“But she’s burning the evidence.”
Charlotte shook her head again. “No, she’s not. She just thinks she is. And stop looking at me like I’ve suddenly gone senile. I know how Jeanne thinks, and I know what I’m doing. This is the only way we’ll get the truth out of her.”
Still looking a bit skeptical, after a moment Judith grudgingly gave in. “Okay, Auntie, you win for now, but I sure hope you know what you’re doing. If you don’t, we could both be in big trouble.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Charlotte assured her niece as she finally released her hold on Judith’s arm.
In no time at all, the hot flames of the grill reduced the sack and its contents to ashes. With Charlotte and Judith watching, Jeanne continued staring at the grill long after there was nothing left to burn. After what seemed like forever, she finally shut off the burners and then closed the lid.
When Jeanne reentered the kitchen, Charlotte and Judith were standing in the middle of the room, waiting for her. Sending up a silent prayer that she was doing the right thing, Charlotte confronted her. “You burned the wrong sack,” she told her. “The real evidence is locked in my van.”
Watching Jeanne’s reaction was like witnessing a balloon slowly deflate. “Charlotte, I—I—” She glanced at Judith, then back again at Charlotte. Her eyes filled, and tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Her lips quivering, she whispered, “I didn’t want to do it, b-but there was no other way.” A haunted expression crossed her face. “Don’t you see? I couldn’t let Mother—”
“That’s enough, Jeanne!”
At the sound of Clarice St. Martin’s stem voice, all three women jerked their heads around. The old woman was standing in the dining-room doorway. She was leaning heavily on her walker, her face was flushed, and for a moment, she seemed to gasp for each breath she drew. Finally, her breathing slowed to normal. “I’d say you’ve said more than enough,” she muttered, a warning look in her eyes.
“Mother, I—”
Clarice shook her head. “I said enough, and I meant it!”
Jeanne’s lower lip quivered, but she finally gave in.
Clarice gave her a curt nod, then turned to glare at Judith. “Leave my daughter out of this,” she warned in a harsh, raw voice. “It’s no secret that I despised my son-in-law, so it won’t be a stretch for you to believe that I killed him.”
“Mrs. St. Martin—” Judith stepped toward the old lady. “Are you confessing to the murder of Jackson Dubuisson?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“If that’s the case, then I have to advise you that you have the right—”
Clarice sliced the air with her hand. “I know what my rights are, young lady, and I don’t need you or anyone else telling me.”
“That may be,” Judith shot back, undaunted and not the least bit intimidated, “but by law I still have to do this, so just indulge me. Clarice St. Martin, you’re under arrest for the murder of—”
“No! Stop it!” Jeanne demanded. “She’s lying—just like before.” Her eyes fierce with defiance, she glared at her mother and shook her head. “Not this time, Mother.”
“Shut up, Jeanne!”
“I won’t shut up. I can’t let you take the blame this time, not again.” She whirled to face Charlotte. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Charlotte?”
Charlotte felt her throat grow tight with emotion as she nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to believe it, Jeanne. I still don’t want to believe it, but—”
“Wait a minute,” Judith interrupted. “What’s she talking about? What did you already know?”
With her eyes on Jeanne, Charlotte took a deep breath, then let it out in a defeated sigh. “Not only did Jeanne kill Jackson, but she killed her father, too.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “Her father?”
“That’s a damned lie!” Clarice shouted. “We want a law-year!”
Judith leveled a warning look at Clarice. “Be quiet, Mrs. St. Martin.”
“You have to allow us to call our lawyer.”
“I’m not denying you counsel,” Judith retorted. She pointed her finger at the old lady. “But if you say another word, I’ll confine you to another room.”
Clarice opened her mouth.
“Just one word,” Judith warned.
Her eyes shooting daggers, Clarice snapped her mouth shut again and pressed her lips into a tight line of anger.
Finally satisfied that Clarice wouldn’t interrupt, Judith motioned for Charlotte to continue.
