Читать книгу Married To The Mop - Barbara Colley - Страница 9

“Now, Charlotte, just get that look off your face. You shouldn’t believe everything that you hear about the man. I know what people say about Robert,” Bitsy continued, “about him being a Mafia don and all and about him being so much older than Emily. Of course he is almost fifteen years older, but so what? My late husband, rest his soul, was ten years older than me.”

Bitsy waved her hand. “And that other business—you know—that gossip about Robert’s first wife and children disappearing.”

Though Charlotte knew she would regret asking, the words just popped out. “‘Disappearing’? I don’t remember anything about that.”

Bitsy sniffed as if it were no concern at all. “Well, there’s two versions. Some say she ran around on Robert, got pregnant by her lover, then took the two kids and ran away to South America with him. Of course others say that Robert had her and the baby murdered and stashed his two children away in a boarding school. But that’s all just a bunch of mean-spirited gossip—a bunch of hooey, if you ask me. Besides which, Emily is a sweet, kindhearted person, and she wouldn’t have married Robert if she thought for one moment that he’d done half of what he’s been accused of doing.”

Charlotte shuddered. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t made the connection when she’d first talked to Emily, couldn’t believe that she’d actually accepted a job working for the Mafia. It was well-known that Robert Rossi was one of the wealthiest, most ruthless mafiosi in the country.

And what if Bitsy was wrong? What if the rumors were true and he had murdered his first wife? After all, he had been the primary suspect in the murder of Roberto Rossi, his own father, and that wasn’t just gossip. In fact, it had been all over the television news and in the newspapers for weeks. Even the national media had picked it up. Of course, in the end, the courts had been unable to prove Robert’s guilt and he’d been acquitted.

Charlotte shuddered again. Emily might be sweet and kind, but according to everything she’d ever heard about Robert, he was anything but. Regardless of Bitsy’s rose-colored opinion of Emily, Charlotte figured that either Emily was blind, deaf, and dumb, or she just flat-out didn’t have good sense for marrying Robert Rossi in the first place. Charlotte also figured that she’d just made a huge mistake agreeing to work for Emily.

“Besides,” Bitsy went on, “nothing was ever proven about his father’s murder. As for his wife and children, you and I both know that anything could have happened. Just because they disappeared doesn’t mean he had them killed.”

A shiver ran up Charlotte’s spine. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.

“But I guess I should warn you of one thing,” Bitsy said.

What now? Charlotte wondered.

“Because of the ugly rumors connected with the family, there will probably be bodyguards all over the place. Don’t be surprised if you get frisked before you’re allowed inside the house. Humph!” Bitsy made a face. “Why, last time I visited Emily, they even frisked me.” She suddenly chuckled. “Can you imagine anyone thinking that I could be some kind of hit woman?”

Only if your mouth counts as a lethal weapon.

Charlotte winced and was immediately sorry for the unkind thought. Bitsy was a terrible gossip but she was also a lonely old lady who had nothing better to do with her time.

“Thanks for the warning,” Charlotte said with a forced smile. Since she figured she’d had enough gossip and enough of Bitsy for one day, she picked up her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, then set out with purposeful steps toward the front door. “Have a good time in California,” Charlotte called out over her shoulder as she hurried out. Despite Bitsy’s flattering recommendation, Charlotte suddenly wished that the old lady had kept her mouth shut and never mentioned her to Emily Rossi.

Once she got home, Charlotte decided to go ahead and try to set up interview appointments for late Saturday afternoon with the three people that she had chosen as a result of her newspaper ad. Now, more than ever, she needed to hire replacements for Cheré and Nadia.

For the rest of the afternoon though, and during the following day, she tried her best to come up with an excuse that sounded good enough to get her out of the commitment that she’d made to work for the Rossis.

As Charlotte resignedly climbed into her van on Thursday morning, she murmured, “So be it.” Other than outright lying, there was no good reason not to keep her commitment. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to tick off the Mafia, and she would only be working for the Rossis for four days. Surely nothing horrible could happen in four short days?

