by that's me
"I need to get a hotel. Is there one near the hospital?" Aimee asks, curing into Charlotte's thoughts.
"Not right here, no… But there's a beautiful Marriott right down on the River Walk, though. Your dad and I…"
Stayed there on our wedding night, before we left for Niagara Falls.
No, she shouldn't say that to Royce's daughter; it might be insensitive, considering the romantic, intimate honeymoon images it evokes.
"Is it expensive?" Aimee asks a bit apprehensively, seeming not to notice Charlotte's unfinished sentence.
"Not very," she replies, and, seeing the look on the girl's face, quickly thinks better of it. Her idea of what's expensive is probably very different from that of a girl who just graduated nursing school and doesn't have a job yet. "But of course, we'll pay for your room, Aimee. And we'll reimburse you for your plane ticket."
"Oh, no, Charlotte, I wasn't hinting for y'all to-"
"I know you weren't hinting. But of course we'll pay for it In fact, I can give you the money for the ticket right now," she offers somewhat awkwardly, reaching for her purse. For all she knows, Aimee spent her last dollar on the flight. "How much was it?' "It wasn't much at all, and I can't let y'all do that. Really. I can afford it."
"It must have been a fortune at the last minute like that."
"It wasn't bad. Really. And I'm a big girl. Y'all don't have to pay for my room. Just… Maybe there's a Super 8 around, or something?"
"I'm… not sure. But we'll check."
I should just ask her to come back to Oakgate with me, Charlotte thinks. But with her cousins occupying the other guestrooms, where would Aimee even stay?
There's Grandaddy's room…
Charlotte hasn't ventured there since he died, but Nydia has been cleaning it regularly. And it isn't as though he was the type of man who collected clutter and had personal effects scattered about.
In fact, it's one of the few rooms in the house that remains free of framed photographs and other remnants of the past Anyone glancing through the doorway might mistake it for a guest room: all it contains are a bed, a chair, and several bureaus and a nightstand whose tops contain only table lamps. Plus, there's a private bathroom.
But that's where Grandaddy died. Does it really feel right to turn it over to a stranger?
Not a stranger. My husband's daughter. My stepdaughter.
Unaware of Charlotte's inner turmoil, Aimee says, Thank you so much again for calling me last night."
"Of course! Of course I would call you."
"I don't know… You didn't have to."
Before Charlotte can interject a protest, Aimee goes on, "But you did call. And I appreciate your thinking of me right away."
Charlotte hesitates, then, because she has to say something, tells Aimee, "You must know that I totally respect your relationship with your dad…"
She trails off, aware that this isn't the time or place for this conversation.
Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that her first meeting with Aimee would be in a hospital waiting room, with Royce lying unconscious.
She always pictured flying with him to New Orleans; shaking hands with Aimee in the airport, or maybe even giving her a motherly, polite embrace. Then they would all go someplace for a nice dinner…
But it wasn't meant to happen that way.
Life is a series of accidents… some good, some bad…
And some, Charlotte can't help but think with trepidation, perhaps not accidents at all.
Lianna is sitting on the bottom step on the stairs in the front hall at Oakgate, willing the doorbell to ring, when a voice from above startles her.
"What on earth are you doing down there?"
She looks up to find Nydia peering down at her. "Geez, do you have to sneak up on people like that?"
The housekeeper narrows her eyes as she walks down the stairs, a can of furniture polish and a rag in her hand. "I wouldn't go around accusing other people of sneaking around, if I were you."
Lianna scowls. Obviously, nobody's business is private around here.
"Hey, isn't this your day off?" Lianna asks. When she got up at twelve thirty, she figured the housekeeper must have been long gone.
'Your mother asked me to stay. All this company in the house makes extra work."
Judging by the disdainful look on her face, Nydia doesn't appreciate that.
"Do you know where my mother and Royce went this morning?" Lianna asks, changing the subject.
Nydia stops to wipe something, probably a microscopic fleck of dust, on the wooden stair tread as she answers, "I haven't seen them. Why?"
