Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3) Page 15

  Besides, if she could somehow prove that Nadia and Daniel had nothing to do with Ricco’s murder, then she wouldn’t have to make a decision at all. “The sooner this mess gets straightened out,” she murmured, “the sooner everything can get back to normal.”

  Lowell Webster. Charlotte couldn’t help feeling that he was the key. And if he isn’t?

  Ignoring the pesky little voice inside her head, she reached for the Rolodex. Once she’d located the card she was searching for, she tapped out the phone number listed on the card.

  A woman answered the call on the third ring. “Big Easy Janitorial Services,” she said. “Keeping it clean is our business.”

  “Hi, this is Charlotte LaRue. Is Carrie Rogers in?”

  “Oh, hi, Ms. LaRue. If you’ll hold a second, I’ll check.”

  The line clicked, and as Charlotte was treated to an ear-full of Dixieland music, she thought about Carrie.

  They had met years ago. Like Charlotte, Carrie had also built up a thriving cleaning service, but Carrie had favored commercial services as opposed to Charlotte’s preference for domestic services. And Carrie had done extremely well. Her business had grown to the point where she had contracts for some of the largest office buildings in the New Orleans CBD area.

  Through a mutual friend, Carrie had heard about Charlotte, and she’d tried to persuade Charlotte to work for her as one of her top managers.

  At the time Charlotte had been tempted to take Carrie up on her generous offer, but the thought of being confined behind a desk all day had held little appeal, despite the generous benefits of the job. Besides, she truly loved the old homes she cleaned, loved the personal, hands-on aspect of her work. In the end she’d decided that she’d be much happier working for herself.

  Abruptly, the music stopped and a booming voice cried out, “And just what, pray tell, do I owe the honor of a call from you for? Don’t tell me you’ve finally changed your mind about working for me.”

  Charlotte laughed. “And be filthy rich like you? No way. Why, I wouldn’t know what to do with all the money I’d make.”

  Carrie snickered. “Yeah, right! So, what’s up, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte sobered quickly and swallowed hard. “I need some information, Carrie, and I figured if anyone can tell me what I need to know, you can.” Before she could chicken out, she rushed ahead. “The no-questions-asked kind of information,” she explained. “And you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

  “No-questions-asked, huh? Sounds intriguing. You haven’t, by chance, found another dead body, have you?”

  Charlotte cringed at the reminder of the horrible experience she’d had at the Deviliere house just a few months earlier. “Not exactly. Like I said, no questions asked.”

  “Well, phooey, that’s no fun.”

  “Came!”

  “Hey, just kidding, Charlotte. To tell the truth, it gives me the willies just thinking about anyone finding a dead body.”

  “Me too,” Charlotte agreed.

  “Okay, so just what is it that you need to know?”

  “Will you promise not to tell anyone that we talked or why?”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It is,” Charlotte confirmed.

  “Okay, okay, you’ve got my promise.”

  “Well ... I was wondering if you might just happen to clean the offices of A to Z Import-Export?”

  Carrie whistled through her teeth. “Oh, wow, you’re talking Lowell Webster, aren’t you? Don’t I wish I had that contract, but, no, unfortunately for me, I don’t clean his offices.”

  “Do you know who does?”

  “Why sure. Zachary Carter has that contract, darn his hide. You remember Zack, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, Carrie continued. “We both bid on it, you know, but Zack had someone on the inside, and he won the bid.”

  Like the blade of a sharp knife, disappointment sliced through Charlotte. She did remember Zachary Carter. Remembered him well. And the memories weren’t good. “Well ... thanks anyway,” she finally said, feeling as if she’d just hit a brick wall. “I was really hoping that you had the contract, and that I could find out the cleaning schedule for A to Z.”

  “Nope! Don’t have the contract. But, I do just happen to know the schedule. You see, Zack and I have ... well, we’ve sorta been seeing each other, even talked about a merger.” She laughed. “A merger of more than one kind, if you get my drift.”

