Dusted to Death Read Online Free Page A

squeezed her van into the space, but just barely, with little room left at either end of the van.
    Once satisfied that she was close enough to the curb, she cut the engine and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “Good thing I can parallel-park.”
    After retrieving her supply carrier from the back of the van, she locked the doors and trudged up the street toward Bitsy’s house.
    As she approached the house, she slowed her steps. “Keystone Cops,” she murmured, her gaze taking in what appeared to be a myriad of people rushing to and fro. “Or Mardi Gras,” she added.
    Electrical lines were strung all over the front lawn. Men toted in cameras; others, carrying various pieces of equipment, emerged from a huge moving van.
    Charlotte searched through the crowd of faces and sighed. How on earth was she ever going to find the person she was supposed to report to, especially since Bitsy neglected to even give her the name of the person? Then, suddenly, she stopped; all she could do was gape at Bitsy’s house.
    “Oh, wow!” A soft gasp escaped her. Bitsy’s house, a very old, raised-cottage-style Greek Revival, had never looked quite so magnificent. The peeling paint had been scraped and a bright fresh coat applied. Even the landscape had been clipped and pruned to within an inch of its life. For a moment Charlotte fancied that this must have been the way the old house had looked when it was first built, more than 150 years ago.
    Still in awe of the exterior, Charlotte carefully picked her way through the people milling about as she climbed the steps up to the gallery. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her and the front door was wide open, so she kept going.
    Once inside, she was again struck with awe. Though Bitsy had some nice pieces of antique furniture, Charlotte had noticed lately that the furniture had begun to look a bit dingy and worn.
    Charlotte’s eyes grew wide as she glanced around. From what she could see, all of Bitsy’s stuff had been cleared out and had been replaced with gorgeous furnishings that looked brand-new, yet befit the era in which the house had been built.
    So where was Bitsy’s stuff? she wondered. The very stuff that she had been hired to watch over.
    “Hey, lady, who are you?”
    Charlotte pivoted around at the sound of the voice and found herself facing a rail-thin man who was just a little taller than her own five foot three and looked to be in his early-to-mid thirties.
    “Ah, I’m Charlotte—Charlotte LaRue—and I was hired to help keep things clean.”
    The man rolled his eyes. “Hey, Jake, the maid’s here,” he yelled. To Charlotte he said, “Over there.” He pointed toward a group of people huddled near the end of the hallway. “Jake’s the tall dude with the bald head.”
    Once Charlotte spotted the man he’d described, she said, “Thanks.” Charlotte was almost to the group when the baldheaded man broke away and met her halfway.
    “You the maid?”
    Still clutching her supply carrier, Charlotte nodded. “Charlotte LaRue.”
    The man shrugged. “Whatever. Follow me.”
    Whatever? No pleased to meet you, how are you, or even kiss my foot. How rude! Probably one of those high-powered lawyer types, she figured; the kind used to people snapping to attention every time he entered a room.
    Dodging two cameramen and their cameras, Charlotte followed Jake back to the kitchen. When she entered the room she noticed that it looked pretty much the same as it had always looked. Either the crew hadn’t gotten around to changing it or the kitchen wouldn’t be included in any of the scenes.
    Bitsy would be relieved. There weren’t too many things that Bitsy truly valued in her home, but her vast collection of kitchen gadgets was at the top of the list, right there along with the portraits of her granddaughters that hung in the front parlor.
    Jake walked to the table and unlatched a bulging briefcase. After thumbing through several file folders, he pulled one out.