Death Tidies Up (24 page)

Charlotte shook her head. “You don't owe me anything, Marian, but I'm afraid the police are going to have a lot of questions. And—I have to confess—I am curious. But I'm more concerned than curious. About you,” she added, “and about B.J.”

Marian suddenly grabbed Charlotte by the arm. “Please, Charlotte—please don't tell them all that stuff that woman said.”

Charlotte covered Marian's hand with her own. “I'm not the one you have to worry about. Who you have to worry about is Darla Shaw and what
she
tells them.”

“Well, she can tell them anything she damn well pleases, but it's not true—not about me driving the professor's car that night. Oh, I thought it was. For almost twenty years I thought it was my fault—that I was the one driving when that poor man was killed.” She shook her head. “We were all so drunk that night, but I was the worst of the lot. I was so spaced out that I don't even remember what happened. But one thing I know now—it wasn't my fault. I didn't steal the professor's car, and I swear to you, I didn't run over that man. I wasn't the one who was driving that night. I didn't kill him.”

Given Marian's inebriated state, Charlotte decided that she was telling the truth. And because she was a bit less inhibited than she might have been sober, Charlotte pressed her advantage. “And what about Drew Bergeron?” she asked softly. “Did you kill him?”

“I wish I had. I've wished it a thousand times. If anybody had reason to”—She thumped herself on the chest—“it was me. For the past two years, ever since his so-called first death, Drew's been soaking me dry—blackmailing me. And this whole mess—everything—is all his fault. His and Bill's,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward to stare at the floor.

After a moment, she sighed. “Poor Bill. He was so angry when he found out. It was only then that he finally told me the truth, only after he realized that Drew was still alive and had been blackmailing me. That was the day before Bill—before he died.”

Her expression grew hard. “You see,” she said bitterly, “it was Drew all along. Drew was the one driving that night, and he'd persuaded Bill to let me think that I'd been at the wheel. Then they both persuaded me to let the professor take the blame.”

Charlotte frowned. “All those years, your own husband let you think that you'd killed a man?”

Marian shook her head. “We weren't married then.”

“So why didn't he tell you later, after you were married?”

“Guilt,” she answered. “Plain and simple—he felt too guilty about everything, and by that time, things had gone too far. After the professor was convicted, I—I had a nervous breakdown and tried to—to commit suicide—too much booze and drugs, and too much of my own guilt, thinking that I had not only killed a man, but had let an innocent man go to prison.

“It was after my suicide attempt that Bill told me he hadn't realized how much he loved me until then. But seeing me like that—” She shrugged. “He blamed himself and said that was when he decided to spend the rest of his life trying to make it all up to me.

“At that time I was a basket case, and so needy—” She shook her head. “I'd always loved Bill anyway, so it was easy just to give in and let him take over, let him take care of me. And you know how those things go. Time passes and it gets harder and harder to tell the truth.”

Unfortunately, Charlotte did know. She'd spent years living her own lie, pretending that she had married her son's father before he left for Vietnam when she hadn't. Only after Hank was almost a grown man and had begun asking questions had she found the courage to tell him the truth.

Marian sighed. “Once Bill told me the truth, I was furious—so angry, so hurt, and—” She swallowed hard. “All those years—” She bowed her head and rubbed her forehead. “Anyway—” She dropped her hand and raised her head. “We had a huge fight—lots of yelling and screaming—and I threatened to take the boys and leave him, divorce him. Then, the next day—” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “The next day he was gone—killed in that explosion.

“Oh, Charlotte—” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It was all my fault. In spite of his lies and deceptions, Bill really loved me and the boys. We were his world, and when he thought I was taking them away, he—” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed softly.

Several moments passed before Marian spoke again. “I didn't kill Drew,” she finally whispered. “But he deserved to die.”

Though Charlotte was relieved and satisfied that Marian was telling the truth, she had still needed to ask, had still needed to hear Marian deny it.

“Marian—” She reached up and squeezed Marian's shoulder. “About your husband. If it's any consolation, I don't believe that he killed himself. In fact, I don't think his death was an accident either. I'm convinced that Mr. Hebert was murdered. I'm also convinced that you need to tell the police exactly what you've just told me.”

