“And she dresses well,” Kathleen said from the grill, her eyes suspicious.
“It’s part of the tone we’re going for,” Avery said with a teasing grin.
“Oh, brother. And to think I once planned to retire at fifty-five and travel the country in an RV.”
“Really?” Avery turned to Kathleen. “My dad said the same thing the other day. Maybe we’ll all go together one of these days.”
“After we make our first million.” Kathleen rang up Davis’s breakfast. “Could you ever imagine I’d wind up trying to buy a business? At my age?”
“I’ve wanted you to work at the garage for years. You’re a natural entrepreneur.”
“This is your aunt Kathy you’re talking to.” She ran her hands through her hair, the misshapen bob standing up.
“Uncle Wayne always said you had the talent to do whatever you wanted.”
“He should have told that to a few HR directors.” But she smiled as she spoke. “Thanks for that, Davis. You’re the best.”
He looked toward Avery, who was getting andouille sausage out for lunch. “Or second-best, depending on whose eyes you’re looking through.”
Telling Davis she couldn’t date him Saturday night had been a rough conversation at the end of a rough day. “You’re such a nice guy,” she had said.
“Oh no.” He held up his hand. “Stop right there, before you get to the but part of the sentence.”
Avery’s laugh felt sad in her throat. “I really, really like you . . . and you sold me the best classic clunker in the world. Helped me get my insurance. Everything.”
“That’s not enough to build a relationship on?”
“I live with your aunt. Jake’s like my own nephew.”
“Maybe he could be your son one day. He loves you, and you’d make a great mom. We can see where this goes.”
“I talked myself into marrying the wrong man once. You’re a great friend, but . . .”
He looked up at the ceiling and back at her, his mouth curled in a crooked smile. “Maybe we should agree to erase tonight from our history.”
Avery had leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s a deal.”
Pulling into the parking garage, Avery eased her way around compact cars and SUVs, unable to find a spot large enough for the station wagon.
She wound her way to the top level, nearly vacant on the gray winter day, and swerved into a row. With a quick look in the rearview mirror, she touched up her lipstick, patted her hair, and confirmed that the check was in her purse.
Leaning on the door, she pushed hard with her shoulder and stepped out. The wind whipped around her, and she buttoned her light wool coat, peering down at Samford, bustling on this Monday afternoon.
Like many southern cities, downtown looked worn. The blue of the Louisiana flag flew next to the US red-and-white stripes at the courthouse, barely visible past the office building that housed the Broussard CPA office.
Camellias bloomed outside the public library, a spot of color even in the dead of winter. In the distance the Red River sat as still as a lake, trees bare on its bank. If she strained, she could almost make out the neighborhood where she and Cres had lived, and she could see the faint peaks of T. J.’s roof.
She liked Samford, its personality different from Cajun country, where she had grown up. Its feel was gentler somehow, a fact she hadn’t realized until her recent weeks in the store.
As she stepped toward the stairwell to the street, the wind blew a piece of hair across her face, evoking another memory of that first visit to Cres’s office. He had chastised her for not taking one of the reserved spaces down below as he walked her to the roof. The wind had blown that day too, a hot summer wind.
“No wonder your hair’s such a . . .” He seemed to catch himself. “You look great all windblown.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes and kissed her. “I like that natural look.”
She eased back from him and put her hand to her hair. “Did I look all right when I met your coworkers?”
“You were perfect.” He opened the door of the SUV his parents had loaned her when she graduated. They were trading up and didn’t need it anyway, they said. And, of course, she would get a new one when she and Cres married.
Today a sports car revved its engine nearby, jolting Avery. She tidied her hair and straightened her sleeve, glancing at the heavy white-gold bracelet.
The sports car backed out and idled nearby. Stepping back, she motioned the driver on, but the car stayed put. “Oh, thanks.” She waved again, although the driver was obscured by his sun visor. When Avery stepped in front of the car, though, the driver honked the horn, long and loud.
She jumped back so fast, she stumbled and scurried to get out of the way.
“Shouldn’t you be minding our store, Mrs. Broussard?” Bill’s nephew climbed out of the car, the door squeaking.
Avery tightened her grip on her purse. “What are you doing here?”
“Probably the same thing you are.” He leaned back against his car, arms crossed. “Calling on your dear old daddy-in-law. That’s the kind of man I like to do business with.” Greg lifted his chin and eyebrows at the same time. “Was mighty happy when I tracked him down. Says you’re trying to cheat me out of my inheritance.”
“I’m trying to keep you from cheating Martha and Bill out of their life savings.”
“Oh, the three of us will make out just fine. Turns out, your dead husband’s daddy’s interested in investment property. Likes that old neighborhood.” His smile revealed what looked like a dip of snuff. “Guess you should have paid more attention to me.”
Avery drew in a breath. Whatever happened would be for the best, and she was trying to help Martha and Bill. It might not be Haiti, but it was a start.
And she wasn’t afraid.
“I’d watch out for Creswell, if I were you,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away. “He doesn’t like to lose.” Greg’s tires squealed as he zoomed out of the garage, and he threw her an obscene gesture.
