Death Tidies Up (14 page)

“Jenny called them the wild bunch,” Bitsy continued, “but then, what can you expect? All of them were spoiled rotten. But that's what happens when parents give a child anything and everything that money can buy.” Bitsy shook her head. “Lord knows, they were bad enough in high school, but by the time they got to Tulane, they were holy terrors.” She abruptly paused. Then her expression grew thoughtful. “Hmm…Of course, that was the year there was all that hoopla about that chemistry professor too, so nobody paid much attention to their antics or pranks—and believe me, they pulled some. But here, let me show you.”

Bitsy flipped over several pages and pointed out a large picture of a man dressed in what appeared to be a lab coat. “That's him. That's the infamous Professor Arthur Samuel.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Charlotte, but the details as to why it seemed familiar escaped her.

“And what a delicious scandal that was,” Bitsy said with relish. “Why I remember it like it happened yesterday. Jenny was in his chemistry class that semester. Of course it was all in the papers too—remember, that was when we still had the
States Item
as well as the
Picayune.”
She waved a dismissing hand. “Anyway, the professor was arrested for a hit-and-run accident.”

“Of course,” Charlotte murmured. “Now I remember. Didn't the hit-and-run happen over on St. Charles Avenue, not far from Tulane?”

Bitsy nodded. “Yep, it sure did. He ran a red light and hit some poor man who was crossing the avenue. Everyone said he was drunk as a skunk when he did it, but of course the professor denied it all. Claimed he was home that night. But the jury didn't buy it, especially when it came out that the professor was an alcoholic. Convicted him of vehicular homicide and sentenced him to ten years.” Bitsy snickered. “Evidently his wife didn't buy it either, since she divorced him, took the kids, and moved back to Kansas where she was from.”

Bitsy closed the yearbook. “Funny thing, though,” she said, patting the top of the book. “No one at the reunion seemed to know what happened to him after he got out of prison. You'd think
someone
would know.” Bitsy suddenly made a face. “But that's old news. And Drew Bergeron isn't. Now, Charlotte, you simply must tell me what happened. Someone said that when you found him, he was naked as a jaybird. Well? Was he?”

There was no way around it, Charlotte decided. Like a dog gnawing on a bone, Bitsy wasn't going to give up until she told her what she wanted to hear. Maybe if she gave the old lady just a brief rundown of the facts, she would stop obsessing about it. And just maybe she could stop some of the false rumors flying around. Working for the Dubuissons had taught her that having her name and maid service associated in any way, shape, or form with a murder simply wasn't good for business…or her own peace of mind.

“He was not naked,” Charlotte finally replied a bit more sharply than she'd intended. “And I wasn't the one who found him,” she added, toning down her agitation.

 

Since Charlotte's doctor's appointment was scheduled for two-thirty, she had just enough time to run a few errands after she left Bitsy's house at noon.

Later, as she sat in the crowded waiting room of the doctor's office, she idly thumbed through a magazine in an attempt to distract herself. Anything, any distraction at all so she could stop thinking about the reason she was there to begin with.

But none of the articles held her attention for long. Feeling definitely fidgety, she glanced at her watch. It seemed as if she'd been sitting and waiting for an eternity. Her lips thinned with irritation when she saw the time. Almost an hour had passed since she'd arrived.

Ten more minutes, she decided. She'd wait ten more minutes, then, appointment or not, she was out of there.

“Charlotte LaRue? Ms. Charlotte LaRue?”

When Charlotte glanced up and saw the nurse waiting by the door that led back to the examination rooms, a cold knot formed in her stomach. She could still leave, she thought. She could just pretend that she didn't hear her name being called, get up, and walk out the door. Couldn't she?

 

Over two hours later, Charlotte was wishing she had left. Since she had no fever, her blood pressure was normal, and from the basic physical, she appeared to be just fine, the doctor had insisted that she go ahead and get her flu shot while she was there.

“You can get dressed now, Ms. LaRue.”

Charlotte simply smiled at the nurse as she climbed off the examination table. Already her arm was feeling achy from the shot.

The nurse capped the needle, then dropped it into a small plastic container. “We should have all of your test results in by next Thursday, so be sure and make an appointment on your way out.”

