Wiped Out (11 page)

Carol shook her head. “That's not true, Charlotte. Don't listen to him. I—”

The waiter arrived with the iced tea, and Carol waited until he left before continuing. “I didn't turn him down—not exactly. What I told him was that I just needed a little more time to get a few things taken care of first.”

Charlotte was well aware of the “few things” that Carol had to take care of. Fiercely independent, Carol had spent the past five years paying off a debt that she'd incurred from a previous relationship. She'd been engaged to a man who not only turned out to have a gambling problem but who was a con man as well. He'd duped Carol into borrowing money to invest in one of his so-called business ventures; then he'd lost it all at the casino. Rather than claim bankruptcy or risk a bad credit rating, Carol had set out to pay back every penny of the loan by living as frugally as possible and holding down two jobs.

Charlotte knew for a fact that Hank had offered to finish paying off the loan for her, but Carol had refused. Since Carol had finally accepted Hank's marriage proposal, Charlotte figured that she must have at long last paid off the debt all by herself.

Charlotte squeezed Carol's hand. “Well, I, for one, am certainly glad that you finally agreed. Maybe now I'll get a grandchild before I'm too old and decrepit to enjoy one.”

“Whoa, hold on, Mom—one step at a time. Wedding first.”

“I take it you've set a date then?”

Carol nodded. “We figured the first or second Saturday in October. By then Nadia will have had the baby, and we'll have a few weeks to work out our schedules and make all of the arrangements. We're shooting for something small and intimate—just family and a few close friends. Besides,” Carol said, a blush on her face, “I thought it would be kind of neat to have the wedding near your birthday. Kind of like an extra present for you.”

Charlotte was truly touched. “I can't think of anything nicer than to get a daughter-in-law for my birthday.”

At that moment, their waiter approached the table. “Are you folks ready to order or do you need a little more time?”

“Mom? Carol?” Hank asked.

“I already know what I want,” Charlotte told him.

“Me too,” Carol chimed in.

They placed their orders, and throughout most of the meal, conversation centered on the wedding plans.

“One thing, Charlotte,” Carol said, as the waiter handed Hank the dinner check. “I was wondering if you would have time to meet for lunch one day. I'd like to get your opinion on some of the details, and eventually I'd like you to go with me when I talk to the caterer to pick out the food for the reception.”

Charlotte laughed. “After next Wednesday, I should have plenty of time on my hands for a while.” At Carol's puzzled look, Charlotte explained, “One of my clients has decided to move to the North Shore, so I'll have Wednesdays and Thursdays off now.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Charlotte, but I'm sure that once word gets around, you'll have no trouble getting another Wednesday client.”

Hank glanced up, and his expression grew serious. “Personally, I think it sounds great. In fact, it sounds like a prime opportunity for you to begin cutting back on your clients and letting those women who work for you take more of the load. Cutting back will make it easier for you to retire.”

Charlotte sighed. “Hon, I know you mean well, but please don't start that up again. As for the women who work for me, they're already booked solid and have more than they can handle as it is. And another thing, I did try cutting back for a few weeks. I keep telling you, though, that I'm not ready to retire—not yet. For one, I'm not old enough to retire. And even if I were old enough, I'm not willing or financially able to just yet. I really need to work at least a few more years. Besides,” she quickly added, “I'd be bored silly.”

“I've told you that the money is no problem. As for being bored, once we have a baby, you'll have plenty of time to spoil him rotten.”

“Her!” Charlotte and Carol said in unison, then burst into laughter.

“Whichever,” Hank said, as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Then he added, “But seriously, Mom, promise me you will at least think about it before you go looking for a new client. Please,” he added softly.

Charlotte lowered her eyes and stared at the white tablecloth. She could have pointed out that she'd never had to “go looking for a new client,” but tonight of all nights, she didn't want to argue. “Okay,” she finally answered, mostly to appease him. “I'll think about it.”

 

On the way home that night, as she'd promised, Charlotte did think about what Hank had said about cutting back and about retiring…again. She thought about it for all of about two minutes before completely dismissing the idea.

Bless his heart, Hank meant well, and she was sure that his offer of financial assistance was genuine, but she just couldn't do it. One day she might have to depend on him, but she was hoping that day was a long way off. For now, she couldn't see herself having to depend on him or anybody else while she was still able-bodied and healthy. Besides, she'd been paying her own way for too many years, and she liked not having to answer to anyone but herself. And though she knew better, knew that he truly loved and respected her, ever since he'd become a doctor, she'd always wondered if he wasn't just a wee bit embarrassed that his mother still worked as a maid.

