Death Tidies Up (6 page)

Well, I guess he told you, Miss Busybody.
Charlotte's cheeks burned with embarrassment and his rude comments stung. If he'd thrown cold water in her face, he couldn't have stunned her more, and suddenly, just the thought of having to sit through a meal with him was intolerable.

T
he next few moments were the most awkward that Charlotte had experienced in a long time. She desperately wanted to leave, and she would have, in a heartbeat, but pain and loss were things she understood all too well. She too had lost people she'd loved. She too had lashed out at those around her because of her losses. And even now, so many years later, at times, the pain was still unbearable.

She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I'll just have water, please.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked purposefully toward the kitchen.

The moment she stepped inside the kitchen, the wonderful aroma of French bread warming in the oven assailed her. Bread of any kind was her Achilles' heel, but she especially loved fresh French bread.

The kitchen itself was neat and orderly, and she noted that Louis had already set the table, complete with place mats, matching napkins, silverware, and beautiful china.

Would wonders never cease? she thought. And what a contradiction. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the gruff detective could be so…so civilized.

While Louis busied himself taking the bread out of the oven, Charlotte seated herself at the table and tried to think of some safe, neutral topic that would end the strained silence between them.

“These dishes are beautiful,” she ventured. “I've always loved this particular rose pattern.”

His only reaction was a dismissive shrug and what sounded like a grunt.

What now?
she wondered, glaring at his back. With a sigh of impatience, she glanced around the room. Then she saw it. Stacked haphazardly on the countertop, near the back door, she spied what she hoped would be just the thing to end the awkward tension between them.

“Are those the carpet and tile samples you mentioned earlier?”

When he finally glanced over his shoulder, she tilted her head toward the countertop.

“Yeah, they are,” he answered.

“Mind if I look through them? I've been thinking about doing some renovations,” she quickly added, since she certainly didn't want him to think that she was being nosy…again.

“Actually—” He slipped the hot bread into a small wicker basket. “I had an ulterior motive for inviting you to supper. I was hoping I could persuade you to give me some pointers. I figured that since you've been in so many different houses, you'd know which types of tiles or carpet were the best to use, and which types require the least amount of upkeep.”

Feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, Charlotte ventured a small smile. “Ah-ha! The truth finally comes out. So that's why I get a free meal.”

Her ploy to ease the tension worked like a charm. The strained look on his face faded.

“After
we eat, though,” he said as he brought the basket to the table and set it down near the edge. “Sorry I don't have a salad, and I thought we'd just serve ourselves from the pot if that's okay with you.”

“Hey, I'm for whatever is easiest,” she told him.

At the stove, Charlotte spooned a generous helping of rice into her bowl. The gumbo was a dark, rich color, and as she ladled it over the rice, she noted that it was chock-full of shrimp and crabmeat. “This looks delicious,” she commented.

Seated back at the table, Charlotte helped herself to the bread. Still warm from the oven, the bread was exactly how she liked it, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.

When Louis finally joined her, he brought her a glass of ice water, along with his own bowl of rice and gumbo.

“So—why were you so late getting home?”

It was a good thing that Louis' question caught her with a mouthful of bread. Otherwise she might have been tempted to tell him that it was none of
his
business and let him see how it felt.

But getting back at someone was not her way, and she had always tried her best to live by the golden rule. Besides, since he'd asked, why not take advantage of the situation? Why not tell him what she'd discovered at the Devilier house. That way she could get his reaction without really asking for his advice after all.

Charlotte finally swallowed the bread. “You know that old Devilier house that's been renovated into apartments?”

He looked up and his expression grew hard. “Yeah. What about it?”

Though she thought his reaction was a bit odd, she explained. “I submitted a bid for the cleanup and won the contract. We're scheduled to start early tomorrow morning, so after work today, I went over there to look things over.”

“So Roussel and his bunch are finally done there.”

Charlotte nodded, puzzled by his contemptuous tone.

“Well, that's a relief! I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“I—I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“What's to understand? That whole crew is nothing but a bunch of thugs and troublemakers. Most of them have rap sheets as long as your arm. And Roussel and that delinquent son of his are the worst of the lot. They're nothing but trash, Charlotte. Does Judith know about this contract of yours?”

Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Why, no. But I don't make a habit of checking out my clients with my niece,” she replied curtly.

“Well, maybe you should, especially considering your recent track record.”

Every defensive bone in Charlotte's body stiffened. “If you're referring to the Dubuissons, you can—”

Louis raised his hands. “Sorry! Guess that was a pretty cheap shot.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it was,” she snapped.

“Hey—I said I was sorry. But seriously, Charlotte—” He lowered his hands to the table and leaned closer. “You really shouldn't be dealing with the likes of Roussel.”

“But he seemed like such a nice man,” she stressed.

His lips tightened into a grim line. “Well, he's not. But you don't have to take my word for it. Ask Judith. She'll tell you the same thing.”

“Oh, no,” she whispered, as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Poor Cheré.”

Noting Louis' bewildered look, she explained. “Cheré Warner is one of my employees—a bright young woman working her way through school. Anyway—she's been seeing young Todd. It was through her connections that I knew about the bids going out for the cleanup to begin with.”

“Well, she couldn't be too bright if she's hooked up with Todd Roussel.”

“I'll have you know that she's a lovely girl. She's dependable, smart, and has—”

“Okay, okay. I get the picture. But if you care so much about this Cheré person, you'd better warn her to steer clear of the Roussels. We're talking Mafia ties here—the kind of men that nice girls run from if they know what's good for them. And believe me, Vince Roussel is in up to his eyeballs. We've never been able to prove anything—not and make it stick—but we've been after Vince for years.”

“But just because you believe the father is shady,” she argued, “that doesn't necessarily mean that the son is part of it.”

“Not just shady, Charlotte. Corrupt! Through and through. As for his son, he's nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum. He already has a juvy record. And if you ask me, I say a rotten apple never falls too far from the tree.”

“Guilt by association,” she challenged.

“Well,” he drawled, “you know the old saying about birds of a feather.”

“That's ridiculous. Todd can't help what his father is.”

“No—no, he can't, but there's another saying too, something about children learning what they live.”

Charlotte didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think that Cheré would have such poor judgment in men. But she was a realist too, and she knew that even the brightest, most intelligent women were sometimes fooled into falling for the wrong men.

“Charlotte, all I'm saying is that your friend needs to be warned. If you really care about her, just urge her to be cautious.”

Charlotte nodded, but during the rest of the meal, as she tried concentrating on eating the gumbo, she kept thinking about what Louis had said. The gumbo tasted just fine, and in fact, was surprisingly good, almost as good as her own. But Louis' revelation about the Roussels had succeeded in chasing away any appetite she'd had. Though she managed to eat what was in her bowl, her concern for Cheré took all of the enjoyment out of the meal.

To Charlotte, her employees were like an extension of her family. And Cheré in particular was dear to her heart. She'd long admired the young woman's spunky approach to life. Like herself, Cheré hadn't had an easy time of it, but had made the most of what life had dealt her.

Once they had finished, to her relief, Louis quickly cleared the table. Then he dragged out every sample of tile and carpet that he'd collected, along with several brochures on cabinets, kitchen appliances, and bathroom fixtures.

“Why don't you show me what appeals to you?” she suggested. “Then I'll try and give you the pros and cons about it.”

“I think I'd rather see what appeals to you first,” he countered.

Charlotte stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she narrowed her gaze and a shrewd smile pulled at her lips. “You haven't picked out anything yet, have you?”

A sheepish look came over his face. “Caught red-handed,” he admitted. “But I like how your place looks,” he hastened to add. “It's comfortable but nice without being fussy.”

“Fussy?”

Louis waved a dismissive hand. “You know, frilly, woman-type stuff.”

She was certain that in his mind, he thought he was paying her a compliment, and though she wanted to point out how chauvinistic he sounded, she held her tongue and tried not to take offense.

Going through the samples and brochures did serve a good purpose, though. Not only did she get some ideas for updating her own home, but it took her mind off the disturbing revelation about the Roussels and provided a brief diversion from her concerns for Cheré.

 

When Charlotte returned to her own half of the double, the cuckoo clock was signaling the hour. “Great,” she muttered, when she realized that it was already ten o'clock. “That's just great,” she added tiredly.

All too soon, it would be time to go to work again…to the Devilier house. As she locked her front door, it suddenly hit her that she never had told Louis about the open window or the intruder.

