Judith had said she would have the results of the autopsy today. Charlotte wondered what, if anything, the report would turn up. She also wondered if Judith would share what the report said if she called and asked.
Half a block from home, a sudden prickly uneasiness came over her. At first, she ignored the feeling, telling herself that she was being silly. Milan Street was a perfectly safe street, one that she knew like the back of her hand. But with each step she took, the uneasy feeling persisted and grew worse.
Someone was watching her.
Without breaking stride, and trying not to be too obvious, she casually glanced around, her gaze taking in both sides of the street within her view.
Nothing. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing more sinister or threatening than the roots of the oak trees protruding through the cracked sidewalk.
When she chanced a quick look over her shoulder, however, she immediately spotted the source of her discomfort.
A blue Ford Taurus was cruising slowly behind her. The car was just far enough back so that the noise of the vehicle had blended in with the sound of traffic passing on Magazine Street.
Because of the distance and the car’s tinted windows, she didn’t recognize the driver right away. But something about the outline of the driver made her suspect that the person behind the wheel was male.
The minute the driver realized she’d spotted him, he gunned the engine and drove past her. Though the side windows of the car were even more darkly tinted than the windshield, Charlotte got a good glimpse of the driver.
Detective Louis Thibodeaux.
Maybe he wouldn’t stop, she prayed, and held her breath.
When he pulled the vehicle over to the curb, just ahead of her, then stopped, her nerves tightened like the strings of a violin. Charlotte released her pent-up breath and slowed her pace. He was waiting for her, she suddenly realized, waiting for her to come to him. Why, the man didn’t even have the decency to get out of his car. He was sitting there, waiting, as if she were some street hooker.
Charlotte felt her temper flare. It would serve him right if she ignored him and just kept on walking. Or even better, she could pull an about-face and head the other way. That would show him.
In the end, she did neither. Still fuming, and ignoring the tiny voice inside her head that said she was overreacting, out of sheer stubbornness she stopped several feet behind the detective’s car. If he wanted to talk, he’d have to come to her, she decided.
With her hands on her hips, she glared at the parked vehicle and tapped her foot impatiently while she waited. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the car door swung open, and the detective climbed out.
Louis Thibodeaux was dressed in neatly pressed khaki pants and a solid brown shirt with a buttoned-down collar, the sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows. Though he wasn’t a tall man, there was something about his stocky appearance that made him seem large and intimidating, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d harangued and bullied Jeanne when he’d questioned her.
“I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said. “I spotted you walking down the street right after I pulled up to your house.”
Charlotte chose to say nothing, for she wasn’t about to admit that he had frightened her.
“I wanted to apologize about missing our meeting yesterday.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t an apology.
“I’d still like to ask you a few questions,” he continued.
“What kind of questions?” she blurted out. “I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told my niece. And now isn’t really a good time for me,” she quickly added. Of course, no time would be good for her as long as he was asking the questions, but she couldn’t say that.
“There are just a couple of points I want to clarify.”
Charlotte tilted her head and raised one eyebrow as if to say, So go ahead.
“Could I buy you a cup of coffee while we talk? There’s a coffeehouse not far on Magazine.”
To be fair, the man was trying to be civil, but just the thought of climbing into the car with the detective made her insides feel all jittery. No way, she decided. “What is it you want to know, Detective?” she demanded.
Dark eyebrows furrowed over his equally dark eyes as he stared at her for several seconds. She was sure that the gesture was intended to intimidate, so just to show him that it didn’t work, she pasted on her friendliest smile while she waited for his answer.
“I want to know how the daughter and her father got along.”
“You mean her stepfather, don’t you?”
“That hasn’t been established yet.” The detective’s voice became a growl of impatience. “I think you know exactly what I mean, but just for the sake of clarity, how did Anna-Maria Dubuisson get along with Jackson Dubuisson?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Detective,” she said sweetly. “It was rare that I ever saw them together, since, as I told my niece, most of the time Mr. Dubuisson was already gone to work by the time I arrived and I had usually finished and left before he got home each evening.”
Louis Thibodeaux studied Charlotte for several seconds before he asked his next question. Though there was nothing menacing in the way his dark eyes looked at her, she was certain it was a deliberate action on his part, designed to throw her off balance.
“What do you know about the daughter’s boyfriend?” he finally asked.
“Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve never met the young man.” This time she paused. After all, she thought as she studied him, turnabout was fair play. “Any other questions, Detective?” she finally said.
He glared at her, but before he had a chance to respond, the radio in his car crackled to life. He stepped over to the window, and after listening a moment, he said, “The rest will have to wait. I have to answer this call. I’ll be in touch, though,” he told her as he opened the door and climbed inside.
As she watched his vehicle roar off down the street, she repeated the detective’s parting words. “I’ll be in touch.” She mimicked his growling tone. “Yeah, and I can’t wait,” she muttered sarcastically when his car disappeared around the corner.
