Dusted to Death

by Barbara Colley

  Though the detective didn’t mention it, the fact that Toby knew that she knew about his masquerade was puzzling. And he did know. Had to. Why else would he have come after her?

  Charlotte stepped out of the shower, and as she dried herself off, she finally figured out that the other thing nagging her had to do with the duplicate letter openers. Why hadn’t anyone found them? While she dressed, she thought back to the day Nick Franklin had been murdered. Maybe the crime scene team didn’t find them in the beginning because, for one, they didn’t know about the duplicates, and two, if they didn’t know about the duplicates, they wouldn’t have searched for them. Since they had already found the so-called murder weapon on the floor beside the body, there was no reason to look any further?

  Her head feeling somewhat better after the Tylenol and shower, Charlotte headed back to the kitchen. So, how did Toby know about her learning his secret? No way could he have figured it out just because she was staring at him during that meeting. And where on earth would he have stashed the other two letter openers? More importantly, where would he have stashed the one he’d used to murder Nick Franklin?

  Charlotte grimaced. “Not my problem now,” she muttered as she fixed herself a bowl of Cheerios and poured a cup of coffee. She’d done her part by pointing out the real murderer. It was up to the police to do the rest. Still, like a mosquito bite that wouldn’t stop itching, the unanswered questions wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Charlotte shook her head. Stop it! Just forget about it. What she needed was to think about something else, get her mind on something more positive. Setting the bowl of cereal and coffee on the table, she glanced at the microwave clock again. Instead of worrying about stuff that no longer concerned her, she needed to decide if she was going to work today.

  By the time she’d finished the cereal and coffee, she decided that going into work would take less effort than having to phone Bitsy and Tom Rolland, and make up some lie to tell them. Besides, just the thought of having to placate Bitsy was enough to bring back her headache.

  When Charlotte parked the van in front of Bitsy’s house, the place was a beehive of activity. Not only was there a crew moving stuff in and out, but the NOPD Crime Scene Van was also parked just down the street.

  Though she knew she was being paranoid and in spite of Gavin Brown’s reassurances, Charlotte glanced around, just to make sure there was no black SUV parked nearby. She didn’t see one, but she did see Samantha O’Reilly standing near the door on the front porch.

  When Charlotte got out of the van, Samantha waved at her. Charlotte waved back, and after unloading her supply carrier, she locked the door. Halfway between her van and the front porch, out of the blue she suddenly remembered that she’d totally forgotten about returning the phone calls on her answering machine. She definitely needed to call Hank, but Bitsy could wait. Bert could wait too. As for Louis, there was nothing in his message that required her to return the call.

  With the phone calls on her mind, thoughts of Benny popped into her head. “Oh, shoot,” she whispered, her footsteps slowing. She’d meant to call Benny…really needed to call him.

  Charlotte frowned, and her footsteps slowed even more. She found it pretty strange that she hadn’t heard a word out of Benny since he’d dropped her off at her house on Monday evening. Her frown faded. She did need to tell him what was going on, though, and this would be the perfect reason to call him.

  “Don’t discuss this with anyone else.” Gavin Brown’s voice echoed in her head.

  But that was before they’d tracked down Toby, she silently argued. Now that they knew where he was, surely it was okay to tell Benny, of all people.

  Still mulling over her dilemma, Charlotte climbed the steps to Bitsy’s house.

  “How’s it going, Charlotte?” Samantha called out.

  A grin tugged at Charlotte’s lips. “That’s a loaded question. Are you sure you really want to know?”

  When Samantha simply shrugged, Charlotte said, “Just kidding. I do have a few things I need to tell you, though.”

  “Sounds serious.” Samantha motioned toward a bench near the end of the porch. “Step into my office and let’s talk.”

  “Some office,” Charlotte commented teasingly, once they were seated on the bench.

  Samantha simply smiled, then said, “So, what’s going on?”

