Wiped Out (6 page)

Didn't the woman ever use the front door? Charlotte wondered.

Charlotte decided against adding the wine that Rita had brought to the other three bottles on the buffet. Rita had said it was Mimi's favorite, so Charlotte figured Mimi would want to save it for herself.

In the dining room, as Charlotte placed the glasses on the buffet, she heard the sharp rap of Mimi's gavel in the parlor.

“The meeting is now called to order.” She banged it again. “Ladies, please, we have a lot of business to take care of today.”

When the buzzing died down, Mimi said, “Yes, Rita? Did you want to say something?”

“First, I'd like to apologize to the members for my outburst on Friday. I really have no good excuse, and I
am
sorry.” A low murmur broke out, then Rita said, “And, second, I want to make a motion that we have more discussion about the charity that will benefit from the funds we raise at our annual fall sale.” The murmurs grew louder.

“And I second the motion,” a voice chimed in.

The buzz grew, and Mimi rapped her gavel. “But-but, we've already decided that issue,” she cried. The room abruptly grew quiet.

“In that case,” Rita said, “I make a motion that we donate the proceeds of the plant sale to the new women's shelter instead of the Hebert plantation.”

“And I second the motion.” The voice belonged to Karen.

“All in favor?” Rita asked. “One, two, three…” Charlotte could hear Rita counting the votes out loud. “Ten for and six against,” Rita said. “The women's shelter wins.”

Charlotte shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Talk about your Judas,” she whispered.
Beware of a Greek bearing gifts.
With another shake of her head, she decided that now would be a good time to check on the linens in the dryer.

In the laundry room, Charlotte folded the sheets and pillowcases as she took them out of the dryer. She could tell from the noise that the women were taking their refreshment break. She placed the items in the laundry basket, picked up the basket, and carried it into the kitchen.

When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to see Mimi standing by the sink, one hand gripping the edge of the cabinet, the other hand holding a full glass of water.

“Are you looking for me?” Charlotte asked.

With one hand still gripping the cabinet, Mimi turned to face her and shook her head. “Just thirsty.”

One look at Mimi's pale face and dilated pupils set off alarm bells, and Charlotte immediately dropped the laundry basket and rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

Mimi shook her head again and blinked several times. “Don't-don't feel so good,” she said. “My head's killing me—maybe a virus or something. Could you get me the aspirin? It's in that cabinet by the refrigerator.”

“Maybe you should cut the meeting short, either that or let someone else take over for you.”

Mimi shook her head. “Can't—still too much to do. Just get me the aspirin.”

Seconds later, aspirin bottle in hand, Charlotte asked, “How many?” She twisted off the cap.

“Two—no, make that three.”

Charlotte shook two out of the bottle, then paused. “Are you sure you want three?”

Mimi glared at her. “I said three, didn't I? Why would I say three if I didn't mean three? Just give 'em to me.”

“Okay, okay.” Charlotte shook out a third aspirin. “Here.”

Mimi snatched up the tablets, popped them into her mouth, and washed them down with the water. When the glass was empty, she refilled it with more water, and drank all of the second glass as well.

“Mimi?” June entered the kitchen. “I've been looking for you,” she said.

Mimi slammed the empty glass down on the cabinet and glared at June. “Well, you found me. What do you want?”

June cast a sideways glance at Charlotte, then focused on Mimi again. “Are you okay?”

“Okay! Okay?” Mimi's voice rose. “Now just why wouldn't I be okay? I've just been blindsided, outmaneuvered, and stabbed in the back.” She waved in the general direction of the parlor. “Thanks to Rita, Karen, and Doreen, I'm just hunky-dory. With friends like those three, I don't need enemies. That's for sure.”

“Hey, just calm down, now.”

“I'll calm down alright, but mark my words. Those three are history, and they're going to live to regret this day—that's a promise.”

 

Charlotte was straightening the dining room when the meeting finally broke up. She waited a few minutes to give the women time to clear out, then proceeded to the parlor. As she passed through the main hallway, she saw Mimi at the front door, and standing with her was Doreen Mires.

From the glimpse she got, Charlotte thought Mimi looked even more ill than she had earlier in the kitchen. As Charlotte gathered the cups and saucers in the parlor, she heard Doreen tell Mimi, “I'm so sorry for what happened. I had nothing to do with what Rita and Karen did in there.”

When Mimi said nothing in response, Doreen continued, her tone growing more fearful and desperate with each word. “I-I don't know how to say this, but please-please don't hold what happened against George—not because of me. We can't afford for him to lose his job, and I swear I didn't agree to be a part of any of that stuff.”

