My alarm woke me from the dreamless sleep of the truly content.
I smacked my hand down on it—it was a reflex. I opened my eyes and sat up in my bed. I could smell brewing coffee from downstairs. I yawned and stretched—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so deeply, so peacefully. I reached for my glasses from the little table next to the bed and slipped them on. Everything swam into focus, and my heart started sinking the way it did every morning when I started coming to full consciousness.
Still in the goddamned carriage house, I thought, getting out of bed with a moan, and no commutation of the sentence in sight. Stupid fucking Katrina.
But there was silence outside, other than birds chirping in the crepe myrtles.
No hammering or sawing. No drilling.
I smiled.
I slipped on the rubber-soled shoes I had to wear upstairs. I avoided the carpet nails jutting up from the wooden floor on my way to the bathroom. The floor slanted at about a thirty-degree angle to the left. It used to disorient me, but I’d gotten used to it in the nine months I’d been sentenced to live in this pit. I looked at the bags under my eyes while brushing my teeth and washing my face. No need to shave, I decided. I wasn’t going anywhere or seeing anyone today.
In fact, I’d finished a job and didn’t have to start the next for a few days.
I was at loose ends.
I pulled on purple LSU sweatpants and a matching hooded sweatshirt before heading downstairs to get some coffee.
I was on my second cup, surveying the stacks of boxes piled in practically every available space. It was the same routine every morning. Drink some coffee, look around and try to figure out if there was some way to make this fucking place more comfortable, more livable. I had yet to figure out a way, without renting a storage space and getting everything out.
And every morning I came to the conclusion there wasn’t a way.
I closed my eyes, and took deep, calming breaths.
Maybe I should just rent the storage unit and be done with it, I said to myself. You don’t know how long you’re going to be stuck in here before the work on the house is done. Imagine not having all these towering stacks of boxes collecting dust in here. Imagine not having this soul-deadening reminder everywhere you look—
A knock on the front door jolted me back into the present. I crossed the room and opened the door. “Yes?”
The tall black woman in a gray business suit flashed a badge at me. “I’m Venus Casanova with the NOPD. I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few moments?”
“Sure, come on in.” I stepped aside to let her in. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I just made some.”
She flashed me a brief smile as she sat down on my rust-colored love seat. “No, thank you. I’ve had more than enough this morning already.” She slipped a small notebook and pen out of her jacket pocket. “The label on the buzzer out by the front gate said J. Spencer. Is that your name?”
“Joe Spencer, yes,” I replied. “What’s going on?” I sat down in a green plastic chair. There were two of them on either side of a matching table. They were patio furniture, meant for the outdoors. Before the flood, I would have never had such things inside my house.
But as I kept telling myself, it was only temporary.
If you could call nine months and counting temporary.
“How long have you known Mr. and Mrs. Dufour?”
“Bill and Maureen?” I thought for a moment. “Just a few months—he started working on the house back in March. Nice couple, a little odd. I thought Bill was a little old to still be doing this kind of work by himself, but then I’m not paying them.” I laughed, to take the sting out of the words. “So, what’s going on? Why are you here, Detective?”
“I’m afraid I have to tell you Mrs. Dufour is dead.” Her voice was calm, her face without expression.
“Oh, no! Bill must be—oh, how awful. How absolutely awful.” I shook my head. “I assume it was her heart?”
She tilted her head slightly to one side. “Why would you assume that? Did she have a bad heart?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I replied. “But she was pretty old. Older than Bill, but I’m not for sure how old he is, to be honest. But she told me she was in her late seventies…and since he’s doing construction work, I figured he couldn’t be much older than sixty-five. But I do know she’s his fourth wife.
Her right eyebrow went up. “His fourth wife?”
I shrugged. “Yes, he told me once he’d buried three wives and would probably bury Maureen, too. He laughed about it—which I thought was kind of creepy, frankly. I mean, I guess when you’ve had three wives die on you—I don’t know. It’s just not something I’d think you would laugh about.”
“So, did you know them well?”
“Not well. I mean, I talked to him more than her. Mostly about the house stuff, how it was going, things like that. He’d stop by every once in a while and give me a progress report, and of course he’s always outside working whenever I come or go, you know?” I took another drink from my coffee mug. “They’re a little odd.”
“Odd?”
“Odd. I mean, they’re friendly enough, but I always got an odd vibe from them. I didn’t like to be around them, they made me uncomfortable. It’s nothing I can put my finger on and say for a fact…but yeah. There was just something about them.” I shivered a little. “Something not quite right, do you know what I mean?”
Before she could answer, there was another knock on the door. I smiled and got up. “Let me get that.” She smiled and nodded. “Yes?” I asked.
The man standing there was handsome, and I couldn’t help the involuntary smile. He smiled back at me. “Excuse me sir, but I need to speak with Detective Casanova.” He flashed a badge at me.
