Blue Bayou

by JoAnn Ross

  “Famous last words,” she murmured now with a touch of bittersweet affection toward that naive and foolish seventeen-year-old girl she'd once been. Even after the condom had broken the last time they'd made love together the night before he'd left town, she'd been quick to assure Jack that it was a safe time of the month for her, even though she'd known otherwise. But surely you couldn't get pregnant from just one slip, and besides, a secret part of herself actually hoped she would get pregnant. Then she could move out of her father's house, and she and Jack could get married.

  Then she began to throw up, not just in the mornings, but all during the day and evening as well, but having begun to realize that Jack really wasn't coming back, she'd pretended to herself that it would all go away.

  One Saturday afternoon, three months to the day after Jack had last made love to her, Dani had taken the bus to New Orleans, where, with a dry mouth and sweaty hands, she'd bought a self-test pregnancy kit at a French Quarter drugstore. Since the instructions had said the test had to be taken in the morning, she'd had to sneak the white paper pharmacy bag into the house, hiding it in the closet behind her shoe rack, as if her father might actually suddenly decide to search her room.

  The sad truth had been he would have been more likely to have flown to the moon on gossamer wings than enter her bedroom for any reason. As far as she could tell, most of the time she was invisible to her father, and on those rare occasions when he would acknowledge her presence, she seemed more annoyance than daughter.

  Time had crawled with nerve-racking slowness while she'd waited for the test results, which, as she'd begun to fear, had proven positive. She'd known she wasn't going to be able to hide her pregnancy forever, but that didn't stop her from being paralyzed by the fear of what would happen when the judge discovered her shameful secret.

  Dani had continued to live her lie for another two agonizing weeks, pretending everything was normal, while she felt as if she was dying inside, until finally Marie Callahan, of all people, guessed the truth and dragged her into kindly Dr. Vallois's office, where he'd confirmed what she'd already determined for herself. She was going to have a baby. Jack's baby.

  With the clarity of hindsight, Dani realized that Marie must have been as stricken as she herself had been, but the Dupree housekeeper and grandmother of Dani's unborn child had nevertheless literally stood beside her as, with sweating palms and pounding heart, she'd haltingly confessed the truth to an icily cold father.

  The night before she'd broken the news of her pregnancy, instead of Jack returning on his own, she'd dreamed that her father would immediately leap to her aid and track Jack down, wherever he was, and insist he married her. He would, of course, belatedly realize exactly how much he loved her, apologize for having caused her so much pain, then, just like her earlier rosy scenario, they'd live happily ever after.

  The reality proved far different from the fantasy.

  With the same efficiency he'd always demonstrated in his courtroom, Judge Dupree made a series of phone calls and within minutes had found Dani a place to live for the remainder of her pregnancy. Devastated and emotionally overwrought from months of bottling up so much stress, she'd tearfully begged to be allowed to stay at home.

  But her father had remained adamant, and two days after her decidedly unwelcome revelation, Marie had driven her to Atlanta and helped her move into a Catholic home for unwed mothers, where the homily at Sunday mass inevitably focused on the biblical story of King Solomon, where the real mother was willing to surrender her child rather than see it cut in two.

  A soft shimmering light began to glow on the horizon. Somewhere in the bayou morning birds began to trill, and across the street Chief Petty Officer Daniel Cahouet greeted the new day by standing on his front lawn and playing an off-key rendition of Reveille on his trumpet as he'd been doing every morning since returning home from the Pacific at the end of World War II.

  Brushing the tears from her cheeks, Dani stood up and went back into the house to get ready to face what she feared was going to be a very trying day.

  * * *

  “So how bad is the library?” Jack asked as he hammered a piece of crown molding onto the newly plastered wall.

  The molding Nate had hand-tooled looked good. Better than good, it had turned out goddamn great. You couldn't tell where the original stuff left off and the new began. It was times like this when Jack allowed himself to feel optimistic about ever restoring the plantation house to its former glory.