Thirty minutes later, sweaty, winded, and still annoyed by Louis Thibodeaux’s surprise appearance, Charlotte turned back down the block leading back to her house. Abruptly, she stopped dead in her tracks and groaned.
“Just what I need this morning,” she grumbled.
Parked in front of her home was a red Dodge Neon she recognized all too well. Her sister’s Neon.
Why wasn’t Madeline at work, where she was supposed to be? Charlotte wondered. As she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, a feeling of dread weighed down each step. An early-morning visit from her sister didn’t bode well and could only mean one thing: Madeline was in some kind of trouble ... again.
Over the years, Madeline had moved back in with Charlotte at different times. The reasons varied and ranged from too much debt to failed relationships.
At least she had the good sense to lock the door behind her this time, thought Charlotte when she tried the front doorknob and found she had to use her key to get inside.
Charlotte unlocked the door, but even before she opened it, she heard the muted squawks and protests of Sweety Boy coming from the other side. She groaned again, knowing exactly what she would find when she got inside.
Just as she’d expected, the little parakeet was hopping from one side of the cage to the other, banging against the wire cage, his wings flapping in protest. Birdseed was scattered everywhere.
“Hey, boy, I’m home now,” Charlotte told him softly, reaching through the cage with her finger to pet him. “Just calm down,” she soothed as she stroked his breast. “There, there, that’s a good Sweety Boy, my good little watch bird.”
After a moment, the little parakeet hopped on Charlotte’s finger and began preening his ruffled feathers. Satisfied t
hat he had finally settled down, Charlotte nudged him off her finger onto his perch and went in search of her sister.
“Madeline?” she called out
“In the kitchen,” her sister answered in a lackluster voice that made Charlotte wince.
When she entered the room and saw Madeline seated at the breakfast table, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug, the feeling of dread she’d had earlier grew even stronger.
There were dark circles beneath her sister’s eyes, her toffee-colored hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush in days, and she was dressed in a faded T-shirt and stained sweatpants.
“That bird hates me,” Madeline told her.
Charlotte walked to the refrigerator.
“Every time I come over here, he goes into conniption fits,” Madeline continued. “Why, this time he even called me crazy! Is that the kind of thing you’ve been teaching him—to call your sister crazy?”
Charlotte couldn’t help herself as she burst out laughing. “That’s silly,” she said, almost choking on the words. “Sweety Boy doesn’t talk.”
“Humph! Sounded like he said crazy to me.”
“Well, if the shoe fits ...”
“Thanks a lot, Charlotte. I can always count on you to come up with pithy words of wisdom.”
Madeline’s smile belied her sarcastic words. Charlotte simply shook her head and grinned as she opened the refrigerator and removed a carton of orange juice. “It has to be the perfume you wear,” she said, for lack of any other excuse, though from the looks of her, she doubted that her sister had bothered with perfume.
Charlotte took a glass out of the cabinet and poured the juice. “I think I read somewhere that birds are really sensitive to odors.” She held out the glass. “Want some?”
“Humph! Can’t be perfume. I’m not wearing any.” Then Madeline shook her head. “No, thanks.”
With a shrug, Charlotte returned the carton of juice to the refrigerator, then seated herself at the table across from her sister. “Maddy, why are you here?”
“Well, excuse me,” Madeline replied in her most indignant tone. “Can’t I visit my own sister?”
Charlotte ignored the question. “Why aren’t you at work?”
Her sister dropped her gaze, focusing on the coffee she was holding, and took her time answering. “I got fired,” she finally said, her voice just above a whisper. She glanced up. “But it wasn’t my fault.”
It never is, thought Charlotte. For years she’d blamed herself for her sister’s irresponsible ways. She’d spoiled Madeline after their parents’ deaths, then made excuses for her sister’s reckless actions, setting a pattern that had unfortunately continued into adulthood.
Charlotte no longer blamed herself, though, and hadn’t, not for a long time. She had finally made peace with her guilty conscience, had finally decided that she’d done the best she could with what she had at the time. It had taken awhile, but she’d ultimately reached the point where she could accept the fact that Madeline was a grown woman who knew right from wrong. How she lived her life had to be up to her.
She gave her sister a pointed look. “So whose fault was it?” she asked bluntly.
Maddeline colored slightly and glanced away. “I never could fool you, could I?”
Charlotte reached out and patted her sister’s hand. “What happened, Maddy?”
“Johnny got married again.”
Charlotte stiffened and jerked her hand away. For long seconds, all she could do was stare at her sister as she battled for patience as well as control over her rising temper. But neither was forthcoming, and she lost the battle.
“What on earth does your ex getting married again have to do with you getting fired?” she said through clenched teeth.
“I was absent too many times without an excuse.”
“Aw, Maddy, give me a break. It’s been over twenty years since he left you. Do you know how absurd all of that sounds?”
Suddenly, Madeline slapped her hands against the table and propelled herself out of the chair. “Yes, Charlotte!” she shouted as she leaned across the table and glared at her. “I’m well aware of how absurd that sounds, and I certainly don’t need you to point it out. I came over here thinking—thinking—” Her voice died away, and she shook her head. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she mumbled as she collapsed back into her chair. Crossing her arms on top of the table, she laid her head down on top of them.
