“Ms. Dufour.” He said her name in a sneering tone that made Charlotte frown. Still staring at Patsy, he said, “I’ll need to ask you both some questions.”
When he stepped farther into the room, Patsy abruptly stood. If possible, her already pale face paled even more. “You,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the detective. “You’re a cop?”
Charlotte’s frown deepened. Patsy was acting like she’d just encountered the devil incarnate. What on earth was going on? She could understand Patsy being nervous about being questioned by the police. The whole thing made her nervous, too. But why fear? What would Patsy have to fear from Will Richeaux? And why had Will reacted so strangely to Patsy?
“Do you two know each other?” Charlotte asked Patsy.
“We’ve met before,” the detective retorted before Patsy had the chance to answer. “Another incident.” He glared at Patsy as if daring her to contradict him.
“I-I want a different detective,” Patsy blurted out. “You—I—”
“Sit down, Ms. Dufour,” he ordered. “This is my case, and the sooner we get on with it, the better everyone will feel.” He continued to glare at Patsy until she finally gave in. Then he turned to Charlotte. “Ms. LaRue, step into the kitchen,” he said, “I’d like to question you first.”
The whole thing left a bad taste in Charlotte’s mouth. Something was going on between Patsy and Will Richeaux, and that something, whatever it was, had Patsy scared half out of her wits.
“Ms. LaRue?”
Charlotte finally nodded. “Okay,” she replied warily, her eyes still on Patsy. “But I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the other officers.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back.
It was hard to miss the sarcasm underlying his reply, and though Charlotte felt like telling him to take a flying leap, she held her tongue. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could go home.
With one last look at Patsy, Charlotte reluctantly moved into the kitchen. Will Richeaux stopped just inside the doorway, but Charlotte continued on to the other side of the island that was near the sink area in order to put some distance between the two of them.
“Okay, Ms. LaRue, why don’t you tell me why you’re here”
Charlotte didn’t like Will Richeaux, and, unlike Patsy, she had no intention of allowing him to scare or intimidate her.
“I own a cleaning service,” she told him. “And Ms. Dufour employs my cleaning service two days a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“But today is Friday.”
Charlotte ground her teeth. With barely veiled annoyance she grudgingly explained that because Nadia was ill, she accidentally had filled in for her. She was there today only because she had left the vacuum cleaner behind on Thursday.
“So you don’t work here on a regular basis”
“No.”
“And this Nadia, does she have a last name and an address?”
Charlotte glared at him. She was tempted to tell him that, no, Nadia was hatched from an egg, but instead she rattled off Nadia’s name and address.
He jotted down what she told him in a small notebook. Then he asked, “Just how well do you know Ms. Dufour?”
“Ms. Dufour is a client.”
When Charlotte offered nothing more, he simply stared at her with eyes that could chip ice. “O-kaay,” he finally drawled after several moments more. “So”—he tilted his head forward—“why don’t you tell me your version of what happened out there today.”
All Charlotte wanted was to go home. As quickly and succinctly as she could, she repeated what she’d told the other officer earlier. Although at intervals Will Richeaux jotted down some of what she told him, for the most part, he simply listened and gave her what could only be described as intimidating looks.
When she’d finished, he glanced over the few notes he’d taken, then raised his gaze. “I guess that should do it for the time being. Now if
When he stepped farther into the room, Patsy abruptly stood. If possible, her already pale face paled even more. “You,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the detective. “You’re a cop?”
Charlotte’s frown deepened. Patsy was acting like she’d just encountered the devil incarnate. What on earth was going on? She could understand Patsy being nervous about being questioned by the police. The whole thing made her nervous, too. But why fear? What would Patsy have to fear from Will Richeaux? And why had Will reacted so strangely to Patsy?
“Do you two know each other?” Charlotte asked Patsy.
“We’ve met before,” the detective retorted before Patsy had the chance to answer. “Another incident.” He glared at Patsy as if daring her to contradict him.
“I-I want a different detective,” Patsy blurted out. “You—I—”
“Sit down, Ms. Dufour,” he ordered. “This is my case, and the sooner we get on with it, the better everyone will feel.” He continued to glare at Patsy until she finally gave in. Then he turned to Charlotte. “Ms. LaRue, step into the kitchen,” he said, “I’d like to question you first.”
The whole thing left a bad taste in Charlotte’s mouth. Something was going on between Patsy and Will Richeaux, and that something, whatever it was, had Patsy scared half out of her wits.
“Ms. LaRue?”
Charlotte finally nodded. “Okay,” she replied warily, her eyes still on Patsy. “But I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the other officers.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back.
It was hard to miss the sarcasm underlying his reply, and though Charlotte felt like telling him to take a flying leap, she held her tongue. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could go home.
With one last look at Patsy, Charlotte reluctantly moved into the kitchen. Will Richeaux stopped just inside the doorway, but Charlotte continued on to the other side of the island that was near the sink area in order to put some distance between the two of them.
“Okay, Ms. LaRue, why don’t you tell me why you’re here”
Charlotte didn’t like Will Richeaux, and, unlike Patsy, she had no intention of allowing him to scare or intimidate her.
“I own a cleaning service,” she told him. “And Ms. Dufour employs my cleaning service two days a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“But today is Friday.”
Charlotte ground her teeth. With barely veiled annoyance she grudgingly explained that because Nadia was ill, she accidentally had filled in for her. She was there today only because she had left the vacuum cleaner behind on Thursday.
“So you don’t work here on a regular basis”
“No.”
“And this Nadia, does she have a last name and an address?”
Charlotte glared at him. She was tempted to tell him that, no, Nadia was hatched from an egg, but instead she rattled off Nadia’s name and address.
He jotted down what she told him in a small notebook. Then he asked, “Just how well do you know Ms. Dufour?”
“Ms. Dufour is a client.”
When Charlotte offered nothing more, he simply stared at her with eyes that could chip ice. “O-kaay,” he finally drawled after several moments more. “So”—he tilted his head forward—“why don’t you tell me your version of what happened out there today.”
All Charlotte wanted was to go home. As quickly and succinctly as she could, she repeated what she’d told the other officer earlier. Although at intervals Will Richeaux jotted down some of what she told him, for the most part, he simply listened and gave her what could only be described as intimidating looks.
When she’d finished, he glanced over the few notes he’d taken, then raised his gaze. “I guess that should do it for the time being. Now if
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