Dusted to Death (11 page)

Charlotte drummed her fingers against the top of the desk. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Then again, he might be afraid that if he wrote something like that, he’d attract the attention of the police. Hmm, guess we’ll have to try something else.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. There just may be another way to find out if and why Nick might have been blackmailing Angel. Remember me telling you that only a very few people know Angel’s real name and where she comes from?”

The drumming of Charlotte’s fingers slowed, then stopped completely. Of course! If anyone knew the truth about Angel’s name and background, it would be Benny. “And you’re one of those people,” she shot back.

“Yes, ma’am, I am, and I think that’s where we have to start. I really hate to discuss this sort of thing over the phone—you never know who might be listening—but I guess it doesn’t really matter right now. What matters is getting Angel out of jail.”

When Benny hesitated, Charlotte said, “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t imagine why anyone would be listening in to either of us. For one, the police think they’ve solved their case, and secondly, the real killer thinks he’s in the clear, what with Angel in jail.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. After all this time I tend to be paranoid where Angel is concerned.”

“Being paranoid is not necessarily a bad thing, especially in circumstances like this one. Believe me, I know. So, tell me what you know about Angel.”

B
enny sighed deeply. “Well, here goes nothing. Her real name is Martha Pate—Marti, for short. Believe it or not, her father was a Baptist preacher.”

“Was?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was killed in an accident the summer after Angel graduated from high school. From what she’s told me about him, he wasn’t exactly Father of the Year. Nope, not a nice man at all, considering his profession. From everything that Angel’s said about him, he was one of those uptight, strict, controlling types.”

Though Charlotte was surprised about Angel’s background, after she thought about it a moment, she decided she shouldn’t be. That Angel was actually a PK, a preacher’s kid, made perfect sense. The strain on the children and wives of ministers was tremendous. They were expected to be perfect, which of course was ridiculous. No one but Jesus Christ was perfect. But because of the high expectations, there were many PKs who ended up rebelling by being real problem children. Of course there were also many that turned out to be just fine.

“She grew up in a small town in Mississippi called Oakdale,” Benny continued. “Actually, it’s not that far from Jackson, about halfway between Hammond and Jackson. Before we began shooting, Angel had me take her to Oakdale to visit her mother.”

Charlotte wrinkled her brow in thought. She couldn’t recall the town, so why did the name Oakdale sound so familiar? Where had she heard that name before? Then, suddenly, she remembered. Not heard, but seen. She’d seen the name on the sweater of the stuffed bulldog in Angel’s dressing room—one of the do-not-touch items that Heather had told her about.

“Angel is a little superstitious and calls it her good-luck charm.”

A knowing smile pulled at Charlotte’s lips. Heather had called it being “superstitious,” but now that she knew more about Angel’s background, Charlotte suspected it was nostalgia, Angel’s one connection to her real identity. That, along with the other do-not-touch item, the eight-by-ten framed picture of an older couple and a little girl standing in front of what appeared to be a church. Angel and her parents. No, not
Angel
, not then. Then, she was
Marti
, Marti Pate.

“Miss Charlotte? Are you still there?”

With a slight shake of her head to clear out the cobwebs of speculation, Charlotte said, “Yes, I’m here. Sorry, guess I was lost in thought there for a moment.”

“Well, how about it?”

Uh-oh
. Guess she’d been more lost in thought than she’d realized. “Sorry, how about what?” she asked.

“What say you and I take a little trip to Mississippi and see what we can find there?”

“I say that sounds like an excellent idea. I’ve already cleared my schedule for two weeks anyway, and I don’t think they’ll be resuming shooting any time soon.”

“Could you be ready to leave in the morning?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up around eight. Oh, and pack a bag, at least for a couple of days.”

“Good idea. See you in the morning.” Charlotte hung up the receiver. Her mind on packing a suitcase, she headed for the bedroom. Halfway there, she remembered Louis’s message about checking his mail and did an about-face. At the front door, she glanced over at Sweety Boy’s cage.

“Hmm, two days,” she murmured. She should probably have someone come in and feed Sweety Boy. Maybe Madeline? No, not Madeline. For one thing, Sweety didn’t like Madeline. Every time she came near his case, he squawked and thrashed around inside the cage like a wild thing. For two, she’d learned a long time ago that her sister wasn’t that dependable.

