Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3)

by Barbara Colley

  The moment the men picked up the urn and moved it, the cracked portion broke loose.

  “Wait!” Patsy shouted. “Stop!”

  But the men had already shuffled a couple of steps sideways and the damage was done.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Patsy cried, staring at the bottom portion that had fallen free. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  But Charlotte went stone still. “Oh, no,” she murmured, her eyes on the gaping hole in the bottom of the urn. The urn hadn’t been empty, and almost immediately she recognized what had fallen out of the hole.

  Bones.

  Large bones that looked suspiciously like a hand and fingers. Charlotte shivered. But were they really human bones?

  A deep dread spread within her. No matter how much she would have preferred them to be the bones of some poor animal who had crawled in the urn and died, she had a horrible feeling that they were exactly what they appeared to be.

  “Charlotte? What’s wrong?” Patsy glanced over at Charlotte.

  At the moment Charlotte couldn’t utter a sound, nor could she take her eyes off the bones. All she could do was point at the bones.

  With a puzzled frown, Patsy followed Charlotte’s gaze back to the hole, then stepped closer to the urn. As she bent to inspect the hole more closely, her eyes widened in horror. With an earsplitting scream, she threw up her hands to either side of her head and quickly backed away.

  Chapter Four

  Totally unnerved by Patsy’s screams and unable to pull her gaze from the bones, Charlotte couldn’t move at first. Only when she realized that no one else was moving either and Patsy had yet to stop screaming did she decide that someone had to do something.

  Charlotte rushed over to Patsy. “It’s okay.” She pulled Patsy even farther away from the gruesome sight and placed herself squarely between Patsy and the urn. Keeping a firm hold on Patsy, she barked out instructions over her shoulder for the men. “Hey, one of you go call the police.”

  Both men were pale and seemed to be as mesmerized by the sight of the bones as Charlotte had been. Neither of them moved, nor did they show any indication that they had heard her. And no wonder, Charlotte thought, what with Patsy still screaming like a banshee.

  Charlotte turned to Patsy, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook as hard as she could. “Stop it! Stop that screaming right now, or I—I’ll slap the fool out of you.”

  Patsy stopped screaming, but the moaning sounds she began making were almost as bad.

  With a moan of her own, Charlotte turned back to the men. “Hey, you!” she yelled. “Snap out of it! Get a grip! I need some help here!”

  As if coming out of a trance, the larger of the two men blinked, shook his head, and finally looked her way.

  “Go into the kitchen and call the police,” Charlotte told him crossly. “And you”—she motioned at the other man “don’t touch anything else. Just leave it.”

  Getting Patsy into the house proved to be more of a problem than Charlotte expected. Sobbing and close to hysterics, Patsy didn’t seem to hear anything Charlotte said to her, and all of Charlotte’s attempts to calm her were useless.

  But finally Charlotte had had enough. She signaled to the remaining worker. “I need some help here. I’d like to get her inside before the police come.” When he just stared at her and didn’t move, Charlotte felt like screaming herself. “Now!” she shouted. “I need help now!”

  With the reluctant worker on one side of Patsy and Charlotte on the other side of her, they were able to force her to go inside the house. Once inside, they again had to force her to sit on the sofa.

  “Thanks,” Charlotte told the worker. “And just one more favor, please. Would you go out front and wait for the police? And when they get here, show them around back to the urn.”

  After the worker left, Charlotte hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water. If she could just get Patsy to drink something, maybe the poor woman would stop that horrible moaning and crying.

  When Charlotte returned, Patsy had stopped the moaning only to take up babbling. She was staring straight ahead as she rocked back and forth on the sofa.

  “Should have known better,” she kept muttering. “If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.” She began shaking her head from side to side. “Too good to be true ... too good to be true ... no wonder that thing was so cheap... no wonder he sold it to me. But why? Why me? Why me?”

  Half of what Patsy said didn’t make a lick of sense to Charlotte, but after a bit of coaxing, she was able to get Patsy to drink some of the water. The moment she stopped drinking, though, she started babbling again, and Charlotte began to really get worried.

  Charlotte had just about decided that she needed to call an ambulance and get Patsy some medical help when the sound of distant sirens reached her ears.

  “Thanks goodness,” she whispered.

  Whether Patsy had simply gotten it all out of her system or just plain worn herself out, Charlotte wasn’t sure. By the time the police arrived, she had stopped moaning and babbling and was staring into space with a vacant look that was almost as frightening to see as the bones had been.

  Charlotte still didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. Keeping a wary eye on Patsy, she stood at a window that overlooked the backyard and watched as one of the policemen questioned the workers while another officer knelt down near the urn. Something about the officer near the urn seemed vaguely familiar, but at the moment, Charlotte couldn’t recall where or when she’d seen him before.

  When he finally stood up again, he pulled a radio from his belt, said a few words, then joined the other officer and the two workers. The two officers talked a moment, then the one who had seemed familiar stepped away from the small group and headed toward the house.

  By the time that he knocked at the back door, Charlotte was already there to open it The moment she was face to face with the man, she recalled just why he’d seemed so familiar.

