St. Charles at Dusk: The House of Crimson and Clover Series Prequel Read online

  I handed my father the vodka-free glass and sat across from him, on the black leather recliner under the potted palmetto.

  Too often, the air between us was filled with awkward silences and pregnant pauses. Usually, we would both sip our drinks, if we had one, and my father would pretend to look around and be interested in things as if seeing them for the first time. I would sit and stare into the cup, bent over in my chair with both hands encircling it, waiting for him to speak first.

  Tossing tradition out the window, I decided to speak up before my father did.

  “Well, Dad, you were right.”

  He looked up.

  “About Adrienne. She isn’t who I thought she was.”

  “Colin,” my father said gently, “I came by to see how you were doing. Your mother is worried about you.”

  I could tell by deep creases in his forehead, and the looming crescents under his eyes, my mother wasn’t the only one.

  “I will be fine once all of this nonsense is cleared up.”

  “Adrienne’s attorney, who it turns out, was actually Jesse Fontaine’s mother acting as an attorney, called. They're dropping the charges. It seems she doesn’t feel as hard pressed to see this through to the end. That should make you feel better,” my father said.

  My eyes didn’t brighten with surprise as my father may have hoped. “Maybe I will send her a thank-you card. Would that be sufficient, or do you think I should include a fruit basket?”

  My father had a graceful way of ignoring unpleasant statements. “As I was saying, she is dropping the charges, but there is a condition attached, and I hope you would be wise enough to comply.”

  I watched him closely.

  “Adrienne has disappeared. I received a call from Jesse Fontaine a little over an hour ago and he was desperate to find her. He believes you know where Adrienne might have gone and if you help see her back to Abbeville, he will make sure his mother drops the charges.”

  I was cornered by a woman I had never met. Hell, a woman who, by all rights, shouldn’t even be involved in this mess!

  “What, exactly, would make him think Adrienne would call a man who allegedly attacked her, to announce her whereabouts?” I had to ask. But then, another thought occurred to me: if Adrienne left, then maybe she was on her way to New Orleans.

  “I don’t know Oz. I’m questioning the veracity of the claim to begin with, and the whole situation seems suspect. But I do know this: if you know where she is and you don’t tell anyone, you could make this much worse.”

  “Why are we letting this woman lead us around? Hell, Adrienne herself hasn’t stepped forward to say I’ve done anything wrong against her. Dad, we’ve been doing this for years and have plenty of resources to make her back down. Why aren’t we using them?”

  “We can, and we will if we have to. But do you really want this out in public for everyone to hear and see? That's what will happen. You need to think about what I’m saying. If you know where Adrienne is, it’s better to say something.”

  I folded my hands at my mouth and closed my eyes. “Dad, I don’t know where Adrienne is and frankly at this point, even if I did, I wouldn’t do that Fontaine woman any favors. I will clear up whatever misunderstandings came out of my trip to see Adrienne, and then I will finish the case I started, without the aid of Caitlin. Though maybe I have no right to, I am going to request you not ask me any more questions on the matter until I have answers. Know I did nothing to hurt Adrienne, and I never would. Tell Mother I love her, and that I am fine. Maybe I will come see her tonight or tomorrow, even.”

  When I finished speaking, my father walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said and I could see the love in his eyes. Behind them was much unsaid, but I heard it anyway.

  My mother, Catherine, was one of the most remarkable women I knew. Even in her early fifties she was still quite beautiful, never having relied on unnatural methods to keep her good looks. Her medium-length blonde hair was still her natural color, with only a few flashes of gray invading. She was the consummate homemaker; she cooked, cleaned, and ran all the errands, ensuring my father never had to worry about anything once he crossed through the front door of their home.

  As I entered my parents' house, my nostrils were filled with the warm scent of my mother’s baked cinnamon apple pie. The house was, of course, spotless, and dinner was warming in the second oven. I knew without checking.