By the time Charlotte reached Milan Street, the rain was slacking off. At some point tomorrow, she decided, she'd go ahead and give Bitsy a call to let her know that she had a Wednesday opening for a new client.

 

As Charlotte turned the van into her driveway, the rain had slowed to a misty drizzle. “It figures,” she muttered, as she parked, switched off the engine, gathered her purse, and slid out of the van. Now that it didn't matter if she got wet or not, the rain had let up.

As she climbed up the steps leading to the front porch, she noticed that Louis's car was parked in the other driveway. There was also a light burning in the front window of his half of the double, which meant he was back in town and still up.

Louis Thibodeaux.
How long would he be home this time? she wondered, as she unlocked her door.

When Charlotte entered her living room, Sweety Boy greeted her with squawks and whistles. “Sorry, boy,” she told him, “but I'm not letting you loose—not tonight.” Charlotte slipped out of her wet shoes and stepped into her moccasins. “It's too late, and I'm too tired to fool with you.” All she could think about at the moment was getting into her pajamas and simply relaxing. Maybe she'd let the little fellow loose for a few minutes first thing in the morning.

Charlotte glanced over at her answering machine, and when she saw that there were no messages, she sighed with relief.

She bent down and picked up her still damp shoes. Maybe she'd read a bit…if she could stay awake long enough.

Always on the lookout for a good mystery, she'd discovered a series of books by an author named Lee Child and fallen in love with his Jack Reacher character.

The loud knock on the front door gave Charlotte a start. “Who on earth could that be at this time of night?” she complained. According to the cuckoo clock, it was a few minutes past ten o'clock. She turned and glared at the door.

“C
harlotte, it's just me,” a gruff voice called out.

With a frown, Charlotte unlocked the door. “Good grief, Louis, you scared the daylights out of me.”

He was barefooted and dressed in faded jeans and a Saints T-shirt that had seen better days. Madeline was right about Louis. For a man his age, he was attractive in a rugged sort of way, a stocky man with gray hair, a receding hairline, and a nice flat stomach.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know it's getting late, but I need to talk to you. Can I come in for a minute?”

“Wait just a second,” Charlotte told him. “Let me cover up Sweety Boy.” Though Louis had been her tenant for over a year now, the little bird still went crazy every time he and Louis were in the same room. One time he had thrashed about the cage so wildly that Charlotte had feared he would injure himself.

Charlotte hurried over to the parakeet's cage and quickly covered it. Sweety Boy's bizarre reaction to Louis might have made sense if Louis resembled the bird's previous owner, but he didn't. The little parakeet's previous owner had been a tall, skinny man with a mean disposition. The shyster had not only skipped out owing Charlotte money, but he'd left the little bird to starve.

Charlotte motioned at Louis. “You can come in now, but why don't we go back to the kitchen to talk?”

Louis sighed, but he followed Charlotte anyway. “That is one spoiled bird, Charlotte. You cater to him too much.”

Another time, Charlotte might have argued with him, but tonight she was simply too tired. Besides, Sweety Boy was a defenseless little bird and she was just protecting him. For reasons she'd yet to figure out, he only reacted violently whenever Louis or Madeline was around. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that the parakeet could sense her own topsy-turvy emotions concerning both Louis and her sister.

In the kitchen, Charlotte faced Louis. “Have a seat.” She motioned toward the kitchen table.

He shook his head. “I'd better not. I've still got to pack.”

Charlotte frowned. “But didn't you just get home?”

“Yeah, but only for the night. I've got an early flight out in the morning.”

Disappointment was sharp and swift, and though she would never admit it out loud to anyone, especially to Louis, she had missed knowing he was right next door. “That's a pretty short turnaround,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I wasn't too happy about it myself.”

“So—what was it you needed?”

“Two things,” he answered. “First of all, as I said, I have to pack. I'll be leaving early in the morning, and I'll probably be gone for at least a couple of weeks this time. I keep meaning to have my mail stopped but—” He shrugged. “Would you mind?”

“No, I don't mind collecting it for you,” she said.
Again,
she wanted to add but didn't. Louis was always forgetting to have his mail or newspaper stopped, and she'd begun to suspect that he did it on purpose, just to have an excuse to call her.

Yeah, right, in your dreams.
Suddenly embarrassed by her silly thoughts, she quickly added, “That's no problem, and don't forget to pick up what came for you while you were gone. It's stacked on the table by the door in the living room.”

