Dusted to Death (19 page)

“I think midmorning would be early enough, say around ten or so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Dalton before he leaves.”

Before she could say anything further, he turned away and hurried to where Dalton had gathered his crew in the corner of the room.

Chancing a glance over to where Toby had been standing, she was relieved to see that the space was empty. The last thing she wanted was to run into him. After a quick search of the room to reassure herself that he had truly left, she was able to breathe much easier.

Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?
the annoying voice in her head accused.

Not this time
, she argued.

Sure, her revelation about Toby was just a feeling, but a feeling based somewhat on fact. Charlotte shivered. Besides, experience was a hard taskmaster, and she’d learned a long time ago to trust those types of feelings. Better safe than sorry was her motto.

Now, if she could just make it home and place that phone call to Detective Gavin Brown, like she’d promised Louis, she’d feel a whole lot safer. Too bad she hadn’t had the foresight to make a copy of that picture of Alex that she’d found in Oakdale.

“Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,” she murmured sarcastically.

And what if Detective Brown doesn’t believe you?

One step at a time
, she argued.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it
.

Hoping that Samantha O’Reilly was still standing guard at the front door and could be persuaded to walk her to her van, Charlotte left the room. Only a few people still lingered in the foyer, but no sign of Toby, thank goodness.

Charlotte hurried to the entrance door.

What if she’s gone, and he’s just waiting for you to step outside?

That thought brought her up short. At the door, she cautiously peeked outside, first to her right and then to her left. Toby was nowhere to be seen. Then she saw Samantha O’Reilly on the porch just a few feet away talking to another security guard, and relief washed through her.

Samantha smiled when Charlotte approached her. “Well, I’m told that they’re shutting it down; just exactly what we expected, huh?”

Not exactly, Charlotte thought. She certainly hadn’t expected Toby Russell and Alex Scott to be the same person. But she nodded anyway. “Yeah, they’re shutting it down.”

“That’s too bad. Guess that old saying ‘The show must go on’ doesn’t apply in situations like this one.”

“Guess not,” Charlotte agreed absently, her gaze searching the front lawn and farther to where her van was parked. So far, so good. Still no sign of Toby. She turned her attention back to Samantha. “Ah, Sam, listen, could you do me a favor? Could you escort me to my van?”

Samantha frowned. “Sure, no problem. Is something wrong?”

Should she confide in Samantha or not?

What? So she can run and call Louis?

Not, she decided. Charlotte had no doubt that Samantha would call Louis, and if she called him, then he’d probably hop the next plane back to New Orleans…again. Besides, hadn’t she made a big deal out of being able to take care of herself? Well, it was time to put up or shut up.

Searching frantically for a viable excuse, Charlotte summoned a smile that she hoped looked reassuring. Then the perfect excuse popped into her head. “No, nothing’s wrong, not exactly; but I am a little worried about running into that pesky reporter again.” Not a lie, not exactly. Though she hadn’t thought of the reporter until that moment, it was true that she didn’t want to cross paths with him again. “And speaking of Bruce King, will you be here again in the morning? I’ve been asked to work tomorrow,” she explained, “and I’d feel a lot safer if you were here.”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here with bells on, right up until the time that Ms. Duhè returns home.”

Charlotte nodded. “Thanks. That’s a relief.”

Samantha motioned toward the steps. “Ready to go?” she asked.

Charlotte scanned the distance between Bitsy’s house and where she’d parked. There were several cars and vans lined up alongside the curbs on both sides of the street, but still no sign of Toby. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m ready.”

Once at Charlotte’s van, Samantha stood near the driver’s side and waited until Charlotte was safely inside and had locked the doors. The moment Charlotte cranked the engine, Samantha called out, “See you tomorrow,” and, with a wave to Charlotte, headed back to the house.

Before Samantha reached the porch, Charlotte was well on her way, headed down the street toward Magazine. Before she reached the end of the block, she glanced into her rearview mirror and noticed that a black SUV was following her from a distance.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes suspiciously. If memory served her right, that particular SUV was the same one that had been parked not far from her van in front of Bitsy’s house. Then again, she could be a bit paranoid. Nope, not paranoid this time, she decided. It had to be the same one. The one parked in front of Bitsy’s had sported a fleur-de-lis sticker on one side of the front bumper, and an I LOVE NEW ORLEANS sticker on the other side. Even as far back as the SUV was, the stickers stood out, just one of the reasons she’d noticed it in the first place. Ever since Hurricane Katrina, the fleur-de-lis had become known as the symbol for New Orleans’s recovery. For months she’d been thinking about getting one of the stickers for her van.

