free weekly maid service? That would make them even more exclusive, and the monthly rent could be padded just a bit to absorb the cost. So what do you think?”
If the monthly rent was already outrageous, Charlotte wasn’t sure that adding an additional fee, even if it was for maid service, would be any more appealing. But Marian’s excitement was infectious, and a slow grin pulled at Charlotte’s lips as her mind raced with the possibilities. As it stood, her schedule was pretty packed already. She’d have to hire a couple of extra employees. But that wouldn’t be a problem, and over the long haul, the added income might be well worth it.
“I think that’s a terrific idea,” Charlotte finally told her. “But only if Maid-for-a-Day supplied the service. Otherwise, I think it’s a terrible idea,” she added with mock seriousness.
Marian burst out laughing. “Silly woman. Well, of course Maid-for-a-Day would supply the service. Now, if I can just sell the idea to Jefferson Harper—but first I need to see if he can meet for dinner tonight instead of lunch.”
The more Charlotte thought about Marian’s proposition over the next couple of hours as she cleaned, the more excited she became.
When noon rolled around, she chose to take her lunch break out on Marian’s front porch. While she ate the smoked turkey sandwich and apple she’d brought along with her and savored the deliciously cool air and sunshine, she mentally weighed the pros and cons of Marian’s idea.
Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, a tiny, persistent voice of reason warned her. “I’m not,” she muttered. “I’m simply thinking ahead.” But when she pulled the notebook out of her apron pocket to do a bit of calculating, she saw the reminder she’d written earlier about calling the beauty shop, and she frowned.
She’d fully intended to call early in hopes that her beautician could work her in around the time she finished up at Marian’s, but now…
Charlotte pulled out her cell phone and quickly punched in the number of the beauty salon.
Her call was answered on the third ring.
“Lagniappe Beauty Salon, Valerie speaking.”
“Valerie, this is Charlotte LaRue—”
“Oh, hey, Charlotte. I’ve been meaning to call you—to thank you.”
Charlotte frowned. “To thank me—thank me for what?”
“Not what, silly. Who. Why, none other than Mrs. Bitsy Duhe is now a regular customer of mine. She said she’d always admired the way your hair looked, and her regular hair-dresser wasn’t that dependable.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. Had she ever mentioned Valerie to Bitsy? She didn’t remember doing so, but then lately there seemed to be a lot she didn’t remember.
“And she wants a standing appointment,” Valerie continued. “Every Friday morning. Isn’t that terrific?”
Though she wasn’t exactly sure why, Charlotte felt a bit funny about Bitsy using the same beautician that she used. But she forced an enthusiasm she didn’t feel anyway. After all, it was a free country. “That’s great, hon,” she told Valerie. “And speaking of appointments, I need one. And I’m afraid I’m in a bind. If at all possible, I desperately need a haircut today.”
“Hmm, I’m looking at my afternoon appointments here. I can probably work you in around four.”
Charlotte frowned in thought. A haircut and blow-dry shouldn’t take more than an hour. If she finished up at Marian’s by three forty-five, she should still have enough time to check out the Devilier house before dark. “Four sounds great,” Charlotte told her. “See you then.”
As she slipped the cell phone back inside her pocket, Charlotte’s frown deepened. Was her memory getting worse of late? Should she be concerned? What if she was going senile, or what if, heaven forbid, she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s? What if…
Stop it, Charlotte. Stop it right now.
With a shake of her head, she ripped the reminder note off the pad, wadded it up, then stuffed it in her pocket. The new job. Think of the job Marian was talking about earlier.
All along, even before she’d known for sure she had won the Devilier contract, she’d planned on adding the profits from the job to her retirement account. By doing the job on the weekend, she’d figured she could utilize all of her regular employees without having to hire extra help, thereby ensuring a larger profit margin.
But the Devilier job was a onetime deal. What Marian was proposing could be a continuous income for several years to come, and would go a long way toward ensuring her financial independence.
She quickly scribbled down some numbers, calculating the amount she would need to charge. A moment later, she looked up from the number figure she’d come up with and stared with unseeing eyes at the passing traffic in front of Marian’s house. For months Hank had been pressuring her to retire and let him take care of her. Though she half suspected that her son was just a wee bit embarrassed because his mother still worked as a maid, she knew that deep down, he truly had the best of intentions.
The fact that Hank could well afford to support her wasn’t even a consideration. As far as Charlotte was concerned, the whole idea of retirement was simply out of the question. To begin with, she had no plans for retiring any time soon. Retire to what? What on earth would she do with herself all day long, day in and day out? Why, she’d be bored silly. But besides boredom, just the thought of having to depend on Hank or anyone else, for that matter, gave her the willies. Doing such a thing, in her opinion, would be the ultimate admission that she truly was getting old.
Since Marian’s office was Charlotte’s least favorite room to clean, she always saved it for last.
Marian seemed to have a real knack for dealing in real estate, and by all accounts had turned her husband’s failing business into a profitable venture. But in Charlotte’s opinion, the woman’s organizational skills left a lot to be desired.
Since the very first day that Charlotte had worked for Marian, the younger woman had made it clear that nothing was to be moved around in the office, so cleaning the room was a real challenge. And dusting it was a nightmare due to the stacks of papers and mail that were piled on every available surface.
But Charlotte had learned a few tricks over the months. Each stack was dealt with on a one-by-one basis. First she’d carefully move the stack; then, after dusting and waxing the space where it had sat, she placed it in the same position she’d found it to begin with. That way, she could leave the room looking exactly the same, only clean and free of dust.
As usual, Marian was seated at the computer when Charlotte entered the office. By mutual consent, normally neither woman spoke or disturbed the other while working, so it was a complete surprise when Marian turned away from the computer and struck up a conversation.
“So far, so good,” she said.
Charlotte frowned. “Pardon?”
“Aaron,” Marian qualified. “Since he was able to keep the toast and juice down earlier, I gave him some chicken noodle soup and crackers for lunch, and so far, he hasn’t throw it up yet. Maybe—just maybe, the worst of this awful virus is over.”
Charlotte
