Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3) Page 23

  The words proved to be Charlotte’s silent mantra as the morning progressed. As she’d expected, Bitsy followed her around almost every step of the way, asking endless questions and chattering nonstop.

  But when Bitsy followed her into the bathroom, Charlotte almost lost her temper. Only by concentrating on counting to a hundred was she able to control herself.

  By lunchtime Charlotte’s patience had worn thinner than a frazzle. Relieved and ever so grateful that the one thing that Bitsy never missed was the midday news, Charlotte took her lunch and headed straight for the front porch.

  Outside it was pouring rain, but she figured that on the porch she could at least eat her sandwich in peace. Besides, the sound of the rain was kind of soothing and relaxing after listening to Bitsy all morning. But, then, almost anything would have been preferable to listening to Bitsy.

  As Charlotte settled herself in one of the two rattan chairs, she spread out the contents of her lunch on the small glass-topped table. She had just taken a bite of the turkey sandwich she’d brought with her when the front door swung open and Bitsy stuck her head out.

  “Charlotte, hurry! Come see. It’s all over the news. Lowell, Webster has been murdered!”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Murdered?” Shock waves ricocheted through Charlotte. But before she could question Bitsy, the old lady had already disappeared back inside the house. By the time Charlotte raced to the TV room, the segment about Lowell’s murder was over.

  “You missed it,” Bitsy told her, waving at the television set. “They said he was found dead in his office early this morning. Someone shot him, but according to the reporter on the scene, it was evident that Lowell put up a fight. They said that his office was in shambles, and a trail of blood led out the door to the elevator. They also found a brass letter opener that had blood on it near Lowell’s body, so they’re pretty sure he stabbed and wounded his killer before he died.”

  Bitsy moaned and sank down onto the sofa. “I just can’t believe he’s dead. Who would want to murder such a fine, upstanding man like Lowell Webster?”

  Who indeed? Charlotte wondered.

  According to the news early Wednesday morning, the police still hadn’t uncovered a suspect for the murder of Lowell Webster.

  Charlotte switched off the television and headed toward the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. She’d just poured herself a cup when the phone rang.

  “Now what?” she muttered. Early-morning calls always meant problems. As she trudged into the living room, she wondered which of her employees wouldn’t be able to work today.

  She picked up the receiver. “Maid-for-a-Day. Charlotte speaking.”

  “Charlotte, it’s Nadia.”

  “Oh, hey there. How’s everything going?”

  “So-so,” Nadia answered. “But listen, I’m sorry to be calling you so early, but I wanted to catch you before you left for the day.”

  “Sure, hon, no problem. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Davy, Charlotte. I’m really worried about him and thought you might could help—you know, since he stayed with you for several days. Anyway, he’s had another one of his nightmares, and I was just wondering if he’d had any while he’d stayed with you. Of course he could be having some aftereffects from everything that’s happened ...” Her voice trailed away.

  “He did have a nightmare one night,” Charlotte offered sympathetically, “but I just figured it was because he was so confused about everything and missing you and Daniel. Weren’t you able to get him to tell you what he dreamed?”

  “Oh, that’s not the problem. It’s what he dreamed that has me worried. He keeps saying that his daddy came to see him. Of course, he’s said that before ... before all this other stuff happened. But always before he seemed kind of happy about it, so I didn’t pay it too much attention. I figured it was just wishful thinking.

  “But this time was different. This time he was really upset—sobbing his little heart out. He keeps insisting that his daddy is hurt and that he’s bleeding.”

  “Aw, poor little guy,” Charlotte said as goose bumps chased along her arms and a shiver ran up her spine, for she suddenly remembered something that Bitsy had said: It’s believed that Lowell was able to stab and wound his killer with a brass letter opener before he died.

  Was it possible? “No,” she whispered, denying the possibility even as everything within her cried otherwise.

  “Excuse me?” Nadia responded.

  “I—ah—listen, Nadia, I want you to shut the door to Davy’s room. Don’t let him in there, and don’t you go back in there, either. I want Judith to have a look around first.”

  “But why—” Suddenly Nadia gasped. “Oh, Charlotte! You’re not thinking that—No! That’s not possible. Ricco is—is—”

  “I know, I know. It’s too crazy to even contemplate, but that’s why I want Judith to take a look around—you know, just in case there might be traces of blood.”

  “But Ricco is dead ... isn’t he?”

  “He’s supposed to be, but—I just don’t know now. Look, hon, once Judith gets there, why don’t you bring Davy and come stay at my house—just until Judith has a look around. No use further exposing him to anything else.”

  “Oh, dear Lord. You really think he might still be alive?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to think,” Charlotte answered, “but, like I said, why don’t you and Davy come over to my house for a while. There’s an extra key beneath that ceramic frog in the front flower bed.”

  Once Nadia had finally agreed, Charlotte depressed the switch-hook, then immediately called Judith.

  “What’s up, Auntie?”

  “Do you remember the nightmares Davy’s been having? The ones where he claims that his daddy—Ricco, that is—comes to see him?”

  “Hmm ... yeah—vaguely, I guess. What about them?”