“Andrew St. Martin was Jeanne’s father,” Charlotte explained. “He was murdered about fifteen years ago. You remember me telling you about Brian O‘Connor? Well, it was Miss Clarice who gave me that information—deliberately, I’m sure—in an attempt to shift suspicion away from Jeanne. I suspect that Miss Clarice somehow found out that you’re my niece and hoped that I would leak the information about Brian to you. Between her trying to throw suspicion on Brian O’Connor and some gossip I got from another client of mine, I was able to fill in the blanks, so to speak.”
Judith narrowed her eyes skeptically. “So to speak?”
Undaunted, Charlotte continued. “Almost twenty years ago, Brian O’Connor, the son of a gardener, had a summer job working for the St. Martins.” Charlotte motioned toward Jeanne. “He and Jeanne fell in love. Then Jeanne came up pregnant.
“Besides being a socially prominent attorney, according to rumors, Andrew St. Martin was also an abusive, controlling man. His future plans for his daughter didn’t include having an uneducated gardener’s son for a son-in-law But St. Martin knew better than to simply forbid the union. He knew he had to get rid of Brian, so he set him up—had him arrested for stealing. And with the help of a judge, who just happened to be one of Andrew’s old buddies, Brian was sent to prison.
“Andrew then arranged for Jeanne to marry a young protégé of his who worked for him. He promised Jackson Dubuisson a partnership in his law firm if he would marry Jeanne and claim her unborn baby as his own. Then he threatened to cut Jeanne off without a penny unless she agreed to the arrangement.” Charlotte turned to Jeanne. “Am I right so far?”
Jeanne hung her head. “I didn’t want to marry Jackson,” she mumbled. “But what choice did I have? I was only eighteen. Without a college education or job skills and with Brian in prison, I couldn’t support a baby . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“But Brian didn’t stay in prison forever,” Charlotte said, resuming her explanation. “Five years later, when he was released, I figure that Jeanne saw her chance to finally be with the man she loved. But she made a mistake—either that or she slipped up and somehow her father found out that she had plans to divorce Jackson. I have my suspicions about what he threatened her with that time.” Again she turned to Jeanne. “Probably the disinheritance thing again—but it didn’t work, did it, Jeanne? What else did he threaten you with?”
Jeanne lifted her head, and her gaze slid to Clarice. “I couldn’t let him do it,” she said, her voice rising with anger. “He said he would sign everything over to Jackson and leave my mother without a penny.”
Clarice opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it, but before she bowed her head, Charlotte saw the single tear that trailed down her pale cheek.
Charlotte swallowed hard against the ache in her own throat. “I figure he also made some kind of threat against Brian again, too,” she said softly. “None of which Jeanne could allow to happen. Once again he’d cornered her, but Jeanne was no longer a schoolgirl he could intimidate. She was older and wiser. She figured that the only way out was to get rid of the threat once and for all. And Clarice—” Charlotte turned her gaze to the old lady. “After years of being subjected to an abusive, controlling husband, she covered for her daughter, as any mother would—provided her with an alibi. Just as she’d tried to cover for Jeanne this time when Jeanne murdered Jackson.”
Suddenly, Clarice jerked herself upright and glared at Charlotte. “That’s all a bunc
h of hogwash!” she shouted. She turned to Judith. “There’s not a shred of proof of anything she’s saying,” she told her. “My husband was killed by a burglar, and the police never proved otherwise” She thumped herself on the chest. “And I killed that no-good, two-timing bastard Jackson” She shook her finger at Judith. “And it’s your duty to take me in.”
Charlotte shook her head, and in spite of herself, she felt sorry for the old lady. “It’s no use, Miss Clarice,” she said softly, in her most reasonable voice. “This time you didn’t do as good a job of covering up for Jeanne as you did the first time. I found her nightgown in your dirty-clothes hamper—the one she wore the night she killed Jackson. It still had slivers of glass embedded in the sleeve. Those slivers could only have gotten there one way. Jeanne used the sleeve of the gown for protection against getting cut when she punched in the pane of the French doors.”
