Authors: Barbara Colley

Maid for Murder (16 page)

BOOK: Maid for Murder

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Charlotte slowed down the van at her driveway. At any other time, she would have been delighted by a midweek visit from Judith, but given the circumstances surrounding their encounter the night before at the Dubuissons’ house, not to mention the call from Judith’s partner, she felt only dread.

The words
official police business
kept running through her head.

But Charlotte had always tried to look for something positive in every situation; she supposed that she should be grateful that the car sitting in front of her home belonged to Judith and not Louis Thibodeaux.

Charlotte pulled into her driveway and parked beneath the shed. Everyone in her family knew that Charlotte kept a spare key hidden beneath the fat ceramic frog in the flower bed near the front corner of the house. Since Judith was already inside instead of waiting on the porch, Charlotte figured she’d been there a while.

The moment Charlotte stepped through the front door, Sweety Boy let out a series of chirps and whistles and fluttered around inside his cage, all orchestrated, she knew, to get her attention.

“That bird is something else, Aunt Charley.”

Judith was seated on the sofa. An open briefcase, along with several stacks of papers, were spread out around her. “I’ve been here about a half an hour, and there hasn’t been a peep out of him. He’s barely even moved off his perch, and now look at him.”

“What can I say?” Charlotte grinned. “He knows who hands out the birdseed.”

Ignoring the bird’s antics for the moment, Charlotte deposited her purse on the small table near the door. “I would say that this is a nice surprise,” she said as she slipped off her working loafers and stepped into a pair of soft suede moccasins she wore around the house. “But I have a feeling that this isn’t strictly a social visit. And by the way, I waited for you to call last night.”

Judith had the grace to look sheepish for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, Aunt Charley, but I did say I probably wouldn’t have time, and I didn’t get home until late. I figured you were probably already asleep. You’re right, though,” she continued. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit. But Auntie, you know I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t necessary. We have to question everyone who is even remotely connected to the family.”

Charlotte nodded. “I understand. What I don’t understand is why I have to be questioned by your partner, too.”

“You’ve seen Thibodeaux?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Not yet, but he tracked me down at the Dubuissons’” She went on to explain about his phone call and what had happened once she’d arrived at the precinct.

Judith looked puzzled. “I’m pretty sure he knew that I was going to talk to you,” she said.

“Maybe because I’m your aunt he doesn’t think you can be objective enough.”

“No, he knows better than that.” Judith paused. Then, after a moment, she shrugged. “He probably just misunderstood.”

Though she didn’t think Judith looked quite convinced, Charlotte let it slide. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower first and change clothes,” she told her. Charlotte headed toward the bedroom. “Just give me ten minutes,” she called over her shoulder. “And there’s a fresh pitcher of tea in the refrigerator. Fix us both a glass.”

Though Charlotte had chosen the navy uniforms and white aprons that she and her employees wore with careful consideration, there was a downside to her choice. While the cotton-knit material always looked neat and was comfortable and practical, it also absorbed odors, more specifically the odors of the cleaning chemicals they sometimes used. She’d learned early on that showering and changing the minute she got home was much more practical than risking a possible allergic reaction to the chemicals.

While Charlotte showered, she thought about the reason for Judith’s visit, and she suspected she already knew what type of questions her niece was going to ask. Since she worked for the Dubuissons, it was only logical that her niece was going to ask her about the family and their relationships with each other.

Charlotte stepped out of the shower, dried off, then went in search of something to wear. With dread building inside her, she selected a well-worn sweatshirt and matching sweatpants from the closet and dressed.

As she’d told Clarice earlier that day though, she never gossiped about her clients. It was a matter of principle and pride that clients trust her and her employees. Whatever went on in a client’s home stayed there. But gossiping about clients and a murder investigation involving the police were two vastly different things. Unlike lawyers and doctors, she didn’t have the legal luxury of pleading privileged information.

Back in the living room, Charlotte seated herself on the opposite end of the sofa from Judith. “I’m pretty sure I know what you want, hon,” she said, accepting the glass of iced tea that Judith handed her, “but I won’t pretend I like it.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Charley. I know all about your privileged-information policy. But I’m getting nowhere fast with this case, and I have to explore every angle.” Judith pulled out a small notebook from her briefcase and flipped through it to a page filled with notes; then she shifted on the sofa to face Charlotte. “At approximately one A.M. Monday morning, someone either broke in or made it appear that they broke into the Dubuissons’ home through the French doors leading out onto the porch. We’ve already established that the front gate was unlocked. Would you happen to know why the gate was left unlocked?”

“Did you ask Jeanne?”

“Yes, Auntie, I did. But I’d like to hear your answer.”

“Well, there’s no big mystery, hon. Jackson often worked on the weekends, and if he was going to be late, she’d leave the gate unlocked so as not to be disturbed when he came home.”

Judith nodded. “That’s what she said.”

Charlotte tilted her head, a puzzled look on her face. “Why did you say ‘made it appear’ earlier?”

Judith waved away the question without looking up. “I’ll get to that in a minute,” she said, her gaze still on her notes. “There were a couple of papers—deeds and stuff—left on the desk, the kind that would be kept in a safe, so I figure that the safe was probably already open. Of course, any good thief worth his salt could crack that particular kind of safe,” she added. “But I don’t think that was necessary in this case.

“We also found a half-empty bottle of Scotch on the desk and not much sign of a struggle. We already know that the Scotch was a new bottle, a gift from Jackson’s partner, Tony Marriott. Supposedly it was a peace offering of sorts for an argument they’d had.”

