Maid for Murder Read Free

taken to waking up so early, and what with Jackson working later, I’ve had to switch working in the garden to the evenings instead.”
    The stairway opened to a central hall on the second-story level, a hall similar to the foyer on the first level and wide enough for a claw-foot settee and a pair of pillar-and-scroll mahogany tables. Connected to the central hall were four large bedroom suites, each suite containing its own private bath.
    Clarice’s bedroom was the closest to the stairs. The old lady was still in bed, her television tuned to QVC, a popular shopping channel. She was dressed in her nightgown, just one of the many soft flannel granny-type gowns that she preferred to sleep in and lounge around in.
    “Mother, look who’s here.” Jeanne set the tray down on the foot of the bed.
    Totally ignoring Charlotte, the old lady pointed to the television screen. “Quick, Jeanne, look at that.”
    Jeanne didn’t bother looking, but Charlotte glanced at the screen. A sparkling ruby-and-diamond necklace was being displayed.
    “Wouldn’t that look stunning on Anna-Maria? And rubies are her birthstone.”
    With an impatient shake of her head, Jeanne walked around to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers. “I don’t know why you insist on watching those shows. Now, come along. I have a special treat for you today.”
    Though Clarice allowed Jeanne, to help her to the side of the bed, her expression grew hard and resentful. “How else is an old crippled woman supposed to shop?”
    While Jeanne was busy assisting Clarice into a terry robe, Charlotte opened the French doors leading out onto the upper gallery.
    “Besides,” Clarice continued, “with July only a couple of months away, I don’t have that long to find her a birthday present.”
    Outside on the gallery, Charlotte quickly wiped the dust off the top of a small glass-topped wicker table. But even from outside, Charlotte could hear Jeanne’s exasperated sigh.
    “Mother, I’ve told you that anytime you want to shop, all you have to do is agree to a wheelchair and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
    When Charlotte returned for the breakfast tray, Clarice’s lower lip was protruding into a pout. “I refuse to be seen in one of those things,” she said “I’m not that crippled.”
    Charlotte picked up the wicker tray and took it out to the table.
    “Come along, then,” Charlotte heard Jeanne tell Clarice. “It’s such a beautiful day, I thought we could have breakfast out on the gallery.”
    “I’ll get cold out there,” the old lady complained.
    “No, you won’t,” Jeanne argued. “Besides, if you don’t come outside, you won’t get breakfast.”
    Within moments, Charlotte heard the slide-thump of Clarice’s walker, and she quickly slipped back inside before the old lady reached the doorway.
    Charlotte retrieved clean sheets and pillowcases for Clarice’s bed from the hallway linen closet. As she stripped the bed, she could hear the murmur of Jeanne’s and Clarice’s voices coming from the gallery. Clarice was complaining again, only this time she was grumbling about having oatmeal for breakfast for the third day in a row.
    “I want eggs—fried eggs over easy,” she whined “And bacon—lots of bacon fried nice and crisp. Why can’t I ever have bacon?”
    “Mother, you know fried foods are bad for your cholesterol.”
    Once Charlotte had dusted in the bedroom, she began wiping down the sink and countertop in the bathroom. From outside, the murmurs between the two women grew louder.
    Charlotte did her best to ignore what was being said. Instead, she concentrated on replacing each item on top of the counter once she’d cleaned beneath it, especially Clarice’s numerous prescription bottles. By the time she’d cleaned the toilet and started on the shower stall, the loud murmurs had turned into a shouting match that was hard to ignore.
    “He’s stealing you blind!”
    “Now, Mother, how could you know