“Tomorrow,” she told Sweety Boy, who was perched on his favorite spot on top of the cuckoo clock. “I'll call Marian and report it tomorrow.”

But Sweety ignored her and continued squawking with each sound the cuckoo made. “Not that you care, huh, you little rascal?” Charlotte shook her head and laughed. She'd long suspected that the silly little parakeet thought the cuckoo was a real bird, but what she couldn't figure out was if Sweety was jealous or simply starved for companionship.

While she listened to her phone messages, she coaxed the little bird back into his cage. Once she'd covered him for the night, she prepared the coffee pot and set the automatic timer. The last thing she always did before climbing into bed was brush her teeth and wash her face, and tonight was no exception, despite her exhaustion.

She'd told her crew to meet her at the Devilier house at seven Saturday morning, so she set her alarm clock for five-thirty, figuring that an hour and a half would give her plenty of time to go through her regular morning routine. Then she automatically picked up the book sitting beside the clock.

There were few things she enjoyed more than burying herself in a good mystery novel, and she tried to make time to read at least a little each night at bedtime.

But not tonight, she decided as the words blurred and swam before her eyes after she'd read only a few lines. With regret, she placed the book back on the table. Just as well, she thought. Five-thirty would come around all too soon.

Once she'd switched off the bedside lamp, she snuggled down in her bed. Though faintly, she could hear music coming from Louis' half of the double, and she smiled when she recognized an old Righteous Brothers song. She and Louis might disagree on a lot of things, but evidently, one thing they had in common was their choice in music.

She was just drifting off when Louis' words about Todd Roussel intruded.
He's nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum.
Again she thought of Cheré and wondered what, if anything, she could do.

Then the song ended, and within seconds, yet another one she recognized all too well began. Charlotte felt her throat grow tight as she listened to the familiar lyrics, a sad song full of longing…of lovers separated yet hungering for each other.

For her, it had been a lifetime of hungering for someone she could never have. There was no wondering if
he
was still hers. And it did no good to wait for him. A terrible war in Asia and death had ended her wait…forever.

O
n Saturday morning, Charlotte was still a bit uneasy when she unlocked the back door to the Devilier house. Before she left home, she'd called Marian and told her about the missing screen and the raised window, as well as the evidence she'd found that indicated someone had been camping out in the old house.

Marian hadn't seemed concerned in the least. She'd quickly assured Charlotte that
if
someone had been staying in the house, they weren't there anymore. Marian had said that she knew for a fact that Katherine Bergeron had gone by around eight the night before to check out the apartments, and Katherine hadn't mentioned finding anyone there then.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Charlotte stepped just inside the Devilier entrance hall. For several seconds she stood perfectly still and listened for any sounds of life in the old house. But there was nothing. No squeaking floorboards, no footsteps. Nothing at all.

Charlotte hesitated a moment longer. Then, as an added precaution, she cupped her hands on either side of her mouth and shouted out, “If anyone's here, you'd better leave now!”

Her voice echoed throughout the cavernous hallway, and then there was silence. Still a bit uneasy, but somewhat satisfied that she'd given fair warning just in case someone was still lurking around inside, she backed out of the entrance hall and firmly pulled the door shut. All she could do now was hope that if anyone was hiding out, they would leave the same way they got in. With one last backward glance at the door, she walked purposefully to the patio table in the small garden to wait for the rest of her crew. While she waited, she stared at the back of the old house and debated whether or not to tell her crew about the possibility of an intruder. She didn't want to frighten them, but she didn't want them going into a possibly dangerous situation without being forewarned either.

Charlotte wasn't surprised in the least that the first of her crew to arrive a few minutes later was Cheré Warner. Dependable and energetic were Cheré's middle names, and for the two years she'd been employed by Charlotte, not once had a client ever complained about her work.

Charlotte smiled, and as she motioned for the attractive younger woman to join her, she decided that Cheré would be the perfect one of the crew to ask about warning the others.

Like Charlotte, Cheré was dressed in the Maid-for-a-Day standard uniform that Charlotte insisted all of her employees wear. With Cheré's dark, bouncy hair and her shining black eyes, the cotton navy top and pants covered by a white bib-type apron were a perfect foil for her slim figure.

Cheré flashed her a smile as she seated herself across the small table. “Please tell me you brought extra coffee,” she said. “I intended to stop at P.J.'s on the way, but when I passed by, there was a crowd and I didn't want to be late.”

With a grin, Charlotte reached down beside her and pulled a thermos from a tote bag. “It's not that fancy stuff you prefer, but it's strong and hot.” She set the thermos on the table. “I figured the least I could do was furnish everyone a cup of coffee.”

While Cheré was busy unscrewing the lid off the thermos, Charlotte pulled out a stack of Styrofoam cups and a Ziploc bag containing plastic spoons, sugar packets, and creamer packets.

Cheré sniffed the coffee. “Hmm, if your coffee's as good as your iced tea, who cares if it's fancy?”

Charlotte laughed. “I brought some of that too, for later on.” But as she watched the younger woman pour herself coffee and stir in sugar and creamer, her laughter died.

“Cheré, I need your advice about something.”

“Sounds serious.”

Charlotte shrugged. “It could be.” Then she went on to tell the younger woman about what she had found the night before.

When she got to the part about shouting out a warning, a look of horror came over Cheré's face. “I can't believe you went in there by yourself. You should never have gone back inside without someone else being here.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I didn't exactly go all the way in—just inside the back door—but that's not the point. The point is, should I warn the others?”

“That is the point, but no, I don't see any reason to warn anybody. If anyone was in there, he'd be pretty stupid to stay there after all of that. Besides, with all of us trooping in, he'll be outnumbered. But if you're really worried, I can call Todd to come over. I think he's working over on Seventh Street today.”

At the mention of Todd Roussel, Charlotte suddenly grew decidedly uncomfortable.
He's nothing but a rich-boy hoodlum.
She quickly shook her head. “No—I mean, I don't think that's necessary.”

Was Louis right about Vince and Todd Roussel?
It's really none of your business.

Yes it is,
Charlotte argued with her conscience.
Cheré is my employee and that makes it my business.
But what to do about it? she wondered. Only one way to handle it, she thought. Just say it, straight out.

Charlotte squared her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about something else too.”

Cheré nodded. “Sure, what's up?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Uh-oh. I don't like that look. You're not firing me, are you?”

Charlotte quickly shook her head. “No, of course not, silly. It's nothing like that.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I learned something disturbing that I think you should know,” she finally said. “It's about—”

Behind her, the sound of an approaching car intruded, and Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to see the other half of her cleaning team pulling into the parking lot. “Later,” she murmured as Janet Davis and Emily Coleman climbed out of the vehicle. “We'll have to talk about it later.”

“Charlotte?”

“Not now, dear.” She nodded meaningfully toward the two women approaching them. “It's a private matter, just between you and me.”

Besides Cheré, Emily Coleman was another of Charlotte's full-time employees. Emily, a stout woman in her late forties with salt-and-pepper hair, had been with Charlotte for five years. The other woman, Janet Davis, was in her early thirties. Tall and thin, with dishwater-blond hair, Janet had worked for Charlotte on and off as a temporary, part-time employee for the past three years.

“Good morning,” Charlotte called out. “There's coffee.” She motioned at the thermos. “Join us.”

After greeting Charlotte and Cheré, Janet and Emily poured themselves coffee, then seated themselves around the table.

“Is Nadia coming too?” Emily asked as she added sugar to her coffee.

Nadia Wilson was another of Charlotte's full-time employees, a young single mother who had worked for Charlotte for a couple of years.

Charlotte shook her head. “She couldn't find a baby-sitter for Davy.”

Emily frowned. “That poor girl has really had a time of it, hasn't she?”

Janet let out a sound of disgust. “That Ricco character should be hung up by his toenails,” she snapped. “First he gets the poor girl pregnant, then lives off her like a leech for the past three years and treats her like dirt, and now he's just upped and disappeared.”

Though Charlotte agreed with Janet about Ricco Martinez, it was a strict policy of hers never to discuss her employees or clients, but before she had a chance to steer the conversation in a different direction, Cheré added her two cents worth.

“What a louse,” she said. “If you ask me, good riddance to bad rubbish.” Cheré made a face. “I always figured he was the criminal type, but stealing artifacts from a graveyard—” She shuddered. “I say they should have let him rot in jail—him and all those antique collectors who sold the stuff, as well.”

“I heard poor Nadia had to borrow money to bail him out,” Emily added. She turned to Charlotte. “Is that true? Come on, Charlotte. If anybody knows, you do.”

“Yeah, Charlotte, do tell,” Janet urged.

Charlotte sighed. “Ladies, ladies, ladies.” She shook her head. “I think that's enough gossip for one morning. It's time to get down to business.”

Though they groaned in protest, the women finally settled for quietly sipping their coffee while Charlotte spent several minutes briefly outlining what needed to be done in each apartment.

“There's a lot of sawdust and dirt that's been tracked in,” she finally concluded, “so I brought along extra vacuum cleaner bags. And I think working as teams would be best.” She nodded at Cheré. “You and Janet will be a team, and Emily and I will work together.”

Charlotte caught the sly look that passed between Janet and Cheré, but she ignored it. Though Emily was dependable and thorough doing her job, the middle-aged woman was also slow and tended to get distracted easily. Both Cheré and Janet knew that Charlotte had teamed herself up with Emily on purpose, to keep her on track.

“There are four apartments—two up and two down,” Charlotte explained. “Emily and I will work downstairs, and you two will be upstairs. And if we get a move on, I'm hoping we can finish up today. I really don't like working on Sundays.”

Cheré laughed. “I think that's a hint, ladies. Just Charlotte's way of saying we need to work our butts off.”

Janet gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, Harry will be relieved. I promised the kids a trip to the zoo tomorrow, and he was really dreading having to take them by himself.” She suddenly grinned. “Last time he took them, he made the mistake of making faces at one of the monkeys.” She snickered. “The monkey retaliated though. He spit at him, and there my darling husband was, with this big glob of who knows what all over the front of his shirt.”

“Oh, gross,” Cheré squealed.

Emily groaned, then added, “I could have gone all day without hearing that.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Well I wouldn't want poor Harry to get stuck going to the zoo again, so let's get to work, ladies.”

While the three other women unloaded the cleaning supplies from Charlotte's van, she packed up the thermos and stuffed the used cups inside a trash bag.

One of the things that Charlotte liked about her employees was that they all shared her appreciation for the beauty of the elegant old homes they cleaned. As they entered the back hallway, each woman in turn ooh'd and aah'd over the superb workmanship that had gone into the renovation as they divided up the cleaning supplies.

Once Janet and Cheré were armed with their supply carriers, they headed up the stairs.

When they were about midway up, Cheré shouted down, “Hey, Charlotte, did you know there's a deep gouge on the sixth step?”

Charlotte smiled. Of the three women, she wasn't surprised that Cheré had been the one to notice the flaw. But she also figured Cheré was using it as an excuse to issue her own warning to the would-be intruder, just in case he'd been stupid enough to hang around.

“I saw it last night,” Charlotte told her, just as loudly. “It's on my list of things to bring to Mr. Roussel's attention.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte could see that Emily was looking at her oddly.

“What's with all the shouting?” Emily asked. “Geez, you'd think you both suddenly went deaf or something.”

Charlotte just smiled. “Echoes,” she explained. “Big old empty houses always echo and sound louder.”

Charlotte could tell that Emily wasn't buying her excuse, but when Charlotte didn't offer any other explanation, Emily simply shrugged and picked up her supply carrier. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked.

Charlotte motioned, indicating they would begin cleaning in the apartment on their left. “Your choice,” she told her as they entered the living room of the apartment. “But I know how the dust gets to you, so why don't you do the bathroom, and I'll work on wiping down the walls and cleaning the windows? Then we'll both tackle the kitchen.”

Emily nodded. “Thanks, Charlotte. My allergies
have
been acting up, ever since that front came through night before last.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Charlotte told her, thinking of her own minor allergy irritations.

For the next half hour, as the women worked, the only sounds that broke through the silence were the rumblings of traffic along the avenue in front of the house and an occasional honking horn.

Charlotte had almost finished cleaning the last window in the living room when there was a sudden, ear-splitting shriek from upstairs.

“Charrrrlotte!”

For a moment, she was too stunned to move as the sound echoed throughout the empty house.

Not a cry of pain, her mind registered, but terror. It was a cry of sheer terror.