Maid for Murder (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 1)

by Barbara Colley

  At the moment, however, what she was wearing was the least of her worries. The cars in front of her had slowed to almost a standstill, and she was stuck in a line of traffic that seemed to crawl forward inch by inch.

  Charlotte glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard and grew even more apprehensive. She should have left earlier. Hank would have a fit if she didn’t show up on time, and she’d have to listen to him give her yet another lecture.

  He’d said he was on call, but did he have his cell phone or his pager with him tonight? she wondered. Just about the time she made up her mind to try his cell phone, the traffic picked up speed, so she decided to take her chances and hope for the best.

  By the time Charlotte was able to ease her van into a parking space in the huge, crowded parking lot, she’d had plenty of time to rethink her earlier concerns, and she’d calmed down somewhat. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what she was wearing was nobody’s business but her own, and if her son didn’t like the way she’d dressed or was embarrassed by it, then that was just tough. She’d never been the pretentious type, anyway, and she was too old to start now.

  In the parking lot, she waited by her van for the small transportation bus Hank had told her about that was designated to take guests from their vehicles to the front gate.

  The moment she stepped off the bus, she spotted her son striding purposely toward her, a look of relief on his face.

  Charlotte caught her breath at the sight of him. There were times, like now, that he reminded her so much of his father that bittersweet whispers of the past tugged at her emotions and almost brought tears to her eyes.

  Tall and lean, with sandy-colored hair and piercing blue eyes, he was the spitting image of his father, a man he’d never known except through Charlotte’s memories and a few pictures she’d kept.

  “I was beginning to get worried,” he told her after a brief hug.

  Charlotte waved her hand toward the parking lot. “Traffic,” she said by way of explanation. “And before you start,” she added, “yes, I should have left earlier. But I didn’t, and I’m here. So there.”

  A slow, knowing grin tugged at Hank’s lips. “Okay, Mother. No lecture this time. And by the way, you really look lovely.”

  A warm feeling spread within her, and Charlotte curtsied. “Why, thank you, kind sir. You look pretty spiffy yourself.”

  Hank gave a crisp little half-bow, then held out his arm. “Now that we’ve got all of that out of the way . . .”

  Charlotte laughed and tucked her arm in his.

  Once inside the gate, Hank guided Charlotte toward a small group of people crowded around a nearby bar.

  The crowd shifted, and Charlotte immediately recognized one of the women.

  “Mother, you remember Carol, don’t you?” Hank reached out and captured the hand of the woman Charlotte had recognized.

  Carol was a little taller than Charlotte. She was a slim woman with warm brown eyes, and she wore her dark shoulder-length hair in a classic page-boy style.

  But it was Carol’s dress that really caught Charlotte’s eye. The knee-length dress was a deep wine color; it draped softly at the neckline and consisted of layers of iridescent chiffon over a brightly colored purple slip.

  “Of course I remember Carol.” Charlotte smiled and embraced the younger woman with enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you again, dear, and I just love that dress.”

  “Good to see you, too, Mrs. LaRue, and thanks. I’m so glad that Hank talked you into coming tonight.”

  Charlotte winced at the “Mrs.” but didn’t bother correcting the error. “Mrs. LaRue sounds so old,” she said instead. “Please call me Charlotte.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that,” Carol told her.

  Charlotte had met Carol Jones only on one other occasion, a Christmas party sponsored by Hank and his partners for children confined to the hospital over the holidays. Then, as now, she’d felt immediately drawn to the younger woman. She was relieved and delighted to know that Hank was still dating her. Maybe, just maybe, Hank had finally met the right woman, she thought.

  Besides being attractive, Carol had seemed to be a generous, caring woman, and Charlotte had been impressed. Unlike Mindy, Hank’s ex-wife, Carol also seemed to have a sensible, practical nature that strongly appealed to Charlotte.

  Surely the fact that Hank was still seeing Carol was a good sign, she thought. At least she hoped so. For a long time after he’d divorced Mindy, she’d wondered if he would ever recover from what his ex-wife had done. It had taken him years to get to the point where he was even interested in dating again, and even then, he’d hardly ever asked a woman out more than once or twice.

