mantelpiece over the fireplace were original to the house. The colorful ceiling frescoes in the magnificent ballroom also impressed her.
Too bad the furnishings, the eclectic contemporary artwork, and the drapes were so pretentious that they bordered on gaudy, and in Charlotte’s opinion, were much too flashy to be tasteful.
In the front parlor, Charlotte had to really work to keep her expression impassive. Of all things, bookcases lined one entire wall. Though they were filled with what she suspected were rare collectibles, bookcases in the formal parlor were unheard of and considered crass.
If possible, the library was even worse. A huge ornate oak desk dominated the center of the room, and facing the desk were two leather Chippendale wing chairs. But what really caught her attention and sent a shiver down her spine was the vast display of some really wicked-looking knives, guns, and swords that hung on one of the walls.
Immediately, the Rossis’ children came to mind. Didn’t Robert Rossi realize just how dangerous such a collection could be with children around?
“You must take extra care when dusting these.”
Emily’s voice jerked Charlotte out of her reverie and she glanced over to where the younger woman was standing.
“These are Robert’s pride and joy, so please, do be careful when you dust them.”
Charlotte stepped closer to the huge glass-enclosed curio cabinet and stared at what could only be authentic Fabergé eggs. “Will I need a key or something to open the case?”
Emily shrugged. “No key. I’ve tried to get Robert to install a security system for them, but he says that’s what he pays the bodyguards for.” She shrugged again. “That, and other things.”
“They’re beautiful,” Charlotte murmured. She had seen collections of the eggs before, most under lock and key, but in all of her years of working in Garden District homes, she couldn’t remember ever seeing so many in one place. Of course, considering who Robert Rossi was, a thief would be a fool to steal from him.
“Yes, they are beautiful, and several are priceless—one of a kind. I should know.” Emily’s voice held a note of resentment as she reached up and smoothed her fingers over her cheek.
Though Charlotte didn’t totally understand the connection between the eggs and Emily’s cheek, she understood enough to suspect that the makeup covered a bruise, not a scar, and the implication fueled a deep-seated fury. In addition to Robert Rossi’s obvious sins due to his connection to the Mafia, was he also abusive to his wife?
“Robert counts them every day.” Emily grimaced. Then, as if she’d suddenly realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand. With a forced smile, she said, “Never mind that. Why don’t we head upstairs?”
The oak banister of the sweeping spiral staircase was definitely original to the house, Charlotte decided, as they climbed the steps to the second floor. The handrail had the look of years of use about it.
“There are five bedroom suites upstairs,” Emily told her when they reached the second-floor landing. “And each has its own private bathroom. This is the master bedroom suite.” Emily opened the door nearest the staircase.
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open when she stepped inside. The huge room reminded her of a turn-of-the-century Victorian whorehouse, and she had to make a concerted effort to close her mouth. The predominately red room with its dark, oversized furniture, flocked wallpaper, bloodred velvet bedspread and matching drapes was claustrophobic and jarring to the senses. And it was hard not to notice the skimpy black-and-red negligée carelessly thrown across the foot rail of the bed. When Emily signaled that they should continue their tour, Charlotte was only too happy to follow her back out into the hallway.
“And this is our son Brandon’s room,” Emily said as she threw open the next door down the hallway.
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief when she peeked into Brandon’s room. Though the colors of the furnishings varied from Shrek-green to aqua, and there were several large stuffed wild animals strewn about, at least it somewhat resembled a child’s room.
After the whorehouse bedroom and the jungle bedroom, Charlotte wasn’t quite sure what to expect when Emily opened the third door. “This one belongs to our daughter, Amanda,” Emily said.
Charlotte laughed. “I take it that Amanda likes pink.”
Emily laughed with her. “Not just pink. She insisted on hot pink, and, unfortunately, the bedspread and drapes had to be satin.”
“A room fit for a princess,” Charlotte murmured.
“Oh, believe me, Amanda is anything but a princess. Around here we call her Demanda.”
Emily’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. Then she laughed. To Charlotte’s ears, the laughter sounded forced, which made her wonder if Amanda was a problem child.
When Emily paused at the last door near the end of the hallway, she said, “This is my mother-in-law’s suite.” She raised her hand to knock, but before she could do so, the door swung open.
A heavyset elderly lady with snow-white hair stuck her head through the opening and said, “I thought I heard voices out here.”
“Charlotte, this is Sophia, my mother-in-law. Mama, this is Charlotte, our new maid.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes and gave Charlotte the once-over. “She’s older than the other one. Does Robert know that you hired someone new?”
Emily nodded. “Yes, Mama. Don’t you remember? Jennifer had a family emergency she had to take care of, and didn’t know when she would be able to return to work.”
Sophia waved her hand. “Yes, yes, of course I remember. I’m not as addle-brained as some people around here think I am. As for what’s her name—the other maid—that girl wouldn’t know work if it bit her on the butt.”
“Mama!”
“Well, it’s true, and you and I both know it.”
“Ah—yes—well, I was just showing Charlotte around before she begins cleaning.”
Sophia opened the door wider and motioned for them to come inside. “Bring her in and get it over with,” she grumbled. “I want to get dressed, and I’m hungry. With all of those men in and out, a body has to dress before they can even eat breakfast around here.”
Though her manner was a bit coarse and she was clearly irritated, Charlotte decided that she liked Sophia anyway. Now there was a woman with spunk, she thought.
Out of all of the bedrooms, Sophia’s looked the most normal. Though primarily royal blue, Charlotte could clearly tell that Sophia had put her own decorating touches on her room. Unlike the sterile atmosphere of the other bedrooms, Sophia had added little personal touches here and there: some throw pillows, an overstuffed easy chair facing a wall-mounted plasma TV, doilies, and several framed photographs. When Charlotte spotted the crochet hook and yarn on the side table next to the chair, she figured that Sophia had probably crocheted the doilies herself.
The final bedroom was a guestroom, the colors primarily purple and gold. “This one we call the LSU room,” Emily told Charlotte, motioning toward a small collection of LSU pendants