“Yeah, right, Doreen,” Mimi retorted. “If that's true, then why did you volunteer with them to head up one of the committees?”

“I-I—I'll quit,” Doreen cried. “I'll resign the committee and quit HHS if that's what it takes.”

“That's up to you, but—” Mimi suddenly closed her eyes and groaned.

“Are you okay?”

Mimi shook her head. “No, no I'm not, and I can't discuss this right now. I'm sick. We'll have to talk later.”

When Charlotte heard the click of the front door, she picked up the tray of dirty dishes. As she stepped into the hallway, Mimi's hand was still on the doorknob, her forehead resting against the door casing, and she heard her mumble something that sounded like, “Traitors. Two-faced traitors.”

Then, with a dejected sigh, Mimi squared her shoulders and turned. When she saw Charlotte, she stiffened. “I-I'm going to bed,” she said, her voice fragile and shaky. “When you've finished, just let yourself out.”

“Do you need any help—up the stairs, I mean?”

Even though she shook her head that she didn't, Charlotte waited and kept an eye on her, just in case. Once she was sure that Mimi had safely negotiated the stairs, she took the tray into the kitchen.

Charlotte had just finished unloading the tray of dishes into the sink when the clatter of the door knocker sounded. “Now what?” she grumbled, but before she'd even taken two steps, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Since she couldn't remember if Mimi had locked the front door after Doreen had left, her sense of caution made her pause.

“Hel-lo!” a voice called out. “Mimi?”

Rita. What on earth did Rita want now?
Charlotte released her pent-up breath, scowled, then hurried to intercept Rita. Rita had already advanced as far as the foot of the staircase by the time Charlotte reached her.

“Where's Mimi?” Rita demanded.

“She's upstairs,” Charlotte answered.

Rita glanced up the staircase, made a face, then waved an impatient hand. “Never mind. No need to bother her. I only came back because I think I left my rings on the window ledge above the sink.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don't recall seeing any rings.”

“Well, I'm positive that I left them there,” Rita retorted, and completely ignoring Charlotte, she marched past her, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors.

Charlotte turned and glared at Rita's back until she disappeared through the kitchen doorway. Not only was the woman a back stabber, but she was rude and insulting as well. With a sigh of disgust, Charlotte trudged toward the kitchen.

Charlotte stepped through the doorway just in time to see Rita grab a wine bottle off the countertop and shove it into her tote bag.

When Rita glanced up and realized that Charlotte had seen what she'd done, she said, “I was mistaken about the rings.”

Charlotte chose to remain silent, and Rita shifted her gaze from Charlotte to her tote bag, then back to Charlotte. “Guess you're wondering about the wine.” She patted her tote bag. When Charlotte said nothing, Rita shrugged and laughed, but it was a forced, nervous sound. “It's not as if I'm stealing it or anything. I figured that after what happened today, Mimi would probably just throw it in the garbage. Why let good wine go to waste?”

The unmitigated gall of some people never ceased to amaze Charlotte, and she decided that Rita had enough for ten people. Before Charlotte could think of a response, Rita sashayed past her and disappeared through the doorway. Charlotte could hear her heels clicking all the way down the hallway.

When the front door snapped shut, Charlotte stepped out into the hallway, just to make sure Rita was truly gone. Satisfied that she was, Charlotte went to the door and secured the dead bolt, then hurried through the remaining chores.

Once Charlotte had finished cleaning, she decided to check on Mimi before leaving. She found Mimi still fully dressed and curled tightly into a fetal position on top of the bed covers in the master bedroom. Her breathing was deep and even, but to Charlotte, she still looked pale, and she looked cold. Charlotte stepped over to the bed and pulled the bottom side of the bed comforter over Mimi's shoulder, then tiptoed out of the room.

Charlotte descended the stairs and checked to make sure that the back door was locked. Then, armed with her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, she walked back through the house to the front door. With one last, worried glance toward the staircase, she unlocked the dead bolt and then twisted the doorknob lock and stepped outside. As she reached to pull the door shut, she hesitated.

She was tired and ready to go home, but what if Mimi got worse? There would be no one to check on her, not for a while anyway, at least not until her husband got home.

He's been coming home later and later each night.
Mimi's complaint popped into Charlotte's head. Maybe if he knew his wife was ill, he might try to get home earlier. Then again, maybe not. If what Mimi suspected were true—that he was having an affair—he might not even care that his wife was ill. And Mimi might not bother to call him.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes and glared at the doorknob. What if she called him? If someone other than his wife called him, for appearance's sake, he might feel obligated to come home and check on his wife.