  I had not been to visit my mother in a few weeks, and for that I felt guilty. It was so easy to get caught up in the daily grind, finding one excuse and then another, not to mention the current consuming mess centered on Adrienne. Stepping through the front door was therapeutic. I felt like a different person from the day before, when my father visited.

  “Oz!” my mother exclaimed and rushed toward me, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright! I was worried about you, what with Adrienne and-“

  I smiled and stopped her. “I’m here now and I’m fine, Mama. What’s for dinner?”

  A young woman, around my age, emerged from the kitchen as my mother and I made our way to the dining room. She was very pretty; fair-haired, tall and thin with high, round cheekbones and very soft-looking skin. Her eyes were a deep grey, and quite striking.

  “Oz, this is Janie Masters,” my mother introduced us. I took Janie’s hand in mine and shook it, enjoying the feel of her soft, milky skin. She smiled at me and I smiled back. I had been around women long enough to know she seemed interested. I knew already, if I asked her out, she would oblige me.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, still smiling, but dropped her eyes and looked at my mother. “I suppose I should be going, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  My mother ignored her, the way she had a tendency of doing when she was not finished with a thought. “Janie is with the forensics unit at NOPD,” she said, with a slight upturn of her eyes at me. I knew what that meant. Mother was attempting another round of matchmaker.

  “That sounds very interesting,” I acknowledged, wishing I’d thought of something better or more engaging to say to the pretty girl in the dining room.

  “It is,” Janie agreed. She shifted awkwardly and looked at my mother as if waiting for a dismissal.

  Instead, my mother excused herself in a rather contrived manner to go check on the pie, and left us standing together.

  I indulged in another moment to size her up. Janie's fair hair was more specifically tow-headed in color, and though her skin was quite fair, she did have the smallest collection of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the line of her cheekbones. Her eyes had a slight upwards tilt at the corners, and her face was small but angular.

  She wore a grey linen business suit that brought out the grey in her eyes, and the sexual curve of that spot where her thighs joined her knees. Maybe my mom would get it right this time.

  “So, you’re a lawyer then?” she asked me, making conversation.

  “Yep.” For all that I wanted to engage her, I was not being successful.

  “Ahhh,” Janie said. Then she surprised me by adding, “You’re also working on the Deschanel case, no?”

  What did she know about the Deschanels? I wondered, somewhat suspiciously. For the love of God, I prayed my mother had not gone on and on about me and Adrienne to this girl!

  As if reading my mind, she clarified, “I’ve been reassigned to reopen the investigation. What, with the reappearance of Deschanel’s daughter and all; unfortunately, she lost her memory so we can’t ask her what happened. However, we know she did survive the accident, which helps us understand what might have happened that night.” I realized with that impersonal statement–“Deschanel’s daughter” and not “Adrienne”–she was not aware of my connection.

  “What more do you expect to find? They were killed in a car accident. That’s never been disputed.”

  “No… perhaps it hasn’t.” The way she trained her eyes on me was engaging. I thought I should ask her out before m
y mother got even more involved, but this discussion was going in the wrong direction. “Some believe it wasn’t an accident.”

  I had heard this theory before. Some thought Cordelia had taken a lover, who helped her plan the entire thing; others thought she promised someone a portion of the estate to assist with the plot. I believed her too selfish to share any of what she believed to be her son’s inheritance with anyone. And, though she was quite spiteful in many ways, she was too terrified of Charles’ promises of divorce to closely involve anyone in their family. Personally, I'd never doubted it was an unfortunate accident.

  “I hope you are able to successfully resolve the matter,” I encouraged. I began to wonder how my mother had met her and how she ended up here in the first place. Perhaps my mother was not playing matchmaker, after all. It occurred to me she probably came seeking my father, and my mother occupied her in the charming way she did with all guests at the Sullivan house.

  Janie glanced toward the kitchen to see if my mother was still there, then walked toward me. Handing me her business card, I saw she was trying to leave quietly and politely before my mother returned. I was to be her silent conspirator. I smiled. She might remember me, this way.