She came up beside me. I stepped away from the door, but could still hear them as I refilled my coffee. “Yes, Blaine?” She asked, lowering her voice.
“We’re going to take Dufour down to the station while the lab finishes processing the apartment. Do you want to talk to him before they take him?”
“No, have someone take his statement. I’ll finish interviewing Mr. Spencer and head down.”
“All right.”
She shut the door and sat back down on the love seat. “Sorry about that, Mr. Spencer.” She flipped through her little notepad. “Where were we? Oh yes, you were saying there was something about the Dufours you didn’t like?”
I took another drink from my coffee. “I wish I could be more specific, but I really can’t. I remember when Mildred—the lady who owns the property—hired him, and they were moving into the house…he worked on gutting my side of the house during the day and was fixing up a few rooms for them to live in on Mildred’s side…”
“So you’re a renter?”
“Yes, I’ve lived on the 1367 side of the house for about six years. The property owner, Mildred Savage, lives on the other side. Well, not now, obviously. She and her husband are living with some friends down on Jefferson Avenue. And I’m living here in the carriage house, until the house is done. Bill’s doing my side first.” I gestured around the small room, the piles of boxes. “This place is kind of cramped, as you can see.” I gave her a small smile. “I know I shouldn’t complain—at least I have a place to live.”
“This neighborhood didn’t flood, did it?”
“No, our roof came off.” I laughed, shaking my head at the irony. “Unlike most people, we had water from above, not below. I lost everything on the second floor—all the furniture and everything was ruined, my clothes—my bedroom was upstairs.” I waved at the piles of boxes. “Everything I was able to salvage is in these boxes.”
“You evacuated, I gather?”
“Yes. I went and stayed with my sister up north. Indianapolis—a horrible place.” I made a face. “I couldn’t wait to get back here as soon as possible. And the carriage house was open, so Mildred let me move in here while the house is being worked on. It was very kind of her. Otherwise I’d have been stuck up there for God knows how long.”
“How long have you been back?”
“I came back on October eleventh. There was still a lot of debris from the roof around. I cleaned it all up, and moved whatever I could salvage out of my side of the house in here. It’s a little cramped. Cozy, I guess. Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, excuse me while I get some more.” I got up and refilled my cup. “If I don’t drink a pot every morning, I’m useless for the rest of the day.” I sighed. “And I have some work to do today—a deadline.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Spencer?”
“Well, I’m a photographer—that’s my real passion, but I mostly make my living from doing graphic design work.” I sighed. “I work from home, and this place is so small I can’t really…I’ve thought about renting office space somewhere, but…I keep thinking the house will be finished and everything will go back to normal.”
She nodded sympathetically. “So, the Dufours moved onto the property how long ago?”
“About three months or so ago.” I shrugged. “March? Yes, it was March, I think…since Katrina I can’t keep track of dates and things—which is a problem when you work on deadlines.” I took another sip of coffee. “But like I said, at first they seemed nice, but you know, I’m not really used to being around people much.” I laughed. “I’ve always worked at home, you know, and do most of my communication with clients over the phone or through e-mail. I didn’t really leave the house much before the storm…but since the storm, you know, being the only person here on the property and the rest of the block being deserted, I felt kind of lonely, you know? I never felt it before the storm. Only after.”
“I understand what you mean. The storm changed everything, didn’t it? The way we look at things?”
“Exactly. I remember the day they moved in…it was a nice, sunny day. Mildred had called and told me they’d be moving in—I couldn’t believe anyone was willing to live in the house the way it was—but they did! At that age, they were basically living like squatters while he redid the walls and floors in the back bedroom and the bathroom and the kitchen…”
*
The sound of hammering drew me out of the carriage house with my coffee mug. It was a gorgeous March afternoon—seventy degrees or so, white wisps of clouds drifting across a blue sky, and a warm breeze rustling the crepe myrtles running along the property line fence.
The Dufours had moved in three days earlier, and my mood was good. After six months in the carriage house, there was an end in sight.
At last.
I walked to the back door to Mildred’s side of the house. The door was open, and I could see Bill hammering at the moldy walls in what had been Mildred’s utility room at one point. The room was now empty—everything in it had been ruined. He looked up as I climbed the four wooden steps to the door frame, a big smile on my face. “Hey there, Joe, what do you think?” He put the hammer down and put his hands on his hips. He puffed his chest out.
“I just thought I’d look in and see how things are going. Wow.” I whistled. “You certainly have gotten stuff done around here.”
“I like to work.” He preened a bit. He was wearing dirty overalls with a red flannel shirt underneath.
“Where’s Maureen?” I leaned against the door frame.
“The Laundromat. That woman sure likes to do laundry.”
“She drags the laundry down to the Laundromat?” I gaped at him, not believing my ears.
