The Reunion

“We don’t know for certain that Purcell killed Ophelia.”

“Then what was he paying all those people for?”

William nodded. “Oh, we’re certain Purcell was paying for silence, and I’d guess it’s exactly as you say and he killed Ophelia, but we still can’t prove it. And with everyone on his payroll dead, there’s no one left to ask.”

“And that’s exactly my original point—all the bad guys are dead.”

William stared out the plate-glass window of the café and looked across the street into the swamp. Finally, he looked back at Tyler and leaned across the table.

“I don’t think they are all dead.” William’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “The swamp is wrong. You don’t even have to enter it to feel it. Something is still out of balance, and I don’t think the swamp will rest until it churns up all its secrets.”

If it were anyone else speaking or if his father were talking about anywhere else but Calais, Tyler would suggest he needed professional help. But the swamps of Mystere Parish were different than any place he’d ever been. Although he’d been surrounded by them his entire childhood, and had traipsed through them thousands of hours, Tyler had never felt at ease in the dense cypress trees and foliage.

It was as if the swamp itself was alive.

Certainly, the swamp comprised lots of living things, but it was something more than that—as if the swamp were a separate living entity, with its own agenda. At times, it was pleasant enough, but he’d never found the atmosphere relaxing, even though parts of it were beautiful. At other times, it had been oppressive, the weight of it pressing in around him.

That oppressive weight had always aligned with something tragic, usually death.

If the swamp was out of balance, then something was still very wrong in Calais. Given that the only recent tragedies all centered on the LeBeau estate, Tyler understood why his father was so anxious to ensure that Ophelia’s middle daughter was offered the best protection he could provide. The swamp wouldn’t return to a peaceful state until a reckoning had occurred.

“What do you think is wrong?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me the most. But we may get some answers soon.”

“How’s that?”

His father looked at him, his expression sad and haunting. “We’re exhuming Ophelia LeBeau tomorrow.”

Chapter Three

As she pulled through Calais, Joelle studied the old buildings, looking for something that appeared familiar. The weathered brick buildings were typical of any old small town, but none of them sparked even a twitch of memory. The café caught her interest as she pulled by, but only because she planned to spend her two weeks allowing others to cook for her. She hoped the food was good, as it appeared to be the only option.

Her stomach rumbled as her thoughts turned to food, and she realized it was well past lunch. She’d almost stopped several times, but each time she pressed the accelerator and continued down the highway, anxious to get the long drive over with. Unfortunately, she had arranged to meet the attorney at the house in about ten minutes, so eating would have to wait a bit longer.

As soon as she passed the last building on Main Street, she pulled a paper with directions from her purse. She’d gotten this far without referring to the attorney’s instructions, but when the directions started including items such as “turn right at the giant oak tree,” it was time to pay attention. The last thing she wanted to do was to get lost in the swamp.

She turned to the right at a four-way stop, directing her car onto a semblance of a road. The economy rental she’d acquired before leaving Jackson was no match for the bumps and holes that mostly made up the dirt trail that led to the house, and she gritted her teeth as the dashboard rattled. She swerved to miss a huge hole, but her right front tire caught the edge of it and the entire car dropped. Cringing at the sound of the bottom of the car sliding across rocks, she clenched the steering wheel and leaned forward to get a better look at the road.

The cypress trees that lined both sides of the road grew thicker, creating a canopy above the road that blocked most of the sunlight from entering. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn it was late evening rather than mid-afternoon. Surely, the house couldn’t be much farther.

Fifteen minutes later, she rounded a corner and the house burst into view. Continuing her slow creep around what remained of the circular driveway, she looked up at the place she’d spent the first four years of her life, waiting for that spark of recognition to hit. She was disappointed when it never came.

