Death Tidies Up

by Barbara Colley

  Charlotte swallowed. “Speaking of Jenny, did you enjoy her visit?” Maybe if she kept Bitsy talking about her granddaughter, she’d forget about Drew Bergeron. Yeah, right. Fat chance.

  “Oh, my, yes—yes, I did.” Bitsy gushed. “I just wish she could have stayed longer though. But she’s promised to come back for Thanksgiving this year and spend more time. Now—” She waved at Charlotte’s plate. “Eat up.”

  Left with little choice and under Bitsy’s watchful eye, Charlotte dutifully ate every crumb of the two muffins.

  “Well? What do you think,” the old lady asked her when she’d finished.

  “Delicious,” Charlotte replied in all honesty. “I think your new oven works just fine.”

  Bitsy beamed. “Me too, but I wanted another opinion. Now, what’s all this I’ve been hearing? Someone said that you were the one who found Drew’s body.”

  “Well, I—”

  At that moment the phone rang. Though a shadow of annoyance crossed Bitsy’s face at the intrusion, Charlotte felt like grinning from ear to ear. There was no way Bitsy would ignore a phone call. When the phone rang a second time, Bitsy glared at the extension hanging on the wall above the countertop, then gave a disgusted grunt. “Guess I’d better get that,” she said as she pushed away from the table. “I’ll take the call on the portable in the hallway,” she told Charlotte as she walked past the extension. “If it’s who I suspect it is, it might take a while. Help yourself to some more muffins,” she called out over her shoulder, “and we’ll talk later.” Then she disappeared through the doorway.

  Charlotte was able to get the kitchen clean and had started dusting in the parlour when Bitsy wandered in with the portable phone still pressed to her ear.

  “Any time, Norma,” Charlotte heard her say. “Talk to you later, then. Bye now.” The old lady clicked the phone off. “My goodness, how that woman can talk,” she said to Charlotte. “And what a gossip!”

  Given Bitsy’s penchant for gossip, Charlotte almost choked to keep from laughing, and she quickly turned away to hide her reaction.

  “Now! About Drew—Oh, no!” Bitsy suddenly gasped. “Look at this.”

  When Charlotte turned to see why Bitsy sounded so distressed, the old lady had set the phone down and had picked up a large book off the coffee table.

  She held the book out to show Charlotte. “Jenny went off and forgot her yearbook,” she explained. “She’d brought it with her so she could brush up on everyone’s names for the reunion.”

  “You can always mail it to her,” Charlotte suggested.

  “Hmm, I suppose so.” With a shrug, Bitsy placed the book back onto the table. “It sure came in handy, though. I knew a lot of Jenny’s friends back then, and she and I went through it before she left Sunday evening, so she could bring me up to date on what’s happened to the ones who showed up.

  “Drew Bergeron was in that class, you know,” Bitsy continued. “Here, I’ll show you.” She leaned over and thumbed through the pages. “Jenny said that everyone at the reunion was in shock when they heard what happened, especially since he was already supposed to be dead. She said there were all kinds of stories going around about him.” She thumped one of the pages. “Look at this, Charlotte.”

  Curiosity was a vice and possibly a sin, Charlotte decided. Unable to resist the temptation to get a glimpse of a younger Drew Bergeron, she moved closer to the table. From the looks of the photo, it had been taken at a party, probably a fraternity party, she figured, since the two men and the woman in the picture were holding out beer cans, as if toasting some occasion.

  “That’s him,” Bitsy said, pointing to the man on the left side of the picture. “And that’s Bill and Marian Hebert with him. Of course, they weren’t married then,” she added.

  Charlotte leaned closer to get a better look. Though she’d never met Bill Hebert, she’d seen pictures of him. But if Bitsy hadn’t told her who the couple was, she would never have recognized either of them. “I knew they had all been friends,” she murmured, “but I guess I didn’t realize just how long they had been friends.”

  “Oh, my, yes—all three of them grew up together. In fact, Jenny said that it had always been a toss-up as to which of the two men Marian would end up with.”

