Authors: Maddie Cochere
Dell and Lisa had greeted us warmly at the plantation, but Dell couldn’t contain uproarious laughter when he heard the story of Nate’s broken nose. Hopefully, by Saturday, he could remove the small bandage giving support across the bridge. The swelling and bruising would surely be diminished by then, too.
This was going to be a big wedding, and there were easily over 100 people on the grounds already this morning. Everyone was automatically scheduled today for a tour of LeBlond Plantation followed by lunch at Brennan’s, but we needed to choose the rest of our activities.
“Let’s start with tonight,” said Darby. He proceeded to read the choices to us, “Pat O’Brien’s, an evening jazz cruise on a steamboat, or a nighttime Cajun bayou tour?”
“Listen you guys,” I said. “I know we’re supposed to stay together, but I don’t want to say what I want to do, and then you both feel like you have to follow me. If you want to take the bayou tour, which I’m positive I don’t want to do, then we’re simply going to have to agree to do what we want, even if we aren’t together. Ok?”
“Well, let’s vote,” said Darby. “Nate, you pick first.”
“Pat O’Brien’s,” he said. I’m good for just sitting, drinking Hurricanes, and listening to music.”
“Susan?” he asked me.
“Pat O’Brien’s was my choice, too,” I said smiling. “Sitting, drinking, music – perfect.”
Darby laughed and said, “It was my choice, too. And it’s only three blocks from the hotel, so if anyone gets tired, they can walk back.” He wrote all of our names under Pat O’Brien’s.
Wednesday afternoon offered numerous selections to include a shopping package, a French Quarter walking tour, a Garden District tour, and a mystery tour. We all chose the mystery tour. When I was a kid, my mom and dad hauled me around on one-day bus tours. We went on the mystery tours when they were offered, and they were always unusual and fun.
Wednesday night was an open evening so everyone could explore the city on their own. We agreed we would find somewhere fabulous to eat and then probably do more drinking and listening to good music.
My parents would be flying in early on Thursday morning. We penciled in all five of us for brunch at Commander’s Palace, and then I nearly squealed when I saw the afternoon activities. Darby started laughing, and Nate just shook his head. We could sign up for a cooking class! We would be taught the secrets of New Orleans cuisine, and then we would cook a complete dinner.
“Put the three of us down and Mom, too,” I told Darby. “Add Dad’s name under the Harrah’s Casino jaunt. He’ll be happy there while we’re cooking.”
We signed all of us up to participate in the Bourbon Street night walking tour for Thursday evening. Darby wrote the four of us down for the bridal tea on Friday morning and an afternoon of shopping in the French Market. He slotted Dad in for golf on Friday. The bachelor and bachelorette parties would both be held on Bourbon Street Friday evening.
The events list completed, Darby and Nate started to walk toward the gardens.
“You guys go ahead,” I told them. “I want to stay in the shade, so I’ll be right here when you get back.” I watched them walk away as I started to look around the property.
LeBlond Plantation belonged to Ferguson “Ferg” O’Brien. Dell was the star right wing player for Ohio’s Blue Ball Blades professional hockey team, and Scotty O’Brien, the best man, was the team’s star center. Ferg was Scotty’s cousin and had generously offered the use of the plantation for the week. Ferg ran a printing shop, Pica Printing, out of the carriage house behind the main house, and his work was exquisite. The wedding invitations had been beautiful and elaborate.
Lisa’s family was from Shreveport, and she was ecstatic to not only have the use of the plantation for the wedding, but also to hire Ferg for all of their printing. She said his reputation as being one of New Orleans’ premiere printers preceded him, and she was delighted he was able to work their wedding into his busy schedule.
In addition to the guests who had gathered, there was quite a bit of activity around the plantation today. The wedding would be held in the large, formal flower garden, and gardeners and designers were present making preparations amongst the flowers. Catering trucks were already on the premises, and the kitchens were being stocked with food for the reception which would be held in the ballroom. Lisa mentioned the French doors of the ballroom would be open with the reception spilling out into the eastern rose garden.