A new pickup truck was parked in front of the house, and she pulled up behind it and parked, figuring it belonged to the attorney. She jumped out of the car and stretched her aching legs and cast a glance back at the car. She’d rented the economy vehicle to try it out, thinking she might purchase the same model to replace her totaled Honda. The tiny car would be a huge benefit in the city, where she rarely drove more than twenty miles in one stretch, but after hours on the road, she was well aware of just how cramped her long legs were in such a compact space.

Her suitcases could wait until after she’d spoken to the attorney, so she headed up to the front door. When she raised her hand and knocked, the door inched forward just a bit. She pushed the door open and stuck her head inside.

“Mr. Duhon,” she called out. “It’s Joelle LeBeau.”

She waited a bit, expecting the attorney to appear or at least respond, but only her own voice echoed through the giant entry. Deciding the attorney must be off in a part of the house where he couldn’t hear her, she stepped inside, then drew up short. A twinge of something—some tiny flicker of recognition—flashed through her, but as soon as she tried to grasp it, the flicker disappeared.

The entry was massive, like the entry of a hotel or museum. The giant spiral staircase was centered toward the front and she peered up to see the balcony running around the entire second floor, doors to various rooms lining the upstairs walls. The first floor of the entry was littered—there wasn’t really a better word—with decorative columns and tables, all housing art, china and glass that seemed to have no consistency of era or country of origin.

To the left, a wide hallway led away from the entry. Patches of sunlight streamed from the room at the end of the hallway and onto the stone floor. Figuring the hallway led to a family room or kitchen, she took off to the left, hoping to locate the attorney.

The kitchen and breakfast nook were in sharp contrast to the rest of the house and had her smiling. Clearly, someone had put in long hours on this room and it showed—the gleaming cabinets, polished countertops and fresh coat of paint made the room a cheery retreat from the gloomy entry. Giant windows formed the far wall, along with a single door that led onto an overgrown patio.

She gazed around the room once more before readying herself to continue her search for the attorney, and that’s when she realized the patio door was partially open. Now understanding why the attorney hadn’t heard her call out in the entry, she stepped outside and looked up and down the long stone patio. Shrubs and brush had grown right up to the edges, and vines climbed the stone columns and trailed across the ground, but it was clear that someone had recently started clearing the brush away.

Following a trail of small branches and leaves, she walked to the far end of the patio and saw the tiny path that led straight into the swamp. The remnants of foliage continued down the path, but Joelle hesitated before stepping off the stone patio. Something about the swamp bothered her—more than just the dim, creepy appearance.

She was just about to head back inside and wait for the attorney when a voice sounded behind her and she jumped, her foot slipping off the edge of the patio and onto the path several inches below. She struggled to maintain her balance, but the drop was just enough to send her crashing into the brush at the side of the trail.

As soon as she hit the ground, she scrambled to get up, fighting the thick vines that she’d brought down on top of her. Suddenly, she felt someone grasp her arm and tug her completely to her feet. A branch slapped her across the face and her eyes watered, so the only thing she could make out when she was upright was a tall man with dark hair.

Brad.

Instantly, a mental image of her ex-boyfriend flashed across her mind, and just as quickly, she sent it scurrying to the recesses where it belonged. Brad was long gone and old news.

She blinked a couple of times and the man came into focus, but this young, incredibly gorgeous and seriously ripped man couldn’t possibly be the aging attorney she’d talked to on the phone. The scowl on his face was just further proof. The attorney had been kind and cheerful. This man looked like those attributes were not part of his makeup.

“I hope you’re not always this jumpy,” he said. “A fall in the horror funhouse could bring more than just vines crashing down around you.”

A blush ran up her neck and onto her face, and she felt a flash of heat wash over her. “Maybe if you didn’t go sneaking up behind people, you wouldn’t startle them.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking almost amused at her accusation. “I’m wearing work boots, and I was hardly tiptoeing across that patio. Hell, people back in town could hear me coming.”

“Really? Then maybe you should tell them why you’re trespassing on private property.”

He sighed. “You must be Joelle. My father owes me big-time for this.”