  Charlotte filled her in about everything that had happened since the murder, as best she could. When she’d finished, she added, “Even though the police think they’ll catch him, Detective Brown wanted me to let you know what’s happening, just in case.”

  A puzzled look crossed Samantha’s face. “Just in case what?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She paused a moment. “I’ve been thinking about the reasons why Toby followed me yesterday.”

  Samantha nodded. “Yeah, that’s a bit weird. How did he even know that you were on to him?”

  “I’m not really sure, but he did know—that I’m sure of. I guess he thought that he needed to get rid of me before I told anyone. But once I told the police about him, he wouldn’t really have a reason to bother me. At least I hope not.”

  Samantha nodded. “Sounds logical. But if I were you, I’d still want to know how he found out about you.”

  “I do want to know.” She paused, lost in thought. Then the answer came to her. “Off the top of my head, I figure that someone in Oakdale had to have tipped him off.”

  Samantha pursed her lips. “Anyone in particular?”

  Charlotte thought about that for a moment. “I’d say that the Scotts’ housekeeper would be the most likely person, but I was very careful not to give her my name when I talked to her. My best guess is Dawn Sanders—the nurse—but what I can’t figure out is why she would be so eager to give us information that first time we talked to her, then simply disappear.”

  “If it were me, I’d try calling her again and outright confront her about it.”

  “Maybe, but I’ll have to add that call to a long list of calls I need to make.” Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte noted that two of the moving men were headed up the front steps with one of Bitsy’s sofas.

  “Hey, guys,” she called out to the men. “Please be careful with that. It’s a really expensive antique.”

  Though the men seemingly ignored her, she noticed that they did slow down to ease the sofa through the entrance door in an attempt not to scratch it. To Samantha, she said, “I guess I need to get to work, but first I should probably go in and see what kind of damage has been done so far. Bitsy will never forgive me if they damage any of her stuff.”

  “Bitsy?”

  Charlotte smiled. “Mrs. Bitsy Duhè, the owner of the house.”

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that the house belonged to a Mrs. Duhè, but I didn’t know that her first name was Bitsy. Say, didn’t we once have a mayor with the last name Duhè?”

  Charlotte nodded as she stood up. “We did, and Bitsy was his wife.”

  Samantha stood up as well. “Listen, Charlotte, about that other stuff, thanks for clueing me in. And, ‘just in case,’ I’ll be extra vigilant today.” She grinned. “Besides, Louis would have my hide if anything happened to you.”

  Charlotte forced a brittle smile, then headed for the entrance door. Louis, Louis, Louis. That man was going to drive her crazy.

  But in a nice way.

  Yeah, yeah. I guess.

  The moment she stepped inside into the center hall, she froze in disbelief. Boxes and furniture were stacked everywhere, leaving only a narrow path in the wide hall. After a moment, she made her way over to the doorway leading into the front parlor. None of Bitsy’s furniture was where it was supposed to be. Everything was such a mess that she wasn’t quite sure where to even begin cleaning.

  Time to find Dalton, she decided as she edged her way down the hall through the boxes and furniture toward the kitchen.

  The kitchen wasn’t in much better shape than the rest, but Dalton was there,
standing at the breakfast table and peering down at what looked like at least a hundred photographs covering the top of the table. The prop manager was so absorbed in studying the pictures that he didn’t notice Charlotte until she walked over and stood right beside him.

  He glanced up from the pictures. “Oh, hey, Charlotte, glad you could make it.” He motioned at the photos. “Afraid this is going to take a while, though. It will probably be later on this afternoon before you can actually start cleaning.”

  Charlotte peered down at the pictures and immediately recognized that they were photos taken at every possible angle of each room in Bitsy’s house before Mega Films changed things. Charlotte turned her attention back to Dalton. “So, should I come back later?”

  “You could do that.” He paused and eyed her with a calculating expression. “But—since you know the layout of the house so well, if you’re willing, I could actually use your help now.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Doing what?” she asked.