“Maddy, honey, you need some help—some professional help.”
Madeline raised her head. “I never told you,” she whispered, “but I tried that several years ago. It didn’t work.”
“Maybe you didn’t go to the right doctor,” Charlotte suggested.
“Well, I can’t afford to go to any doctor now, so what’s the point? Besides, I wouldn’t know who to go to even if I could afford it.”
Charlotte thought a minute and chose her words carefully. “I’ll ask Hank to help you locate the right doctor. I can lend you the money if needed, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble getting another job. Good CPAs are hard to find, especially ones who are as qualified and experienced as you are.”
Even as Charlotte hesitated, waiting for her sister’s reaction, the gem of an idea began taking root. Excitement began to build the more she thought about it, and suddenly she knew that she had the perfect solution to her sister’s job situation.
“Hey, Maddie, what about starting your own company? I’m sure that Hank could make recommendations to some of his colleagues, and so could Daniel.” She rushed on. “For that matter, so could I.”
Madeline slowly straightened back into a sitting position, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Do you really think I could?”
“Of course you could.”
“But wouldn’t something like that take a lot of money? I have bills to pay—rent, utilities, a car note ...”
Remembering how often she had cautioned Madeline about saving for a rainy day, Charlotte fought down frustration and disappointment. How many times had she stressed that a single woman needed to have a financial cushion?
Charlotte thought about it for a minute, and though she knew she might regret it, she made the offer, anyway. “You could always move back here. The other half of the double isn’t rented right now, anyway. And I could spring for the utilities for a couple of months until you got on your feet.”
“I could get a small-business loan, too,” Madeline said, excitement building in her voice. “I already have a computer and the programs I’d need.” A smile broke out on her face. “Oh, Charlotte, why didn’t I think of this years ago?”
Charlotte laughed, but refrained from pointing out that she was the one who had thought up the idea. “Tell you what,” she said. “I just happen to have the afternoon free. If you want to get started on cleaning out the other half of the double after lunch, I’d be glad to help.”
Madeline nodded enthusiastically. “If we can get it cleaned today, I could get Daniel and Hank to help me move in by the weekend. That would save me having to come up with next month’s rent on my apartment. And tomorrow I could go to the bank and talk to them about a small loan—Oh, Charlotte, this is great! I haven’t felt so good in a very long time.”
While Madeline chattered away, making all kinds of enthusiastic plans, Charlotte fixed them breakfast and tried not to begrudge the extra money her sister’s plans were going to cost her.
Over poached eggs, whole-wheat toast, and fresh Ponchatoula strawberries, she listened to her sister mapping out a list of things to be done while she tried to ignore the niggling doubts already forming in the back of her mind.
To make a business successful demanded a great deal of hard work and dedication and a lot of self-discipline. Would Madeline be able to handle the responsibilities that running a business required? Or would she revert back to her old, irresponsible ways? Charlotte had lost count of the times she’d had to bail her sister out of financial disasters, and with her own retireme
nt looming so near, she really couldn’t afford to take too many more risks.
Only time would tell, she finally decided as she stood on the front porch and watched her sister drive away.
If worse came to worse, Hank would take care of you.
Charlotte shuddered and walked back inside, locking the door behind her. She loved her son with all of her heart, and she knew he meant well, but having to rely on him—or anyone, for that matter—was simply out of the question. Charlotte LaRue could take care of herself.
Back in the kitchen, she cleared the table, stacked their dirty dishes into the dishwasher, then turned on the dishwasher. At least her sister’s visit had taken her mind off the Dubuissons for a while ... and off of dark thoughts of Louis Thibodeaux and his probing questions. Madeline’s visit had also solved another dilemma as well. Now she knew how she was going to spend her afternoon, she thought as she walked into the living room and eyed Sweety Boy’s dirty cage with distaste.
Though she tried to change the paper in the bottom of the cage daily, at least once a week she washed his food pot and the water trough and tubes in hot, sudsy water. She also removed and thoroughly cleaned the perches and swing by scraping them with sandpaper, just as the vet had suggested. In addition, she always made sure that she sprayed the little bird with a special parasitic spray. The whole process took about an hour and was her least favorite chore, one that she tended to put off as long as possible.
As she stared at the cage, an idea began to form. She was certain that Judith would want to know about her mother’s new employment plans. Why not use the news to her advantage. Telling her niece the news would give her a legitimate excuse to call her, and of course, after telling Judith about her mother’s new plans, she could work the conversation around to Jackson’s autopsy report.
Charlotte went to her desk and looked up the phone number to the Sixth District police station in the phone directory. Cleaning the birdcage could wait until later, she decided as she punched out the number. And in the grand scheme of things, what was a clean birdcage compared to finding a murderer?
Maid for Murder (Charlotte LaRue Mystery Series, Book 1) Page 13
