Death Tidies Up (8 page)

“S
urely Louis is mistaken,” Charlotte insisted. But even as she denied the possibility, she knew that the half-naked dead man in the closet upstairs was truly Drew Bergeron. That was why he had seemed familiar, why she'd thought she had seen him before. She
had
seen him before.

Because he was supposed to have already been dead, her conscious mind had rejected recognition, but her subconscious had identified him as someone she knew.

“The victim still has to be officially I.D.'d,” Judith told her, “but since Lou once had some dealings with Bergeron, unless the body upstairs is a twin, he's almost one hundred percent certain the I.D. will check out. No trace of Bergeron's body was ever found in the wreckage after his so-called accident, so it's very likely that he bailed out before his plane exploded.”

“But why—How is that possible?” Charlotte asked.

“Easy,” Judith said. “His plane exploded twenty miles out into the Gulf of Mexico. Since there were a lot of sharks around, everyone just assumed…” She shrugged.

“No.” Charlotte shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. “That's not what I meant. If the man is Drew Bergeron, then, like you said, he probably bailed out. Either he was rescued and had amnesia—which isn't very likely—or he had to have staged his first death. What I meant was, why would he have done such a thing?”

“That's what we're going to have to find out,” Judith replied. “Once we know why, then we might have a better idea as to who killed him.”

Judith turned to Janet and Cheré. “I know we've already been over everything, but this time I need you to tell me exactly what happened again, starting from the time you entered the house. We need to know just how much of the evidence has been disturbed. Let's start with you, Mrs. Davis.”

As Charlotte watched Janet and Judith walk off toward the end of the hallway, memories of the first time she'd met Drew Bergeron and his wife, Katherine, swirled through her mind…

Katherine.
“Oh no,” she groaned.

Abruptly, Judith and Janet glanced her way, and Cheré turned toward her. As if by design, almost in unison they asked, “What's wrong?”

“I just thought about Katherine—Drew's wife,” Charlotte explained. She shook her head slowly. “That poor, poor woman.”

Judith and Janet walked back to join Charlotte and Cheré. “What about Katherine?” Judith asked her.

“Can you imagine? For the past two years she's thought that her husband was dead. And now this.” She shuddered. “Horrible—it's just horrible. She's already been through one funeral for him, and now—” She shook her head again. “Now she'll have to go through it all again.”

“I wouldn't feel too sorry for her yet,” Judith cautioned in a stern tone. “She might have been in on it.”

Charlotte frowned. “In on it?” she repeated. “But why would she—”

“All kinds of reasons, Auntie.
All
kinds,” she emphasized. “And money's at the top of the list. Now—” She motioned at Cheré. “Your turn, Ms. Warner.”

In spite of what Judith had implied about Katherine Bergeron, Charlotte couldn't seem to stop thinking about her as she watched Judith question Cheré at the end of the hallway.

When Cheré and Judith joined Charlotte and Janet again, Judith addressed them all. “I'm going to need written statements from each of you. I'll get one of the patrolmen to take you to the precinct, and once you've given your statements there, you're free to go home.” She reached out and took Charlotte's hand. “How about it, Auntie? Are you up to giving a statement?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I'm fine,” she snapped. “Please stop being such a worrywart.”

Judith squeezed her hand before releasing it. “You just remember what I said about calling Hank.”

“I'll make sure she calls him,” Cheré offered.

“Gee, thanks, Cheré,” Charlotte drawled sarcastically. “Just what I need. Two conspirators.”

Cheré flashed her a sassy smile. “You're welcome,” she quipped. “And it's only because we love you.”

Judith cleared her throat to get their attention. “One last thing. I'm going to need the shoes you're wearing, fingerprints, and a DNA sample—head hair will do—everyone but you, Ms. Coleman, since you didn't go upstairs at all.”

Judith ignored their protests. “And Aunt Charley—” Her lips thinned with disapproval. “I understand why you did it, but if you ever run across a dead body again—God forbid—
do not
go near it.”

