Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3)

by Barbara Colley

  Though he gave her an odd look, he motioned toward the side of the double that he’d been renting from her. “I know I was supposed to move out at the end of the month, but I’d like to rent the place a while longer.” He rushed on to explain. “I’ve had a job offer from Lagniappe Security Company, and now that my son and his family are back in my life, I’ve decided against moving to the lake house. It’s too far away from everything”

  And too far away from everyone. Charlotte silently filled in the blanks. After years of being estranged, Louis and his son had finally reconciled, and “everyone” now included not only Louis’s son, but his son’s wife and his son’s little daughter as well.

  “But it might take some time,” Louis continued. “You know, to sell the lake property and find something affordable in the city. In fact, that’s where I have to go this evening. I’ve got a couple interested in seeing the lake property, so I was wondering if it would be okay with you if I could continue to rent the double a while longer?”

  Charlotte wanted to ask him just how much longer he would need but held her tongue. From the beginning his stay was supposed to have been temporary. She’d only agreed to rent to him as a favor to her niece, and she’d rented the double to him cheaper than she would have rented it to a stranger. So what guarantee did she have that he really would look for another place to live? Louis was no dummy. Property in New Orleans could be expensive, and he could be a real penny-pincher.

  No guarantees, she decided. None but his word. And even if he did stay for a while, she had to admit that it had been a comfort knowing that someone reliable and trustworthy was right next door, especially after her last tenant.

  Any other time, she might have confronted him and pinned him down to a timetable, but at the moment, all she wanted was to be left alone. Later she would deal with Louis, she decided. But not now. Now, somehow, some way, she needed to decide what she was going to do about Madeline.

  “Well?” Louis asked. “Is that okay with you? Is it okay if I stay a while longer?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Sure. I guess. Until you can find something,” she added for good measure. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She walked to her front door and unlocked it. “I’m tired.” Without waiting for a response from him, she went inside and closed the door behind her.

  But once inside, with no one but Sweety Boy for a distraction, she found herself restless and confused... and obsessing about Madeline. For long minutes she paced between the kitchen and the living room, only stopping occasionally to stare at the telephone.

  “Should I call her or not, Sweety?”

  For an answer, the little bird fluttered his wings and did his own pacing, back and forth on his perch inside the cage.

  “Just as I thought,” she muttered. “No help at all.” Charlotte flopped down on the sofa, but after a moment she jumped up again and marched over to the phone. She’d always hated contention of any kind, but it especially bothered her when it concerned her own family. To Charlotte, her family meant everything, and, like it or not, Madeline was her sister, the only sibling she had.

  Charlotte reached for the receiver, but the second she touched it, she felt her temper rise all over again. Jerking her hand away, she did an about-face and stomped into the kitchen. If she called Madeline now, they would end up in another shouting match for sure. Later, she decided. She’d call her later, after she’d calmed down.

  But later proved to be sooner than she’d expected. Charlotte had just poured herself a glass of iced tea when the phone rang. For a moment she was tempted to let her answering machine catch it, but only for a moment. Not everyone who called always left a message. Call it superstition or whatever, she always figured that the one phone call she didn’t answer would be the call she should have answered. Besides, it could be business.

  With her glass of tea in hand, she trudged back into the living room and picked up the receiver.

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me again.”

  Madeline.

  “What do you want, Maddie?”

  “I—I want to—to apologize.”

  Charlotte blinked several times and wondered if she should get her hearing checked. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times that Madeline had ever apologized about anything.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I had no right to take out my frustrafions on you. And I was wrong.”

  Charlotte set the glass of tea on a coaster and sat down at the desk. Maybe there was hope for Madeline after all.

  “You know I want to do what’s right,” Madeline continued. “It’s just that... I—oh, Charlotte, I’ve made such a mess of things. Judith has barely spoken to me at all since Sunday, and Daniel won’t take my calls. And I didn’t mean what I said about you,” she rushed on. “You know, about not supporting me? You’ve done more for me than anyone has a right to expect. It’s just that ... oh, dear Lord, how can I say this? I wanted more for Daniel—more than a woman who already had a kid. I think we can both agree that Daniel is a good catch for any woman, and I just can’t get past the notion that all that woman saw was a meal ticket and a father for her bastard son.”

  Charlotte winced at her sister’s graphic description of Nadia and Davy.

  “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

  Charlotte had a lot to say. Do right, and you’ll feel right. Judge not lest ye be judged. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Just to name a few things. But none of that was what Madeline wanted to hear or would even listen to at the moment. So what could she say?

  “You know I love you, Maddie. All I’ve ever wanted was what was best for you and Daniel and Judith” She took a deep breath and prayed that she was saying the right things. “Daniel is a fine man. But he’s a man now, not a boy,” she emphasized. “He’s intelligent, educated, and well respected in his profession, and I think you need to trust him—trust that he knows his own heart and mind. And I also think you need to be careful how you judge people. We all do,” she added. “Both of us know from personal experience that things are not always what they seem on the surface. And neither of us can afford to throw stones at someone else because we both have things in our own past that we’d just as soon no one else knew about or held against us”

  As Charlotte waited for a response, the silence grew on the other end of the line. Still, she waited, all the while telling herself to be patient. Then she heard it—that faint telltale snaffle.