  “Not as bad as it looked last night.” Nate lifted another strip of molding onto a pair of sawhorses. “I couldn't do a full walk-through because the windows were boarded up and a lot of the third floor was blocked off, but from what the fire marshal told me, if we can free up a couple guys from here, and I split my week between the two projects, we could probably get the place livable in a couple months. Less the time it takes for permits.”

  From his perch atop the sixteen-foot-tall ladder, Jack could see across the bayou where the mist was beginning to rise. His head was clear this morning. Too clear for comfort. It had him remembering things he didn't want to remember. Thinking thoughts he didn't want to think.

  “She looks good,” Nate volunteered. “A little on the slender side, perhaps, which could just be some female fashion thing. And tired, which is to be expected, after driving down from Virginia. But she still looks damn fine.”

  Jack drove in another nail. “I don't remember asking how she looked.”

  “I know. I figured I'd save you the trouble of tryin' to figure out how to slide it into the conversation while pretending you didn't care.”

  Jack swore, then swung the hammer with more force than necessary, risking denting the millwork. “Her husband was a damn fool.”

  “It gets worse.” The saw screeched as it sliced through the wood, sending sawdust flying. “Turns out she didn't know you'd bought this place.”

  Jack looked down at him. “You're fuckin' kidding.”

  “Nope. Hell, she didn't even know they'd owned it all these past years. The guy must've forged her signature on the papers.”

  “He wasn't just a fool, he was a goddamn son of a bitch.”

  The force of Jack's voice had the dog, who'd been sprawled in a morning sunbeam, glance up, her expression wary.

  Terrific. Now he was scaring dogs. Maybe when he finished up here for the day he could drive into town, drop by the kindergarten, and terrorize little kids.

  He climbed down the ladder, reached into an orange bag, and tossed the mutt a Frito. She snatched the corn chip from the air and swallowed it without bothering to chew. Her anxiety sufficiently eased, she sighed, stretched, and settled back to sleep.

  “Too bad we didn't know about this before,” Jack muttered. “Finn's in D.C. We could have him shoot the bastard.”

  “Yeah, that's a real good idea. The Mounties might have Dudley Do-Right, but the FBI has Finn Callahan. Not only does our big brother probably not jaywalk, I'd be willin' to bet he doesn't even piss in the shower.”

  “Good point.” Of the three Callahan brothers, Finn was the most like their father. Although only a few years older, he'd also served as their surrogate father after Jake Callahan had been killed in the line of duty.

  Nate moved the molding to the miter saw. “Dani's lucky to be rid of the guy even if she does have to keep a lot of plates spinning these days, what with the new job, getting her son settled into a new place, and bringing the judge home from Angola.”

  “Unfortunately, that isn't the half of it.”

  “You know something I don't?”

  “Other than the fact that fire could have been arson, which could put her and her kid at risk if the arsonist decides to try again?”

  “What makes you think it was arson? It's an old building. I made sure the electrical was up to code before I invited her to stay there, but there's always a chance something external, like lightning, sparked that fire.”

  “Sure, there's a chance,” Jack allowed. “Bu
t don't you find it a little interesting that the place the judge will be coming home to in a couple weeks just happened to nearly burn to the ground?”

  “He's done his time. Why would anyone want to keep him from coming home?”

  “If you were the guy who framed him, would you want him livin' in your backyard?”

  “You still think he didn't do it?”

  “I know he didn't.”

  “Because he told you.”

  “Yeah. The judge may be one hard-assed son of a bitch, who's undoubtedly earned his share of enemies during his lifetime, but he's honest to the core. He wouldn't have taken a bribe to save his soul.”

  “Well, the jury didn't see it that way. And he sure didn't contribute anything to his own defense.”

  “So I heard.” Jack wondered if things might have gone down differently if he'd been living in Blue Bayou seven years ago.