Judith shifted again on the sofa, a sure sign she was under stress, and Charlotte almost felt sorry for her. Anytime her niece was worried or in an uncomfortable or tense situation, she resorted to what Charlotte thought of as the nervous fidgets. The girl simply couldn’t keep still.

She looked up at Charlotte. “The way I figure it,” she continued, “Jackson was either passed out and came to while the killer was robbing him or he was well on his way to a drunken stupor, too drunk to put up a fight but sober enough to identify the intruder. Why else would the intruder have bashed him in the head?”

. . . bashed him in the head . . .
A sudden prickly feeling of déjà vu came over Charlotte as she listened to her niece’s description of the murder scene. Each detail was almost identical to what Bitsy had told her about Andrew St. Martin’s murder, a murder that had occurred over fifteen years earlier.

It was Charlotte’s turn to fidget while her niece paused to take several swallows of her tea. Was it possible that Judith didn’t know about Andrew’s murder? Fifteen years ago, Judith would have still been a teenager, but surely someone with the police department had already recalled the incident. Surely someone older who had been around for a while had already pointed out the similarities of the two murders. Someone like Louis Thibodeaux.

Judith had to know, she decided, and Charlotte couldn’t think of any good reason to bring up the matter. But there were several reasons not to. For one, with her being the Dubuissons’ maid, if she did bring it up, Judith might become even more suspicious of the family than she already was.

While Charlotte continued her mental debate, Judith set her glass down and picked up her story where she’d left off. “But all of that is how it could have happened,” she said. “Personally, I think it was an inside job. And so does Thibodeaux. We both think it’s possible the whole thing was staged . . . the broken glass, the fact that Jackson Dubuisson was bashed in the head and not shot . . .” She waved her hand. “Et cetera, et cetera.

“Assuming that the murder wasn’t simply a random burglary gone sour, so far we have two definite suspects. Right now, Tony Marriott and Jeanne Dubuisson are our best bets.”

“No!” Charlotte shook her head adamantly. “Not Jeanne,” she protested. “Jeanne wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“Now don’t get all upset, Aunt Charley.” Judith reached over and patted her shoulder. “We always look at the spouse as a suspect in a murder case. And you’d be surprised at what people are capable of doing, even the seemingly nice ones. But if it will make you feel any better, so far we haven’t uncovered a motive for Jeanne Dubuisson to have killed her husband. Not yer.”

Charlotte nodded slowly, not because she agreed with Judith, at least not about Jeanne’s having killed Jackson. But she did understand what Judith was telling her. It was exactly the same thing Bitsy had said about Clarice’s being the main suspect in Andrew’s murder.

“We’ll know more once the autopsy is done,” Judith said, then glanced up at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “The coroner should be finished by now, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have that report tomorrow morning.”

“So what about Tony Marriott?” Charlotte asked. “Why is he a suspect?” Though she could pretty much guess why, she was curious to hear the official reason the police suspected him.

“He and Jackson had an altercation Friday night at the Zoo To Do. Witnesses say that Tony accused Jackson of having an affair with his wife. He also made some other accusations as well.”

“Like what?” Charlotte asked.

“Primarily, he made noises about Jackson systematically transferring funds out of the firm into his own personal account.”

“I was there Friday night,” Charlotte confessed, “and I saw them having words. But I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying,” she hastened to add.

Judith suddenly grinned. “Hank won out and made you go, after all, huh?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes upward toward the ceiling. “You, of all people, should know how persuasive that son of mine can be.”

“You’re right about that.” Judith laughed. “I can’t tell you how many times I got into trouble growing up all because my dear cousin talked me into doing something I shouldn’t have done.” She paused for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes, and her expression softened. “We had some good times, though, despite the circumstances, didn’t we, Aunt Charley?”

“Yes,” Charlotte assured her, knowing exactly the circumstances that Judith was referring to. “Yes, we did,” she confirmed. Then, gently, knowing how painful the subject could be, she asked, “Have you seen your father lately?”

“No, not in a while, not since he married again.” Judith suddenly grimaced and made a sound of disgust. “Can you believe? This is his fourth marriage, and each time, his wives just keep getting younger and younger. This time he married one younger than I am.”

Charlotte winced at the bitterness in her niece’s voice, bitterness resulting from years of hurt and neglect by a father who didn’t know the meaning of the words love and responsibility.

“Have you mentioned this to your mother yet?”

Judith shook her head that she hadn’t. “You know how she gets,” she said. “I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her, not this time.”

Charlotte nodded in agreement. She loved her sister dearly, but she would never understand the love-hate relationship that Madeline had with her ex-husband. Though it had been years since he had run off with another woman and left Madeline with two small children to raise by herself, each of the two other times he’d remarried had thrown her into a tailspin of depression. The kids had still been young then, and Charlotte was the one who had taken care of Judith and Daniel until Madeline was able to snap out of it.

Abruptly, Judith shook her head as if the action would wipe away the disturbing thoughts of her father and mother. Then, with a sigh, she squared her shoulders. “In the meantime, though,” she said, “I’ve still got a case to solve.” She flipped through the notebook to a clean page and reached for a pen in her briefcase. “So,” she said, pen poised in her hand, “what kind of relationship did Jeanne and Jackson Dubuisson have? Did they get along? Did they argue?”

“Like I said earlier, he worked a lot,” Charlotte answered diplomatically. “I rarely ever saw them together,” she explained. “Mr. Dubuisson was always gone by the time I got there, and I always left before he got home.”

“Come on, Aunt Charley, you know what I mean.”

Torn between keeping her client’s confidence and divulging what she knew, Charlotte hesitated.

He’s stealing you blind

Clarice’s accusation rang in Charlotte’s ears, and she winced. “Well, I never heard them argue,” she said truthfully.

BOOK: Maid for Murder

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