  Charlotte’s mouth went dry as dust and she swallowed hard. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the last time they had met. She’d certainly like to forget it.

  But one look at his expression told her no such luck. He remembered all right. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Ms. LaRue, isn’t it?”

  Charlotte felt her cheeks grow warm, but she nodded. Things could be worse, she figured. At least this time he wasn’t pointing a gun at her like he had been the first time they’d met. “Officer Joe...” Her voice trailed away when she couldn’t recall his last name.

  “Joe Blake, ma’am. And I need to ask you some questions—you and Ms. Dufour.”

  Charlotte moved back and motioned for him to come inside. “She’s in there.” Charlotte pointed toward the doorway leading to the small sitting room where she’d left Patsy. The officer stepped inside and Charlotte closed the door.

  “I’ve called the crime lab unit and the detectives,” he told her. “But I just need to clarify a couple of things before they get here.”

  “Does that mean that the bones are human?”

  “I’m afraid it looks that way, ma’am.”

  “Can you tell if they’re male or female?”

  “That’s something the crime-scene guys will have to determine.”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure just why she’d asked that particular question, and, in fact, she wasn’t sure of much of anything except that she really wanted to go home. She glanced toward the doorway to the room where she’d left Patsy. Surely now that the police were here, they would make sure that Patsy had the proper medical attention if she needed it.

  She took a deep breath. All he can say is no. “Ah, Officer Blake, now that you’re here, may I leave?”

  He shook his head. “I think you know better.”

  Her mouth twisted in annoyance. Yes, she had known better, but it had been worth a try anyway.

  “Now...” As if gathering up all the patience he could muster, he took a deep breath and sighed. “Why don’t you tell me what you know.”
<
br />   Charlotte thought about it for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “Not much, I’m afraid. I got here just in time to see the men moving the urn. They lost their grip; it fell and cracked. Then, when they moved it”—she made a vague motion with her hand and shrugged—“the cracked part fell off.”

  “How long has Ms. Dufour had the urn?”

  “I really don’t know,” she answered. “You see, Ms. Dufour uses my maid service, but one of my employees usually cleans for her.”

  “Usually?”

  “She was ill yesterday, so I cleaned in her place. I’m just here today because I accidentally left my vacuum cleaner here yesterday.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “You said Ms. Dufour is in there.” He pointed toward the door leading to where she’d left Patsy. Charlotte nodded and led him into the other room. Patsy had moved from the sofa to the same window that Charlotte had been standing at previously. When they entered the room, Patsy turned away from the window and gave a cursory glance at the officer before turning her attention to Charlotte.

  “Patsy, this is Officer Blake,” Charlotte told her.

  The officer inclined his head. “Ms. Dufour, ma’am, I need to ask you a couple of questions.” When Patsy slid her gaze his way, he continued. “How long have you had that urn?”

  “About six months, I believe,” she told him, her voice whispery soft and just a bit hesitant. “I believe it was back in September when I bought it.”

  “Where did it come from before you got it?”

  “I-I really don’t know. I bought it at a clearance sale down in the warehouse district. It came out of a warehouse on Tchoupitoulas. The new owner was getting rid of the contents so he could renovate the old building and turn it into condos instead.”

  A warehouse on Tchoupitoulas? Charlotte frowned as something niggled in the back of her mind.

  “Did you arrange for the delivery, or did the owner have it delivered?”

  “The owner had it delivered,” Patsy whispered. “I paid him extra—a delivery charge.”

  But Charlotte was only half-listening, her mind still on the warehouse. Why did anything to do with a warehouse on Tchoupitoulas sound familiar? It wasn’t as if she ever went down to that part of the city ... except years ago when the World’s Fair was held in New Orleans. No, not that, she decided. It had to be something more recent. Maybe some kind of controversy about something. But what?

  After a moment she gave a mental shrug when she couldn’t recall any details and dismissed the familarity of the phrase “warehouse on Tchoupitoulas” as nothing important. It was probably just something she’d read in the newspaper or heard about on the news.

  “Ma’am, the crime lab unit and the detectives should be here soon. Until then, if you remember anything significant, you might want to write it down so you can tell them.”

  “Like what?” Patsy asked.

  “Well, for one, do you have any idea as to who those bones might belong to?”

  Patsy’s mouth worked like a fish, but when no sound came out, she covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “No,” she finally moaned. “Why on earth would I know who they belonged to?”

  “Now, now, ma’am,” the officer soothed. “Don’t get upset. I’m not accusing you of anything or saying that you do know. But the urn does belong to you, and if you’ve had it for six months, there’s a possibility that without your knowledge, a body could have been placed inside while it was on your property. And, another thing: I’m sure the detectives will want to know the name of the person who sold it to you.”

  Patsy looked as if she was going to protest again when the sound of a loud rap on the back door interrupted.

  “That’s probably the detectives now,” the officer told them.

  He left the room, and a few minutes later another man appeared in the doorway.

  Charlotte immediately recognized the man who entered the room. Out of all the detectives in the Sixth District, it was just her luck that the one who got this particular case would be Will Richeaux.