Once the nurse left the room, Charlotte's smile faded. “Thank goodness that's over,” she muttered as she made her way back to the tiny cubicle where she'd left her clothes. She'd been prodded, poked with needles, and submitted to other indignities that she'd just as soon forget about before they had finished with her. But the worst part of the whole ordeal was yet to come.

“Another whole week,” she grumbled as she pulled off the hospital gown and dressed. Now, she had to wait a whole week before she could find out the results of all the tests. But she should have known better than to expect an answer right away. Hurry up and wait seemed to be the norm for everything nowadays.

F
or a change, Marian was already dressed when Charlotte arrived on Wednesday morning. Only minutes after she stepped inside the Hebert house, she found out the reason why.

“As soon as I eat a bite, I'll be leaving for a while,” Marian told her when they entered the kitchen. “I'm meeting with Jefferson Harper to decide what kind of damage control is needed for the Devilier house because of Drew's murder.” Her expression turned grim as she walked to the pantry and retrieved a box of cereal. “Not too many people want to rent a place where a murder's been committed.”

Charlotte began unloading the dishwasher. “I suppose not,” she murmured.

Marian shrugged, then poured the cereal in a bowl and added milk. “Anyway, I need to ask a favor.” She carried the bowl of cereal over to the table and seated herself. “Ordinarily, I would just let the machine catch any phone calls,” she explained. “Or I would forward them to my cell phone. But silly me, I forgot that the battery needed recharging. And with B.J. being back in school and all, just in case there's a problem, I was wondering if you'd mind too much answering any calls that come in. I'll leave a number where I can be reached,” she added.

“No problem,” Charlotte told her. “And speaking of B.J.—” She removed the basket of silverware from the dishwasher and placed it on the countertop. “Did you ever find out what the fight was about?”

Marian finished chewing the bite of cereal she had taken, swallowed hard, and blinked several times. “Unfortunately, yes—yes, I did. You know how worried I've been about him. He just hasn't been the same since his father died. And now, with all this stuff going around about Drew's murder, all the gossip has started up all over again about Bill's death as well.”

Charlotte frowned. “But what does all of that have to do with B.J. fighting?”

“B.J. claims he was defending his father's honor. One of the boys he fought with taunted him about Bill. Said that he'd committed suicide and made it look like an accident because of the insurance money.” She dropped her head, and covered her face with her hands. “Kids can be so—so mean,” she whispered, tears in her voice.

For several moments, Charlotte was speechless. When she found her voice, she was furious on B.J.'s behalf. “I wouldn't call that just mean. I'd say that was downright cruel. But why would the boy have said such a thing to begin with? Drew's murder had nothing to do with your husband's accident.”

Marian dropped her hands and stared out the window. “Gossip,” she replied. “The boy was probably repeating something he'd heard his parents say.” She turned her head and faced Charlotte. “Everybody knew there were hard feelings between Bill and Drew after Drew fired him. And Bill made no secret of the fact that he blamed Drew when we began losing clients. He made sure everyone knew about Drew's threats.” She grimaced. “For all the good that did.”

“What kind of threats?” The second Charlotte uttered the words, she wished she hadn't. “Oh, Marian, I'm so sorry. It's really none of my business.”

“Don't apologize, Charlotte. I'm the one who should apologize for burdening you with my problems to begin with. And like I said, it was no deep, dark secret anyway. But to answer your question, it all started when Maurice Sinclair died. Maurice left the business to Katherine, so Drew took over running things. Problem was, Drew was too busy playing big shot and didn't take care of the business or their clients. Bill saw what was happening and began to get worried since our livelihood was in jeopardy too.

“At first he tried talking to Drew, friend to friend—ha! Some friend he turned out to be,” she added with a sneer. “Drew ignored him, of course, and things went from bad to worse. As a last-ditch effort, Bill more or less told Drew to either get his priorities straight or he was going straight to Katherine. Giving Drew warning was a mistake, though. A week after they'd had their little confrontation, Drew up and fired Bill. But just firing him wasn't enough for the bastard. To add salt to the wound, he threatened him too. Threatened to ruin him in the real estate business if Bill ever went to Katherine.”

