With a grimace, Charlotte waved her hand in front of her face, as if fanning herself. “My goodness, is it hot in here or is it just me?”
Wrong thing to do and say. From the amused look on the detective’s face, he wasn’t buying her act. But so what? Even if he knew that she was lying, knew that she’d just called him a jerk, what was he going to do, arrest her for calling him names? Not likely. After all, he had bigger fish to fry than her; namely, he had a murderer to catch.
From now on, keep your mouth shut. Only speak when spoken to. Only answer his questions. Nothing else.
Having dealt with the detective before, she’d known better than to antagonize him. She also knew that she should listen to her inner voice of caution and keep her sarcastic comments to herself. Never mind that the irritating detective had a way about him of getting on her very last nerve.
Gavin Brown was still staring a hole through her as if trying to decide what to say next. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “I understand that you were the one who found the body.” When Charlotte nodded, he crooked his forefinger. “Come with me.”
Charlotte stood and, dragging her feet with dread, followed the detective back to the kitchen.
He motioned at a chair near the breakfast table. “Have a seat.” While she seated herself, he removed a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “Now—tell me again what you’re doing here.”
“Cleaning,” Charlotte told him. “Mrs. Bitsy Duhè, the owner of the house, is one of my regular clients. When she was approached by the production company about them using her house for the movie, Bitsy asked them to hire me to watch over her stuff while they shot the movie scenes.”
“Spell her name for me.”
Charlotte slowly spelled out Bitsy’s name while the detective wrote in his notebook. “You might recall that Mrs. Duhè’s husband was once mayor before he passed away,” she offered.
Gavin Brown gave her a blank look. “Mayor?”
“You know—the mayor of New Orleans.”
The detective shook his head. “Must have been before my time.” As if dismissing the subject as unimportant, he said, “So, where is Mrs. Duhè right now?” he asked.
“Mrs. Duhè is staying at the Monteleone in the Quarter.”
Charlotte suddenly groaned. “Oh, no.” Only at that moment did it register that someone would have to call Bitsy and let her know what had happened. Probably me, she thought, unless Bitsy saw it on the news before she could make that call. Dear Lord in heaven, Bitsy would have a conniption.
“‘Oh, no’ what?” the detective retorted.
“Someone needs to call Mrs. Duhè right away, before she hears it on the noonday news. She’s an elderly lady,” Charlotte hastened to explain, “and it would really upset her to hear it like that. Would it be okay if I called her?”
He shook his head. “No one is calling anyone until we finish our questioning. As for the media, all they know is that there has been a murder.”
“But don’t you see?” she argued. “That’s my point exactly. It would really upset Bitsy to suddenly see her house on the noon news and hear that there’s been a murder.”
At first she didn’t think he was going to relent, but after a moment, he finally said, “Okay. After my interview with you, you can phone her. But only tell her the bare facts. No details such as the victim’s name, et cetera.”
“Thank you.”
He sighed heavily. “Okay, now where were we?” He glanced down at his notes. “So, when did you start working here?”
“This is my third day.”
“I need to know exactly what happened this morning when you got to work.”
Charlotte nodded, and while he took notes, she told him everything she’d done, beginning from the time she parked the van until her grisly discovery.
“Okay,” he said, glancing up from his notebook. “Now I need you to tell me what you know about the victim—and don’t try denying it. You and I both know that you hear things and see things.”
Since she wasn’t sure whether he’d just given her a backhanded compliment or was accusing her of being a snoop, she tried not to dwell on either possibility and concentrated on keeping her temper in check. “All I know is that he’s supposedly Angel Martinique’s boyfriend.” That wasn’t all she knew, not exactly, but the rest was just…Just what? Gossip? Of course there was also the little piece of information about Angel’s connection to the alleged murder weapon. So why not tell him everything?
Before she had time to think of a valid, logical reason why she should or shouldn’t share the rest of what she knew, he said, “Have you noticed anything else, such as the victim arguing with anyone or having confrontations with anyone?”
Oh, boy, she thought. She really didn’t want to outright lie to him, but hated being a snitch. Still, given the circumstances, she didn’t have a choice, did she? So, where to begin? And just how much should she tell him?
Just tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Okay, okay. “First of all, I want you to know that I’m not comfortable talking about my clients.”
“Didn’t you say that you were hired by the production company?”
“Well, ah—yes, I guess I did.”
“So the victim wasn’t really your client, and neither is anyone else but Mega Films. Right?”
She nodded slowly, grudgingly. He was right; legally it was Mega Films that had hired her, but she still didn’t like the idea of squealing on everyone who’d had a run-in with Nick.
Come on, Charlotte, you’re making it sound like some hard-boiled detective novel back in the twenties. This is the real thing, not some book you’ve read.
Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Yeah, yeah. Though she hated it when that voice in her head was right, a man was dead, and there was a real killer running loose. No one knew better than she did that even the slightest little tidbit of information could end up being a giant clue. Besides, like it or not, she had a moral obligation to help if she could, didn’t she?
