Page 113 of The House on Prytania
“And if he won’t?”
“Then I stay up here and wait for him. Because he will be looking for me. And this.” He leaned into the shadows and retrieved Jeanne’s clientele book, the leather on the cover muting the reflected light. “Even in life he was never the kind of person to forgive. He’ll want to punish whoever is responsible for revealing all his dirty secrets. Which, because you so stubbornly refuse to listen, includes you.” He stepped in front of me, guiding us back down the walkway toward the landing.
“You can destroy the book. And everything else, so there’s nothing left to prove anything. Although I’m pretty sure Sunny’s already disposed of what was in the hatbox.”
“It’s too late for that.” He indicated the stairs. “You really need to go now. For your own safety.”
“But what about yours?”
He shook his head angrily. “Don’t you see? Your very presence dilutes my focus. How do you think he got in?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“But now you do. So leave. Leave now, before things get dangerous. I’m hanging on to the hope that once everyone downstairs hears the truth, and he’s got nothing else to hide, he’ll go away.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
He blinked slowly. “Then I’ll have to convince him to leave.”
I drew back, understanding. “That’s why you have the book—to bring him to you.”
“Go, Nola. Please. Just this once, would you please do as I’m asking?”
Ignoring him, I said, “You’re not alone. Your grandfather is here to help. I smell his pipe.”
“I know. I saw him.”
“And you could ask your mother. She wants to help you.” I held my breath until my chest hurt.
Beau shook his head. “No. I don’t need her. I never have. And now she can go, too. Because we’ve finally found my sister.”
He opened the door leading to the attic space above the dining room mural, the cacophony of sound loud enough for me to pick out individual voices.
Facing me once more, he said, “Go. Now.” Then he walked through the door and closed it behind him.
I stood on the darkened landing for several moments, the faint light from around the secret door at the bottom of the steps the only guide down the narrow stairwell. The pungent aroma of pipe smoke wrapped around me like a hug, giving me a jolt of courage. With a deep breath, I faced the door Beau had just closed. Then I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it.
CHAPTER 37
Beau lay on his stomach on the suspended walkway, looking over the edge to the scene in the brightly lit dining room below. He jerked his head toward me and made an angry shooing motion with his hand as if I were an irritating fly.
In response, I closed the door behind me with a slam. Beau put his finger over his lips, although from the sound below it was doubtful we could be heard. I moved toward him, carefully holding on to the railing, remembering not to look down, and lowered myself beside him.
“You’re a terrible listener,” he said quietly.
“So are you,” I whispered back.
He shook his head, then returned his gaze to the room below, and I did the same, scooting over to find my own vantage point. The acoustics were perfect, but the visuals less so, with only snapshots of various people moving or stopping directly below me, depending on the opaqueness of various paint colors in the mural. I shifted my body to the right so that I was now directly above the middle of the room, able to get at least a partial glimpse of people standing on the periphery.
I spotted Sam first, standing alone and holding off a roomful of bystanders. In front of her stood a sobbing Angelina Sabatier, her arm around a petite blond-haired young woman. For a moment, I thought it was Sunny—or the Sunny I knew—but Sunny was glaringly absent from the crowd below. Christopher stood beside Mimi, his arms loose at his side as if he was prepared to catch her. Michael pulled out a dining chair and sat with his head in his hands while Robert stood behind him, clenching his hands on the back of the chair and wearing the white-lipped expression of a man facing a firing squad.
“Felicity,” I whispered. “Sam brought Felicity.” I looked from Felicity to Angelina. I could almost hear the pieces clicking into place. “The F initial on the tombstone—it stands for Felicity, doesn’t it?”
Beau turned steady eyes on me. “Yeah. And the last name should be Hebert, not Broussard. Not that having the right name on the tomb would have helped us, since we never bothered to look.”
“And Mimi? Does she know?”
“Christopher gave her a note from me fifteen minutes ago.”
