Wiped Out (14 page)

All Charlotte could do was shake her head. “You're amazing, absolutely amazing.”

Bitsy grinned again. “Why, thank you.”

“No,” Charlotte said. “Thank
you.
I appreciate your recommendation.”

Bitsy nodded. “Any time, any time at all.” Her grin suddenly faded. “Speaking of your clients, I heard that someone poisoned Mimi Adams. Does that mean you're going to have a couple of more days free? The only reason I'm asking,” she rushed on, “is because I also told Abigail Thornton that you might have an opening.”

Charlotte hesitated before answering Bitsy. She truly didn't like discussing her clients or her business with anyone. But after all, the old lady's recommendation had netted her a new client. “Yes, I did receive a call from her too,” she finally said. “But for the time being, I've agreed to continue working for Gordon Adams, so I don't really have another opening right now.”

“Oh, my.” Bitsy shook her head. “My, my, my. If you're going to keep working for Gordon without Mimi around, I'd better fill you in on him.”

The temptation to listen to what Bitsy had to say about Gordon was strong, but Charlotte resisted. After all, more than likely, anything that Bitsy told her was pure gossip.

In hopes of discouraging further talk on the subject, Charlotte gathered up the dirty sheets. “I really need to put these in to wash,” she said. Then, with a quick apologetic smile for Bitsy, she headed for the laundry room.

Unfortunately, Bitsy wasn't easily discouraged, nor was she one to be ignored. Just as Charlotte had expected and dreaded, Bitsy followed her every step, tagging along like a little puppy, all the way to the laundry room.

“He's a handsome devil, that Gordon,” Bitsy continued, as if there had never been an interruption. “Don't you think so?” Not waiting for an answer, she said, “But, as my momma used to say, handsome is as handsome does. Or maybe that was pretty is as pretty does?” She frowned. “Never mind about that—anyway, Gordon was considered quite a catch for Mimi. Now don't get me wrong. Mimi had money too, but she didn't have the pedigree to go with all of her money, if you know what I mean.”

Charlotte knew exactly what Bitsy meant all too well. Evidently, Mimi's family had new money, as opposed to having old money, the kind that a family passed along from one generation to the next. And in New Orleans, having new money instead of old money made all the difference when it came to a family's social standing.

“But that Mimi was smart,” Bitsy chattered away. “She outsmarted them all and snagged Gordon right out from under more than one hopeful debutante's nose. And, believe me, there were a bunch of them trying to get their hooks into Gordon. Like I said, though, Mimi was smart. When she got him, she made sure she got pregnant right away, a surefire way of keeping him.” Bitsy giggled. “Had everyone counting the months until Justin was born.”

They had reached the laundry room, and Charlotte nodded, mostly to be polite, as she piled the clothes on top of the dryer, then turned on the washing machine. Again, temptation reared its ugly head, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking for the names of the unhappy debutantes. She was just itching to know if Sally Lawson was among the ones whom Gordon had rejected in favor of Mimi.

Reminding herself to tend to her own business, Charlotte measured out the detergent, dumped it into the machine, and waited for the machine to fill with water.

“Rumor has it,” Bitsy went on, “that Gordon—”

The loud ringing of the telephone interrupted her, and though Bitsy was clearly irritated by the interruption, and even Charlotte was a bit irritated herself, there was no way Bitsy would ever ignore a phone call.

The old lady hurried off to answer the phone but still managed to call out over her shoulder, “I'd be careful around Gordon, if I were you. He seems like a nice enough man, but I hear that he can be meaner than a snake and just as lethal.”

Bitsy never did get around to telling Charlotte what she had meant about Gordon being “meaner than a snake and just as lethal.” Bitsy's phone call was from her son. By the time she finished talking to Bradley, the old lady was much too upset to bother with further gossip about Gordon Adams.

 

Later, that afternoon, physically and mentally exhausted, Charlotte loaded the supply carrier and vacuum cleaner back into the van. She felt as if she'd been tiptoeing through a minefield ever since Bradley's phone call. And she was depressed.

Bitsy had been in rare form after her conversation with her son, especially once she'd learned that he was flying in from California for a visit the following weekend. Any other time, Bitsy would have been overjoyed by a visit from him. But not this time. Bitsy was convinced that the only reason Bradley was coming was to force her to move to an assisted-living facility.