“That’s a lie,” Clarice shouted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And who’s going to believe you, anyway?” she sneered. “Why, you’re a nobody—nothing but a maid. You—”
“That’s enough!” Judith glared at the old lady. “She may be only a maid, but she’s one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever known, so just watch your mouth. I told you once, and I won’t tell you again. I don’t want to hear another word out of you unless I ask you a question. Do I make myself clear?” When Clarice refused to reply, Judith made a menacing move toward her. “I said, Do I make myself clear?”
Even as Clarice nodded, she paled and swayed against the walker.
“Stop it!” Jeanne cried. She rushed over to Clarice. “Can’t you see that she’s not well?” She placed her arm around her mother’s waist to steady her and urged her toward a nearby chair. “Here, Mother, sit down before you fall down.”
Charlotte expected Clarice to give Jeanne an argument. The fact that the old lady obeyed her without a protest was a clear indication of how exhausted she was becoming.
“Maybe she should go to bed,” Charlotte suggested.
“I think you’re right,” Jeanne agreed. “If you helped me, we could probably manage to get her up the stairs.”
“Ah, excuse me!” Judith interrupted, sarcasm dripping with each word. “I’m trying to conduct a murder investigation here, and no one’s going anywhere until I get some more answers.”
“You have all the answers you need,” Clarice said in a weak, raspy voice. “Arrest me and be done with it.”
Judith rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed wearily. “Give me patience,” she whispered.
Charlotte patted Judith’s arm. “What else do you need to know, hon?”
“For starters, I need a reason, Aunt Charley. Motive. Why’d she do it?” She glared at Jeanne. “If you killed your father to be with Brian, why didn’t you go ahead and divorce Jackson then? Wasn’t that the whole point?”
Jeanne shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” Judith challenged.
When long seconds passed and it became obvious that Jeanne wasn’t going to answer, Charlotte intervened. “Jeanne’s right,” she told Judith. “You wouldn’t understand, not unless you had a child. According to Miss Clarice, Jackson used Anna-Maria to hold Jeanne. He told Jeanne if she ever left him, he’d make sure that Anna-Maria found out all about how her real father was an ex-con; then he’d tell everyone else, too. Now you have to remember,” Charlotte added, “that Anna-Maria was only about five and thought that Jackson was her real father.”
Judith made a face and shook her head. “You’re right. I don’t understand. Be that as it may, I still don’t consider any of that a real motive for killing Jackson, though Lord knows, people have been murdered for a lot less.” She stared hard at Jeanne. “Why now? You’ve lived with the man for almost twenty years? Was it jealousy? Was your husband cheating on you? Was he?”
“To be jealous, you have to give a damn,” Jeanne snapped.
“Aha, I see,” Judith said sagely. “What happened, Mrs. Dubuisson? Did he cut your allowance?”
Jeanne’s eyes suddenly blazed. “My-my allowance!” she sputtered.
Though Charlotte was careful to hide her thoughts, she silently applauded her niece’s interrogation tactics. Judith had just pushed the right buttons.
“Of all the absurd—” Jeanne shook her head violently. “It was all mine to begin with!” she shouted. “He was stealing from me! After everything I’ve put up with—his affairs, his—his—after my father handed him the firm on a silver platter—But that wasn’t good enough. Oh, no! He wanted it all so he and his tootsie could run off together. When Brian first told me, I didn’t believe him. But I checked, anyway. I may not be a lawyer, but I’ve lived around them all of my life. He wasn’t quite as clever as he thought he was, and I found out about his little account in the Cayman Islands. He was going to leave me—leave us—with nothing.”
“So Brian O’Connor helped you?”
“No!” Jeanne cried. “Brian had nothing to do with any of it.”
“Then how did he know Jackson was stealing your money?”
Jeanne glared at Judith. “I’m not saying another word without an attorney.”
A cackle of laughter suddenly erupted from Clarice. “You’ve already said too much, you idiot!” She laughed again and glared at Charlotte and Judith. “And you’re all a bunch of fools if you believe anything my daughter says. Can’t you see that she’s a fruitcake—a damn fruitcake. Why, if you put her brain in a mockingbird, he’d fly backwards.”
“Mother! Stop it!”
“I won’t stop it!”