“Yup, she sure does.” He gestured me to follow him into the next room. The sun shone through the windows into what used to be Mildred’s kitchen. He pointed proudly at the new plasterboard. “Look at these walls! Now, that’s some quality workmanship, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes it is.” I touched the wall closest to me and returned his smile.
But couldn’t get the image of the old woman dragging a laundry bag down the sidewalk out of my mind.
“This is the kind of work I’m doing on your place. Should be done gutting everything tomorrow, got some Mexicans coming to help haul the shit out. Once that’s out, I’ve got the electrical guys and the plumber coming out to get all that fixed up nice. Then I can start on your walls.”
“That’s great,” I said, my heart starting to lift. I’ll be in my home in no time, I thought happily, finishing my coffee—and made a decision. “Bill, you know—I’m a little worried about Maureen. She shouldn’t have to go to the Laundromat. I mean, that’s a long way for her to go, dragging loads of laundry down to the corner. And she’s not—” I hesitated.
Bill threw his head back and roared with laughter. “You can say it, son. She’s not young. I know that, son, I’m married to her, you know! She’s seventy-eight.”
“And she shouldn’t be dragging the laundry to the corner,” I insisted.
“She has a cart, Joe. Don’t worry about her. She’s fine. She’s like my second wife—”
“Your second wife?”
“Yup, that’s right, Maureen’s my fourth wife. I’ve already buried three, son, and I’ll probably bury her, too.” He laughed again. “I’ll just find another one when that day comes, I suppose. A man needs a wife, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Why aren’t you married, Joe?”
“I was.” I stepped out onto the back stairs. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“Stop by any time you like.”
He started pounding at the walls again as I went down the stairs.
My mind was made up.
*
“So, you offered to let her use your washer and dryer? That was kind of you.” Venus smiled at me.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about her dragging it all the way down to the corner. I couldn’t get that image out of my mind all night. She was a seventy-eight-year-old woman, for God’s sake, and I couldn’t understand why he would let her do that, cart or no cart. She had one—I saw her with it the next morning, bringing in the groceries from her car. You know, one of those old-lady carts with four wheels that you can load up with just about anything? I mean, Mildred’s washer and dryer were damaged—I dragged them out to the curb myself. But mine was in the back just beyond the kitchen, and they worked just fine. I used them all the time. And so the more I thought about it, the more it really bothered me…so I decided the next time I saw Maureen, I’d tell her to just use mine…”
*
The very next day, I ran into Maureen at the front gate. I’d run some errands and had stopped to get some things at the grocery store.
“Morning, Joe!” She beamed at me. Her iron-gray hair was wrapped up in a babushka. She was maybe five-four in her white Keds. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Good morning—um, I see you’re off to the Laundromat.”
“Yes, it sure does seem to pile up. I swear, I’m doing laundry every day, it seems!” She laughed. “Good thing Bill bought me this cart. I’d hate to have to carry a basket all the way down there. I mean, sure it’s just the corner—I’m sure a handsome, strong young man like you could easily carry a laundry basket all that way, but an old lady like me—well, good thing I’ve got the cart.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
She cut me off. “Where’ve you been? You’re usually not out and about this early!” She peered at my grocery bags.
“I had to mail some things, and I had to pick up some things at the Sav-A-Center.” I smiled back at her. “Maureen, I’ve been meaning to tell you—you know, you don’t have to take your clothes to the Laundromat.”
“They aren’t going to wash themselves!” She guffawed loudly at the thought of it.
“There’s a perfectly good washer and dryer in my side of the house, just sitting there. You know you can use them instead of going to the Laundromat. I mean, I don’t use them that much myself, and well, I just hate the thought of you—”
A smile spread across her wrinkled face. “Oh, thank you, Joe! That’s so nice of you! I told Bill what a nice young man you are, and that is so kind! I swear, I won’t be a moment’s trouble. I won’t make you sorry you offered! That would be so much easier—I wouldn’t have to sit there and wait for the clothes, you know how they always say at the Laundromat they’ll throw unattended clothes right in the garbage, can you imagine that, and I just can’t see telling Bill his best shirt was thrown away, you can only imagine the temper that man has, no sir, so I sit there and wait for the clothes. Oh, thank you thank you, thank you!”
I winked at her. “You can start with that load, Maureen.”
And I walked back to the carriage house.
*
Venus perked up. “She told you he has a temper, did she? Did she sound like she was afraid of him?”
“Well, that was the first time I heard about it. But I used to hear him yelling at her sometimes, late at night. Well, late at night for them. They were usually in bed by nine.”
“Was this frequent?”
“She didn’t have a heart attack, did she?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Spencer, I’ll ask the questions.”
“Did he kill her?”
“Mr. Spencer—”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not answering another question until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Someone killed Mrs. Dufour, yes.” She inhaled. “We’re gathering evidence, Mr. Spencer, and that’s why you need to answer my questions.”
