Death Tidies Up

by Barbara Colley

  “Here—” Sam hurried toward her. “Let me help you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I can—”

  He took the vacuum from her anyway. “It may not be necessary, but a lady like you shouldn’t have to lug around this heavy thing. And by the way, I put up a ‘wet paint’ sign on the porch for when the boys come in from school.”

  Left with little choice, Charlotte followed him out the back door. Pausing only long enough to make sure the door was firmly locked once she’d closed it behind her, she then turned and followed him down the steps. But at the bottom step, she hesitated. “Marian and the boys usually come in through the back door, but maybe I should leave a note about the wet paint, just in case they don’t notice the sign.”

  “Nah, that won’t be necessary. I plan to hang around for a while until someone comes home. That little scamp, Aaron, would be just the one to ignore the sign on purpose.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “There’re a couple of shingles loose on the backside of the house that need fixing anyway. And I promised B.J. I’d help him with his science fair project.”

  As Charlotte followed the handyman around the side of the house to the front where her van was parked, the thought crossed her mind that maybe Sam would be the person to talk to about what she’d found in B.J.’s room. Marian trusted Sam and relied on him. Charlotte knew for a fact that B.J. spent a lot of time around Sam, and on more than one occasion, she’d seen the boy helping Sam with one of the many odd jobs he did around the house.

  Just about the time she’d made up her mind to talk to Sam, though, she spotted Marian’s black Mercedes turn the corner at the end of the block, and she immediately changed her mind. The moment Sam put the vacuum in the van, she slammed the back door and hurried around to the driver’s side.

  “Thanks for the help,” she called out as she climbed inside.

  “So when are you going to let me take you out to dinner?” she heard Sam say.

  Marian’s car was getting closer, so Charlotte pretended she didn’t hear the question and firmly closed the door. Jamming the keys into the ignition, she switched on the engine.

  Charlotte sent up a quick prayer of thanks that her van was parked in the opposite direction from the path of Marian’s approaching car, and still ignoring Sam, she put the van in gear, then pulled away from the curb. Being rude to Sam didn’t bother her. She figured he deserved it after he’d purposely scared the daylights out of her earlier.

  But running away like a coward instead of facing Marian did bother her, and she was still berating herself when she turned into her driveway and spotted the small tray of dishes stacked by her front door.

  Once on the porch, she recognized the bowls as the same ones she’d used to take Louis his dinner the day before. Since his car was gone, she figured either he was feeling well enough to go out or he’d gotten worse and finally decided to go to a doctor.

  Charlotte unlocked the door, then picked up the tray and carried it inside. As usual, Sweety Boy began his routine of chirping and squawking as he pranced back and forth on his perch inside the cage.

  “Hey, boy, did you miss me?” His only answer was a loud squawk followed by what sounded like several indignant chirps. “Come on, boy, say, ‘Missed you, Charlotte…missed you, Charlotte.’”

  Much to her frustration, the little bird kept squawking unintelligible gibberish, and after several minutes, she gave up.

  There was only one message on her answering machine when Charlotte checked it. She pressed the play button and listened as she slipped off her shoes and slid her feet into her moccasins.

  “Hey, Mom. I just have a minute, but I wanted to invite you out to dinner tomorrow evening for your birthday—unless you have other plans, that is.” He chuckled. “Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?” He chuckled again. “If you do happen to have other plans though, cancel them. I’ll pick you up around seven. Oh, yeah—I almost forgot. Dress up in something spiffy. I’m taking you to Commander’s. See you tomorrow evening. Love you.”

  “I love you too, son,” she whispered, a smile of delight on her lips as the machine beeped at the end of the message.

  “Did you hear that, Sweety?” she told the little parakeet. “I have a date with my son, and he’s taking me to Commander’s Palace for my birthday.” For an answer, Sweety Boy squawked and preened on his perch. But Charlotte’s mind really wasn’t on the little bird’s antics.

