Authors: Laurie Paige
“I’d settle for happy-right-now and forget the ending.”
Images flashed through her mind. Of Matt in black briefs with strong, muscular legs and lean hips. In jeans and a shirt, a sweater draped round his shoulders for the healing ceremony. In an expensive suit, quite at ease among the elite of the city and making her feel as lovely as any queen. The happiness she’d mentioned flooded her heart.
“Atta girl,” Sharon said. “One more thing. I’m at my computer. Would you like me to see if I can get any info on the Ruoui family of Louisiana?”
“Yes. Matt and I are planning to find Patti’s childhood home and scatter her ashes there. I think it’s called Cordon Rouge. I hope that’s the place of rest for her spirit—at least that’s what the old voodoo queen suggested.”
“Most of us look back on our childhoods as happy times. Hey, I got something on a Ruoui family near New Orleans.” Sharon read the details. “A big wedding over thirty years ago. The bride was a debutante. If this is Patti’s family, that must have been in the days when they still had money or pretended to.”
“Great. Can you find anything that mentions Patti or Patrice Ruoui?”
“Oh-oh, I hear fighting in the family room,” Sharon interrupted. “I have to go. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Have fun, Kerry, and I mean it!”
After hanging up the phone, Kerry lingered in her room, her thoughts turning to Matt. She wondered if
he had locked their adjoining door. If he hadn’t and she opened it, what would he think?
She was tempted to take her sister’s advice and have some fun on this trip. Oh, yes, she was tempted. What had years of being reserved gotten her but a bruised heart and intense loneliness. Besides, this was likely the only vacation of this kind that she would ever have.
Taking a liberating breath, she decided to go for it…if Matt was agreeable. Remembering the look in his eyes when he’d promised they would have another time, she was positive he was. Well, almost positive.
As she stood, the charm bracelet jingled merrily. She realized a ray of sunshine had found a slit in the sheer curtains over the window and shone on her arm. That must be the reason the bracelet suddenly felt so warm against her skin.
K
ERRY STOOD
near Luc Carter’s desk and admired a flower arrangement. She wanted to talk to the concierge about botanical gardens in the area since her grandmother, a gardening enthusiast, was sure to ask.
He was turned away from her and speaking in a low voice on a cell phone. She couldn’t hear the words, but he sounded…angry.
“I can’t…” he began, but she couldn’t hear the rest. “The blackout did enough damage.”
Kerry realized he must be speaking of the weekend’s events at the lovely old hotel. The staff seemed so loyal to the Marchand family. She sighed and
headed for her room to see if Matt had returned. The botanical garden could wait.
L
UC STABBED THE BUTTON
on his phone to end the call. He’d sensed someone waiting to see him, but no one was there when he turned around.
Things seemed to be growing out of control. He’d stolen a Wyeth painting from the hotel gallery to stir up trouble for the Marchand family, but he’d returned it before Sylvie, who ran the gallery, had alerted anyone. He figured he’d done his part to destroy the hotel’s reputation by filling the generator’s feed line with sugar. The timing of the blackout was a lucky break—his only one lately. He’d messed up several of the guest rooms to unnerve people, and his tactics had worked to a degree.
But it wasn’t enough for Dan and Richard. They were pressuring him to do more. He was beginning to regret his involvement with the brothers. After working for them in Thailand, he knew their business ethics were questionable. They wanted to destroy the Hotel Marchand’s reputation so they could buy it cheap, then flip it for a quick profit. Just as they’d done with previous properties.
Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he admitted that he wasn’t sure anymore about hurting his aunt and her daughters. They didn’t seem as bad as he’d thought they must be. But then it was his grandmother Celeste who was the real witch—the person responsible for his father’s raw deal in life.
He threw himself into a comfortable armchair, glad no one wanted information or a booking for a fancy restaurant at the moment.
Forcing his reservations aside, he reminded himself that he’d laid his plans with care. Things were working out. All he had to do was keep a low profile, a cool head, and the hotel would sink….
M
ATT FELT ONLY
a little guilt for not telling Kerry all he’d done earlier. At present, he was on his way to a review of a restaurant wine cellar, but he’d spent the last hour filling out forms at the crematorium and selecting an urn and cremation box.
There was no way he would put Kerry through that. He could tell she was still troubled by her cousin’s suicide and Patti’s lack of family.
Just thinking of Kerry brought a smile to his face and a surge in his pulse rate. And a desire to return to her as quickly as possible. With a grimace, he realized that wasn’t going to be soon.