Mind your own business.

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” she muttered. Why was she standing there even debating the whole matter? Besides, hadn't Mimi told her just to let herself out when she was finished? For all she knew, Mimi had already called her husband. Even now he could be on his way home.

Charlotte pulled the door firmly shut.

 

For most of her life, Charlotte had lived on Milan Street, a narrow, one-way street in the Uptown neighborhood of New Orleans. Charlotte's maid service catered exclusively to clients in the Garden District, and since Milan was just on the outskirts of the Garden District, it was the perfect location.

As her van bumped down the uneven street, thoughts of her newest employer still nagged her. In spite of all reasoning, she still felt as if she should have stayed with Mimi a while longer, just to make sure she was doing okay. Of course, she could always call and check on her.

Charlotte shook her head as she turned the van into her driveway. Calling wasn't really a good idea. The woman was sick, and sick people needed all the rest they could get.

She parked the van, switched off the engine, and for a moment, she simply sat there. It was good to be home…finally.

To Charlotte, her home was her sanctuary and her security. The small Victorian shotgun double had been built in the early 1900s. She and her younger sister, Madeline, had been raised in the house and had inherited it after their parents' untimely deaths. Unlike Madeline, who, after her first marriage, had long ago sold her half of the double to Charlotte, Charlotte had never felt the urge or the need to live anywhere else.

 

On weekdays, Charlotte usually only skimmed the headlines of the newspaper before going to work. On Wednesday morning, she had awakened earlier than usual, though, early enough, she decided, for a leisurely cup of coffee and to actually read the newspaper.

In the kitchen, she switched on the coffeepot. On her way through the living room, she stopped long enough to uncover her little parakeet's cage, and then she retrieved the
Times-Picayune
from the front porch steps.

Once back in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee. To make sure she allowed enough time to eat breakfast, dress, and get to work, she set the kitchen timer for forty-five minutes. Then she settled at the kitchen table with the newspaper and her coffee.

Charlotte read through a good bit of the paper and then came upon the obituary section. Unlike Bitsy Duhe and others Charlotte knew who always read every word of the death notices, she found the obituaries morbid and depressing. But just as she reached to turn the page, one of the pictures caught her eye.

Charlotte gasped, and a deep hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the picture. “No way,” she whispered. It just wasn't possible.

M
imi Adams was dead.

Above the picture of Mimi, the headline read,
MARY LOU
(
MIMI
)
ADAMS
,
NOTED COMMUNITY ACTIVIST
.

Charlotte quickly scanned the article below the picture. Mimi had died Tuesday of undetermined causes, and funeral arrangements were pending. The article went on to say that she had served on many boards of charitable organizations, among them HHS.

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head as deep regret washed through her. She should have trusted her instincts and stayed with Mimi until Gordon came home. She shouldn't have left the poor woman alone. If she had stayed, Mimi might still be alive.

She sighed deeply, opened her eyes, and stared at the black and white picture.
Undetermined causes.

Remembering how Mimi had looked when she'd first seen her on Monday morning, Charlotte frowned as she read the first paragraph of the article again. Charlotte had thought she was ill, but then later, after Mimi had dressed and left for her luncheon date with Gordon, she'd seemed just fine. It was only during the HHS meeting that she'd truly become ill.

Charlotte shook her head. On the whole, Mimi had seemed healthy enough, and except for not feeling well during the Monday HHS meeting, she hadn't complained of any ailments. She'd also seemed like the type of woman who would be vigilant about medical checkups, the type who would take care of herself. So why didn't they know what she'd died of? And why were funeral arrangements pending? Unless…

Charlotte felt a sudden chill. Was it possible? Could undetermined causes mean that the police suspected foul play? Even as Charlotte tried to deny the possibility that Mimi could have been murdered, even as she told herself she was letting her imagination get the best of her, deep in her gut she knew that it was possible.

Stop jumping to conclusions.

What else then? Once again, visions of how Mimi had looked and acted on Friday reeled through Charlotte's mind.
A virus, a rare virus of some kind.
Surely that was the explanation.

The kitchen timer buzzed, and Charlotte jumped. Only then did she realize how long she'd been sitting there lost in a fog of disbelief and numbed by the dreadful realization that her newest client was dead.

What, if anything, should she do? she wondered, still staring at the picture. She could call the Adams's house.

And say what?

She could express her sympathy to Mimi's husband.

Yeah, right. Just the thing to do. A complete stranger calling in the middle of his grief.

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Maybe she could call June Bryant instead.

