Sweet Mystery (5 page)

Baylor whirled to point at him. “So you think
she’s fine? That’s how it starts. Like I said, danger ahead.”

“Get a grip. This isn’t 2003 or 1963. We’re
not locked in the past, Baylor.” Simon looked out the window at the
restored storefronts, some dating back to the 1880s. “I think we
all know it’s time to move on.”

“You could be right. All I know is that
people are talking about it again, like it happened yesterday. Be
careful of Ms. Dalcour.” Baylor paused before leaving. “Darcy, too.
Like I said, something is up with him.”

“Lighten up. This is a simple transaction.
She’ll leave town and life will go on.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Baylor with a
look that showed he was not convinced in the least. “See you
later.”

Simon stared after him for a few minutes.
He’d tried to convince Baylor that Rae Dalcour meant only business;
now what about convincing himself? He tried to think of the shapely
woman, a look of worldly wariness in those big brown eyes, without
feeling she was a mystery he wanted to solve. Simon shook his head
as though to clear it. Man, you gotta be out of your ever-lovin’
mind!

A booming male voice came from the outer
office. Another excellent reason to curb this train of thought,
Simon mused. A loud knock sounded, only to be followed by the door
swinging open immediately.

“Hey, son! How’s my boy?” Tall with a light
tan, Joseph St. Cyr was still a commanding figure at
seventy-five.

“Hi, Papa Joe,” said Simon, getting up to hug
his grandfather. “Come on in here. This is a rare visit. Since you
retired, you avoid any place that reminds you of work.”

“Working your butt off for forty years will
do that to you, Simon. Of course you’re working for yourself, which
is different.” Papa Joe glanced around the office. “This is why I
laid bricks for Acme all those years – to see my sons and grandsons
have their own businesses.” He lost his smile at the reference to
Simon’s father. “How is your daddy?”

“You could pick up the phone once in a while
and ask him.”

Papa Joe sat down with a grunt. “Well he
could do the same,” he retorted. “Phillip threw away a chance to
build something for you. I handed him the future and he spat in my
face.”

“Daddy didn’t want to be in the bricklaying
business, but Uncle James did.” Simon had heard this all his life.
He’d been close to Papa Joe in a way that his father had never
been.

“James would have an easier time of it if
Phil helped him. I love my boys, but James doesn’t have as much
smarts as Phil.”

Simon sighed. The two men had been at war
with each other for years. Papa Joe was a ‘take charge’ man with
strong opinions, as was his son, Phillip. The son had chosen to be
a college professor; something Papa Joe still did not understand or
accept. The result was that the two men rarely spoke. Both were too
stiff-necked to bend. Simon feared they would realize too late the
price of estrangement.

“Which is why he loves being a political
science professor, Papa Joe. Daddy would be real happy if you took
pride in his accomplishments. He has been a consultant to several
governors and a senator.” Simon knew his father would never admit
to wanting his father’s approval.

“Lying politicians! And that’s another thing
– helping Taylor Caldwell get elected.” Papa Joe looked to the
ceiling, as though seeking divine forgiveness. “My kin working for
that rhetoric-spouting bag of wind…”

“Caldwell may be too liberal for your
taste–”

“That’s an understatement. The man wants to
keep our people in a perpetual welfare state.” Papa Joe wagged a
finger in the air, in preparation of launching into a debate on
government policy.

“But Daddy believes he’s a good, honest man,”
Simon pressed.

“Oh, give me strength! He’s an idiot, you
mean.” Papa Joe leaned forward. “You agree with me and don’t bother
to deny it.”

“The point is you and Daddy should find a way
to stop fighting each other. It makes no sense whatsoever,” Simon
replied.

“It’s his fault.” Papa Joe’s mouth turned
down in a stubborn pout.

“I give up, for now.” Simon squinted at his
grandfather. “But you two are going to see reason if I have to
knock your heads together. This bickering is stupid.”

“Let’s not argue, Simon. Maybe I’ll give Phil
a call later today.” Papa Joe tried to appease his grandson. “Guess
I oughta be old enough to know better. Don’t be mad at me.”

Simon gazed at him with affection. Strangely,
the bond that should have been between Papa Joe and Simon’s father
had skipped a generation. Simon’s earliest memory was of following
his grandfather around brickyards when he was only four years old.
His mother and grandmother had objected on safety grounds, yet
Simon had howled with such force at being left behind that they
relented.

