Death Tidies Up (23 page)

“Maybe you ought to go in for a good checkup,” Marian suggested.

Charlotte took a long drink of the water, then rolled her eyes. “Been there, done that—just last week—and I'm waiting for the test results.”

Since her health was the last thing Charlotte wanted to discuss, before Marian could ask any more questions, she said, “And speaking of Miss Bitsy. You know her granddaughter—the one who lives in New York?”

“Jenny?” Marian offered.

Charlotte nodded. “That's the one. Well, a week or so ago she was in town for the Tulane homecoming reunion.”

Though Marian looked at her a bit strangely, Charlotte plowed right on ahead. “Miss Bitsy was so excited about the visit and was brimming over with all kinds of information about all the festivities. Jenny had even brought her yearbook with her.” Feigning excitement, Charlotte widened her eyes and smiled. “And guess who I saw in it?”

When Marian raised a skeptical eyebrow, Charlotte grinned. “There you were—all of you at some party! Until I saw that picture, I had no idea that you and your husband and Drew Bergeron had all gone to Tulane together.”

Marian gave Charlotte a tiny, nervous smile. “That was a long time ago.”

Charlotte nodded. “Over twenty years, according to the date on the yearbook.” She paused a moment; then, swallowing hard, she continued. “Such a shame about what happened with that professor that year though. You know—the one who was arrested for that hit-and-run.” She frowned. “I think his name was Arthur something.” She nodded. “Oh, yeah—now I remember. His name was Arthur Samuel. He was a chemistry professor, I believe.”

Marian grimaced, and though she tried to hide her reaction by turning back to the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce, all the color had suddenly drained from her face.

Puzzled by Marian's response, Charlotte took another quick drink of water to give herself a moment to regroup.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Lifting her chin, she pressed on. “I'd completely forgotten all about it until Miss Bitsy pointed him out. But you want to know something funny? If he'd had a beard and longer hair, and if he was twenty years older, he'd look just like Sam Roberts.”

Though Charlotte wouldn't have believed it, Marian's face grew even more pale, and her hand began to shake. To cover the trembling, she rapped the spoon she'd been stirring with sharply against the saucepan, then laid it on the stovetop. “I need a drink,” she muttered.

“Of course they say that everyone has a double somewhere in the world,” Charlotte persisted as Marian headed straight for the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. Then, affecting a nonchalance that she didn't feel, she said, “Probably just coincidence that they look alike, and B.J. seems to think the world of Sam.”

Marian opened the bar cabinet and took out a decanter of what looked like bourbon.

“But that's good, don't you think?” Charlotte continued as she watched Marian pour a healthy amount into a glass. “Good that he has a male figure he can relate to…” Charlotte's voice trailed away as Marian downed the drink within seconds, then poured herself another one. “Marian?”

Marian shook her head. “He's found out,” she mumbled, downing the second drink. “Oh, dear God, somehow he's found out.”

Charlotte frowned. Marian wasn't making sense. Of all the reactions she'd anticipated, she hadn't expected her to fall to pieces right before her very eyes. “Marian—What on earth? What are you talking about? Found out what?”

As if she'd just remembered that Charlotte was in the room, Marian jerked around to face her, her eyes wild with terror. “He's found out, I tell you. He's—”

The sudden peal of the doorbell seemed to make Marian even more frantic. “No,” she cried. “Please—” She waved toward the general direction of the front door. “See who that is and make them go away.”

Charlotte held up her hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Sure—okay—no problem.” With one last worried look at the younger woman and a frown of concern, she headed for the hallway.

Marian's reaction was way over the top, but why?

He's found out.

What on earth had she meant and why had it made her so nervous?

Just as Charlotte reached for the doorknob, she froze.
…I know how brutal the police can be…

She hadn't thought much about Sam's remark at the time, but suddenly his words took on a whole new meaning. “Of course,” she whispered. Why else would he make such a statement unless he'd experienced it firsthand? And if he'd experienced it firsthand, then…
If it looks like a shoe and wears like a shoe, then it must be a shoe.

The doorbell chimed again, and Charlotte jumped. Later…She'd have to think about it later.

Taking a deep breath, she pasted on a polite smile and opened the door. But Charlotte's smile faltered when she saw the bedraggled woman standing on the porch.

