Dusted to Death (18 page)

Charlotte closed the dishwasher and turned toward Louis. “I hadn’t thought of that—the disguise thing—but you’re probably right. So how on earth can we find him?”

Louis threw up a hand, as if to ward her off. “Now, don’t get your back up, but truth is, you probably won’t find him. The best thing you can do right now is take the information you have to Gavin Brown and let the police deal with it. They’ve got the resources to find him. Besides which, if this Scott fellow gets wind that you’re on to him, he’s liable to come after you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I also thought about telling Detective Brown about the duplicate letter openers.”

Louis nodded. “Good.” He abruptly glanced at his watch. “I hate to, but I’ve got to leave. Before I go, I want your promise that you’ll at least talk to Brown.” When Charlotte grimaced, he said, “I know you, Charlotte. If I don’t make you promise, you won’t do it.”

At this point, there wasn’t a whole lot else she could do, unless Benny was able to get Angel to open up. “Oh, okay, I’ll talk to him.”

Louis leveled a no-nonsense look at her. “Soon!”

“Yeah, yeah, soon,” she retorted. “Now get going, before you miss that flight.”

“Just one more thing,” Louis said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

Unable to do anything else, Charlotte nodded. “I promise.”

“Good.” He suddenly bent down and kissed her hard on the lips. Before she could think to respond, he released her and headed toward the door. Just as he reached the doorway, he paused and said, “And I still have something I want to talk to you about when I finish this Houston job.” Then he was gone.

L
ong after Louis left, Charlotte sat at her kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and replaying their conversation in her mind. What he said about Alex Scott changing his identity made sense, but even if he had, surely either Nick or Angel would eventually have recognized him.

Charlotte suddenly went stone-still. Maybe Nick Franklin
had
recognized Alex, even in disguise, thus the need for Alex to kill him. Then again, if her revenge theory was right, Alex Scott had intended on killing one of them anyway and setting up the other one to take the blame. Of course, Nick made a much easier target than Angel did, since Angel had a bodyguard.

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. Problem was, she had no proof of anything, just speculation. She’d promised Louis that she’d talk to Gavin Brown, but after past dealings with the surly detective, she wasn’t sure she could keep that promise. There was also the possibility that Benny was right when he’d said it was unlikely that the police would check further, since they thought they already had the killer in custody.

But you promised.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. After all, the detective had been thoughtful enough to warn her about the media, and, according to what Benny had said, he’d paid her a compliment…of sorts. Maybe she would keep her promise to Louis and talk to Brown after all, but right now thinking about it was giving her a headache.

Louis
.

Charlotte opened her eyes and stared out of the window. Though he hadn’t outright admitted it, she still suspected that he had flown back from Houston for the express purpose of checking up on her. What other reason could he have had?

A part of her was flattered that he cared that much. Yet another, more cynical, part figured that his actions were further confirmation that he didn’t think she had sense enough to take care of herself.

From the living room, Charlotte heard Sweety Boy squawking. “Great,” she whispered. She’d completely forgotten that his cage was still covered. With a sigh, she shoved back her chair. “I’m coming,” she called out. Given the little bird’s wild reaction whenever Louis was around, it was probably just as well that his cage was still covered.

After placing her empty cup inside the dishwasher, she hurried to the living room and straight to Sweety’s cage. “Sorry, little guy. I completely forgot.”

Out of the corner of her eye, the blinking light of her message machine caught her attention, a reminder of yet another thing she had to do. “Once I get dressed, then I’ll return those calls,” she told Sweety Boy.

Dreading having to return calls and explain herself, Charlotte took her time showering and dressing. Once dressed and knowing she was procrastinating, she made up her bed and gathered a load of clothes to be washed.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered on the way to the laundry room. “Just do it and get it over with.”

In the living room, she seated herself at her desk and took out a writing pad and pen. Pen poised above the pad, she hit the Play button on the machine. Between Maddie, Hank, Judith, and Louis, there were seven messages, all with the same theme. “Where are you? Why haven’t you called me back?” And so forth and so on, she thought, getting more aggravated the longer she thought about it. Then the eighth and last message played.

“Ms. LaRue, this is June at the flower shop. Remember, you asked me to call you if that same person came in and ordered flowers? Well, he did come in, and I have another bouquet of flowers to deliver to you, but this time I got his name. His name is Delbert O’Banion. If you’ll just give me a call when you get home, I’ll send the flowers over.”

