False Pretenses (5 page)

She closed her eyes and willed away the fear. How she loved this quaint community of Les Barbes. Its French name translated as “beards”—which perfectly described the Spanish moss that hung from the live oaks and cypress trees. Before she moved here, had she any concept of what it was to really
belong
—to be part of something bigger than she?

People here had roots. Proud roots soaked with the tears of their Acadian ancestors and transplanted deep in this foreign land that had received them with open arms when no one else would.
Les Cadiens
made Louisiana their home and evolved into a new people—Cajuns—never wavering in their Catholic beliefs, but with a language, music, and cuisine uniquely their own. Cajuns had not only survived; they had redefined themselves and thrived. Isn’t that what she had done? Wasn’t she a perfect fit here among them—as one of them—even if her name wasn’t really Zoe Benoit and she didn’t have a drop of Cajun blood in her veins?

Suddenly she was aware of the music playing at Breaux’s. How long had she been sitting there?

She got up and took a light blue sundress from her closet and put it on, then sat on the bed and slipped into her most comfortable sandals.

Pierce appeared in the doorway. “About ready?”

Zoe nodded, aware that her heart was racing and that she was perspiring.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Pierce came over to the bed and sat beside her, his arm around her. “Your face is flushed. That must’ve been some run-in.”

“Well, it’s the last one. Tomorrow I’m going to pick out uniforms.” She laid her head on his shoulder, glad to avoid eye contact. “I should’ve done it before now. Today’s low-cut fashions are inappropriate for the workplace—at least Zoe B’s.”

“There you go, Mrs. Broussard. Problem solved. See how easy that was?” Pierce got up and pulled her to her feet, his expression completely guileless. “If that’s the worst challenge we face, babe, I’d say life’s pretty good.”

And what if it isn’t?
she thought
. What if life as we know it is about to end?

CHAPTER 4

Vanessa sat with Ethan and Carter at a cozy table at Zoe B’s, finishing her dinner.

“I love this place.” Vanessa pushed the last bite of corn bread into her mouth. “Too bad Zoe and Pierce aren’t working tonight. I’d like them to know we’re
paying
customers. I don’t want them to feel obligated to let us eat here free of charge.”

“We definitely need to get that straight,” Ethan said. “I have a feeling we’ll be eating here often. The shrimp gumbo was to die for, and number-one son devoured that pig in a blanket.” Ethan tickled Carter’s ribs, evoking a giggle.

“It’s a hot dog, Daddy.”

“I need to be more like you,” Ethan said to Vanessa, “and exercise some restraint with the bottomless bowl selections and the corn bread that comes with it. I really didn’t need that order of boudain.”

“I have no idea where you put it all. See that old gentleman sitting with the priest?” Vanessa nodded toward two customers occupying a nearby table. “The one with the untamed hairdo?”

“Uh-huh.”

“His name is pronounced Ay-bear and spelled H-E-B-E-R-T.”

“I’ve seen that name a lot down here,” Ethan said. “I would’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Zoe introduced me to him this morning. He’s going to be ninety-five on his next birthday. The white-haired man with him is Father Sam Fournier.”

“I didn’t catch Father Sam’s last name.”

Vanessa smiled. “It’s French. Four-nee-ay. He’s retired now, but he was rector at Saint Catherine’s for thirty years. That’s where Zoe and Pierce go. We really need to consider the churches we’ve visited and get serious about committing to one ourselves.”

“All three of us seem drawn to Grace Creek Bible Church. It’s small enough to be friendly and big enough to have lots going on. Sunday school was great. And Ben Auger’s a good preacher.” Ethan turned to Carter. “Remember the church with the big cross out front?”

“I liked the puppets. And the pwayers. And when we singed ‘Jesus Loves Me.’”

“Would you like it if we went there again?”

Carter gave a hearty nod. “Georgie wants to go too.”

“I’m sure Georgie is welcome there,” Vanessa said.

She sipped her iced raspberry tea and looked outside at the scores of tourists on the sidewalks along
rue Madeline
. “It’s seven o’clock. Time for the police to close the street and let the tourists take over.”

“And time for a certain little boy to take a bath.” Ethan tickled Carter’s ribs. “Are you looking forward to going to summer preschool again tomorrow?”

“Yes! Me and Georgie like Miss Pamela.”

“That’s good, because Mommy and I do too. Honey, you ready to head upstairs?”

“Whenever you are.” Vanessa folded her napkin and set it on the table. “I hope there’s a breeze so we can sit out on the gallery and listen to the band at Breaux’s. It’s relaxing.”

Ethan put his hand on hers. “You feeling any better about the situation out at the house?”

“Not really. The sheriff deputies didn’t have any answers, and I got the feeling they think it was you-know-who’s imagination talking. I’m glad they’re going to patrol the area a few times a day. But it’s not like the intruder is driving a car and parking it out front.”

Zoe strolled along
rue Madeline
, hand in hand with Pierce, the street still radiating warmth from the afternoon sun. The delicious aroma of caramel corn flavored the night air and might have made her mouth water had she not eaten her fill at Louie’s. She had a flashback of Vanessa Langley’s hourglass figure and suddenly felt chagrined that she no longer had a defined waistline.

“I’ve never seen so many tourists,” Pierce said. “The numbers are always more noticeable this time of night, when the street’s closed off. I sure hope we’re getting our fair share of business.”