Simon fixed him a mug of coffee. “You know I
can’t be angry with you for more than a minute. Now what brings you
to town?”

“Oh, just came in to pick up a few things at
Lawson’s Hardware and thought I’d say hello.” Papa Joe accepted the
mug and took a sip.

“I see. What things?”

“Some nails. A handle on the dresser in our
bedroom broke. You know, odds and ends.”

Simon eyed him for a few seconds. “You fixed
the handle last week. I was by the house. Another one broke?”

“Oh, I, uh, got an extra just in case. And
your grandmother wanted me to get some of those headache pills from
the drugstore.” Papa Joe did not look at him.

“I see.” Simon waited for the real reason his
grandfather had left his beloved sanctuary six miles out of
town.

Several moments passed as Papa Joe sipped
from the mug. Then he said, “I hear Raenette Dalcour is staying
around to settle up her daddy’s affairs.” Papa Joe affected a
matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes.”

“I suppose she’ll be here a few more days,
then leave.”

Simon lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“I mean, there’s no reason for her to stay
around here. Is there?” Papa Joe looked at him intently.

“I guess not. Don’t really know.”

Papa Joe put the mug down and puffed in
frustration. “Damn it, this is like pulling teeth. You talked to
the girl. What did she say?”

“I spoke to her for a total of maybe five
minutes. She’s meeting with me tomorrow. That’s all I know. It is!”
he insisted when Papa Joe looked at him with a doubtful
expression.

“About that property, I know Darcy and Henry
want to buy it. Lucien spat in Henry’s eye when he tried to talk to
him about it four years ago. Think she’ll sell?”

“She didn’t spit in my eye, so that could be
a good sign,” Simon replied with amusement. “But I don’t know. She
could decide to stay, at least that’s one rumor I’ve heard.”

“Why would she want to do that? She’s a
singer making money recording records and such.”

“From what I hear, Rae Dalcour is not a woman
so easy to figure out. Could liven up this town, eh?” Simon wore a
slight smile.

“Umph.”

When Papa Joe’s worried expression remained,
Simon became serious. “Why does this bother you so?”

“Lord, we don’t need all that stirred up
again.” Papa Joe raked his fingers through his iron-gray hair.

Simon tried to reassure him. “Papa Joe, this
has nothing to do with what happened all those years ago. It’s a
simple business proposition. She’ll either say yes or no.”

“Just like young folks. I was the same at
your age. All that old-timey stuff didn’t have anything to do with
me.” Papa Joe, his head tilted, looked back to previous decades.
“But it does, Simon. Somehow it just won’t go away.”

“I don’t understand. How can what Vincent
Dalcour did fifty years ago have anything to do with his
granddaughter?” Simon shook his head slowly. “I know it’s hard for
you to forget what happened. But–”

“Seems like yesterday that Vince was standing
right there, on that corner, laughing and joking with us. We used
to come to Mr. Peter’s store, one of only three black drugstores in
this part of the state back then.” Papa Joe was too caught up in
his memories to hear anything else.

Simon crossed to him and placed a hand on his
shoulder. “What Mr. Vincent did is in the past, Papa Joe. It was
bad, but it’s over. Rae Dalcour will most probably sell and that
will be that.”

Papa Joe blinked his eyes at him. He sighed.
“Maybe you’re right, son.”

“Of course I am. And even if she doesn’t, it
won’t matter. Sure, folks will talk, but they’ll soon get bored and
move on to more recent gossip. You’ll see.” Simon gave his shoulder
a pat.

“Hope she sells and just leaves,” Papa Joe
said with a fierce gleam in his eyes. “Talk to her, Simon. Offer
her a good price that she can’t refuse. All the Dalcours love
somebody else’s money. She’s probably no different. Just make her
think she’s taking money out of your pocket for free.”

“I’ve never heard you talk like this about
anybody, Papa Joe.” Simon was disturbed by the hostility toward a
young woman whom Papa Joe had probably never even met.

“She’s a Dalcour; that’s all I need to know.
You’ll see.” Papa Joe looked at him. “Don’t get too close, son.
They’re trouble.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

Papa Joe nodded soberly. “Listen to them,
Simon.”

