Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3)

by Barbara Colley

  Louis heaved a weary sigh. “Which could mean only one thing.” He rolled his eyes, then glanced at Judith. “She’s talked to Nadia.”

  “You don’t know that,” Charlotte blurted out.

  Louis shrugged. “No, I didn’t before—not for sure—but I do now. Doesn’t matter, though. It’s a logical conclusion.” He held up a hand and ticked off each finger as he spoke. “For one, she works for you, so she’d trust you. Two, you’ve been taking care of her kid. And, three, she’d want to check on him if she’s any kind of decent mother at all.”

  “Is that true, Auntie? Have you talked to Nadia?”

  “And what if I have?” Charlotte argued, figuring there was no use now in denying it. “So what?”

  Judith’s expression grew tight with strain. “Well, Auntie, for one thing, I distinctly remember that I asked you to let me know if she called you. For another thing, they’ve probably tapped your telephone. Then, to top it off, there’s a minor little matter they call aiding and abetting, which happens to be against the law. You do know that every cop in the city is looking for her, don’t you?”

  “Of course I know,” Charlotte shot back.

  Louis cleared his throat. “And do you also know that you can go to jail over this?” he drawled.

  Cornered, Charlotte went on the defense. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She glared first at Louis, then at Judith. “Do you both think I’m that stupid? For your information, I did not call Nadia. She called me—on my cell phone,” she stressed. “Not my home phone, which I’m sure is bugged. And just in case you’re wondering, and I’m sure you are,” she added sarcastically, “I don’t know where she is. So, see? Nobody has grounds to accuse me of anything.”

  “Oh, Auntie,” Judith said with a groan. “With the right frequency, cell phones can be monitored, too.”

  “Humph!” Louis grunted and waved a hand at Charlotte. “And that’s not all she’s been doing,” he told Judith. “Why don’t you ask her about the little visit she paid to Lowell Webster’s office?”

  If possible, Judith looked even more horrified. “Oh, Aunt Charley, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t. What on earth were you thinking? And just what in the devil did you hope to accomplish?”

  “So what? So what if I did?” Charlotte retorted. “It’s a free country, last I heard. And it’s nobody’s business but my own who I see.”

  Judith just groaned again and shook her head. “Wait till Hank hears about this one. Don’t you realize you just can’t go around—”

  “That’s enough!” Charlotte objected. “From the both of you,” she added as she abruptly shoved out of her chair and stood. “Like I said, it’s a free country. Tell you what, though.” She motioned at Louis. “Why don’t I let Mr. Blabbermouth tell you all about it. Oh—and another thing—you can get your own pizza tonight.” With one last glare, first at Judith, then at Louis, Charlotte turned and stomped out of the kitchen.

  “Wait—hold up, Auntie. Don’t get mad.”

  “Charlotte!” Louis called out.

  But Charlotte ignored both of them as she marched down the hallway. The second she stepped through the front doorway, she reached back, grabbed the doorknob, and, just for good measure, slammed the door hard.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The very idea!” Charlotte muttered, as she unlatched the door to Sweety Boy’s cage early Saturday morning. After her confrontation with Judith and Louis Friday af ternoon, she’d gone straight home. There, she’d locked and bolted the front door, and for the remainder of the evening, she’d ignored their repeated phone calls.

  She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Not even the knowledge that Louis was leaving and wouldn’t be back for two weeks was enough to cool her anger. He’d left around nine, and all she’d felt was relief.

  Then she’d gone to bed. But she’d ended up tossing and turning all night. Even now, almost a whole day later, each time she thought about how Louis and Judith had ganged up on her, treating her like she didn’t have the sense God gave a goose, it stirred up hurt and indignant feelings all over again.

  Charlotte extended her forefinger inside the cage, and once Sweety Boy hopped on, she eased the little bird through the door. Finally free, he immediately took flight. After fluttering around the living room a few minutes, he landed on the cuckoo clock.

