Dusted to Death (7 page)

“A
murder? Who’s been murdered?”

“Nick—Nick Franklin, Angel’s boyfriend.”

Samantha still didn’t look convinced. “Okay, take it one step at a time and tell me what you know.”

Growing more impatient with each passing moment, Charlotte shook her head. “For Pete’s sake,
please
just go upstairs and see for yourself.”

Samantha threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay—but you wait right here.”

After that, time seemed to stand still as Charlotte waited for Samantha to return. When she did finally return, time suddenly seemed to speed up at an alarming rate.

The security guard was talking on a cell phone as she descended the stairs and crossed over to the parlor door. Though she gave a confirmation nod to Charlotte, she continued talking as she headed straight into the parlor.

After several long seconds, an ear-piercing scream split the silence, followed by sobs of hysteria. Though Charlotte wasn’t sure, she thought the scream had come from Angel. As if the scream had been the impetus, sudden chaos broke out. Shouts of disbelief followed and voices buzzed as the news spread. Then, above the noise in the parlor, the sound of wailing sirens reached Charlotte’s ears.

The moment the police arrived, the whole scene was all too familiar: the uniformed officers, the detectives, the crime scene crew, and last, but never least, the news media. Just before she was herded into the front parlor with everyone else, Charlotte caught a glimpse of the multitude of reporters hovering behind the guardrails that had been erected around the perimeters of the house. It never ceased to amaze her how they found out things so fast. She slowly shook her head as she searched for an empty seat in the parlor. A pack of wolves, that’s what they were. They were like a pack of ravenous wolves hungry for any juicy tidbit tossed their way.

Charlotte had just claimed an empty chair when she saw Angel, supported on either side by Heather and Toby, being escorted out of the parlor. Though the young actress had stopped crying, her face was as pale as the white walls of the parlor.

Several moments after Angel left, two homicide detectives entered the room. Charlotte swallowed hard when she recognized one of the detectives. Even worse, he spotted her almost immediately and headed straight for her.

Charlotte stretched her neck first to one side, then to the other to ease the tension she felt building in her neck muscles. Just the sight of Detective Gavin Brown stirred up unwanted memories, more specifically, her last run-in with him.

“Oh, great,” she murmured as the detective approached her. “Just great.”

From the expression on the detective’s face, this time wasn’t going to be any better than the last time that she’d butted heads with him because of a murder.

When he stopped in front of her, he glared down at her and gave her a nasty grin. “Well, well, well, we meet again, Ms. LaRue. Why am I not surprised to find you at the scene of yet another murder? Like I’ve said before, seems to me that you have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The words he used were the exact same words he’d said the last time they’d met. So, if he knew that he’d said the same thing before, why repeat it? Never mind that he was right. But just like that other time, this time wasn’t
her
fault either.

“Jerk,” she muttered without moving her lips.

“What was that?” he retorted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What did you just say?”

Mortified that she’d spoken the word out loud, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I said
work
. I’m working here.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire
.

Her cheeks burned from the telltale heat of the lie that she’d just told. She could always hope that he wouldn’t notice or maybe he’d chalk it up to the hot flashes of an aging woman.

With a grimace, Charlotte waved her hand in front of her face, as if fanning herself. “My goodness, is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Wrong thing to do and say. From the amused look on the detective’s face, he wasn’t buying her act. But so what? Even if he knew that she was lying, knew that she’d just called him a jerk, what was he going to do, arrest her for calling him names? Not likely. After all, he had bigger fish to fry than her; namely, he had a murderer to catch.

From now on, keep your mouth shut. Only speak when spoken to. Only answer his questions. Nothing else
.

Having dealt with the detective before, she’d known better than to antagonize him. She also knew that she should listen to her inner voice of caution and keep her sarcastic comments to herself. Never mind that the irritating detective had a way about him of getting on her very last nerve.

Gavin Brown was still staring a hole through her as if trying to decide what to say next. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “I understand that you were the one who found the body.” When Charlotte nodded, he crooked his forefinger. “Come with me.”

Charlotte stood and, dragging her feet with dread, followed the detective back to the kitchen.

He motioned at a chair near the breakfast table. “Have a seat.” While she seated herself, he removed a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “Now—tell me again what you’re doing here.”

“Cleaning,” Charlotte told him. “Mrs. Bitsy Duhè, the owner of the house, is one of my regular clients. When she was approached by the production company about them using her house for the movie, Bitsy asked them to hire me to watch over her stuff while they shot the movie scenes.”

“Spell her name for me.”

Charlotte slowly spelled out Bitsy’s name while the detective wrote in his notebook. “You might recall that Mrs. Duhè’s husband was once mayor before he passed away,” she offered.

Gavin Brown gave her a blank look. “Mayor?”

“You know—the mayor of New Orleans.”

The detective shook his head. “Must have been before my time.” As if dismissing the subject as unimportant, he said, “So, where is Mrs. Duhè right now?” he asked.

“Mrs. Duhè is staying at the Monteleone in the Quarter.”

Charlotte suddenly groaned. “Oh, no.” Only at that moment did it register that someone would have to call Bitsy and let her know what had happened.
Probably me,
she thought, unless Bitsy saw it on the news before she could make that call. Dear Lord in heaven, Bitsy would have a conniption.

“‘Oh, no’ what?” the detective retorted.

“Someone needs to call Mrs. Duhè right away, before she hears it on the noonday news. She’s an elderly lady,” Charlotte hastened to explain, “and it would really upset her to hear it like that. Would it be okay if I called her?”

He shook his head. “No one is calling anyone until we finish our questioning. As for the media, all they know is that there has been a murder.”

“But don’t you see?” she argued. “That’s my point exactly. It would really upset Bitsy to suddenly see her house on the noon news and hear that there’s been a murder.”