  Hank wasn’t getting any younger, and neither was she. If she ever hoped to have grandchildren, he needed to stop fooling around and get down to business.

  A granddaughter would be nice, she thought longingly. A little girl she could cuddle and spoil. But a grandson would do just as well.

  Then a horrible thought suddenly struck her. Hank’s first wife hadn’t wanted children. What if Carol felt the same way, too? Surely Hank wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.

  Only one way to find out, she decided. Charlotte smiled up at her son. “Hank, honey, why don’t you get us all a nice glass of wine? Carol and I will wait right over there.” She pointed to a bench that was miraculously empty, considering the crowd of people standing around.

  Hank firmly shook his head. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mother. I’m not letting you get Carol off alone to grill her.”

  Charlotte feigned a hurt expression but was saved from outright lying about her intentions by Carol.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” the younger woman crooned to him as she reached up and caressed his jaw. “Afraid I might learn all of your deep, dark secrets?” Then, with a saucy wink, she turned to Charlotte and took her firmly by the arm. “Come along, Charlotte. We can grill each other.” With a throaty laugh, she steered Charlotte toward the empty bench.

  Two hours later, Charlotte found herself standing alone, just on the edge of the dancing area. After covering yet another yawn with her hand, she glanced at her watch. “Way past my bedtime,” she muttered. “Time to go home.”

  Wondering if she’d stayed long enough to satisfy her son, she glanced around, looking for him. So where was he?

  When she finally spotted him, he was among the dancers. In his arms was the lovely Carol. The band was playing a soft, dreamy song, designed especially for lovers. From the expression on Hank’s face, the last thing on his mind was the whereabouts of his mother.

  As Charlotte continued watching, once again she felt the familiar tug of the past. From a distance, her son’s resemblance to his father was uncanny and more than a bit unsettling.

  So why tonight? she wondered. It wasn’t as if Hank looked any different tonight than at any other time. Maybe it was the tuxedo. Though a far cry from the army uniform his father had worn, the tuxedo was still a uniform of sorts. And the music . . . the dreamy dance music, what her generation called belly-rubbing music . . .

  Charlotte shook her head. “Definitely time to go home,” she murmured, pulling her gaze away in an effort to fight the onslaught of past memories, painful ones that seemed determined to intrude on this particular night.

  Hank’s father, the love of her life, was gone, she firmly told herself, gone forever. And no amount of longing or wishing things were different would change that fact; it was a reality she’d had to learn to cope with the hard way.

  “Charlotte? Charlotte LaRue!”

  Even with the noise of chatter and music there was no mistaking the squeaky voice calling out to her or the spry, birdlike old lady headed her way.

  Charlotte groaned softly. Of all the people she didn’t want to get stuck with, Bitsy Duhe headed the list. Bad enough she had to endure the old lady’s endless chatter every Tuesday, when she cleaned her house. A shameless gossip, Bitsy seemed to know something about everyone, thanks to the hours she spent on th
e telephone.

  A sudden tug of guilt pulled at Charlotte’s conscience, and shame flooded through her for her uncharitable attitude.

  Bitsy’s husband had once been the mayor of New Orleans, and the couple had led an active social life even after he’d retired. Then he’d died a few years back, leaving her all alone except for their son and two granddaughters. But her son and granddaughters lived in other parts of the country. Bitsy was simply a lonely old lady, so desperate for human contact and companionship that she resorted to phoning around, collecting little tidbits of the latest gossip.

  Tuesday, Charlotte told her conscience as she quickly glanced around, seeking the best avenue of escape. I promise I’ll be more charitable on Tuesday, when I clean her house, but please, just not tonight.

  For an elderly lady in her eighties, Bitsy was fast, though, and before Charlotte had taken two steps, Bitsy grabbed hold of her arm.

  “Oh, Charlotte, am I glad to see you.”

