Dusted to Death (21 page)

But in a nice way
.

Yeah, yeah. I guess
.

The moment she stepped inside into the center hall, she froze in disbelief. Boxes and furniture were stacked everywhere, leaving only a narrow path in the wide hall. After a moment, she made her way over to the doorway leading into the front parlor. None of Bitsy’s furniture was where it was supposed to be. Everything was such a mess that she wasn’t quite sure where to even begin cleaning.

Time to find Dalton, she decided as she edged her way down the hall through the boxes and furniture toward the kitchen.

The kitchen wasn’t in much better shape than the rest, but Dalton was there, standing at the breakfast table and peering down at what looked like at least a hundred photographs covering the top of the table. The prop manager was so absorbed in studying the pictures that he didn’t notice Charlotte until she walked over and stood right beside him.

He glanced up from the pictures. “Oh, hey, Charlotte, glad you could make it.” He motioned at the photos. “Afraid this is going to take a while, though. It will probably be later on this afternoon before you can actually start cleaning.”

Charlotte peered down at the pictures and immediately recognized that they were photos taken at every possible angle of each room in Bitsy’s house before Mega Films changed things. Charlotte turned her attention back to Dalton. “So, should I come back later?”

“You could do that.” He paused and eyed her with a calculating expression. “But—since you know the layout of the house so well, if you’re willing, I could actually use your help now.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Doing what?” she asked.

He gathered up several of the pictures. “Right now we’re trying to place the furniture back where it belongs, as well as make sure that all of Mrs. Duhè’s possessions are returned. If you’d be willing to help, we could get this done a lot faster and probably a lot more accurately. You could take the upstairs, while I take the downstairs.”

Sounded simple enough, so again Charlotte shrugged. “Okay.” Besides, she’d much rather be doing something than just sitting around waiting.

A huge grin split Dalton’s face. “Great! That’s great!” He handed her the stack of pictures. “In addition to making sure that all of her stuff is returned, we want to make sure that all of her paintings, knickknacks, books, lamps, and such, are put back in place where they belong.” He picked up a clipboard and removed some papers stapled together, then gave them to Charlotte. “This is an inventory of her things upstairs. Anything left over should belong to Mega Films and needs to be packed and loaded in that moving van outside. Just tell the moving team what you want them to do.”

Charlotte worked fast and furious for the rest of the morning, took a hasty lunch break, and then went back to work. It was late afternoon before everything had finally been placed where it belonged. Once she was satisfied with the second story of the house, with Dalton’s encouragement she double-checked what he had accomplished downstairs.

All of the boxes had been cleared out, and out of the full crew, only Dalton and a couple of other men remained. Except for a few minor adjustments in the parlor and a mix-up with some of Bitsy’s gadgets in the kitchen, the bottom story of the house was pretty much back to normal.

Charlotte was still rearranging Bitsy’s kitchen gadgets when Dalton walked into the room. “We finally got the moving van squared away,” he said. “Guess that about wraps things up for me, so I’m about to take off. Before I leave, though, I just wanted to thank you again.”

Charlotte nodded. “Glad I could help.”

Dalton motioned toward her supply carrier on the floor near the pantry. “Why don’t you take a break before you start cleaning?”

Charlotte shook her head and laughed. “I’m afraid if I stop now, I might never get started again.”

Dalton made a face. “Didn’t mean to wear you out.”

“You didn’t. Besides, there’s not a whole lot left to do. Mainly, just some dusting and vacuuming.”

“Okay—if you say so. Then I guess I’m out of here.” He gave her a two-fingered salute. “You take care now.”

With Dalton and the remaining men gone, the house was eerily quiet inside. Charlotte glanced at her watch and sighed. It was almost five. If she hurried, she should be finished by eight at the latest. She really should eat a bite of something now, though, so maybe she would take that break that Dalton suggested, after all.

All she had with her was a pack of peanut butter crackers in her purse. She glanced over at the refrigerator. “Wonder if they left any food,” she murmured. When she opened the refrigerator door and saw the small plastic container of mixed fruit, she smiled. “Perfect.”

After devouring the fruit, she washed it down with a bottle of water. Eyeing the assortment of gadgets piled on the counter with distaste, she said, “Upstairs first, then finish the kitchen last.” Grabbing her supply carrier on the way out, she headed for the stairs.