  He gathered up several of the pictures. “Right now we’re trying to place the furniture back where it belongs, as well as make sure that all of Mrs. Duhè’s possessions are returned. If you’d be willing to help, we could get this done a lot faster and probably a lot more accurately. You could take the upstairs, while I take the downstairs.”

  Sounded simple enough, so again Charlotte shrugged. “Okay.” Besides, she’d much rather be doing something than just sitting around waiting.

  A huge grin split Dalton’s face. “Great! That’s great!” He handed her the stack of pictures. “In addition to making sure that all of her stuff is returned, we want to make sure that all of her paintings, knickknacks, books, lamps, and such, are put back in place where they belong.” He picked up a clipboard and removed some papers stapled together, then gave them to Charlotte. “This is an inventory of her things upstairs. Anything left over should belong to Mega Films and needs to be packed and loaded in that moving van outside. Just tell the moving team what you want them to do.”

  Charlotte worked fast and furious for the rest of the morning, took a hasty lunch break, and then went back to work. It was late afternoon before everything had finally been placed where it belonged. Once she was satisfied with the second story of the house, with Dalton’s encouragement she double-checked what he had accomplished downstairs.

  All of the boxes had been cleared out, and out of the full crew, only Dalton and a couple of other men remained. Except for a few minor adjustments in the parlor and a mix-up with some of Bitsy’s gadgets in the kitchen, the bottom story of the house was pretty much back to normal.

  Charlotte was still rearranging Bitsy’s kitchen gadgets when Dalton walked into the room. “We finally got the moving van squared away,” he said. “Guess that about wraps things up for me, so I’m about to take off. Before I leave, though, I just wanted to thank you again.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Glad I could help.”

  Dalton motioned toward her supply carrier on the floor near the pantry. “Why don’t you take a break before you start cleaning?”

  Charlotte shook her head and laughed. “I’m afraid if I stop now, I might never get started again.”

  Dalton made a face. “Didn’t mean to wear you out.”

  “You didn’t. Besides, there’s not a whole lot left to do. Mainly, just some dusting and vacuuming.”

  “Okay—if you say so. Then I guess I’m out of here.” He gave her a two-fingered salute. “You take care now.”

  With Dalton and the remaining men gone, the house was eerily quiet inside. Charlotte glanced at her watch and sighed. It was almost five. If she hurried, she should be finished by eight at the latest. She really should eat a bite of something now, though, so maybe she would take that break that Dalton suggested, after all.

  All she had with her was a pack of peanut butter crackers in her purse. She glanced over at the refrigerator. “Wonder if they left any food,” she murmured. When she opened the refrigerator door and saw the small plastic container of mixed fruit, she smiled. “Perfect.”

  After devouring the fruit, she washed it down with a bottle of water. Eyeing the assortment of gadgets piled on the counter with distaste, she said, “Upstairs first, then finish the kitchen last.” Grabbing her supply carrier on the way out, she headed for the stairs.

  An hour later, Charlotte had completely dusted and vacuumed all of the rooms, including the bedroom that Angel had used. She glanced around the room one last time.

  Cleaning that particular room had been really difficult, especially when it dawned on her that today was the one-week anniversary of the day that she’d found Nick Franklin’s body. The memory of Nick Franklin lying on the blood-soaked antique rug was still vividly etched in her mind and had disturbed her more than she would have thought it could.

  Charlotte shook her head, as if the action would make the image in her mind disappear. “Enough already,” she whispered. “Get back to work.”

  In the hallway, just outside that room, she checked her watch, then grimaced. Almost six. This was taking longer than she’d thought it would. She still needed to Windex the dresser mirrors and the ones in the bathrooms. They weren’t that dirty, though, so she could let that slide and move on to the ground floor.

  She stared at the bottle of Windex in her supply carrier. She never had been the type to do a job halfway. Besides, it wouldn’t take but a few minutes more to clean the mirrors.

