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

by Barbara Colley

  Charlotte drew herself up to her full height. Clarice might be clever, but there was more than one way to skin a rabbit Or in this case, a fox, she thought as an idea began to form.

  “Young man, do you know what day this is?”

  He frowned in annoyance. “It’s Friday. So what?”

  “So what indeed! Today is the funeral of Jackson Dubuisson. Any minute now, his friends and family will be arriving.”

  The reporter’s frown deepened. “That can’t be,” he said. “The old lady—Mrs. St. Martin—She said the funeral was tomorrow—on Saturday. She was very insistent that I was to come today. Not that it matters,” he quickly injected. “One day is as good as another.”

  Charlotte gave him a look of disgust. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t have any manners or respect for the dead. It’s people like you who give the news media a bad name.” She paused, then, in her most pitying tone, said, “And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Miss Clarice got the days mixed up. Senility is such a terrible disease. Poor thing. After all, she is getting on in years and tends to get confused now and then. If you know what I mean,” she added for emphasis.

  “She’s senile?”

  Charlotte simply shrugged, neither denying nor confirming the reporter’s assumption.

  The sound of car doors slamming behind him momentarily diverted his attention, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder.

  “The funeral must be over,” Charlotte said, getting a bit nervous herself as her gaze shifted to a small crowd of people gathering just outside the gate. She needed to get rid of this pesky man, she thought, but how, without making a scene?

  Then Charlotte spotted her niece making her way through the group of people. Though she wasn’t that surprised to see Judith, for it was a standard practice for the police to attend the funeral and the gathering after the funeral of a murder victim, she suddenly knew exactly how she could force the reporter to leave.

  “Oh, there’s Ms. Monroe,” Charlotte said, careful to inject just the right amount of surprise in her voice. “She’s one of the police detectives assigned to this case, you know”

  The reporter turned around to stare. “Detective? Which one?” he asked, unable to contain his excitement. “Do you think she would answer a couple of questions for me?”

  Not if I know my niece, Charlotte thought as a sly smile pulled at her lips. “Why don’t we ask her and find out? Why, here she is now,” Charlotte said as her niece approached the steps leading up to the gallery.

  “Good morning.”

  Charlotte’s smile grew wider. “Good morning yourself. Judith, dear, this young man is a reporter and wants to ask you a few questions about poor Jackson’s murder.”

  “He what?” Judith stopped midway up the steps, just long enough to glare at the reporter. “Of all the nerve!” Her eyes blazing with daggers, she stomped up the remaining steps. She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re on private property, bub. Get lost now or I’ll run you in for trespassing.”

  The look of defeat on the reporter’s face was poignant. Realizing he’d been had, he turned and glared at Charlotte. “Clever. Very clever,” he murmured.

  With more guests arriving by the minute, Charlotte decided to station herself by the open door, just inside the foyer. As she greeted the guests and directed them to the dining room, Judith stood on the porch and made sure that the reporter left without harassing anyone.

  “I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up here after the funeral,” she told Charlotte a few minutes later. “I’ve got a good mind to call the Times-Picayune and complain.”

  “I’ve already called,” Charlotte said. “I spoke to Mary Johnson, and she—”

  “Who’s Mary Johnson?” Judith interrupted.

  “She’s the daughter of Claude and Lydia Johnson, who were longtime clients of mine before Claude retired. You know—the ones who own that old mansion near St. Charles and Louisiana Avenue. Mary is one of the Picayune’s managing editors. Anyway, when I described the man to Mary, she said my description fits a man they’ve had complaints about before. And get this. He’s not even a regular employee. He’s just a freelance reporter they buy stories from once in a while.”

  “Well, that’s certainly good to know,” Judith said. “From our past dealings with the paper, the staff reporters have always been both courteous and cooperative. None of them would ever have pulled a stunt like that guy did today.”

  Charlotte placed her hand on her niece’s arm. “You don’t know the half of it,” she said, thinking about Clarice. “But Judith,” she confided, “I need to talk to you about something urgent.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the guests who had just arrived had moved into the dining room.