An hour later, Charlotte had completely dusted and vacuumed all of the rooms, including the bedroom that Angel had used. She glanced around the room one last time.

Cleaning that particular room had been really difficult, especially when it dawned on her that today was the one-week anniversary of the day that she’d found Nick Franklin’s body. The memory of Nick Franklin lying on the blood-soaked antique rug was still vividly etched in her mind and had disturbed her more than she would have thought it could.

Charlotte shook her head, as if the action would make the image in her mind disappear. “Enough already,” she whispered. “Get back to work.”

In the hallway, just outside that room, she checked her watch, then grimaced. Almost six. This was taking longer than she’d thought it would. She still needed to Windex the dresser mirrors and the ones in the bathrooms. They weren’t that dirty, though, so she could let that slide and move on to the ground floor.

She stared at the bottle of Windex in her supply carrier. She never had been the type to do a job halfway. Besides, it wouldn’t take but a few minutes more to clean the mirrors.

She bent down and removed the Windex, then frowned. Strange, she thought, staring at the roll of paper towels wedged lengthwise in the bottom of the supply carrier. The carrier wasn’t terribly big, so to conserve room, she always stood the roll up on end.

Setting the Windex aside, she grabbed the roll and tugged, but it was really jammed. Frowning, she got down on her knees, and using one hand to push against the edge of the supply carrier and the other hand to grasp hold of the roll of paper towels, she yanked hard.

When the roll suddenly popped loose, and two metal, oblong objects fell out from the cardboard tube in the middle of the roll, a startled cry escaped her.

For long moments, all she could do was stare in shock at the two missing letter openers. She swallowed hard. How on God’s green earth had they ended up stuffed inside the tube of her paper towel roll…in
her
supply carrier?

No wonder no one had been able to find them, but again how? And why
her
supply carrier?

Almost as soon as the questions popped into her head, so did the answer. “Duh,” she retorted, a bit disgusted with herself for not having thought of it before. It was the perfect place to hide them, and the perfect place to make sure that the police didn’t find them, especially if Toby couldn’t risk getting them off the premises without detection.

Charlotte shivered, and her mind raced, as it all began to make sense. Someone got word to Toby that she was snooping around, and when he’d seen her at the meeting and realized that she knew about his secret, he’d panicked. Or maybe he’d even thought that she’d already found the letter openers.

No wonder he’d followed her. Either way, he knew that, once she found them, she’d turn them over to the police. If that happened, then the police might decide to start digging into Nick’s murder a little deeper.

Her mind still racing, she thought of an additional possibility. What if he’d been careless, or in a hurry, when he’d hidden them? What if he was afraid that he’d left a fingerprint on them? If that were the case, he had to get the letter openers back, so he could dispose of them permanently.

Charlotte could feel a dull ache building behind her eyes. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, then opened them again. “Who knows?” she whispered. “Maybe he’d planned on retrieving them all along, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t done so.”

Right now, though, she needed to call Gavin Brown. The sooner, the better, she thought as she got to her feet. She glanced through the open doorway of the nearby bedroom. If she remembered right, there was a telephone in there.

“Oh, shoot,” she muttered, remembering that Gavin Brown’s business card was in her purse, and her purse was downstairs in the kitchen pantry. Carefully stepping over the letter openers, she walked quickly to the staircase, then hurried down the stairs.

Once in the kitchen, she retrieved the card from her purse and quickly dialed the first number listed on the detective’s card, his office number.

“Great,” she muttered when she got his voice mail instead. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the beep to sound. When it finally sounded, she said, “Detective Brown, this is Charlotte LaRue. I’m at Bitsy Duhè’s house, and I just found those other two letter openers. They were stuffed in the middle of the roll of paper towels that I keep in my supply carrier. Please come right away.”

Charlotte ended the call, then dialed the second number listed on the detective’s card, his cell phone number. Again, she got his voice mail, and again, she left him a message, then disconnected the call.

“Never a cop around when you need one,” she complained, and stuffed the card and her cell phone into her pants pocket. “Now what?” She stared into space for several moments and tried to decide what she should do next.

Samantha! Go tell Samantha.

“Good idea,” she murmured, and took off for the front door. When she reached the door, she opened it and stepped out onto the gallery.

Charlotte frowned. Where was Samantha? “Sam?” she called out tentatively. Then, louder, “Hey, Sam, where are you?” She strained her ears, listening for any sign that Samantha was still around. When several minutes passed and there was still no response, unease crawled up her spine.