For the rest of the afternoon, he concentrated on his job. He and his host reviewed one of the most extensive wine lists he’d ever encountered in a restaurant. Both French and California wines were generously represented, but there was also a good selection from New York and Virginia, Australia and South Africa. They sampled twelve bottles, of which two were excellent, the rest fine as dinner wines.
When Matt finished nearly three hours later, his
impatience to return to the Hotel Marchand surprised him. Before he could analyze the feeling, he ran into another man as he left the restaurant.
“Jason,” he said. “How are you?”
Jason Pichante stared at him in open hostility. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”
Matt studied the angry young man while suppressing his own aroused temper. “What’s your problem?” he asked once he’d cooled down.
“You talked to my father this morning,” Jason accused him. “He said you wanted permission to…”
Jason was overcome by emotion, but Matt didn’t feel very sympathetic.
“…to collect Patti’s…remains.”
“Yes. She made friends with Kerry. Since there appears to be no next of kin, Kerry and I took over. The old voodoo queen, who was Patti’s spiritual advisor, said we should have a cremation.”
Jason stared at the pavement while Matt spoke. He could have been made of stone, Matt thought. He was that motionless.
When he still didn’t speak, Matt continued, “We were also told to scatter her ashes in a place that would bring her rest.” He paused. “Do you happen to know where that would be? A place where she was happy?”
The pupils of his eyes were so wide, Jason’s irises looked black. Matt thought they reflected a bleakness within his soul. He felt a little sorry for the younger man.
“There was a place,” Jason said in a voice so low Matt had to lean closer to hear. “I don’t know if she would find peace there.”
“Cordon Rouge?” Matt asked.
Jason’s hand, which was fisted at his side, jerked at the name. “Yes. Her home…a long time ago.”
“Do you know how to find it?”
A moment slipped by before Jason spoke. He gave Matt directions to a tiny town called Indigo out on Bayou Teche, southwest of New Orleans in Cajun country. “You can ask in town. They can direct you to the plantation. It’s part of the national wetlands now, so it’s public land.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell Kerry.”
Jason nodded and started on down the street. He paused. “Are you going out there soon?”
“Tomorrow,” Matt told him.
The younger man clenched his hand again, then he crossed the street, without another word.
As he watched Jason go, Matt noticed a branch of the bank that the Pichante family owned. He wondered if Jason worked for the family business.
Starting out once more, he quickly walked the few blocks to the hotel. His heart felt much lighter as he entered the courtyard from the alley. Odd, he thought, how you could meet someone and suddenly life seemed better…
He spotted Kerry seated at a table under an umbrella, talking to two women. He headed toward her.
“Hello,” she said upon seeing him, her manner so full of welcome it was all he could do to keep from crushing her against him and holding her, just holding her.
Cool it, some saner part of him cautioned. While Kerry seemed the embodiment of all his dreams, he wasn’t going to lose his head over any woman.
“Good afternoon,” he said to all three women.
“You’ve met Charlotte,” Kerry continued, “and this is her mother, Anne Marchand. I was just telling them about Patti’s cremation and our plans for tomorrow.”
Matt shook hands with the older woman, who was around sixty, he estimated, but looked younger and was in fact a very attractive woman. By contrast her daughter seemed tired and stressed, as if she hadn’t slept well lately.
Since Saturday night, he was willing to bet. His gaze went to Kerry, who looked bright and alert and, okay,
wholesome
in slacks and a sweater that showed off her curves to perfection. It seemed to Matt she grew more beautiful each time he saw her.
“Join us,” Kerry invited, smiling up at him.
He sat in the vacant chair between Kerry and Anne.
“I must tell you that I’m surprised at what you two are doing for that unfortunate young woman,” Anne said, looking from one to the other. She shook her head. “You are living proof of the kindness of strangers.”
A silence, tense with sadness, ensued. Kerry’s eyes were moistened, Matt noticed.
“I stopped by the crematorium,” he told her, his tone gentle. “Everything is going as planned.”
She laid a hand on his arm, her eyes on him as if he’d done some heroic deed. “Thank you, Matt. That’s a load off my mind.” She turned to the two women. “We’re going to find her former home and scatter her ashes there.”
“The detective said she listed no next of kin at the restaurant where she worked,” Charlotte mentioned.
“Kerry and I did some sleuthing and found out where she was from,” Matt said. “There was once a family plantation.” He turned to look at Kerry. “It’s not far from Lafayette. If we leave between nine and ten in the morning, we should have plenty of time. I’ve arranged for a rental car.”
