Authors: Liz Talley
Maybe because it had.
Her hope for something genuine and good with Nate had just withered. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.
But it was for the best.
She needed to go home. Forget Louisiana. Forget the hunky detective and his high-handed tactics. Absolutely. Soon Beau Soleil, the Dufrenes and the case would be a fading memory.
But then she remembered she could be pregnant with Nate’s child.
She walked into the kitchen where Picou sat eating spaghetti with a child who probably wore more sauce than he’d eaten and wanted to cry.
But Anna Mendes didn’t cry.
She sucked it up and moved ahead.
THE FEAST DAY ARRIVED with no other developments in the case. Nate had gleaned some information but nothing leading to apprehending Shaffer. The man was in the wind.
Nate had done his own legwork, talking to a few people who had seen Shaffer around town, sometimes accompanied by a dark-haired woman. No one could describe her other than she dressed scantily, looked like an addict and had brown hair often covered by a baseball cap. One storeowner said she looked familiar but in a generic way. Whatever that meant.
Normally with such a description, he’d assume her to be a prostitute, but there were no working ladies in Bayou Bridge.
Shaffer could’ve picked her up in Baton Rouge or Lafayette, so he’d sent a request for help to those cities, hoping for a bite.
So far, they’d made no progress.
But, this morning he’d take a small break. He had shrimp to boil, ladies to hoodwink into running the face painting booth, and a sister coming home for the first time in twenty-four years—even if Wynn had told everyone it was a cousin of the Dufrenes down from Monroe.
The weak morning sunlight hadn’t broken through the clouds yet and reminded Nate of the rainy days they hadn’t had in weeks. The sun would break soon, heating up earth that was already dry and crunchy. He needed to call the fire department before they started the fire for the boil. Thankfully, they’d scratched the plans for the cochon de lait.
Father Benoit met him at the church door. “Morning, Nate. Looks like the rain will hold off. I know we need it terribly, but I’m thankful the Good Lord didn’t see fit to send it on the Arch Angels Feast Day.”
“True. Maybe we’ll get some later this week.”
With the obligatory talk of the weather aside, they got down to business. Several parishioners were busy setting up more tents.
A few vendors had come from around the area, selling candles, hot sauce and handmade lace. The Feast Day had originally involved only a picnic, but in typical Bayou Bridge fashion, it had evolved into something much grander. Bayou Bridge folks liked a reason to get together, cook and make merry.
Picou met him under one of the tents. His mother’s excitement was palpable. “Have you heard from her?”
He couldn’t resist. “Who?”
His mother punched him. Hard. “Don’t mess with me, Nathan Briggs Dufrene.”
He rubbed his arm. “No. I haven’t spoken with her since Wednesday. I told her we’d meet at Beau Soleil around lunchtime.
Once we get everything going here, we’ll slip back home. She’s bringing her boyfriend and hopefully they’ll come to the festival and see the community. Might make her more comfortable to be around others. You have to remember how she feels, Mom. Be patient with her.”
Picou’s violet eyes flashed with irritation. “I will.”
“I mean it. She’s skittish. Treat her the way you did the injured fawn you found several years back. And try not to look all googly-eyed at her the whole time. I promised her we wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag until she’s ready.”
His mother nodded. “I’ll try, but I feel so full, like I’m bursting at the seams.”
“I know, but this will be harder than you think for her.”
His mother narrowed her eyes before turning away, pointing several men with tables toward what was to be the eating area. His mother was hardheaded and never liked to be told what to do.
Told what to do.
He did a lot of telling people what to do. It was his father in him, he supposed. So he was high-handed? Did that give Annie the right to treat him like an insufferable ass? Maybe. But he’d treated her like any other partner he’d ever had. Wynn had never accused him of cutting him out of an investigation, nor had anyone else. Partners consulted with one another, but they didn’t seek permission to move forward when there was a lead. He’d never considered Annie would think he was undermining her when he’d called Ace.
He’d only thought of the case.
Lord, he didn’t understand women at all.
He tried to tuck the thought of Annie out of his mind, but her memory was as stubborn as his mother. He needed to talk to her.
