“Yeah, that’s usually the way it is,” R. J. agreed. “But sometimes we get the short end of the stick when it comes to mothers.”
Mallory paused, her gaze riveted to the dark flowing river, the Mighty Mississippi that never slept. “Nobody else could possibly understand how I feel about losing Daddy. He wasn’t really Max’s father, you know. Just mine.”
“I heard you had an older sister,” R. J. said. “Don’t you think she knows how you feel?”
Mallory jerked away from him, pulling completely free of his hold. “Don’t call her my sister. Jolie hated Daddy because he married my mother. And I hate her. So does Max. She’s probably glad that Daddy is dead.” Mallory burst into tears.
Acting instinctively, without any thought of making brownie points, R. J. wrapped her in his arms and stroked her back tenderly. “Go ahead and cry. Get it out of your system.”
He couldn’t remember ever feeling so protective of another person. God help him, he wished he could ease her pain, take away the hurt. For the first time in his life, R. J. Sutton actually put someone else’s needs before his own.
Damn it to hell! Things weren’t turning out the way he’d planned, but the night didn’t have to be a total waste. He could lay the groundwork for the future, maybe for a night next week when Mallory would be less inclined to talk and more inclined to make love. When he wanted something—and he wanted Mallory Royale badly—he was willing to wait.
The mantel clock struck ten times, the sound reverberating throughout Yvonne’s small cottage. Jolie set her suitcase on a chair in the corner of the guest bedroom, a small space filled with antiques, several of which had belonged to the Desmond family in the past. An intricate vine-and-leaf design formed the headboard of a metal bed that had once been Jolie’s great-grandmother’s when she was a girl. Then there was the tall narrow highboy, its mahogany wood polished to a glowing shine; and the gilt-frame mirror in which she caught a glimpse of herself.
After kicking off her heels, Jolie lifted her skirt, grasped the waistband of her pantyhose, and tugged them down and off. She kicked them aside, then started to unbutton her jacket.
Yvonne knocked on the bedroom door, then called, “Jolie?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve poured us up some tea. Do you want me to bring yours to you or do you want to come out on the porch and sit with me for a while?”
What Jolie really wanted was to go to bed and get some sleep. But she knew that sooner or later, she’d have to talk things out with Yvonne. Might as well get it over with. “I’ll be right out.”
When she opened the door, Jolie found that Yvonne had already returned to the living room and now stood by the front door, a glass of iced tea in each hand. As Jolie approached her, Yvonne turned and smiled.
“It’s cooled off quite a bit and there’s a breeze stirring. Let’s go outside and sit a spell.”
“Sure.” Jolie accepted the glass of tea Yvonne offered, then, barefoot, followed her outside onto the porch.
“Why don’t you take the swing,” Yvonne said, as she sat in one of the two wicker rockers. “I remember how you loved my swing when you were a little girl.”
Jolie backed into the swing, eased down, and settled in. Just as she lifted the iced tea to her lips, she saw a car’s headlights and then heard a vehicle coming up the long drive from the road. Yvonne watched the car’s approach, an expression of concern on her face; but when the Ferrari came to a full stop at the side of the house, she sighed and smiled as she rose to her feet.
“It’s Theron.” Yvonne rushed to the edge of the porch and made it down two steps before her son got out of the car and met her.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.
“I thought maybe I should drop by and see if you’re angry with me for not making it over to Belle Rose this afternoon.”
“I’m not angry,” Yvonne told him. “But I am disappointed. Clarice kept asking where you were.”
Glancing past his mother, Theron’s gaze met Jolie’s. He grinned when he recognized her. “I see somebody else has an aversion to Belle Rose.”
Jolie set her glass on the nearby windowsill, then stood and rushed forward to greet Theron. He’d been her childhood friend, more like an older brother or a favorite cousin than the housekeeper’s son. But by the time Gar Wells had warned Theron to keep his distance from Jolie and Sandy and Felicia, she and Theron had become aware of the vast differences not only in the color of their skins but also in their social positions in Sumarville. And once Theron left for college and she’d been shipped off to boarding school, they hadn’t kept in touch.
When Jolie walked to the edge of the porch, Theron stepped up and held out his hand to her. She opened her arms and hugged him, prompting him to respond with equal affection.
“Never thought you’d come back to Belle Rose,” he said, holding her hands between them and looking her up and down. “Little Jolie Royale all grown up. And looking like a Desmond.”
“I am a Desmond,” she replied.
