Death Tidies Up (3 page)

“No kidding?”

Charlotte grinned. “I kid you not.” She stepped closer and took the saucer of toast from Marian's hand. “Now you go ahead and make that call, and I'll see that Aaron gets his toast. And what about a small glass of apple juice to go with it? We don't want him to dehydrate.”

Marian nodded. “Thanks, Charlotte. And good idea about the apple juice, which reminds me—Aaron's pediatrician is another call I need to add to the list,” she grumbled, clearly distracted once again. “Just to be on the safe side, I'd like for the doctor to check him over,” she added, still muttering to herself as she headed toward the door that led to her office. “That's assuming that I can get an appointment.”

Charlotte simply shook her head and opened the refrigerator. The poor woman just couldn't seem to get it all together this morning, she thought as she removed the bottle of apple juice.

Taking a glass out of the cabinet, Charlotte poured it full. Just as she put the bottle of juice back into the refrigerator, Marian rushed back in the kitchen.

“Oh, Charlotte,” she cried, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes bright. “I just had the most fantastic idea. I've been racking my brain, trying to come up with a gimmick to advertise those apartments. Between you and me, the price Jefferson wants for them is outrageous. So what if—as an added incentive—I offered the prospective clients free weekly maid service? That would make them even more exclusive, and the monthly rent could be padded just a bit to absorb the cost. So what do you think?”

If the monthly rent was already outrageous, Charlotte wasn't sure that adding an additional fee, even if it was for maid service, would be any more appealing. But Marian's excitement was infectious, and a slow grin pulled at Charlotte's lips as her mind raced with the possibilities. As it stood, her schedule was pretty packed already. She'd have to hire a couple of extra employees. But that wouldn't be a problem, and over the long haul, the added income might be well worth it.

“I think that's a terrific idea,” Charlotte finally told her. “But only if Maid-for-a-Day supplied the service. Otherwise, I think it's a terrible idea,” she added with mock seriousness.

Marian burst out laughing. “Silly woman. Well, of course Maid-for-a-Day would supply the service. Now, if I can just sell the idea to Jefferson Harper—but first I need to see if he can meet for dinner tonight instead of lunch.”

 

The more Charlotte thought about Marian's proposition over the next couple of hours as she cleaned, the more excited she became.

When noon rolled around, she chose to take her lunch break out on Marian's front porch. While she ate the smoked turkey sandwich and apple she'd brought along with her and savored the deliciously cool air and sunshine, she mentally weighed the pros and cons of Marian's idea.

Don't count your chickens before they hatch,
a tiny, persistent voice of reason warned her. “I'm not,” she muttered. “I'm simply thinking ahead.” But when she pulled the notebook out of her apron pocket to do a bit of calculating, she saw the reminder she'd written earlier about calling the beauty shop, and she frowned.

She'd fully intended to call early in hopes that her beautician could work her in around the time she finished up at Marian's, but now…

Charlotte pulled out her cell phone and quickly punched in the number of the beauty salon.

Her call was answered on the third ring.

“Lagniappe Beauty Salon, Valerie speaking.”

“Valerie, this is Charlotte LaRue—”

“Oh, hey, Charlotte. I've been meaning to call
you
—to thank you.”

Charlotte frowned. “To thank me—thank me for what?”

“Not what, silly. Who. Why, none other than Mrs. Bitsy Duhe is now a regular customer of mine. She said she'd always admired the way your hair looked, and her regular hair-dresser wasn't that dependable.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. Had she ever mentioned Valerie to Bitsy? She didn't remember doing so, but then lately there seemed to be a lot she didn't remember.

“And she wants a standing appointment,” Valerie continued. “Every Friday morning. Isn't that terrific?”

Though she wasn't exactly sure why, Charlotte felt a bit funny about Bitsy using the same beautician that she used. But she forced an enthusiasm she didn't feel anyway. After all, it was a free country. “That's great, hon,” she told Valerie. “And speaking of appointments, I need one. And I'm afraid I'm in a bind. If at all possible, I desperately need a haircut today.”