Thursday-morning traffic was light, and in no time she was searching for the address that Emily Rossi had given her. When Charlotte spotted the house, she smiled and parked the van alongside the curb. She’d driven past the enormous Italianate mansion numerous times and had often wondered who owned it and what it looked like inside. With its four imposing columns and the way the double verandas curved at the ends, the facade reminded her of vanilla ice cream and a wedding cake combined. Each Christmas, when the Preservation Resource Center held its annual Holiday Home Tour, she had always hoped that the beautiful old home would be one of the houses featured on the tour. At least now she knew who it belonged to. And now she also knew why it had never been showcased. No way would a Mafia don open his home to just anyone.

The house was located on a corner lot much larger than most in the Garden District. Behind the main house, toward the back of the property, another building was visible. Charlotte was fairly certain that it had once served as a carriage house, but like many of the old carriage houses, it had been renovated into what looked like another, much smaller home. Possibly a guesthouse, she figured.

A high wrought-iron fence encased the entire property, and the grounds were meticulously groomed. While Charlotte unloaded her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner, she eyed the gate. It was probably locked, she decided. But even if it was locked, she figured that there was either a call box or buzzer of some kind that would alert someone inside that a visitor was at the gate.

Wondering where all of the bodyguards were that Bitsy had mentioned, and with a firm grip on her vacuum cleaner and supply carrier, she approached the gate. Without warning, a man suddenly appeared from behind a huge azalea bush, giving Charlotte a start.

The man stood well over six feet tall and had a face that reminded Charlotte of a growling bulldog. Because of his close-cropped gray hair and wrinkle-lined face, she figured that he was probably in his fifties and estimated that he weighed around two-fifty. At least now she knew the answer to her question about the bodyguards’ whereabouts.

“Ah—hello. Good—Good morning,” Charlotte stuttered. “My name is Charlotte LaRue and I’m with Maid-for-a-Day.”

In a voice that sounded like a grinder he said, “I need to see some identification.”

Charlotte set down the vacuum cleaner and supply carrier, then slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder. From inside her purse she pulled out her billfold, slipped out her driver’s license, and held it out for the man to see.

The man narrowed his eyes and glanced from the license picture to Charlotte then nodded.

Once Charlotte was inside the gate, he escorted her to the front gallery where another, younger man stepped out from behind one of the columns.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the younger man said. “But I have to search you. If you’ll just put your arms up, this won’t take but a minute.”

The sight of the younger man pricked Charlotte’s memory. Something about him seemed familiar, and she wondered if she’d met him before.

As the younger man patted her down, she searched her memory for where and when she could have met him, while she watched the older man inspect her supply carrier and vacuum cleaner.

Charlotte was thankful that Bitsy had given her advance warning about being frisked. Otherwise she would have been outraged. The entire procedure only took a few minutes. Both men were thorough, but they were also courteous and performed the inspections with a detachment that could in no way be construed as personal or invasive. By the time they finished, Charlotte had decided that she was mistaken about knowing the younger bodyguard.

The older man returned to the gate. The younger one went to the front door and gave the door knocker a couple of whacks. While they waited, Charlotte admired the huge Mardi Gras wreath that almost covered the upper half of the entrance door. Rows and rows of shiny purple, gold, and green tinsel had been wrapped around the base of the wreath and were sprinkled with tiny Mardi Gras masks, King Cake babies, and glittering Mardi Gras beads.

The wreath reminded Charlotte that she’d yet to put out her own Mardi Gras decorations. As she tried to decide which day she would decorate, the door swung open.

The bodyguard nodded deferentially at the slim, attractive, dark-haired woman. “Mrs. Rossi, this is Charlotte LaRue, the maid.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

Emily Rossi had startling sky-blue eyes and looked to be in her mid-thirties. Charlotte could tell that the pale green slacks and matching sweater she wore were expensive, and though her makeup was, for the most part, flawless, it seemed to be caked on pretty thick over her left cheek. Charlotte had to wonder what the younger woman was trying to hide. Maybe a scar, or…Charlotte swallowed hard. Or possibly a bruise.

