Authors: Barbara Colley

Maid for Murder (34 page)

BOOK: Maid for Murder

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Once again in her life, Jeanne was desperate and cornered, and she wasn’t thinking things through. Despite her hastily conceived hostage plan, the NOPD had sharpshooters who wouldn’t hesitate to take a shot if one came open. One or both of them was going to end up dead ... unless ...

Jeanne waved the scalpel again. “I said get over here!”

Charlotte nodded even as she took a firmer grip on her purse. Only about three good steps separated them. Charlotte made the first step slowly. When she stepped out again, she brought up her purse and smacked it hard against the hand holding the scalpel.

The purse hit its mark, and the scalpel flew out of Jeanne’s hand. Before Jeanne could recover, Charlotte lowered her shoulder. Using her elbow like a battering ram, she slammed it into Jeanne’s stomach.

When Jeanne clutched her stomach and doubled over, Charlotte jumped back and searched frantically for the scalpel. She spotted it on the floor in the opposite corner and quickly scooped it up..

With wary eyes on Charlotte, Jeanne struggled to get to her feet. “Please,” she gasped. “Don’t hurt me. I—I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

Charlotte wasn’t exactly sure why, but something told her to keep quiet and not give herself away. Charlotte drew back her arm, and using the scalpel in the same threatening manner that Jeanne had used it, she motioned for her to move away from the elevator’s control panel.

Jeanne backed away toward the opposite corner. “I have money,” she cried. “If you help me, I’ll pay you. Please!” she begged. “Please help me.”

Charlotte only hesitated a moment. Then she firmly shook her head and reached for the emergency STOP button. Once she’d pulled it, she hit the first-floor button. When the elevator began moving again, Jeanne burst into sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she crumpled to the floor.

Within seconds, the elevator stopped again, and the doors slid open. The first person Charlotte saw was Louis Thibodeaux. He was half-hidden, crouched behind the edge of the doorway leading into the hospital gift shop.

“NOPD!” he yelled. “Drop the scalpel, lady. Drop it now!”

Charlotte was so relieved to see him that if it hadn’t been for the gun he was pointing at her, she would have hugged him. Then, suddenly, it seemed as if there were police everywhere, all pointing their guns at her.

Only then did Charlotte remember that she was in disguise, that neither Louis nor anyone else knew who she was. She dropped the scalpel, and it clattered to the floor.

“Now kick it out here,” he demanded.

Charlotte did as he asked As soon as the scalpel cleared the door of the elevator, an officer darted over and grabbed it.

“Now come on out of there.” Louis motioned at her with his gun. “And you—on the noor—you get out here, too”

The moment Charlotte stepped out of the elevator, she was seized by an officer who was waiting, out of sight, on the side of the elevator doors. He yanked her purse off her shoulder, then grabbed her by the arm and twisted it up behind her back. Charlotte winced with pain when she felt the handcuffs tighten around her wrist Then he yanked her other arm behind her back and cuffed that wrist, too.

Still sobbing, Jeanne stumbled out and stopped just behind Charlotte. Another officer seized her and performed the same ritual.

Once they were both handcuffed, Louis bolstered his gun and approached them. Pointing at Jeanne, he told the officer standing beside her, “Read her her rights, then take her to lockup. She’s the one wanted for murder.”

The officer nodded, and as he pulled her toward the front hospital entrance, he began reading Jeanne her rights.

“What about this one?” the officer beside Charlotte asked.

Louis shook his head. “I’ll take care of her.” With a shrug, the officer handed over Charlotte’s purse and walked away.

Louis tucked the purse beneath his arm, then turned and watched until Jeanne was well out of earshot. When he faced Charlotte again, the angry look on his face made her flinch. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m taking you in personally.”

With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. Left with little choice but to stumble along beside him, Charlotte panicked. “Louis—wait.” She tried to shrug loose, but with her hands handcuffed behind her back, there was no way to dislodge his grip. “Don’t you recognize me?” she cried. “Please!”

Suddenly, he stopped. Yanking her to a standstill, he rounded on her. “You bet I recognize you, Ms. Charlotte LaRue. And I was right all along. You’ve been involved in this mess from the beginning, haven’t you? You’ve been helping her every step of the way.”

Sudden bone-chilling fear seized Charlotte. “No!” she cried. “No—you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Oh, have I, now?” he drawled nastily. “If I’ve got it all wrong, just how did you know Jeanne would show up at the hospital tonight? Just what in blue blazes did you think you were doing?” His dark eyes were full of contempt as they swept over her from head to toe. “Of all the harebrained, idiotic stunts you’ve pulled so far, this one takes the cake. Maybe this will teach you to stay out of police business from now on.”

Charlotte was taken aback by his vehemence. She’d seen him angry before, but this was different. This was overkill. But why?

Maybe this will teach you
... Out of the blue, it suddenly dawned on Charlotte what he was doing. If he had meant to arrest her, he would have already done so. Plain and simple, he was trying to throw a scare into her. Yet again, she had to wonder why.

No pat answer presented itself, but Charlotte’s insides churned with a bevy of warring emotions. She was confused as well as annoyed with him. But she was angry, too, angry enough to chew nails.

Just who did he think he was, anyway, trying to teach her a lesson as if she didn’t have good sense? No one had ever dared talk to her as he had and got away with it. And no one, but no one, had ever accused her of being harebrained or idiotic.

Charlotte doubled her hands into tight fists. Enough was enough. More than enough. Her temper seething, she glared up at him. “Are you arresting me, Detective?”

“I ought to.”

“On what charges?” she demanded.

“Aiding and abetting a murderer, for starters,” he snapped.

