Charlotte frowned. “There’s no faster way?”
“Afraid not. Like I said, twenty years is a long time ago.”
Because it was fairly close to where she lived and because she really loved the historical significance of the old building, Charlotte decided to go to the Latter Library on St. Charles Avenue. During the short drive, she racked her brain, trying to think of some significant incident that might have happened around the time that the hit-and-run had occurred.
If only she could pinpoint the month…Maybe October, she finally decided, vaguely remembering something about a costume party she’d worked that particular night.
Luckily, Charlotte was able to find a parking spot on St. Charles Avenue in front of the library.
Each time she visited the Latter Library, she was conscious of its history. The turn-of-the-century house had once been the home of a wealthy New Orleans merchant, then later the home of a celebrated millionaire aviator as well as a retreat for the millionaire’s wife, a famous silent screen star. But ultimately, the final owners were a couple who’d had a son die in Okinawa during World War II. As a memorial to their son, they had presented the old house to the New Orleans Public Library.
As Charlotte hurried to the entrance, she glanced at her watch. At best, she figured she only had a couple of hours before the library closed.
Once inside, she quickly explained to the librarian what she needed. To her disappointment, she was told that she would have to go to the main library headquarters located on Loyola Avenue to do research dating back twenty years.
Though not near as old or historic as the Latter Library, the main library had its own claim to fame and had once been presented the Design Award for Public Buildings in Progressive Architecture magazine.
Once again Charlotte explained what she needed.
The librarian she spoke to, a perky young woman, directed Charlotte to go to the Louisiana Division.
“You’re in luck,” she told Charlotte with a smile. “If I’m not mistaken, we have copies of the Times-Picayune that date back as far as 1837—all on microfilm.”
After more than an hour of scanning files, Charlotte finally located the articles about the professor’s arrest and trial. One of the articles included a head shot, and again, Charlotte was struck by the resemblance between the professor and Sam Roberts.
As she scanned through the articles, she began to notice a pattern. Time after time, during his arrest, and later, during his trial, the professor was persistent in proclaiming his innocence. But other than his avowal of innocence, Charlotte didn’t learn anything that proved to be of much help.
By the time she left the library, most of the work traffic had thinned out. Her drive home was uneventful, but like a persistent itch that refused to be soothed, thoughts about the professor and Sam plagued her.
Were they the same man? Even if they were, what difference did it make in the grand scheme of things anyway? And why in the devil did the whole affair bother her so much?
B.J., she decided as she turned into her driveway. The only reason she cared at all was the friendship between Sam and the boy, and the influence that Sam seemed to wield over the teenager at such a vulnerable time in the boy’s life. To Charlotte’s way of thinking, that was more than enough reason to check up on Sam Roberts’ background.
Even after Charlotte switched off the engine, she sat staring at the garage wall. Who else could she ask? she wondered, or where else could she find out information on Sam Roberts?
Under other circumstances, she could have asked Louis or Judith. Either of them could easily check into Sam’s background. But then she’d have to tell them why she was asking, and that was something she couldn’t do…not yet.
That left only one other person who might know something about Sam, hopefully something that would put her mind at rest. Unfortunately, that person was Marian Hebert.
Since Sam had worked for Marian’s husband and now worked for Marian, Charlotte was sure that Marian would have to know something about Sam’s background…where he came from, his marital status, all the things people normally made small talk about.
With a frustrated sigh, Charlotte gathered her keys and purse and headed inside. Brick wall time, she decided as she unlocked her front door. There was just no way of asking Marian about Sam Hebert’s background without betraying B.J.’s confidence…Or was there?
On Wednesday morning, Charlotte awakened to the sounds of Sweety Boy chirping away in his cage. Though she was relieved to know that the little bird had found his voice again and a trip to the vet wouldn’t be necessary after all, not even his squawks and chirps could cheer her up after the agonizing night she’d spent tossing and turning.
Off and on, during the seemingly endless night, she’d come up with, and discarded, several ideas on how to approach Marian about Sam Roberts without betraying B.J. The most obvious way was to pretend a personal, romantic interest in Sam. But the possibility that Marian might decide to play matchmaker and tell Sam that she’d been asking about him made Charlotte discard the idea immediately.
Then, just before dawn, Charlotte had finally settled on something that she felt might work.
The scheme she’d decided on was really pretty simplistic. What she needed was an innocuous way of introducing Sam into a conversation with Marian. Since Marian had attended Tulane University, Charlotte figured she’d simply mention the fact that Bitsy’s granddaughter had just been in town for the Tulane homecoming. Then she could casually bring up the subject of the yearbook and the remarkable resemblance between Sam and the professor; thus Sam would be introduced into the conversation.
But plotting a scheme and actually implementing it were two different animals altogether. Charlotte never had been good at deception, and in fact, abhorred anything that even resembled it. She figured that just this one time, though, she had no choice. B.J. was in trouble, and his whole future might depend on what she could find out.
With a herculean effort, Charlotte finally forced herself to climb out of bed when all she wanted to do was burrow back beneath the covers and forget everything. When she reached for her housecoat, she hesitated before pulling it on. With a sigh, her gaze strayed to the closet, where she’d hung up the new one.
