Death Tidies Up. Barbara Colley

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      KENSINGTON BOOKS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To my mother, Doris Logan,

       who has always believed in me and my dreams.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      My sincere thanks and appreciation to all who so generously gave me information and advice while I was writing this book: April Colley, my daughter; Lally Brennan and Gerald Aviles at Commander’s Palace; John Mcgill and Pamela Arceneaux with the Williams Research Center in New Orleans; Mary Lou Christovich; Cheryl Harrington and her parakeet, Jazz; and my good friends and fellow writers Rexanne Becnel, Jessica Ferguson, and Marie Goodwin.

      Last, but never least, my thanks to Evan Marshall, my agent, and John Scognamiglio, my editor. Their support and inspiration have been invaluable.

      Any mistakes made or liberties taken in the name of fiction are solely my own.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-one

      Chapter Twenty-two

      Chapter Twenty-three

      Chapter Twenty-four

      Chapter Twenty-five

      Chapter Twenty-six

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      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 anymore. 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 clichéd 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 СКАЧАТЬ