that had passed since the scandalous Dubuisson murder evaporated like rising steam, and she blanked out everything but the horrific events behind the headline.
Like a video on fast-forward, the horrible memories unfolded in her mind in rapid succession. And she saw it all again, beginning with the day she’d first learned that someone in her former client’s household had been murdered and ending with her horrifying brush with death that had finally precipitated the arrest of the murderer.
Only recently had her nightmares eased. Only within the last month had she finally stopped reliving her own near-death experience because of her association with the Dubuissons.
Charlotte shivered. When it happened, she’d been lucky that the police kept her name out of the papers. This time, though, she wouldn’t be so lucky. First the jury selection, then the trial. And with the trial, the D.A. would subpoena her as a witness for the prosecution. Not only would her name be in the papers, but she’d have to relive it all again, all of it, blow by blow, the whole sordid, ugly affair.
“Wonderful,” she muttered, feeling as if the weight of the world had suddenly descended on her shoulders. “Just what I needed this morning.” Not only did she have her sixtieth birthday to look forward to, but now this, something else to dread.
Chapter Two
It was the trill of the telephone that finally penetrated Charlotte’s morose brooding. With a frown, she shoved away from the table. An early phone call never boded well in her line of business, and usually meant trouble, a problem of some kind.
In the living room, Charlotte picked up the receiver. “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”
“Charlotte, this is Bitsy Duhe.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose in dismay. Why on earth was Bitsy Duhe calling her at this time of the morning? She’d just seen the old lady yesterday.
Usually she cleaned Bitsy’s house on Tuesdays, but this week, Bitsy had asked her to work an extra day, so Charlotte had cleaned her house again on Thursday, which was normally her day off. Bitsy’s granddaughter was coming into town for the weekend to attend a Tulane alumni class reunion, and she had wanted everything extra spiffy for her granddaughter’s visit.
“Have you seen today’s headlines?” Bitsy asked.
Charlotte almost groaned out loud. She should have guessed. All Bitsy wanted was to gossip. And this morning, of all mornings, Charlotte was in no mood to put up with her. But typically Bitsy, the old lady launched into a spiel without waiting for any response from Charlotte.
“I heard that Jonas Tipton is going to be the presiding judge at the trial,” she said. “How that man is still sitting on the bench is a miracle. Why he’s older than I am, and Margo Jones told me he’s almost senile. Why, I heard that—”
“Miss Bitsy!” Charlotte sharply interrupted. “You know I would love to talk to you, but the fact is, I can’t—not about this or anything else to do with the case. I’m under strict orders from the D.A. not to discuss it with anyone.”
Charlotte hesitated only a moment, then, “And my goodness, just look at the time. If I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be late. I’ll have to call you back later, okay? You take care and enjoy that granddaughter of yours. Bye now.”
Without giving Bitsy a chance to reply, Charlotte deliberately hung up the receiver. Even as she prayed that the old lady wouldn’t call back, she immediately felt a twinge of guilt for her uncharitable attitude.
Bitsy was simply lonely, an elderly lady with too much time on her hands. But it hadn’t always been that way. Bitsy’s husband had once been the mayor of New Orleans and the couple had led an active social life, even after he’d retired. Then he’d died a few years back, and all she had left was their son and two granddaughters.
Unfortunately, Bitsy’s son and one of the granddaughters lived in California, and the other granddaughter lived in New York. Bitsy, starved for human contact and companionship, had nothing better to do than to spend hours on the phone, calling around and collecting little tidbits of the latest gossip.
When Charlotte returned to the kitchen, she paused by the table and glanced again at the headline. She’d stretched the truth a bit when she’d told Bitsy what the D.A. had said. He’d actually warned her against giving any press interviews about her association with the Dubuissons.
As if she would, she thought, deeply offended by just the thought. One of the first rules she insisted upon when she hired a new employee was complete confidentiality concerning her clients. Gossiping about clients was strictly forbidden and grounds for immediate dismissal. With Charlotte, it was a matter of principle, of pride, and just good business sense that her clientele trust her and her employees.
Charlotte’s gaze shifted to the article below the headline. Temptation, like forbidden fruit, beckoned. The D.A. had also cautioned her about letting anything she read or heard in the news influence her in any way. But surely it wouldn’t hurt just to read a few lines….
Curiosity killed the cat. Charlotte closed her eyes and groaned. Curiosity, along with disobedience, was also the ruin of Adam and Eve. Before she could change her mind, she snatched up the paper, marched to the pantry, and stuffed it into the trash can.
Besides, she thought as she pulled a box of raisin bran from the pantry shelf, her upcoming birthday was enough to be depressed about. She walked to the cabinet, set the box of cereal on the counter, then took milk and apple juice out of the refrigerator. Dredging up the whole horrible affair connected with the Dubuissons would only make matters worse.
After her bowl of cereal and glass of juice, Charlotte checked Sweety Boy’s supply of water and birdseed.
“My goodness, you’ve been a thirsty boy,” she told him as she removed the water trough. “And hungry,” she added, also removing the birdseed container.
Once both were replenished, she ran her forefinger over the little bird’s velvety head. “Pretty boy,” she crooned. “Say Sweety Boy’s a pretty boy.”
For an answer, the parakeet ducked her finger and sidled over to the narrow space between her wrist and the cage door. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she told him as she nudged him away from the door, then quickly eased her hand out of the cage. “I don’t have time to let you out this morning.” She quickly latched the door. “Tonight,” she promised. “I’ll let you out for a while tonight.”
Having taken care of the little parakeet, Charlotte rushed through her shower, then dressed. At her dressing table, she glared in the mirror at her hair. Just as she’d figured, it was sticking out all over her head, and she made a face at the image in the mirror.
Staring at her hair again reminded her of Louis Thibodeaux and what he’d said about Judith. As she switched on the curling iron, her eyes narrowed. It wasn’t so much what Louis had said as what he hadn’t said. From his tone, he’d given her the impression that he didn’t think much of his replacement, but that could mean any number of things.
She’d definitely call Judith, she decided, as she automatically began applying her makeup while waiting for the curling iron to heat. She’d definitely call her today.
Charlotte applied a touch of mascara to her lashes. Another call she needed to make was to the beauty shop. So write it down now, so you won’t forget.
Removing the pen and small notebook she always kept in her apron pocket, she quickly jotted down a reminder. Slipping the pen and notebook back inside the pocket, she glanced again at her reflection. For now, though, she’d just have to make do.
With a sigh, she began winding strands of her hair around the warm curling iron, and as she attempted to bring some kind of order to her messy hair, she began plotting how she would worm information out of Judith about her new partner. Like Louis, her niece could also be closemouthed and evasive when it suited her.
The short commute to work each morning was just one of the many advantages of