Books by Barbara Colley
MAID FOR MURDER
DEATH TIDIES UP
POLISHED OFF
WIPED OUT
MARRIED TO THE MOP
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Charlotte LaRue Mystery
MARRIED TO THE MOP
Barbara Colley
For Captain Charles Colley,
Captain Keith Taylor,
and the rest of our brave soldiers
serving all over the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my sincere appreciation to all who so generously gave me advice and information while I was writing this book: Detective Mitch Weatherly with the New Orleans Police Department; my dear friend, Linda Fielding; and those wonderful friends who are equally wonderful writers—Rexanne Becnel, Jessica Ferguson, Marie Goodwin, and Karen Young.
I also want to thank Evan Marshall and John Scognamiglio. Their support and advice is invaluable.
Any mistakes made or liberties taken in the name of fiction are solely my own.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter
1
“Is this Charlotte LaRue with Maid-for-a-Day?”
Charlotte barely suppressed an impatient groan. Why, oh, why had she answered the phone? She should have ignored it, or, at the very least, she should have checked the caller I.D. before answering it.
Besides, today was Sunday, for Pete’s sake; she didn’t work on Sundays. She figured that if even the good Lord Himself had seen fit to rest one day a week, then who was she to question His wisdom?
But ignoring a ringing phone had never been easy for her. She had always been just a bit superstitious that the very call that she ignored would be an emergency call informing her that something had happened to a member of her family.
So, now that you know it’s not, just hang up the receiver.
The temptation was strong, but she just couldn’t do it. With an impatient sigh, she finally said, “Yes, this is Charlotte.”
“Charlotte, my name is Emily Rossi, and I need your help.”
Charlotte sighed again and drummed her fingers on the desktop. The one thing she didn’t need was another customer. As it was, she had more work than she could handle. Besides, any minute now her family would be coming through the door expecting Sunday lunch, and she still needed to carve the roast and put the food on the table.
Be nice, Charlotte, her conscience chided. Hear the woman out. You can always say no.
Charlotte took a deep breath. “What kind of help do you need, Ms. Rossi?”
“Just the general stuff, you know—dusting, vacuuming, mopping.”
Charlotte glanced down at the envelope in front of her on her desk. The return address on the envelope belonged to Cheré Warner, one of her full-time employees. She’d received the envelope Friday, but hadn’t opened it yet, and, in fact, had put off opening it, dreading the contents, since she was fairly certain that it contained Cheré’s resignation letter.
Charlotte tapped the envelope with her forefinger. Then there was Nadia. In addition to being her nephew Daniel’s wife, Nadia was also another full-time employee. Any day now Charlotte expected to get a resignation letter from Nadia as well. Not that Charlotte blamed either of the women for her decision.
Cheré had been slowly but surely working her way through college. She’d graduated from Tulane in December and had been actively seeking other employment that fit her business degree.
Nadia was still on maternity leave, but she’d been dropping hints about staying home with her new baby permanently instead of returning to work. And why not? As a well-respected attorney, Daniel made more than enough money to support his new family.
Charlotte had figured that she and Janet Davis, her only part-time employee, could pinch-hit for a while, filling in for Cheré and Nadia until she found replacements for the two women. Anticipating the resignations, she’d gone ahead and placed an ad in the newspaper in hopes of hiring another full-time employee. As a result, she’d already received several résumés that looked good. Even so, she still had to interview them and…
“Ms. Rossi, I’m really sorry. Right now I’m booked solid and am shorthanded. I just can’t take on any new clients.”
A frustrated sound from Emily Rossi whispered through the phone line. “Not even temporary ones?” she asked. “I’m not looking for full-time, permanent help,” she hastened to add. “Only temporary help, just a few days until Jennifer—she’s my regular maid—can work again. My friend Bitsy—Bitsy Duhe—says you’re the best in the city. She’s had a family emergency—Jennifer, not Bitsy—and she isn’t sure when she can come back to work.”
When Emily Rossi paused, Charlotte frowned. Either the poor woman was on the verge of a nervous breakdown or she was as scatterbrained as Bitsy.
“Sorry,” Emily finally said. “I’m probably not making sense. It’s just that I’m at my wits’ end, and Bitsy, bless her old heart, assured me that not only were you the best, but you were trustworthy and—and discreet.”
Discreet? Charlotte had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. She supposed she should be flattered, and she would have been had the compliment come from anyone but Bitsy. Bitsy Duhe was the worst gossip in all of New Orleans and didn’t know the meaning of the word discreet.
“You see,” Emily continued, “my husband and I are giving a Mardi Gras party Friday night. We thought that would be the best time since the Endymion Parade and Ball is Saturday evening, and of course no one wants to miss Endymion. Of all times for Jennifer to take off, this is the worst. Not that she can help it,” Emily hastened to add. “Believe me, I understand about family emergencies. I’ve had a few of my own. Anyway, I only need you to come in on Thursday, half a day on Friday before the party, then clean up on Saturday and possibly Sunday after the party. Hopefully Jennifer will be back by the following Monday. And before you say no, I’m prepared to offer you two hundred dollars a day for all four days. Even the half day,” she added.
Charlotte blinked and her breath caught in her lungs. Two hundred dollars a day? Emily Rossi had to be desperate indeed to offer that kind of money. Talk about an offer hard to refuse.
After Charlotte remembered to breathe again, she once more glanced down at the letter