As Charlotte stared at the answering machine, a slow smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Delbert—Bert—O’Banion had been in the same hospital that Joyce had stayed in for a while, but for different reasons. Because of the loss of his beloved wife, Bert was being treated for depression. And because he’d helped Charlotte when she’d been trying to find out who had murdered Joyce, he’d put himself in danger.

Charlotte’s smile widened. Bert had offered to make a trade. He’d been willing to give Charlotte some vital information for her promise to call and persuade his daughter to get him out of the hospital.

Evidently, her phone call to his daughter had done the trick. The fact that he was able to go to the florist and order flowers had to mean that his daughter had listened and that he was well enough to be out on his own again, thus the flowers and the thank-you note.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Charlotte told Sweety. Her smile suddenly faded. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. One bouquet of flowers was enough to say thank you, but two bouquets…was it possible? “Oh, no,” she murmured. Surely Bert hadn’t decided that he wanted some kind of romantic relationship with her. “Just what I need,” she groaned. “Or I should say, just what I don’t need.”

Charlotte knew that just thinking about such a thing would drive her crazy, so she made a concerted effort to shove all thoughts of Bert aside for the moment. Mentally rehearsing what she’d decided to tell all of her callers, she tapped out her sister’s phone number. She’d decided to stick as close to the truth as possible, and simply say that she had to make a quick overnight trip to Mississippi for business purposes and forgot to turn on her cell phone.

Her sister answered on the third ring, and then she began her explanation. Just as she hung up after returning the last of her phone calls, her telephone rang. “Now who could that be?” she murmured, not recognizing the caller ID. Since she’d just talked to almost every member in her family, she decided that the caller had to be either a prospective client or someone trying to sell her something. “Or someone wanting a donation,” she grumbled.

One way to find out. She picked up the receiver. “Maid-for-a-Day, Charlotte speaking.”

“Ms. LaRue, I’m calling for Tom Rolland, the producer for Mega Films. We realize this is short notice, but Mr. Rolland is calling a cast and crew meeting this afternoon for three o’clock at the Duhè house to discuss the status of the movie. Can you make it?”

Charlotte glanced over at the cuckoo clock. It was almost noon, plenty of time. “Yes, I can be there.”

“Great, and thanks.”

Charlotte noticed that all of the street barricades had been removed when she parked in front of Bitsy’s house at a quarter to three that afternoon. All of the storage vans but the one that held Bitsy’s household items were gone as well.

“Not a good sign,” she murmured as she walked to the front porch and climbed the steps.

At the front door stood Samantha O’Reilly. “Hey, Charlotte, how are you?”

Charlotte smiled at the young woman. “I’m fine, and you?”

“I’m okay.”

Charlotte leaned close to Samantha, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “So, any clue about this meeting?”

Samantha shrugged. “Nothing official, but between you and me, I think they’re shutting it down.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Samantha opened the front door for her. “Everyone’s gathering in the front parlor.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Inside the parlor, every chair was occupied, so Charlotte joined several of the crew members who were standing near the back of the room. Most of the people she recognized, but some she didn’t.

As they waited for what seemed like forever, the building tension seemed to grow thicker as each minute passed. For at least the third time Charlotte glanced at her watch. Almost three, thank goodness. Then the door opened, and to her surprise she saw Heather Cortez, Toby Russell, and Simon Clark enter the room. Upon realizing that the room was almost full, all three lined up against the wall near the door.

Why on earth would Angel’s entourage show up? she wondered. Possibly to give Angel a firsthand account of the meeting, she finally decided, then frowned. But if that was the case, then where was Benny and where was Angel’s chef? Why hadn’t they showed up as well? She could understand why the chef wouldn’t have showed. Where and when he cooked was of no significance, and with Angel in jail, there was no reason for him to cook—period. As for Benny, since she hadn’t heard from him, she figured that he hadn’t got around to visiting Angel yet and probably didn’t want to chance having to explain why. Or he had visited Angel but was unable to persuade her to talk.

Charlotte’s frown deepened. Come to think of it, what about Angel’s lawyer? Shouldn’t he be the one to report back to Angel? She glanced around the room again, but didn’t see him. So why wasn’t he here?

Again, her gaze went to Angel’s entourage. The three that had showed had such somber expressions on their faces that anyone watching them would think they were attending a funeral instead of a business meeting. Of course in a way, it was a funeral of sorts, she decided. Unless the producer pulled off some kind of miracle, the movie was essentially dead as long as one of the main stars was in jail.

