Charlotte was straightening the dining room when the meeting finally broke up. She waited a few minutes to give the women time to clear out, then proceeded to the parlor. As she passed through the main hallway, she saw Mimi at the front door, and standing with her was Doreen Mires.
From the glimpse she got, Charlotte thought Mimi looked even more ill than she had earlier in the kitchen. As Charlotte gathered the cups and saucers in the parlor, she heard Doreen tell Mimi, “I’m so sorry for what happened. I had nothing to do with what Rita and Karen did in there.”
When Mimi said nothing in response, Doreen continued, her tone growing more fearful and desperate with each word. “I-I don’t know how to say this, but please-please don’t hold what happened against George—not because of me. We can’t afford for him to lose his job, and I swear I didn’t agree to be a part of any of that stuff.”
“Yeah, right, Doreen,” Mimi retorted. “If that’s true, then why did you volunteer with them to head up one of the committees?”
“I-I—I’ll quit,” Doreen cried. “I’ll resign the committee and quit HHS if that’s what it takes.”
“That’s up to you, but—” Mimi suddenly closed her eyes and groaned.
“Are you okay?”
Mimi shook her head. “No, no I’m not, and I can’t discuss this right now. I’m sick. We’ll have to talk later.”
When Charlotte heard the click of the front door, she picked up the tray of dirty dishes. As she stepped into the hallway, Mimi’s hand was still on the doorknob, her forehead resting against the door casing, and she heard her mumble something that sounded like, “Traitors. Two-faced traitors.”
Then, with a dejected sigh, Mimi squared her shoulders and turned. When she saw Charlotte, she stiffened. “I-I’m going to bed,” she said, her voice fragile and shaky. “When you’ve finished, just let yourself out.”
“Do you need any help—up the stairs, I mean?”
Even though she shook her head that she didn’t, Charlotte waited and kept an eye on her, just in case. Once she was sure that Mimi had safely negotiated the stairs, she took the tray into the kitchen.
Charlotte had just finished unloading the tray of dishes into the sink when the clatter of the door knocker sounded. “Now what?” she grumbled, but before she’d even taken two steps, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Since she couldn’t remember if Mimi had locked the front door after Doreen had left, her sense of caution made her pause.
“Hel-lo!” a voice called out. “Mimi?”
Rita. What on earth did Rita want now? Charlotte released her pent-up breath, scowled, then hurried to intercept Rita. Rita had already advanced as far as the foot of the staircase by the time Charlotte reached her.
“Where’s Mimi?” Rita demanded.
“She’s upstairs,” Charlotte answered.
Rita glanced up the staircase, made a face, then waved an impatient hand. “Never mind. No need to bother her. I only came back because I think I left my rings on the window ledge above the sink.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing any rings.”
“Well, I’m positive that I left them there,” Rita retorted, and completely ignoring Charlotte, she marched past her, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors.
Charlotte turned and glared at Rita’s back until she disappeared through the kitchen doorway. Not only was the woman a back stabber, but she was rude and insulting as well. With a sigh of disgust, Charlotte trudged toward the kitchen.
Charlotte stepped through the doorway just in time to see Rita grab a wine bottle off the countertop and shove it into her tote bag.
When Rita glanced up and realized that Charlotte had seen what she’d done, she said, “I was mistaken about the rings.”
Charlotte chose to remain silent, and Rita shifted her gaze from Charlotte to her tote bag, then back to Charlotte. “Guess you’re wondering about the wine.” She patted her tote bag. When Charlotte said nothing, Rita shrugged and laughed, but it was a forced, nervous sound. “It’s not as if I’m stealing it or anything. I figured that after what happened today, Mimi would probably just throw it in the garbage. Why let good wine go to waste?”
The unmitigated gall of some people never ceased to amaze Charlotte, and she decided that Rita had enough for ten people. Before Charlotte could think of a response, Rita sashayed past her and disappeared through the doorway. Charlotte could hear her heels clicking all the way down the hallway.
When the front door snapped shut, Charlotte stepped out into the hallway, just to make sure Rita was truly gone. Satisfied that she was, Charlotte went to the door and secured the dead bolt, then hurried through the remaining chores.
Once Charlotte had finished cleaning, she decided to check on Mimi before leaving. She found Mimi still fully dressed and curled tightly into a fetal position on top of the bed covers in the master bedroom. Her breathing was deep and even, but to Charlotte, she still looked pale, and she looked cold. Charlotte stepped over to the bed and pulled the bottom side of the bed comforter over Mimi’s shoulder, then tiptoed out of the room.
Charlotte descended the stairs and checked to make sure that the back door was locked. Then, armed with her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, she walked back through the house to the front door. With one last, worried glance toward the staircase, she unlocked the dead bolt and then twisted the doorknob lock and stepped outside. As she reached to pull the door shut, she hesitated.
She was tired and ready to go home, but what if Mimi got worse? There would be no one to check on her, not for a while anyway, at least not until her husband got home.
