“You are wearing pajamas.”
“Where’s your laptop?”
“On the sofa.”
Charlotte moved to get the laptop, but didn’t sit on the sofa. She still needed a shower and she could feel Declan’s eyes on her. “Don’t worry, I won’t sit on your nice clean sofa.”
She brought the laptop back to the counter and did a search for Corentine.
“Hm. I can’t find an address for her. Not even a Facebook page.”
“She’s in witness protection. Why would she be all over social media?”
“Great point.”
Charlotte shifted gears and looked up the cleaning company website.
“I need your phone.”
Declan handed it over and she dialed. A woman with a Hispanic accent answered.
“Sunny Day Cleaning. How can I help you?”
“Hieee...” Charlotte adopted her best vocal-fry voice. “Can I speak to Corentine?”
“This is Corentine.”
Charlotte put her hand over the phone and mouthed the words it’s her to Declan.
He gave her two thumbs up—a little sarcastically, she thought.
She returned her attention to the call. “Oh purrfect. A friend of a friend said you’re the best.”
“That’s good to hear. How can I help you?”
“Uh...” Charlotte’s mind raced, trying to divine a logical reason why someone would need an emergency cleaning, hours before a hurricane. She spotted a flyer on Declan’s counter announcing Uncle Seamus’ Hurricane party at his new bar.
Aha! That’ll do.
“We’re having a hurricane party and I need the house cleaned like, yesterday.”
She heard Corentine sigh on the other side of the line. “How big is the house?”
“Oh, no clue. Sweetums, how big is the house?”
Declan cocked an eyebrow at her. “About eighteen hundred square feet.”
“About eighteen hundred,” she repeated into the phone. “Could you do it today? It’s not super bad. It just needs a good once-over and I don’t have the time.”
Another sigh from Corentine. “I’ve let my staff go for the storm, but I could swing by. It has to be now though. I need to get home, too.”
“OMG, you’re, like, a goddess. Thank you.” Charlotte rattled off Declan’s address. “See you soon.”
Charlotte disconnected and smiled at Declan. “That was easy.”
“Never let that voice come out of your face again. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.”
“Totes. I’m going to get a shower.”
“Please.”
She motioned to him. “She’s on her way. Put on something a little more preppy.”
“What? Why? You still want me to play Marshal?”
She nodded. “She might recognize me, so I need you to let her in and try and get her to admit who she is.”
“Oh that should be easy. People love bragging about how they’re in witness protection.”
“I know, but you’re so clever.”
He smirked. “Don’t sweet talk me.”
“I wouldn’t dream—”
“And don’t forget admitting she’s in witness protection doesn’t mean she’s responsible for any of the murders... or your fire.”
“No. That will be phase two. She saw me with Frank. I can come in and arrest her.”
Declan barked a laugh. “You’re going to burst out of the shower and scream Freeze?”
“I’ll be dressed by then.”
“You’re missing the important part. You aren’t a cop.”
“But, I can pretend to be.” She thought for a moment. “Do you have handcuffs?”
“So your plan is to add false imprisonment to our impersonating law enforcement charges. Why do I feel like this plan isn’t well thought out?”
Charlotte rubbed her face. “Fine. Fair enough. I’ll work it out in the shower. I think better there.”
She turned to head for the bathroom.
“Wait.”
She turned, hopeful he’d already come up with a better plan, suspecting her own sleepy brain was way too fuzzy to come up with anything better, shower or not.
“When we confront her...”
Declan paused.
“Yes?”
“Can I wait until after she’s cleaned the house?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Declan changed into his most-square pair of khakis and a black polo. Short of wearing a badge, he thought he looked as official and bland as possible. He wished he’d thought to bring some of the fake badges he’d seen in the pawn shop’s secret weapons room.
He paused, remembering the small cardboard box of badges.
I assume they’re fake...
Knowing Seamus, they probably weren’t.
Charlotte appeared wearing one of his t-shirts draping lower than her shorts, giving her the illusion of being pantless.
“Are you wearing shorts?” he asked.
She lifted the shirt to reveal a pair of his running shorts, tied extra tight so they puckered around her waist.
Declan chuckled. “I don’t think she’ll buy you’re a federal officer. You look like a hobo.”
“Thank you.”
There was a knock on the door and Charlotte took off in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ll be hiding back here.”
Declan heard a thunk as Abby jumped off his bed. The dog skittered out of the bedroom and Charlotte grabbed her collar as she tried to pass on her way to the front door. “I’ll take her with me.”
“Good call.”
Charlotte disappeared into the back, dragging the vexed Wheaten with her.
Declan cleared his throat and opened the door.
“You called a cleaning service?” asked a short, caramel-colored woman with black hair and a thick Hispanic accent.
“Hi, yes. You must be Corentine. My wife said you’d be here soon. Come on in.”
Corentine’s shoulders seemed to release and her serious expression softened. She entered carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Setting down the bucket, she scanned the room.
“It looks very clean already.”
Declan smiled. He wasn’t so deep undercover he couldn’t take a compliment. In truth, he’d been a little hurt Charlotte even implied his house needed to be cleaned. He’d worked on perfecting it for their hurricane vacation together.
“Thank you.”
Corentine looked nervously down the hall. “Did I hear a dog?”
“She’s locked in the bedroom. We’ll move her to another room when you