"I just wondered, that's all. When I got up, they were already gone somewhere."
She wait for the inevitable comment about sleeping late. Not that Nydia has said anything about it in the past, but Lianna can tell by her usual attitude that she disapproves of anyone lying around in bed past noon.
"You still haven't told me why you're sitting here all dressed up," is all Nydia says.
Lianna is wearing the sundress Mom bought for her at the beginning of the summer, the one Lianna said was too fancy to wear.
She changed her mind when she tried it on. It made her look longer, leaner, more grown up.
More like Mom, in fact.
"My father's coming to see me," she informs Nydia.
"How do you know that?"
"He told me yesterday. He was supposed to try and come last night but he got hung up at the restaurant with some business clients."
What he said when he called her at Oakgate was that he had invited a couple of people to come to dinner with him since he didn't want to eat alone.
Of course he didn't. Who would blame him? If it weren't for Mom, he wouldn't have to, because Lianna would have been with him, instead of his having to eat with some stupid people who took their time over dinner, then wanted to go somewhere else after, for drinks.
"I just got back now, and it's getting late," he told Lianna, "and I figure it won't make much sense now for me to drive all the way to the opposite end of the island just for a quick visit. So I'll come tomorrow, honey. At noon. Ill bring lunch. Okay?"
She sneaks a glance at her watch and notes that Dad is now almost two hours late.
"I hope you don't think you're going out with him," Nydia tells her, "because your mother said-"
"Don't get all worked up. I'm not going out with him. He's just coming to see me and bring me some lunch." And I wish he'd hurry up, because I'm starved.
'That's nice," Nydia says, and looks like she wants to add something else.
But she doesn't, just steps around Lianna as she reaches the foot of the stairway.
Lianna sticks out her tongue at the housekeeper's back as she disappears toward the rear of the house, then immediately feels guilty. Nydia isn't that bad. She usually has very little to say, and keeps to
herself. She can't help it if Mom makes her enforce the prison norms -and, most likely, regales her with tales of her daughter sneaking around with the local riffraff.
Resting her chin in her hand, Lianna stares at the door, wondering where her father is. Not that this is the first time he's ever been late. Not by a long shot.
But he usually calls to let her know he's on his way, at least.
Come on, Dad, Lianna sends a silent message. I'm waiting. Where the heck are you?
"Are you okay? You don't seem it"
"I'm fine, really." As Charlotte brushes away the desolate tears that trickle from her eyes, it's Aimee who reaches out with an almost maternal hand, patting Charlotte's shoulder.
"You know, I'm kind of surprised you're here all by yourself, Mrs. Maitland."
"Oh, you can call me Charlotte."
"I will. I thought you had a lot of family here."
"My grandfather passed away a few weeks ago."
"I know, and I'm so sorry-I should have said so sooner. I know how hard it is to lose somebody you love."
"Thank you. It is." Charlotte watches a cloud of sorrow cross Aimee's face. She's thinking about her kid brother, Theo.
"I have a daughter," she says quickly, to keep the conversation from venturing to a place she can't bear to go. Not right now. Not with all her emotions on edge.
"Her name is Lianna, right?"
"Yes. Lianna."
I once had a son, too-Adam.
"Where is she?"
"Back at home, probably still asleep."
"You didn't tell her about my father?"
"No, I don't want to wake her up with news like this, especially when I can't deliver it in person."
"Of course not," Aimee murmurs. "Poor thing. She's going to be upset when she finds out. I know Daddy is close to her. He talks about her a lot."
Charlotte marvels at Aimee's utter lack of resentment. It wouldn't be unnatural for Aimee to be jealous of Lianna, given the circumstances.
But she isn't.
She's a sweetheart, Charlotte concludes, giving her stepdaughter's hand a squeeze. Thank goodness.
"So you've been here all alone all night, just waiting, Mrs. Maitland?" Aimee asks sympathetically.
"It's Charlotte-please just call me Charlotte."