He’s been coming home later and later each night. Mimi’s complaint popped into Charlotte’s head. Maybe if he knew his wife was ill, he might try to get home earlier. Then again, maybe not. If what Mimi suspected were true—that he was having an affair—he might not even care that his wife was ill. And Mimi might not bother to call him.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes and glared at the doorknob. What if she called him? If someone other than his wife called him, for appearance’s sake, he might feel obligated to come home and check on his wife.
Mind your own business.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered. Why was she standing there even debating the whole matter? Besides, hadn’t Mimi told her just to let herself out when she was finished? For all she knew, Mimi had already called her husband. Even now he could be on his way home.
Charlotte pulled the door firmly shut.
For most of her life, Charlotte had lived on Milan Street, a narrow, one-way street in the Uptown neighborhood of New Orleans. Charlotte’s maid service catered exclusively to clients in the Garden District, and since Milan was just on the outskirts of the Garden District, it was the perfect location.
As her van bumped down the uneven street, thoughts of her newest employer still nagged her. In spite of all reasoning, she still felt as if she should have stayed with Mimi a while longer, just to make sure she was doing okay. Of course, she could always call and check on her.
Charlotte shook her head as she turned the van into her driveway. Calling wasn’t really a good idea. The woman was sick, and sick people needed all the rest they could get.
She parked the van, switched off the engine, and for a moment, she simply sat there. It was good to be home…finally.
To Charlotte, her home was her sanctuary and her security. The small Victorian shotgun double had been built in the early 1900s. She and her younger sister, Madeline, had been raised in the house and had inherited it after their parents’ untimely deaths. Unlike Madeline, who, after her first marriage, had long ago sold her half of the double to Charlotte, Charlotte had never felt the urge or the need to live anywhere else.
On weekdays, Charlotte usually only skimmed the headlines of the newspaper before going to work. On Wednesday morning, she had awakened earlier than usual, though, early enough, she decided, for a leisurely cup of coffee and to actually read the news
paper.
In the kitchen, she switched on the coffeepot. On her way through the living room, she stopped long enough to uncover her little parakeet’s cage, and then she retrieved the Times-Picayune from the front porch steps.
Once back in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee. To make sure she allowed enough time to eat breakfast, dress, and get to work, she set the kitchen timer for forty-five minutes. Then she settled at the kitchen table with the newspaper and her coffee.
Charlotte read through a good bit of the paper and then came upon the obituary section. Unlike Bitsy Duhe and others Charlotte knew who always read every word of the death notices, she found the obituaries morbid and depressing. But just as she reached to turn the page, one of the pictures caught her eye.
Charlotte gasped, and a deep hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the picture. “No way,” she whispered. It just wasn’t possible.
Chapter 6
Mimi Adams was dead.
Above the picture of Mimi, the headline read, MARY LOU (MIMI) ADAMS, NOTED COMMUNITY ACTIVIST.
Charlotte quickly scanned the article below the picture. Mimi had died Tuesday of undetermined causes, and funeral arrangements were pending. The article went on to say that she had served on many boards of charitable organizations, among them HHS.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head as deep regret washed through her. She should have trusted her instincts and stayed with Mimi until Gordon came home. She shouldn’t have left the poor woman alone. If she had stayed, Mimi might still be alive.
She sighed deeply, opened her eyes, and stared at the black and white picture. Undetermined causes.
Remembering how Mimi had looked when she’d first seen her on Monday morning, Charlotte frowned as she read the first paragraph of the article again. Charlotte had thought she was ill, but then later, after Mimi had dressed and left for her luncheon date with Gordon, she’d seemed just fine. It was only during the HHS meeting that she’d truly become ill.
Charlotte shook her head. On the whole, Mimi had seemed healthy enough, and except for not feeling well during the Monday HHS meeting, she hadn’t complained of any ailments. She’d also seemed like the type of woman who would be vigilant about medical checkups, the type who would take care of herself. So why didn’t they know what she’d died of? And why were funeral arrangements pending? Unless…
Charlotte felt a sudden chill. Was it possible? Could undetermined causes mean that the police suspected foul play? Even as Charlotte tried to deny the possibility that Mimi could have been murdered, even as she told herself she was letting her imagination get the best of her, deep in her gut she knew that it was possible.
Stop jumping to conclusions.
What else then? Once again, visions of how Mimi had looked and acted on Friday reeled through Charlotte’s mind. A virus, a rare virus of some kind. Surely that was the explanation.
The kitchen timer buzzed, and Charlotte jumped. Only then did she realize how long she’d been sitting there lost in a fog of disbelief and numbed by the dreadful realization that her newest client was dead.
What, if anything, should she do? she wondered, still staring at the picture. She could call the Adams’s house.
And say what?
She could express her sympathy to Mimi’s husband.
Yeah, right. Just the thing to do. A complete stranger calling in the middle of his grief.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Maybe she could call June Bryant instead.
And say what?
Again she shook her head. What she should do is mind her own business. She should get dressed, go to work, and wait. Surely someone, a member of the family or a friend of the family, would eventually get in touch with her.
Her mind still reeling, by sheer willpower Charlotte pushed away from the table and stood. On legs that felt weighted with lead, she headed for the shower.