And say what?

Again she shook her head. What she should do is mind her own business. She should get dressed, go to work, and wait. Surely someone, a member of the family or a friend of the family, would eventually get in touch with her.

Her mind still reeling, by sheer willpower Charlotte pushed away from the table and stood. On legs that felt weighted with lead, she headed for the shower.

 

An hour later Charlotte was ready to walk out the front door when the phone rang. Her hand on the doorknob, she paused. The phone call could be from someone at the Adams household.

Charlotte hurried over to the desk and picked up the receiver on the third ring. “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”

“Have you got a minute?”

Recognizing her son's voice, Charlotte smiled. “Of course, hon.”

“You doing okay?”

Charlotte hesitated, tempted to tell Hank about the death of her newest client, and even more tempted to ask him if he could find out what had happened to her. As a doctor, he could inquire about the incident easily enough, but asking for his help would mean explaining all about how Mimi had been acting on Friday.

She glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall behind the sofa. Explaining it all would take too much time, so she said, “I'm fine, son.”

“Carol and I were wondering if you have any plans for Friday evening.”

“Hold on a minute, hon, and let me check.” She wedged the receiver between her shoulder and chin to free up both hands, then rummaged through her purse until she found her Day-Timer. She flipped through it to Friday's date. “I have an appointment to get my hair cut at four, but other than that, I'm free.”

“Good, then how about letting me treat you to dinner? We thought we'd take you to August Moon, if that's okay. We could pick you up around six-thirty or so.”

Just thinking about the Chinese restaurant made her mouth water. “Sounds great. Any special reason?”

“Do I have to have a special reason to treat my mother to dinner?”

“No, hon, of course not—I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I know how busy you both are. But listen, no need to pick me up. I never know how long I might have to wait at the beauty shop, so I'll just meet you there.”

“Good, see you then. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

 

Just minutes later Charlotte parked her van in front of her Wednesday client's home on Sixth Street. Marian Hebert's house was a small, raised cottage type, and like so many of the Garden District homes, it was well over a century old and had been lovingly renovated as well as updated to accommodate all of the modern conveniences.

Marian was the owner of a real estate company that she ran by herself out of her home. She was a slim, attractive woman in her late thirties with dark hair and a flawless, ivory complexion, and a single mother raising two sons.

Though Charlotte had been working for Marian on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, at the end of July, Marian had decided that she only needed help once a week, and Charlotte had been left with openings on Mondays and Fridays as well as her regular day off on Thursdays.

At first Charlotte had been reluctant to let it be known that she had openings, but only because she'd been trying to appease her son, who wanted her to cut back on work. In no time, though, she'd grown bored, and since Mary Lou Adams had been the only one of Charlotte's prospective clients who needed a maid on Mondays and Fridays, Charlotte had decided to work for her.

Charlotte unloaded her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner from the back of the van and trudged up the steps to Marian's front door. She still couldn't believe that Mimi was dead—it just didn't seem real—and she couldn't help wondering how Mimi's death would affect her work schedule now. Would Gordon Adams still want a maid, or would she be left again with Mondays and Fridays open?

 

Marian left almost as soon as Charlotte arrived and was gone most of the day. Charlotte had just finished wiping off the countertops in the kitchen and was unloading the dishwasher when she heard Marian's car pull in the driveway.

When Marian entered through the back door, Charlotte put the last of the clean dishes into the kitchen cabinet.

“What a day,” she told Charlotte. “At least it was productive, though. I sold that old Johnson mansion on St. Charles.”

“Well, congratulations,” Charlotte said. “That's quite a coup, considering how run-down that place is. Maybe the new owners will renovate that old eyesore.”

“I think that's the plan, and with these particular clients, money is no object. So—anything going on here while I was gone?”

Flashes of the headlines and the article about Mimi Adams's death went through Charlotte's mind, but she shook her head. “All's quiet on the home front.”

Marian smiled as she approached Charlotte. “Good.” Her smile faded, and her expression grew pensive. “Before you leave, Charlotte, I need to talk to you,” she said. “Could you come into my office for a moment?”

Charlotte nodded. “Sure.” She closed and locked the dishwasher door, then followed Marian into the adjoining room that Marian used as an office.

“Have a seat.” Marian motioned toward a chair in front of her desk. Once Charlotte was seated, Marian crossed her arms and perched herself on the front edge of her desk. “I don't know quite how to say this,” she said. “And I'm truly sorry, but I won't be needing your services any longer after next Wednesday.”

Charlotte was stunned. She'd been cleaning for Marian for a long time and had never had a complaint. Her mind raced, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of anything she could have done to warrant getting fired.

