Death Tidies Up Page 9

“Why does anything have to be wrong for me to talk to my own son?”

  “Mother, the only times you’ve ever paged me was because something was wrong.”

  “Yes, well, I guess you have a point.” Charlotte hesitated, dreading having to explain everything. She hated giving him any more excuses than he’d already come up with to nag her about retiring.

  “Mother?”

  “Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong,” she hedged, “but Judith insisted that I call you.”

  “Call me about what?”

  “It’s nothing—really it isn’t. Judith’s just being a worrywart as usual.”

  “Mother! Out with it.”

  “Oh, okay, I fainted.” She said it quickly, as if by doing so, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

  “You fainted! And you don’t think anything’s wrong? What am I going to do with you? Mother, people don’t faint for no reason.”

  “Well, I was a bit stressed out at the moment.”

  “O-kaay.” When he stretched the word out, then sighed heavily, she almost grinned. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the exasperated frown he always got when he was at the end of his patience. “Start from the beginning, please,” he finally said, “and tell me exactly what happened.”

  Once she’d told him everything, she had to listen for endless minutes while he lectured her on the dangers of ignoring certain warning signs at her age, and it seemed to take forever to end the conversation.

  “Enough, already,” she finally told him, interrupting his spiel about regular checkups. “I get the message, loud and clear.”

  “Now, Mother, don’t go getting stubborn on me. You know I love you, and it’s for your own good.”

  “And I love you too,” she told him, “but I’m not senile yet, son. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around lecturing your mother.”

  When Charlotte returned to the kitchen, Cheré took one look at her and asked, “Gave you a hard time, didn’t he?”

  With a sigh, Charlotte seated herself at the table again. “He wants me to have some tests run, and he’s setting up an appointment with a colleague of his for me to see next week.”

  “Good. Better safe than sorry.”

  Charlotte scooped up a forkful of salad. “I suppose so,” she agreed, somewhat grudgingly, “but if you ask me, it’s just a lot of fuss over nothing.” Or was it? she wondered uneasily. Were Hank and Judith right? Was she just being too stubborn for her own good? She had been feeling more tired lately, but she also had been working longer hours than usual. She’d just put the bite of salad in her mouth when the doorbell rang.

  “Pizza time,” Cheré quipped.

  “Oh, great,” Charlotte grumbled around the mouthful of food as she shoved away from the table.

  Cheré pointed at her. “Stay put and eat your salad. I’ll get it.”

  Charlotte was more than ready for a hot shower and bed by the time Cheré finally left. She’d just stepped into the shower when she heard the muted ring of the telephone.

  “Too bad,” she muttered as she turned her face into the warm spray. Whoever was calling would just have to leave a message on the machine.

  By the time she’d finished her shower and pulled on her favorite cotton pajamas, Charlotte was sorely tempted to not even check the answering machine. She was tired, both mentally and physically, and images of Drew Bergeron’s dead eyes staring out at her from beneath the purple Mardi Gras mask kept swimming through her mind. If she could just sink into the oblivion of sleep, maybe the images would stop haunting her.

  But even as she neatly folded back the comforter and quilt on her bed, the thought of that infernal blinking light on the message machine kept nagging her.

  “Oh, all right, already,” she muttered, finally giving in. She’d always been too curious for her own good, and at times, it drove her crazy. And though she hated to admit it, she knew the real reason she couldn’t ignore the call was because of her superstitious nature. It never failed that the one call she ignored would end up being something really important.

  Charlotte stomped off toward the living room. Besides, she reasoned, she still had to cover Sweety Boy’s cage for the night, and just because she listened to the message didn’t necessarily mean she had to return the call.

  Charlotte hit the play button on the machine then walked over to Sweety Boy’s cage.

  “Hi, Charlotte, it’s me.”

  The message was from her sister, Madeline, and Charlotte felt the old familiar dread well up from within as she pulled the cover over the birdcage. She hated feeling that way about her own flesh and blood, but Madeline could be a real pain to deal with at times.

  “What’s this about you fainting? You’ve never fainted in your life, not that I remember anyway.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes as she checked to make sure she’d locked and bolted the front door. Having a close family had its advantages, and her family was closer than most. Their parents had been killed when Madeline was fifteen. Charlotte, only twenty herself at the time and a single mother, had taken over raising her sister as well as her own two-year-old son. But having a close family also meant that everyone knew everyone else’s business. Evidently Judith had wasted no time in calling her mother.

  “And why aren’t you answering this call?” Madeline continued. “Surely you haven’t gone to bed already. It’s only eight o’clock, for Pete’s sake. Only old people go to bed this early, and just because you’re turning sixty doesn’t mean you’re that old yet—unless—unless you’ve passed out—” Madeline suddenly groaned. “Please tell me you haven’t passed out again! But what if you have?” she murmured. “Charlotte? Charlotte!”

  Several moments passed and Charlotte could hear her sister’s harsh breathing on the recording. “Listen,” Madeline finally said. “If I don’t hear back from you within the next fifteen minutes, I’m calling 911 and coming over there, so you’d better call me back.”

