Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie by Merry Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

of lettuce or cheese drying out, rotting in the sink.
    And the whole house might smell of death. Or of Old Spice. Either way.
    So, I remained in exile from my home. Exile seemed better than confronting the mess of Charlie’s murder. For two days after the crime scene was cleared, I stayed at Susan’s. I would have stayed longer, but the fact was that by Monday, I couldn’t take another day in her house.
    It wasn’t that I didn’t like kids—I taught seven-year-olds, for God’s sakes. And Charlie and I had been trying to get pregnant when we’d fallen apart. In theory, I still hoped to be a mom someday. But, honestly, I didn’t know how Susan could stand it. Her husband, Tim, was almost never around, traveled for business. And her home was in constant uproar. Noise. Clutter. Thundering, bellowing commotion. Three girls bickering, shouting and whining, their music and the television blaring nonstop.
    After three days, I needed to escape. So, despite Susan’s generosity and hospitality, and regardless of her concerns about me going back to the place where Charlie had been murdered, I insisted on going home. I craved stillness and quiet. Needed privacy and space.
    Even so, I felt uneasy. The police and crime-scene crew would have gone through everything. The place would be a disaster.
    Charlie’s blood would still be on the sofa.
    And who knew where the rose would be.
    In the end, I had to go. I had no choice. Monday morning, I told Susan I’d be leaving. She didn’t argue. Merely commented that she thought I should wait a little while so she could go with me. “You shouldn’t go back there alone.”
    In truth, having company made it easier. Susan took the top down on her BMW. The sky was clear, the weather warm. Optimistic. When we pulled up, I understood why Susan had asked me to wait. She’d needed time to rally Jen and Becky, who were on the porch, waving. Welcoming me home.
    Bolstered by friends, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, tentatively sniffing, anticipating the smell of rotting flesh or Old Spice. Sensing neither, just the fresh scent of pine. Pine? As in cleaner? I was puzzled, but said nothing. Becky watched me, smiling slyly. Jen led the way.
    “Come on, Elle.” Jen hurried to the back of the house. Straight to the study. Why? Did she want me to face the blood right away? Why was she grinning?
    I followed slowly. Passed the living room. Wait. Something was different in there. And the kitchen. When had I done the dishes? Picked up the salad? Cleared the countertops? I had no memory of cleaning, must really have been in a daze.
    Jen and Becky rushed into the study. Susan stayed behind me, her hand on my back. Pressing me on.
    At the study door, I stopped, remembering Charlie, the slackness of his jaw. The knife in his back. I wasn’t ready, didn’t want to go in.
    “Dammit, Elle.” Susan shoved me forward. “Move.”
    So I did, slowly. Cautiously. And became confused. The room smelled fresh, faintly of leather and chemicals. In a moment, I realized why: There was a new carpet. Cream-colored. And a new chocolate-brown upholstered sofa where the bloodied old gray one had been.
    Three faces grinned at me, expectant and proud.
    “Susan’s housekeeper came and worked all day yesterday—”
    “And Jen got the couch. And there were stains on the carpet, so we pitched in—”
    “You did this? So fast?”
    They had.
    I didn’t know what to say. How to thank them.
    “She’s FBA.” I knew that one: Fucking Blown Away. And Jen was right, I was. I remember hugs and tears. I remember flopping onto the sofa, taking my shoes off to feel the thick soft rug. I remember going to the bar, pouring drinks, ordering pizza, and laughing too much and too loud. And sometime in the middle of the raucous sisterly bonding, I remember Elvis singing, “We’re caught in a trap—” and picking up my phone.
    Charlie’s body was ready for release. I was listed as next of kin, and the coroner’s office wanted