By the time Charlotte reached the next block, the black SUV was still behind her, only much closer. At the stop sign, she peered into the rearview mirror, hoping to see the driver, but the windows were tinted too darkly.

“I thought that was against the law,” she murmured as she drove through the intersection. In fact, she was sure that several years back the Louisiana legislature had passed a law against tinting windows that dark, mostly to protect the policemen from being taken unaware when stopping vehicles for suspicious activity or traffic violations.

Coincidence, she told herself. Surely it was just coincidence that the SUV happened to be traveling the same route. So why the ominous feeling in her gut?

There was one way to find out for sure, she thought, as she approached Magazine Street. Charlotte flicked on her blinker, indicating she was turning left, and stopped at the intersection. A moment later, behind her, the turn signal of the SUV began blinking, indicating a left turn as well.

Keeping her eyes on the passing traffic, she waited for just the right moment. Suddenly, there was a brief break in traffic. Charlotte gunned the motor and turned right. Brakes squealed and a horn blared from the car she’d cut off, but Charlotte ignored it. The important thing was that the SUV was stuck back at the intersection momentarily.

Keeping a wary eye on the rearview mirror, Charlotte breathed a tentative sigh of relief when a few moments later there was still no sign of the SUV. As she approached the intersection of Magazine and General Taylor, she began to breathe even easier. Then as she approached Marengo Street she glanced into the rearview mirror yet another time, and instant fear shot through her. The SUV again, and only two cars separated it from her van.

Along with fear, panic welled in her throat. Her street, Milan Street, was just half a block away. What to do? What to do?

You need to buy time to think
.

Charlotte gripped the steering wheel tighter, and eased her foot off the accelerator to slow the van down. Now what?

Think, Charlotte, think
.

There was a good chance that the driver didn’t know her address, else why would he be following her in broad daylight, especially since she was listed in the phone book, for Pete’s sake, and anyone could find her? Had to be a spur-of-the-moment decision to go after her, she finally decided. Even so, there was no way she was going to lead him right up to her doorstep.

Charlotte continued driving slowly and passed up the turnoff to Milan Street. So what now? Should she just keep driving or…

Suddenly, out of the blue, she knew exactly what she should do, and she grinned. “I’ll fix his wagon,” she whispered.

T
he next street past Milan was General Pershing, followed by Napoleon Avenue. About halfway between General Pershing and Napoleon Avenue was the Second District Police Station.

Just as Charlotte approached the police station, a police cruiser pulled away from the curb in the restricted parking zone in front of the station. Knowing she was probably inviting a traffic ticket, Charlotte immediately pulled into the empty space anyway. She’d gladly risk a ticket if it meant shaking the man tailing her.

“Now follow me, sucker,” she muttered, watching as the SUV slowed when it approached the spot where she’d parked. Then, as if the driver suddenly realized why she’d stopped and where she’d parked, he gunned his motor and whizzed past her, continuing on up Magazine.

Her heart pounding with victory, Charlotte shook her fist at him. “Yeah, run, you coward!”

Once she was sure that the SUV wasn’t going to stop, she immediately hopped out of the van and headed straight for the entrance door to the station. As long as she was here, she figured it was the perfect time to keep her promise to Louis and talk to Gavin Brown.

Inside the station, she approached the information desk.

“Can I help you?” the young officer behind the desk asked.

Charlotte nodded. “I need to talk to Detective Gavin Brown.”

The officer tapped some keys on a computer keyboard in front of him, then shook his head. “Sorry, but Detective Brown doesn’t work out of this district. He’s with the Sixth District.”

For a second Charlotte was speechless; then it hit her. Of course! Duh! Bitsy’s house was located in the Garden District, which was policed by the Sixth District, thus the reason Gavin Brown had been assigned the case. This station was the Second District and policed the Uptown area, including her street.

“Can someone else help you?” the officer asked.

Thoroughly embarrassed for making such a gaffe, Charlotte backed away, shaking her head. “Ah, no—no, thank you.” She’d lived in New Orleans all of her life, for Pete’s sake, and should have known better. “I really need to speak to Detective Brown,” she reiterated.

Fear, she decided. Coming on the heels of her revelation about Toby’s real identity, and then being followed, she’d immediately assumed that the driver was Toby, out to get her. She’d been so frightened that everything else, including common sense, had gone right out of her head.

“In that case, you’ll need to go to Felicity Street, off of Martin Luther King Boulevard. The address is—”

“I know the address,” she blurted, cutting him off. Of course she knew the address, knew exactly where it was located. “But thanks so much anyway,” she quickly added, not wanting to appear ungrateful.

Outside the station, Charlotte searched up and down the street as she dug her keys out of her purse. With no sign of the black SUV in sight, she walked quickly to her van.

