Wash And Die. Barbara Colley

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      Getting her bank account straightened out that afternoon had taken longer than she’d expected, but then everything seemed to take longer since Hurricane Katrina. By the time Charlotte turned down her street, it was almost four o’clock.

      She glanced over at the bag of used books on the passenger seat, a gift from her client Bitsy Duhe. Since the death of Bitsy’s husband, the elderly lady had more time on her hands than she knew what to do with, and though she filled most of her time on the phone gossiping, she also loved to read.

      Bitsy knew how much Charlotte enjoyed reading too, and they both loved a good mystery. Even though she had a stack of to-be-read books on her bedside table, she could hardly wait to get home and go through the books.

      With a sigh, Charlotte shook her head and snickered. It had been a while since she’d cleaned for Bitsy Duhe, and though Bitsy was generous to a fault, she could also be a real pain to work for.

      During Katrina, Bitsy had evacuated first to Shreveport, where she’d stayed with an old friend, and then, at the insistence of her son, she’d flown out to California and stayed with him for several months. But like most of the tried and true natives of New Orleans, and in spite of her son’s objections, Bitsy couldn’t wait to come back home.

      Charlotte was just thankful that she’d had the good sense to hire Dale Brown, and that Dale seemed to genuinely care about the old lady. And she was also grateful that Dale would be finished with his semester finals in time to clean for Bitsy the following Tuesday.

      Too bad Dale only had one more semester till graduation. She’d have to start giving some serious thought to hiring someone else pretty soon.

      Though her mind was still on the bag of books and her employee, Dale Brown, she did notice that the black SUV that she’d seen that morning, along with its occupant, was gone just before she pulled into her driveway.

      As Charlotte shifted the gear into park, her gaze strayed to her front porch. Then she froze, her hand hovering above the ignition. A woman was sitting on the front-porch swing. But not just any woman, she suddenly realized.

      Joyce Thibodeaux.

      Charlotte felt as if she’d just been sucker punched, and dread, like a slab of concrete, weighed down her insides.

      “Dear Lord in Heaven, now what?” she whispered.

      Chapter 2

      For more reasons than she could count, the very last person on earth that Charlotte wanted to see was Joyce Thibodeaux, the ex-wife of her tenant, Louis Thibodeaux. Before Joyce had finally been forced to enter a substance abuse program at a local hospital, she’d caused enough trouble and heartache for ten people, including Charlotte.

      Poor Louis. Charlotte sighed. Did he know that Joyce was out of the hospital earlier than she was supposed to be? More than likely, he didn’t. If he had known, he would have said something before he left Sunday afternoon for an assignment in New York.

      “Oh, boy,” she whispered. Louis was going to be furious when he did find out. But who could really blame him after what Joyce had put him through. After abandoning Louis and their troubled teenage son years ago, she’d come back into his life and claimed to be dying. But it had all been a lie. Knowing how Louis felt about her alcoholism, and desperately needing to get out of California, Joyce had used the dying ploy to play on Louis’s sympathies and to cover up the fact that she was still a drunk.

      Charlotte switched off the engine. Not looking forward to the confrontation with Joyce, she took her time gathering her stuff.

      You did this…. This is your fault…. Joyce’s accusation on the day she was taken away by paramedics whispered through Charlotte’s head. Considering that she was partially responsible for helping Louis persuade Joyce to agree to a drug rehab program, Charlotte had a sneaking suspicion that Joyce wasn’t there to pay her a social visit—especially since Louis hadn’t given Joyce much of a choice in the matter. It was either agree to go into the program or fend for herself on the streets.

      Knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable confrontation any longer, Charlotte finally climbed out of the van. Both women simply stared at each other, and neither spoke as Charlotte approached the porch.

      The first thing that caught Charlotte’s eye as she climbed the short flight of stairs was that Joyce had lost weight and was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she had entered the hospital weeks before. Joyce was a couple of years younger than Charlotte, and according to Louis, Joyce had always been a thin woman, but now she looked even skinnier than before. Of course the fact that she had pulled her red hair back tightly into a ponytail made her look even more emaciated.

      She must be cold, Charlotte thought, her gaze taking in the short-sleeved T-shirt Joyce was wearing.

      The next thing that Charlotte noticed was the large bundle at Joyce’s feet. It was wrapped in what appeared to be towels and tied up like a gift with a thin rope.

      Since Joyce had nothing but the clothes on her back when she’d entered the hospital and had no income, and assuming that the bundle belonged to Joyce, Charlotte wondered how she had acquired anything during her time there. Of course it was always possible that Louis or Stephen had sent her a few of the clothes she’d left at Louis’s house. And, too, it was possible that one of the many charities could have contributed clothes to the hospital.

      The second that Charlotte stepped onto the porch, Joyce abruptly stood and took a step toward her. Charlotte immediately tensed, unsure just what to expect.

      “Hi, Charlotte.”

      To Charlotte’s surprise, Joyce’s tone was subdued, as was the expression on her face. With a nod of her head, she returned the greeting. “Hello, Joyce.”

      As they stood staring at each other, an awkward silence stretched out into several long minutes. Joyce was the first to finally break the silence. “I—I know that I’m probably the last person on earth that you want to see, and I apologize for showing up without calling first. But frankly, I was afraid that you wouldn’t take my call either. Neither Louis nor Stephen will answer my phone calls. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. After what I did, what can I expect?”

      A tear rolled down Joyce’s cheek, and Charlotte felt the resentment inside crumble.

      “Truth is, I’m scared, Charlotte. I was just released from the hospital. They don’t have enough beds for the psych patients as it is, never mind those of us with addiction problems, so they released СКАЧАТЬ