Charlotte opened her mouth to tell the old lady that, regretfully, she had already made plans, but Bitsy kept right on talking.
“Now, Charlotte, dear, I realize that tomorrow is Saturday, and of course I would pay you extra.” She took a deep breath and smiled proudly. “You see, my granddaughter called this morning, and she’s coming for a visit—you know, she’s the one who lives in New York. And she’s flying in tomorrow evening. I really want everything to be nice and tidy for her visit, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
Again Charlotte opened her mouth to tell Bitsy she couldn’t come, but one look at the eager anticipation on the old lady’s face, along with the glow of excitement in her faded blue eyes, and she found she couldn’t do it.
“What time would you like for me to be there?” she said instead.
“Oh, my, I really hate to ask this of you, but could you possibly be there at seven instead of eight?”
Charlotte groaned inwardly but nodded her agreement.
“Wonderful!” Bitsy gushed. “Now that we’ve got that settled, you must let me buy you a drink.”
Charlotte frowned. “Buy? But I thought—”
“Yes, dear.” Bitsy snickered. “The drinks are included in the price of the ticket. I was just making a little joke.” Bitsy elbowed Charlotte. “Had you going for a second, though, didn’t I? My goodness, you’ve got to learn to lighten up or before you know it, you’ll turn into a sour old prune like me.” The old lady giggled, and Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh along with her.
The last thing Charlotte wanted was to spend more time with Bitsy. What she wanted was to go home. But Bitsy latched on, and Charlotte found herself having a drink with the old lady, after all, as well as enduring another half hour of her endless chatter.
For a while, she was able to ignore most of what Bitsy said as the old lady pointed out first one person, then another one, and proceeded to regale Charlotte with the latest rumors circulating about the people she’d singled out.
Then, suddenly, Bitsy threw out a name, and all of Charlotte’s senses went on alert.
“Can you believe the nerve of that Jackson Dubuisson? Just look at them.” Bitsy shook her head. “And her a married woman. Even more scandalous, she’s his partner’s wife.” As if realizing she finally had Charlotte’s full attention, she nudged her and pointed. “Over there, just on this side of the fountain. I tell you, it’s one thing to have an affair, but to flaunt it in front of the whole city—well, I never!”
Charlotte followed Bitsy’s finger. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she spotted the couple. Just as Bitsy had said, Jackson Dubuisson was on the dance floor. Cuddled against him like a satisfied cat who had just found a bowl of cream was Sydney Marriott.
Charlotte had once worked for Sydney and knew that, in fact, Bitsy was right. Not only was Sydney a married woman, but she was married to Tony Marriott, Jackson’s law partner.
He’d lied, Charlotte thought. He’d outright lied to Jeanne about working late. While Jeanne was home, tending to her invalid mother, thinking that her husband was working, Jackson was out having a high old time.
Snippets of Jeanne’s side of the phone conversation when she’d talked to Jackson earlier began coming back to Charlotte, and she frowned. Had Jeanne suspected that Jackson was lying to her about working late? Did she suspect that he was having an affair? Even as socially insulated as she’d become, someone who was as prominent as Jeanne wasn’t totally cut off from the old-girl network. Someone along the way would have let it slip about Jackson.
Yes, Charlotte decided. Jeanne surely had to know. And if she knew, it would go a long way in explaining why she’d been so uncharacteristically sarcastic and short with him over the phone.
Suddenly, Charlotte recalled Clarice’s words from earlier that morning. . . .
he’s a no good scoundrel...
Maybe Clarice wasn’t quite as senile as Jeanne thought, after all.
“Oh, poor Jeanne,” Charlotte murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from the couple. They were dancing so close that they seemed to blend into one; it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
“Humph!” Bitsy scoffed. “Poor Jeanne my foot. You better feel sorry for Sydney. Here comes that husband of hers, and he looks like he could chew nails. I know I wouldn’t want to cross him.”
Sure enough, Tony Marriott was headed straight for the dancing couple, and the murderous look on his face was enough to give Charlotte the cold shivers.
Chapter Three
F
or once, Charlotte had to agree with Bitsy. Even if Tony Marriott’s swarthy looks hadn’t reminded her of every cliché she’d ever associated with a mafia hit man, his reputation alone would have been enough for Charlotte to steer clear of him.
Charlotte’s nephew, Daniel, had once worked as an assistant D.A. before going into private practice. From listening to Daniel talk, Charlotte knew that Tony specialized in representing clients no one else would touch, mostly big-time drug dealers. And more often than not, he always won in court and was paid well for his services.
Bitsy tugged on Charlotte’s arm. “Let’s get closer. I can’t hear what they’re saying from here.”
Charlotte firmly removed her arm from Bitsy’s grasp. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Evidently, neither did the people dancing near Sydney and the two men. All around the men, couples had stopped dancing and were backing away.
Bitsy craned her head. “Oh, Lordy, me. Do you think they’re gonna fight?”
Charlotte abhorred violence in any form, and the eager anticipation in Bitsy’s voice was more than she could stomach.
“Shame on you,” Charlotte told the old lady. “Of course they’re not going to fight.” At least she hoped not But if she had to bet on which man would win in a fight, she’d lay odds on Tony. No contest. Jackson was the taller of the two men by several inches, but Tony was more muscular looking and probably outweighed Jackson by at least thirty pounds. And from all accounts, Tony was a lot meaner than Jackson and fought dirty, at least in the courtroom.
Even as the music played on, muting the heated conversation between the two men, Charlotte could feel the tension emanating from them like the vibrations from the strings of a too tightly strung violin.
