Between running her maid service (the successful Maid-for-a-Day) and fretting about her upcoming birthday (the dreaded 6-0), Charlotte LaRue doesn't have much time for gossip. But New Orleans's latest dust-up is hard to ignore--especially since it involves Marian Hebert, one of Charlotte's new clients. Turns out Marian's now-deceased husband once worked for his best friend Drew Bergeron's real-estate agency--and when the business deal soured, so did the friendship. The whole sordid affair came to an unfortunate end when Drew died in a plane crash--and Bill Hebert was killed in what some people insist on calling an accident. Others are convinced it was murder.
Pretty juicy stuff, right? Charlotte doesn't think so. She's trying her best to forget all the rumors--she has more important things to worry about these days. Like vacuuming, window-washing...and her new job at the old Devilier house. The gorgeous historic home is being transformed into luxury apartments, and Maid-for-a-Day is in charge of the cleanup. Should be easy enough, Charlotte thinks--until she finds a barely-cold corpse in one of the closets.
The police are sure the dead man is Drew Bergeron. Funny, considering Drew supposedly died years ago--and Charlotte distinctly remembers attending his funeral. Talk about messy. Suddenly all that gossip about the Heberts and Bergerons seems incredibly timely--and Charlotte wishes she'd listened just a little bit closer...
With old rivalries flaring--and past secrets suddenly back in the present--Charlotte has a feeling this job will involve some real dirty work. Good thing she has a knack for cleaning up crimes...
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January 01, 2004
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Excerpt from Death Tidies Up by Barbara Colley
The cooler, dry air was invigorating, and Charlotte LaRue sighed with pleasure as she stepped onto the front porch of her Victorian double.
The first touch of fall had finally arrived, but not without a battle. Just before midnight she'd been awakened by the clash of thunder and lightning as a cold front fought its way south. Then the rain had begun, torrents of it from the sound it had made beating against her roof. But the rain hadn't lasted long, just long enough to wash away any remnants of the heat and humidity that typically smothered New Orleans.
Of course, by the time the so-called cold front reached the city, it wasn't cold any more. It was simply cooler. But cooler was good. She'd gladly take what she could get.
Charlotte sighed again. Today would have been the perfect day to raise the windows and air out her stuffy house. Too bad, she thought. Her aging air-conditioner could use the rest, and she could use the reprieve from her outrageous electric bill as well.
But duty called. Today she had to go to work, and for the sake of security, she didn't dare leave the windows open without being there. For the first time in a long time, she'd be working through the weekend as well, but Sunday might be a possibility, if she finished up the job on Saturday.
"Probably won't last till Sunday," she muttered. Unlike other parts of the country that had a real, honest-to-goodness fall season, October in New Orleans could be as mercurial as a woman going through menopause.
Charlotte winced at the mental analogy, but she had no illusions about the source. Aging . . . menopause . . . change of seasons. Change of life. Another year passing. And with another year, yet another birthday.
But not just any birthday. This one was the big one, the one that made her insides shrivel and tighten with dread every time she thought about it.
Turning fifty had been bad enough, a half century bad enough, including menopause and all of the cliched jokes about being over the hill. But there was just something about even the sound of sixty . . .
Charlotte shuddered. Then, with a determined shake of her head, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. She'd read somewhere that aging was a state of mind, the difference between thinking positive and negative. You're only as old as you think. Or maybe that was feel? You're only as old as you feel.
"Whichever," she murmured with a shrug. Think . . . feel . . . It didn't really matter. What mattered was concentrating on keeping a good positive attitude instead of dwelling on the negative. She should be grateful for all of the good things about her life, she thought. She had the love of her family and friends, and her health. Her maid service had grown by leaps and bounds, so much so that she'd had to expand and hire help.
Charlotte blinked several times and frowned. Her left eye itched.
Though she loved this time of year, unfortunately, her allergies didn't.
She reached up to rub her eye. Then, clenching her fist, she quickly lowered her hand.
Rubbing the eyes could cause wrinkles. Yet one more thing to be grateful for, she decided. Thanks to good genes, she didn't have that many wrinkles. Not yet. And the bit of gray in her hair still blended naturally with the dark blond, giving it a highlighted look. Her daily walk and her line of work helped keep her physically fit--her muscles were toned, and she could still wear a size ten petite dress.