After the phone call, Bitsy had been like a woman possessed. She'd followed Charlotte around, double-checking everything that Charlotte did. Nothing seemed to suit her, and nothing Charlotte had said had dissuaded the old lady of her fears. And Charlotte had said a lot, a lot more than she'd intended to say and a lot more than she should have said.

By the end of the day, Bitsy had worked herself up into a royal tizzy and had been so upset that she'd all but begged Charlotte to work on Saturday.

As Charlotte slammed the van door shut, she could still hear Bitsy's squeaky, pathetic voice.
I know you don't usually work on Saturdays, but I'd just feel better knowing someone I trusted was there—you know—someone who could vouch for me. Bradley would listen to you. I just know he would.

Though there were times it was nearly impossible, Charlotte had always tried to make it her policy to separate business from her personal life. The last thing she wanted was to get embroiled in yet another client's family situation, especially Bitsy's. In the end, though, she hadn't had the heart to refuse the old lady, and, calling herself all kinds of a fool, she'd reluctantly agreed to work the extra day.

“At least you still have Thursday off,” Charlotte muttered to herself as she climbed into the driver's seat of the van and pulled the door shut. She fastened her seat belt, cranked the van, and checked her side-view mirror. But during the short drive home, she was already adding the chores that she'd planned to do on Saturday to her mental list of chores she needed to get done on Thursday.

One of her so-called chores was to meet Carol for lunch to discuss some of the wedding arrangements. Charlotte smiled as she turned onto Milan Street. That was one task that she was looking forward to with great pleasure.

Trying to dodge the potholes, Charlotte felt a warm glow of contentment flow through her as the van bumped along the narrow street. Bitsy's problems soon faded, and just thinking about Carol and Hank's upcoming wedding lifted her spirits.

On the radio, the oldies-but-goldies station was playing “I Can See Clearly Now,” an old Johnny Nash tune, and Charlotte found herself humming along. Indeed, her son's happiness was exactly the rainbow she had been praying for, and his relationship with Carol had to mean that the pain of his relationship with his ex-wife, Mindy, was finally gone.

 

When Charlotte arrived at Marian Hebert's house on Wednesday, the movers were already parked out front, and the hallway was filled with packing boxes waiting to be loaded. After greeting Marian and saying hello to Aaron and B.J., Charlotte began cleaning in the kitchen.

Half an hour later, Marian, flanked by her two sons, entered the kitchen. “Charlotte, we're leaving now,” she said. “The movers only have a few more boxes to load, and I want to be across the lake at the other house before they get there.”

Charlotte was wiping out the insides of the upper kitchen cabinets, but she stopped, pulled off her rubber gloves, and climbed down from the stepladder. Leaving the gloves on the countertop, she walked over to where Marian and the boys were standing.

Her throat tight with emotion, Charlotte said, “You know I only wish the very best for you, but I'll miss you. All of you,” she added, her eyes resting on each of the boys. “You guys be good for your mom, now, and help her.” She held open her arms in an invitation for a hug, and Aaron, the youngest of the boys, stepped into her embrace first.

“Bye, Charlotte,” he said, hugging her around the waist. “I wish you were coming too.”

Charlotte's throat grew even tighter, but she smiled down at the little boy. “Maybe I'll come for a visit one of these days.”

Aaron looked up at her, his eyes brightened, and then he stepped back.

B.J., almost as tall as Charlotte, stepped forward, and much to Charlotte's surprise, the teenager embraced her as well. “Bye, Charlotte,” he said. “And thanks for everything.”

“You're welcome.” Charlotte gave the teenager an extra squeeze around his shoulder. With a teasing grin, she added, “And don't you be sneaking out after hours over there on the North Shore. I hear they have some tough curfew laws.”

B.J.'s cheeks reddened. “Yes, ma'am—I mean no, ma'am.” He grimaced. “I won't.”

“I'm just teasing you, hon. I know you won't,” Charlotte murmured.

“Okay, boys, it's time to load up,” Marian told them. And don't—”

Aaron suddenly punched his brother on the arm. “Race ya,” Aaron challenged.

“No!” Marian told him sternly. “No racing or running in the house.”

Though both boys grumbled, Charlotte was pleased to see that, unlike just a few months earlier, now they listened to their mother and actually obeyed her.

“I'm impressed,” she told Marian, as she watched them march down the hallway.

