Though Charlotte could understand her sister being disappointed that Daniel had eloped without telling her, that was no excuse for her being so rude and hurtful. She eased away from the group and walked over to her sister.
“Don’t do this, Maddie,” she murmured. “I know you’re disappointed that none of us were invited to the wedding ceremony—I am, too—but I’m sure they had their reasons. Please don’t make a scene. Don’t ruin this happy moment for them.”
Charlotte might as well have been whistling in the wind for all of the attention that her sister paid to her pleas. Without a word to anyone, Madeline pushed out of her chair and stomped out of the room. Seconds later, they heard the front door slam, and within moments they heard the roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires.
Nadia stared up at Daniel. “I told you she would be upset. I’m so sorry, honey.” She buried her crimson face against his shoulder, but not before Charlotte saw the tears spilling down her cheeks.
After Madeline’s abrupt departure, the food could have been dust as far as those who were left at the table were concerned. Little Davy’s excited chatter was the only thing that kept the meal from being eaten in complete silence.
As soon as the meal was over and the table cleared, everyone said subdued good-byes, then left—everyone but Judith.
“Why, Aunt Charley?” she demanded as she followed Charlotte back to the kitchen. “Why does my mother have to be like that? Nothing’s ever good enough for her, and nothing any of us does ever pleases her.”
Charlotte had begun loading the dishwasher but paused. “I know it seems that way, hon, but—”
Judith threw up her right hand, palm out, and shook her head. “No buts, Auntie. It doesn’t just seem that way. It is that way, and no use you making excuses for her.”
As much as it pained Charlotte to admit it, Judith was right. But an admission of the truth out loud would be even more painful for Judith, so Charlotte lied. “To be honest, hon, I don’t know why she acts that way.”
Long after Judith had left, Charlotte remained at the open front door and stared at the empty driveway with unseeing eyes as pangs of guilt about Madeline battered her conscience.
It had all started with the death of their parents. Charlotte had been only twenty to Madeline’s fifteen when their parents had been involved in a fatal accident. She’d been much too young to take on the responsibilities of caring for a teenage sister as well as her own infant son. Indeed, she’d been too overwhelmed to do anything but get through each day as best she could, and she’d overcompensated by indulging her sister and giving in to her every demand.
Charlotte stepped back inside the house. It had taken her years to finally come to terms with the guilt she felt about Madeline, years to finally realize that as a grown woman, Madeline was ultimately responsible for her own spoiled, selfish actions.
But old habits were hard to break, and even now Charlotte couldn’t decide whether she should phone Madeline and try to placate her or simply leave her sister alone and mind her own business.
“Well, what do you think I should do, Sweety?” She directed her question to her little parakeet whose cage hung on a stand by the front window. “Should I call her or not?”
For an answer, the little bird gave a squawk and pranced back and forth on his perch.
“Humph. Should have known better than to ask you. Probably wouldn’t do any good to call her anyway.” Charlotte closed and locked the door. “More than likely she wouldn’t listen. And that’s a shame—a crying shame. Anyone with half a pea-brain could see that Daniel, Nadia, and Davy are a perfect match”
Still debating whether to call her sister, Charlotte walked over to the sofa and sat down. Suddenly, she stiffened and went stone still.
What about Ricco Martinez, the man Nadia had lived with, the father of her son? It had been a year since Ricco, without a word to anyone, had simply disappeared one day. What if, after all this time, he suddenly decided to show up? What then?
Chapter Two
Charlotte normally avoided scheduling herself to clean for clients on Thursdays, reserving that day so that she could run errands and catch up on the bookkeeping for her maid service. Thursday was also the day that she took care of her own housecleaning chores. By the time Thursday rolled around though, she was more than ready for it, but for other reasons. She was exhausted. Marian Hebert, the client she worked for on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, had suddenly decided that in addition to Charlotte’s regular chores, all the baseboards in her house needed scrubbing and all of the closets needed cleaning out.
Bitsy Duhe, her client on Tuesdays, also had had additional chores for Charlotte. Bitsy had decided that every window in her house needed cleaning, which meant taking down all of the drapes, then putting them back up once she was done.
Charlotte figured it was spring fever. But who could blame them? Springtime in New Orleans was so brief, and the cool nights and humidity-free daytime temperatures such a rarity, that everyone who lived in and around the Crescent City made the most of the pleasant weather.
Under normal circumstances, Charlotte could have coped with the hard work. She’d had to work hard all of her life. But she hadn’t felt well at all, not since Sunday. All week long she’d kept telling herself that if she could just make it until Thursday, she could rest up, and then she might be able to make it through Friday, her last scheduled workday for the week.
It had been several months since Charlotte had discoered that she was a borderline diabetic, and most of the time she kept the disease under control with her diet and a tiny pill she took each morning. But, for whatever reason, her blood-sugar level had gone from one extreme to the other over the past three days.