The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, and she was soaked through and through from the top of her stringy bleached hair down to her mud-caked loafers. Because she was wet, at first Charlotte figured her for a homeless person. But after a quick perusal of the woman's clothes, she changed her mind. Despite the fact that the woman's jacket, blouse, and slacks were soaked, her clothes were quality.

Suddenly the woman pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket. At the sight of the handgun, a whisper of terror twisted Charlotte's insides, and her legs went weak.

But when the woman shoved the gun against her stomach, Charlotte gasped from the sharp pain, and the whisper of terror became a deafening roar in her ears.

“M
y name is Darla Shaw,” the woman snarled.

Darla Shaw.
A memory clicked in Charlotte's mind. Darla Shaw was the woman Drew Bergeron had been living with in Key West, but worse, Darla Shaw was also Judith's number-one suspect.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” the woman spat. Using the pressure of the gun, she forced Charlotte backward, into the foyer. Once they were both inside, she used the heel of her muddy shoe and kicked the door shut.

The sound of the door slamming was like the crack of a whip, and Charlotte jumped.
Think, Charlotte! Think!
But Charlotte's heart was hammering against her rib cage so hard that she could hardly catch her breath, never mind think.

The woman's dark eyes flashed contempt as her gaze slid over Charlotte from head to toe. “You're a lot older than I thought you'd be,” she sneered.

Older?

“What gets me, though, is why he'd want some old broad like you when he had me?” Punctuating each word with a jab of the gun, she added, “Of course, all he wanted from you was money.”

Marian! She thinks I'm Marian.
Charlotte opened her mouth in denial, but nothing came out but a squeak.

“All I've heard for weeks was Marian this and Marian that,” the woman ranted, confirming Charlotte's suspicions. “Oh, yeah—” the woman gave an exaggerated nod. “I know all about you and what you did. And I know all about your little arrangement with Drew.” She shook her head, then moaned, “I told him not to come—the idiot! I begged him.” Then she shouted, “But would he listen? Oh, no—not him, not Mr. High and Mighty Know-it-all. Not Mr. Stud,” she spat.

The woman's lower lip curled into a snarl. “And I was right, wasn't I? He shouldn't 'ave come 'cause you killed him—killed him deader than a doorknob.” Spittle flew out of her mouth. She licked her lips, then narrowed her eyes. “But I got news for you, sister. You're gonna pay and pay big. Only this time—” She thumped herself on the chest. “This time you're gonna pay
me.”

The woman was convinced that she was Marian, and though Charlotte wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her she had the wrong person, every instinct she had warned against it.

Charlotte swallowed hard, and praying that Marian had overheard the woman ranting and raving and wasn't too far gone to have sense enough to call the police, she decided that the only way to stay alive was to play along…or play dumb.

Gathering every ounce of courage she had within her, she decided to play dumb. She slowly shook her head. “There's been a mistake of some kind. I don't know any Drew, and I don't know what or who you're talking—”

“Liar!” the woman screamed. “You're a damned liar. This is the right address, and you're Marian Hebert! I know 'cause Drew told me all about your fancy house in the uppity Garden District. And I know all about you and what y'all did—you and Drew and that husband of yours—how you all got drunk as skunks that night and stole that professor's car, and how
you
were the one driving.”

He's found out…somehow he's found out.

If Charlotte hadn't already been scared speechless, she would have been shocked speechless as well, and if she'd had any doubts about Sam Roberts and Arthur Samuel being the same man, those doubts had been put to rest, once and for all.

Even as Darla continued ranting, everything she'd said began to make a weird kind of sense. They were all connected: Drew, Bill, Marian, and Sam aka Professor Arthur Samuel. And if what Darla was saying was true, then it was no wonder that Marian suffered from emotional problems, along with alcohol abuse, and it was no wonder that Sam had changed his name and attempted to change his looks. Sam didn't want to be recognized.

If Marian, Drew, and Bill had stolen the professor's car that night, then they had let an innocent man pay for their crime. Even worse, though, somehow, some way, Sam had figured out that the three had stolen his car and that one of them had been responsible for the murder he'd been accused of.

A cold chill ran through Charlotte. Two of the three, Bill and Drew, were dead.

Sam had worked for Bill, and Bill had been killed in a suspicious explosion.

