else she could only describe as torment. Then, as if she’d dreamed it, the look was gone, replaced by a mask that was devoid of emotion.
“Sorry,” she quickly added. “It’s really none of my business.” Though she’d often wondered if he’d ever been married or had a family, she’d never felt comfortable enough around him to just come right out and ask…until now. Of course it didn’t necessarily follow that just because he had a child, he had to have a wife. After all, she’d never been married, but she had a son.
“No, it’s not any of your business,” he told her bluntly. “And I don’t like to talk about it,” he added, glaring at her as if daring her to contradict him.
“Sometimes talking helps,” she suggested softly.
“Not this time—and not to you. If I want to talk, I’ll go to a shrink—a professional. Last time I checked, you don’t qualify.” He stared hard at her for several heartbeats. Then, abruptly, he sliced the air with his hand, motioning toward the kitchen. “The bread should be ready by now, so we can eat. What would you like to drink?”
Well, I guess he told you, Miss Busybody. Charlotte’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and his rude comments stung. If he’d thrown cold water in her face, he couldn’t have stunned her more, and suddenly, just the thought of having to sit through a meal with him was intolerable.
Chapter Six
The next few moments were the most awkward that Charlotte had experienced in a long time. She desperately wanted to leave, and she would have, in a heartbeat, but pain and loss were things she understood all too well. She too had lost people she’d loved. She too had lashed out at those around her because of her losses. And even now, so many years later, at times, the pain was still unbearable.
She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I’ll just have water, please.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked purposefully toward the kitchen.
The moment she stepped inside the kitchen, the wonderful aroma of French bread warming in the oven assailed her. Bread of any kind was her Achilles’ heel, but she especially loved fresh French bread.
The kitchen itself was neat and orderly, and she noted that Louis had already set the table, complete with place mats, matching napkins, silverware, and beautiful china.
Would wonders never cease? she thought. And what a contradiction. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the gruff detective could be so…so civilized.
While Louis busied himself taking the bread out of the oven, Charlotte seated herself at the table and tried to think of some safe, neutral topic that would end the strained silence between them.
“These dishes are beautiful,” she ventured. “I’ve always loved this particular rose pattern.”
His only reaction was a dismissive shrug and what sounded like a grunt.
What now? she wondered, glaring at his back. With a sigh of impatience, she glanced around the room. Then she saw it. Stacked haphazardly on the countertop, near the back door, she spied what she hoped would be just the thing to end the awkward tension between them.
“Are those the carpet and tile samples you mentioned earlier?”
When he finally glanced over his shoulder, she tilted her head toward the countertop.
“Yeah, they are,” he answered.
“Mind if I look through them? I’ve been thinking about doing some renovations,” she quickly added, since she certainly didn’t want him to think that she was being nosy…again.
“Actually—” He slipped the hot bread into a small wicker basket. “I had an ulterior motive for inviting you to supper. I was hoping I could persuade you to give me some pointers. I figured that since you’ve been in so many different houses, you’d know which types of tiles or carpet were the best to use, and which types require the least amount of upkeep.”
Feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, Charlotte ventured a small smile. “Ah-ha! The truth finally comes out. So that’s why I get a free meal.”
Her ploy to ease the tension worked like a charm. The strained look on his face faded.
“After we eat, though,” he said as he brought the basket to the table and set it down near the edge. “Sorry I don’t have a salad, and I thought we’d just serve ourselves from the pot if that’s okay with you.”
“Hey, I’m for whatever is easiest,” she told him.
At the stove, Charlotte spooned a generous helping of rice into her bowl. The gumbo was a dark, rich color, and as she ladled it over the rice, she noted that it was chock-full of shrimp and crabmeat. “This looks delicious,” she commented.
Seated back at the table, Charlotte helped herself to the bread. Still warm from the oven, the bread was exactly how she liked it, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.
When Louis finally joined her, he brought her a glass of ice water, along with his own bowl of rice and gumbo.
“So—why were you so late getting home?”
It was a good thing that Louis’ question caught her with a mouthful of bread. Otherwise she might have been tempted to tell him that it was none of his business and let him see how it felt.
But getting back at someone was not her way, and she had always tried her best to live by the golden rule. Besides, since he’d asked, why not take advantage of the situation? Why not tell him what she’d discovered at the Devilier house. That way she could get his reaction without really asking for his advice after all.
Charlotte finally swallowed the bread. “You know that old Devilier house that’s been renovated into apartments?”
He looked up and his expression grew hard. “Yeah. What about it?”
Though she thought his reaction was a bit odd, she explained. “I submitted a bid for the cleanup and won the contract. We’re scheduled to start early tomorrow morning, so after work today, I went over there to look things over.”
“So Roussel and his bunch are finally done there.”
Charlotte nodded, puzzled by his contemptuous tone.
“Well, that’s a relief! I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? That whole crew is nothing but a bunch of thugs and troublemakers. Most of them have rap sheets as long as your arm. And Roussel and that delinquent son of his are the worst of the lot. They’re nothing but trash, Charlotte. Does Judith know about this contract of yours?”
Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Why, no. But I don’t make a habit of checking out my clients with my niece,” she replied curtly.
“Well, maybe you should, especially considering your recent track record.”
Every defensive bone in Charlotte’s body stiffened. “If you’re referring to the Dubuissons, you can—”
Louis