  Satisfied that the last of the newest arrivals were gravitating toward the front parlor, she turned back to Judith. Out of the comer of her eye, just beyond her niece’s shoulder, she saw Judith’s partner coming up the sidewalk. Behind him were Jeanne and Anna-Maria, accompanied by James Doucet.

  “Earth to Charlotte.”

  Charlotte blinked. “Not now, hon. We’ll have to talk later—before you leave.” Charlotte didn’t want to give Jeanne or Anna-Maria any reason to become suspicious. Besides, telling Judith was one thing. Her niece would take her seriously. But even if Jeanne and Anna-Maria hadn’t chosen that moment to arrive, just the thought of explaining everything in front of Louis Thibodeaux made Charlotte’s nerves jump.

  “It’s important,” Charlotte stressed, wondering what it was about the man that intimidated her so. “Extremely important,” she added, “so don’t leave without seeing me first”

  “Aunt Charley—”

  Charlotte firmly shook her head, then turned and fled toward the dining room.

  Later, as Charlotte was gathering the dirty dishes out of the front parlor, Anna-Maria approached her. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and there was a look of sadness about her that almost broke Charlotte’s heart. Out of everyone concerned, Anna-Maria stood to lose the most when the truth came out.

  “I know you’re busy,” the younger woman said, “but when I took a tray of food up to Grandmother, she asked me to tell you she needs to talk to you.”

  Charlotte had a pretty good idea what Clarice wanted to talk about. By now the old lady was probably beside herself, wondering what had happened to her interview with the reporter.

  Well, too bad, she thought. Clarice could just keep wondering for the time being.

  “I don’t see how I can leave just now,” she told Anna-Maria, “but I’ll go up just as soon as I can.”

  Anna-Maria nodded, and when she turned to walk away, Charlotte caught her by the arm.

  “How are you doing, hon?”

  Tears glistened in the younger woman’s eyes. “I guess okay,” she said. “It’s just—just hard.”

  Before the day was over, it was going to get even harder, thought Charlotte as she fought to control the swift shadow of anger that suddenly swept through her. Anna-Maria was a complete innocent. Yet of everyone involved, she would be the one who suffered the most.

  For once, Charlotte was at a loss for words. There was nothing she could say to ease the younger woman’s suffering now and no way of preparing her for the pain yet to come.

  She pulled the younger woman into her arms and gave her a quick hug. “You hang in there,” she told her. “Stay strong.”

  Chapter Twenty

  For the next hour, the low buzz of voices filled the foyer, the parlor, and the dining room as friends, acquaintances, and Jackson’s business associates dropped by to pay their respects to Jeanne and Anna-Maria. Charlotte soon lost count as people came and went Many of them she recognized, some she didn’t, as she refilled the platters with sandwiches.

  Several times as she picked up the dirty dishes left in the parlor, she overheard someone ask about Clarice. And each time Jeanne’s response was the same. On each occasion, she spun the lie that Clarice had grieved he
rself sick because of Jackson’s death.

  Upon hearing Jeanne’s response, it took every ounce of self-restraint that Charlotte could muster to keep a firm grip on her anger, mostly at herself for having been so blind to the truth all along.

  Charlotte was replenishing a tray of sliced turkey sandwiches in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. At first, she ignored it, just as she’d ignored it for the past half hour. Since Judith was there in her official capacity, she had stationed herself in the foyer and had taken over the job of letting visitors in while her partner hovered about in the parlor. It was the sudden break in the steady murmur of voices in the dining room and foyer that got Charlotte’s attention. The quiet moment only lasted a heartbeat, but it was enough.

  Unable to contain her curiosity, Charlotte left the half-full tray of sandwiches and walked through the dining room to the foyer. The moment she spotted Sydney and Tony Marriott near the parlor door, she immediately understood the reason for the brief silence.