Then there was Drew. Charlotte had no doubt that Sam had also killed Drew as well…the cigar butt outside the closet, just like the one at Sam's house, and just like the one she'd seen outside the closet at the Devilier house…the purple Mardi Gras mask on Drew's face. Purple, green, and gold, all traditional Mardi Gras colors: purple for justice, green for faith, and gold for power. Sam Roberts aka Professor Arthur Samuel was out for justice, and in his own macabre way, he was letting the world know that he was finally getting it.

But how? How had Sam even known that Drew was still alive to begin with? He must have, though, and now, out of the three, only Marian was left.

Darla suddenly poked Charlotte hard with the gun.
“You
did it. You were the one who killed that man, and you let that professor take the rap.” Her breath was coming in short gasps. Then an evil looking smile pulled her lips into a parody of the emotion, and she whispered loudly, “And I know something else too. I know exactly how much you were paying Drew to keep his mouth shut, so don't go trying to weasel out of it. But now you can pay me instead. Last I heard, there's no statue of limitation on murder, so if you don't pay, I'll go to the cops.”

Call her bluff.
It was a desperate ploy, one that could easily push the woman over the edge, but Charlotte figured she didn't have a lot of choices. In what she hoped looked like a defiant gesture, she lifted her chin and glared down her nose at the woman. “I think that's the best idea yet,” she told her. “Go ahead. Go to the cops. Better yet, use my phone and call them right now.”

For what seemed like an eternity, the woman stared at Charlotte. Then sudden anger flashed in her eyes and her face turned beet red. “I don't think so,” she said, her voice harsh and chilling. “You think you're so smart, but I've got news for you. I'm smarter. Those two brats of yours are due home any minute now, aren't they? Either give me the money or I'll kill them both.” She leaned closer to Charlotte's face, then screamed, “I mean it! I'll kill the little brats, so give it to me now!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught a glimpse of movement from the front porch through the side window.
The boys!
Were they home already?

“Okay, okay!” Charlotte threw up her hands and tried desperately to think of some way to distract the dangerous woman. Time. She needed to buy time. Praying that Marian would hear her and keep the boys out of the house, she raised the pitch of her voice. “I'll get you your money!” she told her. “Anything—but please don't hurt my boys.” She motioned toward the end of the hallway. “I keep money in my office back there.”

Darla poked Charlotte with the gun. “That's much better. Now let's go get it. Turn around—” Charlotte turned. “Slowly now,” the woman warned. “And you'd better not try anything.”

All the way down the hallway, Charlotte felt the pressure of the gun in the small of her back as she forced her trembling legs to move toward Marian's office.

Once inside the room, Charlotte motioned toward the desk. “The money's in the desk.”

When they reached the desk, Darla snapped at her, “Get it, but you'd better not try anything.”

“H-how much do you want?” Charlotte asked as she eased slowly to the other side of the desk.

“All of it,” Darla snapped. “I want all that you've got.”

Now what?
Not knowing what else to do, Charlotte leaned down, pulled open a drawer, and began riffling through it. Since Darla was on the other side, Charlotte was pretty sure she couldn't see what she was doing. The drawer she'd pulled out was full of folders that contained what looked like invoices. But there was also a box of envelopes as well. She pulled out an envelope, and in hopes of making it look as if it were full of money, she began slowly stuffing it with the invoices. What she needed was to buy time.

She had almost stuffed it full when she suddenly noticed that her supply carrier was within reach. As she eyed the contents of the carrier, an idea began to slowly take shape. Could she do it? Did she have enough courage to even try?

Charlotte had noticed that Darla was nervous and kept glancing around the room, especially toward the doorway. Still pretending to stuff the envelope with money, out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte watched and waited, hoping for just the right opportunity. The moment Darla glanced away, she grabbed one of the spray bottles that she was sure contained ammonia.

With her finger on the trigger, she hid the bottle behind her back. Holding out the envelope in her other hand, she sent up a short prayer for courage, then slowly stood. She thrust the envelope toward Darla. “Here's your money,” she told her. “Take it and get out.”

Just as Charlotte had hoped, Darla had eyes only for the envelope. And just as she'd hoped, the greedy woman had to lean across the desk to get it. Leaning across the desk would throw her a bit off balance. The second she leaned forward, Charlotte whipped the bottle of ammonia from behind her back, aimed it directly at Darla's eyes, and pumped the trigger.

