Читать книгу The Secret of Cypriere Bayou - Jana DeLeon - Страница 11

John heard the front door of the main house close and looked up from his work as the woman walked to the middle of the drive then turned and faced the house. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, but then once he’d realized there was no car in the drive and saw her mud-covered boots next to the front door, he’d gotten a clear picture of what must have happened. She’d probably grabbed the minimum amount of necessities and hiked from wherever her car had gotten stuck. He could only hope that the lack of reliable roadways, utilities, and phone service would send her running straight back to whatever big city she’d matriculated from.

Though he knew less than nothing about ladies’ shoes, he recognized her boots as an expensive designer brand that his half sister was drooling over the last time he’d met her in the French Quarter for lunch. Fancy, soft leather. Not even a steel toe. Women who spent eight hundred dollars on a pair of shoes couldn’t possibly find much of interest in a dusty old house in a town with only a café and a gas station serving as the local commerce. At least that’s what he was banking on.

He picked up several pieces of the branch he’d been working on and carried them to the pile he’d started at the far end of the circular drive. With every step he took, a curse came to mind. He needed to be in that house, looking for something, anything to help him find his sister. That rotten branch could have waited another fifty years by the looks of the rest of the estate, but here he was slaving over debris blocking a drive that no one had used in years and it was all that woman’s fault. He flung the wood onto the pile and spun around. It was time for action. He didn’t have time to lose.

She stood at the edge of the circular drive nearest the house, with her back to him. He paused for a moment wondering what in the world she was doing, staring up at the roof of the house, following the lines from one end to another, but then he set his jaw and strode up behind her.

“Not much to look at in the daylight, is it?” he asked, wondering why she still hadn’t turned around when she should have heard his footsteps.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, but her gaze remained focused on the house. “No, I guess it isn’t,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced. Finally, she turned to face him, a pleasant, but determined look on her face.

Uh oh. He’d seen that look before. His mother and sister wore it very well, especially when they wanted something. Well, he didn’t care what Fancy Shoes wanted. He wasn’t agreeing to anything.

“I spoke to Mr. Wheeler this morning,” she began, “and he assured me he hired a new caretaker. He’ll be calling you as soon as he gets into the office to get your permission to forward your employment paperwork to me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some identification now.”

“And if I do mind?”

“Then he also assured me that if I was uncomfortable, he would ask you to leave.”

John’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. She held all the cards. He couldn’t afford to lose the job, and he definitely couldn’t afford Ross Wheeler digging deeper into his background to placate some crazy woman. The New Orleans police had already asked the attorney for permission to search the estate, but unless they produced a warrant, Ross Wheeler wasn’t going to allow a bunch of law enforcement officials to “tromp through a house of valuable and delicate antiques.”

The Cypriere locals claimed they’d never set eyes on his sister when questioned by the New Orleans police, and without any proof whatsoever that Rachel had ever been to laMalediction, there was no chance of getting the warrant Wheeler required. If Wheeler found out John had lied about his real purpose for wanting the job, he’d have every right to press charges against John and the New Orleans police department. And since the department hadn’t exactly sanctioned what he was doing, there would be fallout all the way around.

“I assume my license will do,” he said as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He pulled his license from inside and handed it to her, biting his tongue as she looked at the license, then handed it back to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Landry,” she said and tentatively stuck her hand out. “I’m Olivia Markham. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but a single woman can’t be too careful these days.”

John started to ignore her hand, but her words resonated through his head. A single woman can’t be toocareful these days. If only Rachel had paid attention when he said the exact same thing to her. And here he was angry at a woman for doing just what he would have advised. He shook her hand, momentarily surprised at the firmness of her grip.

“I understand,” he said. “I would apologize for scaring you last night, but since that’s exactly what I was trying to do at the time, I guess it wouldn’t exactly make sense. Wheeler should have contacted both of us. Last night could have been ugly.”

Olivia looked relieved. “Yes, it could have, and I gave him a big piece of my mind this morning. In fact, I got him out of bed in order to do so, and I have to admit that I got a small amount of satisfaction out of it. I know Mr. Wheeler will be calling you later, but I’d be happy to show you a copy of my lease.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Markham. You don’t exactly fit the profile of a swindler or thief. And since the road to the estate is hardly a highway, I can only assume you actually have business here or you would never have found the place.” With any luck, she’d tell him what that business was and he could figure out a way to use it to his advantage.