  Sudden panic knifed through Charlotte. She rushed over to the phone and snatched up the receiver. How much time had passed? she wondered as she punched out her sister’s number. Surely not a whole fifteen minutes yet. The very last thing she wanted was to have to deal with Madeline tonight, and she certainly didn’t want the police or an ambulance showing up on her doorstep.

  The call was answered on the second ring. “Charlotte?”

  “Yes, Maddie, it’s me. Please tell me you haven’t called 911.”

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone the first time?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in the shower.”

  “Well of course it’s my business,” she snapped back. Then she snickered. “At least now I know how to get you to return my calls.”

  “That’s not funny, Maddie.”

  “Neither is you fainting,” she shot back.

  Charlotte sighed. Give me patience, Lord. “Look, I’ve already gotten one lecture tonight from Hank, so I don’t need another one. Why Judith felt she had to call you anyway is beyond me.”

  “Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Madeline snapped. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am your sister. And why wouldn’t my own daughter call me?”

  Why indeed? thought Charlotte as the words unstable, irresponsible, and selfish came to mind.

  Madeline’s divorce from her first husband had devastated her. She had truly loved Johnny Monroe, but Johnny had a roving eye that not even the love of his wife or two little children could compete with. For years after the divorce, Madeline had been barely able to function on a daily basis, and much of the care of her two children had fallen on Charlotte’s shoulders. Even Madeline had admitted on more than one occasion, albeit out of jealousy, that Charlotte had always been more of a mother to her children than she had.

  Truth was, Judith and her brother, Daniel, were more likely to call Charlotte about something than call their own mother. It was one of those family things that everyone knew but no one ever talked about.


  Charlotte sighed. “Oh, now Maddie, don’t get in a snit. You know I didn’t mean anything,” she said. “And I do appreciate your concern. It’s just that—well, it’s just been one of those days. I’m fine. Really I am. It was probably just the circumstances. It’s not every day that I find a dead man. But of course Hank insisted on setting me up with an appointment for a checkup next week anyway.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Finding that dead man and all would certainly be enough to make me pass out for sure. But you might as well get a checkup anyway, just to be on the safe side.” Madeline paused, then, “Another reason I called was to find out if you’re feeling up to coming over tomorrow now that you won’t be working.”

  Originally, Charlotte had excused herself from the family’s regular Sunday lunch after church due to the Devilier job. Because their family was small, years ago she and Madeline had started the tradition of taking turns hosting the Sunday lunches after church services on alternating Sundays. Even with the busy lives that their children led, without fail, everyone always tried to show up.

  “Yes, I’ll be there,” Charlotte replied.

  “Good. Daniel is going to barbecue and I needed to know how much chicken to buy in the morning.”

  “Just a breast will be plenty for me,” Charlotte told her. “Now at the risk of sounding like an old lady, I am going to bed. See you tomorrow.”

  “Sorry about that,” Madeline admitted. “You know I don’t think of you as getting old. Besides, sixty really isn’t that old, not in this day and time.”

  “Good night, Maddie, and just remember, you’re only five years younger than me.”

  Maddie groaned. “Thanks for reminding me, dear sister of mine. And by the way, why don’t you go to bed now?” With a giggle, Madeline hung up the phone, and Charlotte did the same.

  She was just too tired to sleep, Charlotte finally decided two hours later as she switched the bedside lamp back on. That had to be the reason she couldn’t sleep.

  After she’d hung up from talking to Maddie, she’d gone straight to bed. She’d read a bit, just enough to relax her into thinking she could finally fall asleep. But the minute she’d turned off the lamp, visions of Drew Bergeron’s dead eyes staring at her filled her mind. She’d tried deep-breathing exercises, and she’d even resorted to counting sheep. But nothing had worked. Those dead eyes just wouldn’t go away.

  Charlotte reached for the book she’d been reading earlier, but not even a chapter later, the detective in the novel stumbled upon a dead body.

  With a groan, Charlotte slammed the book shut and dropped it on the floor. Maybe a glass of milk would help, she decided, pushing herself out of the bed. And maybe if she watched a little television…something nice and boring like one of the old black-and-white movies that sometimes played late at night.

  He was on the porch…From the front window she could see the shadowy figure skulking around. Then, suddenly he turned and saw her staring out at him. He looked straight at her with those dead eyes of his, then he disappeared.

  Thwack, thwack…Oh, dear Lord, he was trying to break down her front door….

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte awoke with a start, her heart racing beneath her breasts. A dream, it was just a dream, she kept telling herself. But no, it had been far worse than just a dream. It had been a full-blown nightmare…every single woman’s nightmare.

  Still feeling a bit disoriented even as her heart slowed to a steady thud, she frowned when she suddenly realized that she was on the living room sofa instead of her bed.

  And the television was on.

  Her frown deepened. “Oh great,” she grumbled. “Just wonderful.” On the TV screen, Clint Eastwood had his gun drawn and was trying to break down a door. It was a scene from an old Dirty Harry episode that she recognized all too well. That was what had probably awakened her to begin with.

  So what time was it anyway? When she turned her head to look up at the cuckoo clock on the wall above the sofa, she suddenly groaned with pain and grabbed the back right side of her neck. Not only was it just barely six o’clock—not even daylight yet—but worse, now she had a crick in her neck.