Where was she? Surely she hadn’t left without letting Charlotte know, especially after what Charlotte had told her. Besides, she’d said she would be there until Bitsy came home.

Calm down. Just take a deep breath and calm down
.

Obeying the voice of reason, Charlotte breathed deeply until she felt calmer and could think more rationally. Spooked. She was spooked because of the letter openers. There had to be a logical reason why Samantha wasn’t around front. More than likely, she was making rounds and was probably around back instead.

Still uneasy, but feeling a bit more calm than before, Charlotte went inside the house. Just for good measure, she closed and locked the front door.

Retracing her steps, she returned to the kitchen and headed straight for the back door. “Please let Sam be in the backyard,” she whispered.

Just as Charlotte reached for the doorknob, the door burst open. Her eyes widened with fright.
Oh, dear Lord in heaven, I need help!
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she stumbled backward.

Run, Charlotte! Run!

She wanted to run, but her legs refused to cooperate.

“S
cream all you want,” Toby Russell yelled, slamming the door behind him. Before Charlotte had time to even think past her panic, he locked the door and threw the deadbolt. Jerking back around, he advanced toward her. “No one’s going to hear you.”

Charlotte’s scream froze in her throat. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in California, in custody by now.

“And by the way, I took care of your little security buddy out there,” he continued, “and you’re next if you don’t tell me where those letter openers are.”

Fear, laced with anger, knotted inside her. What had he done to Sam?

“You just couldn’t let well enough alone!” he shouted, his face purple with rage. “I’ve spent years planning this, but oh, no, you had to go snooping into my business. Where are they?” he demanded.

“Wh-what did you do to—to Sam?” she blurted out, her voice little more than a croak.

He stepped even closer. “Where are those letter openers?”

Why hadn’t he answered her about Sam? Charlotte swallowed hard, suddenly afraid of the answer.

“Where?” he shouted.

She couldn’t tell him. Once she told him, he would kill her. He’d have to, to keep her quiet. What she needed was a weapon, something, anything, to defend herself.

Think, Charlotte, think.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the top of the counter behind her. Scattered over the counter were several of Bitsy’s cooking gadgets. That big new hammer-looking meat tenderizer might work. It was heavy enough. Maybe, if she could just keep him talking, buy a little time…if she could just get closer to the cabinet…

“Wh-why should I tell you anything?” she retorted, her voice shaky with fear as she eased backward toward the cabinet. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

Fury mottled his face. “I don’t want to kill you!” he yelled. “You weren’t supposed to come back to work this soon. I thought I had time. I’ll do it, though. I’ll kill you if I have to. What’s one more?”

She eased back another step. Almost there. “If you kill me, you’ll never find them.”

“Oh, I’ll find them,” he said, sneering, “’cause, one way or another, you will tell me where they are.”

She took another step backward. Then, quicker than she would have thought possible, he reached out and clamped his hands around her throat. The edge of the cabinet bit painfully into the small of her back. But what good was being near the cabinet if she couldn’t breathe?

At first, she tried scratching at his eyes, but he easily turned his head, dodging her attempts. Then she clawed at his hands, but his hands were like iron shackles. She tried kneeing him in the groin, but he easily pinned her body between his and the cabinet.

“Where are they?” His hands tightened, shutting off her air.

Within moments the edges of her vision turned dark. Just as the darkness closed in, he loosened his hold, just enough for her to breathe again. “Tell me what you did with them,” he demanded.

“Can’t—” she gasped. “Can’t breathe.” When he eased his grip even more, she sucked in as much oxygen as her lungs would hold. With one hand still pulling on his hands, she reached behind her with the other hand, her hand sliding back and forth, her fingers searching and grabbing for anything she could get.

“Where are those letter openers?” he demanded as his hands began tightening around her neck again.

Suddenly, her fingers connected with a hard metal object. From the rough surface, she immediately recognized that she’d grabbed Bitsy’s brand-new cheese grater. It was a flat oblong type with a wooden handle. Praying that she had it turned the right way, she took hold of the wooden handle. Aiming for his eyes and using every bit of strength she had left, she swung her arm upward. When she smashed it into his face, she yanked it down hard, then pushed it upward again.

Toby screamed with pain, released her, and covered his raw, bleeding face with his hands.