  Long moments later, Madeline finally cleared her throat. “You’re right,” she said, tears in her voice. “I know you’re right. So why is it so hard for me to do what’s right?”

  Because you’re selfish and spoiled But giving voice to those thoughts would only cause more contention. Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed and again prayed for patience. Then she said, “That’s something you have to figure out on your own, Maddie. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a good beginning. To admit we’re wrong is the first step... and it’s sometimes the hardest step.”

  After Charlotte hung up from talking with Madeline, she called Nadia. Daniel answered the phone.

  “Hey, hon. This is Aunt Charlotte. I was just calling to check on Nadia. Is she feeling better?”

  “Not a whole lot,” he answered, “but at least she’s stopped throwing up.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Naw, Auntie. We’ll be fine. But thanks for asking.”

  On Friday morning, Charlotte couldn’t believe how much better she felt as she locked her front door and headed for the van. Climbing inside the van, she found herself humming the old song, “What a Difference a Day Makes.”

  And it was true, she thought. Just as the song title implied, one day could make all the difference in the world. And so could something as simple as an apology.

  While she was waiting for several cars to pass before backing into the street, her thoughts turned introspective. Though Charlotte truly didn’t believe that one person’s happiness and well-being should
depend on another person, she was a realist. Being at odds with her only sister had been a miserable experience and had really had an effect on her. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last, she was sure. And in theory, yes, happiness had to come from within, but theory didn’t always take into account that people were only human, and humans needed to live in harmony with those they loved.

  The street was clear of traffic, and as Charlotte backed onto Milan, her gaze strayed to the driveway on the other side of her house and her thoughts turned to Louis Thibodeaux. Louis’s blue Taurus was gone, she noted. So where was he at this time in the morning? she wondered as she drove past her house. She didn’t remember hearing him leave earlier, but he could have left while she was in the shower.

  None of your business. “And what do you care, anyway?” she muttered as she ignored the tiny voice in her head that answered back, insisting that she did care, probably more than she should.

  The drive to her Friday client’s home usually took about ten minutes, depending on traffic. Though there was a steady flow of traffic today, it moved along without any delays for a change.

  Almost a year had passed since Charlotte had begun working for Marian Hebert on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. In that year she’d seen Marian undergo some dramatic changes.

  A widow in her late thirties, Marian was well on her way to overcoming an alcohol addiction and getting a firm hold on raising her two sons. But the journey to sobriety hadn’t been an easy one. It had taken a murder and a life-threatening experience to jolt Marian out of the quagmire of self-pity and guilt that she’d buried herself in.

  Charlotte shivered, recalling the particular incident all too well. In retrospect the whole thing seemed like a bad dream, but unlike a nightmare, the memory of which, usually faded with time, even now, five months later, Charlotte could still recall each terrifying minute. She and Marian had both done well to escape with their very lives, and Charlotte wasn’t sure she would ever forget the horror of it all.

  As Charlotte parked the van alongside the curb in the front of Marian’s home, she couldn’t help noticing the difference between Marian’s home and Patsy’s home. Both were architecturally the same raised-cottage type, but that was where all similarities ended.

  Though Marian’s house was old, too, it wasn’t nearly as old as Patsy’s, and whereas Patsy was a stickler for historical accuracy, with only a few concessions for modern conveniences, Marian had no such compunctions. Patsy’s home was a historical showplace. Marian’s home was... well... it was a home.

  Before his death, Marian and her husband had remodeled their home to include two large rooms across the back, one a modern kitchen-family room combination, and the other a home office. The bottom level had been turned into a master suite and a huge game room for their two sons.

  Sons. Children. Maybe that was the real difference. Patsy had no children, no one to think of but herself and her little dog, Missy.

  From the back of her van, Charlotte gathered the supplies she would need and filled her supply carrier. She was thinking that she’d make a second trip for her vacuum cleaner when it suddenly dawned on her that her vacuum cleaner wasn’t in the van. So where on earth was it?

  When she suddenly remembered, she smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Just great!” she muttered. “Just wonderful!” Of course. It was right where she’d left it. It was still at Patsy Dufour’s house.

  Charlotte preferred to use her own equipment when cleaning. There had been too many times she’d had the experience of pulling out a client’s vacuum only to find that it was either broken or there were no vacuum bags to replace the full one inside the machine.

  “Thanks for nothing, Maddie,” she grumbled as she added a bottle of window cleaner to the supply carrier. “That’s what I get for letting my temper get the best of me and not thinking straight.”

  All she could do for now was hope that Marian’s vacuum was in working order, she finally decided. Charlotte pulled out the notepad and pen she always kept in her apron pocket and jotted down a reminder note. Call Patsy Dufour about vacuum cleaner and arrange a time to pick it up. Slipping the notepad and pen back inside her pocket, she grabbed the supply carrier, slammed the van door shut, and locked it.

  Once through the front gate, she climbed the steps to the porch. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. Like a whirlwind, Aaron Hebert rushed past her.