  Charlotte smiled up at the little bird, but her smile quickly faded. “You know, Boy, I just don’t understand it,” she told him. “Just because I’m a maid and not some big hotshot police detective doesn’t make me an idiot. You’d think they would want all the help they could get.”

  With a frustrated shake of her head, Charlotte removed the soiled paper from the birdcage and stuffed it into a garbage bag. Then she removed the water and food containers. “And here I thought we were all supposed to be on the same side,” she murmured. “Daniel and Nadia’s side. Guess that’s what I get for thinking, huh, Boy?”

  Charlotte took out the perch and swing. Setting them aside, she lined the bottom of the cage with clean paper. Once she’d scrubbed the perch and swing in soapy water and rinsed them thoroughly, she dried them off, then affixed them back inside the cage.

  With one last eagle-eyed inspection of the now-clean birdcage, she attached a new cuttlebone and replaced the water and food containers.

  For long moments afterward, she simply stood there, staring out the window. The sun was shining, and what bit of sky she could see was blue and cloudless.

  Could Daniel see the sky from his jail cell? she wondered. Was there a window in his jail cell?

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She’d considered visiting him, but even if she was allowed to, she simply couldn’t do it. Just the thought of seeing her beloved Daniel locked up behind bars was more than she could bear.

  “Wimp,” she muttered. “You’re nothing but a big wimp, Charlotte LaRue. A coward.”

  As if Sweety Boy had somehow sensed her morose mood, he flew down from the cuckoo clock and after circling her a couple of times landed on her shoulder. Though Charlotte allowed him to stay there for a few minutes and felt some measure of comfort from his presence, the little bird couldn’t be still. He kept prancing back and forth across her shoulder, his tiny claws tickling her through her blouse.

  Charlotte held her forefinger near the little bird’s feet. “Come on, Boy. Time for me to get off my pity pot and get busy.”

  Her mind raced ahead to the list of chores she still had to do. There were clothes that needed to be washed, the bathroom needed a good cleaning, and it was way past time to clean the stovetop and oven. There were also receipts from the past week she still needed to record as well—plenty to do to keep her busy the whole day.

  “You know the old saying,” she told the little bird. “ ‘Busy hands are happy hands.’ ”

  If only it were true, she thought as the little parakeet hopped onto her finger. “Sorry, Boy. I hate to do this to you, but it’s also time for you to go back inside your cage.”

  Several months earlier, Sweety Boy had decided to join her in the shower and had ended up knocked out cold in the bottom of the tub from the force of the spray. She’d been reluctant to let him loose without supervision ever since. And for today, the last thing she wanted to have to worry about was the safety of the little parakeet.

  “Now, now, there you go.” She eased him back inside his cage and quickly latched the door. With one last glance at the little bird and ignoring his squawks of protest, she turned and headed for the bathroom to gather the dirty clothes.

  By midmorning, she had finished most of her personal cleaning tasks and was ready to tackle the neglected bookkeeping. She had just settled at her desk to begin recording receipts when she heard a car pull into the driveway. Moments later a door slammed. Since Louis was gone, the visitor had to be for her.

  “Great,” she muttered. “Just what I don’t need right now.”

  In no mood for entertaining unexpected company, she was
sorely tempted to simply ignore whoever was outside. But in the end her curiosity got the best of her. Just a peek out the window would tell her who the unwanted visitor was. Reluctantly, she shoved away from the desk. Before she could get to the window, though, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

  For several moments, Charlotte stood in the middle of the room and debated whether to ignore the unwelcome visitor or to give in to her curiosity again and open the door.

  Then the door handle rattled. “Open up, Aunt Charley,” Judith’s muffled voice demanded. “Enough’s enough. I know you’re in there, and, remember, I also know where the spare key is.”

  With a sigh, Charlotte trudged to the front door. Everyone in her family knew that she kept a spare key beneath the fat ceramic frog in the flower bed near the front comer of the house. She supposed she should be grateful that Judith hadn’t already used it to let herself inside.

  Charlotte unlocked the door and opened it. “What do you want, Judith?”