“Murdered. Someone killed her. Murdered.” I shivered. “My God, the door to their rooms is just twenty feet maybe from my front door… Did someone break in? Climb the fence? Oh my God, oh my God!”
“Did you hear anything last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”
I thought for a moment. “No, no I didn’t. But I was upstairs in the bedroom watching television, and I’m afraid I had the sound up rather loud…it was really windy last night…the tarp on the roof was making a lot of noise, and so I turned the television up.”
“Did you see either one of them last evening?”
“I saw her, I don’t know, around six maybe? I was down here working at my desk, trying to get a rush job done. He was sanding things—you see where he has the sawhorses set up, right near my front door?—so I was having difficulty concentrating, but he finally stopped around four o’clock, I think. I finished the job right around six, and I happened to look out the window and saw her walking around the back of the house—heading for their door. I guess she was over doing some laundry on my side of the house.”
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, I pretty much saw her every day around that time. Actually, seeing her come around the house was a regular thing.” I laughed. “Doing the laundry—it was like a fetish for her.”
“A fetish?” Venus looked puzzled.
“I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. She was constantly doing laundry.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating?” Venus smiled.
“No, I actually wish I were…”
*
I climbed the steps to the back door, carrying my laundry basket. I could hear the dryer running, and moaned to myself.
Sure enough, Maureen was turning the dial on my washing machine. She pulled the dial out, and I heard water start rushing into it. I closed my eyes.
“Why, good afternoon, Joe! Wanting to use your washing machine, I see!”
“Well, um, yes.”
“’Fraid I beat you to the punch, there, Joe! I just put in a load!” She laughed, winking at me with her right eye.
“But you were doing laundry this morning…I thought you’d be finished by now.” I said slowly.
“Oh, it just piles up when you’re not looking, doesn’t it? You’ve got to stay on top of it, you know, or you’ll be doing it for days on end!”
“But you were using the washer all day yesterday…I really need to do a load of clothes, Maureen. I don’t have any clean underwear or socks.”
“It does pile up when you let it go for a while, doesn’t it?”
“But the reason it’s piling up for me is because you’re always using my washer.”
She laughed again. “Well, Joe, there’s the two of us, you know. We dirty up twice as much as you do.”
“But at the rate you’re using my washing machine, you and Bill would have to be changing clothes every hour.”
“Oh, Joe, you are the funny one! Talk to you later!” Still laughing, she went out the back door.
I bit my lip. I set my laundry basket down on the floor. What the hell is she washing all day, anyway? I asked myself. I walked over to the washing machine, and opened the lid. I stared down into my washer in disbelief.
There were two dish-towels floating in the sudsy water.
“What the—” I couldn’t stop staring at the towels. I slammed the lid down, and the machine started agitating again.
Is she insane?
I bit my lip and reached for the dryer door, and opened it.
An LSU baseball cap nestled in the bottom of the dryer.
A baseball cap.
“Dear God in heaven, what is wrong with that woman?” I said out loud.
*
“She was doing a load of just two dish towels? And another load that was just a baseball cap?” She clearly didn’t believe me—it was written all over her face. “You’re exaggerating a bit there, aren’t you, Mr. Spencer?”
“I wish I was, Detective.” I leaned back in my chair. “I sat on the back steps until I heard the washer stop, and then I went in and put my load in—I took the dish towels out and left them sitting on the dryer. I was working on a job, so I came back here and lost track of time. About forty-five minutes later I realized my load would be done, and I could put it in the dryer, you know, start my second load. So I walked back over.” I sighed. “You’ll never guess what I found?”
“What, Mr. Spencer?”
“I heard the washer running when I went in the back door, you know? I was puzzled—it had been almost an hour since I started my load, you know—the baseball cap should have been finished.” I shook my head at the memory. “My wet clothes—my underwear—was sitting on top of the dryer. I opened the washer and there was another load—two bath towels—not mine—my laundry basket with the next load was still sitting there on the floor. She took MY clothes out, put them on the dryer, and even though she could see I needed to do a second load, she started a load with just two towels. TWO TOWELS!” I took a deep breath, trying to keep the rising anger down.
“That must have been incredibly frustrating for you—”
I cut her off, the frustration and anger bubbling up all over again. “I didn’t know what to think. I was shocked at the total lack of concern for my needs—especially since they were MY MACHINES, which I bought and paid for—and she just blithely ignored that I needed to do my own laundry, after I had told her—and then took MY stuff out of MY goddamned washer SO SHE COULD WASH TWO FUCKING TOWELS?”
“Mr. Spencer, please calm—”
“I’m so sorry.” I interrupted her again, taking a few deep breaths. I smiled at her. “I just don’t understand whatever happened to common courtesy. I mean, here I was, doing her a favor, and she was putting me into the position of having to BEG to use my own appliances!”
“No good deed goes unpunished, Mr. Spencer?”
“Exactly. So I decided to try talking to her again.”
“And how did that go?”