Joelle narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly who is your father?”

“William Duhon.”

“Oh,” she said, momentarily taken aback that the pleasant gentleman she’d spoken to on the phone had produced such a surly son. “Your father was supposed to meet me here. Is he on his way?”

“He’s not coming.”

“What do you mean? He’s supposed to provide me a key to the house and go over any of my questions concerning the estate requirements.”

“Well, you got me instead.” He pulled a giant iron key from his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s the front door key. I’m having keys to the patio and back door duplicated and will pick them up this afternoon.”

“Am I supposed to meet your father at his office?”

If possible, he looked even more aggrieved.

“No. I’m supposed to take you to meet him for an early supper at the café, after I get you settled in.”

She stared. Was he joking? The last thing she intended to do was get in a car with Mr. Personality.

“I’m sure I can find my way back to the café, the same way I found the house,” she said. “I don’t need an escort.”

“My father says you do, and unfortunately for me and you, so does the estate. During your two-week stay in Calais, I will go wherever you go.”

“That’s outrageous! Neither the estate nor your father can mandate who I spend my time with.”

“No, but they can insist you maintain personal security at all times, and they have.”

“What in the world for? To protect me from the clutter and dust I saw in there? The only risk to my safety so far has been you, and I’m supposed to believe you were assigned to protect me?”

He clenched his jaw and she could tell she’d insulted him, just as she’d intended.

“Well,” he said, “I managed to sneak up on you in broad daylight wearing construction boots, right? I’m guessing that makes my observation skills a sight better than your own.”

He whirled around and strode away from her.

“I’ll get your things out of your car,” he mumbled as he left.

Joelle stared behind him wondering if the entire world had gone crazy.

I will go wherever you go.

She stiffened. Surely that didn’t mean he was staying in the house with her. Granted, she had her apprehensions about staying in the spooky, rambling mansion alone, but if the choice were Mr. Personality or the ghosts, she’d definitely take the ghosts.

* * *

TYLER STALKED AROUND the side of the house to the front where Joelle’s car was parked. She’d left it unlocked, which surprised him at first given that his father said she was some sort of social worker, but then she probably figured no one was roaming this far out in the swamp looking to lift items from a car.

If only she were right. Then he’d be sitting on his dad’s couch watching television instead of fending off insults.

Likely, no one would lift items from her car, but if his father’s instincts were correct, someone was still roaming around the estate. At least this time, a full-time security detail was on-site and prepared for battle. Tyler wasn’t about to let someone get the better of him in his own neck of the woods.

He grabbed two suitcases from the backseat of the car and carried them inside, still trying to figure out how he was supposed to manage two full weeks around Joelle LeBeau. When his father told him Joelle was a social worker, Tyler had formed a mental picture of some motherly-type woman—probably heavyset—and with a kind smile.

The tall, curvy Creole beauty he’d pulled out of the bushes was the last thing he’d ever expected and, certainly, the last thing he wanted. Gorgeous, endangered women were part of a past he intended to put far behind him, which was precisely the reason he wanted to sit at a desk until he passed out from boredom. During his eight years in the Middle East, he’d had enough excitement to last a lifetime.

During the last twelve months, he’d had enough beautiful women to last ten lifetimes.

Chapter Four

Joelle looked across the table at William Duhon, as charmed by the aging attorney as she was frustrated by his son. Clearly, Tyler hadn’t inherited any of his father’s charisma. Her private security detail hadn’t spoken a word during the entire drive into Calais, and after arriving at the café, had opened his mouth only long enough to tell his father that he needed to pick up some supplies at the general store and would meet them back at the café in an hour or so. William appeared a bit embarrassed by his son’s behavior, but just nodded and directed her to a booth in the far corner.

“I apologize for the rather unconventional meeting location,” William said, “but I recall you saying when you called from New Orleans that you hadn’t stopped to eat. I figured we could accomplish two things at once.”