  Charlotte had to bite her tongue to keep from giving her opinion about Carrie’s so-called merger. It hadn’t been that long that she’d had a bit of experience with Zachary Carter herself. Even now, each time she thought about him, it left a sour taste in her mouth. The man was nothing but an opportunist. A charming one, but a self-serving opportunist nonetheless. Warning Carrie would do no good, though. Carrie was just stubborn enough to ignore any warnings or advice once she made up her mind about something.

  “It seems that Mr. Webster doesn’t want anyone in his offices unless he or one of his managers are around,” Carrie said. “So Zack’s people have bankers’ hours, or almost. They work from nine A.M. till five P.M. on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  Relief washed through Charlotte. “Thanks, Carrie. That’s exactly what I needed to know.”

  “Glad I could help, but, Charlotte ...” Carrie hesitated a moment, then cleared her throat. “You aren’t planning anything that’s, well, you know, illegal or anything, are you? I mean, like it’s none of my business, and I can’t imagine you would—not really—but—”

  Carrie’s insinuation left Charlotte stunned, and suddenly she felt like crying and laughing all at the same time. “No,” she quickly reassured her friend. “Nothing illegal. I promise.” she added forcefully.

  “Whew! That’s a relief. Like I said, I can’t imagine you would, but I had to ask.”

  After saying her good-byes and hanging up the receiver, Charlotte slid her hand inside her apron pocket and fingered the envelope and note that Patsy had left her. She was supposed to work for Patsy Thursday morning. “Well, too bad,” she muttered. For once she would just have to be late. And if Patsy didn’t understand, then, tough!

  But as Charlotte turned away from the phone, doubts about what she was planning assailed her. Thursday was only two short days away, but those two days suddenly seemed like an eternity. Plenty of time to change your mind, and plenty of time to lose your nerve.

  “Too much time,” Charlotte murmured as she headed for Sweety Boy’s cage. Meanwhile, she still had to make good on her promise to let Davy pet Sweety Boy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ordinarily being wishy-washy was not a part of Charlotte’s nature. If nothing else, running her own business had taught her that being informed and being decisive were the keys to success in almost any venture. By the time Thursday morning rolled around, though, she had changed her mind at least a thousand times. One minute she was ready to charge right in and just do it. The next minute she found herself second-guessing the validity of the plan to the degree that she was ready to throw up her hands and just forget the whole thing.

  Then she would think about Daniel locked up in jail and about Nadia, pregnant and wandering around homeless, and the whole cycle would begin again.

  To carry out her plan meant that she needed to be at Lowell’s offices by eight o’clock at the very latest. It wasn’t until she had actually dropped off Davy at day-care that she decided once and for all to go ahead with it.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” she muttered as she drove down St. Charles Avenue toward the Central Business District. She was pretty sure that they wouldn’t call the police and have her arrested, not for just being in the office. After all, she could always claim she’d gotten lost.

  Worst-case scenario, they would escort her out of Lowell’s offices. And yes, it might be embarrassing, or she might be labeled as weird or nosy, but being a bit embarrassed or being labeled nosy wasn’t going to kill her. At least she hop
ed not.

  Charlotte suddenly shivered, thinking of Ricco being murdered and stuffed inside the urn to rot until there were only bones left. She shivered again. Even if Lowell had murdered Ricco, he had no reason to kill her, and certainly not in broad daylight.

  Charlotte shook her head, as if the action would clear away the morbid thoughts. “You’re really being ridiculous to even think such a thing,” she muttered as she approached the high-rise where A to Z’s offices were located. For one thing, she had no concrete proof that Lowell Webster had anything to do with Ricco’s death, no evidence at all that he was anything but what he presented himself as being. All she really had was hearsay about a woman who’d claimed to have had an affair with him. No proof. Just gossip and rumors ... so far.

  One Shell Square was located on Poydras Street, smack in the heart of the New Orleans Central Business District. One of the largest office buildings in the city, it was also reputed to be one of the tallest.