*
I hesitated at the back door. I could hear some big band music playing, and Maureen humming along to it. I knocked, but there was no response. I gritted my teeth and knocked louder.
The back door swung open, and Maureen smiled at me, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Oh, hello, Joe. I was just washing up some dishes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
“It’s no bother at all. Now what can I do for you?”
“It’s about the washing machine, Maureen.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, I need to use them, Maureen.”
“Well, go on and use them, then!”
“I’ve been trying to for the last couple of days.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”
“Every time I try to do my laundry, you’re doing yours.”
“But, Joe, you said I could use your washer and dryer whenever I wanted to!”
“Yes, yes I did. But—”
“I’m just doing what you said.”
“But, Maureen—”
“First you said I could use your machines whenever I wanted to. I did what you said and now you’re acting like I did something wrong. I really don’t understand you, Joe. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Maybe what I should have said was you could use them whenever I wasn’t.”
“But, Joe, you’re never using them when I go over there. They’re just sitting there, empty.”
I took a deep breath. “Maureen, the point is you’re using them constantly. Constantly. I went over there this afternoon and you were doing a load that was just a dish towel. So I waited, and when it was done, I took it out and put a load of mine in. When I went back later, you’d taken my clothes out of the washer, were drying the dish towel, and had started another load—with two bath towels, while my laundry basket was sitting there and you could clearly see I had more laundry to do.”
“Did you want me to do your laundry? Is that what this is about?”
I stared at her in disbelief. “No, that isn’t what this is about. What this is about, Maureen, is me being able to do my laundry.”
“Because I’m not going to do your laundry.”
“I’m not asking you to!”
“I don’t understand.”
I counted to ten in my head, trying not to lose my temper. “Maureen. I am telling you that I also need to do my laundry. You and Joe aren’t the only people on this property who need to wash clothes. Has it never occurred to you that I might need to do mine?”
“But Joe, like I said, the machines are never in use—”
I cut her off. “What do you think it means when there’s a load of my clothes, wet, in the washing machine and a laundry basket with more clothes in it on the floor, Maureen?”
“But you just left the clothes in the washer and I had things that needed to be washed, Joe. I mean, that wasn’t very considerate of you especially when I had some things to wash. Did you just expect me to wait around all day for you?”
“Maureen, you had two bath towels. That could have waited until I was finished with mine, is all I’m saying.”
“But I can’t just wait around for you all day.”
“I really don’t care, Maureen! IT’S MY WASHER AND DRYER! If you want to use them, you need to be more considerate of my needs!”
“But you said I could use them whenever I needed to!”
“Maureen, if you have a load that can’t wait and my clothes are in the washer—and I don’t care if they’ve been sitting there for three fucking days—you can take your load of two towels to the goddamned Laundromat on the corner if they can’t wait! That’s why I bought a washer and dryer! So I could use them whenever I want to! I don’t want you touching my clothes!”
“But it would be silly to spend the money to wash two towels at the Laundromat.”
“So if you want to save that money, Maureen, you need to be more considerate of my needs. You use my machines twenty-four seven. They’re running practically day and night. You’re going to wear them out. Are you going to replace them when you do?”
“You said I could use them.”
“Okay, let me explain this to you one more time. I have another load of clothes to do. You are not to touch the goddamned washer and dryer until all of my clothes are finished. Is that understood?”
“It’s not fair, but okay.”
“In fact, I don’t want you using my washer and dryer again today. Tomorrow’s fine. But today, no.”
“Okay.” She nodded and shut the door.
*
“I’m surprised you were able to hold your temper. That must have been incredibly frustrating.”
I laughed. “You have no idea. It was like there was a synapse in her brain that wasn’t firing, you know? It was like in her mind I was being an ass by trying to restrict her access, I was being unfair and unreasonable. But I was able to get my clothes washed. Later on that night, I was actually feeling a little guilty about the whole thing, and I decided to apologize if I was rude the next time I saw her.”
“That was really nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy. But before I saw her again, Bill stopped by that night to talk to me. He’d been drinking. I’d noticed him walking around outside before with a beer or a drink in his hand, but I’d never thought much about it. It was about nine o’clock, and I was upstairs…”
*
I came running down the stairs. “I’m coming!” I shouted. Someone was pounding on my door, hard angry knocks. I unlatched the door and swung it open. “Bill! What are—”
He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were half-closed. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure, I guess. Come in.” I shut the door behind him. He plopped down on my love seat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door. “What can I do for you, Bill?”
“Hear you had a little run-in with the wife today.” He laughed. “You’ve never been married, have you?”
“I was.”
“Me, I always need a wife. They keep dying on me, though. When the last one died—it was kind of unexpected, kind of fast, dropped dead right out of nowhere—I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Then I found Maureen, and I married her. Don’t know what I’m going to do when she’s gone. Guess I’ll find another one.”