  “I want to apologize, and I want you to stop being so angry with me.” Judith shifted from one foot to the other, a sure sign she was under stress. Any time she was nervous, uncomfortable, or in a tense situation, she resorted to what Charlotte thought of as the nervous fidgets.

  “But I also figured you’d be interested in knowing the latest development in this Ricco murder mess,” she said.

  “Now, why on earth would someone like me be interested? ” Charlotte retorted.

  “Aw, come on, Auntie. Don’t be like that.”

  After a moment, Charlotte finally relented, but only up to a point. “Okay, you’ve apologized, Judith. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...”

  When Charlotte didn’t budge or say anything further, Judith crossed her arms and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

  “Auntie, can I please come inside?”

  It was rare that Judith ever resorted to pleading, and to hear her do so made Charlotte feel like the wicked witch of the West.

  Feeling guilty and ashamed, Charlotte shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She stepped back, and once Judith was inside, Charlotte closed the door and locked it. Then she faced her niece. “As long as you’re here, we might as well have some iced tea.” Without waiting for Judith’s reply, she turned to head for the kitchen.

  “Aw, come on Auntie.” Judith cried as she stomped her foot. “Like I said. Enough’s enough, and I’ve had enough of that cold-shoulder routine from my mother to last a lifetime. ”

  Being compared to Madeline brought Charlotte up short and sparked her temper all over again. She whirled to face Judith. “First I get treated like a moron by you and Louis, and now you’re comparing me to your mother. Well, for your information, young lady, I am not a moron. And I don’t appreciate being compared to your mother, either. I don’t deserve that, not after all I’ve done for you and your brother over the years.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Charlotte immediately wished them back again, and, to add further humiliation, sudden unwanted tears sprang into her eyes. The last thing she’d meant to do was to suggest in any way, shape, or form that she resented her role in Judith or Daniel’s lives. Hoping that Judith hadn’t noticed her tears, she bowed her head and blinked furiously.

  But it was too late. Judith took a firm grip on Charlotte’s arm. “Oh, Auntie, don’t—I’m so, so sorry. And you’re right—you didn’t deserve what you got. Not yesterday, and certainly not that crack about my mother. Not any of the rest of it, either,” she whispered as her voice trailed away.

  It wasn’t so much what Judith said, but how she’d said it that made Charlotte’s chest grow tight with even more regret and made her wish again that she could take back her angry words.

  When she lifted her head to face Judith and saw tears well within Judith’s eyes, she pulled her niece into her arms. “I’m sorry too, hon.” She hugged her hard. “For yesterday, and for all the yesterdays. You and Daniel are like my own children, and I don’t want you to ever think—not for a moment—that I resented helping raise you, because I didn’t. I love you and your brother.” She pulled away and tilted her head, searching for some kind of response from Judith. But Judith had closed her eyes. “Are you listening to me?” Charlotte asked. “Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  After a moment, Judith sniffed, then finally opened her eyes. “I guess deep down, I’ve always known that, but it’s just that—”

  “No buts!” Charlotte firmly shook her head. “We’re family, and families have their ups and downs, and their squabbles. And they sometimes say foolish things that they don’t mean. That’s just being human. But that doesn’t mean they love each other any less. Okay?”

  Only when Judith finally nodded did Charlotte release her. “Now, why don’t you go to the bathroom and blow your nose, then tell me about this new development?”

  Within minutes, Judith joined Charlotte in the kitchen. “Thanks,” she said as Charlotte placed a tall glass of iced tea in front of her. Once Charlotte was seated, Judith began. “I got a call from the chief early this morning. He wanted me to come in for a talk.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  Judith shrugged. “Serious enough, I guess. What he called talking ended up being a speech which was really a lecture and warning, one that was short and to the point. It seems that there’s been a complaint filed against me by Mark and Lowell Webster—for harassment, of all things. Bottom line, I’m forbidden to go anywhere near either one of them again.”

  “But I thought you only questioned Mark Webster. So why would Lowell Webster file a complaint, too? Especially for harassment.”