Kerry pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I didn’t think about transportation and all that. Yes, let’s leave early and get it over with.”
“You two haven’t had a vacation at all,” Anne protested. “You’re using your time to help others.”
Charlotte nodded. “I agree. It so happens there have been a few cancellations since Saturday.” She smiled at the couple. “Won’t you stay another week as our guests? That seems only fair. Or if that isn’t possible, then you must return another time and give us a chance to make your stay here as pleasant—and uneventful—as it should be.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Kerry said. “I could stay over a couple of days. I didn’t schedule any appoint
ments until next Thursday in order to have a few days to settle in before I return to work. How about you?”
When she glanced at Matt, he nodded agreement. “I’ll be writing an article based on my research in the city. I can do it here as well as in New York.”
“Wonderful,” Anne said, rising and wishing them all a good day.
Charlotte paused after her mother left them. “Please have dinner as our guests this evening. In fact, all your meals will be comped. I insist,” she added when Matt and Kerry assured her they expected no such thing.
“Well,” Matt said when he was alone with Kerry, “my publisher will be pleased. My expense account should be much lower than expected on this trip.”
“What about the rental car?” she asked.
“That’s a personal expense,” he said, “something I want to do. With you.”
Her eyes widened, then gleamed with pleasure. “Me, too,” she said softly.
Matt’s heart set off again. That old black magic of legend and song had them in its spell, it seemed.
Funny, but in this case, he didn’t mind. Being attracted to Kerry was fine. As long as he didn’t do anything stupid like think he was falling in love.
O
N
W
EDNESDAY
, Kerry and Matt were in the rental car and heading out of the city shortly before ten. In her lap she held a wooden urn carved with good
Ju-Ju
symbols and lightning bolts. The lightning must represent thunder, she assumed, which symbolized the Spirit of Healing.
She inhaled deeply and caught the fresh scent of Matt’s shampoo and aftershave. Tingles rushed over her nerve endings. Odd, to be happy and sad at the same time.
Thinking of Patti reminded her of her beloved cousin, who had gone off alone to die. Presumably Patti’s date—Kerry had a gut feeling it was Jason Pichante—had been with her when she died, but she thought the beautiful young woman had mostly lived a very lonely life.
“You’re quiet,” Matt said when they were out of town and on the highway.
“I thought most men were grateful for that,” she teased, trying for a light tone.
“Not when I know it’s because you’re sad. Besides, I like it when you talk to me.”
His voice was so deep, so warm, it added another ache to her heart. She would hate to leave New Orleans.
And him.
Holding the seat belt out of the way, she turned so she could face him, one leg drawn up under her. His profile was endearing, his features strong. Maturity and responsibility rested easily on his broad shoulders. Glancing at the urn, she acknowledged he was a man who knew how to get things done. He had made this trip much easier for her in many ways.
“I do mourn Patti, but not in an acute way—more like for an old friend from years ago. I can’t change anything that happened in her life, so I’ll remember only that she was kind to me, a stranger in town who felt a little lost that first day. This may sound odd, but in a way she’s given purpose to this trip, which I’d thought was a waste of time, although I couldn’t tell my sister and friends that.”
“But you don’t feel that way anymore?”
Emotions too fleeting to be identified flashed through her. “No, not anymore.” Her voice was unexpectedly shaky.
“I’m glad we met, even in these circumstances,” he told her. He flicked her a glance. “Very glad.”
She nodded.
Matt drove west on the interstate, then turned south on a road that would take them to New Iberia, the heart of Cajun country. A lot of the land southwest of New Orleans was salt marsh. At times the route was
on a raised causeway surrounded by reeds that grew thick in shallow basins of water.
The ravages of the terrible hurricane season the year before last were still visible in uprooted trees and houses crushed by the wind and water. Many residents had obviously decided not to return.
“Look, in that tree.” She whispered, although the beautiful white birds couldn’t hear her.
“Cranes,” he said.
Other long-legged birds stood in the water, dipping to grab a tempting morsel every now and then. Wispy clouds floated overhead.
“The clouds are thicker than when we first set out,” she said.
“The weatherman said there would be no rain this week.”
“Yeah, and in Minnesota he forecast possible snow flurries and those flurries are now over a foot deep.”
They laughed together, and the conversation remained lighthearted until they reached St. Martinville. Matt slowed, then pulled into a parking space. “There’s something here I thought you might like to see.”
She followed him without question, something she wouldn’t normally have done. She would have wanted to know why they’d stopped and what they were going to see.
Trust, she thought as he took her hand and led her down the street. She trusted this man. The insight caused a warm glow inside her.
