Maid for Murder by Barbara Colley Page B

reading, specifically mystery books, was one of the few things they had in common.
    “I’ll have the chicken for my lunch, and I know I’ll enjoy the books.”
    “There’s a new Iris Johansen book in there,” Bitsy told her. “And there’s one by Tami Hoag. But there’s also the latest one by that literary agent you like so much who writes.”
    “Evan Marshall?”
    Bitsy nodded. “It’s his second one, and it’s even better than the first one.”
    Charlotte reached out and gently squeezed the old lady’s arm. “Thanks again,” she said. “And have fun with that granddaughter of yours,” she added with feeling.
    As Charlotte drove away, the weight of guilt she felt eased only marginally as Bitsy’s earlier words came back to haunt her. What goes around in this life comes around, and people get paid back for the things they do.
    Truer words were never spoken, she decided, and though she knew that it was a self-serving attitude, she made a silent vow to do her best to be kinder from now on. Not only in deeds but in attitude. After all, one day, all too soon, she would be an old lady, too.
    Little did Charlotte know that her new vow would be put to the test so soon. As she turned the corner onto Milan Street, up ahead she spotted a car parked in front of her house, a familiar car that she recognized immediately.
    Charlotte groaned and wondered if she dared drive past without stopping.

Chapter Five

    N adia Wilson was waiting for Charlotte on the front-porch swing. There was no way Charlotte could drive past without being obvious and downright rude. Asleep in Nadia’s lap was three-year-old Davy.
    Charlotte parked her van and sighed deeply as she fought against building resentment. Though her headache had eased somewhat, she had still looked forward to a nice quiet Saturday afternoon . . . a little lunch, a bit of reading, and a long, relaxing nap.
    A few minutes later, when Charlotte got a closer look at Nadia’s red-rimmed, swollen eyes and blotchy face, all of her resentment instantly disappeared.
    “Nadia, dear, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, not wanting to wake the little boy.
    Nadia looked up at Charlotte, and her eyes filled with tears. But when she tried to answer, Davy stirred, then shifted in her arms, and she made soothing noises to the little boy instead.
    Davy’s shirt was soaked with sweat. Recalling that the lit-tie boy had been ill the day before, Charlotte immediately motioned for Nadia to follow her. “Let’s get Davy out of this heat first,” she whispered.
    The moment Charlotte opened the front door, cool air from inside rushed out to greet her, and Sweety Boy immediately launched into his regular routine of chirping and fluttering his wings as he pranced back and forth along his perch.
    Charlotte shushed the little bird. “Not now, Sweety. Be quiet before you wake Davy.” She pointed toward the bedroom. “Just put Davy in there,” she told Nadia softly. “That way, we can hear him if he wakes up.”
    While Nadia settled Davy in the bedroom, Charlotte went to the kitchen and prepared two glasses of iced tea.
    “Now what’s this all about?” Charlotte asked the younger woman once they had seated themselves in the living room.
    Again Nadia’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.” She took a deep, sobbing breath. “Ricco’s been—he—he’s been arrested.”
    For a moment, Charlotte was speechless. Though it was true that she didn’t have a high opinion of Ricco Martinez, she’d never thought of him as the criminal type. Lazy, yes. But a criminal? “What on earth for?” she finally asked when she found her voice.
    “Theft,” Nadia told her. “Stealing graveyard artifacts.”
    For months the Times-Picayune had been filled with articles about a ring of drug-addicted thieves who were in cahoots with antique dealers. The thieves had systematically been robbing the city’s old cemeteries,