She was free, but not for long, she figured. Her eyes swept the room for an escape route. He’d be on top of her before she could unlock and unbolt the back door, and he’d catch her before she could make it to the front door.

The laundry room.

It had a lock on the door, and it was the closest. At least it would buy her some time.

Ducking low, she ran. Behind her Toby was stumbling around, trying to find something to use for pressure to stop his face from bleeding.

When Charlotte reached the laundry room, she slammed the door and locked it. The flimsy lock wouldn’t keep him out for long. She figured that she only had a couple of minutes, at the most, just enough time to call the police. She reached in her pocket for her cell phone. Then what? He’d burst in and kill her before the police could get there.

What she needed was something else to defend herself with. She searched the room frantically, looking for anything she could use. Then she spotted the half-gallon bottle of bleach sitting on top of the dryer. If she remembered right, it was a brand-new bottle. With Toby’s face already raw, the bleach just might do the trick; it would at least buy her enough time to get out of the house, so she could call the police.

On the floor near the washing machine she spied a small plastic mop bucket.
Perfect
. She uncapped the bleach, then poured all of it into the bucket.

The sudden pounding on the door made her jump. Throwing the empty bleach bottle aside, she bent over and picked up the bucket. With one hand clutching the top rim and the other hand braced against the bottom, she waited.

The pounding suddenly stopped. Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat, and fear and anticipation coursed through her. A second later, the door crashed open. Toby’s wild eyes were filled with fury and hate, and a swath of his face and nose looked like raw hamburger.

Do it! Do it now!

Charlotte swallowed hard and bit back tears. With a firm grip on the bucket and aiming for his raw face, she swung the bucket back, then thrust it forward. The bleach flew out and hit him squarely in the face.

Toby screamed in agony. Clutching his face and still screaming, he fell to his knees.

Wasting no time, Charlotte quickly edged around him. Once she was out of the laundry room, she ran flat-out for the front door. Outside the door, she eased it closed behind her. That way, if he came after her again, he might think that she was still inside the house somewhere.

She tilted her head and leaned close to the door. Even with it closed, she could still hear Toby screaming and cursing inside.

Spurred on by the thought that he’d soon begin searching for her, Charlotte hurried across the porch and down the steps. She was tempted to take off running down the middle of the street, but she’d be in plain sight. He’d be able to see her and come after her. Best to hide and call 911.

Looking around frantically, she searched for some place to hide. She shot a brief, longing look at her van, but without keys, it was useless. She could hide behind it, but she’d still be in the open.

After a moment, she decided that the thick clump of azaleas at the end of the porch was her best bet. As she hurried to the bushes, she shoved her hand into her pants pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Without hesitation and ignoring the scrapes from the limbs, she pushed her way through the bushes, and wedged herself in the small space between the side edge of the porch and the azaleas. Then she dropped to her knees.

Charlotte peered through the bushes. They had looked a lot thicker from a distance. Unfortunately, since she could somewhat see through them, she figured there was a good possibility that she could be seen as well.

Too late now. She didn’t figure she had enough time to find a better hiding place. All she could do was hope and pray that, if and when Toby came out of the house, he wouldn’t look her way…if he could see at all after the bleach. Besides, she needed to use what time she had to call the police.

Breathing hard, she flipped open her phone. Her fingers trembling, she tapped out 911. When the operator answered, Charlotte told her, “Please send someone now! A man is trying to kill me.” She’d no sooner finished giving the operator Bitsy’s address than the front entrance door burst open.

“I know you’re still here,” Toby bellowed above her.

In her ear, the operator said, “Ma’am, don’t hang up. Stay on the phone.”

Charlotte didn’t dare answer for fear Toby might hear her. She breathed as shallowly as possible, afraid that the slightest movement would give away her hiding place. Above her, she could hear Toby cursing and heard his heavy footsteps as he stomped from one end of the porch to the other end.

Not far from above her hiding place, the footsteps abruptly stopped near the front edge of the porch. Charlotte held her breath. Could he see her? Had he spotted her?

Suddenly, she heard the sound of running footsteps coming from the opposite end of the porch. Not Toby. Someone else. Then there was a guttural shriek of fury, followed by a thud and a crash. Above her, Toby flew off the porch and landed on the ground within mere feet of her hiding place.

“Take that, you son of a snake! I’ll teach you to mess with
me!
”

A woman’s voice. A
familiar
woman’s voice. Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. Samantha!