Judith or Carol would be her best bet. Of course then she would have to explain about where she was going and why. After a moment she shook her head. Sweety could get by okay for just the couple of days that she and Benny would be gone, especially if she left extra helpings of food and water, and an extra cuttlebone. After all, when she’d first discovered the little bird in her former, deadbeat tenant’s half of the double, as best she could calculate, the tenant had been gone at least a week and Sweety had survived then. Barely, but he had survived. With extra food and water, he’d be just fine. At least that was what she kept telling herself as she went out onto the porch.

Louis’s mailbox was stuffed, and so was hers. With everything that had happened during the week, mail was the last thing on her mind.

She’d often thought about having a mail slot installed in both front doors, but never seemed to get around to it. Besides, she found the thought of having a hole in her door that anyone could push open and see inside unappealing, to say the least.

Inside again, she squashed the temptation to sneak a peek at what type of mail Louis received. After separating the envelopes from the magazines, she shuffled all of it, and placed it in a neat stack on the coffee table. Once she’d separated her own mail into bills and junk mail, she placed the bills on her desk and threw the junk mail into the trash can.

Glancing around, she tried to think of anything else that needed doing.

Nothing but packing.

Packing. Right!
Doing an about-face, she once again headed for the bedroom.

The sleepy little town of Oakdale reminded Charlotte of a town in North Louisiana called Minden, only smaller. She and her family had evacuated to a small community near Minden during Hurricane Katrina, and again more recently during Hurricane Gustav. Minden was a really nice town, and from the looks of Oakdale, she figured it was probably a really nice town as well.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Benny said as they drove slowly through the streets of the downtown area. “Are you hungry?”

Charlotte nodded. “I could use a bite.”

“If I remember right, there’s a pretty nice local restaurant just on the other side of town—not fancy, but good food. And not far from there is a Holiday Inn. I figure that we should probably check in to the motel first, then go eat.”

“Sounds good to me,” she told him, but her mind was stuck on the word
fancy
as she took in the old-fashioned storefronts, mostly constructed with bricks. There were a couple of banks, a drugstore, several antique shops, a dress shop, a florist, and even a barbershop, complete with an old-fashioned barber pole.

Charlotte couldn’t help grinning as time after time, heads turned and people stared openly at them. Talk about fancy, from the expressions on the faces of the townsfolk, evidently not too many limousines drove through town. Either that or they were trying to figure out what celebrity was being squired around and why.

If only they knew, she thought. Wouldn’t they be surprised to learn that the only person being chauffeured around was a maid?

No one could have been more surprised than she had been when Benny had pulled up in her driveway earlier that morning in the long white limousine that was leased to Angel for her stay in New Orleans. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that she’d ridden in a limousine. When she’d protested, Benny had simply shrugged and told her that the limo was the only vehicle he had to drive. Of course she had immediately offered her van for the trip instead, but he’d insisted that since they were on a business trip, for Angel, they would use her limo.

Not knowing what else to do or say, she’d finally given in. It was when he had opened the back door and motioned for her to climb inside that she’d balked. She’d told him that there was no way that she was going to ride in the backseat all by herself like some highfalutin society lady while he chauffeured her all the way to Oakdale, Mississippi. Either she rode up front with him or they took her van.

“That’s the restaurant,” Benny pointed out as they passed an older redbrick building. “And here’s the motel,” he added, a few minutes later.

The motel looked to be fairly new, and the rooms were clean and nicely decorated in earthen tones. After checking in and unpacking their suitcases, Charlotte suggested that they walk to the restaurant instead of driving, and Benny agreed.

When they entered Karen’s Café and Catering, Charlotte’s mouth watered at the delicious aromas wafting through the air. “It smells wonderful,” she told Benny. “Either that or I’m hungrier than I thought.”

From what she could see from the foyer entry, the restaurant was small with a homey, yet slightly formal atmosphere. An attractive, middle-aged woman dressed in a black silky pants suit greeted them. Smiling, she said, “I’m Joanne, your hostess. Table for two?” When Benny nodded, she showed them to a nearby table covered with a white linen tablecloth, linen napkins to match, a full setting of china, what appeared to be crystal glasses, and a complete layout of silverware. In the middle of the table was a small bouquet of fresh flowers arranged around a lone candle.

Within seconds of their being seated, a young waitress dressed in a black-and-white uniform appeared. “I’m Sally,” she said with an unmistakable Mississippi drawl and a smile as she handed each of them a menu. “And I’ll be your waitress.” Sally suddenly frowned at Benny. “Say, don’t I know you?” she asked. Without waiting for his answer, she said, “Aren’t you that guy who was in here with Marti Pate a few weeks ago?”