  Many of the same guests at Jackson’s funeral had also attended the Zoo To Do event. Like Charlotte, they had seen Jackson and Sydney dancing and had also witnessed the volatile confrontation between Jackson and Tony.

  Had the gossip about the altercation filtered back to Jeanne? she wondered as she discreetly followed the couple from the foyer into the parlor. Did Jeanne know about the incident, and if she did, how would she react to having the couple in her house?

  A small group of people were clustered around Jeanne and Anna-Maria, so Sydney and Tony weren’t able to talk to them right away. While the couple awaited their turn, Charlotte took her time gathering the few dirty dishes left by guests and tried to ignore the disturbing presence of Louis Thibodeaux, standing just behind the two women.

  When the couple were finally face-to-face with Jeanne, as far as Charlotte could tell, there was no outward sign that their presence bothered her, at least not at first. Ever the gracious hostess, she greeted Sydney and Tony with a polite but sad little half-smile and thanked them for coming.

  The first sign of emotion that Jeanne allowed to surface was when the couple started to leave. She warmly embraced Tony. But when Sydney reached out to her, Jeanne stepped back, just out of reach, and shook her head once, but succinctly, her expression cold and forbidding, an expression that spoke volumes about her feelings toward the other woman.

  Since Sydney’s back was to Charlotte, she couldn’t see the other woman’s initial reaction. But when Sydney finally turned and walked away from Jeanne, her face was flushed, and her eyes were cast downward, almost as if she were afraid to look at anyone.

  At the Zoo To Do, Sydney’s and Jackson’s behavior had been suspect, and at the time, Charlotte had wondered if the couple might be having an affair. But she’d also considered that Tony could have simply been acting the part of the jealous husband.

  After witnessing Jeanne’s reaction to Sydney and Sydney’s response, Charlotte decided that it was highly probable that the couple had indeed been involved in an affair. It also seemed highly certain that Jeanne knew that her husband had been cheating on her with Sydney.

  Sydney and Tony stayed for only a few minutes more after the encounter, just long enough to be polite. During those few minutes, though, Charlotte couldn’t help noticing that Tony did most of the socializing; Sydney stood by his side with a tight little polite smile on her lips.

  Just moments after the Marriotts walked out the door, Charlotte saw Louis Thibodeaux whisper something to Judith; then he left, too.

  It was drawing near two P.M. when Charlotte finally decided it was time to have her talk with Judith. The crush of people had thinned out; only a few diehards still lingered in the parlor.

  She located Judith keeping vigil just inside the parlor door. Jeanne stood a few feet away, talking quietly to Anna-Maria.

  “Ms. Monroe?” Charlotte placed her hand on Judith’s arm. “I wonder if I could have a word with you in private about that matter I mentioned earlier?”

  Judith gave her an odd look but nodded and followed Charlotte back to the kitchen.

  “What’s with the ‘Ms. Monroe’ business?” she asked when they entered the kitchen.

  “Just being discreet,” Charlotte answered. “You did say you didn’t want anyone to know that we’re related.”

  Judith closed her eyes and sighed. Then she opened them. “Yes—yes I did, didn’t I? Of course I did. Sorry, Aunt Charley, but it’s this case. It’s driving me crazy. Half the time I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I know who killed Jackson Dubuisson, and I have proof.”

  For several seconds, Judith simply stared at her aunt as if she were trying to make up her mind whether Charlotte was serious.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “Why don’t you tell me what you think you know”

  Charlotte began by explaining about the missing phenobarbital tablets and the crushed powder she’d found in Clarice’s bathroom. Then she told Judith about the scuff marks made by Clarice’s walker in the bathroom as well as on the stairs. She also revealed that Clarice was the one who had told her about the relationship between Brian O’Connor and Jeanne.

  Suddenly, Judith tilted her head and gestured for Charlotte to be silent She eased over to the dining-room door and peeked inside. With a shrug of her shoulders, she stepped back into the kitchen. “I thought I heard someone in the dining room,” she said. “Just in case, though, talk a little softer, Auntie. We don’t want to tip our hand.”