“I don’t really—”
“I know she’s a bit much, Joe, but she’s old. She’s not quite right in the head, you know. It’s starting to go on her. And being here while I work on the house is hard on her, you know. Back up in Monroe, she’d watch her stories and Oprah all day while I was working. Here she ain’t got nothing to do. We don’t got a TV here. So she cleans. She don’t like to be idle—idle hands and the devil, you know how that goes, don’t you, Joe?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. But I don’t see—”
“So she’s a little bit nuts about the laundry. Can’t you cut her a break?”
“Bill, I don’t care if she does laundry from sunrise to sundown. Every day, all day, I don’t care. But when I need to do mine, she needs to let me. And I don’t have a lot of free time—so it’s enormously frustrating—”
“I know, Joe. That woman would try Job, I swear to God. There are times when I just want to give her a good smack, see if that’ll shake the brains free a little, knock some sense into her. But you got to remember she’s an old woman. Her brain don’t work like it used to. And doing the laundry—keeping busy—makes her happy. And that makes me happy.”
“Like I said, Bill, I don’t care if she uses the washer—”
“She can’t be hauling the laundry up to the corner. She’s old, Joe. And if she can’t keep busy she won’t be happy here. And if she’s not happy here, I’m not going to be happy here. And then we’re going to have to go back to Monroe, if you catch my meaning.”
“I think I do.”
“And then Mildred’s going to have to find another contractor. And that ain’t going to be easy—there’s more work here in New Orleans than there are contractors. No telling how long it’s going to take Mildred to find another contractor. And you’re not happy living here in the carriage house, are you?” He got up and walked over to me, leaning into me until his face was inches from mine. The sour alcohol on his breath made me a little queasy.
“No, I’m not.”
“So that’s just going to delay your getting back into your house, isn’t it?”
In that moment, I would have gladly killed him. “I understand what you’re getting at, Bill.”
“Good!” He clapped me on the back, his face wreathed in a smile. “I’m glad we’ve come to a kind of understanding. You want to come over for a drink?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Quite sure.”
I shut the door behind him.
*
“So, basically, he was blackmailing you?”
“Exactly. I had to let her do as she goddamned well pleased with my washer and dryer, and just suck it up and not say anything, or he’d quit. And you know as well as I do it could have taken months before Mildred could find someone else to work on the house.”
“Contractors are scum.”
“They certainly are! Did you have problems with one?”
“I lived in New Orleans East. There was no saving my house. I took the insurance money and sold it as is. But in my line of work—well, let’s just say there are a few honest contractors out there doing good work, and a lot of criminals who should be strung up. The stories I could tell you—”
“I’m sure. I read about some of the scams in the paper the other day. Really makes you wonder what the world’s coming to, doesn’t it? You sure you don’t want some coffee?” I got up and refilled my cup, emptying the pot. “I can make more—it won’t take two seconds.”
“No, I’ve had plenty today.” She winked at me. “Trust me.”
I sat back down in my easy chair. “So, no, it really doesn’t surprise me he’d kill her, you know. Like I said, she was a pain in the ass. And he drank so much…”
“Did you ever talk to Mrs. Savage about the situation?”
“I did a few times, and she was sympathetic, but she never did anything about it.” I shook my head with a sad little laugh. “I can’t hardly blame her. I mean, here I was living under my own roof, really, while she and her husband were staying with friends. I know she just wanted to get back on the property as soon as she could…who wouldn’t? She just would tell me to be patient, she’d have a chat with them, but nothing ever changed, you know? I even tried setting up a schedule. I sat down with her and told her she could do the laundry every day, but I would do mine on Wednesday and she would have to respect that.”
“More than reasonable, I think.”
“Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you? But she was crazy. Absolutely crazy. After we set the schedule, the next Wednesday morning I got up and went over there, and sure enough, she had a load going in the washer. I thought my head would explode.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was. I was so angry I was ready to kill them both.” I laughed, and gave her a broad wink. “I guess I shouldn’t say that to a cop.”
“Should I consider you a suspect, Mr. Spencer?” She smiled at me.
“Like I’d kill someone over using my washing machine!”
“You’d be surprised what will push someone to kill…but no, at this moment you’re not a suspect. It seems pretty cut and dried to me. Did you hear them arguing last night?”
“No, like I said, I’ve gotten used to turning the television up really loud, so I wouldn’t hear them.”
“Do you know what they used to argue about?”
“No, I mean, I never could make out what they were saying. All I heard was the noise—and it was definitely angry noise, if you know what I mean. His drinking and her—well, whatever it was—I always thought it was a potentially lethal combination.”
“What time did you go to bed last night?”
“I guess it was around ten thirty, or just after. I always watch The Daily Show before I go to sleep. What time did he,” I swallowed, “you know?”
She didn’t answer my question. “How did they seem yesterday to you?”
“I didn’t really talk to either of them…Maureen did stop by for a moment.”