Ammonia spewed out, coating Darla's face. Darla screamed, dropped the gun, and began clawing at her eyes. The gun fell with a heavy thud on top of the desk.

Charlotte dropped the ammonia bottle, and keeping a wary eye on Darla, she immediately scooped up the gun. Once she had it, she ran for the door.

The sound of police car sirens reached her ears, and Charlotte sprinted down the hallway toward the foyer. The moment she jerked open the front door, she froze.

For the second time in the course of an hour, she found herself facing the wrong end of a gun.

Two policemen were already on the porch, their guns drawn, and more were spilling out of patrol cars.

“Put it down, lady,” the taller of the two policemen shouted. “Put the gun down now!”

“Okay, okay!” she shouted back. “See—” She bent down and placed the gun on the porch. “I'm putting it down.”

“Easy, lady. Now kick it this way.”

“Gladly,” she muttered, as she kicked the gun toward the two policemen.

The moment the gun slid away, the shorter policeman approached her. “Hands above your head.”

“Officer, if you'd just let me explain—”

“Do it, lady! Hands above your head.”

Charlotte raised her hands. “Please, sir, I'm just the maid. My name is Charlotte LaRue and my niece is Detective Judith Monroe. The woman you want is inside, and that's
her
gun.”

“Hey, Joe,” a familiar voice shouted. “She's telling the truth. She's okay.”

Charlotte sent up a prayer of thanks as Billy Wilson bounded up the steps. “Oh, Billy, am I ever glad to see you.”

After Charlotte gave an abbreviated version of what had happened, Billy sent two of the other officers inside the house after Darla Shaw.

Within minutes, Darla was in custody and an ambulance had been called to transport her to the nearest hospital.

With Darla subdued, Charlotte explained that her employer was still inside the house somewhere. Accompanied by Billy, she went back inside to look for Marian.

“That ammonia trick was some smart thinking on your part, Ms. LaRue,” Billy told her at the doorway to the kitchen. “That took a lot of guts. Just one thing, though. It sure seems strange how you're always around when this stuff happens.”

Charlotte shuddered. “Not my choice, I assure you. Just lucky, I guess,” she mumbled sarcastically. “Seriously though, I am lucky that you were here and vouched for me…again. Thanks, Billy.”

Billy shrugged. “No big deal.”

When they entered the kitchen, it was empty. Charlotte shook her head. “I don't understand where she could be. I—”

Billy heard the noise at the same time that Charlotte heard it. He pointed to the pantry, and Charlotte nodded.

“Marian, it's Charlotte.” She walked to the pantry. “You can come out now. The police are here.” She opened the door, and her face fell. “Oh, Marian…”

The pantry was the walk-in type, but there was barely room to turn around inside. Marian was scrunched up, sitting on the floor, her whole body shaking. In one hand was a butcher knife, and in the other hand she was clutching an empty liquor bottle.

She glanced up at Charlotte. “Oh, Ch-Charlotte! I—I was s-so scared.” When she stumbled to her feet, the knife and bottle clattered to the floor, and Charlotte had to grab her to keep her from falling. “Is—is she gone?” she stammered, her words slurred. “Is that awful woman gone?” Her breath reeked of liquor and Charlotte frowned.

“Not yet,” Charlotte told her. “But it's safe. The police have her now.”

Marian was deathly pale and continued to shake. “I don't feel so good.” Then she suddenly groaned. “Oh, noooo—I—I think I—I'm going to be sick.” She crossed her arms, hugging her stomach, and doubled over.

“Okay, okay—just hold on!” Charlotte told her.

“Here, let me help you,” Billy offered.

Between them, they got her to the bathroom just in time before Marian threw up. Knowing how embarrassed Marian would be later, Charlotte assured Billy that she could handle things, then shooed him out of the bathroom. Once she'd firmly shut the door, she wet a washcloth and wrung it out, then waited. When it seemed that nothing else could possibly come out of the poor woman, Charlotte flushed the toilet, then kneeled down beside Marian and began blotting her forehead with the wet washcloth.

“Thanks, Charlotte,” she whispered, still pale and shaky a few minutes later. “I—I was so scared and I just couldn't seem to stop drinking, especially after I heard what that woman said.” She stared at Charlotte with miserable eyes. “I—I guess I owe you an explanation.”