At three o’clock on the dot, a short balding man whom Charlotte didn’t recognize entered and walked to the front of the room. The minute he reached the front, the buzz of voices died out. Had to be Tom Rolland, she decided.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate everyone showing up, and I’ll be as brief as possible. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control, Mega Films has made the decision to put production on hold indefinitely.”

Charlotte sighed. No big surprise there. It was just as she’d thought. Even though she’d expected that the movie would be shut down, just thinking about it and it actually happening were two different things. With the exception of herself, most of the people in the room were now out of a job. Even worse, Angel was still in jail for a crime she didn’t commit, and this meant that, like Benny had said, Mega Films had truly abandoned their main star.

And what about Hunter Lansky? He wasn’t getting any younger, and it had been a long time since she’d heard of him making a movie. What if this was to have been his last chance on the big screen?

While Charlotte listened with half an ear as Tom Rolland continued talking, she glanced around the room for one last look at the movie star that she’d idolized. Unable to find him the first time, she began searching for him again. With a twinge of disappointment, she finally realized that he wasn’t there. It would have been nice to see him just one more time, but whom could she ask about him? Max Morris, the director, might know, but so far she hadn’t seen Max either. Maybe Heather knew where Hunter was and what would happen to him.

Charlotte shifted her gaze to Heather Cortez. Beside Heather, Toby Russell had leaned down and was whispering something in her ear. As if sensing that Charlotte was staring at her, Heather glanced her way, smiled, and gave her a little wave.

Charlotte smiled back. Then Toby turned his head to see who had caught Heather’s attention. Though his dark eyes flickered in recognition, it was as if his somber expression had suddenly turned to stone.

As he continued to stare at her, Charlotte willed her smile to stay in place and nodded at him. When Toby gave no reaction whatsoever but continued staring at her with his cold, dark eyes, an ominous, uneasy feeling whispered through her. A bit unnerved, she quickly looked away.

What on earth was his problem? she wondered, and was tempted to take another peek at him, just in case her imagination was playing tricks on her again. Resisting temptation for the moment, she tried instead to concentrate on what Tom Rolland was saying, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling she’d experienced when Toby had looked at her.

“And in conclusion,” Tom Rolland said, “we will be in touch if anything changes. Now, are there any questions?”

When the producer searched the room for anyone who might have a question, Charlotte took the opportunity to glance at Toby again. As if he’d read her mind, he looked straight at her.

Though Charlotte quickly looked away, the sudden shock of recognition shook her to the core. In that moment, she realized why the old newspaper picture of Alex Scott had looked so familiar.

In spite of the bodyguard being at least ten years older and seventy-five pounds of pure muscle heavier, and in spite of his head being shaved and his nose a bit different, there was definitely something about him that bore resemblance to that picture of Alex Scott. Not a smack-you-in-the-face resemblance, but it was there. Possibly the eyes were the giveaway, she decided.

“Since there are no questions,” Tom Rolland said, “then that concludes our meeting. Again, thank you.”

Chairs scraped, the buzz of voices grew louder, and the crowd surged toward the door, but Charlotte stood frozen to the spot, her mind racing.

Toby Russell and Alex Scott were the same person. She was sure of it. But how had he slipped detection? She could understand him not being recognized. Ten years was a long time, and to be fair, it had only been a couple of days since she’d seen the picture of the teenage Alex Scott. Even so, surely, Angel’s people would have run a background check on him. While she didn’t doubt Louis’s suggestion that he could have forged a new identity, it was still hard, if not impossible, to believe that Alex Scott could have gotten away with such a thing.

Even worse, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he suspected that she’d recognized him. Why else would he have been staring a hole through her?

“Ms. LaRue?”

Charlotte gave a start, then jerked her head around to see who had called out her name. Tom Rolland was making a beeline straight for her.

“May I speak to you a moment?” the producer asked.

Get a grip, Charlotte. Snap out of it. Toby could be watching you. Just act natural, for Pete’s sake.

She swallowed hard, finally remembered to nod, and blurted, “Sure.”

“Could you be available tomorrow?”

“To-tomorrow?”

“The crew will be moving out our equipment and putting Mrs. Duhè’s stuff back. I’d like for you to help oversee the placement of Mrs. Duhè’s things. Then, once the crew is finished, the house will need a good cleaning. Is that okay with you?”

“Ah, well, sure. Wh-what time should I show up?” she asked.