Polished Off

by Barbara Colley

  “It’s just me,” June said and laughed as she hurried through the kitchen. “As usual, I’m late,” she called over her shoulder.

  Didn’t the woman ever use the front door? Charlotte wondered.

  Charlotte decided against adding the wine that Rita had brought to the other three bottles on the buffet. Rita had said it was Mimi’s favorite, so Charlotte figured Mimi would want to save it for herself.

  In the dining room, as Charlotte placed the glasses on the buffet, she heard the sharp rap of Mimi’s gavel in the parlor.

  “The meeting is now called to order.” She banged it again. “Ladies, please, we have a lot of business to take care of today.”

  When the buzzing died down, Mimi said, “Yes, Rita? Did you want to say something?”

  “First, I’d like to apologize to the members for my outburst on Friday. I really have no good excuse, and I am sorry.” A low murmur broke out, then Rita said, “And, second, I want to make a motion that we have more discussion about the charity that will benefit from the funds we raise at our annual fall sale.” The murmurs grew louder.

  “And I second the motion,” a voice chimed in.

  The buzz grew, and Mimi rapped her gavel. “But-but, we’ve already decided that issue,” she cried. The room abruptly grew quiet.

  “In that case,” Rita said, “I make a motion that we donate the proceeds of the plant sale to the new women’s shelter instead of the Hebert plantation.”

  “And I second the motion.” The voice belonged to Karen.

  “All in favor?” Rita asked. “One, two, three ...” Charlotte could hear Rita counting the votes out loud. “Ten for and six against,” Rita said. “The women’s shelter wins.”

  Charlotte shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Talk about your Judas,” she whispered. Beware of a Greek bearing gifts. With another shake of her head, she decided that now would be a good time to check on the linens in the dryer.

  In the laundry room, Charlotte folded the sheets and pillowcases as she took them out of the dryer. She could tell from the noise that the women were taking their refreshment break. She placed the items in the laundry basket, picked up the basket, and carried it into the kitchen.

  When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to see Mimi standing by the sink, one hand gripping the edge of the cabinet, the other hand holding a full glass of water.

  “Are you looking for me?” Charlotte asked.

  With one hand still gripping the cabinet, Mimi turned to face her and shook her head. “Just thirsty.”

  One look at Mimi’s pale face and dilated pupils set off alarm bells, and Charlotte immediately dropped the laundry basket and rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

  Mimi shook her head again and blinked several times. “Don’t-don’t feel so good,” she said. “My head’s killing me—maybe a virus or something. Could you get me the aspirin? It’s in that cabinet by the refrigerator.”

  “Maybe you should cut the meeting short, either that or let someone else take over for you.”

  Mimi shook her head. “Can’t—still too much to do. Just get me the aspirin.”

  Seconds later, aspirin bottle in hand, Charlotte asked, “How many?” She twisted off the cap.

  “Two—no, make that three.”—

  Charlotte shook two out of the bottle, then paused. “Are you sure you want three?”

  Mimi glared at her. “I said three, didn’t I? Why would I say three if I didn’t mean three? Just give ’em to me.”

  “Okay, okay.” Charlotte shook out a third aspirin. “Here.”

  Mimi snatched up the tablets, popped them into her mouth, and washed them down with the water. When the glass was empty, she refilled it with more water, and drank all of the second glass as well.

  “Mimi?” June entered the kitchen. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

  Mimi slammed the empty glass down on the cabinet and glared at June. “Well, you found me. What do you want?”

  June cast a sideways glance at Charlotte, then focused on Mimi again. “Are you okay?”

  “Okay! Okay?” Mimi’s voice rose. “Now just why wouldn’t I be okay? I’ve just been blindsided, outmaneuvered, and stabbed in the back.” She waved in the general direction of the parlor. “Thanks to Rita, Karen, and Doreen, I’m just hunky-dory. With friends like those three, I don’t need enemies. That’s for sure.”

  “Hey, just calm down, now.”

  “I’ll calm down alright, but mark my words. Those three are history, and they’re going to live to regret this day—that’s a promise.”

  Charlotte was straightening the dining room when the meeting finally broke up. She waited a few minutes to give the women time to clear out, then proceeded to the parlor. As she passed through the main hallway, she saw Mimi at the front door, and standing with her was Doreen Mires.