  “Hi, Ms. LaRue. I’m late. Gotta go. Bye, Ms. LaRue.”

  “Hi and bye, Aaron,” she called after him. “Have a good day.” Charlotte smiled as she watched the eight-year-old boy lope down the sidewalk. With his blond hair and blue eyes, Aaron reminded her a lot of her nephew, Daniel, when he had been Aaron’s age. Though not as mischievous as Daniel had been, Aaron was just as full of life, and loved to talk about anything and everything.

  “Aaron Hebert, you come back and shut that door! Oops!” Marian Hebert’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Hi, Charlotte. Sorry. I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

  Charlotte laughed. “No problem.”

  It was around two that afternoon when Charlotte stopped off at Patsy Dufour’s to pick up her vacuum. When Patsy didn’t answer the doorbell, Charlotte figured she would find her in the backyard.

  Just as she rounded the back comer of the house, she came to an abrupt halt. Once again, the old song she’d hummed earlier came to mind. The large, ugly hole in Patsy’s backyard had been transformed overnight into a lovely pond, complete with a fountain in the middle. The mounds of dirt on either side of the hole had been leveled and carpeted with squares of lush green grass. Tropical plants and shrubbery had been added around the edges of the pond, and, almost like magic, the whole area had been turned into a serene, lush garden. “Hey, watch it! Be careful with that.” Patsy’s loud command jerked Charlotte’s attention toward the patio.

  “That” turned out to be a huge statue. So why did it look familiar? Charlotte wondered as she narrowed her eyes in concentration. She’d seen that statue before... somewhere. But where?

  “Of course,” she murmured. If memory served her right, it was a copy of a famous Henry Moore sculpture, one called Madonna and Child. And a smaller, poor copy at that, she thought as she watched the two burly workers struggle to move it to the opposite side of the pond. As the workers positioned the statue near the edge of the pond, the sight of it opened a floodgate of memories for Charlotte, memories mostly of her father.

  Though her father had made his living as a mechanic, he’d been a gentle man, an artist at heart. He’d loved all art forms, but his favorite had been sculptures. And he’d passed on that love to his oldest daughter.

  Above all, Charlotte’s parents had wanted her to get a college education. And she’d wanted that, too... until she’d met her son’s father. Even after Hank Senior had been killed in Vietnam and Hank Junior had been born, her folks had still insisted that she continue her college education. It had been during her second semester that her father had urged her to take an art course, one that concentrated on modem sculptors, and she’d chosen Henry Moore and his works for her term paper.

  A signal from Patsy caught Charlotte’s eye, and Charlotte shook her head to dispel the painful memories. Patsy waved and held up her forefinger, indicating she’d be done in a minute. It was then that Charlotte realized that the statue was in place and that the men were in the process of moving a huge urn from beneath the portico.

  The urn was almost as tall as the men moving it. The foot and lip of the vessel appeared to be about the same size, probably about two to three feet in diameter. But the girth of the urn had to be a good four or five feet in circumference. Unlike the many ornate ones she’d seen that decorated the famous aboveground cemeteries in and about New Orleans, the design of Patsy’s urn was smooth and simplistic to the extreme. And though its simplicity was its beauty, it was also a major problem for the workers.

  Getting a good hold on it was almost imp
ossible. Both men were drenched in sweat from their efforts, and by the sounds of the grunts coming from them, Charlotte decided that the thing had to weigh an enormous amount.

  The workers almost had it out from beneath the overhang of the porch. But the going was slow, and Charlotte began to wonder if they would be able to make it all the way to the pond.

  “A whole person could fit inside that thing,” she murmured, watching the men struggle.

  “Be careful with that,” Patsy demanded. “It’s old and—”

  The words had no sooner left Patsy’s mouth when one of the men lost his grip and dropped his side. The movement caused the other worker’s hold to slip, and the urn hit the flagstone patio with a resounding thud.

  Patsy shrieked in horror. “Now look!” she cried. “Just look what you’ve done to my beautiful urn. You’ve cracked it.”

  Shading her eyes against the afternoon sun, Charlotte stepped closer. Sure enough, there was definitely a large half-moon-shaped crack on one side just above the foot of the base.

  For long minutes, Patsy, the two workers, and Charlotte simply stared at the crack. Finally the larger of the two men spoke up. “It can be fixed, ma’am,” he said nervously. “I—I know a man down in da Quarter who does dat kind of ting. He can fix it so you never know it wuz ever cracked.”

  Patsy shifted her gaze to glare at the worker. After several moments, she finally emitted a large sigh and nodded. “Yes—yes, of course it can,” she retorted, straightening her back and lifting her chin. “But until then—” She motioned toward the porch with a jerky movement of her arm. “Let’s move it back for the time being. But pu-lease—move it ve-ry carefully,” she added, dragging out her words as if instructing a couple of two-year-olds instead of grown men.

  Both workers looked so relieved it was comical. The larger of the two nodded at the smaller one. “On three,” he said gruffly. Both men squared their feet on either side of the urn and each grabbed hold. “One... two ... three—”