Читать книгу The Betrayed - Jana DeLeon - Страница 11

Chapter Three

It was almost three o’clock when Zach Sargent pulled into the tiny bayou town of Calais. He shook his head, still not believing his luck. Landing the repair job at the LeBeau estate was an opportunity he’d never even imagined existed, much less that he’d be the one to snag it.

Granted, most men would choose higher-paying construction jobs near the New Orleans nightlife before they’d sequester themselves deep in the swamps of Mystere Parish, but Zach wasn’t most men. Far more was at stake than a paycheck and a good time.

Somewhere inside the crumbling walls of the LeBeau estate, he hoped to find the answers to the questions his dad had left him with. Zach knew it was possible that his dad’s words had only been the ramblings of a man drugged up and near death, but something in his dad’s voice troubled him to the point that he needed to find answers.

He’d thought the words would fade after his burial, but they haunted Zach in his dreams and nagged at him while he was awake. Finally, he’d given up fighting it and started a thorough search of his dad’s records from the time his dad had spoken of. It had only taken a couple of days to come across the entry in his checkbook that had made Zach’s breath catch in his throat. A twenty-thousand-dollar deposit with no explanation noted.

What had his dad done?

What had he regretted so much that he’d laid on his son a garbled confession of some wrongdoing?

Zach had spent many hours since discovering the unexplained deposit trying to imagine what his dad’s secret could be. His father had been an honorable man, a good man, raising Zach alone after his mother passed when he was only eight. Zach simply couldn’t wrap his mind around his dad doing something so horrible that he felt he had to make it right before he died.

If only he’d spoken to Zach before that last stroke, before his speech was so impaired and before he was so drugged that he couldn’t maintain a semblance of coherence. But all of that was wishful thinking and a waste of time.

His dad had said only one name during his ramblings—Ophelia LeBeau.

Somewhere in that house were the answers Zach sought. He had to believe that. It was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night. And now he had the opportunity to find out for himself.

When he reached the second crossroads outside of Calais, he checked the map the estate attorney had provided and turned to the right. His truck bumped on the sad excuse for a road, and the farther he drove, the denser the trees and foliage became. If he hadn’t known it was only noon, he’d have thought it was dusk. The faintest streams of sunlight managed to peek through the top layers of the cypress trees, but by the time that light penetrated the thick moss clinging to the tree branches, it was filtered to only a dim glow.

If he’d tried, he couldn’t have come farther from his Bourbon Street flat than this expanse of seemingly never-ending swamp. He’d expected remote, but he hadn’t expected to feel so enclosed, so claustrophobic. After all, he lived in an eight-hundred-square-foot flat. Miles of dirt and water should make him feel less confined, not more so.

He shook his head, clearing his mind of fanciful thoughts that had no place there, and ran through his plan once he’d gained access to the house and the records. With any luck, everything would be well organized and he’d find his answer quickly. Honor and loyalty would force him to complete the work needed on the house, even if he got his answer the first day, but the work would be easier and go more quickly without the distraction of the unanswered question hanging over his head.

His truck dipped into a large pothole and he cursed as he gripped the steering wheel more firmly, trying to maintain control of the vehicle as it lurched sideways. If he had to replace anything in the house that was breakable, he’d have to creep down this road to keep from destroying things before he even got them there.

Finally, when he thought he’d driven straight across the United States to Canada, he turned a final corner, and the house loomed before him. Involuntarily, he lifted his foot from the gas, and the truck rolled almost to a stop as he stared at the imposing structure.

The architect in him formed an immediate appreciation for the bold lines and refined features of the mansion. The part of him dedicated to B horror movies was certain he’d driven straight into a midnight feature.

It was horrifying and seductive, all at the same time.

He inched the truck around the decrepit stone driveway and parked behind an ancient sedan. The attorney’s car, he thought as he exited the truck and made his way to the massive double doors. He scanned the door frame for a bell, but didn’t see anything resembling such a device, so he rapped on the solid wood door.

Seconds later, the door flew open and he found himself staring at someone who clearly was not the aging male attorney he’d spoken to on the phone.

The girl in front of him was small but toned, with short black hair and amber eyes that were narrowed on him. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that despite her youthful appearance, she was more woman than girl, and a bit of relief coursed through him because the male part of him had been instantly appreciative of her trim body and chiseled facial features.

The woman’s shrewd eyes looked him up and down and glanced at his vehicle, quickly making an assessment, but when he expected her to speak, she just stared directly at him, her eyes locked on his, unwavering.

“I’m Zach Sargent,” he said finally, extending his hand. “I’m the contractor William Duhon hired to make the repairs to the house.”

The woman hesitated a second before briefly clasping his hand, then releasing it. “I’m Danae LeBeau,” she said.

Zach felt his pulse quicken. Could this woman be Ophelia LeBeau’s daughter? William had mentioned that one of the heiresses had been living in the house, but the name Danae didn’t ring any bells.

She stepped back and opened the door for him to enter. “I have the key to the caretaker’s cottage in the kitchen.”

Zach stepped inside and did a double take at the gloomy interior, layered with dust and sadly lacking in basic maintenance and care. The attorney had said the property needed a lot of work, but Zach thought it had been occupied until recently. He was somewhat shocked that a person would choose to live like this.

“You coming?” Danae asked, her eyebrows arched.

Before he could reply, she continued down a wide hallway to the left of the entry. He blew out a breath and followed her down the hall, then drew up short in the kitchen. The room was a refreshing change from the entry. Stone countertops and floors gleamed, the cabinets and dining table were polished to a high sheen and a new coat of paint covered the walls.

“Is something wrong?”

“What...? No,” he replied, realizing he’d been casing the room like an eager real-estate agent or petty thief. “Sorry, I was just taking in the contrast between this room and the entry.”

Danae nodded. “My sister started cleaning and remodeling here a couple of weeks ago, but hasn’t had time to get much more done.”

Zach frowned. “I don’t understand. William said the house had been occupied until recently.”

“By our stepfather. My sisters and I haven’t been allowed to set foot here since we were sent away as children...when our mother died.”

Her jaw flexed when she delivered that information, and some of the bitter edge the heiress displayed began to make sense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”

“You’re not the first. Won’t be the last.” She pulled a key out of her purse and placed it on the end of the counter. “That’s the key to the caretaker’s cabin. The path to the cabin is at the north end of the main driveway. William had it stocked with basic living supplies, but he has you set up with the general store to handle anything beyond that.”

He nodded. “Great. And what about a key to the main house?”

She stiffened and shook her head. “The house isn’t habitable in the shape it’s in, but I’m going to be working here, as well. I’ll let you in every morning and lock up at night.”

Zach struggled to maintain his aggravation, but knew if he made a big deal out of having free access to the house, she may start to wonder. Still, being under constant scrutiny wasn’t going to get him what he’d come for. He had to find an angle that worked.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “I prefer to start early.”

She’d been gazing out the back window, but when he delivered his last sentence, she looked directly at him—pinned him with those dark eyes—and he got the impression she wasn’t buying what he’d said. Not completely.

“I’ve worked in cafés and bars for years. I’m used to getting up early and finishing up late, and as I have no other personal business in this town except the estate, your work won’t interfere with my schedule.”

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven. If that’s all right?”

“No problem at all.”

“Have a good evening,” he said and started down the hall to the front entry. Zach knew when he’d lost the battle. As much as he didn’t need the interference, he’d have to play things Danae’s way.

At least until he could find a way around her.