She waved a hand at the debris on the drive. “I know you’re busy with the mess from the storm, but I really need a favor. My car got stuck last night in the rain, and I’m afraid it’s completely blocking the path to the estate. Can you help me get it out?”

John’s thoughts swirled around, trying to zero in on the decision that might push her into leaving. He couldn’t outright refuse, as then she’d have ammunition for Wheeler to dismiss him but then he also needed to discourage her from staying. “I think there’s a mechanic in town with a tow truck. It would probably be better if you called him in case there’s also something wrong with the car.” Surely Olivia “Fancy Shoes” Markham wouldn’t isolate herself at the estate with no way to leave, gun or no.

Olivia frowned. “I hope nothing is wrong. The rental company isn’t likely to drive all the way out here to give me a replacement. Look, I know towing my car isn’t what you were hired to do, but I couldn’t help but notice a truck parked at that little house across the driveway so I thought maybe you could help. I just want to get my clothes and equipment into the house, and then I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

John felt himself relenting and silently cursed his mother for training him to assist helpless females. Surely it was meant to be a matter of manners and not a burden, but it didn’t feel that way at the moment. “If that’s what you think is best. I think I saw a chain in the storage shed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He carried the saw to the storage shed and dug out a chain he’d seen the day before. There was still the glimmer of hope that the car wouldn’t run. He could tell by Olivia’s expression that she hadn’t thought of that possibility until he’d mentioned it. It was also clear she wasn’t happy with the thought. Best case, the car would have to be towed back to New Orleans and she’d stay there a few days waiting on a replacement. Those few days might just buy him the time he needed to finish searching the house.

Worst case, the car might make it to the house but stop working afterwards. That was something he was fairly certain he could arrange.

OLIVIA WATCHED John walk away, completely confused by the man. He was abrupt and she got the impression he wanted to be rude most of the conversation but it seemed like something was holding him back from saying what he really wanted to say. Since Olivia was used to dealing with either New Yorkers, who tended to be very direct, or with B&B owners, who tended to be overly accommodating, John Landry was definitely a departure from the norm.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She reached into her shorts’ pocket and pulled it out. Speaking of New Yorkers, it was her editor. Great. She wasn’t exactly on schedule for this book, and wasn’t looking forward to admitting it. “Hello, Irene,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

“I never heard from you yesterday and got worried. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, no. I was supposed to call.” Olivia smacked her forehead with her palm. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“That’s okay. It’s just unlike you to forget to call, so I figured I’d better check in. So I gather you made it?”

“Sort of. There was a huge storm last night as I was driving in. The house is basically buried back in the bayou with only an overgrown dirt path to get to it. The car got stuck a ways from the house, and I had to make a run for it. There was absolutely no cell phone service. There was no electricity either. In fact, without my luggage there was a whole lot of nothing.”

“I don’t know why you insisted on that house. It’s the worst of the lot as far as convenience, location, communication and just about everything else. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s that lovely house in Boston that’s been converted to a very nice B&B. It has a spa….”

Olivia took a second to imagine a hot shower and a mattress less than fifty years old. “Don’t tempt me. I know this wasn’t the location you wanted, Irene, but I think the story is here. My mind is already whirling with possibilities, and I never got that feeling in the other house.”

“I suppose,” Irene said, but Olivia could hear the disapproval in her words. “Well, I hope this problem with your car hasn’t set you behind. Howard’s called twice this morning wanting a status report, and he’s frothing at the mouth like a demon child.”

Damn. Howard was the vice president, and he disdained his company’s recent foray into what he called “mass market trash.” The fact that Olivia and the other authors of that “mass market trash” were the only thing keeping the publisher afloat in a tenuous market seemed to make him even angrier. If Howard had his way, the publisher would only print thick coffee table books with bizarre photos of fruit and dead flowers. Or the obscure literary journal that would sell five or six copies, purchased by the author’s family to see if they were mentioned.

Olivia bit her lip, then finally blurted out what she needed to say. “If I run into problems with the car, I might have to backtrack to New Orleans for a day or two. I know I’m already behind my normal schedule for finishing a rough draft because of the time it took to work out the lease arrangements here, but if there is a delay I don’t see it being more than two days, max.” She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she was rambling.