There was a security detail on the grounds and those guys were easy to spot. They were all wearing black from head to toe. How they could dress in black in this heat was beyond me. Lisa said Dell hired the security team from somewhere near his hometown in Colorado.
I stood there and smiled. It was all so beautiful and amazing, and I was happy for Dell and Lisa. I thought of my own small wedding and didn’t even have a twinge of regret for not waiting to have a large wedding and reception. Our wedding had been absolutely perfect, and I wouldn’t trade the memories of that day for anything.
A dog barking brought me back from my wedding memories. I looked toward the carriage house and saw a large bloodhound was bounding my way. I wasn’t afraid, and a big smile broke across my face. I even leaned down and held my hands out in front of me for a greeting as he came closer. I wasn’t prepared for the dog to lunge at me and plant both front paws on my shoulders. He knocked me back on my rump, then flat on my back, and proceeded to hold me down and lick my face.
I could hear a guy yelling, “Bogart! Bogart! What are you doing? Get off of her!”
I was pretty sure I heard some choice swear words in the mix, but I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t be sure.
Before the guy could reach the dog, I managed to roll him off of me and sit up. I started to rub his head and around his large, droopy ears. “So, your name is Bogart, is it?” I asked the dog. He looked at me with bright eyes, his tongue hanging out, and a healthy round of panting bathed my face. I stood up, and he sat obediently beside me.
An attractive guy dressed in blue/gray jeans and a tight, white t-shirt was looking horrified as he reached me and the dog. He looked like Ryan Reynolds, and it took a moment for me to stop staring at his hunkiness. I shook my head, and couldn’t understand why my emotions were toying with me down here. I had admired Darby and Nate as they washed up at Aunt Sony’s, and now I found myself staring at this man. It had to be a spell, because no one was as gorgeous to me as Mick was.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “He’s never done that before. If I thought he would do anything other than lie down out here, I would have never let him out.” He extended his hand to me and said, “I’m Ferg, by the way. I own this place.”
“I figured as much,” I told him with a big smile. “And it’s ok about the dog. I don’t mind. I love dogs, and he must have figured that out somehow. Actually, I only know one dog, but I love him, so Bogart must have figured
that
out.”
“You’re Susan Hunter, right?” he asked.
“Yes. Susan Raines,” I told him. “Dell and Lisa were at our wedding in Las Vegas in January.”
“Right. I knew that,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to LeBlond Plantation, and I hope you have a good time while you’re here. I’m heading some of the events, so we’ll probably see more of each other during the week.” He looked down at Bogart and said, “Come on, you bad dog. You have to go back into the shop.”
“He can stay out here with me for a while,” I told Ferg. “He seems to have settled down, and I’ll bring him back to the shop when everyone is ready for the tour of the house.”
He looked a little uncertain but said, “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “He can walk with me to the garden so I can find my friends. Would that be ok?”
“I guess it would. Just send him off to the carriage house when you get back,” he said with a smile before turning to walk away.
Bogart looked up at me as if to say, “
What do you want to do now?
”
“Come on, Bogart,” I said. “Let’s go down to the garden.” I picked up my purse, brushed off my rump, hoping there would be no grass stains on my shorts, and headed in the direction Darby and Nate had taken.
Before leaving the yard and entering the garden, Bogart ran around a section of bushes which made a hedgerow following the length of the yard from the garden back up to the carriage house. They were easily ten feet tall or more and appeared to be much thicker and deeper down here.
I waited for the dog to come back to me, but all he did was run from behind the hedgerow, look at me, and run around behind the hedges again. When he did it a second time, I knew he wanted me to follow him. I walked around the bushes, but he was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared. A few seconds later, I saw his head sticking out from between two of the bushes. I pushed them apart and saw I could easily walk into a small open space where it appeared several of the bushes were missing.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darker spot. Bogart stood still beside me and then moved slowly toward the farthest end of the open space. There, hiding just under the next bush in the row was a nest of baby bunnies.
“Bogart,” I whispered excitedly. “Are you babysitting bunnies?”