Marian suddenly jerked away. “No!” Her eyes were wild with panic as she glared at Charlotte. “Don't you see? If I tell the police, they're going to think
I
killed Drew. Then, who's going to take care of my boys?” She shook her head. “No way—and if you tell them, I'll deny it—deny it all.”

“Whoa—just calm down,” Charlotte soothed. “In the first place,
I'm
not telling anybody anything. But just listen to me for a minute. If I'm right, Sam Roberts is really Professor Arthur Samuel, and he's seeking retribution and revenge for his life being ruined. He wants justice.

“I don't know how he did it, but somehow he found out about that night. Somehow he found out that the three of you stole his car and killed that pedestrian, then set him up to take the blame. He's already murdered Drew, and I believe he also murdered Mr. Hebert. Two out of the three of you are dead….” Charlotte's voice trailed away, and she gave Marian a moment to mull over what she'd said.

Then, softly, she continued. “Don't you get it? If you don't go to the police, he'll eventually kill you too, just like he killed Mr. Bergeron and your husband.”

Marian's face was a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions, and Charlotte pressed her advantage. “One other thing you need to consider. Sam has already befriended B.J. and Aaron. They both trust him. What if he decides to take his revenge out on them?”

“N
o!” Marian moaned. “Not my boys! He—he couldn't. He really cares about B.J. and Aaron.” She shuddered. “He wouldn't do that.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte grabbed Marian by both shoulders and shook her once, hard. “Are you willing to bet your sons' lives on it?”

For long seconds Marian stared at her, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“Don't be naive, Marian. We're talking about a man who lost everything because of what the three of you did to him—his family, his job, his reputation—everything! I was there when they found Drew Bergeron. I saw his body. Sam shot him at close range in the head, execution style. This is a man who has already systematically killed off two of the three people he blames for ruining his life. And if you don't stop him, he'll kill you too. Even worse, what better way to get his revenge on you than to first take away everything that means anything to you? And even if he doesn't kill your sons, what will happen to them if he kills you?”

Once again, Marian's eyes filled with tears that spilled over onto her cheeks, and finally she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “I'll do it.”

Relief flooded through Charlotte. “Good!” She released her hold on Marian. “The first thing we need is a sympathetic ally. I'm going to call my niece, Judith. If you remember, she's one of the detectives that questioned you after Drew's body was found.”

“That's why she looked so familiar that day.”

Charlotte nodded. “After I phone Judith, you need to call your attorney. For now, though, just let me do all the talking out there until Judith gets here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Marian whispered.

“Now—” Charlotte pushed herself up off the floor and stood. “Let's get out of here. No—wait! On second thought, maybe we should just stay in here as long as we can. That way, we won't have to answer so many questions until Judith comes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marian agreed. “Believe me, I'm not in any hurry.”

Charlotte nodded, then pulled her cell phone out of her apron pocket. She'd just dialed Judith's number when Marian suddenly lurched to her feet. “The boys!” she sputtered. “What time is it?”

The number was ringing, but Charlotte quickly glanced at her watch. “It's a little past three, but I thought I—”

Marian closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, good.” She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. “It's still a while before they get home from school.”

Then who was on the porch?
Charlotte didn't have time to think about it. At that moment, Judith answered her call.

“Judith, hon, it's me. I'm at Marian Hebert's house, and I need you to get over here as soon as possible.”

“What's wrong, Aunt Charley?”

“I'll explain when you get here—and Judith, it's urgent, so please hurry.” Charlotte ended the call, then handed the phone to Marian. “Call your attorney.”

While Marian was on the phone, Charlotte put her ear to the bathroom door and listened. Was Billy still out there, waiting for them to come out, or had he posted another officer at the door to wait for them?

She didn't hear any movement or voices, but there was only one way to find out for sure, she decided. Easing the door open, she peeked out into the hallway.
So far, so good.
No one was standing guard at the door, and from the sounds she was hearing, no one was even in the house. They were all out front or on the porch.

Now if they could only keep stalling until Judith got there. She eased the door shut again. Marian was still talking on the phone, and though the bathroom was adequate, it was small.

Charlotte had never been claustrophobic before, but the small confines of the bathroom, along with the lingering smell from Marian being sick, was starting to get to her.

Delayed shock, she decided as she gripped the edge of the countertop. But who wouldn't feel weak and queasy after what she'd just been through? Or at least that's what she kept telling herself.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap on the bathroom door. The noise reverberated and echoed in the small tiled room, and Charlotte almost jumped out of her skin.