But the drama was short-lived. Tony’s verbal attack abruptly ended when he jerked his wife out of Jackson’s arms. Pulling her and half-dragging her along behind him, he stalked off through the crowd. Charlotte followed the couple’s exit until they disappeared in the crowd. When she looked back to see Jackson’s reaction, he was gone.
“Oh, phooey!” Bitsy grumbled. “I thought for sure we would get to see a fight.”
Charlotte took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reminded herself that Bitsy was a client as well as an old lady. Even so, enough was enough for one night.
She motioned vaguely toward a crowd of people huddled around a food table. “I think that’s my son signaling to me over there,” she lied. “Thanks for the drink, but I’ve got to run now. See you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
As Charlotte hurried away, she heard Bitsy calling after her, but she ignored her. Now if only she
could
find Hank and Carol...
Minutes later, Charlotte finally spotted Carol standing near the front gates. But Hank was nowhere in sight.
The second Carol saw Charlotte, her face lit up, and she rushed over to her. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I never was going to find you.”
Charlotte laughed. “I was looking for you, too.”
“Well, now that we found each other, Hank asked me to give you a message. He said to tell you that he got a call from the hospital and had to leave.”
“What a rotten shame,” Charlotte said with feeling. “I know you two were having a good time. As for me, though, it’s just as well. I was really looking for that son of mine to tell him that I have to be going.”
Carol frowned. “Oh, dam! I was hoping you’d stay and keep me company. The evening is still young,” she added in a wistful, coaxing tone.
For a moment, Charlotte was tempted to stay a while longer. Because Hank had interrupted their earlier chat, she’d only had time to ferret out a couple of facts about Carol. For one, she’d learned that Carol was a nurse who worked for one of Hank’s associates. She’d also learned that Carol had once been engaged but had ultimately decided against marrying the man.
With Hank gone, Charlotte figured she just might be able to find out more. She might even be able to work the conversation around to the subject of children.
Charlotte glanced at her watch, then groaned. “The evening might still be young,” she said regretfully, “but I’m not—not young, that is, and I have to be on a job by seven tomorrow morning.”
“Well, you’re certainly not old, either, not by today’s standards.”
Charlotte grinned. “I wish you’d help me convince my son of that. He thinks I need to retire and let him take care of me.”
“I know,” Carol told her softly. “But Hank just loves you, Charlotte. He really hates seeing you work so hard.”
So they had discussed her, thought Charlotte. Interesting. Interesting indeed.
“And what do you think?” Charlotte asked.
“I think you should do what you want to do, and I’ve told Hank as much.”
On impulse, Charlotte gave the younger woman a quick hug. “Carol, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
Carol returned the hug eagerly. “I hope so. I certainly hope so.”
Charlotte stepped back. “But hey, listen. Just because Hank and I have to leave doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stay and enjoy yourself.”
Carol shook her head. “Nope! If you’re not staying, then I’m not, either. It just wouldn’t be any fun without Hank or you.”
Bitsy Duhe lived on the same street as the vampire novelist Anne Rice. Charlotte glanced at the author’s house as she passed it the following morning. Though vampires weren’t exactly her choice of reading material, she still hoped one day to meet the famous lady who wrote about them. A grin tugged at her lips. She’d even had a fantasy or two about working for her.
A few houses farther down, Charlotte parked in front of Bitsy’s house. Surrounded by huge azalea bushes filled with dark pink blooms, the house was a very old raised-cottage-style Greek Revival.
Bitsy was already outside, standing on the front gallery. As usual, Bitsy had on yet another of her flowered dresses. With her were two men dressed in jeans and matching khaki shirts.
Also as usual, Bitsy was talking a mile a minute. Even as she waved a greeting to Charlotte, her mouth never stopped moving.
Charlotte immediately recognized one of the men as Joseph O’Connor, a well-known Garden District gardener. Joseph occasionally worked for Bitsy, but he also worked for several of Charlotte’s other clients.
Who was the younger man with Joseph? she wondered. And why did the tall sandy-haired man look vaguely familiar? As far as she knew, Joseph worked alone most of the time. Of course, it was always possible that the gardener had finally decided to hire a helper, especially since he was getting on in years.
“But aren’t we all?” Charlotte grumbled as she stepped out of the van.
After gathering the supplies she would need, Charlotte took a deep breath of the cool morning air. Too bad it wouldn’t stay cool, she thought as she locked the van, then approached the steps leading up to the front gallery. By afternoon, the heat of the sun, combined with the humidity, would rival a sauna. And before the month of May ended, even the early mornings would be hot and muggy, typical New Orleans weather.
Even as Charlotte nodded at the two men when she passed them, the feeling that she knew the younger man grew even stringer He was older than she’d first thought Up close the fine lines around his piercing green eyes were more visible and defined, and she detected just a bit of gray around his temples.
Where had she seen him before?
Charlotte prided herself on her keen awareness of details, especially the faces of people she met and the names that went along with those faces. Being unable to recall where she’d seen the younger man before was puzzling. She should have been able to shrug it off, but for reasons she couldn’t fathom, it disturbed her that she couldn’t identify him.
Chapter Four
T
hough Bitsy’s house was large, it wasn’t hard to maintain. A strong believer in the old cliché, a place for everything and everything in its place, she was basically a neat lady. In spite of her efforts, however, the house, like its owner, was old. Coping with the accumulation of dust and cobwebs was an ongoing battle.
In the kitchen, Charlotte filled the sink with warm water and added a healthy measure of degreaser. Bitsy’s kitchen was a nightmare, containing every modern kitchen gadget imaginable. She’d even had additional shelves built so she could display the vast collection, all of which seemed to draw dust and grease like metal drew magnets.
“Charlotte! Oh, Charlotte, where are you?”