“Hmm, I'm looking at my afternoon appointments here. I can probably work you in around four.”

Charlotte frowned in thought. A haircut and blow-dry shouldn't take more than an hour. If she finished up at Marian's by three forty-five, she should still have enough time to check out the Devilier house before dark. “Four sounds great,” Charlotte told her. “See you then.”

As she slipped the cell phone back inside her pocket, Charlotte's frown deepened. Was her memory getting worse of late? Should she be concerned? What if she was going senile, or what if, heaven forbid, she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's? What if…

Stop it, Charlotte. Stop it right now.

With a shake of her head, she ripped the reminder note off the pad, wadded it up, then stuffed it in her pocket.
The new job. Think of the job Marian was talking about earlier.

All along, even before she'd known for sure she had won the Devilier contract, she'd planned on adding the profits from the job to her retirement account. By doing the job on the weekend, she'd figured she could utilize all of her regular employees without having to hire extra help, thereby ensuring a larger profit margin.

But the Devilier job was a onetime deal. What Marian was proposing could be a continuous income for several years to come, and would go a long way toward ensuring her financial independence.

She quickly scribbled down some numbers, calculating the amount she would need to charge. A moment later, she looked up from the number figure she'd come up with and stared with unseeing eyes at the passing traffic in front of Marian's house. For months Hank had been pressuring her to retire and let him take care of her. Though she half suspected that her son was just a wee bit embarrassed because his mother still worked as a maid, she knew that deep down, he truly had the best of intentions.

The fact that Hank could well afford to support her wasn't even a consideration. As far as Charlotte was concerned, the whole idea of retirement was simply out of the question. To begin with, she had no plans for retiring any time soon. Retire to what? What on earth would she do with herself all day long, day in and day out? Why, she'd be bored silly. But besides boredom, just the thought of
having
to depend on Hank or anyone else, for that matter, gave her the willies. Doing such a thing, in her opinion, would be the ultimate admission that she truly was getting old.

 

Since Marian's office was Charlotte's least favorite room to clean, she always saved it for last.

Marian seemed to have a real knack for dealing in real estate, and by all accounts had turned her husband's failing business into a profitable venture. But in Charlotte's opinion, the woman's organizational skills left a lot to be desired.

Since the very first day that Charlotte had worked for Marian, the younger woman had made it clear that nothing was to be moved around in the office, so cleaning the room was a real challenge. And dusting it was a nightmare due to the stacks of papers and mail that were piled on every available surface.

But Charlotte had learned a few tricks over the months. Each stack was dealt with on a one-by-one basis. First she'd carefully move the stack; then, after dusting and waxing the space where it had sat, she placed it in the same position she'd found it to begin with. That way, she could leave the room looking exactly the same, only clean and free of dust.

As usual, Marian was seated at the computer when Charlotte entered the office. By mutual consent, normally neither woman spoke or disturbed the other while working, so it was a complete surprise when Marian turned away from the computer and struck up a conversation.

“So far, so good,” she said.

Charlotte frowned. “Pardon?”

“Aaron,” Marian qualified. “Since he was able to keep the toast and juice down earlier, I gave him some chicken noodle soup and crackers for lunch, and so far, he hasn't throw it up yet. Maybe—just maybe, the worst of this awful virus is over.”

Charlotte smiled and set down her supply carrier. “We'll certainly hope so for Aaron's sake. Poor little guy.”

Marian nodded in agreement. “I'm still taking him to the doctor though, just as a precaution. I was able to get an appointment for this afternoon—Oh, and by the way, I was also able to change my appointment with Jefferson Harper as well.

“Before my meeting, though, I'd like to rework my original proposal to include a rough estimate for the maid service we discussed earlier. Later, we'll draw up an official contract, of course, but what I need right now is an amount—just a ballpark figure—for what you would charge for supplying weekly service for each apartment.”

Charlotte stepped closer to the desk. “I understand there are four apartments in the building. Is that correct?”