  Judith shook her head. “Search me. All I did was ask Mark Webster a few pointed questions. I swear, that’s all I did.”

  “So why would they feel the need to file a complaint just because you asked a few questions involving a murder investigation? ” Charlotte probed. “Very interesting ... and suspicious, if you ask me. I hope you reminded that chief of yours that asking questions is what you get paid for.”

  Judith’s face went grim. “Oh, I reminded him all right. But all he did was repeat what he’d said to begin with, only louder. Then he ordered me out of his office.” Judith leaned forward. “But that’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now get this. I’m on my way out of the chief’s office when guess who I run into?” Before Charlotte could respond, Judith answered. “None other than Will Richeaux. Now tell me, Auntie, just what do you think the odds are of that happening bright and early on a Saturday morning? I’m here to tell you the odds are zero, which leads me to believe that Richeaux already knew about my talk with the chief ahead of time.” She narrowed her eyes. “In fact, I’d be willing to bet my last dime from the way he was smirking that he’s the one behind that meeting and the complaints.”

  “But why? Just to tick you off because of your—your—”

  “Affair, Auntie. The word’s affair. And that’s certainly a good possibility. Sour grapes and all that. But there’s no way of knowing. Not for sure, anyway. And if that’s true, why now? It’s been months since I stopped seeing him. That’s a lot of trouble to go to just to get back at someone who dumped you.”

  “Hmm ... maybe not,” Charlotte murmured as she stared at her glass of tea and drummed her fingers against the tabletop. If she could believe the gossip, Patsy Dufour had been waiting for almost a lifetime to get back at Lowell Webster. But when Charlotte conjured up a mental image of Patsy, all she saw was the fear on Patsy’s face when Will Richeaux had first arrived on the scene the day they’d discovered the bones.

  “Ah, Aunt Charley? Hello, earth to Aunt Charley.”

  Charlotte glanced up and blinked. “Oh, sorry, hon. I was just thinking about something.”

  “Auntie, what’s this?”

  The notebook Charlotte swallowed hard. Judith was staring at the notebook she’d left on the table.

  “Oh, that—that’s nothing.” Charlotte reached for the notebook, but Judith scooped it u
p first.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘nothing,’ ” Judith said, scanning the page. “In fact, I’d call it v-e-r-y interesting, especially this last part here about Will Richeaux.” Judith read from Charlotte’s notes. “ ‘Ask Patsy about Will Richeaux.’ ” Judith laid the notebook back on the table. “Why ask Patsy Dufour about him? Is there some connection between the two of them?”

  Now what? “Well ... er ... there might be.”

  “What kind of connection? And don’t give me any of that client confidentiality crap, either.”

  “Judith!”

  Judith held up a hand. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

  “Well, you know I don’t like that kind of language.”

  “Aunt Charley!”

  Charlotte waved vaguely at the notebook. “It’s probably nothing anyway. Mostly just one of those gut feelings you get sometimes.”

  Judith rolled her eyes. “Grrrr, this is like pulling teeth. Look, Auntie, knowing you, there has to be some reason you got that feeling, so spit it out.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “It was when he came in the house to question us—you know, after we’d discovered the bones. If you could have seen the look on Patsy’s face. It was—she looked like she’d just seen the devil himself. Granted, she was already upset,” Charlotte hastened to add, “but this was different.”

  “Scared?”

  Charlotte nodded. “More like terrified.”

  Judith frowned. “That’s not really that unusual, Auntie. Believe it or not, there are some people who are terrified at having to deal with the police, period. Kind of like being scared of an IRS audit.”

  “No ... ” Charlotte shook her head. “It was more than that.”

  With a frown marring her face, Judith stared at Charlotte. “But what other reason would she have, then?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  What other reason would she have, then? Charlotte never had answered Judith’s question. She’d simply shrugged and said she didn’t know. And she didn’t know. But even now, long after Judith had left, the question still nagged at her as she slipped on an apron and began cleaning the kitchen.