Marian paused. Then she sighed. “Of course Bill went anyway, and of course Drew made good his threats. From that point on, our business went from bad to worse.

“At first I didn't want to believe what everyone was saying. But those last few weeks before—before Bill died, he was so worried and upset that—” Marian shook her head. “I keep thinking that maybe if I'd been stronger, more supportive, he—he might still be alive—” Her voice broke and her shoulders quivered with silent sobs.

“Oh, hon.” Charlotte rushed over to Marian, and placing her hand on the younger woman's shoulder, she knelt beside her chair. Some of what Marian was saying made sense, but some of it didn't, and no wonder. The woman was clearly distraught, so it was understandable that she might be confused. “You can't blame yourself,” Charlotte told her.

“Oh, can't I?” she cried.

“It was an accident,” Charlotte insisted. “The police said it was, so how can you blame yourself for an accident?”

Marian slowly shook her head. “I wish I could believe that—wish it with all of my heart. Then maybe I could sleep at night. Lord knows, I want to believe it. But I don't,” she added in a whisper. “In spite of what the police said, I don't think Bill's death was just an accident, and I still have nightmares. It haunts me, and now it's haunting my son too.”

 

The memory of Marian's last words lingered long after she had left for her appointment. Even after Charlotte had finished up and was on her way home that afternoon, the desperation and anguish in Marian's voice kept echoing in her mind. By the time she turned down her street, she was sick at heart from thinking about all of it.

Once inside her house, though, there were other things to occupy her thoughts. Sweety Boy provided some relief as he burst into chirps and whistles the minute she walked through the door.

“Hey, Boy, did you miss me?” She set down her purse and slipped off her shoes. “Come on, Sweety. Say, ‘Missed you, Charlotte. Missed you.'” After pulling on her moccasins, she walked over to the little bird's cage.

“If you talk for me, I'll let you out for a while.” A loud squawk was the only answer she got, but she unlatched the cage door anyway. The second she opened the door, the little parakeet was out like a flash.

Charlotte watched him flutter from one perch to another in the living room for a few minutes; then she walked over to the desk to check her answering machine. The blinking light indicated that she had three messages, and Charlotte tapped the play button.

After a long beep, the first message began. “Hi, Mother. Just checking in with you to see how you're feeling after your tests yesterday. Give me a call. Love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, as the machine beeped again.

“Charlotte, it's Madeline. I meant to call yesterday but got busy. Anyway, how was your doctor's appointment? Find out anything yet? Call me.”

Charlotte sighed and shook her head as the machine beeped again.

“Hey, Aunt Charley. It's Judith. Just checking up on you. How'd the doctor's appointment go? Any news yet? Call me.”

Charlotte glared at the machine. “Oh, for pity's sake,” she muttered. “You'd think I was dying or something.”

 

Normally, Charlotte tried to keep Thursdays free from commitments so she could catch up on paperwork or do whatever was needed to keep her maid service running smoothly as well as take care of personal errands.

After her early-morning walk, she put on a load of clothes to wash while she hurried through her own housekeeping chores. Then she settled at the desk.

It took her until almost noon to enter expense receipts into the ledger she kept for tax purposes. When she'd finally entered the last of the receipts, she shoved away from the desk with a sigh and walked to the front window.

Feeling a bit stiff from sitting too long, she rolled her head from side to side, then flexed the fingers on her writing hand. As she stared out of the window, she thought again about the offer her son had made. Maybe it was time to give in. For months he'd been nagging her to get a computer, but she'd resisted. He'd argued that if she was going to continue being stubborn about retiring, the least she could do was to let him get her a computer so that she could run her service more efficiently.

Not only had he offered to buy a computer, but he'd assured her that he would have someone set it up for her and even pay for lessons. Of course, as usual, he'd followed up the offer with yet another pitch aimed at getting her to retire.

Charlotte suddenly frowned when she realized what she'd been staring at out the window. For the second day straight, Louis' blue Ford was still parked in the driveway. Funny. She hadn't seen or talked to him since their confrontation Sunday morning. Come to think of it, even though his car was parked in the driveway, she hadn't heard the first peep coming from his half of the double.