Now the big question, she thought, as she locked the doors and shoved the key into the ignition. Should she go home or head directly for Martin Luther King Boulevard?

Charlotte glanced at her watch. Neither, she decided. No way was she taking a chance that the driver of the black SUV might have gotten hold of a telephone book, and even now be parked, waiting for her in front of her house. But, at the same time, it was getting late, and there was a good possibility that Gavin Brown might not be working. Why drive over there if she didn’t have to? Her best choice would be to call the detective first and decide where to go after she’d talked to him.

She opened up her purse. Now, where had she put his business card? She searched the inside of her purse, her thoughts going back to when he’d given her the card. If she remembered right, she’d dropped it inside her apron pocket. But had she ever transferred it from the apron to her purse?

It would be a cold day in Hades before she ever called him.

Charlotte swallowed hard, remembering her thoughts when the detective had handed her his card. “Guess it finally turned cold in Hades,” she murmured.

Now, what did she do with that card? Just as she rezipped one of the inside pockets, she suddenly recalled that she’d slipped the card inside the small zippered pocket located on the outside of her purse.

Sure enough, it was there, right where she’d put it. There were two phone numbers listed on the card: his office number and a cell number. As she pulled out her cell phone, she glanced around again, just to make sure there was still no sign of the black SUV. Satisfied that there wasn’t a black SUV in sight, she turned her attention back to the card. She’d try the station number first. After six rings, his voice mail kicked in, inviting her to leave a message.

“Detective Brown, this is Charlotte LaRue, and I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s urgent,” she added, and then gave him both her home phone number and her cell phone number.

Next, she tapped out his cell phone number. As it rang, she glanced nervously up and down the street. So far, so good. Still no black SUV.

“Yeah, this is Brown,” a voice interrupted the ringing.

“Detective Brown, this is Charlotte LaRue. I need to see you right away.”

“Is this an emergency?”

“No, I don’t guess it is, but I still need to see you right away. I’ve got some information you should hear.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Charlotte sighed impatiently. What part of “right away” did he not understand? “No, it can’t.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m on Magazine near the Second District Police Station.”

“Okay, how about I meet you at Joey K’s, say, in about thirty minutes?”

Charlotte glanced around again, making sure that there was still no sign of the SUV. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

Joey K’s was a neighborhood restaurant on Magazine Street, located not far from where she was at the moment. Charlotte looked at her watch. The restaurant was open for dinner at five; since it was close to five, maybe she’d go ahead and get there early enough to order something and eat while waiting for the detective to show. One thing for sure: she’d be a lot safer inside the restaurant, surrounded by people, than simply sitting in her van. She also figured that since she would be doing most of the talking, it would be better if she were done eating by the time he got there.

When traffic permitted, Charlotte pulled the van out onto Magazine, then turned at Napoleon and U-turned back to Magazine. Turning left, she retraced the route she’d taken to get to the police station. A few minutes later, she couldn’t believe her luck when she spotted a parking spot that was almost directly across the street from Joey K’s.

Still a bit jumpy about the SUV, she took a good look around before she finally unlocked her door and slid out of the van.

Inside the homey restaurant, wonderful aromas filled the air and served to fuel her hunger pangs. She chose a table close to the entrance. Since it was early, there weren’t that many customers, but Charlotte knew that would change the later it got. Joey K’s was always busy.

Charlotte didn’t even look at the menu. She already knew what was on it and knew what she was going to order. When the waitress approached her table, the temptation to throw caution to the wind and order her favorite, an oyster po’ boy with a side of onion rings, was really strong. Caution prevailed, though, and she ordered her next favorite item. “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad and a cup of gumbo,” she told the waitress. “Unsweetened iced tea to drink, please.”

By the time Gavin Brown arrived, Charlotte’s food had also arrived. “That looks good,” he told her, seating himself across the table.

Charlotte nodded and swallowed the bite of salad she’d been chewing. “It is good,” she said, and forked up another bite.

While she finished up her salad, the detective signaled for the waitress, then placed an order. “I’ll have coffee and a catfish po’ boy dressed,” he told her. Once the waitress left, he turned his attention to Charlotte. “Okay, what’s so urgent that it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Charlotte blotted her mouth with her napkin. “I know who killed Nick Franklin, and it wasn’t Angel.”

Gavin Brown rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy, here we go again.” He leaned forward menacingly, and in a voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, “And this is your big revelation that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Charlotte stiffened at his contemptuous tone. Sudden anger ripped through her. “Look,” she lashed out, breathless with rage. “I’m tired, I’m scared, and I need help. What I don’t need is some egotistical jerk who has to belittle someone else to make himself feel important. I am not an idiot and I’m not a fool. If you don’t want to listen to what I’ve got to say, then I’ll find someone in the Sixth who will.”