“Me too,” Marian whispered, watching them as well. Then she snickered. “I suspect they're just showing off for you. But, actually, they have improved tremendously, considering how they used to act.” She turned to Charlotte. “Thanks again for everything, Charlotte. We'll never forget you.”

Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. “Just be careful and be happy,” she said. Reaching out, she gave Marian a brief but heartfelt hug.

Marian returned the hug, then said, “And by the way, that was a great idea you had.”

Charlotte frowned. “Idea?”

Marian nodded. “About paying us a visit.”

“Well, you never can tell. I might just do that.”

“Please do,” Marian said. “You will always be welcome. And if you ever need a recommendation or a new house, just let me know.” Then, with a tiny wave and a smile, Marian turned and hurried off down the hallway. “I've already locked the door,” she called out over her shoulder. “Just pull it closed when you leave.”

After Marian and the boys left, it was another hour before the moving men finally loaded the last of the furniture and boxes into the van.

Charlotte stood on the porch until the moving van pulled away from the curb, and then she went back inside the house. Strange, she thought, as she walked through the now vacant house. Strange how a house could be so full of life one moment and so empty the next. And all because of the people who lived there.

A shiver ran up her spine as she thought about returning to the Adams's house, the house where Mimi Adams had been murdered, a house that was now empty of the one soul who had made it so vibrant and alive.

A
s agreed, on Thursday, Charlotte and Carol met at Joey K's Restaurant on Magazine. In between bites of grilled chicken salad, they made a good-sized dent in the list of things that had to be decided.

The most urgent item was securing a place for the wedding and the reception. Both Carol and Hank wanted a small wedding at the church, one that would include just family and a few of their closest friends. But the reception was another matter. They each had numerous business acquaintances and felt the need to include them in the reception.

“The facilities at the church are nice enough,” Charlotte told Carol. “But, in my opinion, and considering the number of guests you want to invite to the reception, the recreation room at the church they use for receptions is way too small.”

“You're right, of course,” Carol agreed.

“How about that hotel that Daniel and Nadia used for their reception?” Charlotte suggested.

Carol chewed thoughtfully on the bite of salad she'd just taken. She swallowed, then nodded. “I'll have to check and see what dates it's available on such short notice.”

Feeling stuffed to the gills, Charlotte and Carol parted ways, but as Charlotte climbed into her van to leave, she still had Nadia on her mind.

She'd meant to talk to Nadia on Sunday to let her know that Janet Davis had finally agreed to temporarily take over the clients whom Nadia serviced, just until Charlotte could find a permanent replacement. But with all of the excitement about Carol and Hank's upcoming wedding and her disturbing revelation about June's brownies, she'd completely forgotten. With Nadia's baby due in the latter part of September, though, time was getting short.

Charlotte reached into her purse, pulled out her notebook and pen, then jotted down a memo to herself to call Nadia when she got home. Below the memo, she added glucose tablets. She paused and tapped the point of the pen against the notepad.

She really should go ahead and put an ad in the paper for more full-time help while she was at it. Up until now she'd been procrastinating, hoping that Janet would agree to work full-time in Nadia's place instead of part-time. She'd even offered Janet a small raise, but Janet had stuck to her guns, and now Charlotte really had no choice but to begin interviewing for another full-time employee.

 

As Charlotte drove to the Adams's house on Friday morning, she wondered if, once again, June would be waiting for her. She hoped not. She was tired of being at June's beck and call and tired of worrying and wondering if June had murdered Mimi.

She parked the van, unloaded her cleaning supplies, then, taking a chance that no one was home, let herself inside the house and turned off the security alarm.

Once inside, though, she couldn't get past the feeling that she wasn't alone. Charlotte couldn't begin to count the number of times that she had been alone in clients' homes, and she'd never given it more than a passing thought. So why am I getting jumpy now? she wondered.

Standing very still, she tilted her head, listening for the slightest sound that would indicate someone else might be in the house. Nothing. Nothing but the ticking of the case clock in the parlor, and after a moment, an overwhelming relief washed through her. But following fast on the heels of relief came an unexpected wave of apprehension.

For goodness sake, just lock the door and get busy.

Charlotte turned and threw the deadbolt; then, telling herself she was overreacting about nothing, she picked up the supply carrier and vacuum cleaner and headed for the kitchen first. But when she stepped inside the room, she could hardly believe her eyes.