  “Call me, Mr. Sullivan, if anything comes up.” She flashed me a knowing look, one that was more than a solicitation for assistance from one professional to another.

  “You can count on it, Ms. Masters,” I affirmed and watched her walk out the door, remarking silently to myself on the instant chemistry between us. I looked at her card, considering what the appropriate waiting period was before calling these days.

  No, I was too old for dating games. I would call her soon.

  My mother and I sat and made small talk as we ate. She made an almond-encrusted whitefish with a creamy garlic roulade, steamed okra, and baked macaroni and cheese. The meal was both satisfying and a comfort to me. Her cooking took me back to simpler times, and when I was feeling down, or vulnerable, I inevitably found my way back to her dinner table for some culinary therapy.

  She talked about her classes, and the foreign exchange student from Holland who would be arriving in a few weeks to start the fall term. I talked about some of the recent cases I was handling at the firm, and a book I was reading about Robert the Bruce. Somewhere between Calculus and Scotland, I realized I had come not for one of my obligatory visits, but because I wanted to talk about Adrienne, and solicit her thoughts on the matter.

  I knew this could be treading on dangerous ground. There was no love lost between Adrienne and my mother. Before Adrienne disappeared, my mother confronted her about her intentions and the encounter left Adrienne devastated. My mother refused to apologize for what she said, but I knew she felt some regret at the hurt it caused Adrienne. She had many assessments of Adrienne: Adrienne was young and didn’t know her own feelings, didn’t know what love was all about, was not ready for a serious relationship, was enjoying the feeling of being an adult but not ready for the responsibility.

  Turned out, my mother was very wise on the subject of Adrienne.

  Yet I still felt she could be unbiased and discerning on the matter if I asked.

  I decided to ease into the subject. “What was the reason for Ms. Masters’ visit?” I asked. I hoped my mother would know more about her.

  “She came to see your father, and I pointed her toward the office. You know, your father works so late sometimes.” She looked up at me, and seeing my face, smiled broadly. “Oh! Of course! You know, she is the daughter of the cigar magnate, Duke Masters. She comes from money, and a good family.”

  “Mom, you would be concerned with her pedigree!” I laughed.

  “Well, what of it? I would like to think my grandchildren will have all the good fortune they deserve.” We laughed together.

  I knew of Janie's father; in fact, he was once a client of the firm, but they were from Metairie and used different services than our New Orleans clients. He was well known in Louisiana, and a local celebrity for having fought to lower the tariffs on imported goods.

  “What else is on your mind, Oz?” my mother asked me. She put down her fork, placing her napkin on her plate, ready to talk.

  I decided not to be coy. “I’m not sure what to do about this business with Adrienne,” I confessed.

  “I can imagine this is a very confusing time for you,” she said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened in the bayou?”

  I recounted how Adrienne had discovered I was there and set up the meeting herself, the strange encounter in the diner, Jesse, and the drugs in my drink. The accusation. Unlike Caitlin, my mother didn’t question these things had happened to me. She nodded knowingly, without judgment.

  Then I told her Adrienne had called and wanted to come to New Orleans and stay with me. On this, I was somewhat fearful of her response.

  “Sounds like you had quite an adventure! No wonder you needed a few days to yourself.” She took a sip of her wine. “You aren’t seriously considering having her stay with you, are you?”

  “I don’t love her anymore,” I quickly said, “but I still have a responsibility to her.”

  She smiled at me in a knowing way. “Love is not something which disappears, despite what we might wish. But you’re wrong on another account, too. You owe her nothing, Son.”

  “I meant only the responsibility I have to her as her lawyer,” I insisted. Why was she looking at me like that? Like she knew every little thought in my head? If she knew some of the black-hearted things I’d thought lately, she might retreat.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  “Mmm? What’s that? Mmm?”

  “Did it ever occur to you there are a good dozen or so other lawyers at the firm who could have handled this?”