With only a slight hesitation, Charlotte took a deep breath, then recounted what she’d observed during the past two days. As best she could remember, she had witnessed at least two fights between Nick and Angel; then, there was Nick’s confrontation with Toby Russell, and finally, she recounted the scene in the kitchen the previous day when Simon Clark had cornered Nick and read him the riot act. In conclusion she said, “Most of the friction seemed to be over some script that Nick was pushing for Angel to consider.”
The detective continued scribbling in his notebook for a minute or so more. Finally, he raised his head, and with narrowed eyes, he asked, “Anything else?”
“No, nothing else that I can recall.”
Nothing except the part about the letter opener.
Yeah, yeah, but once they question the others, she silently argued, they’ll find out about that last scene where Angel used the letter opener. Besides, they’ll most certainly dust it for fingerprints.
Holding the detective’s gaze without blinking, she opted to say nothing about the letter opener.
Several moments passed before he finally said, “Okay. But if you think of anything—” He reached inside his shirt pocket and handed her a business card. “Just give me a call.”
Charlotte took the card and dropped it inside her apron pocket. It would be a cold day in Hades before she ever called him. “May I leave now?”
The detective shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Why not? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Yeah, well, that remains to be seen.”
The implication that she’d been less than truthful stung. Never mind that he was right. Though she hadn’t outright lied to him, she had purposely neglected to tell him about the letter opener scene that had been shot the day before, so she hadn’t exactly told him everything she knew.
Too bad. Enough was enough. She pressed her lips tightly together, gave him a curt nod, and with
out looking at him, headed for the pantry, where she retrieved her cell phone from her purse. Just as she reached the door leading into the hallway, Gavin Brown called out, “Don’t forget what I said about calling Mrs. Duhè. No names. Just the bare facts.”
“I won’t,” she retorted sharply, unable to mask the irritation she felt. Not only had he implied that she hadn’t told him the truth, which made her feel all the more guilty for not saying something about the stupid letter opener, but now it seemed he was intent on making her miserable. Just the thought of having to sit around most of the day with nothing to do was pure torture. Besides which, there was no earthly reason why she should have to stay.
Still fuming, she paused at the doorway leading into the parlor. There was no way she could go back inside that crowded room at the moment. Besides needing some modicum of privacy when she talked to Bitsy, she needed to get her temper under control.
Turning away from the parlor doorway, she walked toward the uniformed policeman standing guard at the front door. “I’m feeling a little claustrophobic,” she told him. And that was the truth. “I’ve already been questioned by Detective Brown. Would it be okay if I went out on the porch for a few minutes? Also, Detective Brown gave me permission to make an important phone call. And I won’t leave,” she added quickly.
For just the briefest moment, she was afraid that the young patrolman was going to say no. Then a small grin pulled at his lips. “Say, aren’t you Detective Monroe’s aunt?”
Charlotte nodded. “Judith is my niece.”
“I thought so. You probably don’t remember, but I was one of the responding officers when you found that woman dead in your living room last year. Detective Monroe talks about you all the time.”
Charlotte didn’t remember the young officer, but then, there was a lot about that night that she’d tried her best to forget. “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember you, but—”
“Hey, no problem. You were under quite a strain that night.” He opened the front door. “Are you sure you want to go outside? It’s pretty hot out there.”
Charlotte smiled. “I’m sure. I just need a few moments and I won’t leave,” she assured him again.
Outside, the earlier storm had dissipated, leaving the sky overcast and the air heavy with heat and steamy humidity. Trying to ignore the commotion of the squad cars, the emergency vehicles, and the police who were dealing with the clamoring news media beyond the barricades in the street, she walked to the left side of the porch and stood staring toward the house next door.
Seeing the media was yet another reminder that she really needed to phone Bitsy, and the sooner the better. “No time like the present,” she whispered. She pulled her cell phone out of her apron pocket and scanned the list of names programmed into the phone until she found Bitsy’s cell number. Bitsy answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Bitsy, this is Charlotte.”
“Well, I was wondering when you were going to call me.”
Oh, no, did Bitsy already know about the murder?
“I’ve been dying to know what Hunter Lansky is like in person.”
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently, Bitsy hadn’t heard the news yet. “Bitsy, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Please don’t tell me that they broke something, or worse, that they burned my house down.”
Detecting the panic in the old lady’s voice, Charlotte quickly reassured her. “No—nothing like that. But brace yourself. There’s been a murder.”
“Did you say a murder?”
“I’m afraid so. One of Angel Martinique’s friends was found murdered in the upstairs guest room this morning—the guest room closest to the stairwell.” Knowing Bitsy and how she loved to gossip, Charlotte decided against telling her that she was the one who found the body. Telling Bitsy that would guarantee that everyone in New Orleans would find out.
“Which one of her friends? Was it her boyfriend? Do they know who did it?”
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, brother, here we go.
“Well, who was murdered?” Bitsy demanded.