  As usual, Bitsy’s purple-gray hair was pulled straight back, away from her face, and fashioned into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She’d once confided to Charlotte that by pulling her hair back, she could smooth out the wrinkles in her forehead. And as usual, Bitsy wore one of her numerous midcalf flowered dresses.

  Reminding herself that Bitsy was a client, Charlotte pasted a smile on her face. But before she could return the old lady’s greeting, Bitsy was chattering away, nonstop. With Bitsy, one never carried on a conversation. One simply listened.

  “I meant to call you today,” the old lady told her, “but what with my doctor’s appointment and grocery shopping, I never got around to it. I was wondering if you could possibly come in tomorrow to clean instead of next Tuesday.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to tell the old lady that, regretfully, she had already made plans, but Bitsy kept right on talking.

  “Now, Charlotte, dear, I realize that tomorrow is Saturday, and of course I would pay you extra.” She took a deep breath and smiled proudly. “You see, my granddaughter called this morning, and she’s coming for a visit—you know, she’s the one who lives in New York. And she’s flying in tomorrow evening. I really want everything to be nice and tidy for her visit, but I don’t have a lot of time.”

  Again Charlotte opened her mouth to tell Bitsy she couldn’t come, but one look at the eager anticipation on the old lady’s face, along with the glow of excitement in her faded blue eyes, and she found she couldn’t do it.

  “What time would you like for me to be there?” she said instead.

  “Oh, my, I really hate to ask this of you, but could you possibly be there at seven instead of eight?”

  Charlotte groaned inwardly but nodded her agreement.

  “Wonderful!” Bitsy gushed. “Now that we’ve got that settled, you must let me buy you a drink.”

  Charlotte frowned. “Buy? But I thought—”

  “Yes, dear.” Bitsy snickered. “The drinks are included in the price of the ticket. I was just making a little joke.” Bitsy elbowed Charlotte. “Had you going for a second, though, didn’t I? My goodness, you’ve got to learn to lighten up or before you know it, you’ll turn into a sour old prune like me.” The old lady giggled, and Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

  The last thing Charlotte wanted was to spend more time with Bitsy. What she wanted was to go home. But Bitsy latched on, and Charlotte found herself having a drink with the old lady, after all, as well as enduring another half hour of her endless chatter.

  For a while, she was able to ignore most of what Bitsy said as the old lady pointed out first one person, then another one, and proceeded to regale Charlotte with the latest rumors circulating about the people she’d singled out.

  Then, suddenly, Bitsy threw out a name, and all of Charlotte’s senses went on alert.

  “Can you believe the nerve of that Jackson Dubuisson? Just look at them.” Bitsy shook her head. “And her a married woman. Even more scandalous, she’s his partner’s wife.” As if realizing she finally had Charlotte’s full attention, she nudged her and pointed. “Over there, just on this side of the fountain. I tell you, it’s one thing to have an affair, but to flaunt it in front of the whole city—well, I never!”

  Charlotte followed Bitsy’s finger. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she spotted the couple. Just as Bitsy had said, Jackson Dubuisson was on the dance floor. Cuddled against him like a satisfied cat who had just found a bowl of cream was Sydney Marriott.

  Charlotte had once worked for Sydney and knew that, in fact, Bitsy was right. Not only was Sydney a married woman, but she was married to Tony Marriott, Jackson’s law partner.

  He’d lied, Charlotte thought. He’d outright lied to Jeanne about working late. While Jeanne was home, tending to her invalid mother, thinking that her husband was working, Jackson was out having a high old time.

  Snippets of Jeanne’s side of the phone conversation when she’d talked to Jackson earlier began coming back to Charlotte, and she frowned. Had Jeanne suspected that Jackson was lying to her about working late? Did she suspect that he was having an affair? Even as socially insulated as she’d become, someone who was as prominent as Jeanne wasn’t totally cut off from the old-girl network. Someone along the way would have let it slip about Jackson.

  Yes, Charlotte decided. Jeanne surely had to know. And if she knew, it would go a long way in explaining why she’d been so uncharacteristically sarcastic and short with him over the phone.