The kitchen was spotless, not a dirty dish in sight. Charlotte set down the supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, then walked over to the dishwasher. She unlatched it and opened it to find that it was full of clean dishes.

“Aha,” she murmured. Now she knew. Gordon was a neat freak…or was he? Charlotte pulled out the bottom rack and frowned. Every slot was filled with a plate. Charlotte counted eight of them as she stacked them on top of the cabinet—way too many for one lone man to use for just the evening meal for the four days since Monday. Still puzzled, but with an oh-well shrug, Charlotte began putting away the clean dishes.

Who knows? she thought. He could have had guests during the week. Charlotte shook her head. Not likely. For one thing, she couldn't picture Gordon planning a dinner party. For another thing, given his social background, he would realize that people would talk if he did something like that so soon after burying Mimi. People of Gordon's social status still adhered to the older traditions of a proper mourning period.

Within minutes, Charlotte had put away all of the dishes, and since no one was home, she decided to start cleaning upstairs and work her way down. She was sure there had to be at least one load of dirty laundry just waiting for her in the master bedroom. Gordon might be a neat freak in the kitchen, but he probably didn't know the first thing about doing his own laundry.

There were some dirty clothes in the hamper, but not as many as she had thought there would be. And the bed in the master bedroom had been left unmade.

“Finally,” she murmured. There was finally proof that
someone
had been there since she'd last cleaned on Monday. For a moment, Charlotte stood and stared at the unmade bed. One side of the king-size bed had clearly been slept on whereas the other side was undisturbed. How sad, she thought, as she stripped the sheets off the bed. Here was a man in the prime of his life, a man who'd had a wife, a family, and a beautiful home. Now he was all alone.

All alone except for his “honey.”

Ignoring the aggravating little voice in her head, Charlotte gathered up the bed linens as well as the clothes in the hamper, and carried the bundle down to the laundry room. There, she dropped the dirty things on the floor, then turned on the washing machine and added detergent. While she waited for the washing machine to fill with water, she sorted through the clothes. There were a couple of knit shirts and a pair of jeans, but the rest were towels, washcloths, and Gordon's underwear.

She laid aside the shirts and jeans and loaded the rest with the bed linens into the machine.

By the time Charlotte took her lunch break, she had almost finished cleaning the entire house. All she had left was to fold the first load of wash, put the shirts and jeans in the dryer, and vacuum and mop.

As she munched on the mandarin chicken salad she'd brought, she wrestled with her conscience. She'd be through cleaning way before three-thirty. Charging Gordon for a full day's work seemed a bit dishonest. Maybe she should talk to him about it, possibly even suggest that he could get by with having her come in two half days a week instead of full days. Of course, she could make it clear that she would be available for full days when and if he needed her.

By the time she'd finished her salad, she'd made up her mind to wait a few days before saying anything. The weekend was coming up, and there was no telling what kind of mess she might be faced with on Monday.

After Charlotte's lunch break, she headed for the laundry room. Once she transferred the clothes from the dryer into the laundry basket, she checked the tag on the knit shirts to make sure they wouldn't shrink, then dropped the shirts, along with the jeans, into the dryer and turned it on. The last time she'd done the laundry, she'd folded the clothes on top of the washer and dryer, but this time, since no one was home, she decided it would be easier to fold the items on the kitchen table.

She was standing at the kitchen table and had almost finished folding the items in the basket when she came across a pair of nylon panties.

With a frown, she held up the panties. They were white and trimmed with elasticized lace around the leg openings and the waist. “Where on earth did these come from?” she murmured. She didn't remember seeing them when she'd transferred the clothes from the washer to the dryer, which meant they must have been left in the dryer from a previous load. From experience she knew that even with the use of dryer sheets or fabric softener, static electricity created by nylon could sometimes still make items cling to the tub of the dryer. But even if that were the case, whom did the panties belong to?

She supposed that they could have belonged to Mimi, but that was doubtful. June had cleaned out all of Mimi's clothes, and if nothing else, June was thorough.

“And not Emma either,” she whispered. She'd washed Emma's clothes, and all of Emma's panties were the hip-hugger style. Besides, the nylon panties were about two sizes too big for Emma, and Emma's panties were made of cotton.

