She grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”
“Charlotte, hang up the phone, but turn on your cell phone, and I’ll call back.”
“Nadia?”
But it was too late. Nadia had already disconnected the call.
Chapter Eleven
For several moments Charlotte simply stared at the receiver. The caller had been Nadia. Of that she had no doubt. But why the cell phone business?
The cell phone. Charlotte slammed the receiver back down and scrambled for her cell phone. Almost the instant that she switched the POWER button on, the little phone jangled to life. She pressed the TALK button.
“Nadia?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Charlotte.”
“What on earth? Where—”
“Just listen a minute. Please,” she added with emphasis, her voice low. “I’m afraid the police might have your regular phone tapped, so I thought it would be safer to talk over the cell phone.”
Charlotte had never considered such a thing, and just the thought of someone listening in on her conversations raised her hackles. She began pacing the living room. “I’m not sure,” she said, “but I think the authorities can also trace a call through a cell phone.”
“Maybe ... but I’m on a cell phone too, and I figured if I was moving around, they wouldn’t be able to get a good fix on me.”
“Where are you? Why on earth did you take off like that?”
“I-I can’t tell you where I’m at.” Her voice broke. “Oh, Charlotte, I-I’ve made such a mess of everything.” For long seconds, only the barely audible sound of Nadia’s soft sobs came through the line.
“S-sorry,” she finally stammered.
Charlotte wavered between sympathy and anger sympathy for a confused young woman who had suffered at the hands of an abusive man who also happened to be her son’s father, and anger on behalf of Daniel and Davy.
Anger won. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she lashed out. Then, realizing how loud she was talking and afraid she might awaken Davy, she lowered her voice. “Daniel was left holding the bag, and Davy—that poor little boy—over and over, he keeps wanting to know where his mommy is. Just what am I supposed to tell him?”
“Then Davy is with you?”
“Yes, he’s with me,” Charlotte snapped. “It was either that or the Child Protection Agency.”
“Thank you,” Nadia whispered, tears in her voice. “I’ve been so worried about him. How—how is he?”
“Just how do you think he is? How would any little three-year-old be if his mother abandoned him without a word of explanation?”
“Oh, Charlotte, please don’t be so angry with me. Please let me try to explain.”
“So explain. I’m listening.”
“I-I thought I was doing the right thing. I really did. And—and I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“No, no, there’s not. Not always, and not this time. We both know that the first person the police would suspect is me. I thought that if I left—just disappeared—then they would concentrate on me and leave Daniel out of it.” She hesitated. “You have to believe that I would never purposely hurt Daniel. I love Daniel, and, other than Davy, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But I also figured that even if, by some remote circumstance, Daniel got arrested, his firm would get him out on bail.” Her voice trailed away.
“Didn’t exactly work, though, did it?” Nadia whispered after a pause. “But, Charlotte, either way, I couldn’t risk going to jail.”
Charlotte frowned. “Wait a minute. Back up a bit. You know about Daniel being denied bail?”
“Yes, I know.”
“But how? I only found out myself this morning.”
“I—I have my sources. But how doesn’t matter. I need you to understand, Charlotte. No matter what, I still can’t go to jail.”
“But what about Daniel? What—”
“I’m pregnant,” Nadia blurted out. “Daniel and I are going to have a baby.”
Charlotte was stunned into silence. Sinking down onto the sofa, she stared at the opposite wall with unseeing eyes. No wonder, she thought. The elopement. The hasty marriage. Nadia’s so-called stomach virus. In retrospect, it all made sense ... maybe more sense than it should.
God forbid, what if Madeline had been right all along about Nadia? What if Nadia had killed Ricco? And what if she’d latched on to Daniel as insurance, just in case she was found out. Who better to have for a husband than a highly respected attorney, especially someone like Daniel, who was also considered a good catch by any woman’s standards. After all, getting pregnant to trap and hold a man was the oldest trick in the universe.
Charlotte suddenly felt her face grow warm with shame for even thinking that Nadia would be capable of such elaborate manipulations. And since when has Madeline ever been right about anything?
“Please tell me you understand,” Nadia begged. “Please don’t think I’m a horrible person.”
“Does Daniel know? About the pregnancy?”
“Yes, of course he knows. But no one else does. We were going to announce it at the reception party we were planning for next month.”
There was one other question that Charlotte had to ask, and though it pained her, the only way to ask it was to just do it, straight out. “Nadia, did you kill Ricco?”
“No!” she cried. “Even through the worse times, it never entered my mind to kill him. All I could think about was getting away from him, getting him out of my life. Charlotte, I swear to you, I had nothing to do with his murder.”
Charlotte wanted to believe her. With all of her heart she wanted to once again be able to trust her instincts when it came to the people she cared about. But once bitten, twice shy. And she’d been bitten before badly.
“If anyone had Ricco murdered,” Nadia continued, each word dripping with bitterness, “it had to be Lowell Webster.”
Once again, Charlotte was stunned into silence. No way. “Are you talking about the Lowell Webster?” The man was almost an icon in New Orleans, for Pete’s sake—in the whole of Louisiana, for that matter.