“Ms. LaRue! Everything all right in there?”

“Ah—yes, Billy,” Charlotte answered. “Everything's fine.”

“Ma'am, we need to ask a few more questions.”

“Okay,” she told him. “Just give us a couple more minutes.” To Marian she whispered, “Is your attorney coming?”

Marian nodded and handed Charlotte the phone. “He's on his way.”

“Good. Now remember—let me do all the talking.” She helped Marian to her feet. “Ready?”

Marian shrugged. “Not really, but I guess I don't have any choice.” She glanced in the mirror, then made a face. “At least I won't have to lie about not feeling well. All they have to do is look at me.”

Charlotte gave her a quick smile for courage. Then, ever conscious that she needed to buy time until Judith got there, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Billy, why don't we all go into the family room? I'm sure Ms. Hebert would be much more comfortable in there than standing around on the porch. She's still feeling a bit weak,” she added for good measure.

Billy took one look at Marian and nodded his agreement. A few minutes later, he and another officer joined Charlotte and Marian in the family room. Marian was sitting in one of the two chairs that faced the sofa, and Charlotte chose to remain standing nearby, in hopes that the attention would be on her instead of Marian.

“This is Officer Hardy,” Billy told Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded, recognizing the policeman as one of the officers who had held a gun on her earlier on the porch.

“We've talked briefly to Ms. Shaw, ma'am, but we'd like to hear your version of what happened.”

Carefully choosing her words to avoid any references to Darla's real motivation for showing up on Marian's doorstep, Charlotte kept her explanation as simple as possible, starting with Darla mistaking her for Marian.

“That poor woman,” she said when she'd finished. “Evidently she was just crazy with grief over the death of Mr. Bergeron and, for whatever reason, she got it in her head that Marian had killed him. Of course, that's ridiculous. Marian wasn't anywhere near the Devilier house on the night that he was murdered.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I figure she was just crazy with grief, and because Mr. Bergeron and Marian had once been friends, she got confused. I'm just grateful that Marian had the good sense to phone you guys and that you showed up so quickly.”

The explanation she'd given had holes in it big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through, and she prepared herself, fully expecting to be interrogated further.

Footsteps coming down the hallway momentarily distracted the officers, and when Judith marched into the room, Charlotte sagged from relief.

After giving a nod of greeting to the two officers and to Marian, Judith directed her attention to Charlotte. “You okay, Aunt Charley?” When Charlotte nodded, Judith turned to the two officers. “Could you guys give me a few minutes alone with my aunt?”

Once the two officers had left the room, Judith approached Charlotte. “Are you sure you're okay, Auntie? You look a little pale to me.” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why don't you sit down over here?”

Charlotte nodded. “I'll sit down, but I'm okay, hon. Just still a bit shaky. It's not every day I get guns pointed at me,” she added.

Judith seated herself beside Charlotte. “Now, what's this all about, Auntie?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “I know who killed Drew Bergeron.”

Judith threw a suspicious look at Marian, then turned her attention back to her aunt. “I'm listening.”

“Before you jump to any conclusions—” Charlotte tilted her head toward Marian. “Let me explain. There are still some missing pieces to the puzzle, but it all started over twenty years ago. Marian, her husband, and Drew Bergeron were all friends at Tulane. As college kids do sometimes, they all got drunk one night.”

As quickly as she could, Charlotte recounted the story about the three stealing the professor's car for a joyride and about Drew and Bill letting Marian believe that she had been responsible for the death of the man that Drew had run over during their escapade.

“According to the news articles I read,” Charlotte continued, “the man who was run over gave a description and part of the license number of the car that hit him before he died. The professor—Professor Arthur Samuel—had already been given several tickets for drunk driving, and of course the police arrested him. The professor was tried and convicted, and served a ten-year sentence for a crime he didn't commit. I don't know how he did it, but I believe that the professor somehow found out the truth and is now getting his revenge.”

Judith held up a hand. “That's a pretty tall tale, Aunt Charley. In the first place, it's kind of hard to buy that they were able to convince Mrs. Hebert that she was driving.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Marian interrupted. “As embarrassed as I am to admit it, it wasn't hard at all. You see, I was so out of it that I really didn't remember any of what happened that night after a certain point. As they say, drugs and alcohol don't mix.”