*
There was a frantic look on her face when I opened the door. She was clearly agitated, looking from side to side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was wringing a dish towel in her hands. “Why hello, Maureen.” I smiled at her. “Is everything okay?”
“Where is my laundry?” Her voice shook.
“How would I know?”
“I took a load over there half an hour ago and it’s not there!”
“Maureen, dear, are you sure?”
“Joe, I took a load of towels over this morning, I know I did. I remember going over there…”
“Then where could it have gone?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“How would I know, Maureen? I haven’t been over there since two days ago when Bill showed me how the place was coming along.”
“You’re sure you don’t know?”
“No, I don’t, Maureen. Just like the other day when you accidentally put the red dye in with your whites.”
“I don’t remember doing that…why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, Maureen. It doesn’t make any sense. I guess you were just a little confused,” I said soothingly.
She nodded. “Confused. I’ve been really confused lately.”
“Why don’t you go lie down for a little while and get some rest?”
“That—that might be a good idea.”
“Why don’t you just go take a nap and forget about it?”
“Oh, oh, okay.”
I shut the door and smiled to myself. “Stupid bitch,” I said to myself as I walked behind a stack of boxes. I picked up Maureen’s laundry basket—two towels—and walked back over to my door. It was almost too easy, I reflected, as I opened the door and walked around to the front of the house. Bill was sawing some plywood, set up on two sawhorses. “Bill?”
Bill stopped the saw and smiled. “Oh, hi there, Joe.” His eyebrows came together. “Why you bringing your laundry around to the front?”
“It’s happened again, Bill.” I set the laundry basket down on the ground. “This isn’t my laundry, it’s yours.”
“What happened this time?”
“Maureen just came by, extremely upset, because her laundry had disappeared. She said she took the load over and put it in the washer, but when she went back to put it in the dryer it was gone. She thought maybe I knew what happened to it.”
“Go on.”
“So I told her to go lie down, and I went over to the laundry room. Bill, the basket was sitting there on top of the washer. If it was a snake it would have bit her.”
“Dear God.”
“It’s getting worse, Bill. I mean, what’s going to happen next? Is she going to leave the stove on when she goes to the grocery store?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” he whispered.
“Well, a week ago she wasn’t putting red dye in with the whites, either. I had to run three cycles of bleach through the washer to get that dye out, Bill. She’s not getting better, and you know it. She needs help. Aren’t you afraid what might happen if you go to the hardware store or the lumberyard and leave her here alone?”
“I—”
“I mean, it was one thing when she was just forgetting things. But this is really serious.” I sighed. “Well, I’ve said my piece. I’ll leave the laundry basket where I found it.”
*
“So, she was getting even more forgetful?”
“I guess he just lost patience with her one last time. It’s sad, just terrible.” I got up to answer the door. I shrugged as I turned the knob. “She really went downhill quickly, detective.” I opened the door and smiled. “Detective Tujague, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Come in. You want to speak to Detective Casanova?”
“Actually, I want to ask you something.”
“Me? All right.”
“Did you see Dufour last night?”
“No. I was just telling Detective Casanova about the last time I saw him. It was about two or three yesterday afternoon. I can’t be more specific than that, I’m sorry. Why do you ask?”
“Dufour says that he came over here last night and you two had drinks together and talked about the situation with his wife. He got tired and you helped him back to his apartment, and that’s the last thing he remembers before waking up this morning next to his wife’s corpse.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s obviously mistaken. I don’t drink. So he doesn’t remember killing her?”
“Well, that’s his story. You’re certain he wasn’t here?”
“I couldn’t be more certain. I don’t drink. You can do a blood alcohol test on me if you like. But he was not here last night.”
“Okay, thanks. Venus?”
“That’s about all I need. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Spencer.”
“If I can be of any help—”
“We will need you to come down to the station at some point and make a statement.”
“Just let me know when.”
“Thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Venus smiled at me as she walked outside. “I really appreciate your help.”
I closed the door and leaned against it. I exhaled.
They didn’t suspect a thing.
*
Bill had come over, around nine thirty. I invited him in, and he took a seat on the love seat. He was carrying a plastic go-cup.
“Hi, Bill. How is she?”
“She was almost hysterical. When she gets like that, man, she really drives me to drink. I told her to take one of her goddamned pills and lay down, she was giving me a headache.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey. Tonight’s a whiskey night. Man, that was a tough one. After she went to sleep I called her daughter. That one’s a real bitch. Didn’t want to hear a word I was saying. Wants to fly out here and see for herself. I told her I don’t need her permission to put Maureen in a facility, thank you very much, and to try to keep a civil tongue in her goddamned head. Just like her mother, doesn’t know her place. No wonder that one couldn’t keep a man.”
“I’m real sorry about all of this, Bill.”