Fingering the worn cotton terry of the old housecoat, she frowned. Except when she’d tried on the new robe to see if it fit on the morning after her birthday party, she had yet to begin wearing it. But why?
“You know why,” she grumbled as she jerked on the old one. Silly as the notion seemed, just knowing that Louis had picked out the new one smacked of an intimacy that she wasn’t yet comfortable with, nor sure she was ready for. Never mind that each time she looked at it, she was reminded of the two kisses they’d shared…well, not exactly shared.
Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, and with a shake of her head, she stomped off toward the living room.
Most mornings, Charlotte made a point of letting Sweety Boy out of his cage for a few minutes while she dressed. Though he appeared to be back to normal, she decided that keeping him confined a little longer would be best, just until she was sure he was okay.
“If you’re still doing okay, I promise I’ll let you out when I get home this afternoon,” she told him as she refilled his feeder with birdseed.
But Sweety Boy wanted out now, and he quickly scooted toward the cage door when she opened it to replace his cuttle-bone. “Oh, no, you don’t.” She blocked the opening with her hand. “Not this morning, fellow.” Using her forefinger, she nudged him back toward the far end of the cage. “Be a good little bird now, and I’ll clean out that yucky cage Saturday.”
By the time Charlotte left for work, the sky had clouded over and a fine drizzle had set in, making the air chilly and dreary. As she backed her van out of the driveway, she glanced toward the other driveway and frowned. Louis’ car was gone.
Thinking back, she didn’t remember seeing it last night either. Nor did she remember hearing him come home during t
he night. So where was he? Had he come home?
Unease crept through her veins as she drove down Milan Street. Within reason, she knew there was probably a perfectly logical explanation for why he hadn’t come home. After all, he hadn’t retired yet. He still had two months left, and in his line of work, it seemed that the criminals never slept. But logic aside, she also knew that in his line of work, there was always the possibility of danger as well. Maybe she should call Judith, just to make sure he was okay, to make sure he hadn’t been hurt or…
“And maybe you should mind your own business,” she muttered as she slowed for a traffic light. Louis was a grown man and could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much.
Most of the morning, Marian was in and out of the house on business, but when she’d come home after lunch, she’d told Charlotte, “Enough is enough for one day.”
Charlotte couldn’t agree more, she finally decided an hour later as she finished up in the boys’ bathroom. Enough was enough. No more procrastination.
Except for cleaning Marian’s office, she’d almost finished for the day, and like it or not, she was running out of time. So just do it and get it over with.
Inside Marian’s office, she set her supply carrier down by the desk. Then, with deliberate steps, she marched out of the room. Once in the hallway, she paused and tilted her head, her ears tuned to any noise that might tell her in which room she’d find Marian.
The clinking of dishes led her to the kitchen, and when she entered, Marian was at the stove, pouring a jar of spaghetti sauce into a small saucepan to heat.
Marian glanced up and gave Charlotte a quick smile. “Finished already?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Almost. I still have your office to clean.” She walked to the cabinet. “I just need a drink of water.” She removed a glass from the bottom shelf. “I swear, it’s like I’ve been thirsty all day long.” She shook her head. “It was like that yesterday too, at Miss Bitsy’s house. I just couldn’t seem to get enough to drink.” She walked over to the Kentwood water dispenser stand by the cabinet and filled her glass.
“Maybe you ought to go in for a good checkup,” Marian suggested.
Charlotte took a long drink of the water, then rolled her eyes. “Been there, done that—just last week—and I’m waiting for the test results.”
Since her health was the last thing Charlotte wanted to discuss, before Marian could ask any more questions, she said, “And speaking of Miss Bitsy. You know her granddaughter—the one who lives in New York?”
“Jenny?” Marian offered.
Charlotte nodded. “That’s the one. Well, a week or so ago she was in town for the Tulane homecoming reunion.”
Though Marian looked at her a bit strangely, Charlotte plowed right on ahead. “Miss Bitsy was so excited about the visit and was brimming over with all kinds of information about all the festivities. Jenny had even brought her yearbook with her.” Feigning excitement, Charlotte widened her eyes and smiled. “And guess who I saw in it?”
When Marian raised a skeptical eyebrow, Charlotte grinned. “There you were—all of you at some party! Until I saw that picture, I had no idea that you and your husband and Drew Bergeron had all gone to Tulane together.”
Marian gave Charlotte a tiny, nervous smile. “That was a long time ago.”
Charlotte nodded. “Over twenty years, according to the date on the yearbook.” She paused a moment; then, swallowing hard, she continued. “Such a shame about what happened with that professor that year though. You know—the one who was arrested for that hit-and-run.” She frowned. “I think his name was Arthur something.” She nodded. “Oh, yeah—now I remember. His name was Arthur Samuel. He was a chemistry professor, I believe.”
Marian grimaced, and though she tried to hide her reaction by turning back to the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce, all the color had suddenly drained from her face.