"Oh, I'm sorry-old habits never the. I was raised with old-fashioned Southern manners, I guess."
Charlotte smiles. "Me, too."
"So… You've been all alone here?" Aimee asks again.
All alone. God, yes.
"My cousins came earlier, but… They couldn't stay."
To their credit, both Phyllida and Gib were properly alarmed and concerned-and relieved to learn that Royce was out of immediate danger. They both asked a lot of questions and gave Charlotte an obligatory hug before departing, asking to be kept apprised of Royce's condition.
And they both wanted to know who could have done such a thing.
It's the same question Charlotte was repeatedly asked by Williamson and Dorado. She supposes a good detective has to be persistent…
But what if they were hoping she'd trip over her own words and implicate herself?
She remembers reading somewhere, long ago, that the primary suspect in any murder is the person's spouse. Royce is still alive, thank God, but the police would have to consider her a possible candidate-as a matter of routine, if nothing else.
The mere idea that she could shoot Royce is ridiculous… But then, the detectives don't know her. They aren't aware that she loves her husband more than anything in the world. They don't know that she would never, ever, harm him-that she has no reason whatsoever to do so.
But what if somebody did?
What if it wasn't a random shooting after all?
Try as she might, Charlotte can't shake the memory of whoever was hiding behind the crypt in Colonial Park Cemetery. If the gunman really was a sniper with no specific victim in mind, wouldn't he have chosen a more populated place to commit his act?
That stretch of Oglethorpe Avenue is mainly residential. At the hour of the night when Royce was shot, pedestrians were few and far between.
So why there?
Why then?
Why Royce?
Charlotte is almost looking forward to her next meeting with the detectives, though it won't be fun to sit through another session like the one she endured earlier.
Maybe Aimee will be here with me, she thinks hopefully.
Of course she will. Where else does she have to go? Unlike Gib and Phyllida, her main concern is for her father's well-being.
Relieved to be in the company of a kindred spirit, Charlotte lets out a deep, quavering breath.
"You know, everything is going to be okay," Aimee says. "I just really feel like he's going to be fine."
"I know he is… But why Royce? Why did this happen to him?"
"The police really don't know who did it?" Aimee asks again.
"No."
"Well, they're right about it probably being random… I know that for sure."
"How do you know?"
"Because Daddy didn't have an enemy in the world."
I wouldn't say that, Charlotte can't help thinking.
And I don't think Royce would, either.
It's no secret that Vince holds a grudge against his daughter's stepfather.
Still, for everything Vince is, Charlotte is fairly certain of what he isn't, a cold-blooded killer.
But Vince isn't the only one who isn't fond of Royce.
He has frequently mentioned how much his ex-wife hates him. He said it just the other night, when Charlotte told him she'd never encountered anyone who didn't like him.
That's because you haven't met Karen.
Could his ex possibly hate him enough to come here and gun him down?
Again, Charlotte thinks of the person she saw in the cemetery. She gave as thorough a description as she could to the investigators, which was a challenge, considering that she didn't see much.
As she told the detectives, all she knew for sure was that he was wearing dark clothes, and agile enough to be mistaken for a teenager.
In other words, it was no hulking, six-foot tall hit man…
Or woman.
After all, the shooter could have been a female.
Oh, come on, Charlotte. You're not really thinking Royce's ex-wife hates him enough to try to kill him, are you?
No. Of course not. It's just…
Well, as she learned in the bereavement group that literally saved her life, grief can do strange things to people. It can put ideas into their heads they might otherwise never have conceived-or seriously considered.
Why else would Charlotte have fantasized about taking her own life after her only son lost his? If it wasn't for Lianna, she would never have gone on.
Karen doesn't have a small child at home who needs her. Aimee just graduate
d from nursing school; she'll be out on her own from now on. And, more importantly, she's forgiven her father, forged a new bond with him.
How does Karen feel about that?
On Charlotte's best days, despite her best intentions to be adult about the situation, she can't help but resent Vince's relationship with Lianna.