The nest was an unexpected treat. I thought rabbits only had litters in the spring. The mother would most likely be nearby, and it would probably be a good idea for me and the dog to leave.
“Come on, Bogart,” I told him while patting the top of his head. “Good boy. You showed me the bunnies. Let’s go.”
I turned in the small space, and Bogart moved past me to rummage in a bush near the opening where we had entered the hedgerow. He came up with a slobbery tennis ball in his mouth and handed it to me. He stuck his head back in the bush and pulled out a spatula.
“Bogart, are you hiding things you find in the house?” I asked chuckling as the dog came up with a plastic cup, a sock, a washcloth, and a slightly chewed and soggy fifty-dollar bill. The fifty was followed by half of a twenty-dollar bill, and then another soggy fifty-dollar bill. I was somewhat amused to see the money.
“Bogart, where did you get this?” I asked the dog as if he could understand me. “Are you taking money from your master? Huh?”
I was aware we had been in the bushes for a while, and I needed to find Darby and Nate. I shoved the money into the pocket of my shorts and pushed the bushes apart to leave the hedgerow. A quick glance toward the garden showed only workers. I didn’t know if I should explore the garden to see if the guys were farther down on the property, or if I should go back to the house.
When I saw there were no longer any guests on the lawn, I realized the tour must have started, and I needed to go inside, but I wasn’t sure where everyone was or where to go. I stood still for a few seconds, and I saw Ferg and another man come out of the carriage house and walk into the main house by way of a side door. Bogart and I both took off running after the men.
Bogart grabbed a knotted rope at the bottom of the door, pulled, and then ran through the open doorway. I laughed and followed him. We were on a landing with the option to go up the stairs to where there was no lighting, or go down the stairs to where there was light and voices. Bogart ran down the stairs, and I followed him.
“Ferg?” I called out. There was no answer, and it was suddenly quiet.
“Come on, Bogart,” I whispered to the dog. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be down here.”
He ignored me and nosed a door open which hadn’t been shut all the way. I walked in behind him and saw the room held several printing presses. I assumed they were either outdated, spares, or Ferg used them for overflow projects. Bogart started nosing around under a bench along the wall and came up with a few pieces of paper in his mouth. He gave them to me. It was more money.
“Where are you getting this money?” I asked him.
He stuck his head back under the bench and started rooting out more paper. He knocked over a wastebasket, and the crumpled papers rolled out onto the floor. I picked one up. The paper had a distinctive feel, like the cotton-and-linen-blended paper of money. I uncrumpled the paper and saw it had started to be printed with twenty-dollar markings, but the edge was off on the right side. Someone was obviously printing money. Was it for a joke? A gag for the wedding? I was pretty sure you couldn’t print money even for fun.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck, a shudder went down my spine, and I knew I should slip out as quietly and as quickly as possible. My heart started to race. I had planned to give Bogart’s money to Ferg and ask him where the dog got it, but now I was certain that wasn’t going to be a good idea.
“Come on, Bogart. Let’s go,” I told him as I moved toward the door.
He barked at me.
“Shhh!!” I hissed at him. Oh my gosh! I didn’t want him to bring anyone here. I couldn’t be caught in this room.
He stuck his head back under the table and whimpered. He tried to push something with his nose. He looked at me and whimpered again.
“What? What are you trying to show me?” I asked as I knelt down and peered under the table.
He nosed a case. It was a plain briefcase. It didn’t have a lock, and it opened with ease. My eyes went wide. Inside were printing plates – two for a fifty-dollar bill, two for a twenty-dollar bill, and two for a ten-dollar bill. I was shocked. Yeah, that was it. I must have been in shock because there was no other reason for me to grab the face plate of the fifty-dollar bill and shove it into my purse as quickly as I did. I closed the case, shoved it deep under the bench, and bolted for the door. Bogart was quiet and right behind me. I closed the door to the room, and we dashed up the stairs and outside onto the lawn. Bogart ran toward the carriage house, and I took off at a full run around to the front of the house. I put the brakes on when I saw Darby and Nate sitting alone on the front steps waiting for me.