  When Charlotte had first come up with her idea, her plan had seemed simple enough. She would pretend to be an employee of Zachary Carter’s cleaning service, show up an hour earlier than the regular cleaners showed up, and observe and listen to the goings on in the office. After all, no one paid attention to maids and janitors, so there was no telling what she might learn. Hopefully, she’d see or overhear something that might help her learn the true character of Lowell Webster. And once inside, she would play it by ear and hope she didn’t get caught.

  Charlotte had phoned the A to Z offices the day before and inquired about their exact location in One Shell Square, so once she’d parked and had armed herself with her supply carrier, she already knew which bank of elevators to take after she entered the building.

  After a dizzying ride up to the forty-first floor, she headed for the A to Z suite of offices. Upon entering the reception area, the first thing Charlotte noticed was how clean and orderly the area looked. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

  The next thing she noticed was the decor. In keeping with the import-export theme, the walls were hung with large posters depicting scenes from several foreign countries; they reminded her of a travel agency office she’d once been in.

  A centrally located desk was made of teak, and the armchairs that lined the walls of the room were padded. The colors in the fabric covering the chairs coordinated perfectly with the colors in the carpet and the walls.

  Everything was perfect, just what she’d expect of someone of Lowell’s status and reputation—except that there was no one manning the desk. But someone had been there. The computer was on, and steam rose from what appeared to be a cup of coffee sitting next to the keyboard. There was also an array of folders and papers scattered about the desk.

  “Probably taking a potty break,” she murmured. Then she suddenly grinned at how quickly she’d reverted to a child’s vernacular since Davy had been staying with her.

  But the clock was ticking, and as she glanced at her watch, her grin faded. There was no time to dilly-dally around, waiting for the receptionist to return, not if she was going to pull this thing off. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she ventured down a wide hallway. On either side of the hallway were several closed doors; in the center of each door was an engraved brass nameplate. It was at the very end of the hallway that she finally found a door with Lowell Webster’s name on it.

  Charlotte stepped closer to the door. Barely breathing and with her head cocked to the side, she listened for any sounds that might indicate that someone was inside the office.

  She could hear muted voices, but she couldn’t make out what whoever was in the office was saying. Her heart thundering in her chest, she stepped even closer and placed her ear right up against the door.

  Suddenly everything happened at once: somewhere a phone rang; down the hall an office door slammed. At the same time, Lowell Webster’s office door abruptly swung open.

  Startled, Charlotte automatically jumped back just as a woman emerged from Lowell’s office and stepped forward. Within the blink of an eye, the two were almost nose to nose.

  As if choreographed, both women took a step backward, putting more distance between them.

  “I—I was just about to knock,” Charlotte blurted out. Raising her forearm, she feigned a knocking motion with her fist, as if the demonstration would give credence to her lie.

  “Who are you?” the woman demanded, glaring at her.

  Charlotte swallowed hard and willed her legs to stop shaking as she lowered her arm. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, and though some might consider her beautiful, she reminded Charlotte of a Shakespeare quote she’d once read, something about beauty being a witch.

  Charlotte motioned toward her supply carrier. “Janitorial service,” she blurted out. “I-I’m here to clean.”

  With a frown firmly in place and a suspicious glint in her eyes, the woman eyed Charlotte up and down. “You’re early,” she snapped. “And I don’t remember seeing you before.” She waved her hand at Charlotte’s clothes. “Where’s your uniform?”

  So much for not noticing the janitor or the maid. Intimidating didn’t begin to describe the woman, and for a second, thoughts of abandoning the whole scheme right then and there flitted through Charlotte’s head. And if you keep acting like you’re guilty of something, she’ll think you are.

  Gathering her courage, Charlotte straightened her spine and raised her chin a notch. “I haven’t been here before,” she retorted sharply. “I’m a substitute. The regular person who cleans is sick. And they don’t provide uniforms for last-minute substitutes,” she added. “Now, if you’ll just kindly direct me to which office you’d like me to start on first, then I’ll get busy.”