Joelle took another bite of sirloin steak, smothered in gravy and onions, and said a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t stopped for fast food on the way to Calais.

“It was worth the wait,” she said.

William smiled. “Johnny’s mother was the best cook in Calais. When he opened this place, it was with the intention to use only her recipes, and he’s kept it that way for thirty years.”

“If it’s not broken...”

“Quite so. Johnny’s made a good business here. Most everyone has at least a couple meals a week at the café. Make sure you save some room for banana pudding. That’s the dessert special today.”

“Banana pudding?” She looked down at her plate. “Maybe I’ll take half of this home for supper. I may have to start jogging while I’m here.”

William pointed out the plate-glass window to a building across the street. “I’m convinced that this café is the reason the seamstress shop stays in business—letting out waistbands and such.”

“It probably won’t come to that. My brief glance at the downstairs of the house provided a mental list of things to do that is as long as the Mississippi. I won’t have any problem getting my exercise in.”

Quite frankly, the state of the house had surprised her more than anything else she’d heard so far. She never expected that her stepfather would keep it up, but he’d been dead for months. Surely, the estate could afford to hire a cleaning service.

“Can I ask a question?” she asked.

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Can the estate hire someone to help with the cleaning? Even if I worked on it full-time for two weeks, I couldn’t put a dent in it.”

William sighed. “The big services in New Orleans won’t travel this far out for the job, especially with no hotel to place the crew in. I’ve hired several local women, but they never last more than a day.”

“Why not? Surely, jobs are hard to come by here.”

“Absolutely, and they could all use the money, but they were too afraid to continue working.”

“Afraid of what?”

“They claim they saw a ghost.”

Joelle stared. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” William frowned and hesitated a moment before continuing. “There’s been some unpleasantness surrounding the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister Alaina had a stalker who tried to kill her. Sheriff Carter Trahan, now Alaina’s fiancé, shot and killed him in the front drive of the house.”

“Oh, my! Alaina is all right, though?”

“She’s fine. After all that was put to rest, we hoped Danae would have an easier time with her two weeks, but a different set of problems surfaced.”

William took a deep breath and blew it out before continuing. “I don’t know how to say this in a good way, so I’m just going to lay out the facts. Your stepfather used estate money to buy assets and then sell them. He had the authority to use estate money to purchase investment property—such as art—but could not request cash withdrawals outside of a small living allowance.”

“So that’s why we still have an estate to inherit,” Joelle said, one of her questions answered. “I wondered about that.”

William nodded. “Danae accepted contract work with the estate to go through all the paperwork in the house, and she located some of Purcell’s personal accounting records. The records show large cash receipts, which we think are from the sale of the assets acquired using estate money, but they also show large cash disbursements.”

“I thought he became a hermit after we left. What was he purchasing?”

“Part of the money spent was on you girls.”

“Us? I doubt that. Purcell hated us. Even as young as I was, I could feel it.”

“No doubt you’re right.” William paused for a couple of seconds and frowned. “Your adoptive parents passed away, correct?”

Joelle nodded. “They were already in their fifties when they took me in. They’d never been able to have their own children, and even though they knew it would be a struggle at their age, keeping up with such a young child, they knew it was their last chance at being parents.”

William’s expression softened. “They were good people, then?”

“The best. Of course, I would rather have been with my mother and sisters, but given the circumstances, I couldn’t have asked for a better place to go.”

“I, uh, don’t want to do anything to diminish your opinion in any way, but it appears that Purcell paid each family twenty thousand dollars to take you girls in.”

Suddenly, something Joelle had never understood clicked. “My college fund.”

“What do you mean?”

“My adoptive parents didn’t make a lot of money. I always assumed I’d need loans to pay for college, but they established a fund for me when I came to live with them. I’ve seen the records. They opened the account with twenty thousand dollars. I always wondered where it came from.”

William’s relief was apparent. “That’s wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“You said part of the money was spent on the families that took us in. What else did he pay for?”