“Oh,” she said when he stopped in front of a lovely statue of a woman, seated, a long cloak draping her shoulders and back. The base the statue sat upon was a crypt, Kerry realized, an above-ground vault like those at the cemetery in New Orleans.
“Evangeline,” she said, reading the statue’s inscription.
“She was immortalized in Longfellow’s poem as the symbol of a love that never faltered,” Matt murmured.
“And was never fulfilled,” she whispered. “When she found Gabriel after years of searching, he’d married someone else and gone on with his life.”
She stared up at Matt, anguish clutching her heart. What if she’d never met this man? What if they parted next week and never saw each other again?
A worried frown lined his brow. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought you here. You and your tender heart,” he added, his eyes filled with…tenderness? concern? regret? Did he regret meeting her?
She swallowed hard. “No, no. It was thoughtful of you. I would have been disappointed if I’d realized we were so close and I’d missed it.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s after twelve. Shall we go?”
They returned to the car and soon arrived at a small bayou town called Indigo.
“Indigo is a plant, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes. It was grown commercially in the area for blue dye. I don’t know if it still is.”
The town was built on a graceful curve of road that followed the bayou, which Kerry could see beyond the town “square,” which was really a lawn.
Matt surprised her with a picnic lunch packed by the Hotel Marchand. Another indication of his thoughtfulness, she noted. They ate on the grassy grounds of the town square.
“How did you know picnics were one of my favorite things?” she demanded, opening a covered plastic plate that was filled with roasted chicken bites, mandarin orange slices and crisp noodles on a bed of mixed greens.
He handed her a container of dressing and a napkin and fork, then opened the bottle of sparkling rosé that was included. “Because I like them, too,” he said, giving her a quick perusal that made her head feel as if she’d already had a couple of glasses of wine. “I’ve noticed we like a lot of the same things.”
She nodded and wondered if her eyes were as sparkly as she felt inside. “Look at that building at the head of the square,” she said, to distract her disquieting thoughts. “It’s pretty fancy.”
“We’ll go over after we eat and check it out.”
Forty minutes later they strolled across the lawn and paused in front of the ornate building. It was an antique shop, but a brochure explained that it had once been an opera house, a gift from a local plantation owner to his wife.
“That was wonderful of him.”
Matt ruffled her bangs. “Yeah. Men like to do things for the women they love.”
A warm, happy glow spread over Kerry, but ever cautious, she tamped it down. “We’d better go if we expect to get back to the city before dark.”
“What happens then?” Matt questioned wryly. “Do we turn into vampires?”
“Or werewolves,” Kerry said crisply. She got into the rental vehicle without waiting for his help and had her seat belt fastened by the time he was inside.
She was, she felt, in danger of wearing her heart on her sleeve. The statue, then the opera house, touched her in ways she couldn’t explain, except that both represented a deep, abiding love. And then there was Matt’s thoughtfulness. It made her want to wrap herself around him and never let go.
Taking a deep breath, she vowed not to embarrass either of them by assuming too much. Instead she commented on the old buildings and the charm of the countryside, plus the pleasure of being in Cajun country, which she’d read about before leaving White Bear Lake.
Matt, she noticed, had a note in his hand. He checked it, then made a turn onto a dusty road so narrow she hoped they didn’t meet another car. He took a left when the road split, then another later on.
“Hmm, see if you can figure out our next turn,” he said, passing the directions to her.
“Who told you how to get here?”
“Jason Pichante. I saw him yesterday. I got the name of the town from him and directions to the plantation from the parish maps.”
“Good work.” She hesitated. “There seemed to be so much anger in Jason when we met him at the warehouse.”
“There still is. I think it’s directed as much at himself as his father.”
“Because he abandoned Patti? I think he was the date she was with, don’t you?”
Matt shrugged. “Maybe. We seem to have reached a dead end. Did I miss a turn?”
She read over the directions. “No, we did everything written here. Maybe we turned too soon at some point.”
“Or too late,” Matt added with a frown.
“There’s a house up that lane. I can see it through the trees. That may be the place.”
Matt backed up and turned into a weed-choked lane. A small house sat in the middle of a tidy, flower-strewn yard. “Not exactly a plantation,” he said.
A woman came outside and observed them as they climbed out and walked up a brick path to the front porch. The small home was built high off the damp ground.
Matt introduced Kerry and himself and explained that they were lost. “Cordon Rouge is…was the name of the place we’re looking for,” he finished. “It’s part of a preserve now, I understand.”