When Marian nodded, Charlotte pretended to do a quick mental calculation. After all, business was business, as Hank was always reminding her.
These people are your clients, Mother. They're not your friends.
It was a lesson she'd learned the hard way, dealing with her former clients, the Dubuissons. And, in all fairness to her son, she had to agree that it was just plain good business sense not to let a prospective client know how eager she was about a job.

With just four apartments, she'd already figured out that she'd only have to hire one additional full-time employee. She pointed at a pen and pad of paper. “May I?” she asked.

When Marian nodded, Charlotte picked up the pen and proceeded to jot down the figures she'd done earlier. The first figure she came up with was a calculation of the number of hours per week needed to service the four apartments. Then she multiplied the resulting figure by the hourly wage she normally charged a client. Built into that figure was her margin of profit, an allowance for cleaning supplies, and insurance, as well as the employee's hourly wage and benefits. Circling the final figure, she pointed at it with the pen.

“This total per week should be pretty accurate,” she told Marian.

Marian stared at the figure for several seconds, then nodded. “Good. At least now I have something to work with.”

When the phone jangled, both women jumped at the unexpected intrusion. Just as Marian reached for the receiver, Aaron cried out.

“Mom! I'm sick again!”

With a long-suffering but worried look, Marian shoved away from the computer and stood. “Guess I spoke too soon,” she said, casting an irritated glare at the phone as it rang again. “That could be a call I'm expecting.”

“Mom! Hurry!”

“I'm coming, Aaron,” she yelled. To Charlotte she said, “Could you get that for me?” Then, without waiting for an answer, she rushed toward the door. “Just take a number,” she said over her shoulder, “and tell them I'll call them right back.”

As Marian disappeared through the door, Charlotte picked up the phone. “Hebert Real Estate. May I help you?”

There was no response for several seconds, then…“Charlotte? Is that you, Charlotte?”

“Ah…yes. May I ask—”

“So now Marian has you answering the phone too. Or have you gone into real estate instead of the cleaning business?”

Charlotte frowned, trying to place the familiar female voice. When a mental image of a former client named Katherine Bergeron suddenly clicked into place, her frown turned into a warm smile. “No, Katherine,” she answered. “I still run Maid-for-a-Day. I wouldn't know the first thing about selling real estate. But my goodness, what has it been, at least a couple of years since I've seen you? I'm amazed you recognized my voice.”

“Process of elimination, Charlotte. Marian probably didn't mention it, but I'm the one who recommended you to her in the first place. We've known each other for years. Why, Bill and Marian grew up with my husband, and we were all the best of friends. Bill even once worked for my father. Then after Daddy died and Drew took over the firm, Bill worked for him as well until he decided to jump ship and form his own company.”

Charlotte already knew about Bill Hebert's association with her former client, thanks to Bitsy. Once Bitsy had learned that Charlotte was working for Marian Hebert, she'd been quick to fill Charlotte in on all the gossip concerning Marian's husband. And according to Bitsy, Bill's and Drew Bergeron's parting had been a bitter one, though Bitsy didn't know exactly why.

“But, Charlotte,” Katherine continued, “I would have recognized your voice anyway. You know I've never forgiven you for leaving me, especially in my delicate condition.”

“Now, Katherine, that's not fair and you know it. There's no way I can work exclusively for anyone, besides which, with you threatening to miscarry and all, you needed specialized help at the time. And speaking of your former delicate condition, how is that baby girl of yours? What is she now? Almost four?”

“She'll turn four in November. And she's not a baby anymore. What she is, though, is a handful. I'm afraid I've spoiled her rotten ever since…”

…ever since Drew's death….
Charlotte mentally completed Katherine's sentence. It had been a tragic accident—Drew Bergeron's small private plane had gone down in a storm over the Gulf of Mexico two years earlier—made even more tragic since his body was never recovered. And knowing the reason for the sudden silence on the other end of the phone, Charlotte rushed in to fill the gap. “Under the circumstances, I don't think a little spoiling will hurt her,” she offered.