Apologize for going over her head, but she wouldn’t return his phone calls. She meant what she said. She was through with him.
And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Luckily, his shrimp-boil experts showed up and took his mind off women and placed it squarely on the crustaceans awaiting their hot bath.
Three hours later, he sat with Picou on the porch of Beau Soleil, telling his mother for the fifteenth time that, no, she didn’t look old, and “yes, the blue caftan was a good choice.”
“I’m not sure. It’s unconventional. Did she seem conservative to you? Should I have put on my linen pants with the khaki tunic?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “You look fine, Mom.”
Picou stared down the empty road. “She’s not coming. She changed her mind.”
He folded his hands over his stomach and tried to look calm. Picou had him in knots. “She’ll come. She’s a Dufrene. She’s been curious, you can bet.”
Silence fell, only to be broken by Spencer, whooping onto the lawn, followed by Annie.
Nate’s heart pinged when he saw her. She wore jeans, a sleeveless orange shirt and a frown. Her hair curled in ringlets around her face and all he could think about at that moment was putting his lips on the delicate collarbone peeking out from beneath her blouse.
She parked her hands on her hip. “Spencer, I told you to stay in the back. Picou and Lieutenant Dufrene are busy.”
Oh, it was Lieutenant Dufrene now.
Spencer ignored her and ran up the steps. “Annie says we can’t go to the Feast Day. That it’s dangerous. I want to go. Will you take me?”
Picou didn’t take her eyes off the road. “You have to mind Annie, Spencer. She knows what’s best for you.”
“But I wanted to get my face painted like a tiger, and Lucille said they have cotton candy there. Please!”
Annie climbed the steps, not bothering to glance Nate’s way, and grabbed Spencer’s arm. “I said you have to stay in the back.”
Spencer jerked away. “Not fair. You said we’d go to the festibal.”
At that moment a Toyota Prius rounded the curve in the drive.
Picou sat at attention. “Oh, God, she’s here. She came.”
Nate rose, stepping around a wriggling Spencer, and walked toward the steps. He caught Annie’s light floral scent on the breeze stirring through the oaks. Even though she was mad enough to spit at him, it somehow calmed him. He tapped Spencer on the noggin. “Do what Annie tells you to do.”
The child’s eyes grew big and he allowed Annie to take his hand and tug him toward the front door.
“Who’s that?” Spencer said, digging his heels in once he saw the car stop in the graveled parking area.
Picou stood up, her hands clasped. “That’s my daughter.”
* * *
She stopped tugging Spencer and watched as the doors of the small blue car opened. Nate walked down the stairs, toward it. A man stepped from the driver’s side, offering his hand to Nate, who took it immediately. The man was whip thin and wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was handsome in a yuppy-accountant sort of way.
Then Della emerged from the passenger’s side.
Annie heard Picou’s intake of breath and couldn’t stop herself from closing the screen door and watching the older woman see her grown daughter for the first time.
It was an intensely personal moment, but Annie couldn’t go inside. If she left she’d miss seeing God’s hand at work. Even Spencer fell silent.
Nate approached his sister and gave her a brief hug. She could see that the woman’s smile was tremulous and her hands shook.
Della wore her long dark hair in a low ponytail, silver hoops flashed in her ears. The sleeveless dress she wore, showing off elegant, tanned arms, was the exact color of the lavender still blooming along the walk. The three turned and moved toward the porch and Picou.
The Dufrene matriarch stood still as the crane Annie had once imagined her to be, watching, waiting with amazement on her face. Her lips tilted at the corners and pride shone in her eyes. Annie recalled the same look in her own mother’s eyes. Maternal bliss.
Della climbed the steps, ahead of the two men. She saw Annie and gave her a small smile. “Hi, Annie. Nice to see you again.”
Annie nodded. Her voice seemed stuck. Spencer grabbed her leg, uncharacteristically shy. Della looked down at him. “You, too, Mr. Spencer.”
Then Della’s gaze slid to her mother’s.
Annie watched as Picou swallowed hard and tried to smile, failing. The older woman nervously licked her lips.