  Her smile grew wider. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hank had eaten out, just the two of them. And just the thought of dining out with her busy son at what she considered one of the finest, most prestigious restaurants in New Orleans gave her a warm feeling.

  She’d eaten at the restaurant before, but not in a long, long time. Even now, her mouth watered, and she could almost taste the bread pudding soufflé. The dessert was famous, as was the landmark restaurant and the entire Brennan family, who owned Commander’s as well as an array of other fine restaurants scattered over New Orleans.

  During the remainder of the afternoon, Charlotte’s emotions wavered between excitement about the dinner invitation from her son and dread because of the reason for his invitation in the first place. But underlying each of her thoughts and actions was the nagging worry about B.J. and what she’d found hidden beneath his bed.

  Charlotte had just finished a light dinner of a broiled chicken breast and a green salad when she heard a car door slam in the driveway. Though she figured it was probably Louis, she went to the front window to check anyway.

  Sure enough, Louis, toting a shopping bag emblazoned with a Macy’s logo, was headed toward the porch. Even from a distance, she could tell he didn’t feel well. His gait was slower than usual and his face was a pale contrast against the dark shirt he wore. Charlotte frowned. Since it was apparent that he was still ill, what on earth had possessed him to go to the mall?

  Charlotte’s lips thinned with irritation, and her temper flared. “Men!” she muttered. Most of them didn’t have the sense God gave a goose when it came to being sick. Not only should he be in bed resting instead of traipsing all over creation, but now he’d gone out and carelessly spread his germs to other poor, unsuspecting victims.

  Long after Louis disappeared inside his half of the double, Charlotte still fumed as she cleaned up the mess she’d made cooking her dinner. Just what was so all-fired important that he’d had to drag himself out of his sickbed to go out shopping? And why to Macy’s of all places? Though Louis always looked neat, he never seemed overly concerned about what he wore and was the last person she’d expect to shop at Macy’s.

  Chapter Eighteen

  If she discounted the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, being sixty didn’t seem that much different, Charlotte decided as she climbed out of bed on Saturday morning. Maybe she ached a bit more than she used to, thanks to the touch of arthritis she occasionally suffered from, but a couple of aspirins now and then always took care of the minor aches and pains. From experience, she knew that it was usually a temporary inconvenience mainly occurring when the city was lucky enough to have a cold front push as far south as New Orleans.

  Charlotte shivered. If the chill in the air and the cold floor were any gauge to measure by, the promised front had pushed through during the night. Though she always dreaded having to turn on the heat because it gave her a closed-in feeling and dried out her sinuses, she decided that maybe she should this morning, just long enough to take the chill off the house. That, along with a couple of aspirins and a hot shower should do the trick.

  By the time she’d finished her shower and had her first cup of coffee, the house had warmed up enough that she felt safe to let Sweety Boy out of his cage for a few minutes. As usual, the little bird flew straight to his favorite perch, the top of the cuckoo clock.

  Most of her life, Charlotte had countered her few bouts of self-pity with all the reasons she had to be thankful. But as she sat staring at t
he morning Picayune headlines with unseeing eyes, for once, she couldn’t dredge up an ounce of thankfulness. All she could think about were the years stretching ahead of her, years with nothing to look forward to but a lonely retirement on a limited income and no one to share them with.

  Sudden tears welled up in her eyes and her throat grew tight. If Hank’s father had lived, things might have been different. Her whole life would have been different. Just how, she wasn’t sure, but her imagination knew no bounds, and over the years she’d created many scenarios of how their life together might have been.

  But he hadn’t come home, not alive, and at times like now, when she allowed herself to indulge in the memory of him, she still felt the wrenching ache of her loss deep in her heart.