The detective narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

At that moment the waitress brought the detective’s coffee. By an unspoken mutual consent, neither spoke, both waiting for the woman to leave. Charlotte used the moment to get her temper under control. Now that he was actually listening to her, she didn’t want to blow it.

When the waitress walked away, the detective nodded at Charlotte. “Okay, now why don’t you start from the beginning and bring me up to speed?”

Feeling somewhat calmer and choosing her words carefully, she began her story with Benny’s visit and his plea for her help. She told him about the overnight trip to Mississippi and what she and Benny had uncovered about Alex Scott, Nick Franklin, and Angel. Then she told him about the old newspaper picture of Alex Scott that she’d seen in the library. “When I saw that picture, I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, but I just couldn’t remember where. So then I started thinking and came up with a theory.” While she explained her theory about Alex Scott getting his revenge by murdering Nick Franklin and setting up Angel to take the blame, Gavin sipped his coffee. Though he’d yet to say a word or offer a comment, she could tell that he was listening…finally, really listening.

When the waitress appeared with the detective’s sandwich, Charlotte stopped a moment, long enough to take a sip of tea. Once the waitress left, she continued. “Like I said, the moment I saw that old newspaper picture, I knew that it reminded me of someone I’d seen before. Then today Tom Rolland, the producer of the movie, called a meeting of the cast and crew and announced that they’re shutting it down indefinitely. Some of Angel’s entourage was there, including her bodyguard, Toby Russell. The moment I saw him, everything clicked. Though he looks completely different now and is using a different name, Toby Russell and Alex Scott are the same person.”

When a look of skepticism crossed Gavin Brown’s face, Charlotte rushed on. “Only problem, somehow he knows that I know. I could tell from the way he kept glaring at me. Then, when I left the meeting, a black SUV followed me. I’d be willing to bet my last dime that Toby Russell was the driver.”

Charlotte paused a moment and took a deep breath. Suddenly, she remembered something else she needed to tell him. “I almost forgot. You know that letter opener—the murder weapon?” When he nodded, she said, “Nobody probably bothered to tell you, but they always have at least two duplicates of each main prop.”

Gavin suddenly stiffened, and he didn’t look quite as skeptical as he had in the beginning.

Satisfied that she was finally making headway and really had his attention, she said, “I’ve thought about it and thought about it, but couldn’t come up with anything to dispute Angel’s fingerprints on that letter opener. Then I remembered about the props, and finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out, and what about the props?”

Charlotte quickly explained. “The prop department always supplies at least two duplicates of an important prop. The day before the murder was discovered, Angel shot a scene where she had to use the letter opener. It would have been easy for anyone who had access to the props to take one of the other two, stab Nick, then replace it with the one that Angel had handled the day before. All the killer had to do was”—Charlotte shivered at the thought—“smear a little blood on the prop that had Angel’s fingerprints.”

When Charlotte didn’t say any more, Gavin asked, “Is that it?”

Her lips thinned in aggravation. “Are you still being sarcastic?” she shot back.

The detective sighed deeply, and after a moment, he slowly shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No sarcasm this time.”

“Then, yes, that’s it.”

He nodded, stared at her a moment more, then pulled out a notebook and pen. “Okay, then, once more from the beginning.”

Charlotte was so thrilled that he was actually interested enough to go through it again that she didn’t mind getting grilled for the next half hour, while he jotted down names and information.

When he finally closed the notebook, he said, “Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”

“Then you really believe me?” For some perverse reason, she needed to hear him admit it out loud.

“Let’s just say that there’s a lot here—” He tapped the notebook with his forefinger. “A lot that I need to check into before this goes any further. Now—once again—do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”

Not exactly an admission out loud, but pretty close, she decided. Charlotte nodded. “I can stay with my sister, but I’ll need a couple of things from home—some medications I take.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow you home, then follow you to your sister’s house. One thing, though, if, at any time, you see that black SUV, don’t stop. Just keep driving, and remember, I’ll be right behind you.”

During the drive to her house, Charlotte phoned her sister. “Maddie, are you up for company tonight? I need a place to stay.”

“What’s happened?” Madeline asked, a note of alarm in her voice. “Are you okay?”

Shades of déjà vu, thought Charlotte. The last time she’d stayed at her sister’s house overnight had also been because of her involvement in a murder investigation. “I’m fine, Maddie, and I’ll explain everything when I get there. Okay?”

A few minutes later Charlotte pulled into her driveway, and Gavin Brown pulled in right behind her. When she slid out of her van, he stuck his head out of the window and said, “I’ll wait out here for you.”