Just about the time she'd decided that maybe she'd better check up on him, Judith's tan Toyota pulled up alongside the curb. When Judith emerged from her car, Charlotte saw that her niece was carrying a plastic sack.

Wondering what could be in the sack, she walked to the front door in anticipation of Judith's knock. When several minutes passed and nothing happened, Charlotte opened the door and stuck her head out just in time to see Judith disappear through the front door of Louis' half of the double.

“Oh, well,” she murmured, unable to stem her disappointment as she closed the door. “Time for lunch.”

 

One of the luxuries Charlotte allowed herself on Thursdays, if time allowed, was an afternoon nap after lunch. She'd just stretched out on the sofa with a book when her doorbell rang.

Probably Judith, she thought as she hurried to the door. Sure enough, when she opened it, her niece was standing on the other side of the threshold.

“Hey there, Auntie. Got a cup of coffee?”

“Hey there, yourself.” Charlotte gave Judith a quick hug. But when she pulled away, she frowned. “You look tired, hon.”

“I am,” Judith told her as she followed Charlotte back to the kitchen. “Not only is the Bergeron case going nowhere fast, but half the department is out with the flu, and we've had three other homicides since Saturday. No rest for the weary, that's for sure.”

Charlotte motioned toward the kitchen table. “How about a bite to eat?”

“Just coffee, Aunt Charley. Lou's down with the flu too, so I took him lunch and ate with him.”

“Well, that explains it,” Charlotte murmured as she prepared the coffeepot. “I knew I'd seen his car parked in the driveway, but I hadn't actually seen or talked to him since Sunday morning.”

“Yeah, he started with the chills and fever Sunday night—which reminds me. Did you get your flu shot yet?”

Charlotte switched on the coffeepot and nodded. “Yesterday, while I was at the torture chamber, otherwise known as the doctor's office.”

A slight smile pulled at Judith's cheeks. “That bad, huh?” she drawled. “And that's another thing. You never did return my call last night. So—other than being tortured—how was your appointment?”

While the coffee dripped, Charlotte gave Judith a rundown of the various tests that had been done. “The very worst thing of all, though,” she said when she'd finished, “is that I have to wait a whole week to find out the results.”

“Yeah, waiting is always the hard part with everything. I'm still waiting on some lab results that I should have had two days ago.”

Charlotte frowned. “About the Bergeron murder?”

Judith nodded. “That and others.”

“Any suspects yet?”

Judith laughed, but the sound was anything but humorous. “Oh, there are plenty of suspects. Mr. Bergeron was not a popular fellow, it seems. It's the narrowing down of the suspects that's the problem.”

Judith shifted in her chair, then began drumming her fingers against the tabletop.
She's nervous,
thought Charlotte, recognizing all too well the signs. Ever since Judith was a little girl, any time she was worried, or in an uncomfortable or a tense situation, she'd resorted to what Charlotte thought of as the nervous fidgets. The girl simply couldn't keep still.

“Which brings me to one of the reasons for my visit,” Judith told her. Tilting her head, she pinned Charlotte with a look that Charlotte recognized all too well, and she grimaced, already suspicious of what was coming.

“Okay, hon, just spit it out and be done with it.”

“Well, Auntie,” she drawled. “Unfortunately, once again it seems that you know several of the suspects.”

Charlotte's stomach turned queasy.

“I'm hoping that you can help me out,” Judith added.

The very last thing Charlotte wanted was to be pulled into yet another murder investigation that involved clients. Once had been enough, thank you very much. And just the thought of it happening again made her feel ill.

“You've already questioned me and my employees. I don't know of anything else I can add.”

“That was
before
we narrowed down the suspects, Auntie. You know I hate having to do this to you,” Judith continued, “but to be honest, right now I can use all of the help I can get. I need to—”

“The coffee's ready,” Charlotte interrupted, then busied herself with pouring it into the mugs she'd retrieved from the cabinet.

“Now, Aunt Charley, I know you don't want to talk about it, and I know all about your confidentiality policy concerning your clients, but this
is
a murder investigation. Whether you want to or not, I have to do this.”

Gossiping or talking about her clients was prohibited. It had been a long-standing policy that Charlotte instilled in her employees the moment they were hired, one that she believed in so adamantly that any breach was grounds for immediate dismissal.