  Unbidden, Marian Hebert’s bitter words about Drew suddenly popped into Charlotte’s head. The S.O.B. got exactly what he deserved. How sad, she thought. A lifetime friendship ruined, and all because of business dealings. She’d always heard that you should never do business with friends or relatives, and if nothing else, the Bergerons and the Heberts were perfect examples as to why the old adage was true.

  “Jenny called them the wild bunch,” Bitsy continued, “but then, what can you expect? All of them were spoiled rotten. But that’s what happens when parents give a child anything and everything that money can buy.” Bitsy shook her head. “Lord knows, they were bad enough in high school, but by the time they got to Tulane, they were holy terrors.” She abruptly paused. Then her expression grew thoughtful. “Hmm…Of course, that was the year there was all that hoopla about that chemistry professor too, so nobody paid much attention to their antics or pranks—and believe me, they pulled some. But here, let me show you.”

  Bitsy flipped over several pages and pointed out a large picture of a man dressed in what appeared to be a lab coat. “That’s him. That’s the infamous Professor Arthur Samuel.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar to Charlotte, but the details as to why it seemed familiar escaped her.

  “And what a delicious scandal that was,” Bitsy said with relish. “Why I remember it like it happened yesterday. Jenny was in his chemistry class that semester. Of course it was all in the papers too—remember, that was when we still had the States Item as well as the Picayune.” She waved a dismissing hand. “Anyway, the professor was arrested for a hit-and-run accident.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte murmured. “Now I remember. Didn’t the hit-and-run happen over on St. Charles Avenue, not far from Tulane?”

  Bitsy nodded. “Yep, it sure did. He ran a red light and hit some poor man who was crossing the avenue. Everyone said he was drunk as a skunk when he did it, but of course the professor denied it all. Claimed he was home that night. But the jury didn’t buy it, especially when it came out that the professor was an alcoholic. Convicted him of vehicular homicide and sentenced him to ten years.” Bitsy snickered. “Evidently his wife didn’t buy it either, since she divorced him, took the kids, and moved back to Kansas where she was from.”

  Bitsy closed the yearbook. “Funny thing, though,” she said, patting the top of the book. “No one at the reunion seemed to know what happened to him after he got out of prison. You’d think someone would know.” Bitsy suddenly made a face. “But that’s old news. And Drew Bergeron isn’t. Now, Charlotte, you simply must tell me what happened. Someone said that when you found him, he was naked as a jaybird. Well? Was he?”

  There was no way around it, Charlotte decided. Like a dog gnawing on a bone, Bitsy wasn’t going to give up until she told her what she wanted to hear. Maybe if she gave the old lady just a brief rundown of the facts, she would stop obsessing about it. And just maybe she could stop some of the false rumors flying around. Working for the Dubuissons had taught her that having her name and maid service associated in any way, shape, or form with a murder simply wasn’t good for business…or her own peace of mind.

  “He was not naked,” Charlotte finally replied a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “And I wasn’t the one who found him,” she added, toning down her agitation.

  Since Charlotte’s doctor’s appointment was scheduled for two-thirty, she had just enough time to run a few errands after she left Bitsy’s house at noon.

  Later, as she sat in the crowded waiting room of the doctor’s office, she idly thumbed through a magazine in an attempt to distract herself. Anything, any distraction at all so she could stop thinking about the reason she was there to begin with.

  But none o
f the articles held her attention for long. Feeling definitely fidgety, she glanced at her watch. It seemed as if she’d been sitting and waiting for an eternity. Her lips thinned with irritation when she saw the time. Almost an hour had passed since she’d arrived.

  Ten more minutes, she decided. She’d wait ten more minutes, then, appointment or not, she was out of there.

  “Charlotte LaRue? Ms. Charlotte LaRue?”

  When Charlotte glanced up and saw the nurse waiting by the door that led back to the examination rooms, a cold knot formed in her stomach. She could still leave, she thought. She could just pretend that she didn’t hear her name being called, get up, and walk out the door. Couldn’t she?