Head held high, she entered the office building for the first time in four years. “It interrupts my work when you stop by,” Cres had said early in their marriage.
Right.
The same security guard sat at the counter, but he didn’t seem to recognize Avery and asked her to sign in while he called for an escort. Avery read the list of the building’s occupants while she waited—Slattery Richmond, a sneaky lawyer; J&S Production Co.; and Creswell Broussard CPA.
“Hey, Avery.” She jumped even though the voice was soft spoken. Brenda Bottoms, looking the same except for slightly longer gray hair, stood behind her. “It’s good to see you.”
“Did you tell him I called?”
“You asked me not to.” She looked uneasy. “I could lose my job over this.”
“I hope the element of surprise might work in my favor.” Avery placed her hand on Brenda’s arm for a moment. “Thank you. You’ve always been nice to me.”
“I should have said something before the wedding,” Brenda said as they stepped onto the elevator.
“I should have opened my eyes.” Avery kept her voice even.
The elevator jolted to a stop and the doors slid open. Brenda exited first, holding the door. Avery didn’t move. “The first time’s bound to be hard,” Brenda said. “You might as well get it over with.”
Nothing seemed familiar when Avery stepped off the elevator. The carpet was new, a checked pattern, and the walls were painted gray instead of ivory. Even the entrance was changed, the glass door replaced with wood.
And then she saw the small painted sign: Broussard & Associates.
“No more Son,” she whispered.
“No.” Tears popped into Brenda’s eyes, and she opened the door.
Walking down the hall, Avery’s steps were steady as she neared Cres’s old office.
“Avery? What a . . . surprise.” Creswell Sr.’s voice rang through the hall as he stepped out of his office. The heads of a pa
ck of assistants and accountants popped up and then ducked back down, like a game at the fair.
“Good luck,” Brenda murmured and scooted to her desk outside Creswell’s office, where she had sat since the week Avery and Cres married.
Avery held herself rigid when her father-in-law moved in for an unexpected hug. “You had us worried sick,” he said loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “Why did you move out of the house on Division?” His voice dropped several decibels. “Your time is running out.”
Curious eyes peered at her from every direction.
“Perhaps we could speak in your office?” she said.
“Of course. Brenda, how about getting Avery coffee or water. What would you like, dear?”
She gritted her teeth. “I need a few minutes of your time.” She moved first and glided to a chair in front of his desk. “You were my CPA, and you stole money from my account.”
He smirked as he sat in his leather desk chair. “I gave you ten thousand dollars, and you have”—he turned the calendar on his desk around to face her—“a week to cash it. A week to leave town. Best offer you’ll get.” Pulling the calendar toward him, he put a finger to his chin. “Ross has been suggesting I invest in that corner for months.” His laugh was ugly. “That Greg Vaughan makes it sound quite attractive. Even if your involvement drove up the price.”
“You’re not going to win. I will find a way, with or without Broussard money, to save that store. To save that corner.”
“That’s so cute, you running that little grocery store. I don’t recall you being much of a cook.” He leaned forward. “Cres would have appreciated that. He wanted nothing more than home and family.”
The image of the little boy came into her mind. Was it possible Creswell didn’t know he had a grandson?
Creswell continued. “He was earning a living, building a future for you two.”
“In New Orleans? Or in the Turks and Caicos before that? Oh!” Avery snapped her fingers. “There was all of that work in Palm Springs that second winter we were married.”
His gaze darted toward the door. “You weren’t right for him.” His voice was low and angry.
She stood. “I want my money, and I don’t want any connection, ever again, with you or Evangeline.”
“I bet you haven’t even told your dear do-gooder father what happened. Cash that check or be left without anything. The end of January, Avery. Bye.”
“I haven’t told anyone what happened.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“I want the money I earned. Nothing more.” She leaned forward. “Now that you mention how fast this month is going, I’ll expect it . . .” She tapped on his calendar. “By the first week of February.”
He stiffened but the smirk remained on his face for a second before his attention went to the door.
“Creswell, do you know if Brenda . . . ?” Thora’s voice trailed off as she entered his office, the color fading from her face. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize you were busy.” She put her hand on the door frame, as though to steady herself. She wore black pants and a red blazer today and had a pencil stuck behind one ear, which would have looked contrived on anyone else.
“Hello, Thora.”
“Avery, excuse me.”
Creswell’s mouth quirked. “Thora provides legal counsel for our clients.”
“I didn’t know you’d gone to law school.”
“Three years ago,” Thora said. “I graduated in December.”
“We hounded her to get her back. She left us so abruptly.” He looked from one to the other, like a football fan deciding which team to root for. “But when she finished law school, all footloose and fancy-free, we lured her back.”
Thora’s eyes looked as they had in the mirror at the restaurant. She pushed her auburn hair behind her ear, dislodging the pencil. As she bent to pick it up, her white-gold bracelet slid down her arm.
Identical to the one Avery wore, the one Cres had given Avery for her twenty-sixth birthday.
Chapter 30
I paid Creswell Broussard Sr. a visit today.”
