Maid for Murder (31 page)
Authors: Barbara Colley
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she muttered as she squeezed her eyes closed, then groaned. Hadn’t she promised herself that she would never get personally involved with a client again? Only days ago, she’d been in a tailspin over her relationship with the Dubuissons; yet here she was, about to stick her nose in the big middle of it again.
Not again, she vowed.
Before she could change her mind, Charlotte switched off the phone and shoved it back into her purse. Before she went off half-cocked, she would think things through this time.
Though Charlotte tried her best to ignore her conscience as well as the revelation concerning the Dubuissons’ Colorado property, the drive home was pure torture. Like an itch that begged to be scratched, thoughts of the mortgage contract she’d seen on Jeanne’s desk consumed her.
She’d never been to Colorado herself, but the husband of one of her former clients had made annual trips there each year to hunt elk. Even now she could still remember how the poor woman had worried about her husband the entire time he was gone. Her client had been born and raised in the city, and though she’d appreciated the beauty of the mountains and the forests, she’d once described the place where her husband hunted as being one of the loneliest, most god-forsaken places on earth.
What better place as a hideaway for two fugitives ... a place away from civilization ... a place away from prying eyes and curious neighbors? If Jeanne and Brian were holed up somewhere like that, it was no wonder that the police couldn’t find them.
Charlotte tried telling herself that Jeanne and Brian’s whereabouts was none of her concern, that she should mind her own business. But her conscience kept insisting that she had a moral obligation to report the information to the police, that right was right and wrong was wrong. No one should get away with murder.
In the fifteen minutes it took to reach her house, Charlotte continued wavering over her decision, so much so that by the time she turned onto her street, she was ready to scream.
When she spotted the blue Ford parked at the curb in front of her house, she could hardly believe her eyes. With sudden pulse-pounding certainty, it was at that moment that she knew the decision had been taken out of her hands. It was an omen. Fate, it seemed, had stepped in and made the decision for her.
Why else would Louis Thibodeaux show up on her doorstep at this precise time after an entire week of silence? Why else, unless the information she possessed had been meant to be shared with the police?
Indecision was the root of all worry, Charlotte decided as she guided the van into her driveway and parked it beneath the shed. Strange, she thought, how once a decision was made, the initial worry seemed to disappear. Even more strange was the fact that she was actually relieved, even glad, to see Louis Thibodeaux.
By the time she reached the front porch, he was waiting for her near the steps.
It was odd to see the detective dressed in snug-fitting jeans instead of his usual khaki pants. But the more casual look suited him, she decided, and made him look younger and somewhat less intimidating.
“I hope you don’t mind me showing up without calling first,” he said.
“Actually I’m glad you did show up,” she told him, and for once she truly meant it. The surprised expression on his face was priceless, and though just the thought of catching
him
off guard for a change made her want to smile, what she needed to tell him was no laughing matter. Motioning for him to follow, she turned and climbed the steps. “Come inside. There’s something we need to talk about.”
him
off guard for a change made her want to smile, what she needed to tell him was no laughing matter. Motioning for him to follow, she turned and climbed the steps. “Come inside. There’s something we need to talk about.”
Chapter Twenty-six
S
weety Boy began his usual antics of prancing, preening, and squawking the moment Charlotte stepped inside the living room. She set her purse down on the table by the doorway.
weety Boy began his usual antics of prancing, preening, and squawking the moment Charlotte stepped inside the living room. She set her purse down on the table by the doorway.
The detective followed her in and glanced over at the birdcage. “I think he’s glad to see you,” he said with a chuckle.
At the sound of the detective’s voice, the little bird suddenly ceased his squawking and went still so abruptly that he almost fell off his perch. If his actions hadn’t been so bizarre, they would have been comical.
“What’s your bird’s name?” the detective asked.
“Sweety Boy,” Charlotte answered, still watching the parakeet to see what he would do next. When his feathers suddenly began quivering, she narrowed her eyes.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun.” The detective stepped closer to the cage. “Look at that. Poor little fellow. He looks like he’s scared to death. Hey, boy, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The detective eased his forefinger through the cage wires.
Suddenly, with what sounded like a screech of terror, the little bird flew at the offending finger. His wings flapping, feathers flying, he attacked it with claws and beak.
“Hey, watch it! Ouch!” The detective jerked his finger back.
“Sweety Boy!” Charlotte cried.
While the detective rubbed his injured finger with his thumb, Sweety Boy squawked again, then quickly retreated to the opposite side of his cage.
“Guess he doesn’t like strangers much, does he?”
Charlotte was mortified. “He’s usually pretty friendly,” she said apologetically. “Did he break the skin?”
“Naw, no harm done.” Louis Thibodeaux held out his finger for her inspection.
There had never been a reason for Charlotte to even notice his hands or fingers before, but she liked what she saw. Though long and slender, his fingers looked strong and capable, and his bluntly trimmed nails were clean. Other than a small red welt near the first knuckle, his forefinger looked none the worse for the bird’s assault.
“Sorry about that,” she offered. “With the exception of my sister, he’s usually pretty friendly to everyone.”
“Does he attack her, too?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No.” Then she laughed. “She knows better than to get that close. But just last week she swears he called her crazy.”
The detective chuckled. “Hmm, a discriminating parakeet. Interesting company you keep, Charlotte.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry he was so rude.”
“Don’t worry about it. He probably just needs a little time to get used to me.”
The detective’s statement struck her as a bit odd. He didn’t seem the type to throw out an offhanded remark unless he meant it, so exactly what did he mean? she wondered.
“You said there was something we needed to talk about,” he reminded her.
“Ah ... yes, yes there is. Won’t you sit down?” She motioned toward the sofa. Once he was seated, she asked, “Would you like something to drink? Iced tea? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine for now. Maybe later.”
Though Charlotte was far too jittery to sit, she felt it would be awkward to remain standing, so she chose a chair opposite the sofa. Perched on the edge of the cushion, her hands clasped tightly together, she didn’t know any other way to say it but straight out. “I—I think I know where you might find Jeanne and Brian,” she told him. “I’m not positive, mind you, but I just remembered something I saw on Jeanne’s desk the Friday before Jackson was murdered.”
As she explained about the mortgage contract on the property in Gould, Colorado, it was hard to gauge the detective’s reaction from the deadpan look on his face. Even when she’d finished her explanation, his expression didn’t change. She wasn’t sure exactly how she’d expected him to react, but the longer the silence grew between them, the more nervous she became.
“I was going to call Judith,” she said, hating the defensive tone in her voice, “but since you were already here—” Charlotte suddenly frowned. “Why are you here, by the way? Why were you waiting for me?”
“That’s not important at the moment,” he said, quickly dismissing her question with a succinct shake of his head. “Right now I’m just trying to figure out why it’s taken you over a week to remember about this property in Colorado.”
All of Charlotte’s defenses instantly went on red alert. “Just what are you implying, Detective?”
“I’m not
implying
anything, but I’m wondering if there’s a part of you that wanted Jeanne to escape, so much so that you conveniently forgot about this property until now.”
implying
anything, but I’m wondering if there’s a part of you that wanted Jeanne to escape, so much so that you conveniently forgot about this property until now.”
Charlotte’s tenuous hold on her temper slipped a notch. “If that were true,” she shot back, “then why would I even bother telling you now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t pretend to be privy to the inner workings of the female mind. Who knows why women do half the stuff they do?”
“Because most men are male-chauvinist pigs.” The second she blurted out the words, she wished she hadn’t. After all, he was a police detective, for Pete’s sake, and the last thing she needed or wanted was to antagonize the police.
For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then, suddenly, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I wondered what it would take to get your dander up,” he finally said, still chuckling. “Well, now I know, but I had you going for a while there, didn’t I?”
Charlotte didn’t know whether to laugh along with him or throw something at him.
As it turned out, she did neither, because he abruptly rose to his feet. “We’ll check out the information,” he said, “and I’m willing to bet that you’re right on about it So far, it’s the best lead we have. Humph! Who am I kidding? It’s the only lead we have.”
He turned toward the door, and Charlotte pushed out of the chair. He’d only taken a couple of steps when he suddenly stopped and faced her again. “By the way,” he said gruffly, his dark eyes boring into hers in a way that made her pulse race. “Thanks for the tip. I realize that telling me—or anyone—wasn’t an easy decision for you to make, considering your relationship with that family. If it’s any comfort, it was the right decision.”
His insight broadsided her and caught her completely off guard. Something deep within her, some long, forgotten emotion twisted hard, and Charlotte almost melted on the spot. That he’d even recognized that she’d had a dilemma was totally unexpected. But given the circumstances, his attempt to comfort her and reassure her was truly amazing.
The firm click of the door closing behind him was what finally shook her out of her daze. Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed. “Just goes to show,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t judge a book by the cover.”
She blinked several times, then marched over to the door. Once she’d snapped the deadbolt into place, she turned toward the birdcage. “And you—” She shook her finger at the little bird inside. “You should be ashamed of yourself, attacking a policeman like that. Silly bird, don’t you know that he’s one of the good guys.”
It was true, she realized with sudden clarity. He was one of the good guys. And given her past experiences dealing with men, good guys weren’t that easy to come by anymore.
Or could it be that you like him a little too much?
Was Judith right, after all? she wondered.
“Crazy,” Sweety Boy squawked. “Crazy, crazy.”
Charlotte glared at the little bird, then burst out laughing. “Maybe so,” she said. Maybe it was crazy to be considering a relationship with Louis Thibodeaux. “And just maybe you’re jumping the gun a bit,” she muttered. Just because the man had teased her a little didn’t mean he’d been flirting. And just because he’d been understanding and showed her a bit of compassion didn’t mean he was interested in her as a woman or in a relationship ... Or did it?
Charlotte suddenly frowned. He never had told her why he’d stopped by in the first place or what it was that he’d wanted to talk to her about.
She was still frowning when she noticed that she had a message on her answering machine. She tapped the PLAY button.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry I didn’t catch you at home, but I thought you would want to know that I checked on Mrs. St. Martin for you this morning.” There was a momentary pause. “I hate telling you this, but the old lady has taken a turn for the worse. She’s developed pneumonia, and her kidneys are shutting down. It doesn’t look good for her.” After another pause, he said, “Call me if you want to talk. I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
O
n Thursday morning, Charlotte chose a light breakfast of cereal and juice before she struck out for her daily walk. According to the early-morning weather forecast, the day promised to be full of sunshine, with a moderate high of around seventy degrees.
n Thursday morning, Charlotte chose a light breakfast of cereal and juice before she struck out for her daily walk. According to the early-morning weather forecast, the day promised to be full of sunshine, with a moderate high of around seventy degrees.
After her walk, she placed a call to Hank. He was in between patients, so his receptionist put her call through.
“Hi, honey. I know you’re busy, but I won’t keep you but a minute. I was wondering if you’d checked on Miss Clarice this morning yet?”
“Yes, ma’am, I checked. I was going to call you later. She made it through the night, but she’s going downhill fast It’s just a matter of time now. Sorry, Mom.”
“Me, too,” Charlotte murmured as her thoughts strayed to Anna-Maria. She wondered how the young woman was holding up with so much tragedy happening in her life in such a short time.
“Are you going to try to see her?”
“I would really like to—but no. Under the circumstances, I don’t think they would want me there.”
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