  “And now there's another problem?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you and the judge are thinkin' about playing detective and gettin' involved with the mob to try to prove his innocence, I need to know. As mayor, it's my job to keep the peace.”

  “Technically that's the sheriff's job.”

  “Then run for sheriff and we'll have someone who'll do that.”

  “I told you, I've gotten out of the crime-busting business.”

  And Jack wasn't one to break a confidence, not even to one of the three people in the world he trusted, his brother Finn and Alcèe being the other two. Unfortunately, the judge had specifically instructed him to keep their conversation to himself.

  “Look, I can't talk about why, and it doesn't have anything to do with that old case, but stalling work on that apartment so Danielle will have to stay with Orèlia instead of movin' right into the apartment with the judge would be the best thing you could do for her right now.”

  “That's not gonna be easy. She's a smart lady; she might accept some initial delays, but I'll need some reason to drag it out.”

  “Blame me.” Jack pounded in two more nails, then jammed the hammer through the leather loop of his tool belt. “Tell her I'm a hard-driving son of a bitch who's holding you to a legally binding schedule and you can't afford any late fees.”

  “She'd never believe that. You're my brother.”

  “Trust me. She'll believe the worst.”

  Nate exhaled a slow, soft whistle. “That won't win you any points, Jack.”

  “I'm not looking for points.” Jack pulled a cigarette from his pocket and jammed it between his lips. “I'm also not looking to get involved in her life. Which, as you pointed out, is already messy enough.”

  “She's gonna to be furious,” Nate warned.

  Jack's only response was a negligent shrug, even as the idea of causing Danielle any more pain scraped him raw.

  “It must be one helluva secret.”

  “Yeah.” Jack blew out a stream of smoke. “It goddamn is.”

  He hadn't been quite honest with his brother. The fact was that years fighting the bad guys had made him suspicious of any coincidences. Such as the apartment over the library suddenly catching fire on the very day Danielle Dupree arrived to set up housekeeping for herself, her kid, and her father, Maximum Dupree, who'd certainly sent more than his share of criminals up the river.

  But even if Jack's internal radar hadn't gone off the screen when he'd heard about the fire, there was another problem lurking in the wings. One Danielle couldn't be expecting.

  He damned the judge for not being up front with her about his health problems from the beginning. Hell, refusing to have any contact with her all these years while he'd been in prison had been unnecessarily cruel, but keeping a secret like this, when who knew how much time they might have together, was even worse.

  Oh, he'd claimed he'd been avoiding any contact with her all these years to protect her and her kid from the pain of scandal, but since she'd already suffered enough of that from her lying, cheating husband, Jack suspected it was more a case of the judge's damn stiff pride. And shame. Not only for whatever had landed him in prison, but possibly just perhaps he was feeling guilty about having run his daughter's lover out of town so many years ago.

  Jack had already put that in the past. And even if he hadn't, if those prison doctors had gotten the diagnosis right, the judge should be concentrating on forging some sort of paternal relationship with Danielle before it was too late.

  Jack had long ago decided that if he'd had a teenage daughter, he damn well wouldn't have wanted her running around with the wild kid he'd been back then. But if the judge had truly cared about what happened to Danielle, he wouldn't have pushed her into marrying that slick politician who, until the breakup of his outwardly perfect marriage and death, had seemed to be on a fast track to the White House.

  She'd deserved better than Louisiana congressman Lowell Dupree.

  And she sure as hell deserved better than him.

  What do you mean I can't open the library until the work's completed on the apartment?” Dani asked the Blue Bayou fire marshal.

  It had been three days since she'd arrived to find her new home in flames. Three very long and frustrating days spent waiting for this man to complete his inspection.

  “The third floor is admittedly a mess,” she conceded. “But the only thing wrong with the lower floors is some water damage I can take care of myself.”

  “The other floors appear okay,” he allowed. “But the thing is, what you've got yourself here, Miz Dupree, is a hazardous situation. You're gonna have construction crews working with dangerous equipment, carrying ladders around, there'll be hot electrical wires hangin' loose, all sorts of stuff that could endanger innocent citizens.”