Charlotte folded the panties, then finished folding the rest of the items, but the mystery of the panties bothered her long after she'd put away the clothes. For one thing, she didn't know what to do with them. What she finally decided was to put them in one of the empty dresser drawers that had once held Mimi's lingerie.

Downstairs, Charlotte had just turned on the vacuum cleaner when she felt the cell phone in her apron pocket vibrating against her stomach as it rang. With a frustrated sigh, she switched off the vacuum and answered the call.

“Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”

“Charlotte, Bitsy Duhe here.”

Charlotte crossed her fingers. Maybe Bitsy had changed her mind about wanting her to work on Saturday, after all. “Hi, Bitsy,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Just checking to make sure you didn't forget about working tomorrow.”

Charlotte grimaced and uncrossed her fingers. “No, I didn't forget,” she said. “I'll be there at eight.”

“Well, I have to tell you, I'm as nervous as a long-tailed cat around a rocking chair. That son of mine would never come all this way unless he had something on his mind, and I'm pretty sure I know exactly what that something is.”

Please, not again, Charlotte thought. Dreading yet another monologue of complaints from the old lady, she decided to try a different tact with her. “Did you ask him why he was coming?”

There was a long silence before Bitsy finally answered. “Well, no, no I didn't. But what other reason would he have?”

Charlotte truly wanted to believe the best about people, and most of the time she tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt before passing judgment. “Maybe Bradley is homesick or maybe he simply misses you,” she suggested. “It's been a while since he came home, hasn't it?”

“Yes it has, and I'd like to believe that,” Bitsy said, her squeaky voice full of longing. “I really would, but knowing my son, it's not likely.”

“Don't borrow trouble, Bitsy. Try thinking positive,” Charlotte encouraged, and after once again reassuring the old lady that she would be there bright and early on Saturday morning, she ended the conversation and switched off the phone.

Charlotte sighed and dropped the phone back into her apron pocket. All she could do now was hope and pray that, for Bitsy's sake, Bradley was simply homesick, and not for the first time did she wish that she hadn't given in to Bitsy's pleas and agreed to work the extra day for her.

She shook her head. “Enough already,” she murmured. Tomorrow, along with the problems it might bring, would come all too soon. Charlotte turned the vacuum back on. It was today, the here and now, that concerned her, though.

As Charlotte vacuumed, once again she experienced the odd feeling she'd had when she first arrived—that she wasn't completely alone, that there was another presence there too, a restless, malevolent presence that was watching her. Again she tried to ignore the feeling, tried to tell herself she was being silly, but the feeling wouldn't go away.

Mimi's ghost?
Charlotte shook her head as if the action alone would dispel the unsettling thought. She'd never really completely made up her mind about whether she truly believed that ghosts existed, but she did believe that there were evil spirits in the world.

Charlotte shivered. “Just stop it,” she told herself. All the doors and windows were locked. She had checked to make sure. But telling herself that no one else was there and believing it were two different things. What if someone was already in the house when she got there? After all, the old house was huge, and there were all kinds of hiding places. Besides which, locked doors and windows wouldn't keep ghosts or evil spirits out.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” She jerked the vacuum cleaner around. “Enough's enough.” Yet, in spite of herself, she couldn't resist the urge to glance over her shoulder.

Of course, when she looked, there was nothing there, and she would have felt foolish except that the eerie feeling still persisted.

“Too much imagination and one too many horror movies,” she muttered, her words lost in the roar of the vacuum cleaner. And too many childhood tales about restless spirits haunting old houses where people had met untimely deaths at the hand of a murderer. It sometimes seemed that almost every old building in New Orleans boasted of a ghost at one time or another. Best thing, she figured, was to finish up as soon as possible and get the heck out of there.

Charlotte had almost finished vacuuming the double parlor. She figured that mopping the kitchen and dining room would only take another fifteen minutes or so, and by the time she finished, the clothes in the dryer would be dry. Once she put those away, she could leave.

A few minutes later, she was finally done in the parlor. She shut off the vacuum, unplugged it, and then began winding up the cord. Once the cord was secure, though, she suddenly froze. The weird feeling was back again and she could swear that she'd heard something.

But had she really heard something other than the clock ticking or was her imagination playing tricks on her again?

“Charlotte?”

At the sound of her name, fear seized Charlotte with a vengeance. With a startled shriek, she whirled around, ready to do battle with whatever demon was there.