“But I didn't know if—”

Judith held up a hand. “I realize that, Auntie, but you can get into big trouble. You might even be taken into custody as a suspect, and I might not be around to smooth things over.”

 

It was midafternoon before Charlotte was finally able to go home. Despite her vigorous protest, none of her crew would hear of her driving herself home. Instead, Cheré drove Charlotte's van. Since Janet had caught a ride with Emily that morning, she followed in Cheré's car. Emily brought up the rear of their little caravan in her vehicle, so she could pick up Janet.

True to her word, Cheré refused to leave until Charlotte phoned Hank. While Charlotte dialed the number, Cheré entertained herself by playing with Sweety Boy. From the moment they had entered the room, the little parakeet had begun his normal routine of squawking and pacing back and forth on his perch, all designed to get attention.

As it turned out, Hank had to be paged.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” Charlotte asked Cheré as she hung up the phone.

Cheré had her finger in the birdcage, rubbing the back of the little bird's head. “Starving,” she quipped, pulling her finger from the cage. “Hey, we could order a pizza?”

“Sounds good to me. Why don't you order while I see about a salad? I think I have some of that prepackaged stuff in the refrig. I usually add a few carrots and tomatoes to it, if that's okay with you?”

“Sounds great. Pepperoni, mushrooms, and onions on the pizza okay with you?”

Charlotte nodded. “And order extra sauce too,” she suggested. “They never put enough sauce on it,” she muttered.

While Cheré ordered the pizza, Charlotte headed for the kitchen. Within minutes, Cheré joined her. “The pizza should be here in about twenty minutes,” she told Charlotte. “Now, what can I do to help?”

Charlotte held out a tomato and a bag of raw baby carrots. “You can wash these.”

Within minutes, the salads were ready. Cheré suggested that they should go ahead and eat while waiting for the delivery of the pizza, and Charlotte agreed. They had just sat down at the table when the phone rang.

“That's probably Hank,” Charlotte murmured as she stood. Motioning toward Cheré's plate, she added, “Don't wait on me. Go ahead and eat.”

Charlotte hurried into the living room and snatched up the phone receiver. “Maid-for-a-Day. Charlotte speaking.”

“Momma, what's wrong?” Hank asked with an edge of worry in his voice.

“Why does anything have to be wrong for me to talk to my own son?”

“Mother, the only times you've ever paged me was because
something
was wrong.”

“Yes, well, I guess you have a point.” Charlotte hesitated, dreading having to explain everything. She hated giving him any more excuses than he'd already come up with to nag her about retiring.

“Mother?”

“Well,
I
don't think there's anything wrong,” she hedged, “but Judith insisted that I call you.”

“Call me about what?”

“It's nothing—really it isn't. Judith's just being a worrywart as usual.”

“Mother! Out with it.”

“Oh, okay, I fainted.” She said it quickly, as if by doing so, it wouldn't be such a big deal.

“You fainted! And you don't think anything's wrong? What am I going to do with you? Mother, people don't faint for no reason.”

“Well, I was a bit stressed out at the moment.”

“O-kaay.” When he stretched the word out, then sighed heavily, she almost grinned. In her mind's eye, she could picture the exasperated frown he always got when he was at the end of his patience. “Start from the beginning, please,” he finally said, “and tell me
exactly
what happened.”

Once she'd told him everything, she had to listen for endless minutes while he lectured her on the dangers of ignoring certain warning signs at her age, and it seemed to take forever to end the conversation.

“Enough, already,” she finally told him, interrupting his spiel about regular checkups. “I get the message, loud and clear.”

“Now, Mother, don't go getting stubborn on me. You know I love you, and it's for your own good.”

“And I love you too,” she told him, “but I'm not senile yet, son. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do than stand around lecturing your mother.”

 

When Charlotte returned to the kitchen, Cheré took one look at her and asked, “Gave you a hard time, didn't he?”