At first she didn’t think he was going to relent, but after a moment, he finally said, “Okay. After my interview with you, you can phone her. But only tell her the bare facts. No details such as the victim’s name, et cetera.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay, now where were we?” He glanced down at his notes. “So, when did you start working here?”

“This is my third day.”

“I need to know exactly what happened this morning when you got to work.”

Charlotte nodded, and while he took notes, she told him everything she’d done, beginning from the time she parked the van until her grisly discovery.

“Okay,” he said, glancing up from his notebook. “Now I need you to tell me what you know about the victim—and don’t try denying it. You and I both know that you hear things and see things.”

Since she wasn’t sure whether he’d just given her a backhanded compliment or was accusing her of being a snoop, she tried not to dwell on either possibility and concentrated on keeping her temper in check. “All I know is that he’s supposedly Angel Martinique’s boyfriend.” That wasn’t all she knew, not exactly, but the rest was just…Just what? Gossip? Of course there was also the little piece of information about Angel’s connection to the alleged murder weapon. So why not tell him everything?

Before she had time to think of a valid, logical reason why she should or shouldn’t share the rest of what she knew, he said, “Have you noticed anything else, such as the victim arguing with anyone or having confrontations with anyone?”

Oh, boy, she thought. She really didn’t want to outright lie to him, but hated being a snitch. Still, given the circumstances, she didn’t have a choice, did she? So, where to begin? And just how much should she tell him?

Just tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Okay, okay
. “First of all, I want you to know that I’m not comfortable talking about my clients.”

“Didn’t you say that you were hired by the production company?”

“Well, ah—yes, I guess I did.”

“So the victim wasn’t really your client, and neither is anyone else but Mega Films. Right?”

She nodded slowly, grudgingly. He was right; legally it was Mega Films that had hired her, but she still didn’t like the idea of squealing on everyone who’d had a run-in with Nick.

Come on, Charlotte, you’re making it sound like some hard-boiled detective novel back in the twenties. This is the real thing, not some book you’ve read
.

Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
Yeah, yeah
. Though she hated it when that voice in her head was right, a man was dead, and there was a
real
killer running loose. No one knew better than she did that even the slightest little tidbit of information could end up being a giant clue. Besides, like it or not, she had a moral obligation to help if she could, didn’t she?

With only a slight hesitation, Charlotte took a deep breath, then recounted what she’d observed during the past two days. As best she could remember, she had witnessed at least two fights between Nick and Angel; then, there was Nick’s confrontation with Toby Russell, and finally, she recounted the scene in the kitchen the previous day when Simon Clark had cornered Nick and read him the riot act. In conclusion she said, “Most of the friction seemed to be over some script that Nick was pushing for Angel to consider.”

The detective continued scribbling in his notebook for a minute or so more. Finally, he raised his head, and with narrowed eyes, he asked, “Anything else?”

“No, nothing else that I can recall.”

Nothing except the part about the letter opener.

Yeah, yeah, but once they question the others,
she silently argued,
they’ll find out about that last scene where Angel used the letter opener. Besides, they’ll most certainly dust it for fingerprints.

Holding the detective’s gaze without blinking, she opted to say nothing about the letter opener.

Several moments passed before he finally said, “Okay. But if you think of anything—” He reached inside his shirt pocket and handed her a business card. “Just give me a call.”

Charlotte took the card and dropped it inside her apron pocket. It would be a cold day in Hades before she ever called
him
. “May I leave now?”

The detective shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Why not? I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Yeah, well, that remains to be seen.”

The implication that she’d been less than truthful stung. Never mind that he was right. Though she hadn’t outright lied to him, she had purposely neglected to tell him about the letter opener scene that had been shot the day before, so she hadn’t exactly told him everything she knew.

Too bad. Enough was enough. She pressed her lips tightly together, gave him a curt nod, and without looking at him, headed for the pantry, where she retrieved her cell phone from her purse. Just as she reached the door leading into the hallway, Gavin Brown called out, “Don’t forget what I said about calling Mrs. Duhè. No names. Just the bare facts.”

“I won’t,” she retorted sharply, unable to mask the irritation she felt. Not only had he implied that she hadn’t told him the truth, which made her feel all the more guilty for not saying something about the stupid letter opener, but now it seemed he was intent on making her miserable. Just the thought of having to sit around most of the day with nothing to do was pure torture. Besides which, there was no earthly reason why she should
have
to stay.

Still fuming, she paused at the doorway leading into the parlor. There was no way she could go back inside that crowded room at the moment. Besides needing some modicum of privacy when she talked to Bitsy, she needed to get her temper under control.

Turning away from the parlor doorway, she walked toward the uniformed policeman standing guard at the front door. “I’m feeling a little claustrophobic,” she told him. And that was the truth. “I’ve already been questioned by Detective Brown. Would it be okay if I went out on the porch for a few minutes? Also, Detective Brown gave me permission to make an important phone call. And I won’t leave,” she added quickly.

For just the briefest moment, she was afraid that the young patrolman was going to say no. Then a small grin pulled at his lips. “Say, aren’t you Detective Monroe’s aunt?”

Charlotte nodded. “Judith is my niece.”

“I thought so. You probably don’t remember, but I was one of the responding officers when you found that woman dead in your living room last year. Detective Monroe talks about you all the time.”

Charlotte didn’t remember the young officer, but then, there was a lot about that night that she’d tried her best to forget. “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember you, but—”

“Hey, no problem. You were under quite a strain that night.” He opened the front door. “Are you sure you want to go outside? It’s pretty hot out there.”

Charlotte smiled. “I’m sure. I just need a few moments and I won’t leave,” she assured him again.