“You got it,” Nadia retorted.
How was that possible? Charlotte wondered. Lowell Webster was a self-made millionaire with a sterling reputation that was beyond reproach. Numerous articles had been written about him, how he had worked his way out of the quagmire of a childhood of poverty and turned a failing import-export company into a huge success. But it wasn’t just the fact that the man was wealthy. He was respected and beloved due to his numerous philanthropic gifts to the poor. He was also the most favored candidate for the next New Orleans’ mayor’s race.
“What on earth makes you think that Lowell Webster murdered Ricco? Why would a man like Lowell Webster have anything to do with the likes of someone like Ricco Martinez in the first place?”
“Nothing directly,” Nadia answered. “I don’t have any real proof. But Lowell has a son, Mark, and Mark Webster is nothing like his father. In fact, he’s probably just the opposite of everything his father supposedly stands for. But Mark is Lowell’s only child, and Lowell would do anything to protect him.”
Charlotte frowned. “Maybe you’d better explain.”
Nadia sighed. “It’s a long story.” She cleared her throat. “According to Ricco, he and Mark met while they were both serving time in a Florida juvenile detention center when they were teenagers. Believe it or not, Ricco came from a well-to-do family in Miami, but he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. He was in the detention center because one night, for kicks, he and some of the gang he belonged to robbed a liquor store and got caught. Mark was in the center because he’d been busted for running drugs from Florida to Louisiana. And get this. Mark’s father thought he was on his high school senior trip.
“Anyway, while they were in detention, Ricco and Mark struck up a friendship of sorts. Mark was released first, but he told Ricco to look him up when he got out.
“When Ricc
o did get cut loose, he tried to go home. Ricco’s story was that his father wanted to teach him a lesson and wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He supposedly told Ricco that he had shamed the family and from now on he could fend for himself. At least that’s what Ricco claimed.
“After Ricco’s so-called rejection by his father, he hitch-hiked to New Orleans and found Mark. Mark warned Ricco never to mention their detention in Florida. He said that his father had pulled in favors to get him released and was still angry about him getting caught in the first place.”
“Okay,” Charlotte told her. “That explains why Ricco knows the Websters, but it still doesn’t explain why they would want him dead.”
“According to Ricco, Mark was into some pretty nasty business. The cemetery thefts, for one. But he was also a big-time gambler. And Ricco was right in the thick of it with him. Whether it was the cemetery business or something else, you can bet that Ricco knew too much about something. Again, I can’t prove it, but I figure that Lowell was simply trying to clean up another mess his son had made so it wouldn’t come back to haunt him when he runs for mayor.”
The revelation about the Websters was almost more than Charlotte could comprehend. “That’s all well and good,” she told Nadia, “but I have to admit, I find it all a bit hard to believe. And unless you convince the police of what you just told me, they’re going to continue thinking that you’re the one guilty—either you or Daniel. Right now, as best as I understand it, the authorities aren’t even considering that anyone else could be guilty. You need to turn yourself in.”
“I can’t do that,” Nadia whispered. “Not yet. If I can’t even convince you—”
“I didn’t say you haven’t convinced me,” Charlotte retorted. “I simply said I find it hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s for sure I won’t be able to convince the police. I’m a nobody. My word against a man like Lowell Webster or even his son? No way.”
“At least tell me where you’re staying,” Charlotte urged. “In case of an emergency with Davy or Daniel,” she added.
“I-I can’t do that, either. I know you, Charlotte. You’d think you were doing what’s best for me, and you’d tell Judith.”
“But, Nadia—”
“No buts. You know that’s exactly what you’d do. But I’ll call again. I promise. And Charlotte, thanks again for taking Davy in. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather him stay with. And please tell Davy and Daniel that I love them both.”
“Nadia, you—” The line went dead. Charlotte pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at it. Nadia had hung up on her.
If ever Charlotte had felt like swearing, she felt like it right then and there. She was also tempted to pitch the cell phone just as far as she could throw it. Barely able to control her rising temper or her trembling hands, she switched off the phone and stuffed it back inside her purse.
If only she could switch off her brain as easily, she thought as her mind swirled with bits and pieces of her conversation with Nadia.
Could she believe Nadia? Should she believe her? Innocent until proven guilty... innocent until proven guilty ...
Once before she’d believed in someone she’d been close to, believed with all of her being. Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. But she’d been wrong that time, and just thinking about it was giving her a headache. Maybe a cup of hot cocoa would help—that and an aspirin.
A few minutes later, seated at her kitchen table with a cup of warm cocoa, she tried to sort out her feelings.
Just the facts, ma’am. The line from the old sixties TV series Dragnet popped into her mind and made her smile. So what were the facts?
Charlotte grabbed a pen and spiral notebook she kept on the kitchen counter. She began jotting down the things she knew to be true.
Fact one: The remains of Ricco Martinez were found in an urn that belongs to Patsy Dufour. Charlotte’s pen hovered over the sentence. No, that wasn’t truly a fact. Despite the evidence of the billfold, there was no forensic proof that the bones belonged to Ricco. Not yet.