Zoe surveyed the row of quaint shops on the south side of
rue Madeline
and the people waving amidst a garden of blooming plants on the galleries above. She moved her gaze to the building painted deep gold and trimmed in black and read the matching sign suspended from the gallery just above the entrance:

Zoe B’s Cajun Eatery

Pierce and Zoe Broussard, owners

Would the excitement of owning the eatery ever wear off? Wasn’t it her dream come true, even more today than ten years ago when she started out by renting just half of the first floor from Monsieur Champoux? Even then she was persnickety about the whole dining experience, scraping up every cent she could to ensure that the ambiance as well as the food was something people would talk about. She refinished the wood floor herself, painted the walls, found a fantastic closeout on French country tables and chairs, and made tablecloths and curtains to match. She had an up-to-code kitchen installed and hired a worthy chef to prepare a collection of Cajun recipes she’d fallen in love with and perfected. And hadn’t it paid off? Zoe B’s was an instant hit in Les Barbes.

She smiled, remembering the sweet elderly customer who first walked through her door …

“Ah, dis is nice,” the old man said as his gaze flitted around the room. “So you da
propriétaire?”

“Yes, I’m the owner, Zoe Benoit.” She shook his hand, careful not to let her elation overpower her professional demeanor. How long had she waited to say those words? Not bad for poor white trash from Devon Springs, Texas. As far as anyone here was concerned, she was as Cajun as the crawfish étoufée on the menu. “Welcome. And what is your name,
Monsieur?”

“Da name’s Hebert Lanoux.”

Zoe smiled. “Please come in.”

She made sure Monsieur Lanoux was seated, and she watched from a polite distance, pleased that he seemed to savor every bite of the étoufée and then ordered bread pudding. She expected him to eat only half the entrée and take the other half home with him. But he ate every bite of it and his dessert, too!

Finally he wiped his mouth and put his napkin on the table and motioned for the waitress to bring him his check.

Zoe sauntered over to the table. “And how was your dinner, Monsieur Lanoux?”

“Ah, c’est bon.”
He grinned, his hands patting his lean middle. “I tink dat was even better dan
mamere’s
cooking. And please call me Hebert. You’ll be seeing a lot of me—”

“Zoe …? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

Pierce’s resonant voice brought her back to the present.

“Sorry,
cher
. My mind was wandering.”

“Where were you?”

“Oh … standing at the door at Zoe B’s on opening day. Do you realize that Hebert has come in almost every day—at least once—for the past decade?”

Pierce smiled, wrinkles of annoyance gone from his forehead. “What in the world made you think of that?”

“Seeing our new sign sent my mind in reverse, that’s all.”

“The new building colors sure make the place stand out.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on, babe, let’s go home.”

Home
. What a different meaning that word had taken on since she married Pierce. In five years of marriage he had rarely raised his voice and never his fist.

Zoe walked with Pierce toward the alley behind the row of buildings that lined the south side of
rue Madeline.
Her life was good. After all these years, was God finally going to punish her for what she’d done? Was that what the note was about? Or was she worrying for nothing?

A man bumped into them, the jolt causing Zoe to drop her purse on the ground.

The man bent down and picked it up, brushed it off, and handed it to her. “I’m so sorry. I was watching the people. Guess I should’ve been watching where I was going. What a klutz.”

“No harm done. I’m Zoe Broussard, and this is my husband, Pierce. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Angus Shapiro from Dallas, Texas. I’m staying in Lafayette on business and drove down to Les Barbes to look around, maybe find souvenirs for my kids.”

Shapiro?
Zoe smiled to herself at how odd that sounded, given the number of the Cajun French surnames in the area.

She shook hands with Angus. A respectable handshake, though his hand felt calloused and clammy. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Single dad? “Pierce and I own Zoe B’s Cajun Eatery. If you haven’t eaten yet and are looking for some authentic Cajun food, you should give it a try. We’re known for our crawfish étoufée —thanks to Pierce. He’s the head chef.”

Pierce shook the stranger’s hand, eyeing him cautiously. “Actually I’m a former-history-teacher-turned-chef. It seems I’ve found my calling. Or it found me, I’m not sure which.”

“Too bad I’ve already eaten,” Angus said. “I need to drive over here again and try your place.”

Zoe took a coupon out of her purse and handed it to him. “We’re offering two-for-one on any of our dinner entrees until the end of the month.”

“It says here you’re on
rue Madeline.”
Angus’s Texas twang gave the street name a whole new sound. “Isn’t that where I am?”

“Yes, Zoe B’s is that dark gold building over there.” Zoe motioned with her hand. “Phone number’s on the coupon if you want to call ahead and make a reservation. It’s a good idea after five.”

“Thanks. I guess it’s good that I
bumped into you
—so to speak.” A smile appeared under his mustache. “I’ll make it a point to come back sometime this week. You folks have a nice evening.”

“Yeah, you, too.” Pierce stood silent and watched Angus’s tall, lanky frame blend into the crowd.

“He seemed nice,” Zoe said.

“A little old to have hair down to his collar. And did you notice he didn’t look you directly in the eye?”

“What I noticed was a nice guy who was a little embarrassed and who was also a potential customer.” Zoe pushed her shoulder against his. “Why do you always assume people can’t be trusted?”

“Because most of them can’t. I trust my family. And Dempsey and Savannah.” He pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. “And I trust you with my life. I don’t need to trust anyone else.”

Zoe’s guilt taunted her. She had worked hard to earn Pierce’s trust. It wasn’t as though she had deceived him about her love for him or anything regarding their relationship. What transpired before they met didn’t concern him—as long as he had no knowledge of it. But if someone else did and intended to make sure Pierce found out, she could lose everything she had worked ten years to build. Then again, maybe the anonymous note wasn’t referring to the past. For now she just needed to stay calm and keep a clear head. If someone intended to blackmail her, she hadn’t heard the end of it.

“You look pale, babe,” Pierce said.

“I think the humidity’s getting to me.” She put the back of her hand on her forehead. “I’ll feel better once we get back in the air-conditioning.”