Kathleen plunked the mug down on the kitchen table. “So that’s what the fancy outfit was all about.”
“Nephew Greg made the connection. Thus Creswell’s sudden urge to develop that corner.”
“You should have taken me with you.”
“Would you have beaten him up?”
“You didn’t have to face him alone.” Kathleen sank onto a bar stool.
“I also saw Cres’s girlfriend. She works there now.”
“Oh, dear God.” Kathleen popped up like a toy on a spring and moved in to hug Avery. “I’m going to kill you for not taking me with you.”
“I needed to do this on my own. No matter how this all plays out, I’m not cowering in my room anymore. Ever.” She pushed back her hair. “Cres went on that golfing trip because he needed, as he put it, ‘space.’ ” She held up her wrist. “The week before my twenty-sixth birthday, he gave me this bracelet. Then he told me he wasn’t the kind of husband I needed.”
Kathleen narrowed her eyes but didn’t speak.
“He was tired of being married.” She took the bracelet off and twirled it on her finger. “Like I was a chore he had had enough of. He didn’t want to be married anymore. When I reminded him we had taken sacred vows, he laughed and said I was so ‘old-fashioned’ it was almost cute. He sounded like a frat boy who had wrecked his parents’ car.”
“I wish you had let me go with you today.”
“The strangest thing, Kathleen. During these past few weeks, I’ve forgiven myself. I think I’ve almost forgiven him.” A feeling of lightness rose up within Avery. “His girlfriend was with him when he died. She was wearing this same bracelet at his funeral, and she was wearing it today.”
The confession hung in the air. “I rushed out of the service, everyone convinced it was because I was distraught over his death.”
“Avery, you were heartbroken.”
“I’ll never know if I could have forgiven him, if we could have lived up to our vows.” She paused. “Til death do us part.”
“Is that why you shut yourself off for a year?”
Avery’s head bobbed. “People pity me because I lost my husband, but they don’t know I lost him long before that accident.” She clasped her fingers. “I’ve never even told my father. I was too ashamed.”
“Honey, it’s a miracle you haven’t exploded.”
“I knew who Cres was the day I walked down the aisle, the moment I saw Thora sitting in the church, her eyes red from crying. If I had been braver, I would have kept on walking.”
“That would have been mighty hard for anyone.” Kathleen leaned forward.
“But easier than all that followed.”
“Was today the first time you’ve seen her?”
“I followed Cres once and saw them having dinner, but I never told him.” She shook her head. “He reduced me to one of those weak wives paralyzed by uncertainty.”
“You’re not weak, Avery.”
“I saw her the night Davis and I went out too. She was with a child who looks like Cres.”
Kathleen drew in her breath. “No wonder your date crashed and burned.”
“I’m pretty sure the Broussards don’t know about their grandson.” Avery looked up. “I’ve prayed about this. I don’t know what to do.” She plunged ahead. “There’s something I have to tell you, but it can never leave this room.”
“You know you can trust me.”
“Creswell Sr. was in New Orleans at the time of the accident, with . . . a family friend. I’m not sure if Evangeline ever heard that. Nor Ross.” Avery stared at the bracelet. “I found out when I got the call about the wreck. I know it’s why Creswell wants me away from Samford. Maybe why Evangeline does. They tried to pay me to leave town, but I haven’t cashed the check. He’s getting nervous.”
Kathleen reached over and stroked Howie. “It’s possible you’ve rendered me speech
less.”
“I don’t know what to do with all these secrets. I need to tell my dad about Cres and me. He’ll be hurt.”
“Cres’s affair doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Daddy wishes he had been here for me. He’s always felt bad about moving. Maybe I’ll go see him after the store business is settled. But the other . . . whew.”
“Perhaps you should let that stay between the people involved.”
She looked Kathleen in the eyes and shared the one secret that could ruin everything.
Chapter 31
A car coasted to the curb Tuesday after lunch as Avery wrestled the chalkboard from the sidewalk toward the store. Preparing the colorful listings was entertaining, but this thing was heavy. Two car doors slammed.
“Let me get that door for you,” a woman said.
“May I help you?” Avery couldn’t see around the sign.
“Let’s hope so,” the woman said.
“Are you closed?” a second voice said.
“Never.” Avery gave a small laugh. “I’m working on the sign.”
The two followed her into the store and stood inside the door. They looked around as though they had never seen a corner market before. Each wore pieces from designer lines that had been big sellers at the boutique.
“Oh,” Avery said. “You’re from The Fashion Group. I met you at Evangeline’s shop.”
The older woman nodded. “I’m Sharon Denton, and this is Jen Montgomery. You’re Avery Broussard, right?”
“Good memory.”
“Hard to forget,” Jen said. “The customers keep asking when we’re bringing you back.”
“Jen’s managing the store,” Sharon said.
“Temporarily.”
“Until we find a full-time replacement. These acquisitions are crucial.” The two women eyed each other like bantam roosters about to fly into each other.
Avery gave a small cough. “It’s nice to know I’m missed.”
“According to the regulars, no one has an eye for color like you.” Sharon glanced at Jen over her glasses.
“You must have spoiled them,” