Death Tidies Up (12 page)

“Just think about it, okay?” Moving even closer, she asked, “So—are we still friends?” After a brief hesitation, when he finally nodded, Charlotte grinned and held out her hand, palm side up. “Well, then, give me five, my friend.”

Though he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and let out an indignant groan, he finally relented and slapped his hand against hers.

“All right, out of sight!” she drawled, which produced yet another indignant groan.

“Go wash up, B.J.,” Marian interrupted. “And change your shirt. It's almost time to eat.”

Though B.J. cast a resentful look at his mother, he did as he was told.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Marian turned to Charlotte. “Any suggestions?” she asked.

Because of Charlotte's experience with the Dubuisson family, the last thing she wanted or needed was to get sucked into yet another client's personal life or problems. But this situation was different, she told herself. There was just no way she could ignore it, not when the welfare of two children was at stake. Marian was sick, possibly mentally ill from all accounts. Grown-ups and their problems were one thing, but when it came to children…

Charlotte didn't even try to pretend that she didn't know what Marian was talking about. “Have you thought about some professional counseling?”

“Oh, I've thought about it, but B.J. would never cooperate in a million years.”

Whether Marian had genuinely misunderstood or had deliberately misunderstood was hard to tell; Charlotte couldn't be sure. Since she couldn't be sure, she suddenly found herself reluctant to correct her employer's assumption. Still…there was more than one way to get a point across.

“You're probably right,” Charlotte agreed. “B.J. might not cooperate, not if he thought
he
was being singled out. But what if you used another approach? What if you made it a family affair and all of you went in for some counseling sessions?”

The expression on Marian's face was contemplative, as if she were seriously considering Charlotte's suggestion. She was about to answer when, much to Charlotte's frustration and disappointment, the chimes of the front doorbell interrupted.

Marian, looking as frustrated as Charlotte felt, said, “I'd better see who that is.”

Since Charlotte needed to finish waxing one of the tables in the entrance hall anyway, she followed Marian.

When Marian opened the front door, Charlotte's mouth dropped open at the sight of the couple standing on the other side of the threshold. What on earth were
they
doing here? she wondered as shock turned into an uneasy feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach.

C
harlotte's imagination went wild as one terrible scenario after another ran rampant through her mind. Surely the only reason for Louis and Judith showing up where she worked was because something horrible had happened to one of the family…Hank…Madeline…Daniel…

But after only the briefest nod of recognition, Judith turned to address Marian instead. Only then did Charlotte remember to breathe again.

“Mrs. Hebert, I'm Detective Monroe with the New Orleans Police Department.”

With a confused frown, Marian stared hard at Judith, then turned to stare at Charlotte. Even without Marian saying a word, Charlotte could tell from her confused frown what she was thinking. The resemblance between Charlotte and her niece was amazing. More times than not, to Madeline's constant aggravation, anyone meeting Judith for the first time wrongly assumed that Charlotte and Judith were mother and daughter instead of aunt and niece.

“And this is Detective Thibodeaux,” Judith continued. We're here—”

“Who's at the door, Mom?” B.J. stepped out of his room near the end of the hall and shuffled past Charlotte to where his mother was standing. He'd changed from his soiled shirt and chinos into a pair of baggy jeans shorts and a T-shirt, Charlotte noted with satisfaction.

But Marian's mouth tightened with irritation as she glared at her son. “Detectives from the police department, son.” She gave Judith an apologetic look. “Sorry. Now, what were you saying?”

“I was saying that—”

“What do the cops want with us?” B.J. blurted out as he glared first at Judith, then at Louis.

“B.J.! Mind your manners,” his mother admonished. “Now apologize to Detective Monroe for being so rude.”

“I wasn't rude, and I didn't do anything,” he all but snarled. “So why do I have to apologize, especially to a couple of stupid cops?”

“B.J.! Stop it!”

“But I didn't do anything!”

“We'll discuss it later,” Marian told him firmly between gritted teeth. “Now go to your room, young man.”

When B.J. didn't budge, Marian took a step toward him. “Go
now!”
she ordered, a warning tone of
or else
in her voice.

For a moment, Charlotte wasn't sure who was going to win the battle of wills, but finally B.J. relented. With daggers of resentment shooting from his eyes, he whirled around, and muttering what Charlotte could only guess were expletives beneath his breath, he stomped off down the hallway.

He didn't go to his room, though, Charlotte noticed. At the last second, he abruptly changed directions and headed into the kitchen instead. But Marian had already turned back to Judith and Louis, so she didn't see that he had disobeyed her.