For a couple of seconds there was dead silence on the other end of the line, and Olivia steeled herself for the disapproval that was surely to come.

“I don’t have to remind you that marketing has already spent a literal ton of money on this book,” Irene said. “The book that you seem to find excuse after excuse to delay.”

“I know this is an important release, and I promise you that I’ll make up the time as soon as I’ve gotten everything under control here.”

“Is there something else wrong? You don’t sound like yourself, Olivia. You sound like you’re on the ragged edge of sanity.”

“Everything will be fine. I think I’m getting a little jumpy and starting to panic. I guess I’m overreacting.”

“Really? That’s interesting considering you’re the most organized, controlled person I know, and that’s saying a lot. What’s got you spooked? The storm? I know it can’t be the house itself. It’s not like you haven’t done this a time or two before.”

Olivia looked up at the house and shook her head. “I don’t know, exactly. I mean, this is definitely the most remote location I’ve ever been to, and the house hasn’t been occupied in over thirty years, so that gives it a much different ‘feel’ than the others. And given that I arrived in the midst of a monsoon, and had no power…then there was a run-in with the caretaker.”

“What run-in?”

Olivia described the scene in the kitchen from the night before. “I called the estate attorney first thing this morning and everything checked out,” she finished, “but it scared the life out of me.”

“I should say so. Well, if you won’t consider a more civilized location for this book, will you at least consider relocating to a hotel in New Orleans until I can arrange you security of some sort? I can’t afford for some angry caretaker to distract you from your work. There’s a firm in New Orleans that I’ve used before. I could probably get someone assigned to you within a week. You could work from photos until then.”

“A week at a hotel in New Orleans. I have to admit, it’s very tempting, but I really think the story is here. I’ll call you back if I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Irene said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Promise me if you run into any problems that will delay this book, you will let me know immediately. Olivia?”

Olivia looked over at the storage shed as John walked out carrying a long length of chain, the grim look on his face clear as day, even from a distance. She was apparently three for three in making people’s day this morning. “I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know in a couple of hours what I’m going to do.”

She flipped her phone closed and dropped it back in her pocket. If Olivia was a betting woman, she’d bet everything she had that she was the source of John Landry’s discontent. But if she was such a trial, why bother with her at all? He certainly could have made up any sort of excuse for not wanting to tow her car with his truck.

Granted, she could cost him his job if she wanted to be a real bitch about it, but was a handyman job in the middle of nowhere all that great a gig? With all the hurricane reconstruction going on in New Orleans, the last place she’d expect to find a young, able-bodied man would be hidden away in Cypriere.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more John Landry didn’t add up at all.

THE MAN WATCHED HER from his hiding place behind the overgrown bushes that surrounded one piece of the drive. While he would have recognized Olivia Markham from her photo in the back cover of her books, the picture really didn’t do her justice at all. She had that fine facial bone structure that seemed to grace only a few each generation, and a toned but curvy build. The entire package was reminiscent of the old portraits of upper class women, which was appropriate if one considered the circumstances.

Her conversation with the caretaker concerned him some. It was obvious that the caretaker wished Olivia would leave, but given everything he knew about things to come, that just didn’t make sense. Thirty years he’d been waiting for things to fall into place, for things to align as they were supposed to when the time was near. Surely, the caretaker wouldn’t have come unless he had a part to play.

The person Olivia had talked to on the phone concerned him more. For whatever reason, he’d gathered from their conversation that the person Olivia had been speaking to had suggested she leave the house and go to New Orleans for a week. And it had sounded like Olivia was considering it. No matter what, he had to make sure that didn’t happen. He’d been watching the moon, and was certain—the day and hour for fulfilling the prophecy was fast approaching.

The first woman who’d come to the house hadn’t given him the answers he was looking for. He’d thought she was the one. She had eyes like the photo, but maybe he had been wrong. Olivia didn’t have eyes like the photo, but otherwise, the resemblance was clear. Surely, Olivia was the one. It had been decades since a woman had even set foot at laMalediction. Now, there had been two in one week. One of them had to be the one.

Regardless, neither of them was leaving laMalediction until the prophecy was fulfilled.