  He chewed on a short, fat unlit cigar and looked around the building, as if picturing the possible chaos. “Nope. Can't risk it.”

  Since she'd eventually need this frustratingly little man's signature on the final inspection report, Dani managed, just barely, to rein in her building temper.

  “It's not as bad as it sounds.” He appeared almost sympathetic for the first time since he'd climbed out of his red pickup truck. “Once you get your construction permits, it shouldn't take long to get things fixed up just fine. Better than ever, in fact, since you'll be upgrading the electrical, which should save you from any more unpleasant surprises.”

  Dani only wished life were that simple. “When will the permits be ready?”

  “Oh, I wouldn't know 'bout that.” He shrugged and closed his metal clipboard, his work here obviously finished. “You and your contractor—”

  “My contractor is Nate Callahan. The mayor of Blue Bayou.” Surely stressing Nate's position in the town hierarchy might help all those stacks of paperwork she'd had to fill out move through the grindingly slow parish governmental system a bit faster?

  “So I heard. Well, anyway, you'll both need to appear at the monthly zoning commission meeting and request a variance if you're planing to live above the library.”

  “But the apartment's been part of the building for decades.”

  “Not anymore. It burned up,” he reminded her. “Which makes it uninhabitable. A former commission grandfathered the original apartment in, allowing a dwelling in a commercial structure. But as it stands now, you're not zoned residential.”

  Dani fought the urge to grind her teeth. “Do you expect that to be a problem?”

  He shrugged. Adjusted his red-billed cap. “It's not my job to say one way or the other. But, if I were a gambling man, I'd say you should get your permits. Sooner or later.”

  “When is this meeting?”

  “Just had one last week. Settled a little dispute about some private boat docks and allowed Miss Bea's Tea House to serve lunch outside on the building's gallerie.

  “So—” he chomped on the cigar as he checked a calendar on his clipboard—“that'd put the next one three weeks from yesterday.”

  “Three weeks?”

  “Sorry. It's not—”

  “You
r job,” Dani said dryly.

  “No, ma'am. I'm afraid it's not.”

  Wishing her good luck, he pasted a fluorescent-yellow notice warning that her library was Hazardous and Unsafe for Occupation on the front door, then ambled back to his truck.

  “I will get the permits,” Dani muttered to herself as she drove to the parish offices in order to attempt to coax the planning and zoning commission secretary into scheduling a special meeting so she wouldn't have to wait another three weeks.

  She was on a mission, and although it might be stretching comparisons, she was beginning to understand Scarlett O'Hara's determination when she'd yanked up those turnips.

  “She had to save Tara.” Thanks to her husband and father, Dani no longer had a huge antebellum plantation house to worry about. “All you have to do is fix up a two-bedroom apartment for your family.”

  How difficult could that be? This might be the New South, but some things never changed. The ability of a southern woman to survive was as strong in her as it had been in her great-grandmother Lurleen, who'd worked her fingers to bleeding as a dressmaker in order to pay off her husband's gambling debts and save Beau Soleil from those New York Yankee bankers.

  Dani refused to complain or whine. She'd win her case before the zoning board. But first, she decided, as she parked in front of Paula's Pralines, she'd pick up a pretty gilt-wrapped box of candy for the zoning commissioner's secretary.

  Three days later Dani's vow not to complain had flown out the window.

  “I don't understand why the man can't pick up the damn phone,” she muttered as she slammed the telephone receiver back in its cradle. “It's not like I'm going to insist he return my home. I just want a carpenter.”

  After blatantly bribing the secretary with those pralines, two tickets to the Dixie Chicks Baton Rouge concert, and a promise to put the woman's name at the top of the reserve list for the next Jack Callahan novel, Dani had gotten her permits. Which wouldn't do her a bit of good unless she could find someone to do the work.