Wiped Out (15 page)

“J
une!” Charlotte cried, as she clutched her fist to her chest. Beneath her fist her heart pounded furiously. “My goodness,” she gasped. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry about that, but I was sure you heard me come in.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Not with the vacuum going.” As her heart finally slowed down, Charlotte dropped her hand. “Is there something you wanted?” she asked. Or did you just come by to terrorize me? she added silently.

June flashed her a brief smile that was as fake as a three-dollar bill. “No, just making sure that everything here is okay. And just checking to see if you needed anything.”

Charlotte figured that, more than likely, June had come by just to make sure she was working and not just lollygagging around eating bonbons and watching the soaps on television.

“Everything's fine,” Charlotte told her. “I'm almost finished. All I have left is to mop and put away a few clothes that are in the dryer, but you're more than welcome to inspect what I've already done.”

Talking about the clothes brought to mind the dilemma about the panties. Should she mention them? Or should she just mind her own business and keep her mouth shut? Though Charlotte was pretty sure she already knew what June's answer would be, she couldn't resist the temptation to ask anyway, just to see what kind of reaction June would have.

“There is one thing,” Charlotte added. “I found a pair of panties in the dryer, and I wasn't exactly sure where to put them.”

June simply stared at her for what seemed like endless moments. When she finally did speak, her tone was brisk and sharp. “I'm sure Emma probably left them. Just put them in her room.”

Charlotte shook her head. “They're not the type she wears, and besides, they're too big for Emma.”

“Too big? Oh, well then, they're probably some of Mimi's that I missed when I was clearing out her things. What did you do with them?”

“I put them in one of the empty dresser drawers in the master bedroom,” Charlotte answered.

June groaned. “Oh, good grief. Why didn't you just throw them in the garbage?”

Charlotte paused. Why so testy? she wondered. Not knowing how else to respond, she shrugged and said, “I didn't think it was my place to throw them away.”

“Well, I'm telling you to do it. Okay?”

“No problem. I just didn't—”

“Tell you what,” June interrupted. “On second thought, it's been a long week, and I know you must be tired. Why don't I take care of the panties and the clothes in the dryer for you? As for the mopping, you can do that on Monday. A couple of days won't make a difference. That way, you can go ahead and leave—get a head start on the weekend.”

It was on the tip of Charlotte's tongue to point out that Gordon, not June, was her client, but she decided that doing so would probably only antagonize June. So, in an attempt at being a bit more tactful, she simply said, “Are you sure that would be okay with Gordon?”

June's lips thinned with irritation. “Yes, I'm sure,” she snapped. Then, as if realizing how impatient she'd sounded, she quickly flashed Charlotte another of her fake smiles. “Besides, Gordon would probably tell you the same thing if he were here.”

“Well, if you're sure, then it won't take me but a minute to get my stuff together.”

Charlotte gathered her supplies in record time, and once she had loaded the vacuum cleaner and supply carrier into the van, she walked back inside the house to tell June she was leaving.

Charlotte rounded the bottom of the staircase just as June was coming down the stairs, and just in time to see a flash of white before June stuffed something into her pants pocket.

Had to be the panties, Charlotte figured. But why would June put them in her pocket unless…

It suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks—unless the panties belonged to June. No wonder June had offered to take care of the panties and the clothes. As far as Charlotte could see, there was only one viable reason that she could think of as to why June's panties would be there in the first place.

Charlotte grimaced. She'd once overheard a group of women talking about how women who dallied in extramarital affairs always carried an extra pair of panties in their purse. Personally, she thought the whole idea was not only immoral but disgusting as well.

You could be mistaken, though. You could be jumping to conclusions.

What other reason could there be? she argued silently.

Maybe she just stuck them in her pocket until she could put them in the kitchen trash can.

Yeah, right, she thought, as her insides began to churn with righteous indignation on Mimi's behalf. In Charlotte's opinion, the only thing worse than having an affair with a married man was having an affair with your best friend's husband.

“My goodness, Charlotte, I thought for sure that you'd already left.”

The sound of June's voice jerked Charlotte out of her reverie.

“Was there something else you needed?” June said, as she descended the last few steps of the staircase.

It was all Charlotte could do to keep a civil tongue in her mouth. “I'm leaving,” she said. “I just came back inside to let you know that.”

“Well, have a good weekend, and I'll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

Not if I see you first,
Charlotte felt like saying. Not trusting herself to respond, Charlotte nodded curtly, executed an about-face, then walked swiftly to the door.

 

Outside the sun was shining, and, for a change, the temperature was almost pleasant, but inside her van, Charlotte was too upset to notice the beautiful afternoon as she drove slowly up Prytania.

Lecture or no lecture, she should really try to call Judith again.

Leave it alone. Just mind your own business—stay out of it.

“Easier said than done,” she argued with the aggravating inner voice of her conscience, as she turned onto Milan Street. Besides, what could it hurt just to mention her suspicions about June having an affair with Gordon? And while she was at it, she could also mention her theory about the brownies. At least the affair was a motive of sorts for murder. People had been known to kill over a lot less.

And what if you're just imagining things again?

“But what if I'm not?” she muttered.

Facts and evidence. That's all that Judith is interested in. Otherwise, it's just gossip and hearsay, and she'll just think you're turning into an old busybody.

Charlotte pulled the van into her driveway, and once she'd switched off the engine, she sat staring straight ahead, yet not really seeing the outside wall of the storage room. Facts, she thought. Judith would want facts or hard evidence.