“Probably just stress,” she murmured as she gathered her dirty clothes from the hamper in the bathroom. She’d read that stress wasn’t good for a diabetic, and being at odds with her sister had always stressed her out.
If nothing else, Madeline could be mule-headed stubborn when she chose to be. None of the phone calls that Charlotte had made to her sister during the week had been answered or returned. All she’d gotten was her sister’s answering machine. She’d even tried calling Madeline at the accounting firm where she was employed, but she’d been told that Ms. Monroe was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.
At first Charlotte had figured that Madeline was still pouting about Daniel’s marriage announcement and simply didn’t want to talk about it. But it had been over three days now without a word from her, and Charlotte was beginning to really get aggravated... and angry.
Knowing her sister as she did, Charlotte figured that Madeline had somehow gotten it into her head that Charlotte was at fault for Daniel’s relationship with Nadia. And maybe, in a teeny-tiny way, she was.
It had been almost a year since Nadia had come to her in tears because Ricco, her live-in boyfriend and the father of her son, had been arrested as part of the gang that had been stealing cemetery artifacts. Nadia had needed legal expertise that she could ill afford, and Ricco’s court-appointed attorney had been next to useless. Charlotte had solicited Daniel’s help on Nadia’s behalf, so, in essence, she had brought the two of them together.
But that was all she had done. Once Daniel had secured Ricco’s release from jail, without a word to anyone, Ricco had abruptly disappeared. What had developed between Nadia and Daniel afterward had been totally their own doing.
In the laundry room, once Charlotte had measured out the laundry detergent, she dumped it into the washing machine, then turned the machine on. Most of the time she waited until the machine completely filled with water, and she let it agitate a minute or so before adding the clothes. But today she had no patience for waiting on anything. As soon as she had separated the dirty clothes into whites and colors, she stuffed in the first load.
Charlotte figured that just because she’d brought Daniel and Nadia together initially didn’t mean that their marriage was her fault. After all, they were two grown
people perfectly capable of making their own choices in life. Madeline was just being ridiculous about the whole thing, and, in Charlotte’s opinion, her sister would live to regret her attitude.
Charlotte figured that the best thing she could do about the situation with her sister was to ignore it and get her mind on other things. The good Lord only knew that she had enough “other things” to think about. But knowing the best thing to do in a situation and actually doing it was easier said than done.
Maybe a nice brisk walk right after breakfast would help, she decided. It had been days since she’d been able to take her afternoon walks, and, according to all the brochures she’d read, regular exercise was really important for people who had diabetes.
Charlotte yawned as she closed the lid of the washing machine. What she’d really like to do was crawl back into bed and sleep another couple of hours. Even just thinking about a walk made her tired.
As she emerged from the laundry room, the phone rang, giving her a start. When she glanced at her wristwatch, she grimaced. Charlotte’s maid service consisted of three full-time employees and one part-time employee. When the phone rang between seven and eight in the morning, it usually meant problems with one of them.
With dread weighing down each footstep, she trudged into the living room to answer the call. The last thing she needed or wanted was to have to deal with business problems today.
She picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Maid-for-a-Day. Charlotte speaking”
“Charlotte, this is Nadia.”
Charlotte frowned with worry, her own problems suddenly forgotten. “What’s wrong, hon? You don’t sound so good”
“I don’t feel so good, either. I’m afraid I have that nasty stomach virus that’s been going around. I’ve been throwing up since early this morning.”
“Oh, you poor thing. How can I help?”
“I hate doing this to you—I really do—but today is my day to work for Patsy Dufour. There’s just no way I—”
“Don’t even think about it, hon. I’ll get someone else to—”
Nadia interrupted with a groan. “Uh oh, I think I’m gonna be sick again. Sorry. Gotta go.”
Charlotte depressed the switch hook, and after a moment she released it and tapped out the number for Janet Davis, her part-time employee.
Please be able to work today... please. But all she got was Janet’s answering machine. With a sigh of disappointment, she hung up the phone without leaving a message.
Janet was the only backup help she had on Thursdays. Her other two full-time employees had regular clients of their own scheduled for that day. If Janet wasn’t available, Charlotte either had to work the job herself or cancel it.
Lost in thought, for several moments Charlotte stared at Sweety Boy, who cocked his head and stared right back at her.
For one of the few times since she’d formed her own maid service, Charlotte seriously considered canceling the job. Maybe Hank was right, after all. For over a year her son had been trying to persuade her to retire and let him take care of her for a change, and since her sixtieth birthday, he’d become more insistent
As a renowned surgeon who was much in demand, her son could certainly afford to take care of her. But while the possibility of retiring was nice to think about, she had never truly considered doing such a thing. For one thing, she’d always taken care of herself without anyone’s help, thank you very much. But maybe it was time to give his offer some serious consideration. Maybe she should think about retiring.
“No!” she whispered and firmly shook her head. You’re just tired and you don’t feel good. Besides, you’d go stark raving mad without anything to do.
