Maid For Murder. Barbara Colley
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thought Charlotte.
With a shake of her head, Charlotte let out a weary sigh. Poor Hank. What was she going to do about him? Such a worrywart. And such a pain in the butt at times. First the incessant nagging about retirement and now all these highfalutin social events he insisted she attend.
She hated to admit it, but she was beginning to suspect that her beloved only child was turning into a bit of a snob. He knew better than to come right out and say so, but it was becoming increasingly evident that the great doctor was embarrassed that his mother still worked as a maid.
“How soon we forget,” she grumbled when Hank’s message ended. “Never mind that it was my maid service that helped put him through medical school.”
After Hank’s message, there were a couple of inquiries from prospective clients. Charlotte made quick notes of the names and phone numbers so she could return the calls.
The last message was from Cheré Warner, another of Charlotte’s full-time employees.
“Charlotte, you’ve got to call me back just as soon as you get home. Boy, have I got an insider tip for you on a cleaning job up for bid. It’s a short-term job for big bucks, Charlotte, so call me.”
The excitement vibrating in Cheré’s voice was hard to ignore, and after glancing at the cuckoo clock and determining that she still had plenty of time to shower and dress, Charlotte returned the call.
“I’ll be right over,” the young woman told her when she answered. “Just give me fifteen minutes.”
“No hurry.” Charlotte laughed. “Take twenty minutes,” she suggested. “I need a shower.”
It took a precious five minutes to coax Sweety Boy back into his cage before Charlotte finally stepped into the shower. Even though she’d had visions of a luxurious, cool soak in the bathtub, with lots of bath oil, the quick wash she had to settle for was still refreshing.
Charlotte had just dried off from her shower and had slipped into a robe when her doorbell rang. She glanced at the cuckoo on her way to the door. Twenty minutes on the dot.
Cheré Warner was like a breath of fresh air. With her dark, bouncy hair and shining black eyes, she was a bright, energetic young woman who was working her way through college to get a business degree. Cheré was both dependable and reliable, and Charlotte felt fortunate to have her working for her. During the two years she’d been employed by Charlotte, not once had a client ever complained.
“Come in, Cheré.” Charlotte motioned for the younger woman to enter. “How about a glass of iced tea?”
Cheré grinned. “Oh, Charlotte, you know I love your iced tea. No one makes it like you do.”
A few minutes later, armed with tall glasses of iced tea, both women seated themselves on Charlotte’s sofa.
“Okay, now tell me about this insider tip.”
Cheré’s face lit up with excitement. “You know that old Devillier house on St. Charles Avenue that’s being renovated into apartments?”
Charlotte frowned. “That’s the house just down from the Pontchartrain Hotel, isn’t it?”
Cheré nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. Roussel Construction is doing the job.” She took a quick sip of tea. “Well! The construction is just about complete. All they lack are a few finishing touches. And once the city inspectors do their thing, Roussel’s will be soliciting bids for the cleanup. In fact”—Cheré was almost squirming with eagerness—“ my source says that it will probably be a first-come, first-serve-type thing, that the bidding is mostly a formality, since Roussel’s is anxious to be done with this particular job.”
“Your source?” Charlotte’s right eyebrow rose a fraction, and a grin tugged at her mouth. “And just who is this source of yours, and how reliable is this information? Another one of your boyfriends?”
“Oh, Charlotte, stop teasing. And if you must know, this particular source isn’t a boyfriend . . . Well, not exactly—not yet.” She giggled. “Of course, if I have my way . . .”
Charlotte simply shook her head. “Cheré, Cheré, Cheré. What am I going to do with you?” But Charlotte couldn’t help laughing. Cheré had a personality that just wouldn’t quit and seemed to collect boyfriends like some people collected stamps. “So who is this new, soon-to-be boyfriend?”
The younger woman’s eyes took on a dreamy glaze. “None other than Mr. Todd Roussel, the son of Roussel Construction. He’s taking a semester off from school to learn the business.”
“I’d have to say that sounds like a pretty reliable source. Now, for the big question. What kind of money and time are we talking about?”
The more Cheré told her about the specifics involved with the job, the more interested Charlotte grew. Even as she mentally estimated the extra supplies she would need and the extra help she would have to hire, the project was still worth a great deal of money for such a short period of time; just the type of job that she needed to shore up her flagging retirement account.
It had been a good six months since she’d been able to add to the account. Every spare dime had been soaked up by yet another loan she’d had to make to her sister, Madeline, to bail her out of her latest financial disaster.
Charlotte instructed Cheré to get the name and phone number of the contact person at Roussel Construction, and after thanking the younger woman, she promised her a nice bonus if the job came through.
Once Cheré left, Charlotte quickly returned the other two messages she’d received earlier. Both potential clients sounded like good prospects. She assured the women that she could fit them in, and she promised to get back to them once she’d checked her schedule book.
After her conversations, Charlotte pulled out her schedule book. “Hmm, maybe I spoke too soon,” she murmured as she glanced over the present schedule. “At this rate, I might have to consider hiring another full-time employee.”
The Zoo To Do, always held on the first Friday night in May, was an annual event that benefited the New Orleans Audubon Zoo and raised thousands upon thousands of dollars.
Charlotte had never attended before, but she knew all about it from listening to clients who had attended over the years.
It was a black-tie gala affair held at the zoo. A ticket could cost anywhere from $155 to $195, depending on whether the person purchasing it was an Audubon member or nonmember.
For the price of a ticket, the guests could enjoy an evening of music, dining, and dancing, complete with wine, champagne, and a variety of other beverages. Charlotte had heard that the samplings of food were fantastic and were provided by well over a hundred of the finest restaurants in New Orleans. Her mouth watered at even the thought of some of the more popular dishes she’d been told to expect: bananas Foster, shrimp étouffée, turtle soup, grilled alligator sausage . . .
Everybody who was anybody socially attended the event, and they dressed to the hilt—men in tuxedos and women in slinky cocktail dresses.
Charlotte turned her van onto River Road, and as she drew near the intersection of Broadway, she began to grow more apprehensive with each passing minute. She hoped she’d dressed properly, since the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Hank. Nothing in her closet had come close to resembling slinky cocktail attire, and she’d settled for her old, reliable little black dress and pearls.
At the moment, however, what she was wearing was the least of her worries. The cars in front of her had slowed to almost a standstill, and she was stuck in a line of traffic that seemed to crawl forward inch by inch.
Charlotte glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard and grew even more apprehensive. She should have left earlier. Hank would have a fit if she didn’t show up on time, and she’d have to listen to him give her yet another lecture.
He’d said he was on call, but did he have his cell phone or his pager with him