  Suddenly, Charlotte recalled Clarice’s words from earlier that morning. . . . he’s a no good scoundrel... Maybe Clarice wasn’t quite as senile as Jeanne thought, after all.

  “Oh, poor Jeanne,” Charlotte murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from the couple. They were dancing so close that they seemed to blend into one; it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

  “Humph!” Bitsy scoffed. “Poor Jeanne my foot. You better feel sorry for Sydney. Here comes that husband of hers, and he looks like he could chew nails. I know I wouldn’t want to cross him.”

  Sure enough, Tony Marriott was headed straight for the dancing couple, and the murderous look on his face was enough to give Charlotte the cold shivers.

  Chapter Three

  For once, Charlotte had to agree with Bitsy. Even if Tony Marriott’s swarthy looks hadn’t reminded her of every cliché she’d ever associated with a mafia hit man, his reputation alone would have been enough for Charlotte to steer clear of him.

  Charlotte’s nephew, Daniel, had once worked as an assistant D.A. before going into private practice. From listening to Daniel talk, Charlotte knew that Tony specialized in representing clients no one else would touch, mostly big-time drug dealers. And more often than not, he always won in court and was paid well for his services.

  Bitsy tugged on Charlotte’s arm. “Let’s get closer. I can’t hear what they’re saying from here.”

  Charlotte firmly removed her arm from Bitsy’s grasp. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Evidently, neither did the people dancing near Sydney and the two men. All around the men, couples had stopped dancing and were backing away.

  Bitsy craned her head. “Oh, Lordy, me. Do you think they’re gonna fight?”

  Charlotte abhorred violence in any form, and the eager anticipation in Bitsy’s voice was more than she could stomach.

  “Shame on you,” Charlotte told the old lady. “Of course they’re not going to fight.” At least she hoped not But if she had to bet on which man would win in a fight, she’d lay odds on Tony. No contest. Jackson was the taller of the two men by several inches, but Tony was more muscular looking and probably outweighed Jackson by at least thirty pounds. And from all accounts, Tony was a lot meaner than Jackson and fought dirty, at least in the courtroom.

  Even as the music played on, muting the heated conversation between the two men, Charlotte could feel the tension emanating from them like the vibrations from the strings of a too tightly strung violin.

  But the drama was sho
rt-lived. Tony’s verbal attack abruptly ended when he jerked his wife out of Jackson’s arms. Pulling her and half-dragging her along behind him, he stalked off through the crowd. Charlotte followed the couple’s exit until they disappeared in the crowd. When she looked back to see Jackson’s reaction, he was gone.

  “Oh, phooey!” Bitsy grumbled. “I thought for sure we would get to see a fight.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reminded herself that Bitsy was a client as well as an old lady. Even so, enough was enough for one night.

  She motioned vaguely toward a crowd of people huddled around a food table. “I think that’s my son signaling to me over there,” she lied. “Thanks for the drink, but I’ve got to run now. See you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

  As Charlotte hurried away, she heard Bitsy calling after her, but she ignored her. Now if only she could find Hank and Carol...

  Minutes later, Charlotte finally spotted Carol standing near the front gates. But Hank was nowhere in sight.

  The second Carol saw Charlotte, her face lit up, and she rushed over to her. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I never was going to find you.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I was looking for you, too.”

  “Well, now that we found each other, Hank asked me to give you a message. He said to tell you that he got a call from the hospital and had to leave.”

  “What a rotten shame,” Charlotte said with feeling. “I know you two were having a good time. As for me, though, it’s just as well. I was really looking for that son of mine to tell him that I have to be going.”

  Carol frowned. “Oh, dam! I was hoping you’d stay and keep me company. The evening is still young,” she added in a wistful, coaxing tone.

  For a moment, Charlotte was tempted to stay a while longer. Because Hank had interrupted their earlier chat, she’d only had time to ferret out a couple of facts about Carol. For one, she’d learned that Carol was a nurse who worked for one of Hank’s associates. She’d also learned that Carol had once been engaged but had ultimately decided against marrying the man.