  Over two hours later, Charlotte was wishing she had left. Since she had no fever, her blood pressure was normal, and from the basic physical, she appeared to be just fine, the doctor had insisted that she go ahead and get her flu shot while she was there.

  “You can get dressed now, Ms. LaRue.”

  Charlotte simply smiled at the nurse as she climbed off the examination table. Already her arm was feeling achy from the shot.

  The nurse capped the needle, then dropped it into a small plastic container. “We should have all of your test results in by next Thursday, so be sure and make an appointment on your way out.”

  Once the nurse left the room, Charlotte’s smile faded. “Thank goodness that’s over,” she muttered as she made her way back to the tiny cubicle where she’d left her clothes. She’d been prodded, poked with needles, and submitted to other indignities that she’d just as soon forget about before they had finished with her. But the worst part of the whole ordeal was yet to come.

  “Another whole week,” she grumbled as she pulled off the hospital gown and dressed. Now, she had to wait a whole week before she could find out the results of all the tests. But she should have known better than to expect an answer right away. Hurry up and wait seemed to be the norm for everything nowadays.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a change, Marian was already dressed when Charlotte arrived on Wednesday morning. Only minutes after she stepped inside the Hebert house, she found out the reason why.

  “As soon as I eat a bite, I’ll be leaving for a while,” Marian told her when they entered the kitchen. “I’m meeting with Jefferson Harper to decide what kind of damage control is needed for the Devilier house because of Drew’s murder.” Her expression turned grim as she walked to the pantry and retrieved a box of cereal. “Not too many people want to rent a place where a murder’s been committed.”

  Charlotte began unloading the dishwasher. “I suppose not,” she murmured.

  Marian shrugged, then poured the cereal in a bowl and added milk. “Anyway, I need to ask a favor.” She carried the bowl of cereal over to the table and seated herself. “Ordinarily, I would just let the machine catch any phone calls,” she explained. “Or I would forward them to my cell phone. But silly me, I forgot that the battery needed recharging. And with B.J. being back in school and all, just in case there’s a problem, I was wondering if you’d mind too much answering any calls that come in. I’ll leave a number where I can be reached,” she added.

  “No problem,” Charlotte told her. “And speaking of B.J.—” She removed the basket of silverware from the dishwasher and placed it on the countertop. “Did you ever find out what the fight was about?”

  Marian finished chewing the bite of cereal she had taken, swallowed hard, and blinked several times. “Unfortunately, yes—yes, I did. You know how worried I’ve been about him. He just hasn’t been the same since his father died. And now, with all this stuff going around about Drew’s murder, all the gossip has started up all over again about Bill’s death as well.”

  Charlotte frowned. “But what does all of that have to do with B.J. fighting?”

  “B.J. claims he was defending his father’s honor. One of the boys he fought with taunted him about Bill. Said that he’d committed suicide and made it look like an accident because of the insurance money.” She dropped her head, and covered her face with her hands. “Kids can be so—so mean,” she whispered, tears in her voice.

  For several moments, Charlotte was speechless. When she found her voice, she was furious on B.J.’s behalf. “I wouldn’t call that just mean. I’d say that was downright cruel. But why would the boy have said such a thing to begin with? Drew’s murder had nothing to do with your husband’s accident.”

  Marian dropped her hands and stared out the window. “Gossip,” she replied. “The boy was probably repeating something he’d heard his parents say.” She turned her head and faced Charlotte. “Everybody knew there were hard feelings between Bill and Drew after Drew fired him. And Bill made no secret of the fact that he blamed Drew when we began losing clients. He made sure everyone knew about Drew’s threats.” She grimaced. “For all the good that did.”

  “What kind of threats?” The second Charlotte uttered the words, she wished she hadn’t. “Oh, Marian, I’m so sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

  “Don’t apologize, Charlotte. I’m the one who should apologize for burdening you with my problems to begin with. And like I said, it was no deep, dark secret anyway. But to answer your question, it all started when Maurice Sinclair died. Maurice left the business to Katherine, so Drew took over running things. Problem was, Drew was too busy playing big shot and didn’t take care of the business or their clients. Bill saw what was happening and began to get worried since our livelihood was in jeopardy too.

