Death Tidies Up by Barbara Colley Page A

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.
    â€œRidiculous,” 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.
    â€œGetting 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 overreacting, a little voice whispered in her head. And you’re just tired.
    She was tired, she suddenly realized. Weary to the bone. Too weary to spar with Louis Thibodeaux. Ignoring the detective’s question, she asked one of her own as she trudged up the steps. “How’s the house coming along? I figured you’d still be working on it late tonight.”
    â€œI ran into a snag and left early,” he told her. “The Sheetrock and paneling were supposed to be delivered early this morning—or so I thought. After a few calls, I found out different. Now they aren’t being delivered until tomorrow afternoon.” He shook his head. “It’s times like this that I wish I had a truck. If I’d had a truck, I could have gone after the stuff myself.”
    â€œThat’s too bad.”
    â€œTell me about it. But hey, the day wasn’t a total loss. Since there wasn’t much point in hanging around the camp, I was able to stop off at Home Depot and pick up some tile and carpet samples, and some brochures on cabinets and fixtures. And—I might add—I had time left over to cook up a fresh pot of seafood gumbo. Have you eaten supper yet?”
    â€œSupper? Ah…Why, no—no I haven’t.”
    â€œWell, I make a mean gumbo, but I never figured out how to make just a little. I’ve got enough in there to feed the whole neighborhood. So how about it?”
    The backhanded invitation caught her completely off guard, and Charlotte hesitated. So what’s the problem, Charlotte? He’s only asking you to share a meal with him.
    The problem was Louis Thibodeaux. And the problem was her mixed emotions concerning the aggravating man.
    But food was food, and there was nothing she liked better than a good seafood gumbo, so Charlotte forced her lips into a smile. “Let me get this