“Well, you know, Joe, that’s mighty kind of you to say. I know you had some trouble dealing with the woman, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your going out of your way to keep her happy. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I couldn’t have you quit the job before the house is finished.”
“Oh, I would have never done that. I might have sent her back up to Monroe, but I believe a man always finishes what he started. Once I give my word, I don’t go back on it.”
I stared at him. “Well, you sure had me fooled, Bill!” I somehow managed to keep my voice friendly and light.
All these weeks—all of this frustration and irritation, that I’ve put up with—for nothing?
He laughed. “Just trying to keep the peace and make the best of a bad situation. I do appreciate everything you’ve done though in the last few days. She really went downhill fast.”
“Went?”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Here, let me refill your drink.”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“I always keep good liquor around—just because I don’t have a drink doesn’t mean everyone else has to be on the wagon.”
“Say, that’s some good stuff!”
“I always believe if you’re going to get something, get the best.” I put his cup down on the counter and reached up for the Wild Turkey bottle.
And right there, sitting on a lower shelf, were the sleeping pills.
They’d been prescribed for me after the storm.
I shook out two of the capsules and opened them, pouring them into the bottom of his cup. I smiled.
It was all falling into place.
I put some ice in his cup and poured the Wild Turkey over it, watching as the granules dissolved into the alcohol. I smiled and carried the cup back over to him. “There you go, Bill.”
“Thank you.” He took a long drink. “Ah, that’s some good stuff. I never get much chance to drink the good stuff.”
“So, you think she’s going to have to go into a facility?”
“Like you said, I can’t watch her all day.” He sighed. “I can’t be without a wife, Joe.”
“But—”
“I don’t know what to do. I guess I’ll have to divorce her. Damn. I never thought I’d see the day come when I’d be getting a divorce.”
“All your other wives have died?”
He yawned. “Yes, I’ve put them all in the ground. I figured I’d be burying Maureen, too—but this? Sorry,” he yawned again, “I don’t know why I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”
“You’ve had a draining day—all that work on the house, and Maureen…”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Joe, I guess I’d best be getting to bed.” He fell back against the back of the love seat. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Let me help you up.” I helped him to his feet and put his arm over my shoulders. He reeked of whiskey and sour sweat. “Just lean on me, Bill, and we’ll just get you to bed.”
“I…don’t…understand…why…that…whiskey…hit…me…so…hard…”
“Don’t worry about it. It happens to everyone.”
“I can…barely…keep…my…eyes…open…”
He was practically dead weight by the time I got him back inside the main house. I eased him down onto the sofa. His mouth fell open and he started snoring.
I stared down at him contemptuously.
“Idiot.”
All I’d wanted was for her to be put away. I wanted her and her insane laundry fetish gone, out of my life for good.
It would be so easy, I thought, looking down at his open mouth, to just put a pillow over his face—
In the other room, Maureen gurgled in her sleep.
I turned away from him and walked over to the bedroom door.
She was on top of the covers, sleeping on her back in a floral nightgown. Her glasses were on the nightstand next to the bed.
I looked back at Bill on the couch.
I never go back on my word, I heard him saying in my head again.
I smiled.
I walked over to the bed and looked down at her.
“Maureen? Maureen? Can you wake up for a minute?” I said softly, reaching down to shake her shoulder. “Maureen? Can you open your eyes?”
She shifted on the bed. “Go ’way, leave me alone.” Her voice was drowsy.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
They fluttered open, and she blinked at me, squinting. “Joe? What?”
“Bill had a little too much to drink and I had to help him home.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Good-bye, Maureen.”
I reached down and my hands closed around her throat.
She thrashed against me, but I put my weight behind my hands.
And finally, she stopped.
I let go of her throat and smiled down at her. “You look so peaceful, Maureen.” I went back to my own apartment.
*
From my living room window, I watched them lead Joe away in handcuffs.
He looked upset, confused.
They always say that criminals are stupid. I like to believe only stupid criminals get caught.
I hadn’t planned on killing her. No, all I wanted to do was get rid of her, have her locked up in a home someplace where she’d never bother me again.
But it all just fell into my lap, and who am I to say no to opportunity?
And he was just as bad as she was, wasn’t he?
All that time, he knew she was making my life hell and didn’t do a fucking thing about it—actually, he helped her.
But to give him credit, he’d been bluffing and I’d been afraid to call him on it.
But I won the hand, didn’t I?
A strangled wife, a hungover husband reeking of whiskey? And the sad neighbor, telling the terrible story of how they fought almost every night, yelling and screaming at each other? “No, Officer, he was never here.” His word against mine—and really, what motive did I have for killing his stupid old wife? Like I told Detective Casanova, no one would kill someone over a washing machine.
Stupid annoying old bitch.
And that’s that. They have him dead to rights, anything he tries to say will just be seen as a lie calculated to get him out of a murder rap.
Stupid, stupid people.
Note to self: Never, ever let someone use your washing machine again. Ever.