“Ma’am, I apologize if I alarmed you,” he said smoothly.
Then, before Charlotte could even think about pulling out her pepper spray, he slipped a badge from the inside of a jacket pocket and held it up at the window. It could just as easily have been a gun, she thought, feeling a bit unnerved. If she hadn’t been so upset about Joyce, she would have used the good sense God gave her and called the police first to check the man out, instead of…
“I’m a police detective.”
His statement interrupted her thoughts and she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she tried to read what was written on the badge, he quickly slipped it back into his jacket pocket before she had enough time.
“If you don’t mind,” he continued, “I’d like to ask you a few questions pertaining to an investigation that I’m working on.”
The moment the detective said “investigation,” to Charlotte’s chagrin, Joyce’s name was the first one that popped into her head. Her next thought was that she should be ashamed for automatically assuming such a thing about Joyce. But she consoled herself with the fact that after all of the trouble Joyce had caused, her automatic assumption was just a natural reaction.
Suddenly, the detective opened the door and stepped out of the SUV.
He was taller than she’d expected. Keeping a cautious eye on him, Charlotte took a step backward and her fingers tightened on the canister of pepper spray. He’d claimed to be a police detective, so why was she still so jumpy around him? Maybe she should ask to see his badge again.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Still not quite trusting the so-called police detective, Charlotte hesitated. What if this was just a ploy to gain entrance to her house? So he could do what?
Immediately, all of the horror scenes from the television series Criminal Minds flashed through her head. For more years than she cared to remember, Charlotte had been both blessed and cursed by her imagination. Now she felt it was more a curse than a blessing.
She finally motioned toward her house. “It’s turned out to be such a beautiful day—how about we sit on my front porch?”
And what if he says no?
Before she could think of an alternative, the detective nodded his head.
“Your front porch will be just fine, ma’am.”
Once on the porch, and wanting to keep a healthy distance between herself and the detective, Charlotte hurried over to the swing and sat down in the middle of it.
The detective gave her a knowing look, and without blinking an eye, he settled on the porch landing near the steps. Once seated, he stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the porch column. “I’m looking for a woman who’s a key part of my investigation,” he said as he pulled a pen and a small spiral notebook out of his jacket pocket.
Disappointment ripped through Charlotte. Has to be Joyce, she thought. Even with all the problems that Joyce had caused, in her heart of hearts, Charlotte had held out hope that for once, Joyce had told the truth and was trying to get her life back in order. “Guess leopards can’t change their spots after all,” she whispered.
The detective frowned. “Excuse me? What was that?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Nothing important.” She sighed heavily. “I guess you’re here to talk about Joyce Thibodeaux.”
Though the detective didn’t verbally confirm her suspicions, he jotted something down in the notebook, then said, “And what about Ms. Thibodeaux?”
“Well, for one, she’s a very troubled woman.” Charlotte motioned toward Louis’s side of the double. “You see, she’s my tenant’s ex-wife. You might have heard of him,” she quickly added. “His name is Louis—Louis Thibodeaux. He’s a retired detective with the NOPD.”
Noticing the blank look on the detective’s face, Charlotte waved her hand. “Never mind. Anyway, it’s a long story, and to make a long story short, Louis works for Lagniappe Security, and after one of his trips to California, he brought Joyce home with him. He’d gone looking for Joyce to tell her about their new grandchild, but when he found her in a homeless shelter, she claimed that she was dying from cirrhosis of the liver. Feeling sorry for her, he persuaded her to come back to New Orleans. Then, a few weeks later, Louis learned that all that was wrong with Joyce was that she was an alcoholic. After that, he had her committed to a substance abuse program. And now she’s out.”
“Do you know where she’s staying?”
For reasons Charlotte wasn’t sure of, she found herself reluctant to tell the detective that Joyce was staying with her. Instead of answering his question, she hedged. “Not with Louis, that’s for sure. He said that he was done with her. And besides, he’s out of town at the moment, anyway.”
Suddenly, it occurred to Charlotte that Joyce could show up at any minute, and if Joyce did happen to show up, then the detective would know that she hadn’t been completely truthful about Joyce’s whereabouts. Of course Joyce had said that she would be gone most of the day, but Joyce said a lot of things that weren’t true. Time to end the interview and get rid of the detective.
“I’ve told you everything I know.” Charlotte stood, hoping that the detective would cooperate. Liar, liar, pants on fire… Ignoring the voice of her conscience, Charlotte continued, “So—if you don’t mind, I have some chores I have to get done and some errands to run.”
The detective hesitated, then finally nodded. “You’ve been very helpful, ma’am, and I appreciate the information,” he said as he pocketed the pen and notebook and stood.
As he turned and started down the steps, it suddenly occurred to Charlotte that in every episode of Law & Order that she’d watched, the detective always offered his business card to the person he was interviewing, just in case they thought of something to tell him later. Come to think of it, he never had even told her his name.
“Ah, excuse me,” she called out. “Do you have a card? You know—in case I think of something else to tell you?”
He stopped and threw her an amused look over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’m all out of cards, but I’ll be back in touch again.”
Unsure whether it was his smug tone of voice or the look on his face, Charlotte felt her temper spike. “Well, do you at least have a name?” she called out.
That brought him up short. A second later, when he turned to face her, his expression was tight with strain. “Yes, I have a name,” he said impatiently. “Name’s Aubrey Hamilton. Now, is there anything else?”
“No, nothing else,” she answered, taken aback by his tone.
Once inside her house, Charlotte went straight to her desk and wrote down the name Aubrey Hamilton on the desk pad. Beside the name, she wrote police detective, followed by several question marks. Maybe she’d give Judith a call about Mr. Aubrey Hamilton. Having a niece who was an NOPD detective had its advantages. If Judith didn’t know him, she had ways of finding out about him.
Thoughts of her niece reminded Charlotte of one of the errands she needed to run that afternoon, and she needed to get it done before the evening workday traffic.
It wasn’t that often that Charlotte went down into the French Quarter. For one thing, finding a parking spot could be a real pain, depending on what event was going on or what convention happened to be in town at the time. Besides which, Charlotte considered the parking-lot fees to be outrageous.
But Madeline’s birthday was coming up, and Charlotte had learned through Judith that there was a particular earring-and-necklace set that Madeline had admired in a small jewelry shop on St. Peter Street. Judith had already bought the necklace for her mother