With a sigh, Charlotte seated herself at the table again. “He wants me to have some tests run, and he's setting up an appointment with a colleague of his for me to see next week.”

“Good. Better safe than sorry.”

Charlotte scooped up a forkful of salad. “I suppose so,” she agreed, somewhat grudgingly, “but if you ask me, it's just a lot of fuss over nothing.” Or was it? she wondered uneasily. Were Hank and Judith right? Was she just being too stubborn for her own good? She had been feeling more tired lately, but she also had been working longer hours than usual. She'd just put the bite of salad in her mouth when the doorbell rang.

“Pizza time,” Cheré quipped.

“Oh, great,” Charlotte grumbled around the mouthful of food as she shoved away from the table.

Cheré pointed at her. “Stay put and eat your salad. I'll get it.”

 

Charlotte was more than ready for a hot shower and bed by the time Cheré finally left. She'd just stepped into the shower when she heard the muted ring of the telephone.

“Too bad,” she muttered as she turned her face into the warm spray. Whoever was calling would just have to leave a message on the machine.

By the time she'd finished her shower and pulled on her favorite cotton pajamas, Charlotte was sorely tempted to not even check the answering machine. She was tired, both mentally and physically, and images of Drew Bergeron's dead eyes staring out at her from beneath the purple Mardi Gras mask kept swimming through her mind. If she could just sink into the oblivion of sleep, maybe the images would stop haunting her.

But even as she neatly folded back the comforter and quilt on her bed, the thought of that infernal blinking light on the message machine kept nagging her.

“Oh, all right, already,” she muttered, finally giving in. She'd always been too curious for her own good, and at times, it drove her crazy. And though she hated to admit it, she knew the real reason she couldn't ignore the call was because of her superstitious nature. It never failed that the one call she ignored would end up being something really important.

Charlotte stomped off toward the living room. Besides, she reasoned, she still had to cover Sweety Boy's cage for the night, and just because she listened to the message didn't necessarily mean she had to return the call.

Charlotte hit the play button on the machine then walked over to Sweety Boy's cage.

“Hi, Charlotte, it's me.”

The message was from her sister, Madeline, and Charlotte felt the old familiar dread well up from within as she pulled the cover over the birdcage. She hated feeling that way about her own flesh and blood, but Madeline could be a real pain to deal with at times.

“What's this about you fainting? You've never fainted in your life, not that I remember anyway.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she checked to make sure she'd locked and bolted the front door. Having a close family had its advantages, and her family was closer than most. Their parents had been killed when Madeline was fifteen. Charlotte, only twenty herself at the time and a single mother, had taken over raising her sister as well as her own two-year-old son. But having a close family also meant that everyone knew everyone else's business. Evidently Judith had wasted no time in calling her mother.

“And why aren't you answering this call?” Madeline continued. “Surely you haven't gone to bed already. It's only eight o'clock, for Pete's sake. Only old people go to bed this early, and just because you're turning sixty doesn't mean you're that old yet—unless—unless you've passed out—” Madeline suddenly groaned. “Please tell me you haven't passed out again! But what if you have?” she murmured. “Charlotte? Charlotte!”

Several moments passed and Charlotte could hear her sister's harsh breathing on the recording. “Listen,” Madeline finally said. “If I don't hear back from you within the next fifteen minutes, I'm calling 911 and coming over there, so you'd better call me back.”

Sudden panic knifed through Charlotte. She rushed over to the phone and snatched up the receiver. How much time had passed? she wondered as she punched out her sister's number. Surely not a whole fifteen minutes yet. The very last thing she wanted was to have to deal with Madeline tonight, and she certainly didn't want the police or an ambulance showing up on her doorstep.

The call was answered on the second ring. “Charlotte?”

“Yes, Maddie, it's me. Please tell me you haven't called 911.”

“Why didn't you answer the phone the first time?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I was in the shower.”

“Well of course it's my business,” she snapped back. Then she snickered. “At least now I know how to get you to return my calls.”