“It’s difficult to get to,” the woman said. “The road has not been maintained.”
Tall and thin, she had skin the color of coffee laced with cream. Her eyes were light green, like those of a kitten Kerry’s grandmother had raised. She wore a long black skirt with a starched and ironed long-sleeved white blouse.
Like the old voodoo queen, her age was indeterminate. Kerry guessed she must be in her eighties or nineties.
“Why do you wish to go there?” she asked.
Matt and Kerry glanced at each other before he said, “It’s a favor for a friend.”
“A young woman?” she asked.
The hair stirred on Kerry’s neck as Matt nodded.
“Come,” she now said, “and sit. You’ve had a long trip and will need something refreshing.” She disappeared inside the house.
Kerry glanced up at Matt. He shrugged and took her arm, guiding her to a swing attached to the rafters of the porch. When the woman reappeared, he got to his feet and opened the screened door for her.
She served them tall glasses of iced tea with sprigs of mint on top and passed a plate of pecan cookies. After setting the tray on a low table and taking a seat in a cane-bottomed rocking chair, she studied them with those all-seeing eyes.
“What has happened to Patti?” the woman asked quietly.
Kerry actually gasped aloud.
Matt bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of the woman’s insight. “She died.”
“What was the cause?”
Matt explained about the reaction to the love potion.
The woman said nothing, and the silence seemed electric with tension. Kerry shivered although the day was warm. At last the old woman made the sign of the cross, her gaze on the horizon as if she saw things they couldn’t. “Then she didn’t take her own life. I thank the good Lord.”
“You knew her personally?” Matt asked.
“She and her father and grandfather. I am Atta. I was the housekeeper when Patrick Ruoui committed suicide. After setting fire to the house and barn, he stood by the bayou and shot himself in the head. I have never understood how he could be so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Kerry questioned.
“Selfish,” Atta stated, “to leave a grieving child behind. Patti’s mother had died the year before. The girl needed him more than ever. The shame of it,” she added sternly.
“He was losing the plantation,” Matt said.
The wisdom of the ages seemed to reside in Atta’s eyes as she gazed at him. “There was no plantation.”
“Patti said Cordon Rouge was her home,” Kerry told her.
“No, no. That was the old place. I was born there. It was taken by the state for back taxes and became a
nature preserve some seventy years ago, all but this bit of land and my house. Patti’s great-grandfather deeded this to my mother. Patti and her parents had another, smaller place near here, land that had once bordered the original plantation. It was bought and deeded to Patrick’s father before the grandfather lost the plantation.”
Kerry realized that the image she’d had of Patti living in a grand, but time-worn plantation in genteel poverty was totally wrong. “So it was a lie,” she murmured, “the plantation and the life….”
“Perhaps,” Atta said. “Who knows what is in the mind of another?” She gestured toward the charm bracelet. “You wear the three bones. Do you not know what they mean?”
“No.”
“They represent three worlds, or manifestations. The material world—” she indicated everything they could see with a sweeping embrace of her arms “—the world we each create in our own minds and the spiritual world of which we know little.”
Kerry thought of Patti’s spirit. Where should she put Patti’s ashes so that her troubled soul would find peace? “Can you tell us how to find Patti’s home, the place she lived before her parents died?”
Atta nodded. “It was a cotton farm. On good bottom land, too. But Patrick wasn’t a farmer or a businessman, either. He had dreams of returning to the glory of the old days. He put those dreams into Patti. It was never to be.”
The finality of the statement dropped like a heavy rock within Kerry. She felt a sharp tug of sorrow. How must Patti have felt when her father shot himself?
“What happened after the death of Patrick Ruoui?” Matt asked.
Atta turned her probing gaze from Kerry to Matt. “After the house was closed, I went to work at the aunt’s home—”
“Patti’s aunt? The one she lived with?”
“Yes.” The old woman glanced back at her. “It was a hard time for the girl. She wasn’t wanted.”
Kerry nodded, unable to look away from the anger in Atta’s eyes. She touched her bracelet, found the cross that had been blessed and held on to it.
“The aunt was weak and the uncle was cruel,” Atta said. Her voice became fierce. “That fine, rich house was no place for a child of any kind.”
Kerry felt Matt’s hand on hers, comforting and re assuring.
“But Patti was special,” Atta told them, her voice softening. “She had a good soul, an old one. She survived. When she left for New Orleans and the college, I knew she would never return.”
“And she didn’t,” Kerry concluded.
“Tell me of her death,” the old woman commanded. Her voice was quieter now, like the sound of the wind through the moss that draped the trees.