“Half Desmond, half Royale.” He studied her face for several minutes. “You look like your Aunt Lisette.”
“Thank you. She was a beautiful woman.”
“That she was.”
Yvonne handed Theron her glass of tea. “You two sit and talk. I’ll be right back. I’ll get myself another glass of tea and bring out some cookies.”
Theron refused the tea. “No, thanks.”
“Well, I’ll get the cookies anyway. I’m sure Jolie would like some to go with her tea.”
The minute his mother went inside, Theron laughed. “She thinks we’re kids again. Giving us orders and serving us tea and cookies.”
“I’m glad you showed up when you did,” Jolie admitted. “I’m pretty sure I was fixing to get another one of Yvonne’s famous come-to-Jesus talks.”
After releasing her hands, Theron followed Jolie to the swing and sat beside her. “Then I’ve saved you from a fate worse than death. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can give you a talking-to like Mama can. She has a way of making me feel about two inches high sometimes.”
“Maybe you can help me. She’s going to try to persuade me to make peace with that bunch of trash Daddy brought into Belle Rose. She and Aunt Clarice want me to play nice and act like a lady.”
Theron chuckled. “Don’t tell me that Jolie Desmond Royale grew up to be anything other than a lady.”
“I’m my own kind of lady,” Jolie said. “I’m not as socially conscious as the Desmond sisters were…as Aunt Clarice still is. I live my life the way I want to live it, with apologies to no one. And I’m afraid that I’m fixing to stir up trouble around these parts that’s going to upset a lot of people.”
“You sound just like Theron.” Yvonne opened the screen door and came outside onto the porch. “My son has similar plans.”
“Now, Mama, don’t start in on me.”
Jolie looked directly at Theron. “Just how do you plan to stir things up?”
“You first,” Theron said. “What are you going to do, contest Louis’s will?”
“For starters.”
“Mercy, girl, why would you want to do that?” Yvonne asked. “You got a third of everything and one-hundred percent of Belle Rose. How much more do you want?”
Theron whooped and slapped his knee. “You mean you got Belle Rose? Heaven help Georgette Devereaux.”
“Don’t I wish,” Jolie said. “Unfortunately, I can’t make her and her offspring vacate the premises. It seems Daddy put a stipulation in his will that they can remain at Belle Rose as long as they choose to.”
“What you need is a smart lawyer to figure out a way to make that stipulation go away.”
Jolie smiled broadly. “Do you happen to know a smart lawyer who might be interested in representing me?”
“Stop this nonsense right now.” Yvonne set her glass and the small plate of molasses cookies down on the wicker table beside her rocker, then turned and glowered back and forth from Jolie to Theron. “No good will come from the two of you plotting together.” She narrowed her gaze on Jolie. “You should respect your father’s wishes in this matter.”
“My father didn’t respect my wishes, and he certainly didn’t respect my mother’s memory, did he, when he married Georgette?”
“Mark my word, the both of you, there’s nothing but trouble ahead if y’all follow through with your plans.” Yvonne shook her head sadly.
“I have a feeling your mother’s talking about something other than your agreeing to act as my lawyer in this case,” Jolie said. “Just what dastardly deed are you plotting?”
“Something that might be upsetting to you,” Theron told her. “I don’t want to hurt Mama or you or Clarice, but it’s past time we all found out the truth.”
Adrenaline pumped through Jolie’s body, preparing her for the worst. “The truth about what?” But she knew before he replied—the truth about the past, about the day her mother and aunt were murdered. The day Lemar Fuqua died. The day someone shot Jolie in the back and left her for dead.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to have the Belle Rose massacre case reopened. I intend to prove that someone other than my uncle Lemar was the real murderer, that he, too, was a victim.”
Suddenly Jolie realized that fate had played a hand in her return to Sumarville. She had wavered between attending her father’s funeral and simply sending an Atlanta lawyer to handle things for her. But at the last minute, something deep within her had urged her to make the trip. For the past twenty years she had strived to put the past behind her, to erase the memories of that day from her mind, to accept the fact that she would never remember anything more about those horrific events. But after all these years, it was what she didn’t know that caused her the most anguish.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Jolie said. “If you’ll help me find a way to gain full control over Belle Rose, I’ll stay in Sumarville and do everything I can to help you prove that Lemar didn’t kill Mother and Aunt Lisette. You know I’ve always believed in his innocence.”
Theron sucked in a deep breath. “You do realize that the real killer might still be alive, might still be living in Sumarville? He…or she…isn’t going to take kindly to our investigating a murder that he thought he got away with.”
