Dusted to Death by Barbara Colley Read Free Book Online Page A

nodded. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”
    Since when did he feel that he had to check in and out with her before he went somewhere? She certainly didn’t feel that way. Besides, he could have left a note.
    Charlotte trudged up the steps and winced as each step sent a sharp pain through her knee.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing that a couple of Tylenol and a soak in a tub of hot water won’t cure. Too much climbing stairs today.” Not one to complain to others, Charlotte changed the subject. “So, where to this time?” She motioned at the suitcase, then walked over and unlocked her front door.
    “Back to Houston. For several days this time.”
    Still wondering why he thought he had to wait for her, she faced him and nodded. “Well, have a good trip.” She twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door.
    “Wait up a minute, Charlotte.”
    Hesitating a moment and getting more irritated by the second, she finally pulled the door closed and faced him again. “What?”
    Several seconds passed, and still he said nothing.
    “Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired, so please, whatever it is, just spit it out.”
    “We need to talk. Have a serious talk,” he emphasized.
    “So, talk, for Pete’s sake.”
    He shook his head. “Not here and not now. I have to get on the road and I can see that you’re in no mood to listen. But when I get back—”
    “Okay. Fine. When you get back, we’ll talk. Now, may I go inside?”
    For an answer, Louis waved his hand, then picked up his suitcase. Unlike the last time he’d left, she didn’t wait around, nor did he try to kiss her.
    “Fine with me,” she grumbled as she locked the front door behind her. “Everything’s just peachy.”
    Only later that night, once she was in bed, did she wonder what in the world he’d meant by “serious.”

Chapter 3
    E arly on Tuesday morning, Charlotte headed up the staircase at Bitsy’s house. In her hand was a sheaf of papers that had script changes that she’d been told to give Angel. Halfway up the stairs she froze as the sudden sounds of screaming and cursing spiraled down. Angel’s voice, easily recognizable, screaming accusations. And a man’s voice yelling back. Possibly Nick, the boyfriend?
    Charlotte winced; if ears could really burn from hearing profanity, hers would be smoldering stubs for sure.
    What to do? What to do? She glanced down the staircase to the first floor where people were scurrying about. The only sign that anyone else was even paying attention was the occasional furtive look cast upward where she was standing.
    Wasn’t anybody going to do anything?
    Guess not, she finally decided, but somebody needed to do something. From the sound of things, the argument was escalating fast.
    With a resigned sigh and a shake of her head, she trudged up the stairs. If they were still going at it by the time she reached the second floor, then she’d…
    What? Just what do you think you can do? Besides, it’s none of your business.
    Momentarily ignoring the voice of reason in her head, she kept climbing the stairs. At the second-floor landing, she froze again. Just down the hallway, standing outside the door to Angel’s dressing room, was her bodyguard, Toby, Mr. Clean himself, his arms crossed and a bored look on his stoic face.
    For Pete’s sake, why was he just standing there? Of all people, shouldn’t he be doing something? Wasn’t his job to protect Angel?
    Charlotte’s hand tightened around the script. More to the point at the moment, what should she do?
    Say something to Toby. Demand he do something.
    Suddenly, there was a loud crash. Without warning, a stiletto-heeled sandal sailed through the doorway, followed by a second one. With a clunk, the first shoe hit the wall opposite the doorway and bounced back, the spiky heel coming within just inches of Toby’s head. With lightning reflexes, Toby threw up his hand and caught the second one the moment it bounced off the