“Oh, come on, stop getting yourself all
worked up over nothing. I’m a big boy. I think I can handle Rae
Dalcour, even if she is a package of firecrackers ready to go off.”
Simon chuckled. He tried to joke his grandfather out of his somber
mood.

Papa Joe studied his grandson. “I know she’s
attractive, boy. That spark in your eyes tells me you know it, too.
Just remember what damage firecrackers can do if you get too
close.” He patted Simon’s hand. “Well, enough of this serious talk.
I’m getting too grim in my old age. Let’s go over to LeBeau’s for
some lunch.”

To avoid upsetting his grandfather, Simon did
not pursue the subject. Yet he could not help but be intrigued that
Raenette Dalcour could inspire such concern by simply coming back
to her hometown. In spite of Papa Joe’s warning and Baylor’s
remarks, Simon found himself anticipating a chance to spend time
with her. He’d seen her from a distance only once more, laughing at
something one of her band members had said. The sound was musical
and rich. Her dark brown hair shone in the sun when her head went
back. Yes, tomorrow would be an interesting day indeed.

Chapter 3

“Well, what are going to do, boy?” Henry Jove
stood holding a coffee cup made of fine china with red roses
painted on the sides. An antique mirror behind him reflected the
image of a man used to being in control. He could easily pass for
being a decade younger than his seventy-seven years.

“I’ll handle it.” Darcy wore an irritated
expression. He hated being called ‘boy’ by his grandfather in that
tone of voice. “I’ve got a plan.”

“You’ve got a plan,” Henry mimicked. “I damn
well hope so.” He swallowed some of the contents of his cup.

“Simon is meeting with her today. I have a
feeling she’s going to sell.”

Henry gave a snort. “A feeling? Hell! Take
action and make sure she sells.”

“I have,” Darcy snapped, as he drew up short
at the dark glance Henry gave him. He softened his tone and
expression. “The offer Simon is going to make will be more money
than her family has ever seen. She’ll take it.”

“You’d better hope she’s not as mule-headed
as that father of hers was.” Henry wore an angry scowl. “Drunken
fool could have been sitting pretty years ago if he’d taken my
offer. That land has got to be in our hands.”

“It will be. I’ll see to that.” Darcy sat
down across from his grandfather. “Just as I’ve made our
investments grow by twelve percent in the last two years
alone.”

“Well, at least you’re no dummy.” Henry
appeared to give the compliment grudgingly. “Whatever else your
faults may be.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Darcy spoke in a mild
voice without looking at him.

Henry looked at him sharply and then exhaled
a puff of air. “What does Simon say to this oil-field waste
facility? He must think it’s a good idea.”

“We haven’t discussed it yet.”

“Oh? Tell me, boy. Tell me all of it.” Henry
leaned forward and tapped his knee.

“I’m not ready to tell him that my plans for
the land have changed. Besides, I’m still discussing it with Mouton
and Pantheon. It’s not a certainty just yet.”

“Don’t give me that bull! I’m old, not
senile. I talked to Preston Cazes at the chamber meeting Tuesday.
He’s excited about the possibility that Pantheon will locate
nearby. He’s not sure where, but feels it’s going to be close.
Preston knows what’s going to happen in the state before the
governor.”

“They haven’t decided between three possible
sites. But....” Darcy wore a sly smile.

Henry smiled back at him. “But you have
inside information that they’ll favor our land. Good for you,
boy.”

Darcy nodded. “All we need is that extra one
hundred acres, twenty of which is still in the Dalcour family.
Strange how Mr. Lucien never failed to pay the taxes, even with all
his other weaknesses.”

“His uncles helped him,” Henry said,
“stubborn bunch of no goods.” His voice was bitter.

“Well, Rae won’t cling to that worthless
property. After all, renting to hunting clubs doesn’t make much
profit.”

“Lucien let a lumber company cut, too.”

“Yes, but it takes fifteen to twenty years
for the trees to come back enough to make it profitable.” Darcy
shrugged. “I know Rae. She won’t want to be bothered with it.”

Henry gazed at his grandson for a time. “Yes,
you do know her, and I hope she’s out of your system.”

“It was a long time ago and we were kids.”
Darcy stared downwards. “She probably wouldn’t even speak to me
these days.”