If the truth were known, Louis's forgetfulness was probably just that, forgetfulness, and had nothing to do with her. Certainly nothing personal anyway. After all, except for that one night on her sixtieth birthday when he'd kissed her, he'd never made another move to deepen their strange relationship. One of these days, she figured, she'd just come right out and ask him why, but not tonight, not when she was so tired she could barely think straight.

“I won't forget,” he said. “I think I've got a couple of bills in there that are overdue.” He paused, then said, “In case I haven't told you so before, I really do appreciate you taking care of this stuff for me.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, she decided to change the subject. “You said you needed two things,” she reminded him.

He nodded and then held out a small plastic cup. “Could I borrow some sugar?”

Up until that moment, Charlotte hadn't even noticed that he had the cup in his hand, and the embarrassed look on his face was so priceless that she couldn't help but burst out laughing. Unlike her, Louis almost never seemed to get embarrassed over anything.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I had plenty of sugar, I'll have you know—at least enough for morning coffee—but Stephen brought Amy by tonight, and the little scamp knocked over the sugar bowl, broke it, and ruined what little sugar I had left. I just need enough for a couple of cups of coffee.”

Still laughing, Charlotte took the cup and filled it with sugar from the canister on the kitchen cabinet. As she handed it back to him, she said, “Speaking of sons and grandchildren, I may be having a grandchild myself before too long.”

Louis frowned. “Hank?”

Charlotte nodded. “I just found out tonight that Hank and Carol are finally going to get married. That's where I was tonight. They treated me to dinner so they could tell me the news.”

Louis's frown deepened and he shook his head. “I swear—call me old-fashioned—but I always thought a couple was supposed to get married first and then have a kid. Nowadays, though, they—”

Charlotte shook her head. “No—you misunderstood. Hank and Carol
are
getting married first. I just meant that once they're married, they intend to have children, so I might actually live long enough to be a grandma after all.”

“Well, that's a relief—about them getting married first, I mean. Maybe there is still some decency left in the world.” He stared at her expectantly, then narrowed his eyes. “This is where you say that of course there's some decency left and you tell me how cynical I am.”

Again, ordinarily she would have argued with him and often did. For the most part, the two of them were like oil and water and their opinions almost always clashed. “Well, since you already know all that, there's no point repeating it, is there?” she quipped. “Besides, to tell the truth, I'm just too dog-tired to argue with you tonight. It's been a long, eventful day.”

“You didn't find another dead body, did you?”

Louis's sarcastic dig conjured up a kaleidoscope of horror images of dead bodies and human bones, images she'd tried to repress. And now Mimi…dead…poisoned. For a second, Charlotte felt like hauling off and punching him.

“I've only found
one
dead body,” she retorted. “And before you say it, the bones don't count. Besides, technically, I didn't find those bones. I just happened to be there when they were discovered. So, no, Mr. Smarty-Pants, I didn't find another dead body. If you must know, I did lose one of my main clients, though.” The words just popped out, and when she realized what she'd said, she was mortified.

“Lost as in the client died, or lost as in the client disappeared?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes.
Think, Charlotte. Think.
Given Louis's opinion about her previous involvements, there was no way she wanted to discuss Mimi's murder with him. Then, out of the clear blue, the perfect solution came to mind. “Oh, for Pete's sake,” she told him. “Give it a rest. Neither one!”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“For your information, lost as in I got fired.” It wasn't exactly a lie. “And before you draw any other erroneous conclusions, I got fired because Marian Hebert has decided to move to the North Shore. Now—if you don't mind—like I said, I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed.”

A teasing, leering grin pulled at Louis's lips. “Is that an invitation?”

“No, it is not!” She pointed at the door. “Out!”

“Aw, Charlotte, lighten up. I was just kidding…well, not kidding entirely, but…” His voice trailed away. Then, he shrugged. “Whatever, but seriously, I'm sorry about your client, but you know you won't have any trouble replacing her, so I don't see that there's much of a problem…” He gave her a shrewd look. “Not unless Hank started up again about you retiring.”

“Yeah, well, he did, and I halfway considered it, but—”

“Let me guess. But no deal, right?”

Charlotte nodded. “And to tell you the truth, it's getting pretty tiresome.”

Louis reached out and squeezed her upper arm. “Take it from me. Stick to your guns. Don't retire unless you're good and ready. It's not all it's cracked up to be.” With another gentle squeeze, he released her arm. “Now, get some rest, and I'll see you in a week or so.”