Della glanced back at the man who’d come with her and he gave her an encouraging nod.
She walked to her mother. “Hi, I’m—”
“You’re beautiful,” Picou said, tears choking her voice. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to quiet the suppressed emotion. She shook her head, swallowing convulsively, trying to hold herself together, but not quite achieving.
Della stood, unblinking, unsure. She extended her hand. “This is, well, it’s—”
Picou nodded, but didn’t speak. She reached out and took her daughter’s hand. The older woman looked beyond words.
“I look like you,” Della said. Tears sat like dew on her thick lashes.
Picou nodded. “You do.”
Finally she dropped Della’s hand and lifted both hands to her daughter’s face, framing it, smiling, not caring tears streaked down her face. “You always did get brown as a berry in summertime.”
Della smiled and covered her mother’s hands with her own. For a moment, the two women, so similar in stature, stood savoring the sacred moment of being together once again. Annie felt tears on her cheeks. She didn’t even realize they’d spilled past her lashes.
No one else moved. They all were too entranced by the display in front of them.
Picou nodded at her daughter, dropping her hands. “This will not be easy for you, but you must know this is the happiest day of my life. I always professed it to be the day I gave birth to each of my children, but to lose one and then miraculously get her back is the most overwhelming, pure emotion I’ve ever experienced. You have come back to me, and I am satisfied with that for now.”
Della pressed her lips together before swallowing. “I can’t promise anything. It’s like everything I am has changed and I’m on a Tilt-A-Whirl. Inside I feel out of control, like I can’t stop things. Yet, I was the one who bought the ticket. I started all this.”
“And thank goodness you did,” Nate said.
“Is there a Tilt-A-Whirl at the festibal?” Spencer asked. “Wanna ride it with me, Annie?”
Della laughed and the tenseness, the sacredness of the moment was broken.
“Can we go? Please, Annie,” Spencer asked again, letting go of her leg and looking up at her.
She grabbed his hand and opened the screen door again. “Come with me and stop the pestering.”
Nate had looked good wearing worn blue jeans and a light blue polo shirt that made his skin look vibrant. He’d not shaved, instead leaving a scruffy sexy beard that reminded Annie of lazy mornings in bed, wrapped naked in sheets, languidly stretching—
She cut off her thoughts. Nate Dufrene might look good enough to gobble up, but he was also an arrogant, controlling man who could sidetrack her too easily. She needed to remember it was business between them. Well, not even that anymore.
She entered the house, shutting the door on the Dufrenes and their guests, ignoring Spencer’s pleas as she dragged him to the kitchen. Maybe she could plug him up with food. Or SpongeBob on the little TV in the kitchen Lucille used to watch soap operas.
She sat him at the table and pressed the on button, finding the channel that played the show. Spencer stared in rapt attention, his festibal-going temporarily on the back burner.
Annie grabbed a honey bun from the snack basket and sat it in front of him. So much for being a good nanny. She went to the sink, grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Her throat hurt from the unshed tears as much as her mind throbbed with tangled images of Nate, Spencer, Jane and failure.
She’d tried to repair the damage done by Nate’s presumptuousness. She’d called Ace, who didn’t seem to think it a big deal the detective had contacted him with the break in the case. He also didn’t sound impressed by Annie’s effort, only relieved she’d managed to get the gun back. He’d run info on Shaffer but had come up empty-handed. The only info he’d obtained was Shaffer’s rap sheet, which, though extensive, showed no leaning toward violence.
So what was the connection? Again, a fleeting thought nudged her brain, but she couldn’t grab hold of the wisp that curled around her mind before evaporating like smoke.
“Annie?” Nate stood in the kitchen doorway.
She turned from the sink.
“They just picked Shaffer up in Little Rock.”
She pressed a hand against her chest. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “They found him passed out in some dive on the outskirts of the city. A Harley registered to Sean Shaffer was in the lot. He must have dumped whatever car we saw him in. Wynn’s going up to talk to him. We’ll charge him on assault and theft. Then we’ll explore the threats. Maybe he’ll get smart and confess.”