  He’d been her first love, the love of a lifetime, and though she’d had a few meaningful relationships over the years after his death, she’d been too busy to concentrate on anything but raising a son and trying to make a living, not to mention that she’d never found anyone who could measure up to what she’d felt for Hank Senior…

  Not until recently, a little voice whispered. Not until Louis Thibodeaux…A tear slid down her cheek, and she slowly shook her head. Too late, she thought. If only Louis had come along earlier, years earlier…

  Just as well, she decided, especially since Louis hadn’t given her any indication that he was interested in her as anything other than his landlady. Besides, what would a man his age want with a woman her age anyway? Men his age always went after much younger women, not some sixty-year-old, dried-up maid.

  Charlotte was so caught up in the throes of her depression, it took a moment for her to realize that the ringing in her ears was the telephone.

  With a sniff and swallowing hard, she pushed away from the table and answered it.

  “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”

  “Ms. LaRue, Ms. Charlotte LaRue?”

  Charlotte frowned. “Yes.”

  “I’m Martin with Healthy Bodies. First, let me wish you a happy birthday, and second, I’m calling to let you know that you’re in for a treat, a whole morning of luxurious pampering, compliments of your son. Included in this deluxe package is a full-body massage, a facial, and a complete make-over by our licensed cosmetologist, all designed for the ultimate experience in pampering, beautification, and relaxation. A taxi will pick you up at nine.”

  A bit dazed and feeling as if she were Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland rolled into one, Charlotte hung up the phone. She’d heard of the Healthy Bodies Spa, had often heard her clients rave about it. Once she’d even called to find out how much a session for herself would cost, but the price had been way out of her league and way more than she could justify spending.

  “Now if only Prince Charming would come along,” she muttered as she glanced up at the cuckoo clock and saw that it was almost eight-thirty already. Thirty minutes till blast-off and counting. Just thirty minutes to dress, eat breakfast, and coax Sweety Boy back inside his cage. But what did one wear to be pampered, beautified, and relaxed?

  In the bedroom, Charlotte decided that she needed something warm and comfortable, something that she could easily slip in and out of. With the beginning of a smile at the corners of her lips, she chose her favorite sweat suit, a light gray one made of cotton that had worn soft from use.

  At exactly seven o’clock that evening, Charlotte’s doorbell rang. If nothing else, she could always depend on her son to be punctual, she thought, taking one last, satisfied look in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

  The spa had been wonderfully relaxing, so much so that at one point, she’d actually dozed off during the massage. But the facial and make-over were even better, and Charlotte was really pleased with the new look that the cosmetologist had talked her into. It was amazing what a new shade of makeup, along with a bit of blush could accomplish. “Yep.” She nodded. “Ten years younger,” she murmured, then laughed. “Yeah, right!”

  Smoothing down the collar on her new, navy silk blouse, she turned away from the mirror and hurried to the front door. She’d enjoyed her experience at the spa so much that afterward, she’d treated herself to a rare bit of shopping. The blouse and matching skirt she’d splurged on were the results and made her feel oh-so-elegant.

  When she opened the door, Hank’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her. “Oh, wow! Just look at you!” he exclaimed. “Guess I made the right choice for a birthday treat, huh?”

  Charlotte reached out and hugged her son tightly. “It was really, really wonderful, hon.” She pulled back and smiled. “Just perfect. Thank you.”

  Hank grinned back at her. “Actually, I can’t take all the credit. The spa thing was Carol’s idea. But I thought it was a good idea too,” he hastened to add. “We both thought you might enjoy a little pampering.”

  “Well, you were both right. And speaking of Carol, when are you going to make an honest woman out of her? I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I’d love to bounce a couple of grandchildren on my knees before I’m too old to enjoy them.”

  Hank laughed, then leaned down and whispered, “It’s a secret, and besides, you’ll never be too old. Now—” He made a sweeping gesture with his left arm toward his car. “If we’re going to keep that reservation, we need to get going.”

  “Just let me cover Sweety Boy’s cage, and I’m ready,” she replied.