She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. So what were the facts? And what evidence did she have?

Fact one: Mimi had said that a “friend” had told her about the jimsonweed. So what evidence did she have that June was that “friend”?

None, none at all.

Charlotte sighed. Mimi probably had lots of friends, and with the exception of Rita, Karen, and Doreen, she probably considered most of the HHS members her friends.

Fact two: There had been rumors that Gordon was having an affair, and because of the panties and the way that June had more or less taken over the entire Adams family, she'd assumed that he was having an affair with June. As for the evidence…

Face it, there is no evidence, only your half-baked theories and conjectures.

Charlotte groaned and shook her head. “You
are
nothing but an old busybody,” she grumbled. She jerked open the van door, grabbed her purse, climbed out, and then slammed the door hard just for good measure.

Just as Charlotte entered the house and closed and locked the front door, she heard a car pull into the driveway outside. Curious, she peeked through the window just in time to see Louis climb out of his blue Ford Taurus.

The sight of Louis sent a tiny unexpected jolt through her. Maybe the old adage was true after all, she thought. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder.

As Louis walked around the front of the car to the passenger side, Charlotte tried to examine her feelings more closely. It was true that she had missed him, but why had she missed him?

Her eyes followed him as he opened the passenger door, and only when a woman stepped out of the car did Charlotte suddenly realize that Louis hadn't come home alone.

But who was the woman? Immediately dismissing the possibility that Louis could have a lady friend, Charlotte figured that, more than likely, the woman was a sister whom Louis had neglected to mention or maybe even a cousin.

Whoever she was, even at a distance, it was hard to miss the woman's full head of flaming red hair or her trim, almost emaciated figure. From what Charlotte could see, she guessed that the woman was her own age or younger. Probably younger, Charlotte thought, eyeing the snug-fitting jeans and the body-hugging tank top that the woman was wearing.

Louis had his hand on the woman's back, and as he escorted her around the front of the car, he glanced toward the window where Charlotte was standing. Before Charlotte could decide whether he could see her standing there watching him, the woman stopped and turned to face Louis. She tilted her head upward and said something to him. Then, she clasped either side of his face with her hands, pulled his head down, and kissed him full on the mouth.

Charlotte felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach as she watched the seemingly endless kiss. By no stretch of the imagination could the woman's kiss be called a sisterly peck, nor was it the kind that cousins would exchange.

Swimming through a fog of feelings and regrets, Charlotte backed away from the window. In a daze and ignoring Sweety Boy's noisy attempts to get her attention, she automatically slipped off her shoes, stepped into her moccasins, and stumbled over to the sofa.

In Charlotte's mind's eye, she could still see the woman kissing Louis, but the vision disappeared when her ears picked up the sound of footsteps on the front porch. The door to Louis's half of the double opened, then closed. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again. There were more footsteps on the porch, then the sharp rap of knuckles on wood at her own front door.

Charlotte knew within her bones that the visitor was Louis, but the last thing she wanted at the moment was to have to face him. Before she could do that, she had to get a grip on her emotions, had to come to terms with the fact that she'd fooled around and waited too long to make up her mind about her feelings for him. And now it was too late. From the looks of things, he'd found someone else.

Charlotte glanced over uneasily at the front door. Maybe if she just ignored him, he would go away.

But he didn't go away, and the knocking grew louder and more insistent. Then…“Charlotte, open up. I know you're in there.”

For lack of a better excuse, she swallowed hard, then called out, “I'm busy right now.”

“That's a bunch of bull, and we both know it. Open the door.”

Blood suddenly pounded in her temples and the heat of embarrassment stung her cheeks. He
had
seen her at the window, and knowing Louis, he felt he had to explain.

“I know where you hide the extra key,” Louis taunted, in a singsong voice. “Either you open up or I'll use it.”

Charlotte didn't want to hear his explanations. Doing so would be admitting that there had been something between them.

“I'm warning you,” Louis called out.

Don't be such a coward. Just do it and get it over with.
With a sigh of resignation, Charlotte gathered her dignity, pushed herself off the sofa, and marched to the door. Taking a deep breath, she threw the dead bolt. When she opened the door, she kept one hand on the doorknob and placed her other hand on the door frame to make it clear that she didn't intend to invite him inside. “What do you want, Louis?”

“I want to—” He shook his head. “No—not want—I
need
to talk to you, to explain.”

Charlotte gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So talk.”

“Can't I come inside?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Like I said, I'm busy.”

“Yeah, right. Sure you are.” He gave an exasperated shake of his head. When she still didn't budge, he sighed. “Never mind then. Look, Charlotte, not everything is always as it appears. And don't even try to pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about.”

Charlotte gripped the doorknob even tighter. “What you do or don't do is none of my business,” she retorted.

Louis narrowed his eyes and studied her a moment. “Are you sure about that?”

“I'm sure.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, he said, “You and I both know you're lying.”

“So, what's your point, Louis?”

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. With another long-suffering sigh, he opened them and said, “My point is that I'd like to explain who my guest is.” He quickly added, “And don't you dare say that I don't owe you an explanation. If for no other reason, you are my landlady. And I thought you were my friend—my good friend,” he continued. “Be that as it may, I felt I needed to explain, especially since my guest will be staying for a while, just until she gets her own place.” His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Besides, Judith would have my hide if I brought another woman in and didn't explain it.”

When Charlotte simply stared at him and didn't respond to his attempt at humor, his expression grew tight with strain.

“She's my ex-wife, Charlotte. She's Stephen's mother.”