Her daily walk . . . Charlotte took a deep breath, savoring the cool air, then let it out in a sigh full of longing. Oh, how she missed her early-morning walks. There was something really special about getting out when everything was still fresh.
Yet another change. Everything changes and nothing stays the same, she reminded herself. It had been five months since she'd begun working for Marian Hebert on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Unlike her former clients, the Dubuissons, who had been content with her showing up at nine, Marian wanted her at work by eight. At first she'd set her alarm clock an hour earlier each morning so she could still take her walk. She was not an early riser by nature, though. Getting up earlier had lasted only a week before she'd decided to content herself with walking in the evenings instead.
"Oh, well," she murmured, glancing around for the newspaper. There was no use in worrying about any of it. The only thing to do was learn to roll with the punches.
Worrying about turning sixty wasn't going to change the outcome. Whether she liked it or not, unless she died or the world came to an end, her birthday would come. And worrying about having to change her walking time wouldn't change anything either, not if she wanted to keep her newest client.
Still searching for the newspaper, Charlotte stepped closer to the front of the porch. She spotted it on the second step from the bottom. The paper was enclosed in a clear plastic bag that still held small pockets of water from the rain. She bent down, picked it up, then shook off the excess moisture. Just as she slipped it out of the plastic wrap, she heard the click of the deadbolt on the front door of the other half of her double.
"Oh, no!" she whispered, glaring at the door. Thoughts of making a run for it flitted through her head. The last person she wanted to see and the last person she wanted to see her this early in the morning was Louis Thibodeaux.
She still couldn't believe that she'd given in and rented out the other half of her double to him. After the last tenants she'd had, she'd decided against ever renting to anyone again. But Louis was different, and knowing his stay would only be temporary had been the deciding factor.
The house he'd owned Uptown had sold before he'd finished building his retirement home on Lake Maurepas. Once he'd finished his lake house, he would move out.
Charlotte eyed her own front door and calculated her chances. No way would she make it in time, not without breaking her neck on the slippery porch in the process. With a resigned sigh, she faced the door at the other end of the porch as it swung open.
Louis Thibodeaux was a stocky man with gray hair and a receding hairline. Though not pretty-boy handsome, he was an attractive man, in a rugged sort of way. And unlike most men his age, his belly was still nice and flat instead of hanging over his belt.
"Hey, there, Charlotte," he said. "I thought I heard you out here."
Great, she thought, wondering if her hair was sticking up all over the place and wishing she'd at least pulled on a pair of sweats instead of her old ratty housecoat.
In contrast, Louis had already showered, shaved, and dressed, and every gray hair on his perfectly shaped head was combed and in place.
Charlotte forced a smile and held up the newspaper. "Just getting the paper." She stepped back up onto the porch. Noting that he was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt instead of his usual khaki slacks and dress shirt, she tilted her head and frowned. "You off today?"
"Today and tomorrow." He held up crossed fingers. "I'm just hoping that nothing major goes down to interfere."
Charlotte suppressed a shudder. Louis was a New Orleans homicide detective, and to Louis, "major" meant murder and death.
"Since Judith is showing my replacement the ropes," he continued, "I thought this would be a good time to take some vacation days."
Charlotte frowned. "Your replacement? Already? But I thought you weren't retiring until the end of the year."
"I'm not, but the end of the year will be here before you know it."
And so will my birthday. Charlotte immediately shied away from the depressing thought. "How is my niece, by the way?" Better to think about Judith than to think about turning sixty. "I haven't seen or heard from her since last Sunday."
"She's okay." He shrugged. "It's been kinda rough on her, breaking in a new partner, but hey--she's tough, and she'll survive."
Survive! Charlotte didn't like the sound of that, but before she could question Louis about it, he switched subjects on her.
"I'm glad I caught you before I left," he said. "I'll be working out at the camp for the next couple of days, but I'll have my cell phone on, just in case anything comes up. We finally got the roof on last week, so I'm ready to start on the inside. If everything goes as planned, I should be able to move by the end of next month."
Charlotte nodded but gave him a sharp look. "What exactly did you mean by 'survive'?"