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

by Barbara Colley

  Charlotte tilted her head. “You know who did it?”

  “Let’s just say that we think the barbiturates were in the bottle of scotch. It’s being analyzed now. And I personally think that papers were missing out of the safe because there was something in there that had to do with the money Jackson had been taking from the firm, money that—”

  “Tony Marriott?” Charlotte exclaimed. If Tony Marriott was on the hot seat now, that meant that suspicion had shifted from Jeanne. “But what about his alibi?”

  “Yes, well, that is a sticky point, and unfortunately, no fingerprints other than Jackson’s were found on the bottle. Louis is down at the marina now trying to find someone who might be able to blow holes in Marriott’s alibi.”

  “Well, if anyone can bully the truth out of someone, that partner of yours can.”

  Judith frowned thoughtfully. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”

  “Like who?”

  “Come on, Aunt Charley. You know who I mean. Lou—Louis Thibodeaux, my partner.”

  Charlotte shrugged and felt her cheeks grow warm. “What’s to like? Or dislike,” she quickly added. “I don’t even know the man.”

  Judith’s eyes narrowed. “Or could it be that you like him a little too much?” she said shrewdly.

  Charlotte felt a full-fledged flush inching up her neck and tasted a hot denial on her tongue. Then she recalled some old saying about a person protesting too much and decided against reacting to Judith’s question at all. She made a show of checking her watch instead.

  “Good grief,” she said. “Look what time it is.” She abruptly stood and gathered her purse and the sack with her leftover sandwich. “I’m supposed to help your mother clean up the other half of the double this afternoon. Hopefully, Hank and your brother can move her in this weekend. But she’s already upset Sweety Boy once this morning, and I don’t want him upset again.”

  Charlotte knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. But even worse was seeing the knowing grin spreading on Judith’s face.

  “He’s not married, you know,” Judith told her. “And he’ll have a pretty decent pension once he retires.”

  “That’s enough, young lady. It’s not nice to tease an old woman.”

  “You old? Ha! That’s a funny one if I ever heard one.”

  “Getting older by the moment,” Charlotte groused. “Only five more months and I’ll turn the big six-o.”

  Judith shoved out of her chair and walked over to Charlotte. “You’ll never be old, Aunt Charley.” She hugged her. “And I’m sorry for teasing you.” She pulled away and smiled. “Forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte replied, then grinned. “After all, you are my favorite niece.”

  Judith laughed. “Just like Daniel’s your favorite nephew and Hank’s your favorite son.”

  Judith walked Charlotte back down the hallway to the elevator by the front desk. To Charlotte’s surprise, her niece stepped into the elevator with her, then punched the first-floor button.

  “I’ll ride down with you,” she said as the doors closed. “Besides, I almost forgot to tell you that we haven’t caught up with Brian O’Connor yet, but we did talk to his father. I’m afraid that’s another brick wall, though. His father claims that Brian took him to visit some out-of-town relatives that night. Like everyone else involved in this case, he has an alibi, too.”

  Charlotte just shook her head. “You certainly have your work cut out for you, don’t you, hon?”

  Judith nodded. “Goes with the territory. It’s in the job description.”

  The elevator arrived at the first floor, and the doors slid open. Charlotte stepped out, but Judith stayed inside, her finger on the OPEN button. “Speaking of jobs,” Judith said. “Specifically my mother’s new so-called career.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “What about it?”

  “Well, I know it’s none of my business, and I love her dearly, but we both know how my mother operates.” Judith grimaced. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, just don’t let her take advantage of you, not again.” She paused, and suddenly looking uncomfortable, she added, “And one more thing, Auntie. I know I don’t have to say it, but I really shouldn’t have discussed the details of this case with you—policy and all that—so—”

  Charlotte nodded, then made a zipping motion with her finger across her lips. “My lips are sealed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlotte was climbing into her van when a familiar-looking blue Ford Taurus pulled into an empty parking space beside her. When the driver’s door opened and Louis Thibodeaux got out, she cringed, recalling Judith’s teasing. For a split second, the urge to duck down out of sight came over her.

  But Charlotte never had been the type to hide or run from a confrontation of any kind, whether real or imagined. Still thinking about Judith’s teasing remarks, she ignored the butterflies jumping in her stomach and forced herself to sit there and wait, just to see if he would notice her.

  He didn’t notice her ... or anything else for that matter. He didn’t even glance her way. His craggy face was a picture of intense concentration as he hitched up his pants, then strode purposefully toward the station house.

  She waited until he disappeared around the corner of the building before she started the van. Feeling relieved yet oddly disappointed, she drove out of the parking lot and into the street.

  Or could it be that you like him a little too much?

  Charlotte thought about Judith’s words all the way down Martin Luther King Boulevard to St. Charles Avenue. While she waited at the stop sign for a break in the traffic, she wondered if it were possible to be both repelled and attracted to someone at the same time.