When Benny nodded, she grinned, and in an aside to Charlotte, she said, “Marti and I went to high school together. In fact, speaking of high school”—she turned to Benny—“I hope you can help me persuade Marti to come to our ten-year reunion this October. I mentioned it to her when y’all were here before, but she never gave me a definite answer. I think it would be a real hoot if she showed up.”

Though Charlotte simply nodded and smiled, her mind raced. Persuade was a good word. Maybe, just maybe, with the right kind of persuasion, Sally might prove to be a wealth of information about Angel’s background, especially if she thought she would be helping out the town celebrity.

Sally winked at Benny. “So, how is she?” she asked. “Working on some big movie, probably, huh?” She suddenly froze. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” she exclaimed. “I need a date, so why don’t you come with her?”

After a moment of stunned hesitation, Benny said, “Thanks for asking, but a lot will depend on her schedule.”

“Well, next time you see her, be sure and say hello for me and try to talk her into coming. Everyone here in Oakdale is proud as punch of her success. Oh, and be sure and tell her that her secret is safe with us. Everyone here thinks it’s a hoot that all of those paparazzi types are chasing their tails trying to find out who she really is and where she’s from. It’s like a conspiracy-type thing, but a nice one. And best of all, the whole town’s in on it.”

Again Benny nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

Charlotte stared at Sally for several moments. Was it possible that no one in this little burg even knew about Angel’s arrest yet? She glanced over at Benny, but his expression confirmed her thoughts. He seemed as shocked as she was. A smile tugged at her lips. Or maybe he was just shocked that the waitress had asked him to be her date for the reunion.

Sally didn’t seem to notice, though. “Even if Marti can’t come, maybe you could.” She winked at Benny, then whipped out two smaller drink menus and handed one to each of them. “Now, what can I get you folks to drink? We have a nice selection of house wines.”

Charlotte shook her head and handed the smaller menu back. “Just unsweetened iced tea for me, please.”

Benny handed his back as well. “I’ll have the same.”

After Sally left to get their drinks, Benny leaned toward Charlotte and, careful to keep his voice low, said, “Can you believe that?”

“What? That the waitress would hit on you? Of course I can believe it.”

Benny grimaced. “No, not that. I meant, you know, about them not knowing. How is that even possible?”

Though Charlotte grinned, enjoying teasing him, she scanned the tables surrounding them and noticed that the couple at the next table seemed to be interested in what they were saying. She gave a slight nod of her head in their direction. “Maybe we should discuss that later,” she whispered. “When so many eyes aren’t watching and so many ears aren’t listening.”

Benny cut his eyes to the table next to them. “Yeah, I suppose so. I sure don’t want to be the one to tell them.”

But we will have to at some point
, Charlotte thought, as she looked over the menu. If, as Sally had indicated, the whole town were helping keep Angel’s secret of her origin, surely they would want to help her out in her time of trouble?

When Charlotte spied the Panne’ Chicken on the menu, she closed it and placed it beside her plate. Panne’ Chicken, if it was cooked right, was one of her favorite entrées.

Evidently, having also chosen what he wanted to eat, Benny closed his menu and placed it on the table. “According to my
friend
, this place has been here for ages,” he said.

Friend? Oh, for pity’s sake
, she thought, with a quick glance at the nosy couple. Now they were reduced to using code words.

Don’t be so testy
.

Yeah, well, people should mind their own business
.

You’re one to talk about minding your own business
.

“In fact,” Benny continued, interrupting her silent argument, “she was a waitress here for about a year before she took off for California.”

Though Benny had already told her that Angel had worked as a hostess in a restaurant in California before she made it big, it still stunned her a bit trying to imagine the spoiled brat that she’d met a few days earlier waiting on tables here in her hometown. From preacher’s kid to waiting on tables, to hostess, to having a full-time chauffeur and personal chef was quite a step up in the world.

While soft classical music, punctuated with the occasional laughter and the clink of dishes, drifted in the air, Charlotte glanced around, trying to picture Angel in the midst of the local patrons. Most of the restaurant’s customers were dressed in what Charlotte liked to call their Sunday go-to-a-meeting clothes. And since it was Sunday, she figured that the majority of them had probably come straight from church services.