The Final Victim(86)

As she pours it, Nydia comments, "Anyway… I thought she was leaving before the big storm."

"No, she wasn't supposed to until last night."

"Not yesterday's storm. There's a big one coming in a day or two, Tropical Storm Douglas. She wanted to get out before that. Did she go last night, then?"

"I don't know. I didn't see her all day. I was going to make sure she had arranged for a ride to the airport, but I… didn't want to bother her in her room."

The truth was, Charlotte was too busy lying around watching television with Royce to give her cousin much thought until they saw a story on the evening news about residual delays at the airport because of the weather.

"I just wondered if her flight was canceled in advance and she didn't bother to go," Charlotte says now, as she stirs more sugar than usual into her coffee. "I figured she might not have left the house if she knew about the delays, or that maybe she would have come back if she couldn't get out."

Nydia shrugs. "Haven't seen her," she reiterates, "but if she's gone, I'll go make up her room again before I leave."

"Leave?"

"It's Sunday, my day off."

Oh, that's right. Nydia always leaves Oakgate after breakfast and doesn't return until Monday morning. Where she goes, Charlotte has no idea-not that she's ever given the topic much thought. She supposes the housekeeper must have an apartment somewhere, or maybe a friend she stays with.

She has to have some kind of life beyond Oakgate. Charlotte certainly hopes she does.

That way, it'll be easier for her to move on after the place is sold.

"Well, then," she tells Nydia, as she opens the wooden file box where she keeps the seafood recipe, "you should just go ahead, and don't worry about the guest room now. There's no rush."

"No, really, let me get it ready. That way, your visitor can move right in there this morning."

"You mean Aimee?"

Nydia nods.

Charlotte shakes her head in response, rifling through her recipe cards with growing irritation.

Earlier this week, the woman also wanted to move Aimee into Gib's vacated, ransacked premises-and would have probably transferred her things single-handedly if the police hadn't cordoned off the room and asked them to leave it untouched for the time being.

Sensing she's about to get an argument now, Charlotte informs Nydia firmly, as she plucks the recipe card from the box and slams it closed, "I'd hate to make Aimee move now that she's settled in. And the room she's in"-your grandaddy's room, Nydia's disapproving look reminds her-"has its own private bathroom."

Yes. The bathroom where he died.

The unspoken words dangle between them as Nydia says only, "Your grandfather's things are still there. I never had the chance to clean them out before she showed up."

She says it with a deliberate emphasis on the pronoun, as though Aimee has no right to be here… and, come to think of it, as though it's up to Nydia, and not Charlotte, to go through Grandaddy's possessions.

She supposes the housekeeper does have a certain proprietary sense, having lived here since before Charlotte was even born. Still…

The woman is household help, not family.

"I'll go through Grandaddy's things after Aimee leaves," she tells Nydia, a bit coldly.

And Aimee, by the way, is family.

Before Nydia can comment, she adds, "Nobody's going to disturb anything in the meantime, so don't worry."

The housekeeper meets her gaze head on. "I would hope not," is all she says, before turning back to the sink.

Charlotte sets the recipe card on the counter, consults it, and opens the cupboard door to check for dried tarragon.

"Can I help you find something?" Nydia asks, startling her, having come up right behind her.

"Tarragon… Do you know if we have any?"

"No, I don't. Why don't you let me check?"

Sensing that the woman's offer stems more from reluctance to see her precious cupboards disturbed than from genuine helpfulness, Charlotte says, "Never mind:"

Forget about checking for the herbs and spices she'll need. Unwilling to spend another moment in Nydia's company, Charlotte lakes her coffee and her purse and leaves the room.

The housekeeper usually isn't this unpleasant-but then, Charlotte usually doesn't deal with her at this hour. Maybe she, like Lianna, just isn't a morning person.

No problem. Charlotte can buy everything she needs at the supermarket, including the herbs and spices. Fresh would be better anyway.

The longer she takes to shop and drop off the radio after church, the better the chances that Nydia will be gone for the day by the time she gets back.

She moves quietly through the house to the closed French doors to the parlor, where Royce is still asleep.

Darn it. She should have thought to get the radio from the mantel before she went to bed last night, so she wouldn't have to disturb him. Why didn't she do that?

Because you were too caught up in having Royce home to give anything else, including Phyllida, a second thought.

Again, she wonders whether her cousin made it home to California, and why she didn't at least say good-bye before she left. True, they aren't on the best of terms after all that's happened, but Phyllida must know Charlotte doesn't hold her responsible for her brother's actions.