  “I’m too old for this stuff,” she muttered, tapping her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Besides, if she’d guessed right and the messy desk next to Judith did belong to Louis Thibodeaux, the man was a total slob. What’s more, she’d had her love of a lifetime with Hank’s father. Though she’d had several relationships since, when all was said and done, no one had ever measured up to the memories of her son’s father. No one had ever even come close to tempting her into the more permanent institution of marriage.

  The blast of a car horn shook her out of her reverie. Ignoring the little voice that said she could be wrong, that the desk might not have been his and Louis Thibodeaux might measure up if given a chance, Charlotte pulled onto St. Charles Avenue.

  For the rest of her drive home, Charlotte shied away from thinking about her niece’s partner and tried concentrating on what she’d learned from Judith instead. As she dissected each piece of information about the ongoing investigation into Jackson’s murder, especially the part about the barbiturates in the Scotch, something niggled at the back of her mind. But the more she tried to pinpoint what bothered her about it, the more elusive it became.

  Then there was Brian O’Connor, she thought, slowing to a stop for a red light. She could still see the intent look on his face as he’d watched Anna-Maria and James. Had she imagined it, or had that look been more than simple curiosity or admiration for a pretty girl?

  Sneaking around down on the porch . . . spying.

  Spying on whom? Charlotte wondered as Clarice’s accusations came to mind. Spying on Anna-Maria because he’d somehow found out that she was his daughter? Or spying on Jackson to learn his habits because Brian had more sinister things on his mind? More sinister things, like murder?

  Of course, both possibilities hinged on whether she could believe Clarice. Had she been mistaken in dismissing the old lady’s accusations?

  Working for the Dubuissons’ neighbors would have certainly presented Brian many opportunities to spy on both Anna-Maria and Jackson. It would have also afforded him knowledge about the layout of the house.

  But what about motive? she wondered. Did he have a motive, enough to commit murder? After all, according to Bitsy, it was Andrew St. John who had framed Brian and had him sent to prison, no
t Jackson.

  Still . . if what Bitsy Duhe had told her was true, how would Brian have felt, knowing he’d been cheated out of the woman he loved and a daughter as well, a daughter who didn’t even know he existed and had grown up thinking another man was her father?

  But why now? she wondered as she watched the cars cross the intersection in front of her. Why would Brian have waited so long to do something about it? And what about his alibi? According to Judith, Brian’s father had given him an alibi. But wouldn’t any parent do the same if they suspected their child was in trouble?

  The traffic light finally turned green, and Charlotte accelerated. The whole thing was a puzzle, she decided, a giant puzzle with too many missing pieces.

  When Charlotte turned down her street, she expected to see Madeline’s car parked in front of her house. But there was no sign of her sister’s jaunty red Neon. Though she wasn’t exactly surprised—Madeline had never been that dependable—Charlotte felt a twinge of disappointment in spite of herself.

  Now what? she wondered as she unlocked the door and let herself inside. Should she call Madeline or simply wait until she heard from her? She could always go ahead and start on the rooms, anyway The last time she’d cleaned them had been over six months ago, right after the last renters had sneaked out while she was at work without paying her the two months back rent they owed. If nothing else, she could at least air out the place.

  “What would you suggest I do?” she asked Sweety Boy.

  The little bird’s only answer was to ruffle his feathers and prance back and forth on his perch.

  “Well, you’re no help,” Charlotte told him as she slipped off her shoes and stepped into her moccasins.

  Out of habit and because she thought Madeline might have called, she checked her answering machine. The blinking light indicated she had three messages, and Charlotte hit the PLAY button.

  “Hi, Charlotte, this is Nadia. I just thought I’d let you know what a wonderful man your nephew is. He’s already arranged for Davy and me to see Ricco, and what’s more, he’s agreed to take Ricco’s case. Thanks again for your help, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  As the machine beeped and the next message began, a smile pulled at Charlotte’s lips. Nadia and Daniel. Now those two would make a perfect couple, she thought.

  “Hi, Mom.” The sound of her son’s voice on the answering machine instantly wiped away her matchmaking thoughts. “Just checking in, since I haven’t heard anything out of you in a few days,” he said. “Guess you’re busy, though, like everyone else, huh? You don’t have to be, you know. If you weren’t so stubborn, I—Never mind. Just give me a call when you get a chance. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she murmured as the machine beeped, signaling the end of Hank’s call and the beginning of the final message.

  “Charlotte, there’s been a change of plans.”

  At the sound of her sister’s voice, Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Would you believe,” Madeline continued, her recorded voice breathless with excitement, “my old boss just called and wants me to come back to work? He says the office manager should never have fired me without consulting him. Between you and me, though, I suspect his offer has more to do with the fact that I work on certain special accounts for him that are—Well, let’s just say the IRS would have a field day if they knew the truth about them. Anyway, isn’t that great! But hey, Charlotte, thanks, anyway, for the offer to help and for—for just being there. You’re the greatest. Talk to you later.”

  The machine beeped, signaling the end of the message, but all Charlotte could do was stare into space with unseeing eyes as her sister’s message spun through her head.

  “Yeah, I’m the greatest, all right. The greatest chump.” Just like that, she thought. One minute her sister was starting her own business, and the next, she’s not.