An hour later Charlotte was ready to walk out the front door when the phone rang. Her hand on the doorknob, she paused. The phone call could be from someone at the Adams household.
Charlotte hurried over to the desk and picked up the receiver on the third ring. “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”
“Have you got a minute?”
Recognizing her son’s voice, Charlotte smiled. “Of course, hon.”
“You doing okay?”
Charlotte hesitated, tempted to tell Hank about the death of her newest client, and even more tempted to ask him if he could find out what had happened to her. As a doctor, he could inquire about the incident easily enough, but asking for his help would mean explaining all about how Mimi had been acting on Friday.
She glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall behind the sofa. Explaining it all would take too much time, so she said, “I’m fine, son.”
“Carol and I were wondering if you have any plans for Friday evening.”
“Hold on a minute, hon, and let me check.” She wedged the receiver between her shoulder and chin to free up both hands, then rummaged through her purse until she found her Day-Timer. She flipped through it to Friday’s date. “I have an appointment to get my hair cut at four, but other than that, I’m free.”
“Good, then how about letting me treat you to dinner? We thought we’d take you to August Moon, if that’s okay. We could pick you up around six-thirty or so.”
Just thinking about the Chinese restaurant made her mouth water. “Sounds great. Any special reason?”
“Do I have to have a special reason to treat my mother to dinner?”
“No, hon, of course not—I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I know how busy you both are. But listen, no need to pick me up. I never know how long I might have to wait at the beauty shop, so I’ll just meet you there.”
“Good, see you then. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Just minutes later Charlotte parked her van in front of her Wednesday client’s home on Sixth Street. Marian Hebert’s house was a small, raised cottage type, and like so many of the Garden District homes, it was well over a century old and had been lovingly renovated as well as updated to accommodate all of the modern conveniences.
Marian was the owner of a real estate company that she ran by herself out of her home. She was a slim, attractive woman in her late thirties with dark hair and a flawless, ivory complexion, and a single mother raising two sons.
Though Charlotte had been working for Marian on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, at the end of July, Marian had decided that she only needed help once a week, and Charlotte had been left with openings on Mondays and Fridays as well as her regular day off on Thursdays.
At first Charlotte had been reluctant to let it be known that she had openings, but only because she’d been trying to appease her son, who wanted her to cut back on work. In no time, though, she’d grown bored, and since Mary Lou Adams had been the only one of Charlotte’s prospective clients who needed a maid on Mondays and Fridays, Charlotte had decided to work for her.
Charlotte unloaded her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner from the back of the van and trudged up the steps to Marian’s front door. She still couldn’t believe that Mimi was dead—it just didn’t seem real—and she couldn’t help wondering how Mimi’s death would affect her work schedule now. Would Gordon Adams still want a maid, or would she be left again with Mondays and Fridays open?
Marian left almost as soon as Charlotte arrived and was gone most of the day. Charlotte had just finished wiping off the countertops in the kitchen and was unloading the dishwasher when she heard Marian’s car pull in the driveway.
When Marian entered through the back door, Charlotte put the last of the clean dishes into the kitchen cabinet.
“What a day,” she told Charlotte. “At least it was productive, though. I sold that old Johnson mansion on St. Charles.”
“Well, congratulations,” Charlotte said. “That’s quite a coup, considering how run-down that
place is. Maybe the new owners will renovate that old eyesore.”
“I think that’s the plan, and with these particular clients, money is no object. So—anything going on here while I was gone?”
Flashes of the headlines and the article about Mimi Adams’s death went through Charlotte’s mind, but she shook her head. “All’s quiet on the home front.”
Marian smiled as she approached Charlotte. “Good.” Her smile faded, and her expression grew pensive. “Before you leave, Charlotte, I need to talk to you,” she said. “Could you come into my office for a moment?”
Charlotte nodded. “Sure.” She closed and locked the dishwasher door, then followed Marian into the adjoining room that Marian used as an office.
“Have a seat.” Marian motioned toward a chair in front of her desk. Once Charlotte was seated, Marian crossed her arms and perched herself on the front edge of her desk. “I don’t know quite how to say this,” she said. “And I’m truly sorry, but I won’t be needing your services any longer after next Wednesday.”
Charlotte was stunned. She’d been cleaning for Marian for a long time and had never had a complaint. Her mind raced, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything she could have done to warrant getting fired.
Marian narrowed her eyes. “Now, Charlotte, just get that look off your face and let me explain before you go jumping to conclusions. I won’t be needing your services because I’ve decided to move.”
“Move! Where?”
“The boys and I will be moving to the North Shore. Mandeville, to be specific. I’ve always liked the North Shore, and I really think it will be good for B.J. and Aaron,” she replied. “And for my business,” she added. “Real estate is still booming there, and I think I could do well.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief. “For a minute there, I thought I’d done something wrong.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Charlotte. If I thought I could persuade you to move with me, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s largely thanks to you that I finally realized what was important in life and got myself straightened out these past months. For that I’ll always be grateful. Of all the people we know, the boys and I are going to miss you the most.”
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