“I don’t mind, Joyce.”
“Oh, good. And I can ride with you?”
“Sure, just hurry,” Charlotte answered. She’d be willing to take Joyce to Timbuktu if it meant getting her out of her house sooner. “I’ll be in the living room waiting.”
“Great, and thanks!” Joyce did an about-face and headed toward the guest room.
After Joyce disappeared through the doorway, Charlotte went to the living room. But as she slipped on a sweater and picked up her purse, she couldn’t help wondering how Joyce intended to pay for an apartment. As far as she knew, Joyce didn’t have an income, and it was unlikely that she had any type of savings account. After what Joyce had pulled, it was for sure that neither Louis nor Stephen was giving her money.
So why don’t you just ask her?
Charlotte shook her head. “Nope!” she whispered. “Not gonna happen.” Besides, it was really none of her business.
At that moment, Joyce appeared in the living room doorway. “What’s ‘not gonna happen,’ and who are you talking to?”
Eyeing the red, white, and blue-striped tote bag Joyce was carrying, Charlotte chose to ignore the first question and answered the second one, instead. “Just gathering wool, as they used to say. Talking to myself.” She purposely turned to look at the cuckoo clock. “Good grief. Just look at the time. I’ve got to go.”
“I saw you looking at my tote bag,” Joyce said a few minutes later when Charlotte backed the van out of the driveway. “I’m sure you recognized it, but I’m hoping you won’t mind me borrowing it to carry my sandwich and things, just for today. My purse isn’t big enough to put the sandwich in. I found the tote bag in the bottom of the guest room closet and figured you didn’t use it much.”
“I don’t mind, Joyce, but next time I would appreciate you asking ahead when you want to borrow something of mine.”
When Joyce didn’t say anything, Charlotte figured she’d ticked her off. She glanced sideways, but Joyce had turned her head and was staring out the passenger window, so all she saw was the back of Joyce’s head.
Yep, she’s ticked.
Well, that’s just too bad, Charlotte decided. Joyce could just stay ticked off. Just because she’d agreed for Joyce to stay with her a couple of nights didn’t give the woman the right to take whatever she wanted without the common courtesy of asking first.
Shame on you. Shame, shame. Since when did you become such a grumpy, stingy old woman? Some grandmother you’re going to be.
For several seconds, Charlotte grappled with her conscience. Just the thought of her yet-unborn grandchild made her ashamed of how she’d been feeling and acting lately. Any day now, her daughter-in-law, Carol, would have the baby, and after years of longing, Charlotte would finally have a grandchild.
Charlotte decided to vow, right then and there, to try to do better, to try to be more charitable and thoughtful, the kind of grandmother that her grandchild would be proud of.
When Charlotte approached St. Charles Avenue, she flipped on the right blinker and pulled over near the curb. “There’s a streetcar stop across the street,” she said. As soon as she stopped the van, Joyce opened the door and climbed out.
“I probably won’t be home till late this afternoon,” she told Charlotte, her tone cold enough to freeze ice cubes. Without waiting for a response, she slammed the door and marched away.
No thank-you or even a kiss my butt. “Humph! So much for manners,” Charlotte grumbled as she shoved the gear into drive. And for a second, Charlotte was glad that she hadn’t apologized to Joyce, but only for a second. After all, what good was knowing the Golden Rule if you didn’t live by it and use it?
Charlotte was a bit later than usual finishing up at Sandra Wellington’s house. Out of the blue, Sandra had decided that she wanted Charlotte to clean out all of the bedroom closets.
Charlotte grinned to herself. She’d chosen to start with the walk-in closet in the master bedroom first. By the time she’d finished making Sandra choose what to keep, what to throw away, and what to give to charity, Sandra had changed her mind about cleaning the rest.
The day had warmed up considerably, and was so beautiful, that on her way home Charlotte lowered the driver’s and passenger windows almost halfway down to let fresh air into the van. If not for the errands she had to run later, it would have been the perfect day to sit out on the front porch and read one of the books that Bitsy had given her.
Except Joyce will probably be there.
Charlotte groaned. Maybe not…Maybe Joyce was still out apartment hunting. She could always hope.
That’s not very nice.
“Great,” she muttered. “Here we go again.” All day long, she’d been fighting with her conscience over Joyce, and she was good and tired of it. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet. Surely wanting some alone time couldn’t be so terrible, she thought as she turned onto Milan Street.
She was several houses down from her driveway when she noticed the black SUV parked across the street from her house. If she wasn’t mistaken, the SUV was the same one that she’d seen the day before.
Just before she turned into her driveway, she got a good glimpse of the license plate and the driver. Sure enough, it was the very same car and the very same man sitting in the driver’s seat.
Maybe it was time to find out just what he was up to, Charlotte decided as she shoved the gear into park and switched off the engine. Between having to worry about everyone that came to her door and putting up with Joyce, she’d just about had enough.
And if he’s up to no good?
“Time to find that out too,” she muttered.
Chapter 3
Though determined to find out what the man was up to, Charlotte decided it would be really careless not to take precautions. After digging in her purse, she finally located the small canister of pepper spray she always carried with her.
Now what? She couldn’t just walk up to the SUV with the pepper spray in full view. But how to hide it? Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her sweater. Though the morning had started out cool, the day had warmed up considerably, typical New Orleans weather. She didn’t really need the sweater now, but it would help disguise the pepper spray.
Pepper spray in hand, she pulled on her sweater. After slipping the canister into the right pocket of her sweater, she dug out her cell phone and dropped it and her van keys into the left pocket. Then she climbed out of the van.
Casually, she slid both hands into the sweater pockets. With her right hand, she took a firm grip on the pepper spray and positioned her forefinger on the release button. That way, the pepper spray was hidden, but she could pull it out quickly if she needed it. Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the van.
Though the man’s head was bowed, as if he were reading something, Charlotte knew good and well that out of the corner of his eye, he could see her coming.
Once she’d crossed the street, she was careful to stop just out of reach by the driver’s window.
“Ah, excuse me,” she said.
When the man turned his head toward her, the first thing she noticed was his coal black hair and the really dark sunshades he wore. Then she noticed his face, at least the part she could see. His smooth skin was tanned, and he had a square jaw, with a shadow of a dark beard. He had an aquiline nose and a strong but rigid profile.
Young and handsome, she thought. Too bad he was hiding his eyes behind the sunglasses. You could tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes.
“I don’t