Page 89 of The House on Prytania
“In a moving car? I’ll poke my eye out.”
Jolene sighed. “We can pull over before we get there and I can fix that. And you need some color on your lips, too.”
I looked back at Sarah, expecting to see her making a face at me, but instead she was staring out her window, lost in her own thoughts.
“You okay, Sarah-belle?” I said, using the name I’d called her when she was a toddler because even as a baby she’d been so ladylike, never putting her fingers into food and always sitting straight backed in her high chair. She’d been the complete opposite of JJ, who considered building blocks projectiles, and whatever was on his plate wall decoration.
She turned her head, her brows knitted. “Is there anything in the house that I should... worry about?”
“There shouldn’t be,” I said. “From what Michael told me, Antoine Broussard’s father bought the four and a half Gulf-front acres back in the early nineteen hundreds and built a small beach cottage. The good news—for you, anyway—is that Katrina completely destroyed the house, so anything of that original house, and any connection to Antoine, is long gone. That’s why I thought it would be okay to bring you.”
She offered me a slight smile. “So what’s there now?”
“I looked it up online, and let’s just say that the new house would definitely not be considered a cottage in today’s terms. It was built in 2008 by Robert and Angelina, and the architecture has old-plantation-house throwbacks. Michael says that he and his sister, Felicity, spent very happy summers there growing up, so there should be lots of good vibes. Even though Felicity never returned to New Orleans permanently after she was sent up north to boarding school, she’d go to the beach house during school breaks and holidays.”
Sarah continued to frown. “Did they put anything from the old house in the new one?”
I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. “I don’t think so. Hurricane Katrina washed most of Pass Christian and other Gulf Coast towns completely off the map, so I don’t think there would have been anything left. Why?”
She sent me one of her “duh” looks. “For the same reason Mom and I avoid museums and antiques shops. And why Mimi has a roomful of personal effects from crime scenes. Residual energy.”
“Well, then. Like Michael said, the house is new, and has lots of happy family memories. You just need to sit back and relax.”
“While you dig for dirt,” Sarah added.
“Basically.”
“And what’s my role?” Jolene asked.
“I need you to be a distraction so they won’t notice what I’m up to.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Should I have brought my twirling baton and karaoke machine?”
I grinned. “No. Just be yourself.”
CHAPTER 30
As we drove down Highway 90, the scars of Katrina were still visible all these years later in the new roofs, porches, and entire sections of older homes alongside new construction, and in the younger trees that dotted the median where Jolene said hundred-year-old oaks had once stood. For an old-house hugger, it hurt to see the evidence of what Mother Nature could do to human lives and all the history contained in old buildings. It was also reassuring to see evidence of resilience in a town rebuilding itself from utter devastation.
As we pulled into the circular driveway, I recognized the three-story Greek Revival–style house I’d seen online. Brick pavers led to the white-columned second-story main entrance—a wise choice in a flood-prone area—with wide white stairs leading to the massive double doors on the covered porch. Three dormers sat in perfect symmetry on the hipped roof, a round cupola crowning the house at its pinnacle. The first-floor porch was held up by sturdy brick columns and furnished with a wrought iron table and chairs and an upholstered bed swing suspended from ropes and swinging in the breeze as an advertisement for the perfect location for an afternoon nap.
The front door opened as we climbed out of the car, and Michael appeared at the top of the steps. He ran down to greet us as a middle-aged couple, presumably his aunt and uncle, walked out onto the porch and waved.
“Perfect timing!” he said. “I just mixed the mimosas, including two virgin ones so no one is left out.”
“Thank you,” I said, staying far enough away that he wouldn’t greet me with a hug.
Jolene unlocked the trunk and Michael looked inside, doing his best to hide his surprise at how much we’d brought. “We have an elevator on the first floor, so I’ll bring these in. Y’all go on ahead upstairs. My aunt and uncle are excited to meet you.”
He looked dubiously into the trunk. “Does all this go inside?”
Jolene and Michael greeted each other with neutral smiles, as if acknowledging an unspoken truce. Jolene moved to stand next to him. She leaned over and unzipped one of the two large Vera Bradley bags she’d thrown in at the last minute “just in case,” and she pulled out a pair of roller skates and a set of extra-large heat rollers. She hesitated a moment, then zipped the bag closed, but not before I’d seen the Barbie head.
“I never know what to bring,” she said. “So I just bring everything.”
I smothered a smile as Michael gathered up as much of the baggage as he could. “I’ll make two trips. See you upstairs.”
Jolene, Sarah, and I headed toward the steps. “Everything good?” I asked Sarah.