  “I just got off the phone with Nadia. Davy had another one last night. Only thing—now get this—this time he claims his daddy was hurt and bleeding.”

  “Bleeding!”

  “Yes, bleeding.”

  There was a long pause over the phone line. “Surely you don’t think—” Several seconds passed, and even over the phone Charlotte could hear Judith drumming her fingers against a tabletop.

  “You know, Auntie,” she finally said, “it could be possible now that I think about it. We still haven’t received the DNA report back from the state boys on the bones yet.” There was another long pause. “It’s a bit far-fetched, that’s for sure, but stranger things have happened.”

  “I told Nadia to get Davy and come over here until you had a chance to check out his room. There might still be some blood there.”

  “Good thinking. I’m on my way. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Call you later.”

  Charlotte slowly hung up the receiver, her mind racing. Now that she thought about it, the possibility had always been there. But because Ricco’s billfold had been found in the urn with the bones and because Will Richeaux had been handling the case, no one had pushed to get the DNA results.

  Charlotte glanced around, her insides churning. She glanced at the cuckoo. It was time to leave for work. Marian Hebert would be expecting her. But at the moment, work was the last thing Charlotte wanted to think about.

  Charlotte sighed. From experience, she knew that the best thing she could do was to stay occupied. Besides, if she canceled the job and stayed home, all she’d do was fret and worry.

  With another frustrated sigh, Charlotte took her empty coffee cup back to the kitchen, then headed for the bathroom to shower and dress.

  That day Charlotte worked like a demon and had Marian’s house cleaned in record time. But not even the rigorous physical labor was enough to squelch all of the questions swirling in her head.

  As she packed up her cleaning supplies to head home, she wondered for at least the hundredth time if Judith had found any traces of blood in Davy’s room. For at least the thousandth time, she a
sked herself if it could be possible that Ricco Martinez was alive. And if it was possible, then who on earth did the bones in the urn belong to? Even more puzzling, if the bones didn’t belong to Ricco, then why was his billfold in the urn?

  By the time Charlotte turned down Milan Street that afternoon, she was beside herself wondering if Judith had found out anything yet.

  Charlotte pulled into her driveway, but out of the corner of her eye, Louis’s mailbox near the front door of his side of the double caught her attention. The mailbox wasn’t that large to begin with, but even from the driveway she could tell that it was stuffed to overflowing.

  As Charlotte switched off the engine, she shook her head. She couldn’t believe that she’d forgotten she was supposed to collect his mail while he was gone.

  While he was gone... “And just what does that say about you,” she muttered as she climbed out of the van. “One minute you’re thinking you might have a future with the man, and the next—” Her voice trailed away as she slowly climbed the steps to the porch. And the next minute, you completely forget that he ’s even left town, she finished silently.

  Charlotte wanted to make excuses for herself. After all, a lot had happened since Friday night, including the big blowup she’d had with Louis and Judith. But the problem was, they were just that: excuses. Almost five days had passed since Louis had left, and not once in those five days had she even thought about him or wondered how or what he was doing. And the overstuffed mailbox was the proof.

  Of course, she hadn’t heard from him, either. He hadn’t called to check on her or even just to talk.

  Just more excuses. Maybe the old adage, out of sight, out of mind, was true after all.

  Not if you truly cared for him, a tiny voice insisted. More years than she wanted to count had passed since Hank Senior had left for Vietnam, never to return, and hardly a day passed without her thinking about him in some way.

  Charlotte dug the mail out of Louis’s mailbox. Sorting through the envelopes, she placed the larger ones on the bottom of the stack and the smaller ones on top. Tucking the mail beneath her arm, she stepped over to her own front door, unlocked it, and let herself inside.

  Maybe it was time she faced the truth, she decided.

  Sweety Boy squawked and began his normal routine to get her attention. “I know, I know, Sweety. I’ve been neglecting you lately.” She glanced toward the desk and eyed the answering machine.

  To her disappointment, the light glowed steady as a rock. No messages. She placed the mail on the small table near the door, then slipped out of her shoes and stepped into her moccasins. “Give me just a second, Boy, and I’ll let you out for a while.”

  Truth ... Louis ... Charlotte slowly walked over to Sweety Boy’s cage and opened the door. The little bird immediately sidled up to the opening, hopped out, and took flight. But Charlotte, tormented by confusing emotions, simply stood there staring at the cage.

  Truth. She really cared for Louis, maybe even loved him, but she didn’t love him with the kind of all-encompassing love she’d had for Hank Senior. Still, she knew that there were different kinds of love, different degrees. Even so, she wasn’t sure that what she felt would ever be the kind that would overlook and excuse the tiny flaws that otherwise drove a couple apart.

  Truth. She was lonely. Yes, she had family and friends, but at times there was a huge gap in her life where she yearned for that man-woman, one-on-one relationship that family and friends couldn’t fill.

  Truth. No matter how much she wished for a relationship like the one she’d had with her son’s father, she’d never find it with Louis Thibodeaux.

  Louis just flat-out wasn’t interested in her, not in that way, and not for lack of opportunity. He’d had ample opportunities to carry a relationship with her to a deeper level and hadn’t made a move to do so.