  From the glimpse she got, Charlotte thought Mimi looked even more ill than she had earlier in the kitchen. As Charlotte gathered the cups and saucers in the parlor, she heard Doreen tell Mimi, “I’m so sorry for what happened. I had nothing to do with what Rita and Karen did in there.”

  When Mimi said nothing in response, Doreen continued, her tone growing more fearful and desperate with each word. “I-I don’t know how to say this, but please-please don’t hold what happened against George—not because of me. We can’t afford for him to lose his job, and I swear I didn’t agree to be a part of any of that stuff.”

  “Yeah, right, Doreen,” Mimi retorted. “If that’s true, then why did you volunteer with them to head up one of the committees?”

  “I-I—I’ll quit,” Doreen cried. “I’ll resign the committee and quit HHS if that’s what it takes.”

  “That’s up to you, but—” Mimi suddenly closed her eyes and groaned.

  “Are you okay?”

  Mimi shook her head. “No, no I’m not, and I can’t discuss this right now. I’m sick. We’ll have to talk later.”

  When Charlotte heard the click of the front door, she picked up the tray of dirty dishes. As she stepped into the hallway, Mimi’s hand was still on the doorknob, her forehead resting against the door casing, and she heard her mumble something that sounded like, “Traitors. Two-faced traitors.”

  Then, with a dejected sigh, Mimi squared her shoulders and turned. When she saw Charlotte, she stiffened. “I-I’m going to bed,” she said, her voice fragile and shaky. “When you’ve finished, just let yourself out.”

  “Do you need any help—up the stairs, I mean?”

  Even though she shook her head that she didn’t, Charlotte waited and kept an eye on her, just in case. Once she was sure that Mimi had safely negotiated the stairs, she took the tray into the kitchen.

  Charlotte had just finished unloading the tray of dishes into the sink when the clatter of the door knocker sounded. “Now what?” she grumbled, but before she’d even taken two steps, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Since she couldn’t remember if Mimi had locked the front door after Doreen had left, her sense of caution made her pause.

  “Hel-lo!” a voice called out. “Mimi?”

  Rita. What on earth did Rita want now? Charlotte released her pent-up breath, scowled, then hurried to intercept Rita. Rita had already advanced as far as the foot of the staircase by the time Charlotte reached her.

  “Where’s Mimi?” Rita demanded.

  “She’s upstairs,” Charlotte answered.

  Rita glanced up the staircase, made a face, then waved an impatient hand. “Never mind. No need to bother her. I only came back because I think I left my rings on the window ledge above the sink.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing any rings.”

  “Well, I’m positive that I left them there,” Rita retorted, and completely ignoring Charlotte, she marched past her, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors.

  Charlotte turned and glared at Rita’s back until she disappeared through the kitchen doorway. Not only was the woman a back sta
bber, but she was rude and insulting as well. With a sigh of disgust, Charlotte trudged toward the kitchen.

  Charlotte stepped through the doorway just in time to see Rita grab the wine bottle off the countertop and shove it into her tote bag.

  When Rita glanced up and realized that Charlotte had seen what she’d done, she said, “I was mistaken about the rings.”

  Charlotte chose to remain silent, and Rita shifted her gaze from Charlotte to her tote bag, then back to Charlotte. “Guess you’re wondering about the wine.” She patted her tote bag. When Charlotte said nothing, Rita shrugged and laughed, but it was a forced, nervous sound. “It’s not as if I’m stealing it or anything. I figured that after what happened today, Mimi would probably just throw it in the garbage. Why let good wine go to waste?”

  The unmitigated gall of some people never ceased to amaze Charlotte, and she decided that Rita had enough for ten people. Before Charlotte could think of a response, Rita sashayed past her and disappeared through the doorway. Charlotte could hear her heels clicking all the way down the hallway.

  When the front door snapped shut, Charlotte stepped out into the hallway, just to make sure Rita was truly gone. Satisfied that she was, Charlotte went to the door and secured the dead bolt, then hurried through the remaining chores.

  Once Charlotte had finished cleaning, she decided to check on Mimi before leaving. She found Mimi still fully dressed and curled tightly into a fetal position on top of the bed covers in the master bedroom. Her breathing was deep and even, but to Charlotte, she still looked pale, and she looked cold. Charlotte stepped over to the bed and pulled the bottom side of the bed comforter over Mimi’s shoulder, then tiptoed out of the room.