Marian narrowed her eyes. “Now, Charlotte, just get that look off your face and let me explain before you go jumping to conclusions. I won't be needing your services because I've decided to move.”

“Move! Where?”

“The boys and I will be moving to the North Shore. Mandeville, to be specific. I've always liked the North Shore, and I really think it will be good for B.J. and Aaron,” she replied. “And for my business,” she added. “Real estate is still booming there, and I think I could do well.”

Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief. “For a minute there, I thought I'd done something wrong.”

“Oh, don't be silly, Charlotte. If I thought I could persuade you to move with me, I'd do it in a heartbeat. It's largely thanks to you that I finally realized what was important in life and got myself straightened out these past months. For that I'll always be grateful. Of all the people we know, the boys and I are going to miss you the most.”

Relief tinged with a bit of sadness washed through Charlotte. “I'm going to miss them too. They're both great kids.” She paused a moment. “But, Marian, are you sure about this? What about your home? I know how much time and effort you and your husband put into this house. And I never would have believed you would leave New Orleans.”

“I do love New Orleans,” she admitted. “But renovating this house and living in the Garden District was really Bill's idea; his dream, not mine. If he were still alive, things would be different. But he's not, and I've thought about this for some time now. Moving will be a fresh start for all of us. I thought I could stick it out here, and I've tried, for almost a year now, but—” She shook her head. “Too many bad memories…” Her voice trailed away.

Charlotte could see the pain of the past reflected in Marian's eyes. She truly sympathized with the younger woman, especially after all she'd been through: the horrible secret she'd had to live with for years, her battle with alcoholism, and the loss of her husband. And she respected Marian for the progress she'd made getting her life back together. “So—when are you planning on making the move?”

Marian blinked several times, then smiled. “That's the best part of all. I already have a buyer for my house lined up, so I won't even have to put it on the market. I've also gone to contract on a house in Mandeville. I've got movers scheduled for next week. School starts August sixteenth, so that should give me a week to get settled in the new house before the boys start back to school. I figure the movers should be done packing up by Tuesday; then I'd like you to come in and clean up on Wednesday after everything is out. I know it's not much notice, and I'm really sorry about that, but,” she shrugged, “things just seemed to fall into place overnight.”

 

Still a little dazed by Marian's announcement, Charlotte rushed to load her cleaning supplies into the back of her van. The sky had grown overcast, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Charlotte was happy for Marian and her two sons. She truly was. And deep in her bones she felt the move would be good for B.J. and Aaron, especially B.J., after the harrowing experience the teenager had had back in October.

October.
Charlotte shivered. At times even she still had nightmares about the sordid mess, and she was a grown woman. It wasn't every day that she stumbled across a dead body, and she couldn't begin to imagine what kind of long-term effect something like that would have on a fifteen-year-old boy.

Charlotte shook her head.
Don't think about it. Think positive.
The positive had been the end results. Marian had finally climbed out of the alcoholic stupor she'd been in since the death of her husband and had gotten her life back on the right track.

Charlotte hefted the vacuum cleaner into the van. Telling herself not to think about the frightening experience and then actually not thinking about it was almost impossible, just as not thinking about Mary Lou Adams all day had been impossible.

Mimi Adams…undetermined cause of death.

Charlotte shivered again. How had Mimi died? Had she been murdered? Maybe she'd ask Hank to check into it after all.

Charlotte slammed the back door of the van. For now, though, she needed to think about how the loss of Marian as a client was going to affect Maid-for-a-Day. Losing a client meant a loss of income for her and for her cleaning service, and with the possibility of losing the Adams family as well…

Charlotte climbed into the driver's seat just as a streak of lightning lit the sky. “Just in time,” she murmured, as she glared at the fat raindrops splashing on her windshield.

Charlotte switched on the ignition, turned on the headlights and the windshield wipers, then checked in the mirrors for oncoming traffic. She was probably worrying for no reason. She and Maid-for-a-Day had a good reputation, and she'd never had a problem getting clients. All she had to do was let it be known that she had an opening. For that matter, all she had to do was tell Bitsy Duhe. Bitsy, bless her gossip-loving heart, was better than taking out a classified ad any day…and cheaper.

“Maid-for-a-Day will survive,” she muttered, as she pulled out into the street, “and so will you.”

 

By the time Charlotte parked beneath the carport of her house, it was pouring rain. On days like this she was thankful that several years back she'd been able to add the carport and storage room onto the side of her half of the double and could get from the van to the house without getting soaked.