  The perfect ending to a perfect day, thought Charlotte, moments later as she settled on the passenger side of Hank’s BMW. Other than not being age sixty, what more could she ask for than to be pampered and beautified all day, then end it by having a cozy dinner with her son, just the two of them, at one of the best restaurants in the city?

  As Hank backed the car out of the driveway, Charlotte turned her head and stared out the window into the night. Louis’ car was gone, she noted with a frown. Funny, she didn’t remember hearing him leave, so where could he have gone? Unless he was working, he rarely went out at night, especially on the weekends. It crossed her mind that he might be on a date, but she dismissed the idea as soon as she thought of it. More than likely, the detective was working overtime, probably on the Drew Bergeron murder.

  Murder. B.J.

  Charlotte’s stomach tightened as thoughts of the troubled teenager returned again to plague her, just as they’d plagued her off and on all day.

  When she’d first made her discovery beneath B.J.’s bed, she’d decided that ultimately the best thing to do was do nothing. But doing nothing had turned out to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. There just had to be another solution.

  “Why so quiet, Mom?”

  Charlotte glanced over at her son, and flashed him a quick smile. Maybe she should tell Hank about B.J., and for a moment she was truly tempted.

  No, she decided. Telling Hank wasn’t the answer. Her straight-arrow son only saw black and white, and never considered the gray areas. He would insist that she go to the police. If she refused, he’d take it upon himself to give Judith the information. Then, of course, there would be a lecture from him, all about her getting personally involved with her clients again. She could hear it now.

  “Just woolgathering, son,” she finally answered. “People my age tend to do that a lot, you know.”

  Traffic was moderate during the short drive until Hank turned onto Washington Avenue. Within a block of the restaurant, they slowed considerably. As with everything else about Commander’s Palace, though, the valet service was quick and efficient, and the line of cars moved along in a timely manner.

  In the distance, the restaurant was a sight to behold, and Charlotte smiled. Spotlighted by the surrounding street lamps and the soft glow of lights from within, it was a Victorian fantasy against the dark night, with its turrets, columns, gingerbread, and turquoise-and-white striped awnings.

  Charlotte suddenly giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Hank asked.

  “Not exactly funny,” she answered. “Just…well, kinda strange. Don’t you find it a little od
d how this wonderful, world-renowned restaurant sits directly across the street from one of the oldest cemeteries in the city? Sort of creepy, in a way. But what’s funny is that no one seems to mind in the least or even care.”

  Hank chuckled. “You know, you’re right. I never even think about it, but maybe that’s because of the wall. With the wall surrounding it, you can’t see the tombs that well, so no one really pays it any attention.”

  Moments later, Hank pulled up beside the restaurant’s entrance. Immediately, two young valets dressed identically in black slacks and white polo shirts rushed over to open the doors on either side, and before Charlotte and Hank had taken more than a few steps, the BMW was whisked away to make room for the next vehicle.

  The small restaurant entrance was crowded inside, but again, the line moved quickly, and within moments, Charlotte and Hank were greeted by one of the hosts behind the reservation desk.

  “Ah, Dr. LaRue,” the middle-aged man greeted them with a warm, welcoming smile. “So nice to see you again. I believe your reservation is for the Garden Room.” He motioned toward the doorway. “This way, please.”

  The fact that the host knew her son by name came as no surprise to Charlotte as they wound their way through the busy downstairs dining area. Hank was a regular patron of the restaurant, and she was delighted that they would be eating in the Garden Room.

  Commander’s was divided into several different dining areas on two floor levels. Some were small, others large, some private, some open, but of all the rooms, the one on the second floor called the Garden Room was her favorite.

  Once they had climbed the stairs to the second level, their host escorted them through yet another dining area, but when they got to the small anteroom that led to the entrance of their destination, the host abruptly stopped just short of entering the Garden Room, and Charlotte frowned as she peered past him. The room was dark, and the only thing visible at all were the twinkling lights that had been strung through the oaks just outside the windows.