  She bent down and removed the Windex, then frowned. Strange, she thought, staring at the roll of paper towels wedged lengthwise in the bottom of the supply carrier. The carrier wasn’t terribly big, so to conserve room, she always stood the roll up on end.

  Setting the Windex aside, she grabbed the roll and tugged, but it was really jammed. Frowning, she got down on her knees, and using one hand to push against the edge of the supply carrier and the other hand to grasp hold of the roll of paper towels, she yanked hard.

  When the roll suddenly popped loose, and two metal, oblong objects fell out from the cardboard tube in the middle of the roll, a startled cry escaped her.

  For long moments, all she could do was stare in shock at the two missing letter openers. She swallowed hard. How on God’s green earth had they ended up stuffed inside the tube of her paper towel roll…in her supply carrier?

  No wonder no one had been able to find them, but again how? And why her supply carrier?

  Almost as soon as the questions popped into her head, so did the answer. “Duh,” she retorted, a bit disgusted with herself for not having thought of it before. It was the perfect place to hide them, and the perfect place to make sure that the police didn’t find them, especially if Toby couldn’t risk getting them off the premises without detection.

  Charlotte shivered, and her mind raced, as it all began to make sense. Someone got word to Toby that she was snooping around, and when he’d seen her at the meeting and realized that she knew about his secret, he’d panicked. Or maybe he’d even thought that she’d already found the letter openers.

  No wonder he’d followed her. Either way, he knew that, once she found them, she’d turn them over to the police. If that happened, then the police might decide to start digging into Nick’s murder a little deeper.

  Her mind still racing, she thought of an additional possibility. What if he’d been careless, or in a hurry, when he’d hidden them? What if he was afraid that he’d left a fingerprint on them? If that were the case, he had to get the letter openers back, so he could dispose of them permanently.

  Charlotte could feel a dull ache building behind her eyes. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, then opened them again. “Who knows?” she whispered. “Maybe he’d planned on retrieving them all along, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t done so.”

  Right now, though, she needed to call Gavin Brown. The sooner, the better, she thought as she got to her feet. She glanced through the open doorway of the nearby bedroom. If she remembered right, there was a telephone in there.

  “O
h, shoot,” she muttered, remembering that Gavin Brown’s business card was in her purse, and her purse was downstairs in the kitchen pantry. Carefully stepping over the letter openers, she walked quickly to the staircase, then hurried down the stairs.

  Once in the kitchen, she retrieved the card from her purse and quickly dialed the first number listed on the detective’s card, his office number.

  “Great,” she muttered when she got his voice mail instead. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the beep to sound. When it finally sounded, she said, “Detective Brown, this is Charlotte LaRue. I’m at Bitsy Duhè’s house, and I just found those other two letter openers. They were stuffed in the middle of the roll of paper towels that I keep in my supply carrier. Please come right away.”

  Charlotte ended the call, then dialed the second number listed on the detective’s card, his cell phone number. Again, she got his voice mail, and again, she left him a message, then disconnected the call.

  “Never a cop around when you need one,” she complained, and stuffed the card and her cell phone into her pants pocket. “Now what?” She stared into space for several moments and tried to decide what she should do next.

  Samantha! Go tell Samantha.

  “Good idea,” she murmured, and took off for the front door. When she reached the door, she opened it and stepped out onto the gallery.

  Charlotte frowned. Where was Samantha? “Sam?” she called out tentatively. Then, louder, “Hey, Sam, where are you?” She strained her ears, listening for any sign that Samantha was still around. When several minutes passed and there was still no response, unease crawled up her spine.

  Where was she? Surely she hadn’t left without letting Charlotte know, especially after what Charlotte had told her. Besides, she’d said she would be there until Bitsy came home.

  Calm down. Just take a deep breath and calm down.

  Obeying the voice of reason, Charlotte breathed deeply until she felt calmer and could think more rationally. Spooked. She was spooked because of the letter openers. There had to be a logical reason why Samantha wasn’t around front. More than likely, she was making rounds and was probably around back instead.