Puzzled by Marian’s response, Charlotte took another quick drink of water to give herself a moment to regroup. In for a penny, in for a pound. Lifting her chin, she pressed on. “I’d completely forgotten all about it until Miss Bitsy pointed him out. But you want to know something funny? If he’d had a beard and longer hair, and if he was twenty years older, he’d look just like Sam Roberts.”
Though Charlotte wouldn’t have believed it, Marian’s face grew even more pale, and her hand began to shake. To cover the trembling, she rapped the spoon she’d been stirring with sharply against the saucepan, then laid it on the stovetop. “I need a drink,” she muttered.
“Of course they say that everyone has a double somewhere in the world,” Charlotte persisted as Marian headed straight for the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. Then, affecting a nonchalance that she didn’t feel, she said, “Probably just coincidence that they look alike, and B.J. seems to think the world of Sam.”
Marian opened the bar cabinet and took out a decanter of what looked like bourbon.
“But that’s good, don’t you think?” Charlotte continued as she watched Marian pour a healthy amount into a glass. “Good that he has a male figure he can relate to…” Charlotte’s voice trailed away as Marian downed the drink within seconds, then poured herself another one. “Marian?”
Marian shook her head. “He’s found out,” she mumbled, downing the second drink. “Oh, dear God, somehow he’s found out.”
Charlotte frowned. Marian wasn’t making sense. Of all the reactions she’d anticipated, she hadn’t expected her to fall to pieces right before her very eyes. “Marian—What on earth? What are you talking about? Found out what?”
As if she’d just remembered that Charlotte was in the room, Marian jerked around to face her, her eyes wild with terror. “He’s found out, I tell you. He’s—”
The sudden peal of the doorbell seemed to make Marian even more frantic. “No,” she cried. “Please—” She waved toward the general direction of the front door. “See who that is and make them go away.”
Charlotte held up her hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Sure—okay—no problem.” With one last worried look at the younger woman and a frown of concern, she headed for the hallway.
Marian’s reaction was way over the top, but why?
He’s found out.
What on earth had she meant and why had it made her so nervous?
Just as Charlotte reached for the doorknob, she froze.…I know how brutal the police can be…
She hadn’t thought much about Sam’s remark at the time, but suddenly his words took on a whole new meaning. “Of course,” she whispered. Why else would he make such a statement unless he’d experienced it firsthand? And if he’d experienced it firsthand, then…If it looks like a shoe and wears like a shoe, then it must be a shoe.
The doorbell chimed again, and Charlotte jumped. Later…She’d have to think about it later.
Taking a deep breath, she pasted on a polite smile and opened the door. But Charlotte’s smile faltered when she saw the bedraggled woman standing on the porch.
The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, and she was soaked through and through from the top of her stringy bleached hair down to her mud-caked loafers. Because she was wet, at first Charlotte figured her for a homeless person. But after a quick perusal of the woman’s clothes, she changed her mind. Despite the fact that the woman’s jacket, blouse, and slacks were soaked, her clothes were quality.
Suddenly the woman pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket. At the sight of the handgun, a whisper of terror twisted Charlotte’s insides, and her legs went weak.
But when the woman shoved the gun against her stomach, Charlotte gasped from the sharp pain, and the whisper of terror became a deafening roar in her ears.
Chapter Twenty-four
“My name is Darla Shaw,” the woman snarled.
Darla Shaw. A memory clicked in Charlotte’s mind. Darla Shaw was the woman Drew Bergeron had been living with in Key West, but worse, Darla Shaw was also Judith’s number-one suspect.
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“I think we have some unfinished business,” the woman spat. Using the pressure of the gun, she forced Charlotte backward, into the foyer. Once they were both inside, she used the heel of her muddy shoe and kicked the door shut.
The sound of the door slamming was like the crack of a whip, and Charlotte jumped. Think, Charlotte! Think! But Charlotte’s heart was hammering against her rib cage so hard that she could hardly catch her breath, never mind think.
The woman’s dark eyes flashed contempt as her gaze slid over Charlotte from head to toe. “You’re a lot older than I thought you’d be,” she sneered.
Older?
“What gets me, though, is why he’d want some old broad like you when he had me?” Punctuating each word with a jab of the gun, she added, “Of course, all he wanted from you was money.”
Marian! She thinks I’m Marian. Charlotte opened her mouth in denial, but nothing came out but a squeak.
“All I’ve heard for weeks was Marian this and Marian that,” the woman ranted, confirming Charlotte’s suspicions. “Oh, yeah—” the woman gave an exaggerated nod. “I know all about you and what you did. And I know all about your little arrangement with Drew.” She shook her head, then moaned, “I told him not to come—the idiot! I begged him.” Then she shouted, “But would he listen? Oh, no—not him, not Mr. High and Mighty Know-it-all. Not Mr. Stud,” she spat.
The woman’s lower lip curled into a snarl. “And I was right, wasn’t I? He shouldn’t ’ave come ’cause you killed him—killed him deader than a doorknob.” Spittle flew out of her mouth. She licked her lips, then narrowed her eyes. “But I got news for you, sister. You’re gonna pay and pay big. Only this time—” She thumped herself on the chest. “This time you’re gonna pay me.”
Death Tidies Up Page 22