“That’s enough from the both of you!” Judith quickly closed the distance between herself and the two women. “And you—” She grabbed Jeanne by the arm and pushed her away from her mother. “Why are you trying to protect Brian O’Connor? Did he help you murder your husband? Maybe it was his idea to begin with.”
Jeanne wrenched her arm free and shook her head violently. “I want an attorney.”
“She’s protecting him because she loves him,” Charlotte said softly. “But Brian didn’t kill Jackson. All Brian wanted was to be near his daughter. Isn’t that right, Jeanne?”
Jeanne’s eyes darkened with pain, then filled with tears again. “All he wanted was to see her...” Her voice erupted in a sob..
“At night he would sneak onto the gallery,” Charlotte continued, “just outside the library. That’s where he’d sit and wait for Anna-Maria to come home from one of her dates. I figure Jeanne’s telling the truth at least about that part. All he wanted was to get a glimpse of the daughter he was cheated out of. On one of those nights, he could have very well overheard Jackson talking on the phone inside the library to Sydney. Am I right, Jeanne?”
The younger woman covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs. “I—I should have listened to him from the beginning. He—he told me to get a lawyer. But by the time I finally started listening, it was too late. Jackson had already transferred almost everything—almost all of it.”
“But if Jackson died, then you—as his widow—would get it all back, wouldn’t you?” Charlotte asked.
Jeanne scrubbed at her eyes, then lifted her head. Ignoring Charlotte, she told Judith, “I want an attorney. You haven’t arrested me or read me my rights, so none of what I’ve said or what my mother has said can be construed as any kind of admission of guilt.”
Several tense moments passed before Judith finally nodded. “Jeanne Dubuisson, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of your husband, Jackson Dubuisson. You have the right to remain silent—”
“No, no, no!” Clarice moaned. With a strength that took them all by surprise, she launched herself out of the chair and grabbed Judith around the neck. “Run, Jeanne!” she cried out. “Run!”
For the moment, Charlotte was too stunned to move. Jeanne hesitated, clearly torn between her concern for her mother and her chance to escape.
“No, Jeanne!” Charlotte tensed. “
Don’t do it!”
Chapter Twenty-one
To the amazement of everyone, instead of bolting for the door, Jeanne marched over to where Judith was still struggling with Clarice.
“Mother, stop it!” Jeanne demanded. She grabbed the old lady’s arms. “That’s enough!” She forced her mother’s arms loose. “I’m not running,” she told her firmly, “so give it up.”
Clarice took one look at Jeanne, then crumpled in her daughter’s arms as great sobs shook her frail body. “Oh, Jeanne, girl,” she whimpered, “what are we going to do now? What’s to become of us?”
Rubbing her neck, Judith backed away from the two women. Though she was none the worse for wear after her wrestling match, Charlotte could tell that she was shaken.
“Oh, Mother, don’t,” Jeanne cried, tears streaming down her face as she held Clarice close. “It’s going to be okay. I promise everything will be okay.”
“Mother—Grandmother—”
Except for Clarice, all eyes turned to the doorway of the foyer, where Anna-Maria stood with a bewildered look on her face that was intensified by the fear in her eyes.
“Ha-has something happened?” She rushed over to her mother and grandmother. “Mother, what’s going on? Is Grandmother ill? Please,” she pleaded, “say something. You’re scaring me.”
Jeanne swallowed hard. “It’s okay, darling,” she finally choked out. “We—we’re okay. Here, help me—” She glanced over at Judith. “Could we move my mother to the sofa in the parlor ... please?”
“Mother, I don’t understand. What’s wrong with Grandmother?”
“Not now, darling. Your grandmother will be just fine, and I’ll explain it all, but first let’s get her settled where she can rest.” Again she looked at Judith, waiting for permission, and with a tight grimace, Judith finally nodded her consent.
While Jeanne and Anna-Maria struggled to get Clarice to the parlor, Judith reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell phone as she followed close behind. Clarice began moaning, and Charlotte couldn’t hear who Judith called or what was said.
Maid for Murder (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 1) Page 19