  “The Deschanel case is assigned to me. I am not going to let things that happened to me on a personal level, in the past, keep me from doing my job!” I was indignant she would suggest someone else handle it. She seemed to believe I was involved only to be with Adrienne!

  “Naturally,” she said. “You know, Oz, I may be an old woman but I am not completely past my prime. I know what it is to love and lose. I know how you cared for that girl.”

  “Adrienne.”

  “Adrienne. I know you loved her. But things are different now. She is different. Perhaps she’s grown up into a young woman worthy of you, perhaps not.” She leaned forward and looked at me intently. “She wasn’t in control of her own emotions then, and regardless of maturity, she can’t possibly be now. She doesn't even know who she is.”

  It was a mistake to think I could talk to my mother about this. She was far too logical. It was not quite so simple. Nor did I appreciate her thinking she knew me better than I knew myself. Yes, I could stop loving someone. Adrienne was living proof of that. “I couldn’t care less about her emotions. They are of no consequence to me one way or another,” I asserted.

  She ignored that. “Why not get her a suite somewhere? She could certainly afford it! What about Ophélie? She is the rightful owner, after all.”

  I didn’t have an immediate response. It was rational for her to stay at Ophélie, her home, or a hotel. But she said she wanted to stay with me. Why was I so quick to oblige? Not for the reasons my mother assumed, I knew that much, but I couldn’t say for certain what had been my motive. Was I still unable to say no to Adrienne, even now?

  “She said she was scared of the city. That she was scared to be alone, and felt she could trust me,” I tried, finally, anticipating my mother’s inevitable reaction.

  “I see,” was all she offered.

  There was an awkward pause as I watched my mother place her thumb on her lips and look off in the distance. I fidgeted in my chair, hating the silence, knowing she controlled it.

  “I am sorry for judging. I can’t know what you are going through, Son. Please forgive me,” she said. I saw she had tears in her eyes, and the guilt deepened.

  “Mom.” I stood up and came to her side, putting my head on her shoulder. My hear
t overflowed with such love for her. She would put her own reservations aside and let me make what decisions I needed to, right or wrong. I also knew, without asking, our conversation would be between us; she wouldn’t betray my thoughts to my father. “I love you. Please don’t worry about me so much. I know she could never be anything to me now, I’ve accepted that, and I’m okay with it. I’m more than okay. I don’t want her back in my life, but my conscience tells me I can’t turn my back on her when I may be the only one who can help her.” Now that I had said it aloud, it made sense.

  “I know,” she whispered and kissed my forehead. Her face smelled clean and milky, the scent of cold cream; the comforting fragrance of my childhood, of love and stability. “That’s what makes me so proud of you. You’ve always done the right thing.”

  I did call Janie Masters, the pretty forensics investigator, and we set up a date for the following evening at Galatoire’s. We’d just sat down to dinner when her phone went off, calling her into work.

  “Damned electronic leash!” She looked gorgeous, and I was disappointed she had to leave.

  “Call me?” she requested as she stood up to leave. “I mean it. I’d like to try this again, if you’re up for it.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I agreed and took a bold step by kissing her cheek, near the corner of her mouth. She blushed, smiled, and let her hand linger on top of mine. Then she left.

  I never called her back. I was dying to see her again, but I lost her business card. I thought it would be too forward to call the NOPD and locate her that way, so I let her slip away. She never tried to contact me, either. I did see her name in the papers from time to time, and remembered how taken I had been with her in my mother’s dining room.

  14- Oz

  Four more days passed. Surely, if Adrienne were coming to see me, she would be here by now.

  The delay gave me the opportunity to consider what I would do if she did show up. First, we would settle the score on the false charges. Likely then, she would ask me about her past. I would refer her to Ophélie and be done with it. Although only Nicolas lived there now, when he wasn’t traveling, most of the servants were still employed and lived on the plantation. Richard and Condoleezza had been there forever, so could tell her as much as I knew about her forgotten family life.