  Charlotte descended the stairs and checked to make sure that the back door was locked. Then, armed with her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, she walked back through the house to the front door. With one last, worried glance toward the staircase, she unlocked the dead bolt and then twisted the doorknob lock and stepped outside. As she reached to pull the door shut, she hesitated.

  She was tired and ready to go home, but what if Mimi got worse? There would be no one to check on her, not for a while anyway, at least not until her husband got home.

  He’s been coming home later and later each night. Mimi’s complaint popped into Charlotte’s head. Maybe if he knew his wife was ill, he might try to get home earlier. Then again, maybe not. If what Mimi suspected were true—that he was having an affair—he might not even care that his wife was ill. And Mimi might not bother to call him.

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes and glared at the doorknob. What if she called him? If someone other than his wife called him, for appearance’s sake, he might feel obligated to come home and check on his wife.

  Mind your own business.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered. Why was she standing there even debating the whole matter? Besides, hadn’t Mimi told her just to let herself out when she was finished? For all she knew, Mimi had already called her husband. Even now he could be on his way home.

  Charlotte pulled the door firmly shut.

  For most of her life, Charlotte had lived on Milan Street, a narrow, one-way street in the Uptown neighborhood of New Orleans. Charlotte’s maid service catered exclusively to clients in the Garden District, and since Milan was just on the outskirts of the Garden District, it was the perfect location.

  As her van bumped down the uneven street, thoughts of her newest employer still nagged her. In spite of all reasoning, she still felt as if she should have stayed with Mimi a while longer, just to make sure she was doing okay. Of course, she could always call and check on her.

  Charlotte shook her head as she turned the van into her driveway. Calling wasn’t really a good idea. The woman was sick, and sick people needed all the rest they could get.

  She parked the van, switched off the engine, and for a moment, she simply sat there. It was good to be home... finally

  To Charlotte, her home was her sanctuary and her security. The small Victorian shotgun double had been built in the early 1900s. She and her younger sister, Madeline, had been raised in the house and had inherited it after their parents’ untimely deaths. Unlike Madeline, who, after her first marriage, had long ago sold her half of the double to Charlotte, Charlotte had never felt the urge or the need to live anywhere else.

  On weekdays, Charlotte usually only skimmed the headlines of the newspaper before going to work. On Wednesday morning, she had awakened earlier than usual, though, early enough, she decided, for a leisurely cup of coffee and to actually read the newspaper.

  In the kitchen, she switched on the coffeepot. On her way through the living room, she stopped long enough to uncover her little parakeet’s cage, and then she retrieved the Times-Picayune from the front porch steps.

  Once back in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee. To make sure she allowed enough time to eat breakfast, dress, and get to work, she set the kitchen timer for forty-five minutes. Then she settled at the kitchen table with the newspaper and her coffee.

  Charlotte read through a good bit of the paper and then came upon the obituary section. Unlike Bitsy Duhe and others Charlotte knew who always read every word of the death notices, she found the obituaries morbid and depressing. But just as she reached to turn the page, one of the pictures caught her eye.

  Charlotte gasped, and a deep hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the picture. “No way,” she whispered. It just wasn’t possible.

  Mimi Adams was dead.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Barbara Colley is an award-winning author whose books have been published in sixteen languages. A native of Louisiana, she lives with her family in a suburb of new Orleans. Besides writing and sharing her stories, she loves strolling through the historic New Orleans French Quarter and Garden District, which inspired the setting for her Charlotte LaRue mystery series. Readers can write to Barbara at P.O. Box 290, Boutte, LA 70039 or visit her Web site at http://www.eclectics.com/barbaracolley-annelogan.

  BARBARA COLLEY is an award-winning author whose books have been published in sixteen foreign languages. A native of Louisiana, she lives with her family in a suburb of New Orleans. Besides writing and sharing her stories, she loves strolling through the historic New Orleans French Quarter and Garden District, which inspired the setting for her Charlotte LaRue mystery series. Readers can write to Barbara at P.O. Box 290, Boutte, LA 70039 or visit her Web site at www.eclectics.com/barbaracolley-annelogan.