Charlotte scratched through Ricco’s name and penned in the word someone instead. Then she wrote the word billfold and put a large question mark beside it.
For several seconds she stared at what she’d written. Adding an a on the next line, she wrote: Patsy purchased urn at warehouse on Tchoupitoulas. Probably the same warehouse where stolen artifacts were found. Name of new owner? Old owner?
Next she wrote, Fact two: Nadia disappears. Beside it she wrote, Why? Then she added Guilty? Or simply scared? Pregnant? She skipped a line and wrote, Fact three: Daniel arrested. Under Fact four, she wrote, Daniel denied bail. Beside it she scribbled, Why?
Fact five: Nadia calls and claims that Lowell Webster and son, Mark, are involved.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she stared at the words, Nadia calls. Was it possible that the police had tapped her home phone, or was Nadia being paranoid? Charlotte rolled the pen between her thumb and fingers. Maybe she should ask Judith. Judith could find out for sure.
Charlotte slowly shook her head. No, she couldn’t risk asking Judith. If she asked Judith, then she’d have to explain why she was asking. With Judith being a police detective, the whole situation might force her into a compromising position, or at the very least pose a conflict of interest since Judith was her niece and Nadia was now Judith’s sister-in-law.
Besides, if her phone wasn’t already bugged and she revealed that Nadia had called her, then for sure the police would put a tap on it. If not her home phone, then they might begin monitoring her cell phone, if that was possible.
Charlotte frowned. Was it possible? she wondered. She couldn’t recall such a thing being done in any of the mystery books she’d read or on any of the television shows she’d watched. Even so, she knew that there was something about certain frequencies, some kind of electronic technical stuff....
Charlotte sighed heavily. You’re getting sidetracked. She stared at her list of facts. Then she wrote, Fact six: But her eyes kept going back to Fact five.
If Nadia’s claim was true, if a man of Lowell Webster’s wealth and influence was responsible, then Nadia was right to be skeptical about the police believing her. Given Lowell Webster’s political connections and influence, Daniel and Nadia’s prospects for being cleared would be almost impossible.
Impossible ... impossible ...
“No, not impossible,” Charlotte said with determination and conviction. “Never,” she added fiercely, her gaze scanning the facts she had written.
She tapped the pen on the blank line below Fact five. Then, slowly and precisely, she wrote Fact six: Will Richeaux. Under Fact six she added: You can bet if he’s pushing things, there’s a reason behind it, words that both Judith and Louis had spoken.
But what reasons? Charlotte stared at the list, but in her mind’s eye, she was reliving the day that the bones had been discovered. Three days had passed since Friday, but Charlotte could still picture Patsy Dufour’s strange reaction to Will Richeaux when he’d entered the room. Then there was his odd behavior toward Patsy as well.
Patsy had been frightened at the sight of him. But why? Why would the sight of Will Richeaux frighten her? In Charlotte’s experience, people were usually frightened of someone because they either knew them personally or knew something about them. If Patsy and Will knew each other—and Will had indicated that there had been a previous incident—that could very well explain his behavior toward Patsy.
Charlotte scribbled down: Ask Patsy about Will Richeaux.
When she realized what she’d written, she took a deep, fortifying breath. Under ordinary circumstances, she would never consider questioning a client about their personal business. Doing so meant breaking her standing rule of minding her own business, and minding her own business did not include gossiping or being a busybody. It was a rule she’d tried to live by for most of her life, and a rule she enforced when it came to her maid service. Each of her employees wa
s warned from the beginning of her employment that such infractions would not be tolerated and were grounds for immediate dismissal.
Charlotte tapped the pen against the notebook. But this was different. Wasn’t it? This didn’t involve just her maid service. This involved family; it was personal and was certainly a far cry from ordinary circumstances. And, like it or not, she was already involved. Besides, what was the alternative? Sit around and do nothing? Ignore everything?
Charlotte shook her head. No way could she just sit back and do nothing, not when her beloved nephew and his new family were in so much trouble.
Even so, the thought of prying into Patsy Dufour’s life made her squirm with discomfort. No matter the reasons, it just didn’t feel right.
With a sigh, Charlotte rolled her head first to one side, then the other, stretching the bunched-up muscles in her neck. What she needed was a good night’s sleep. Things always looked different the morning after a good night’s sleep.
Charlotte stood, and, after turning off the overhead lights in the kitchen and living room, she tiptoed into her bedroom. In the bedroom, she paused by the bed and stared down at Davy, who was curled up smack in the center.
Ever since the little boy had been staying with her, she hadn’t really gotten a good night’s sleep. For one thing, she wasn’t used to another person being in the house. For another thing, she was used to sleeping alone, and though Davy was just a small little boy, like a lot of children, he tossed and turned ... and kicked. And she had a sore back to prove it.
Charlotte reached for the alarm clock. She really needed to set the clock a bit earlier than usual so she could get a head start on the day before Davy awakened. But if she set it at all, the jangling sound was sure to awaken Davy, too.
After briefly debating the pros and cons of moving Davy to the spare bedroom, she decided it would be much easier all the way around if she simply moved the alarm clock instead and slept in the other room herself.
Polished Off (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 3) Page 11