  “I can’t explain right now, but tipping our hand is exactly what we want to do,” Charlotte told her. “Just go with the flow for now.”

  Before Judith could question her or object and ignoring her niece’s admonition to talk softer, Charlotte launched into an explanation. “I had my suspicions all along, but when I found the glass embedded in the nightgown this morning, I knew for sure.”

  Judith rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed. “You should never have touched any of it, Auntie. You’ve probably contaminated the only decent evidence we have.”

  “I’ll have you know I was extremely careful,” Charlotte retorted. “Besides, with the medicine bottle it doesn’t matter, anyway. My fingerprints were already on it. But I was still careful. I wore rubber gloves, and I used a paper sack for the gown and the bottle, which—by the way—is safely tucked away in the back of the pantry. I’ll give it to you when you’re ready to leave.”

  Judith stared at Charlotte, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It all makes sense, and it’s what I’ve suspected all along, but I need to talk to Louis about—”

  “Charlotte?”

  Both Judith and Charlotte froze at the sound of Jeanne’s voice. When they turned, she was standing in the doorway leading to the dining room. Though she looked a little pale, her face was composed, and nothing about her expression indicated that she’d overheard any of their discussion. Her gaze slid from Charlotte to Judith, then back again. “Is everything okay in here? Is there a problem?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No—”

  Judith cut in. “No problem, Mrs. Dubuisson. I just had a few more questions I wanted to ask Charlotte.”

  Jeanne switched her attention to Judith. “Questions? About what?”

  Judith made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing important.”

  Jeanne slowly nodded. “In that case—” She turned to Charlotte. “I wanted to let you know most everyone has left. If you will finish clearing out the dishes in the parlor and pick up the serving platters in the dining room, then you can go, too.”

  Again Judith interrupted. “Has Detective Thibodeaux returned yet?”

  Jeanne shrugged. “I guess I didn’t realize he’d left to begin with, but no, I haven’t seen him lately.”

  Charlotte picked up an empty tray from the cabinet. “It shouldn’t take me long to clear away what’s left,” she said. Then, with butterflies beating a nervous rhythm in her stomach, she purposely stood there and waited
for Jeanne to make the first move.

  Jeanne hesitated only a moment before she led the way back to the parlor. “How’s Miss Anna-Maria holding out?” Charlotte asked in an attempt to maintain some sense of normalcy.

  “Not too good, I’m afraid,” Jeanne answered, an edge to her tone. “Which reminds me, in case anyone asks, she’s gone to her room to rest, and I don’t want her to be disturbed. Once everyone has left—if they ever do,” she muttered, “I intend to do the same.”

  Charlotte took her time gathering up the few remaining dishes, and Judith stood near the window, her gaze following Jeanne as she escorted the last of the guests to the foyer.

  Charlotte heard the front door close. When several moments passed and Jeanne still hadn’t returned, Charlotte walked over to Judith. She held up her forefinger against her lips to indicate silence, then motioned for Judith to follow her.

  Jeanne wasn’t in the foyer, nor was she in the dining room. With Judith trailing close behind her, Charlotte entered the kitchen just in time to see Jeanne slip out the back door.

  Charlotte made a beeline for the pantry. The sack she’d placed inside on the floor earlier was gone.

  “She took the bait,” Charlotte told her niece.

  “Bait? You mean the evidence?”

  Charlotte pulled Judith over to the window that overlooked the back deck. “Let’s just watch and see what she does with it”

  Outside, Jeanne set the sack she’d taken from the pantry down on the deck near the gas grill. She opened up the grill, turned on the gas, and lit it with a match. Then she snatched up the sack and dropped it on top of the burners. Within seconds, flames engulfed the sack.

  “We’ve got to stop her!” Judith cried.

  She started toward the door, but Charlotte grabbed her by the arm. “No,” she told her. “It’s okay. Just watch and listen.”

  “But Aunt Charley!” Judith tried to pull away, but Charlotte held firm and shook her head.

  “I promise it will be okay.”