“I understand what you’re saying—you’re warning me that the real killer might come after us, after me in particular.”
“It’s a dangerous thing you’re talking about doing,” Yvonne cautioned them again.
“Mama’s right,” Theron said. “Not only will we have the whole town against us, people who want to let sleeping dogs lie, but we could be risking our lives.”
Did she have the courage it would take to stay in Sumarville, to face the ghosts from her past, to risk her life?
“I realize the danger,” she said.
“So, do we have a deal?” Theron searched her face for an answer.
With steely determination, Jolie looked Theron squarely in the eyes. “We, my old friend, most definitely have a deal. So what do we do first?”
“The first thing you do tomorrow morning is move into Belle Rose,” Theron advised. “Move in, take over, and shake things up a bit. I’ll speak to Gar Wells and get a copy of Louis’s will, just to make sure, but I’d say you’re within your legal rights to do anything you want with or to the land, the house…and the residents. Short of throwing them out.”
A sadistic glee rose inside Jolie at the thought of making life a living hell for Georgette. Having Jolie living at Belle Rose, assuming the ownership in a personal way, was bound to upset the entire household. “Okay, that’s the first step in my acquiring full control of Belle Rose, so what’s our first step in getting the murder case reopened?”
“I’ve already done some preliminary work. I have a meeting set up with the D.A. and the sheriff tomorrow afternoon,” Theron told her. “If you go with me, your presence alone should carry a lot of weight with both men.”
“Tell me the time and the place and I’ll be there.”
Theron smiled. “Ms. Royale, I think you and I will make a formidable team.”
“Mr. Carter, I agree wholeheartedly.”
When the two shook hands, Jolie caught a glimpse with her peripheral vision of the horrified look on Yvonne’s face.
Chapter 9
With visions of sweet revenge swirling through her thoughts, Jolie hadn’t been able to fall asleep until well after midnight. Admittedly she had mixed feelings about moving into Belle Rose, even if only for a few weeks—a month at most. She hoped that if Theron hadn’t been able to find a way to legally remove the trash from her ancestral home by then, her deliberately annoying presence would have prompted them to leave. Executing a thousand-and-one demented little torments would give her great pleasure and no doubt send Georgette screaming from the house. Patience, she cautioned herself. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and getting rid of vermin would take time and effort.
Jolie popped the last bite of an apple-and-raisin muffin into her mouth, then washed it down with a sip of coffee. She’d slept later than she had intended, but at least she’d missed another lecture from Yvonne, who undoubtedly still arrived at Belle Rose by six-thirty every morning, just as she had in the past. But she’d left Jolie coffee, muffins, and a note.
Think long and hard before you follow through with your plans to remove your father’s family from Belle Rose. I’m afraid that you’ll be the one to suffer in the end, and I can’t bear the thought of your discovering, too late, that you were wrong
.
Dear, sweet, forgiving Yvonne, so much like Aunt Clarice. She was the type of person who would do almost anything to avoid trouble, to maintain peace. But peace came at too high a price for Jolie—and for Theron. By combining forces they could, hopefully, achieve two goals: return full control of Belle Rose to the youngest remaining Desmond descendant and prove that someone other than Lemar Fuqua was responsible for the Belle Rose massacre.
Jolie tossed her suitcase into the back of her Escalade, then hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Reaching inside her purse, she felt around until her fingers encountered the small, sleek cell phone. She punched the button to dial Cheryl’s home number, placed the telephone to her ear, then shifted the SUV’s gears into reverse. By the time she turned the vehicle around and headed down the road to her family’s plantation house, Cheryl answered on the fifth ring.
“Hello.”
“I’m glad I caught you before you left for work,” Jolie said.
“Jolie?”
“Yes. Now, listen. I’m not returning to Atlanta today as I’d planned. As a matter of fact, I’m going to be stuck here for a few weeks, and I need for you to handle things in my absence.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing really. Just a snag that’s going to take some time to fix.”
The back side of the mansion came into view as Jolie turned the curve in the paved road. Twenty years ago the path from Yvonne’s cottage to the main house had been gravel. Admittedly, she felt strange and somewhat out of place being back in Sumarville. But an eerie familiarity suddenly possessed her.
She was going home. Moving in. And taking over!