Judith nodded slowly. “Hmm, yes—well, I guess it's possible, but—” She turned back to Charlotte. “How do you know so much about this professor, Auntie, and what does this have to do with Drew Bergeron's murder or Darla Shaw, for that matter? And where is this professor now?”

Charlotte sighed. “It's a bit complicated,” she finally answered. “Just bear with me while I try to explain.”

Beginning with the day Bitsy had showed her the Tulane yearbook, Charlotte told her niece about the events that had transpired. Since she was now sure that Sam Roberts had murdered Drew Bergeron and possibly Bill Hebert too, she saw no reason to reveal B.J.'s presence in the Devilier house when Drew Bergeron was murdered. At least not yet.

“You see,” she continued, “Marian employs a handyman named Sam Roberts. Since I had seen Sam around here quite a bit, it struck me that there was a marked resemblance between Sam and the professor.” Then she explained about the cigars beneath B.J.'s bed, and leaving out the reason she'd been at Sam's house, she told Judith about seeing similar ones there as well as at the Devilier house. “B.J. had kept some of his dad's things, and that included the cigars. I guess since he and Sam had struck up a friendship of sorts, B.J. had given him some of the cigars. Of course there's also the purple Mardi Gras mask thing. I've been thinking about it a lot, and the only thing I can come up with is that the color purple stands for justice. The professor is finally getting justice for what was done to him.

“When Darla Shaw showed up at the door today and began ranting and raving, it all began to make a weird sort of sense.” Charlotte's gaze slid to Marian, and Marian, understanding that it was her turn to talk, nodded.

“You see,” Marian began, “for the past two years Drew Bergeron has been blackmailing me. I guess Darla Shaw knew about it and when Drew was murdered, she went a little crazy and got it in her head that I had killed Drew. Lord knows, I had enough reason to, but I didn't,” she quickly added. “Anyway—this Darla Shaw woman decided to take up where Drew left off with the blackmailing thing.”

“But there's more, Judith,” Charlotte added. “I also believe that Sam Roberts killed Marian's husband as well. If you check into it, I think you'll find that Bill Hebert's death was under suspicious circumstances—and did I mention that Sam Roberts worked for Marian's husband first, before he worked for Marian?”

For long moments Judith simply sat there, silently staring first at Charlotte, then at Marian, and Charlotte held her breath.

Judith abruptly stood. “You know what, ladies?” She gave each of them a pointed look. “I think I believe you—at least enough to bring Sam Roberts in for questioning.”

Charlotte released her breath in a huge sigh, and Marian dropped her head as if offering up a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Judith cleared her throat. “But Mrs. Hebert—”

Marian raised her head and looked at Judith.

“Don't plan on leaving town any time soon.”

 

Charlotte stayed with Marian until the police had cleared out. “Why don't I fix you a fresh cup of coffee?” she offered, when the last police car drove away.

“Oh, Charlotte, I'm sure you have other things to do besides wait on me.”

What Charlotte really wanted was to stay a bit longer, mostly to satisfy herself that Marian was going to be okay. “Well, I was hoping to wait around for the boys to get home anyway. I've been meaning to thank them for that lovely music box they gave me.”

“Thanks, Charlotte. Thanks for everything.” Marian closed the front door. “The boys should be home any minute now, and I could sure use a cup of something.” Then she gave a nervous laugh. “I'd say I could use a drink, but that's what got me into this whole mess to begin with.”

Charlotte nodded, and knowing she could be jeopardizing her job to even suggest what was on her mind, she decided that she had to try, job or no job, for Marian's sake as well as the welfare of Marian's sons. “Marian, I know it's none of my business, but have you ever considered AA?”

Marian shrugged and began walking slowly toward the kitchen. “I used to go, but I quit. Now, though—after all that's happened—who knows, maybe now would be a good time to start up again.”

In the kitchen, while Charlotte prepared the coffeemaker, she decided she might as well broach another touchy subject while she was at it.

Marian had seated herself at the kitchen table, and Charlotte turned to face her. “Ah—Marian, I was just wondering about something. I was just wondering if there's some way we can get around B.J. knowing that I blew the whistle on Sam. I don't want B.J. to think that I betrayed him—you know, about the cigars,” she added, still uncomfortable about the secret she was keeping about B.J. being present on the night that Drew Bergeron was murdered.