“Just do it,” she grumbled. “So much for a day off, huh, Boy?” she told the little parakeet as she grabbed her Rolodex and thumbed through it until she found Patsy Dufour’s phone number.
Four rings later, Charlotte felt like screaming with frustration when Patsy’s answering machine kicked in. “Just great!” she muttered. Didn’t anyone ever answer their phones any more? “She’s probably either in the shower or outside in the garden,” she told herself, waiting for the beep to sound so she could leave a message.
After the beep, she said, “Patsy, this is Charlotte LaRue with Maid-for-a-Day. Your regular maid, Nadia, is sick, so I’ll be taking her place. I’m afraid I’m running a bit late, though, and I wanted to let you know that I will be there as soon as possible”
Charlotte hated being late almost as much as she detested gossip, but she especially hated being late for work. Besides a sloppy cleaning job, the other thing that clients frowned on the most was the maid not showing up at the appointed time.
Within thirty minutes of her call to Patsy, Charlotte had eaten a bowl of cereal and quickly dressed. The last thing she did before leaving was check Sweety Boy’s food and water supply.
“See you later, Boy,” she told the little bird, once she’d determined that he had enough to last until she returned. “Be good, now.” Locking the door behind her, she headed for the van.
After a quick inventory of the supplies that she kept in the van, she found that she needed to replenish several of the cleaners she normally used from the stock she kept in the storeroom.
When Charlotte had first began cleaning homes as a profession, Hank had been a toddler. As a single mother, she’d been on a shoestring budget. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that buying cleaning products in bulk from a supply house was a lot less expensive than buying stuff off the grocery-store shelves.
The only problem with buying in bulk, though, was storage. And since some of the supplies were hazardous, she’d been uncomfortable about the idea of keeping them inside the house, especially with a small child around who seemed to get into anything and everything in spite of all the precautions she’d taken.
The solution had been to build a storeroom on to the back of the carport that was attached to her half of the Victorian double she owned.
As Charlotte refilled containers, she tried to recall if there was anything else she needed. Early on, she’d learned that each of her clients had her own idiosyncrasies about what she wanted done and how she wanted it done. It had been a couple of years since she had personally worked for Patsy, but if she remembered right, Patsy was one of the most particular clients that she’d had to deal with. And just one of Patsy’s peculiarities was that she insisted on each of the ten ceiling fans she had in her home being dusted every week.
Charlotte eyed a brush hanging on a peg. The odd U-shaped brush stuck out at a ninety-degree angle to the handle, and the yard-long handle was telescopic and could be extended to almost twice its length. It had been designed to dust ceiling-fan blades. But even with the handle fully extended, she would still need a ladder to do a thorough job.
Charlotte shivered at the thought of climbing to the top of the ladder. Some of the ceilings in Patsy’s century-old home were as high as twelve feet, and Charlotte never had liked heights. Like it or not, though, to Charlotte, a thorough job included not only dusting the fan blades, but wiping them down with a scented cleaner as well. That way, when the fans were turned back on, the motion of the blades would spread the scent and leave the room smelling fresh and clean.
Propped against the wall near the brush was an aluminum ladder. Charlotte was pretty sure that Patsy kept a small stepladder in one of the ground-floor closets in her house, but if she remembered right, Patsy’s ladder wasn’t very tall. Maybe she should bring her own ladder as well as the brush, just in case.
But would her ladder be tall enough? She estimated that the ladder was six-feet high, then she added her own height of five-feet-three plus another two feet for an upstretched arm. Shrugging, Charlotte picked up the bottles she’d refilled. Patsy’s fans, she recalled, hung from extensions that varied in length from six inches to a couple of feet from the ceiling. If she really stretched, she might be able to reach them without having to climb to the very top of the ladder... if she really stretched.
“Hey, let me help you with that.”
At the unexpected sound of the deep male voice, Charlotte let out a startled squeal, then whirled around. The end of the ladder just missed Louis Thibodeaux’s head by inches.
Jerking his head back in the nick of time, he yelled, “Hey, watch it!”
“Well!” she snapped back at him. “What do you expect? You scared the living daylights out of me.”
Charlotte could still feel her heart pumping overtime from fright. Lately the newspaper had been full of stories about people living in Uptown and the Garden District being accosted and robbed right in their own driveways or garages.
“I swear, Louis, the least you could do is let a body know when you’re around.”
Louis threw up his hands in defense. “I thought for sure you knew I was standing here”
“Well, I didn’t!” she argued.
Louis Thibodeaux was Judith’s ex-partner. He had officially retired from the New Orleans Police Department back in December and had needed a temporary place to stay until the work at his camp on Lake Maurepas was completed, so Charlotte had rented out the other half of her double to him.
“Here,” he said, grabbing hold of the ladder. “I’ll load that for you”
Along with Louis’s other irritating faults, Charlotte had learned that he could also be a bit overbearing at times. Unsure whether it was the tone he’d used or whether it was just her own perverse mood, it suddenly became terribly important that she prove to him that she could load the ladder without any help. Especially without his help.
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