Was she really prepared to give up her life in Atlanta, even temporarily—her friends, her daily contacts at the office, her hands-on approach with her business—to right the wrongs from twenty years ago? Why couldn’t she just let Georgette stay on at Belle Rose? And what did it matter now, after all this time, whether Lemar had been framed for murder? Was she insane to put her life on hold for the chance to wreak havoc on her stepmother? And was she truly brave enough to face the possibility that Lemar was innocent, and out there somewhere the real murderer might do anything to stop Theron—and her—from instigating a new investigation?
“I’ll set up a home office as soon as possible,” Jolie told Cheryl. “I’ll be working from Belle Rose until…”
Until I run Georgette out of my mother’s house. Until Theron can convince the district attorney to reopen the case
. “I’m hoping I won’t be here longer than a few weeks, but if necessary, I’m prepared to stay a month…or two.”
Please, God, not that long!
“A month or two!” Cheryl all but screamed. “What the hell is going on? You didn’t even want to go home for your father’s funeral and now you’re telling me that you’re going to move in with your stepmother. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“I’ve got to go,” Jolie said, as she parked her SUV in the drive at the back of the house. “I’ll call you tomorrow and fill you in on all the details. Right now, I’m fixing to claim my property.”
The entire family, even Uncle Parry, was at the table when Mallory dragged herself downstairs and into the dining room. Her mother insisted that meals always be served in the dining room, something Aunt Clarice had told her was proper etiquette. As much as she loved the old loony bird, as Uncle Parry called her, Mallory wished that her mother didn’t set such great store by what Clarice Desmond deemed appropriate or ruled unsuitable. She had once complained to her father about how Aunt Clarice, who really wasn’t her aunt, wasn’t even any blood kin to her, seemed to make all the rules. He’d hugged her and reminded her that her mother had always been insecure because she’d been born very poor and that more than anything Georgette longed to be a genteel Southern lady.
How ridiculous! She’d thought so then and she thought so now. What difference did it make what other people thought? The Royales were rich, weren’t they? Her daddy had been one of the most powerful men in Mississippi, hadn’t he? And this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. Family lineages, Civil War ancestors, and traditions from a world long since gone weren’t what people thought was important these days. Money and power were what mattered. Why couldn’t her mother understand that? Max understood. He’d once told her that he’d learned from her daddy that people overlooked a lot of deficits in a man’s background and personality if he wielded enough power. Now that Daddy was gone, Max would take over her father’s powerful position, wouldn’t he?
“You shouldn’t come down to breakfast in your pajamas, especially such skimpy pajamas,” Georgette scolded.
Skimpy? A see-through teddy was skimpy. A pair of butt-floss panties was skimpy. A bikini that was little more than a thong and pasties was skimpy. Mallory yawned and stretched, then glanced down at her satin boxer-shorts and camisole top. With a smart-aleck remark on the tip of her tongue, she suddenly felt Max’s heated glare zeroing in on her. She glanced at him, saw the expression of forewarning on his face, and quickly rethought her response. Of course Max was right—her mother deserved respect. And Georgette was more fragile than usual now, so soon after Daddy’s death.
“I can go back upstairs and put on something else,” Mallory offered.
“That’s all right, dear,” Georgette said. “We’ll overlook it this morning.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Mallory stared directly at Max. His lips twitched, the corners lifting slightly. He’d come very close to smiling at her. Poor Max. He didn’t smile much, especially not lately.
“So, when are you meeting with Gar to see about getting something done about Louis’s will?” Parry asked his nephew, then filled his mouth with a spoonful of grits.
Mallory felt the tension at the table. From Max. From her mother. And from Aunt Clarice. She wished that Jolie Royale would drop off the face of the earth. Why had Daddy left a third of everything he owned to her? Why had he left Belle Rose to her? Jolie had been cruel to Daddy, treating him badly all these years, refusing to ever come visit.
“I think Gar should explain to a judge how Jolie treated Daddy, that she’s been mean and spiteful ever since Daddy married Mother.” Mallory sauntered over to the buffet, where the silver serving trays filled with breakfast items awaited her. “She has no right to anything, least of all Belle Rose. This is my home, not hers.”
“Technically, this house is hers,” Max said. “Not only did Louis bequeath it to her, but the home originally belonged to her mother’s family.”
“What difference does that make?” Parry split a biscuit and dribbled honey over the two halves. “This place would have rotted down years ago if Louis hadn’t put a lot of money into restoring it. Louis should have given this place to Georgette.”
“No, he shouldn’t have,” Georgette said. “I wouldn’t have felt right if he’d left Belle Rose to me. But…well, I had hoped that perhaps he’d leave it to Mallory.”