“I apologize in advance, because this is most distressing, but we suspect he paid for silence. So far, we’ve discovered payments to the man who pronounced your mother’s death and the funeral director in New Orleans who handled her burial.”

A wave of nausea rolled over Joelle as William’s words clicked in her mind. “No, you’re not saying...”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” William said, “but we think Purcell killed your mother to get control of her money. He probably didn’t know that the terms of the estate would prevent him from taking control of the cash.”

Her chest felt as if an entire city block had been dropped on it. She tried to concentrate on controlling her breathing, but every intake of air felt as if a burning dagger stabbed her lungs. Her mind slipped to the past and she steeled herself for the vision that would surely come.

“Are you all right?”

William’s voice seemed far away, and it took her several seconds to force herself back to the present—back to Johnny’s Café in Calais. She couldn’t afford to slip into the past, especially not to the dark place. Not if she had any intention of making it the two weeks she needed to fulfill the estate requirements.

She took a big drink of water and nodded. “I’m okay. It’s just shocking.”

“It is,” William agreed. “I still have my moments when I think it all must be a mistake, but the facts all seem to point that way, especially as one of the men Purcell paid kidnapped Danae and tried to kill her.”

Joelle’s heart dropped once more at the thought of her baby sister kidnapped and fighting for her life. “I can’t believe it. It’s like something out of a movie.”

“Perhaps, if it’s a horror movie. Of course, there’s quite a bit more research to be done as we try to get to the bottom of things. Danae is still going through household records...there’s something else.”

Joelle stiffened, not certain she wanted to hear anything else. If William’s hesitation was any indication, then what he was about to tell her wasn’t going to be any better than what she was already trying to absorb.

“How much more can there be?”

“This is a big one, I’m afraid. Given that there’s mostly only circumstantial evidence and hearsay as to Purcell’s crimes, your sisters requested that your mother be exhumed.”

Joelle stared. “They’re hoping to find evidence of murder. After all these years, is that even possible?”

“Anything’s possible, although it’s probably not likely. But Alaina and Danae felt they had to try everything. They would have waited for you to make the decision but, at the time, I had no idea how long it would take to locate you.”

Joelle waved a hand in dismissal. “I don’t mind any of that. I agree with their choice. I want answers as much as they do.”

“That’s a relief. I’m sorry to dump all this on you the second you arrive. Your sisters planned to tell you everything when you met, but I asked them to allow me to speak to you instead. I didn’t want your reunion marred by all this unpleasantness. I want you girls to focus on getting to know one another again.”

Joelle smiled at William, his thoughtfulness such a departure from the people she normally dealt with. “Has anyone told you how wonderful you are, William?”

The attorney blushed a bit. “Just doing my job.”

“We both know you’re doing far more than that. I remember you said someone would verify my presence on the estate each day. Will you be doing that or will Tyler report to you?”

“Actually, Carter Trahan has an agreement with the estate to perform the verification duties for all three of you. Given everything that’s happened, he’s also busy trying to investigate Purcell and those who may have been on his payroll.”

“Carter is the sheriff, right?”

William nodded. “And will become your brother-in-law next year.”

Joelle struggled to wrap her mind around it all. Two sisters, a future brother-in-law, a potential fortune and a sulking bodyguard. Only the bodyguard ruined the perfect picture.

That, and kidnapping, and attempted murder.

Before she could change her mind, Joelle launched into her next set of questions. “Your son...Tyler...I get the impression he’s not overly happy with his job.”

William sighed. “I noticed his manners weren’t exactly up to par when you arrived. I apologize that he didn’t provide a warm welcome.”

“He’s a grown man. You don’t need to apologize for him.”

“In this case I do, as I’m responsible for putting him in a position he didn’t want to be in. Given everything that has happened with your sisters, the estate insisted on twenty-four-hour, on-site security for you, and I put pressure on Tyler to provide it.”