  “That’s what you get for falling asleep on the sofa,” she muttered.

  From beneath the cover over his cage, Sweety Boy squawked.

  “No, it’s not time to get up yet,” she said irritably. “Go back to sleep.”

  Careful to keep her head straight, she eased herself up. Once she was standing, she decided that maybe an aspirin would help, that and another hour or so of sleep…in her bed, this time.

  It seemed that only minutes had passed when Charlotte again awoke with a start, this time to the sound of a ringing in her ears. Several seconds passed before she realized that the ringing was actually the doorbell, and several more seconds passed before it dawned on her that tiny jets of sunlight were peeping through the closed blinds that covered her solitary bedroom window.

  A quick glance at her clock radio on the bedside table told her it was almost nine, but who on earth would be at her door this early on a Sunday morning?

  As if he’d heard her unspoken question, Louis Thibodeaux’s muffled voice called out, “Charlotte, answer the door. I know you’re in there.”

  Charlotte groaned, “Oh, good grief!”

  “Charlotte!”

  “Hold your horses!” she yelled. “Just a minute!”

  When she tried to sit up, the dull ache in her neck reminded her of the crick she’d gotten from sleeping on the sofa. Though the aspirin had numbed the pain somewhat, the crick was still there.

  Wondering why on earth Louis was at her door so early, she slipped into her housecoat and the moccasins she favored for house shoes. Then she quickly brushed her hair.

  At least her hair wasn’t sticking out all over the place the way it had been on Friday morning, she thought, eyeing her reflection in the mirror one last time before heading for the living room. The new haircut had helped, and despite her restless night, her hair had fallen nicely in place. She’d have to remember to tell Valerie how pleased she was with it the next time she saw her.

  Now if she could only have a cup of coffee before facing Louis, she thought irritably as she unlocked the front door to let him in.

  Unlike Charlotte, Louis was dressed. His hair was still damp from the shower, and there was a tiny telltale cut on his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving.

  The moment Louis said, “Good morning,” and stepped through the doorway, Sweety Boy began squawking inside the covered cage as if he was being terrorized.

  “That bird doesn’t like me.”

  Ignoring Louis for the moment, Charlotte turned her attention toward the cage. “It’s okay, Boy,” she soothed, easing the cover off the cage. “Calm down now. It’s okay.”

  After a moment, the little parakeet’s squawks quieted to an occasional pitiful chirp as he hovered on his perch, and Charlotte faced Louis again.

  With a quick scowl directed at the cage, he asked, “Were you still sleeping?”

  The hint of disapproval in his tone grated on her caffeine-starved nerves, and Charlotte simply glared up at him. “Duh, it is Sunday morning,” she told him.

  “But you’re always up by seven at the latest. And no, I haven’t been spying on you or playing Peeping Tom,” he added, “so just get that look off your face. You and I both know that the walls in this old house are almost thin enough to see through.”

  It was true. The dividing wall between his half of the double and hers wasn’t that thick or insulated, if at all, and too many nights and mornings, she’d heard his movements on the other side of that wall. It stood to reason that if she could hear him, he could hear her as well.

  “Are you sick?”

  “No,” she snapped. “I am not sick, and I’m getting pretty tired of everyone insisting that there’s something wrong with me. But—if you must know—I simply didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Louis’ eyebrows slanted into a frown
. “Okay, you’re not sick, so what’s wrong with your neck?”

  Charlotte shot him a withering glance, and instead of answering him, she motioned toward the kitchen. “Do you mind if I put on a pot of coffee first, Mr. Detective? Before you interrogate me,” she added.

  “No need to get sarcastic,” he answered. “And by all means, have some coffee. Maybe it will improve your disposition.” Then he suddenly smirked. “Fell asleep on the sofa and got a crick, didn’t you?”

  To keep from hauling off and punching him, Charlotte did an about-face and stomped off toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, Charlotte,” he called out from behind her. “Don’t get mad. The only reason I knew about the crick was because I’ve done it myself a few times.”

  Charlotte paused in the doorway of the kitchen, but she didn’t turn around. Between gritted teeth, she asked, “Is there a specific reason you’re over here this morning, or is this a social visit? Because if this is a social visit—”

  “Actually, I’m here on official business,” he said, cutting her off. “Official police business,” he added, moving closer toward her. “I have to ask you some more questions about yesterday.”

  “I should have guessed as much,” she grumbled, heading for the pantry where she kept the coffee.

  “Well, given your—ah—attitude, the questions can wait until after you’ve had coffee.”

  He was right, she thought as she filled the coffeepot with water and scooped coffee into the filter basket. She did have an attitude. But why? she wondered. Why did everything and everyone seem to irritate her lately, and for no real reason? Just because she felt as if she could chew nails was no excuse to take it out on Louis.

  Hoping a few moments alone would help, and conscious of the time, Charlotte excused herself for a few minutes to put on her makeup while the coffee dripped. Church services began promptly at ten-thirty, and she figured if she allowed an hour for Louis’ questions, she should still have time to finish dressing before she needed to leave.