Mallory placed two strips of bacon on a small plate, then poured herself a tall glass of orange juice and returned to the table. “I agree with Uncle Parry. Daddy should have given the house to you, Mother. After all, you were his wife.” Mallory plopped down in the chair beside her brother. “You are going to make sure Jolie doesn’t get to keep Belle Rose, aren’t you?”
Clarice cleared her throat. All eyes turned to her. Oh, shit! Mallory had forgotten that Jolie was Aunt Clarice’s niece, her real niece, and that it was her family that had once owned Belle Rose.
“Sorry, Aunt Clarice,” Mallory said. “But that’s the way I feel.”
“Of course you have a right to your opinion.” Clarice folded her white linen napkin and laid it beside her plate. “But before y’all take any steps to have Louis’s will contested, you might want to consider the fact that Jolie could well be contemplating doing the same thing.”
“What?” Georgette shrieked.
“She wouldn’t dare,” Parry said.
“What would she have to contest?” Mallory asked.
“Our family’s right to remain living here at Belle Rose.” Max lifted his cup and took a sip of coffee. So calm. So cool and unemotional. That was her big brother. He never let anything get to him. Sometimes she wondered if he was susceptible to normal human emotions the way the rest of them were.
“Damnation! I wouldn’t put it past her, the vindictive little bitch.” Parry speared his scrambled eggs with his fork. “She’d just better think again if she thinks she can run us off.”
“Really, Parry, such language.” Georgette groaned. “And in front of Mallory.”
“Don’t mind me.” Mallory grinned. Her mother often treated her as if she were still ten years old.
“I don’t appreciate your referring to Jolie in such terms.” Clarice frowned at Parry. “I don’t agree with my niece’s opinion of Georgette, but I do understand why she feels the way she does. I believe if y’all will meet her halfway and give her a chance to get to know each of you, she’ll realize how wrong she’s been all these years. And if that happens, there won’t be any need for y’all to protest Louis’s will.”
Poor Aunt Clarice. She always thought the best of everyone. Mallory doubted if Clarice had ever disliked anybody. But didn’t she realize it was too late to mend fences with Jolie? There had been a time when Mallory had longed to meet her older sister, had even dreamed of the two of them becoming friends. But that was before she’d learned the truth about what Jolie thought of their father’s second family.
Jolie entered the house through the back door, but instead of going into the kitchen, she paused in the mudroom and peeped inside at Yvonne. Busy cleaning up from breakfast preparation, Yvonne didn’t notice her, so she mimicked a cough, which instantly gained her Yvonne’s attention.
“Jolie!” After wiping her hands on her apron, Yvonne hurried across the room to the open door. “What are you doing slipping in the back way?”
“I want to surprise the family. Are they still at breakfast?”
“As far as I know everyone is in the dining room.”
“Then there’s no time like the present for me to say hello and tell them that I’m moving in this morning.”
“Theron shouldn’t have advised you to move into the house and cause trouble. I think you’re making a big mistake.”
Jolie shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“At least let me warn them that you’re here,” Yvonne said.
Jolie grabbed her wrist. “No need to do that.” When Yvonne gave her a condemning look, she immediately let go of her. “I’ll announce myself.”
Jolie smoothed her hands over her hips before squaring her shoulders and taking a long deep breath. As she released her indrawn breath, she deliberately avoided the kitchen—a room she preferred to never enter again—and instead exited the mudroom through the door that led into the hall. The dining room was only a few steps away, on the left. Low voices flowed down the corridor. Unfamiliar voices. Then suddenly she heard a deep baritone that she vividly recalled.
“Louis put all of us, including Jolie, in a bad situation. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was best for all of us,” Max said. “You know how Louis was, always wanting to take care of everyone he cared about and to make sure his actions were fair.”
“Was it fair for him to leave Belle Rose to Jolie?” Mallory asked.
Jolie realized that now was the ideal moment to make them aware of her presence. Mallory had given her the perfect cue. Jolie crossed the threshold and walked into the dining room as if she lived there, as if they should have been expecting her to join them for breakfast.
“Yes, I think it was quite fair that Daddy left Belle Rose to me.” Jolie smiled when they all gasped in unison and turned to glower at her. Everyone except Max. Such a delicious sensation to see the shock on Georgette’s face, the hostility in Parry’s expression, the surprise in Mallory’s eyes, and the cold, controlled anger etched in Max’s strong features as he finally turned to look at her. “What I think was unfair is that he gave me no choice but to allow all of you to stay on here, regardless of how I might feel about it.”