  Abruptly a man appeared behind the woman, and Charlotte immediately recognized him from the photos she’d seen of him in the newspapers.

  Of medium height and build, Lowell Webster was an attractive man in his early fifties with thick salt-and-pepper hair worn just a bit longer than a military cut. His face was relatively unlined, and even from a distance his piercing blue eyes had a mesmerizing quality about them. She could easily imagine a younger Patsy Duhe falling head over heels in love with him.

  “Is there a problem here, Kimberly?” he asked.

  The woman he’d called Kimberly turned to face him, but not before Charlotte witnessed the miraculous transformation that came over her.

  Within the space of a heartbeat, Kimberly’s whole countenance changed to what could only be described as sickeningly ingratiating. “No problem, Mr. Webster,” she said sweetly in a lilting voice. “Just a slight mixup with the cleaning service. Sorry we disturbed you.”

  Almost bowing and posturing, Kimberly backed out of the doorway, her action forcing Charlotte to move too or else get stepped on.

  Lowell tilted his head to one side and peered over Kimberly’s shoulder at Charlotte. “Well, send her in,” he said. “My office is a mess.” With that, he did an about-face and went back to his desk.

  Pivoting to face Charlotte, Kimberly once again made a transformation. The hard-edged look was back, along with her disapproving frown. “Well?” she snapped. “You heard what Mr. Webster said, so why are you just standing around?”

  Suddenly feeling contrary, and just to aggravate the silly woman, Charlotte snapped to attention, gave her a stiff, three-fingered salute, and said, “Yes ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”

  The moment the words left Charlotte’s mouth, she immediately regretted the impulse. Really stupid, Charlotte. That was a really stupid thing to do. The woman was suspicious enough already, and the last thing she should have done was antagonize her or draw more attention to herself.

  And she regretted her actions even more when the woman narrowed her eyes and gave her an I’ll get you look just before she stalked past Charlotte and marched down the hallway.

  Charlotte figured she’d better hurry and make hay while the sun was shining, because she had a funny feeling that it w
ouldn’t be shining long.

  Though Lowell Webster’s office carried out the same decorating scheme as the reception area, it was far larger. A bank of windows took up one wall, lending a spectacular view of the skyline. A row of file cabinets and a bar area, complete with a small refrigerator, lined yet another wall, and along the third wall was a computer center and a doorway that Charlotte suspected led to a private bathroom. In the center of the room was a massive desk, the top covered by folders and papers; facing the desk in a conversation cluster were a small sofa, two matching high-backed club chairs, and an octagonal-shaped coffee table.

  Lowell was in deep concentration, studying some papers on his desk, but he raised his head long enough to tell her, “You can start in there.” He motioned toward the door near the computer center, then he bent back over the papers again.

  As she’d suspected, the door led to a bathroom. Though Charlotte pulled the door closed behind her, she left it cracked just enough so that she could still hear what was going on in the office.

  The bathroom was almost as large as the one in her house. Not only did it contain a lavatory and toilet, but an oversized shower as well. Beside the shower was what appeared to be a small closet.

  Curious, Charlotte opened the door. Just as she’d suspected, there were a couple of suits, some shirts, and sweat suits hanging inside on a rod. On the floor a pair of dress shoes and a pair of tennis shoes peeked out from beneath the hanging clothes.

  Ever aware of the passing time, with a shake of her head, she closed the door, set her supply carrier on the floor, and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

  The first thing she did was pour a healthy measure of pine cleaner into the toilet bowl. Leaving it to soak, she Windexed the mirror and the faucets, then wiped down the sink and the shower. She’d just begun to scrub the toilet when she heard the phone ring in Lowell’s office. It rang a second time before he finally answered it.

  “Yeah, Kimberly.” He paused. “No, I’ve told you before that I don’t want to talk to him.” There was a moment of silence, then he said, “Nol Hell, no! I don’t want him coming up here.” After another short silence, Lowell let loose a string of curse words. “Okay, okay,” he finally relented. “I’ll talk to him. Put him through.”