  When all was said and done, Charlotte had to deduce that once again she’d let her imagination get the best of her, and the only logical conclusion was that the whole supposed relationship was totally one-sided. Her side. And the pity of it all was that poor Louis didn’t have a clue.

  Charlotte felt her cheeks grow hot. “Enough already,” she grumbled. “You’re being totally ridiculous about the whole thing anyway.”

  It was almost eight o’clock that evening when Judith finally called Charlotte.

  “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, Aunt Charley,” she said. “But I haven’t stopped since you called this morning.”

  “Did you find traces of blood in Davy’s room?”

  “Yes ma’am. You called it right. And we also found Ricco. Unfortunately, he’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Oh, he was alive when we found him, but just barely. He was in the Quarter. At first no one paid attention to him—just another homeless drunk, passed out on the sidewalk—but a tourist spotted blood on his shirt and flagged down a patrolman.

  “An ambulance was called,” Judith continued, “and he was rushed to Charity. By then, though, the infection in his wound had spread into his bloodstream. If he’d been in better health, he might have had a fighting chance. But he wasn’t, and the infection was too far gone. He didn’t make it, but before he died, he did ask for a priest, and he did make a confession that pretty much explains everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “I told them this would be just the thing that they needed to put all of that ugly stuff behind them,” Madeline told Charlotte as she carefully wrapped the last punch cup in newspaper.

  A month had passed since Ricco had been found half dead in front of a dirty alley on Bourbon Street, and, with Madeline’s enthusiastic encouragement, Daniel and Nadia had finally agreed to go ahead with their wedding reception celebration.

  “I also insisted that they should use Mother’s punch set—you know, something old.” Madeline placed the cup she’d wrapped in tissue paper inside the punch bowl along with the others she’d wrapped and packed in the sturdy cardboard box.

  Charlotte smiled. “I think the ‘something old, something new’ thing applies to the actual ceremony, Maddie.”

  Madeline waved her hand. “Whatever.”

  “Anyway,” Charlotte continued, “I’m glad they’re using the punch set. Our mother would have loved Nadia and Davy.”

  “Well, of course,” Madeline said. “What’s not to love? Why, that little boy is just too precious for words. And Nadia—well, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but she’s a real sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Daniel happier. And just think, Charlotte, in only a few months we’re going to have a brand new baby in the family. A precious little girl, according to the ultrasound.”

  Madeline had come a long way and had changed her tune, big-time, in the weeks since Daniel’s release from jail. Though Charlotte had her own ideas about the reasons for her sister’s about-face, the reasons really didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that for once in her life, Madeline had finally been able to reach deep within and put her son’s happiness above her own selfish desires.

  Madeline glanced at her watch. “Oh my goodness. Just look at the time. I’ve got to get going.” She closed the box. “I’m supposed to meet the caterers at five, but I told Nadia that I would pick Davy up from day-care on the way.”

  “Need me to help you tote this?” Charlotte patted the cardboard box.

  Madeline shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She dug her keys out of her purse and handed them to Charlotte. “But I do need you to get the front door, then open the trunk of the car for me.”

  She hooked her purse strap over her shoulder, wrapped her arms around the box, and lifted it off the table. “It’s not really that heavy.”

  They had just loaded the box in the car and closed the trunk when Louis pulled into the driveway on his side of the double. “I didn’t know Louis was back,” Maddie said in an aside to Charlotte as she waved at him.

  “That’s because he just got back this very minute,” Charlotte murmured
, her eyes on Louis’s car while a crush of mixed feelings and confused emotions surged through her.

  “Well, I’ve got to run, but he sure and tell him about the reception, and bring him along tonight. I sent him an invitation, but judging from that stack of mail you’ve been collecting for him, it might be tomorrow before he gets to it.”

  Charlotte nodded and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Louis’s two-week trip had turned into almost four weeks, and the only word she’d received from him were a couple of brief postcards that simply stated that the job was taking longer than expected and he would be delayed coming home.

  As Madeline backed out of the driveway, Louis walked toward Charlotte, a briefcase in one hand and a suitcase in the other.

  Charlotte nodded. “Welcome home, stranger.”

  By unspoken mutual consent, they both walked toward the steps.

  “It’s good to be home,” he responded, following her up the steps onto the porch. “So what’s been happening? Any breaks yet on the Ricco Martinez murder?”

  Charlotte froze, then turned to stare at him, a puzzled frown on her face.

  “Have they found the real murderer yet?” he asked.

  “Oh, my dear Lord, you don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “It’s a long story.” Charlotte motioned toward his luggage. “Go put your stuff away, then come over to my place, and I’ll catch you up. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  By the time Louis entered her kitchen, the coffee had brewed. “I take it that huge stack of stuff on the front table is my mail.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I meant to bag it up for you, but—” she shrugged, then handed him a cup of coffee.

  “I really appreciate you collecting it for me.” He settled at the kitchen table, and after he’d taken a sip of his coffee, his expression grew serious. “Okay, now tell me, what’s happened?”

  Charlotte sat opposite him at the table. “First of all, the bones didn’t belong to Ricco Martinez after all.”