  Louis had once called the detective a “snotty hotshot.” At the time, Charlotte hadn’t understood Louis’s animosity toward the man. On the outside, Detective Will Richeaux was clean-cut and well-groomed, even handsome with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But how true the old saying, “Never judge a book by its cover,” was. In Charlotte’s opinion, he was a sleazy snake of a man who was both a liar and a cheat.

  Will Richeaux had been Judith’s partner for a while just before Louis retired. But the partnership had quickly escalated into more. Never mind that he was a married man with a child. Claiming that he was in the process of getting a divorce, he’d gone after Judith anyway. It was the oldest line in the world, and when Charlotte had found out about the affair, she’d told Judith so. Ultimately, thank goodness, Judith had come to her senses and finally realized that he’d just been stringing her along.

  The detective stared hard at Charlotte for several seconds. His eyes were cold, but there was nothing about his expression that revealed what he was thinking.

  He finally inclined his head at Charlotte. “Ms. LaRue.”

  Then his glance slid to Patsy. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. “Ms. Dufour.” He said her name in a sneering tone that made Charlotte frown. Still staring at Patsy, he said, “I’ll need to ask you both some questions.”

  When he stepped farther into the room, Patsy abruptly stood. If possible, her already pale face paled even more. “You,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the detective. “You’re a cop?”

  Charlotte’s frown deepened. Patsy was acting like she’d just encountered the devil incarnate. What on earth was going on? She could understand Patsy being nervous about being questioned by the police. The whole thing made her nervous, too. But why fear? What would Patsy have to fear from Will Richeaux? And why had Will reacted so strangely to Patsy?

  “Do you two know each other?” Charlotte asked Patsy.

  “We’ve met before,” the detective retorted before Patsy had the chance to answer. “Another incident.” He glared at Patsy as if daring her to contradict him.

  “I-I want a different detective,” Patsy blurted out. “You—I—”

  “Sit down, Ms. Dufour,” he ordered. “This is my case, and the sooner we get on with it, the better everyone will feel.” He continued to glare at Patsy until she finally gave in. Then he turned to Charlotte. “Ms. LaRue, step into the kitchen,” he said, “I’d like to question you first.”

  The whole thing left a bad taste in Charlotte’s mouth. Something was going on between Patsy and Will Richeaux, and that something, whatever it was, had Patsy scared half out of her wits.

  “Ms. LaRue?”

  Charlotte finally nodded. “Okay,” she replied warily, her eyes still on Patsy. “But I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the other officers.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back.

  It was hard to miss the sarcasm underlying his reply, and though Charlotte felt like telling him to take a flying leap, she held her tongue. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could go home.

  With one last look at Patsy, Charlotte reluctantly moved into the kitchen. Will Richeaux stopped just inside the doorway, but Charlotte continued on to the other side of the island that was near the sink area in order to put some distance between the two of them.

  “Okay, Ms. LaRue, why don’t you tell me why you’re here”

  Charlotte didn’t like Will Richeaux, and, unlike Patsy, she had no intention of allowing him to scare or intimidate her.

  “I own a cleaning service,” she told him. “And Ms. Dufour employs my cleaning service two days a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “But today is Friday.”

  Charlotte ground her teeth. With barely veiled annoyance she grudgingly explained that because Nadia was ill, she accidentally had filled in for her. She was there today only because she had lef
t the vacuum cleaner behind on Thursday.

  “So you don’t work here on a regular basis”

  “No.”

  “And this Nadia, does she have a last name and an address?”

  Charlotte glared at him. She was tempted to tell him that, no, Nadia was hatched from an egg, but instead she rattled off Nadia’s name and address.

  He jotted down what she told him in a small notebook. Then he asked, “Just how well do you know Ms. Dufour?”

  “Ms. Dufour is a client.”

  When Charlotte offered nothing more, he simply stared at her with eyes that could chip ice. “O-kaay,” he finally drawled after several moments more. “So”—he tilted his head forward—“why don’t you tell me your version of what happened out there today.”

  All Charlotte wanted was to go home. As quickly and succinctly as she could, she repeated what she’d told the other officer earlier. Although at intervals Will Richeaux jotted down some of what she told him, for the most part, he simply listened and gave her what could only be described as intimidating looks.

  When she’d finished, he glanced over the few notes he’d taken, then raised his gaze. “I guess that should do it for the time being. Now if you’ll give me a number where I can reach you in case I have more questions, you can leave.”

  Charlotte told him her home phone number and her cell phone number.

  “I guess that’s all,” he told her, then added, “for now.”

  “I can leave?”

  He nodded and without another word headed for the back door.

  Even though all Charlotte wanted was to leave right then and there, she decided to check on Patsy and let her know she was leaving. She found Patsy digging through a drawer of a small desk in the comer.

  “Ah—Patsy? Excuse me, I was told I could leave. Are you going to be okay?”

  Patsy paused a moment to glance over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m trying to find the receipt for that urn. I need the exact date I bought it.” She turned back to the desk. “I know it’s in here ... somewhere.”