“Again, I'm so sorry,” she told Judith. “Come in, come in,” she said, motioning for the two detectives to come inside. With a sigh of defeat, she added, “And please excuse my son.” She pulled the door closed behind them. “My husband was killed back in January, and my son was here when the police came to inform us of his death. Unfortunately, he heard all of the grisly details, and ever since, he gets this way whenever he sees a policeman.” She shrugged. “I guess seeing or being around the police brings back all the painful memories for him.”

“I'm sure it does,” Judith murmured, her eyes narrowed in an expression that Charlotte recognized all too well, an expression that said Judith wasn't buying the excuse.

Marian sighed again. “Now, how can I help you?”

“We're investigating the murder of Drew Bergeron,” Louis said, stepping up beside Judith, “and it's our understanding that your real estate company is handling the rentals of the Devilier apartments.”

While Marian talked, Louis kept shooting reproachful glances Charlotte's way, glances that irritated her, but made her feel self-conscious and conspicuous as well. Since she had finished waxing the table anyway, and since her initial curiosity had been satisfied as to why Judith and Louis had shown up at Marian's, she decided that now was as good a time as any to make herself scarce.

But Charlotte didn't go far, just to the dining room. There, she was out of sight but still within hearing distance of the conversation taking place in the entrance hall.

As Louis began questioning Marian about potential clients who had shown an interest in the apartments, a movement just outside the front dining-room window caught Charlotte's attention. Curious, she stepped closer, just in time to see B.J. drop down into one of the wicker chairs on the porch. The chair was located near enough to the front door that he could probably hear the conversation between the detectives and his mother even though it was closed.

At first she thought his actions were a bit strange, but then she figured that like her, he was simply curious as to what the detectives were doing there. Charlotte turned away and began the tasks of dusting and waxing the mahogany extension-leaf table.

It was while she was clearing off the centerpiece that another, more plausible excuse came to mind. Maybe, just maybe, B.J. was afraid that the police showing up had something to do with the fight he'd been in at school.

Out in the hall, Charlotte heard Judith say, “We'd like a list of anyone who might have access to keys to the house.”

“No need for a list,” she heard Marian respond. “Besides myself, only two others had keys. Jefferson—Jefferson Harper, the owner—has a master set, and Drew's wife, Katherine, picked up a set on Friday afternoon. Katherine was thinking about buying one of the apartments to use for out-of-town guests, mostly during Mardi Gras,” she explained. “Since I couldn't show her the apartments myself on Friday because of a doctor's appointment, I told Katherine she could pick up the keys and look around on her own.”

“Mrs. Hebert, we understand that you and your husband were friends with the Bergerons. Were you close friends?”

The question came from Louis, and as Marian explained about the former relationship between the two couples, for the first time since Louis and Judith had arrived, it suddenly dawned on Charlotte that Judith's new partner, Will Richeaux, should have been with Judith instead of Louis. So where was Will? she wondered. And why was Louis there instead?

Once again, Charlotte wondered about the obvious antagonism between Louis and Will that she'd witnessed on Saturday.

She'd have to remember to ask Judith later. Yeah, right, she thought uneasily. The way her memory was lately, she'd probably forget…again.

Since Charlotte had finished in the dining room but didn't want to disturb the group in the hall, she resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing more she could do for the moment but wait until Judith and Louis had finished questioning Marian.

Maybe this would be a good time to take a lunch break. Usually she enjoyed eating her lunch out on the front porch in the fresh air. Then she remembered that Sam had been working out there, and the last time she'd looked, B.J. was still on the porch too.

Hoping that Sam had finished by now and that B.J. had grown tired of just sitting and eavesdropping, Charlotte wandered over to the window to check out the situation.

To her disappointment, B.J. was still slouched in the wicker chair. So where was Sam?

In the hall, Marian was talking, nonstop, about the business relationship between her husband and Drew Bergeron. That Marian was bitter was more than evident, and though she didn't exactly come right out and say it, it was plain that she blamed Drew Bergeron for her husband's state of mind before his accident.

Charlotte was so caught up in what Marian was saying that the sudden appearance of Sam within her view gave her a start. Even if she hadn't noticed the can of paint he was carrying, it was obvious from the smears on his overalls that he'd been painting, and even more obvious that he'd finished the task as he began gathering the tools lying near the toolbox.

If he was finished, though, then she might be able to eat her salad on the porch after all…except that B.J. was still there.

Sam closed up the toolbox, but instead of loading it back into his truck, he approached B.J. After a few words to the teenager, he turned and walked to the steps. Within moments, B.J. pushed himself out of the chair and followed Sam. Then the two of them disappeared around the corner of the house together.

