Page 105 of The House on Prytania
He didn’t smile, or dial Mimi’s number to tell her, or jump up and down—all the things I’d imagined we’d both do if we ever made this kind of discovery.
Instead, his voice was flat when he finally spoke. “So, tell me, Nola. Would you only be showing Sam instead of sharing it with me if I didn’t already know about your little agreement? Was that the deal? To curate all information so that decisions would be made on my behalf without my knowledge?”
I couldn’t breathe, his accusation sucking the air out of my lungs. I didn’t respond because we both knew the answer. Instead, I cleared my throat. “I’m going to e-mail this as an attachment to both you and Sam, all right? I’ll let the two of you work out what you want to do. I expect you’ll want to tell Mimi, too.”
He rubbed his hands through his hair, and my mind wandered to how soft his hair was beneath my fingers and against my neck. His words jerked me back to reality. “This has nothing to do with you anymore, Nola. Do you understand? I don’t want you involved. I’ll handle it from here.”
I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but it wasn’t in my nature to allow myself to be dismissed without having a final word. “Fine,”I said. “Just don’t forget that it was you who asked for my help to begin with, and I agreed against my better judgment. And before you get angry with Sam, remember that she was just trying to protect you, because for some unknown and completely incomprehensible reason she has feelings for you.”
He stared at me in silence for a long moment, then stood. “It’s time to leave. I’ll be waiting outside in my truck.”
When I crossed the lobby, the same receptionist from the night before looked up from her book, saw my chin, and winked. Mortified, I ducked my head, gave her a quick wave, and headed toward the door.
The truck was already warm, and my seat heater had been turned on, which at least meant that he didn’t completely hate me. Or maybe his upbringing and ingrained good manners couldn’t be forgotten.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, the tires turning the snow beneath us to a watery slush, I sent a quick text to Jolene to let her know we were on our way back. She responded with a thumbs-up emoji and another wink emoji. I quickly turned off my screen so Beau wouldn’t see.
“How are the roads?” I asked.
“Fine.”
I knew I was wading into dangerous territory, but I had to know. “Do you want to discuss last night?”
“No. There’s nothing to discuss. I want my mother to go away, and she won’t as long as she thinks I need her. And I don’t.”
I wanted to point out the obvious, that if he found out what she wanted he could send her to the light. But the subject wasn’t up for discussion, so I said nothing, feeling more than a little relieved that he didn’t seem to remember anything past the time he went to sleep or why he found me sleeping on the floor in the morning.
We drove in complete silence, the lack of sound as unnerving as a crowd blowing vuvuzelas at a soccer match. In an attempt to lessen the tension, I flipped on the satellite radio and scrolled down to the eighties station to play our old “name that tune” game.
“Don’t look at the screen,” I said. “That would be cheating.”
He didn’t even turn to acknowledge that I’d said anything.
At the intro to the next song, I blurted, “ ‘Steppin’ Out’ by Joe Jackson!”
Beau continued driving without a word as I waited for the next song. The first notes of the intro had barely played before I shouted, “ ‘Tarzan Boy’ by Baltimora!”
After three more songs, including two with me shouting out glaring and deliberate mistakes, and Beau’s continued disinterest, I gave up and flipped off the music. I turned on my phone and checked my photo album, annoyed that Sarah’s photos from the cemetery still hadn’t completely downloaded.
I checked my texts, answering a few from work and one from Alston in Charleston asking when she and Lindsey could come visit, and then put my phone away. I spent the rest of the ride staring out the window until I passed out with exhaustion from a restless night, my dream one with a pervading sense of dread mixed with a longing for something just out of reach.
•••
The following week was spent working on my cottage, replacing termite-ridden baseboards and patching the existing floors to hide places where we’d moved walls upstairs. I never went alone, making sure that Thibaut and Jorge were there, and then leaving when they did. I didn’t make the mistake of mentioning Antoine’s name, but his presence was a palpable one, felt most strongly on the stairs where he’d murdered his daughter and in the upstairs hallway outside the closet where the clientele book had been hidden.
The discovery of Jeanne’s secret letter had been anticlimactic. Not because we already knew the truth, thanks to Mimi’s ability to read the Maison Blanche door, but because I hadn’t been allowed to be a part of telling Mimi that we had proof. Nor had I been able to discuss with Beau why Antoine was still haunting my house even after the incriminating evidence had been found. It seemed that the moreanswers we discovered, the more questions we had. And the more questions I couldn’t ask.
Sarah’s photos from the cemetery had finally downloaded, and I’d forwarded them all to Beau without even looking at them first, because he’d made it clear that he didn’t want me involved anymore. He hadn’t responded, and I told myself I was okay with it.
I’d been hoping to hear from Beau about starting work on the Esplanade property, or at least to get an answer about when I could show it to Cooper, but there had been no word from him since he’d unceremoniously dropped me off in the driveway of my apartment and driven away with only a curt “Good-bye.”
I was home early on a Tuesday afternoon because Thibaut and Jorge had begun the process of sealing the wooden floors and needed them to dry overnight. I’d gone as far as opening the front door, just to peer inside to check on their progress, but I was met with a foul smell that had nothing to do with the wood stain, and with a heavy feeling that drew my attention up the stairs to a large black shadow masquerading as a water spot on the upstairs ceiling. I’d slammed the door and locked it, then headed home to my apartment.
Beau’s absence from my life meant that I had a lot more free time on my hands than I was used to. Cooper and I were supposed to meet for dinner, but he’d texted me to say that he was swamped at work and had asked to move our dinner plans to the following night. By the time I’d fed Mardi and taken him outside for a walk and played fetch with Eeyore, it was only five o’clock.
I changed into my sweats and seriously contemplated using one of Jolene’s face masks, but when I looked at her vanity, I was too confused by the vast array of tubes and bottles. I briefly considered heading into the kitchen and surprising Jolene with dinner for a change, but I realized that I was in over my head as soon as I stepped into her domain and was faced with a fridge full of food I didn’t recognize and an array ofWizard of Ozkitchen gadgets I wasn’t sure how to use. Instead, I headed toward the couch, flipped on the Investigation Discovery channel, and opened up the pizza delivery app on my phone.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang and I raced downstairs without looking at the door camera, assuming it was my pizza. Instead, Sunny Ryan stood on the doorstep, wearing her customary yellow and her bright smile, and holding a dressmaker’s mannequin.