  “And speaking of business, what’s that business about special accounts?” she muttered. “And the IRS?” Charlotte frowned. What on earth was Madeline thinking? And what in the world had her sister gotten involved in this time?

  Charlotte’s frown deepened. “And why am I standing around talking to myself, for Pete’s sake?” It was a bad habit she’d gotten into of late, one she really needed to work on breaking.

  Charlotte returned Hank’s call but was told he was in with a patient. She left her name with his receptionist and made a mental note to try again later if she didn’t hear from him.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, she tried to stay busy and not worry about her sister’s troublesome message.

  She went next door and opened all the windows to let the rooms air out. Then she let Sweety Boy out of his cage and began the distasteful task of cleaning it. Meanwhile, she kept telling herself that Madeline was no longer a helpless little girl. Her sister was a grown woman, responsible for herself. If she got herself into trouble with the IRS over some questionable bookkeeping, then it was no one’s fault but her own.

  But no matter how hard Charlotte tried not to worry and how much she scrubbed and cleaned Sweety Boy’s cage, she couldn’t get her sister’s message out of her mind.

  It was almost six by the time that Charlotte took a break. She had just sat down in front of the television to watch JAG while she polished off the last of the leftover chicken gumbo from Sunday’s lunch when the phone rang.

  In spite of the fact that JAG was a rerun, it was one of the few programs she truly enjoyed, and she was hungry, so she decided to let the machine take a message.

  “Charlotte, this is Jeanne Dubuisson. I really need to talk to you—”

  The moment she heard Jeanne’s voice, Charlotte set down the bowl of gumbo, then rushed over to the desk and grabbed the receiver. “Hang on, Jeanne,” she said as she switched off the answering machine. “Sorry about that,” she told her. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so glad you’re home. Jackson’s body has finally been released. We’re having the funeral tomorrow at eleven. But Anna-Maria and I have to be at the funeral home by eight, so there won’t be anyone who can let you inside the house when you get here in the morning.”

  “What about leaving me a key somewhere?” Charlotte suggested.

  “Why, yes, I suppose I could. Tell you what. I’ll leave it under that big potted plant that sits on the right side of the front door”

  “And don’t forget to leave the front gate unlocked, too”

  “Good point. Lately I’ve been so forgetful that I’d better write myself a note.” Jeanne hesitated. “I’d like to ask another favor, too,” she said after a moment had passed. “I’m really going to need some help after the service, when everyone congregates at the house—you know, with the refreshments and drinks. I’m having the food catered, but the catering service I’m using doesn’t supply anyone to serve the stuff. I’d be willing to pay you extra.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Charlotte said. “I’ve already told you I’ll help in any way I can. I’m just so sorry all of you have to go through this”

  “You’re a good person, Charlotte LaRue, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Just so you’ll be watching for him, the caterer promised he would deliver everything around ten.”

  “I’ll be ready for him,” Charlotte assured her.

  The line hummed with silence for a moment, then Jeanne cleared her throat. “I really hate imposing on you like this,” she said, “but there’s just one more little thing I need help with, too. Mother still refuses to attend the services, and she won’t hear of me getting a sitter. The way she’s been acting lately, I—Could you—I mean, would it be too much of an imposition for you to come a little earlier than usual, and would you mind checking on her while we’re gone?”

  “Of course I don’t mind, and it’s not an imposition. I’ll be there, so just stop worrying—and try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day for you.”

  “Lately, they’re all hard, but I’ll try.
And thanks, Charlotte. See you tomorrow.”

  Charlotte hung up the receiver. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the rain that the dreary day had promised. Charlotte quickly sent up a prayer that the storm would pass over quickly. Funerals were hard enough on the family involved on a good day. A cloudy, rainy day always made things seem worse.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day of Jackson Dubuisson’s funeral dawned bright with sunshine, but the air was heavy with steamy humidity left over from the stormy night.

  Charlotte had set her alarm clock fifteen minutes earlier than usual so that she would still have time to take her daily walk before going to work. By the time she’d finished the walk and stepped into the shower, she was dripping with sweat.

  Sweat was good for you, though, she grudgingly reassured herself as she stood under the tepid spray of water, rinsing off a rich lather of soap. She’d once read an article somewhere that sweating opened up the pores and helped the body rid itself of impurities.

  Charlotte switched off the faucets and reached for a towel. So if it was so good for you, why did she still feel so icky even after taking a shower? Whoever had written that silly article had never lived in New Orleans, she figured.

  Charlotte kept her promise to Jeanne and arrived early. When she approached the front of the house, she was vastly relieved to see that there was no sign of the reporters who had kept vigil for the past four days.

  They were probably all at the funeral, hovering around the church like a flock of vultures, just waiting to pick up some juicy tidbit to exploit.

  Thankful that she could finally park in her usual spot, Charlotte pulled the van over to the curb near the corner. When she climbed out of the vehicle, an old battered truck pulled alongside the curb of the house next door and parked.

  Charlotte immediately recognized the truck as belonging to the gardener, Joseph O’Connor, but the lone man who climbed out of the truck was Brian, not Joseph.