Then everything seemed to happen at once. In the distance, police sirens screamed, growing louder each second. In front of her, Toby struggled on the ground to get to his knees. Above her on the porch, Samantha let loose another guttural shriek, vaulted off the porch, and ran straight at Toby. Then, with a flying leap, she kicked him in the head.

Toby went down again. Samantha fell to the ground, but rolled to her feet. Then she jumped on top of his back. With one hand, she yanked his arm behind him. With her other hand, she grabbed a handful of his hair and pinned him facedown on the ground.

The ear-piercing sirens suddenly died when several police cars screeched to a halt in front of the house. Officers with their guns drawn poured out of the vehicles.

“Hands in the air,” they shouted. “Get your hands in the air!”

While two of the officers pulled Samantha off Toby, Charlotte struggled to her feet. One of the officers handcuffed Toby, and the other one pulled out handcuffs and grabbed Samantha’s wrist.

“No, stop!” Charlotte shouted as she fought her way out from behind the bushes.

At least three officers jerked guns toward her.

Charlotte threw her hands up in the air. “Hey, I’m the one who called you in the first place,” she cried. With her head, she nodded toward Samantha. “She’s a guard with Lagniappe Security.” Then she nodded at Toby. “
He’s
the one who tried to kill us.”

Only then did Charlotte notice Samantha’s black eye and swollen cheek. Charlotte frowned with concern. Was that dried blood near her nose?

Out of the corner of her eye Charlotte caught sight of Gavin Brown jogging toward them. Benny followed a few steps behind the detective.

“Hey,” the detective yelled, holding up his badge. All eyes turned his way. “You can let the ladies go.” To Charlotte he said, “And you can lower your arms.”

Benny walked over to Charlotte. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

Gavin Brown took one look at Samantha, and shaking his head, he told her, “You need to get checked out by the EMTs.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

The detective shrugged. “If you say so.”

The officers pulled Toby to his feet, and when Gavin Brown saw his face he gave a low whistle. “Ouch, that must hurt, huh?” He turned to Samantha and Charlotte. “Which one of you did that to him?” When neither replied, he said, “Never mind for now, but don’t go anywhere yet. I’ve got some questions.”

Once Toby was taken away, Gavin Brown turned his attention to Samantha, Benny, and Charlotte. Charlotte immediately launched into a tirade. “You told me he was on his way to California,” she yelled. “And where have you been? I tried two different times to—”

The detective threw up his hands. “Now, just hold on. If you’ll calm down, I’ll explain.”

Still breathing hard, Charlotte muttered, “You’d better.”

Taking a deep breath, Gavin Brown said, “I was told that he’d checked out of the hotel, that he’d turned in his rental car, and that he’d boarded the plane headed for California. And he did all of that. Only problem, we didn’t learn that the flight had a short layover in Houston until it was too late. Instead of continuing on to California, he caught a flight back to New Orleans.

“Now, if you don’t mind and if neither of you needs to see a doctor, then you two wait on the porch.” He pointed to Charlotte and Benny. “And you”—he pointed to Samantha—“you come with me.”

Samantha followed the detective inside the house. Charlotte and Benny walked up the steps, then headed for the bench. Once they were seated, Charlotte faced Benny. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Why haven’t you called me?”

Benny hung his head. “I’m sorry about that, and”—he lifted his head to look at her—“I’m sorry about all of this as well. I did go see Angel yesterday, just like you and I talked about. I told her what we’d found out in Oakdale, but it didn’t make a difference. She still wouldn’t talk. I guess I was so ashamed that I’d failed in the one thing you asked me to do, I just couldn’t face you right then. Especially after all you’ve done,” he added. “And with me dragging you into this mess in the first place.”

Charlotte sighed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve got a feeling that even without Angel’s help, things are working out.”

“Yeah, but I almost got you killed.”

She shook her head. “Stop that. Stop it right now. Besides, I’m tougher than you think. It will take a lot more than that jerk to do me in.” She smiled. “Besides, I had some great backup.”

Benny finally cracked a smile. “Yeah, that security officer chick is pretty tough too.”

“Well, yes—her too—but I was referring to a much bigger ally.” She tilted her head upward, then lowered it again.

Benny nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

A few minutes later, Samantha emerged from the house and pointed to Benny. “Your turn.”