a frown of annoyance, she glanced around. Where were they coming from? she wondered as she walked over to the windows in the living room.
Both windows in the living room were closed and locked, though, and it was in the bedroom that Charlotte finally located the entry source of the pesky insects. There was one lone window in the room, and not only was it raised a couple of inches, but the outside screen was missing as well.
On her pad, Charlotte jotted down a note to call Vince Roussel about the missing screen and the open window.
Once Charlotte had finished her inspection downstairs, she climbed the wide spiral staircase to the second floor. At the top landing she made a quick note to report a deep gouge in the wood on the sixth step that needed repairing.
Like the downstairs, the second floor was also divided into two apartments. The first one she walked through had the same layout as the two on the bottom floor, and again, she figured that the clean-up would be routine.
Because of the open window on the first floor, Charlotte made sure she checked all of the windows before doing her tour of the fourth and final apartment.
As she checked the last window in the bedroom, she suddenly realized that the very thing she’d feared had already happened. Twilight was gone, and darkness had set in for the night.
Even as an uneasy feeling crawled through her, Charlotte hurried across the hall to the final apartment. The moment she entered the apartment, though, she forgot about the dark, forgot about everything.
“What on earth?” she exclaimed as she stared at the living area.
Chapter Five
Unlike the other three apartments, the fourth had more in it than just grime and dust.
Several empty beer bottles littered one of the windowsills, and below the window on the floor there were a couple of empty food sacks, one from McDonald’s and one from Popeye’s. Besides the food sacks, a collection of wadded-up napkins and dirty plastic eating utensils also littered the floor.
Charlotte felt a sudden chill as she recalled the missing screen and open window downstairs. Had someone broken into the house or was the trash simply an oversight of the construction crew?
Even if there was an intruder, theft couldn’t have been the motive, since there was nothing to steal…except the Tiffany lamp. Besides, a thief wouldn’t take the time to eat and have a beer. She also dismissed the idea of vandalism. As far as she could tell, nothing had been damaged and there was no graffiti on the walls.
Though still a bit uneasy, Charlotte admonished herself for her overactive imagination. “You’ve been reading too many mystery novels again,” she mumbled. The trash was more than likely left by the construction workers. Nothing more and nothing less.
Even so, the uneasy feeling grew as she walked into the bedroom. One look at the small room was all it took to dismiss the possibility that workers had left the trash behind.
In the middle of the dirty floor was the distinct outline of a large rectangular area that was relatively free of dust, just the right size for a sleeping bag, and there were even more beer bottles and food sacks strewn about. To Charlotte, it looked suspiciously like someone had been staying there, camping out.
Like most large cities, New Orleans had its share of homeless people, and though Charlotte hadn’t witnessed any hanging around the Garden District, she didn’t dismiss the possibility that one could have migrated from the Quarter to the Garden District. And what better place to take up residence than in an empty house?
After checking the windows to make sure they were all locked, Charlotte went into the bathroom. “Now that’s odd,” she muttered as she stared at a smear of something in the vanity sink that looked suspiciously like dried toothpaste.
Did homeless people brush their teeth? Somehow the picture of a tattered, dirty man brushing his teeth didn’t quite fit the image she’d always had of a homeless person. But even more disturbing, she wondered if whoever was camping out in the house would return. She truly hoped not, at least not while she was there all alone.
Still, the thought that the intruder could return any minute chased her all the way down the stairs and out into the dark night. Only when she was once again safely locked inside her van and driving down St. Charles Avenue did she feel even a modicum of safety.
Whom should she call? she wondered as she slowed to a stop for a traffic light. Vince Roussel, Marian, or the police?
If Louis was home, she could ask him.
And since when did you start needing Louis’ advice anyway, or any man’s advice, for that matter?
Charlotte sighed deeply. Though she’d had her qualms about renting out the other half of her double to the detective, she had to admit it had been nice to know there was a man living next door. But not just any man. Louis could be exasperating at times and they’d butted heads on more than one occasion due to his chauvinistic attitude, but he was a man of principle, a man she could trust, a man she could learn to care about….
The traffic light turned green. Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Charlotte felt like squirming in the seat. On more than one occasion, her niece had taken delight in teasing her about her relationship with Louis Thibodeaux simply because she’d expressed her distaste for the man.
Or could it be that you like him a little too much? Judith’s teasing accusation played through her mind. Was her niece right about her feelings for the detective? Charlotte felt her face grow warm at just the thought.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered. “I’m too old for such nonsense anyway.” Besides, even if she’d had those kinds of feelings or thoughts about Louis Thibodeaux, he didn’t feel that way about her.
And why would he after you told him off?
Charlotte still cringed each time she thought about that awful scary night. Even so, he’d deserved every scathing word she’d thrown at him. She’d caught his killer for him, then he’d treated her like a child who didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain. To top it off, he’d purposely led her to believe that he was arresting her for interfering, just to teach her a lesson.
But she’d called his bluff and won, and since that night, they’d settled into an uneasy truce.
No, she thought. Louis Thibodeaux was the last person she’d asked advice from. But she could call Judith. She’d meant to call her anyway to grill her about her new partner, so this would be a good excuse.
Charlotte braked upon approaching her house. When she turned into her driveway, for a brief moment, her headlights flashed on the front porch. “Speak of the devil and he appears,” she murmured. There, sitting in the dark on her front porch swing, was the very man who had been the center of her thoughts.
A bit disconcerted, Charlotte swallowed hard as she pulled under the carport. She switched off the engine, then gathered her purse.
“Getting home kind of late, aren’t you?” Louis called out when she rounded the corner of the porch.
Detecting just the slightest hint of censure in his tone, Charlotte felt her temper rise in response. Whatever time she chose to come home was really none of his business.
You’re