Opening her eyes, Charlotte said, “I can’t tell you that, Bitsy.”
“Why the deuce not?”
“Because I was told by the investigating detective not to give out any names.”
“Well, surely he didn’t mean me. After all, it’s my house. Hmm, maybe I should take a cab and come over there.”
“No, Bitsy, don’t do that. For one thing, the police wouldn’t let you past the barricades, and for another thing, the media is all over the place.”
“They’re not in my house, are they?”
Again, the panicky sound. “No—they’re being held behind barricades.”
“How was this person killed? Is there blood everywhere?”
Ignoring the first question, Charlotte said, “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.” Whether it was from the heat or from trying to keep up with Bitsy’s scattered thought processes, Charlotte could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.
“I certainly hope so,” Bitsy retorted. “The rug in that room is an antique. I paid a fortune for it. But now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember if I kept the sales receipt or if it got lost during Katrina. That lawyer—Jake something or other was his name—anyway, he said that Mega Films would reimburse me for any damages, but I’ll need some way to verify the expense.”
Sweat trickled down Charlotte’s back, and her head was getting worse by the minute. If she didn’t end the call soon, Bitsy would be off on another tangent. “Listen, Bitsy, I’ve got to go now, but I mostly wanted to let you know what was happening before you saw it on the news.”
“I still think I should come over there.”
Emphasizing each word, Charlotte said, “Don’t—do that. I’ll keep you updated—I promise. Like I said, I’ve got to go. Bye, now.”
Charlotte quickly depressed the button to end the phone call and headed for the front door. The moment she stepped back through the doorway, the blessedly cool air inside engulfed her, and she sighed with relief. Now if only she had a glass of water and some Tylenol, maybe she could get rid of her headache.
It was late afternoon when Max Morris, the director, called everyone together and announced that, regretfully, shooting at the house would be suspended indefinitely until the police concluded their investigation. As soon as the police gave the go-ahead for the shooting to resume, everyone would be contacted.
Then Gavin Brown stood up. “All of you can leave now, but a word of caution. Don’t leave town and don’t talk to the news media.”
Over the course of the long day, Charlotte had a lot of time to think about all that had happened. Though she’d rather chew nails, like it or not, she was going to have to talk to Gavin Brown again. At some point, she needed to clean the room where the murder had taken place. Since Gavin Brown seemed to be the detective in charge, he would be the one who could tell her when she could get back inside the house.
While everyone else filed out of the room, Charlotte hung back, waiting for the opportunity to talk to the detective. It didn’t take him long to spot her, and once they made eye contact, she approached him.
“Thought of something else?” he asked.
“No, not really. I just need to know when I can get back inside to clean.”
He shrugged. “That all depends on the crime scene people. Give me a call in a couple of days. Anything else?”
Charlotte shook her head no, said, “Thanks,” then quickly left the room.
In the kitchen, several of the security guards were gathered around the breakfast table. When Charlotte entered the room to retrieve her purse from the pantry, the group glanced her way and suddenly went quiet.
After a moment, Samantha O’Reilly broke free from the group. “You leaving now?” she asked.
“Yes, finally.”
“Wait up a sec and I’ll walk you to your van.”
Considering the number of police officers still on the premises, Charlotte didn’t think an escort was necessary. Even so, she waited while Sam said something to one of the security officers, then rejoined her.
“This isn’t really necessary,” Charlotte told her as they stepped out into the wide center hall.
“Yeah, I know, but I need a break.”
The young woman sounded as tired as Charlotte felt. “Guess it’s been a long day for you too,” she offered as she bent down and retrieved her supply carrier that she’d left near the bottom of the staircase.
“Yeah, too long, and unfortunately, before it’s over, I’m afraid some heads are going to roll. I’m just glad that I wasn’t on duty last night.”
Up until that point, Charlotte hadn’t really thought about the repercussions for the security team. But it stood to reason that having a murder committed under their very noses would be a huge black eye for the Lagniappe Security Company. “I guess something like this could put a company out of business fast, huh?” she asked, thinking of Louis.
“I hope not. It’s a really great summer job for me.”
“Summer job?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I fill in for the regulars while they’re on vacation. Otherwise, during the school year, I’m a teacher.”
Later, as Charlotte entered her house, the sight and smell of the bouquet of flowers reminded her that she hadn’t gotten around to calling the florist. Glancing over at the cuckoo clock, she noted that it was almost six o’clock.
“They’re probably closed by now,” she told Sweety Boy as she locked the front door. Then again, maybe not.
Setting her stuff down, she walked over to her desk and retrieved the phone book from the bottom drawer. Finding the number, she dialed, and to her surprise, her call was answered on the second ring.
“Ah, yes, hello,” she told the woman who answered the call. After giving the woman her name and address, she said, “A gorgeous bouquet of flowers were delivered to me yesterday, but the card wasn’t signed. I’m hoping that you can tell me who ordered them. I’d like to send them a thank-you note,” she added.
Dusted to Death Page 7