  “At first he tried talking to Drew, friend to friend—ha! Some friend he turned out to be,” she added with a sneer. “Drew ignored him, of course, and things went from bad to worse. As a last-ditch effort, Bill more or less told Drew to either get his priorities straight or he was going straight to Katherine. Giving Drew warning was a mistake, though. A week after they’d had their little confrontation, Drew up and fired Bill. But just firing him wasn’t enough for the bastard. To add salt to the wound, he threatened him too. Threatened to ruin him in the real estate business if Bill ever went to Katherine.”

  Marian paused. Then she sighed. “Of course Bill went anyway, and of course Drew made good his threats. From that point on, our business went from bad to worse.

  “At first I didn’t want to believe what everyone was saying. But those last few weeks before—before Bill died, he was so worried and upset that—” Marian shook her head. “I keep thinking that maybe if I’d been stronger, more supportive, he—he might still be alive—” Her voice broke and her shoulders quivered with silent sobs.

  “Oh, hon.” Charlotte rushed over to Marian, and placing her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, she knelt beside her chair. Some of what Marian was saying made sense, but some of it didn’t, and no wonder. The woman was clearly distraught, so it was understandable that she might be confused. “You can’t blame yourself,” Charlotte told her.

  “Oh, can’t I?” she cried.

  “It was an accident,” Charlotte insisted. “The police said it was, so how can you blame yourself for an accident?”

  Marian slowly shook her head. “I wish I could believe that—wish it with all of my heart. Then maybe I could sleep at night. Lord knows, I want to believe it. But I don’t,” she added in a whisper. “In spite of what the police said, I don’t think Bill’s death was just an accident, and I still have nightmares. It haunts me, and now it’s haunting my son too.”

  The memory of Marian’s last words lingered long after she had left for her appointment. Even after Charlotte had finished up and was on her way home that afternoon, the desperation and anguish in Marian’s voice kept echoing in her mind. By the time she turned down her street, she was sick at heart from thinking about all of it.

  Once inside her house, though, there were other things to occupy her thoughts. Sweety Boy provided some relief as he burst into chirps and whistles the minute she walked through the door.

  “Hey, Boy, did you miss me?” She set down her purse and slipped off her shoes.
“Come on, Sweety. Say, ‘Missed you, Charlotte. Missed you.’” After pulling on her moccasins, she walked over to the little bird’s cage.

  “If you talk for me, I’ll let you out for a while.” A loud squawk was the only answer she got, but she unlatched the cage door anyway. The second she opened the door, the little parakeet was out like a flash.

  Charlotte watched him flutter from one perch to another in the living room for a few minutes; then she walked over to the desk to check her answering machine. The blinking light indicated that she had three messages, and Charlotte tapped the play button.

  After a long beep, the first message began. “Hi, Mother. Just checking in with you to see how you’re feeling after your tests yesterday. Give me a call. Love you.”

  “I love you too,” she murmured, as the machine beeped again.

  “Charlotte, it’s Madeline. I meant to call yesterday but got busy. Anyway, how was your doctor’s appointment? Find out anything yet? Call me.”

  Charlotte sighed and shook her head as the machine beeped again.

  “Hey, Aunt Charley. It’s Judith. Just checking up on you. How’d the doctor’s appointment go? Any news yet? Call me.”

  Charlotte glared at the machine. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered. “You’d think I was dying or something.”

  Normally, Charlotte tried to keep Thursdays free from commitments so she could catch up on paperwork or do whatever was needed to keep her maid service running smoothly as well as take care of personal errands.

  After her early-morning walk, she put on a load of clothes to wash while she hurried through her own housekeeping chores. Then she settled at the desk.

  It took her until almost noon to enter expense receipts into the ledger she kept for tax purposes. When she’d finally entered the last of the receipts, she shoved away from the desk with a sigh and walked to the front window.