seventeen, he and the bunch of no-good hoodlums he hung around with got all drugged up one night while I was working and robbed a liquor store. The owner of the store was killed, and though Steve swore that he didn’t pull the trigger…” Louis’ voice trailed away.

After a moment, he continued. “That was one time I couldn’t bail him out. He and his buddies were tried as adults and convicted of manslaughter. He served twenty years in Angola.” Louis shrugged. “He’s been out of prison now for about seven years. According to what I hear, he’s doing okay for himself. It was while he was in prison that he began painting, and after he got out, he married a woman who owned the art gallery that had been displaying his paintings. And they had a little girl. He now makes a living down in the Quarter with his paintings.

“That painting I have—the one of the young girl. She’s my granddaughter,” he confessed. “He sent it to me along with the others.”

“How old is your granddaughter?”

Louis shrugged. “I guess about six.”

“And you haven’t seen or spoken to your son since he got out?”

With a look of pure abject misery on his face, Louis slowly shook his head. “It’s worse than that. I—I was so angry with him when he got mixed up in that killing, so humiliated—being a cop and all—that I disowned him—cut off all relationship with him. Then, the longer it went, the harder it became to swallow my pride. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he was sent to prison twenty-seven years ago.”

“Oh, Louis.” Charlotte was horrified. She couldn’t begin to imagine such a thing, couldn’t imagine having no contact with her son for that long a time.

Judge not, lest ye be judged.

The words from the Bible verse she’d once memorized popped into her head and tugged at her conscience. While it was true that she couldn’t imagine such an estrangement, to be fair, she’d never had to deal with a son convicted of murder either, she reminded herself.

“All my fault,” he continued. “All those years wasted, and even if I try to fix it now, he probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. I’m just afraid it’s too late.”

Charlotte reached out and squeezed his arm in a gesture of sympathy. “Maybe not. Didn’t you say that your son sent those paintings to you?”

“Yeah, about a month ago.”

“Then stop being so dense, for Pete’s sake. Can’t you see? That’s his way of reaching out to you, of trying to make amends.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.

“So what’s the problem?”

Louis’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Would—would you go with me—I mean, if he’ll agree to seeing me, would you go along?”

“Oh, Louis, I don’t know. It’s not really my place.”

“Well, it is if I say it is,” he retorted indignantly.



On Saturday, All Saints’ Day turned out to be a warm seventy degrees with plenty of sunshine. With Hank beside her and her arms full of the flowers she’d purchased, Charlotte and her son entered Lafayette Cemetery Number One through the Washington Street entrance.

Cemeteries in New Orleans were unique. Elaborate aboveground tombs and minimausoleums had been erected out of necessity due to the high water table of the city.

Charlotte paused by the bronze plaque near the entrance. “I’m amazed each time I come here,” she told Hank. “It’s hard to believe this place has been in existence since 1833.”

Hank simply smiled at her and waited until she was ready to walk on.

Families were already crowded around the freshly whitewashed tombs that were adorned with beautiful sprays of flowers. Though respectful, an almost festive reunion-type atmosphere prevailed among the many visitors.

Hank’s father’s tomb was located not far from the entrance, down the second pathway. Charlotte knelt beside it and reverently placed the spray of flowers at the front of the tomb.

“I wish I could have known him,” Hank told her as he stared at the tomb. When he added, “Known all of them,” Charlotte realized he was referring to his father’s family as well. As was customary, Hank had been buried in the same tomb as his parents and grandparents.

Charlotte stood, then reached out and squeezed her son’s hand. “Me too, hon. Me too.”

“Tell me about him again, Mom—about all of them—like you used to when I was a little boy.”

It had been many many years since her son had asked about his father, and Charlotte’s throat was thick with emotion as she began to talk. “Your father was a lot like you—in looks and personality. He was about your height and build, with the same sandy-colored hair and sky-blue eyes.” She swallowed hard. “Each time I look at you, I see him, especially around the eyes.

“He was a kind man,” she continued, “a man who truly cared about people.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I think I must have told you that he had also wanted to be a doctor. That’s the reason he went ahead and joined the Army, even before the government began drafting for Vietnam. You see, after his parents’ deaths—your grandparents’—it took most of their assets to settle their debts. Unfortunately for your father, your grandfather didn’t believe in life insurance either, so, like you, he had to make his own way in the world.”

“Not totally like me,” Hank pointed out. “I had you helping me every step of the way.”

Charlotte smiled. “Yes, you did. Me, student loans, and that job you had as a bouncer for a while. But anyway, back when your father was in the Army, once soldiers had finished their enlistment requirements, they could go to college and the government would help pay for it. He had it all planned. He—”

“Charlotte! Charlotte LaRue!”

Recognizing Bitsy Duhe’s squeaky voice, Charlotte turned to see the older lady headed straight for them.

Hank leaned down and whispered, “Isn’t that Mrs. Duhe, one of your clients?”

Charlotte had to smile, but she nodded. “Yep, that’s her—Ms. Bitsy Duhe, in all her glory.” Charlotte was truly relieved to see that the old lady was up and about again. And what a sight to behold she was with her flowery dress billowing around her and her hat that looked like an umbrella.

“It is an umbrella,” Charlotte murmured with a giggle.

“Did you say something?” Hank asked with a frown.

Charlotte motioned toward Bitsy. “Her hat. Miss Bitsy’s hat is a miniumbrella on a headband.”