 

It was almost four when Charlotte turned onto her street that afternoon. So much for the soothing scent of the lavender candles, she thought. Her restless night combined with work and the tensions between Marian and B.J. had left her feeling drained, and definitely not soothed.

Maybe once she was home, she'd forgo her usual shower and take a long, relaxing hot bath instead. Maybe she'd even start on that new Joanne Fluke mystery she'd picked up the last time she was in the Garden District Bookshop.

Yep, Charlotte decided, a hot soak in the tub and a good book were always a surefire way to relax and forget…

And what about Cheré? You told her to meet you at five.

“Oh, no,” she groaned. Today of all days, the last thing she felt like doing was getting embroiled in yet another human being's personal problems.

Charlotte glanced at the dashboard clock. She could always cancel the meeting. She was almost home, and it was just a little past four. Maybe there was still time if she hurried.

Charlotte pressed her foot a little harder against the accelerator and was halfway down her block when she spotted the tan Toyota parked in front of her house. Her heart sank. It was too late. Cheré was already there waiting for her.

But why was Cheré there so early? she wondered. She was almost certain that she'd left word that they were to meet at five, not four…well, almost certain.

Warning spasms of alarm erupted within Charlotte, quickly followed by the same uneasy feeling that had plagued her for weeks. Had she told Cheré four o'clock and just thought she'd said five? Was this yet another example of her forgetfulness lately?

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous!” One way or another, she'd find out for sure on Tuesday when she kept her doctor's appointment, so why borrow trouble? Besides, she had other, more pressing things to worry about at the moment, mainly Cheré. Somehow, some way, she had to find the right words to tell Cheré about the Roussels.

As Charlotte turned into her driveway, Cheré waved to her from the porch swing, and Charlotte, forcing a smile she didn't feel, waved back.

Once she'd parked the van, she locked it. Then, taking a deep, fortifying breath, she headed toward the porch.

“Hey, Charlotte.”

“Hey, yourself,” Charlotte answered as she climbed the steps. “Have you been waiting long?”

Cheré shook her head. “Just got here a few minutes ago,” she answered, pushing out of the swing. “I know you said five in your message, but I took a chance that you wouldn't mind if I came by a little early.”

“Of course!” Charlotte suddenly gushed, so relieved that she felt like shouting. “You
are
early, aren't you? And no, I don't mind. No siree, I don't mind at all.”

Cheré gave her a strange look. “Charlotte? Are you okay?”

Charlotte figured that the poor girl probably thought she was either drunk or high on something, but she really didn't want to have to explain. She waved away Cheré's concern.

“I'm fine,” she told her. “Just a bit—ah, overtired,” she quickly improvised. “Haven't you ever been so tired that you either started acting silly or got the giggles?”

“I guess,” Cheré answered, not looking very convinced.

The moment Charlotte unlocked and opened the front door, Sweety Boy started his usual routine of squawking and preening to get her attention. But unlike most days, Charlotte ignored the little bird as she switched on the light, then set down her purse.

Cheré followed her inside and pulled the door closed behind her. “You haven't had any more fainting spells, have you?”

Charlotte shook her head as she slipped off her shoes and stepped into the soft moccasins beside the front door. “No fainting spells. Just—” She shrugged. “Just tired.” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why don't you have a seat, and I'll get us something to drink. Iced tea okay with you?”

“Sounds great,” Cheré responded as she sank down on the sofa.

Minutes later, Charlotte returned with two tall glasses of tea.

“So what's up?” Cheré asked as she accepted the glass Charlotte handed her. “Why did you want to see me?”

Charlotte settled in the chair opposite the sofa. With a sigh, she plunged in. “I don't know any way to say this but straight out. But please, just remember that I'm not being nosy. I just care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Cheré frowned. “I don't understand.”

“I know you don't, hon. Not yet. But you will…I hope. You see, over the past few days I've been hearing some really disturbing things about your friend, Todd, and his father. Things that I think you need to know about.”

Cheré's frown deepened. “What kind of things? And from who?”

Charlotte explained about the conversations she'd had with Louis and Judith, and she repeated the things she'd been told about the Roussels. To Cheré's credit, she didn't flinch or interrupt, or even offer a word of protest.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn't interfere,” Charlotte assured her when she had finished. “But whether the allegations are true or not, my main concern is for you. I'm not blaming you, mind you, but if I had known all of this stuff before, I'm not so sure I would have accepted the Devilier job. And now, with everything that's happened, I'm wishing I'd never heard of the Devilier house or Drew Bergeron.”

For long seconds, Cheré simply stared at Charlotte. Then, to Charlotte's utter distress, the girl's eyes filled with tears that overflowed down her cheeks.