The man was an enigma, she decided, as she closed the front door behind him a few minutes later, then locked it. She reached up and rubbed the spot on her arm where he'd squeezed. One minute he could make her so angry she could chew nails, and the next minute he…
not kidding entirely.

“Don't even go there,” she muttered. “Humph, and men are always complaining about women being teases.” As she switched off the living room light, the mechanical bird in the cuckoo clock began chirping out the hour. Charlotte counted eleven cuckoos before he finally stopped. “Way past my bedtime,” she grumbled.

 

On Saturday morning, Charlotte awoke to the sudden roar of her neighbor's lawn mower accompanied by the howls of the Doberman pinscher that lived across the street.

“Oh, for pity's sake,” she complained, as she raised her head long enough to glance at the clock on the bedside table. When she saw that it was only seven o'clock, she burrowed back beneath the covers. The rain must have finally stopped, she decided. But even if it had stopped, it had been raining for days and the ground had to be saturated. Surely it was too wet to mow, especially at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning.

Charlotte closed her eyes and breathed deeply and evenly, but it was no use. Between the racket outside and her mind already racing with chores she needed to get done before leaving for work that afternoon, going back to sleep was impossible.

With a groan, Charlotte finally threw the covers back and crawled out of bed. Coffee first, she decided. And if the rain really had stopped, maybe she could take a nice long walk before it got too hot to breathe outside.

On her way to the kitchen, she detoured long enough to uncover Sweety Boy's cage and peek out the front window. The sun was shining. So, what had happened to the hurricane? she wondered.

Charlotte walked over to the coffee table, picked up the remote control, and switched on the television.

In the kitchen, she set up the coffeepot, turned it on, and then headed back to the bedroom to dress. By the time she was dressed, the coffee was ready. Charlotte poured herself a cup, settled in front of the television, and switched the channel to a local station.

According to the newscast, the hurricane had finally made landfall about two
A.M
. near Mobile, and as she watched the videos of the wind and flood damage that the storm had left in its wake, her heart ached for the people living in and around the southern Alabama area. She clicked off the television, bowed her head, said a prayer for the survivors, and added a prayer of thanks for New Orleans being spared once again.

 

Half an hour later, drenched with sweat from her walk but invigorated, Charlotte entered her house. The blinking light of the answering machine caught her eye.

With a puzzled frown and wondering who would be calling her so early, she stepped over to the machine. The number display indicated that there had been two calls.

Charlotte's insides tightened as her imagination took wing and all kinds of possibilities filled her head. Two calls within an hour and before eight o'clock on a Saturday morning had to mean trouble. Had there been a family emergency of some sort? Was someone hurt or…

She shook her head. “Stop it,” she whispered. “Stop borrowing trouble and stop imagining the worst. It's probably nothing important.” She took a deep breath. “Only one way to know for sure, though. Just do it.” Sending up a quick prayer, Charlotte reached and hit the
PLAY
button.

The machine beeped; then, “Ms. LaRue, this is Sandra Wellington. I'm looking for a maid. Now, I know that you have a maid service with other people working for you, but I understand that you personally have an opening. I would only need you to come in once a week. If you're interested, please give me a call.”

Charlotte stared at the machine with stunned disbelief as the woman rattled off her phone number. Again the machine beeped, and the second message played.

“Ms. LaRue, this is Abigail Thornton. I'm looking for a maid. You came highly recommended, and I was told that you might possibly have an opening. Two mornings a week should be sufficient. If
you
are available, I'd like to talk with you about working for me. My number is…”

Charlotte backed up a few steps, and shaking her head in amazement, she collapsed onto the sofa. “And here I've been worrying about losing clients,” she murmured.

But how on earth had either of the women even known that she had an opening to begin with? If she had made that call to Bitsy like she'd intended, she could understand how they might have known. But she hadn't.

Charlotte pushed herself off of the sofa and walked over to the desk. With pen in hand, she replayed the messages and jotted down each woman's name and phone number. Then she stared at the names and numbers.

Abigail Thornton wanted her to work two mornings a week, but the only two mornings she had available were Wednesdays and Thursdays, and it was highly doubtful that Ms. Thornton wanted her to work two mornings straight in a row. On the other hand, Sandra Wellington wanted a maid only one day a week, and if per chance Ms. Wellington would be satisfied with Wednesday being that day, it would fit nicely into her schedule.