Kensington Publishing Corp.

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      To Evan Marshall

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 1

      She was running late, and Charlotte LaRue hated being late for anything. Pulling on her sweater, she snagged her purse on the way to the front door. If she hurried, though, she just might have time to go by the bank before her ten o’clock client.

      Her thoughts on the notice she’d received about a so-called bounced check, she threw the dead bolt and opened the door.

      A strange woman, with flaming red hair, was standing on the other side of the threshold, and Charlotte gasped with surprise, momentarily speechless. All Charlotte could do was stare at the woman as her mind raced with all kinds of dire consequences for having been so careless. With all the crime in New Orleans, a woman living alone could never be too careful. She knew better than to open the door without checking out the window first.

      “I’m so sorry,” the woman blurted out. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just about to knock when you opened the door.”

      She was as tall as Charlotte, but probably outweighed her by a good twenty pounds. There was nothing all that menacing or frightening about the middle-aged woman, but these days one could never tell. Out of caution, Charlotte eased back a step and kept a firm grip on the doorknob, just in case she needed to slam it in the woman’s face.

      “My name is Flora Jennings.” The woman smiled and batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. “I’m with Big Easy Realty.” She thrust out her hand.

      With one hand still firmly gripping the doorknob, Charlotte ignored the outstretched hand and simply nodded.

      When Flora Jennings realized that Charlotte had no intention of shaking her hand, her fixed smile wavered and she dropped her hand. “I probably should have called first, but I just happened to be in the neighborhood….” Her voice trailed away.

      Charlotte sighed, then shivered. “I don’t mean to be rude, Ms. Jennings, but it’s cold and I’m running late—”

      “It is cold for November, isn’t it? I can’t believe it’s already November. Thanksgiving will be here before we know it. Usually our weather doesn’t get this cold until after Christmas. Why, I remember one year running the air conditioner—”

      Would the woman ever shut up?

      “Ms. Jennings!” Charlotte threw up her hand to silence her. “Like I said, I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you want?”

      For a second, Flora Jennings’s expression grew tight with strain, but she nodded. “Sorry—I tend to rattle on and on. I’ll try to be brief, then. Like I said before, I’m with Big Easy Realty.” From the side pocket of her purse, she pulled out a business card and offered it to Charlotte.

      Charlotte took the card and glanced at it. It looked legitimate, but anyone could have a business card printed.

      “I’m not sure that you realize this,” Flora Jennings continued, “but this part of Uptown has become quite desirable since Katrina, especially these old Victorian doubles. And may I say that yours looks to be in terrific shape from the outside.”

      It should, Charlotte thought, especially after what it had cost her to have it painted. She slipped the business card into her pants pocket, then gathered the front edges of her sweater together in an attempt to fight off the chill. She supposed she should be grateful, though. After Katrina, her insurance had completely covered the expense of a new roof. Others she’d talked with hadn’t been so fortunate.

      “Anyway,” Flora went on. “As I was saying, a lot of people want to move back home to New Orleans, and I have a long waiting list of clients who are very interested in buying or renting homes in this area. What I’m doing today is going door to door and offering a free price analysis to anyone who might be interested. The process—”

      Again, Charlotte threw up her hand, interrupting the woman. “Are you talking about an appraisal?” she asked.

      Flora Jennings shrugged. “Not exactly. It wouldn’t be official. More like giving you a ballpark figure. It would only take a few moments of your time,” she hastily added.

      And where would I live if I sold my house? Charlotte wondered, growing more impatient with each passing moment. Then suddenly, it hit her. Of course. The woman was probably under the mistaken impression that the other half of her double was for rent.

      Charlotte opened her mouth with the intention of telling Flora Jennings that she wasn’t interested, but at the last second, she changed her mind. Though she had never entertained the idea of selling the family home, where she had been raised and had raised her son, she had been curious about the market value, especially since Katrina.

      Should I or shouldn’t I? Charlotte glanced at her watch and decided that her visit to the bank could wait until that afternoon. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “But you need to wait right here for a minute.”

      Without giving the Jennings woman time to reply, Charlotte firmly shut the door. Reaching in her pocket, she removed the woman’s business card, then hurried over to the telephone and dialed the number listed on the card. It never hurt to be cautious these days.

      “Big Easy Realty,”