“Ah, pu-lease,” she said, sarcasm dripping, “give me some credit. I wasn’t born yesterday. Either do it or take these handcuffs off.”

For what seemed like an eternity, he did nothing but glare right back at her. But Charlotte was in no mood to play his stupid game.

“Take them off now!” she demanded With one last scathing look, she deliberately turned her back to him and waited.

Several tense moments passed before he finally grabbed her hands and unlocked the cuffs. The moment he pulled them off, she jerked her hands free and whirled to face him.

“My purse.” She stuck out her hand, palm up, and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Charlotte, I—”

“Give me my purse!” she yelled.

“Okay, okay Here!” He handed over the purse.

She should have left well enough alone. After all, she’d called his bluff and won. But everything about the man personified the prejudices she’d been up against most of her life, and it was high time that someone put
him
in his place.

She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “Just in case no one has informed you,
Detective,
” she sneered, “this is the twenty-first century. Women not only have the right to vote now, but most of us have even learned how to get along in this world without a great big macho man to take care of us”

With one final, contemptuous glare, she whirled around and stomped off toward the entrance doors of the hospital.

Chapter Thirty

T
he moment Charlotte climbed inside her van, she jerked off the wig and tossed it on the floor. Switching on the dome light, she leaned forward and peered into the rearview mirror. The reflection she saw made her groan. She looked awful, with her flattened-out hair and too-dark makeup. Wishing she’d brought along a brush, she tried finger-combing her hair, but finally gave up. What difference did it make, anyway? she thought. There was no one to see her, no one to impress with how she looked ... not anymore.

With one last glare at the wig on the floor, she switched off the dome light and cranked the van. If she never saw the thing again, it would be too soon. Not only had the wig made her head itch, but it was a stark reminder of how Louis Thibodeaux had tried to humiliate her. The minute she got home, she intended to stuff it in the garbage.

The drive home didn’t take long, but as she wound her way through the dimly lit narrow streets that were all but deserted, she kept seeing the astonished look on the detective’s face when she’d told him off.

There was something to be said for getting in the last word. So why did she feel so rotten? she wondered. But Charlotte knew why. She knew exactly why.

Although his initial response had been enormously gratifying at the time, she’d violated two of her most sacred codes for living. She’d always tried her best to honor the Golden Rule. And for the most part, she’d always tried to turn the other cheek.

In Charlotte’s opinion, though, living by those codes wasn’t synonymous with being a doormat for anyone and everyone to walk on. If Louis Thibodeaux—or any other man, for that matter—thought they could bully her, then they had another think coming. Charlotte LaRue was no one’s doormat.

Charlotte was able to hold on to her righteous indignation until she finally reached home. But doing so required energy, and Charlotte was running on empty.

By the time she walked through her front door, all she felt was hollow inside. When all was said and done, her would-be relationship with the detective was a drop in the bucket compared to the ruined lives of the Dubuisson family. Jackson was dead, Clarice was dying, Jeanne was in jail, and Anna-Maria ... poor Anna-Maria was left to deal with all the ramifications.

After a quick check on Sweety Boy, Charlotte switched off the living-room lights and headed straight for her bedroom. What she needed was a good night’s sleep. As she passed by her desk, the blinking light of her answering machine flashed like a tiny beacon in the semidarkened room.

All she could think about was how tired she was, and she was sorely tempted to ignore the infernal thing. But according to the digital number count, she’d had six phone calls.

Unease crawled up her spine. To have that many calls in the course of one evening could mean that something was wrong.

Charlotte shook her head. “And it could mean nothing,” she muttered. But there was only one way to find out.

Charlotte switched on the desk lamp. When she finally located a notepad and pen beneath a stack of mail, she hit the answering machine’s PLAY button.

The first call was from Judith.

“Aunt Charley, when you get home, give me a call.”

The machine beeped, and the next message played.

“Where are you, Auntie? It’s after nine. Why haven’t you called me?”

Again the machine beeped..

“Mom, Judith phoned me, and she’s worried because you’re not home. It’s ten-thirty, and I’m beginning to get worried, too. Call me as soon as you get home.”

“Oh, great,” Charlotte murmured as the machine beeped. “Next thing I know they’ll put out an APB on me”

The last three calls were hang-ups, but the digital voice of the answering machine revealed that they had come in at eleven and eleven-thirty The last call had been made at twelve, just about the time that she’d been wrestling with Jeanne in the hospital elevator.

Charlotte shuddered, remembering the maniacal look in Jeanne’s eyes as she’d held the scalpel. Hoping she wouldn’t have nightmares about it, she glanced up at the cuckoo. It was almost one A.M.

Now what? she wondered. No matter which call she returned, she’d have to explain about the whole humiliating mess at the hospital. Hank would have a fit. Then she’d have to listen to a lecture from him. And Judith ... Charlotte frowned Since Judith was Louis Thibodeaux’s partner, shouldn’t she have been there tonight? So why wasn’t she at the hospital, too? she wondered.

Charlotte tapped her fingers impatiently on the desktop. She’d think about all of that tomorrow, but right now, she needed to decide what to do about the phone messages. If she didn’t call at least one of them, she would run the risk of both of them showing up on her doorstep.

Outside, a car door slammed shut, and Charlotte frowned. Then she heard another door slam shut.

Speak of the devil and he appears.

“No,” she moaned the minute the old saying popped into her head. “Please say it ain’t so.”

Even expecting it, Charlotte jumped when the doorbell buzzed. Before she had time to push herself out of the chair, she heard her niece’s muffled voice.

“Use the key, Hank”

The key jiggled in the lock, then the door swung open. Hank, with Judith close on his heels, burst into the room.

BOOK: Maid for Murder

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