“Charlotte, come in, come in.” Emily motioned for Charlotte to come inside. “I’m truly sorry that the guys had to frisk you, but unfortunately it’s a necessity that we have to live with. My husband has many enemies who would love nothing better than to…” Her voice faded away. She sighed, then, smiled. “Never mind all of that. Next time you come, it shouldn’t be necessary. Now”—she motioned for Charlotte to follow her—“why don’t we go to the kitchen and we can discuss what needs to be done?”

Charlotte only got a glimpse of the front rooms as she followed Emily down the wide entrance hall back to the kitchen, but a glimpse was all she needed. Over the years she had been in enough of the old mansions in the Garden District to know the difference between elegant and tacky when she saw it, and the furnishings and décor of this house were tacky. She would have thought that with all of the money that the Rossis supposedly had, they could have afforded the best decorator in the country. In Charlotte’s opinion, whomever Emily had hired as a decorator should be run out of town on a rail for the mess he or she had made.

Charlotte bit her tongue when an imp of mischief urged her to ask for the name of the decorator. It’s none of your business, so just keep your mouth shut. Considering that Emily’s husband was reportedly a big-time mobster, she decided she’d probably better listen to her inner voice of reason instead.

In the kitchen Emily indicated that Charlotte should sit at the kitchen table, then she seated herself across from Charlotte. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out on such short notice,” she said. “And I’m going to have to apologize again. It’s been a week since the last time Jennifer cleaned, and I’m afraid that even when she did clean, she didn’t do a very good job.

“Of course she’s young,” Emily hastened to add. “Robert was the one who hired the poor thing. She’d been working as a cocktail waitress in a really sleazy bar, and he felt sorry for her.”

I’ll just bet he did, Charlotte thought, picturing a twenty-something sweet young thing who was hot to trot. Was it possible that Emily was truly that naïve?

Emily grimaced. “Between you and me, I’m kind of hoping Jennifer doesn’t come back.”

Maybe not so naive after all.

“Anyway,” Emily continued, “the whole house needs a good dusting and polishing, vacuuming, and mopping. The kitchen is a mess too. And if you have time, clean sheets on all the beds would be heaven. I’ve been trying to keep everything straight, but with Robert’s mother living with us and the children underfoot, cooking, not to mention the bodyguards who are in and out, well”—she shrugged—“there just aren’t enough hours in the day. And now there’s this—this party that Robert wants to give.”

Just talking about the chores seemed to distress Emily, and Charlotte truly felt sorry for her. Before she thought about it, she reached over and patted Emily’s hand. “Now don’t you worry about a thing. It will all get done. So, why don’t you show me around so I can get started?”

Emily released a huge sigh and smiled brightly. “We can start here and work our way upstairs.”

As Emily gave her a guided tour of the huge mansion, what Charlotte saw only further confirmed her initial impression of the décor of the house. The house itself was a dream and had been beautifully preserved. Charlotte suspected that the exquisite chandeliers, the ornate ceiling medallions, and the Italian marble 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 hanging on the wall. “You know, purple and gold? LSU colors?”

Charlotte tilted her head to one side. “You went to LSU?”

Emily shook her head. “LSU is Robert’s alma mater.”

A few minutes later they walked into the kitchen to find a short, muscular man with salt-and-pepper-hair and a ruddy complexion filling a travel mug with coffee. “Just getting a refill, Ms. Rossi.”

Emily nodded and smiled. “Anytime, Gus. And by the way, this is Charlotte LaRue. She’ll be cleaning for us during the next four days.” Emily turned to Charlotte. “Gus is another of our guardian angels.”

Stains of scarlet darkened Gus’s already-ruddy complexion. With a gruff “Nice to meet’cha,” he hurried from the room.

As soon as he left, Emily laughed. “Gus is a sweetheart. I just love teasing him. All total, there are six men who work around the house full-time,” Emily continued. “You’ve already met Mark and Gino—which reminds me. All of the men live out back in the old carriage house. Three years ago Robert had it renovated so the men would have somewhere to bunk. If you get caught up around here today, maybe you could clean it as well tomorrow.”

If Charlotte remembered right, it had been just about three years since Robert’s father had been murdered, which meant that there was a good possibility that his father’s murder was the reason for all of the bodyguards. But were the bodyguards strictly for show, an attempt to make people think there really was an outside threat, or had Robert Rossi’s claims of innocence been true?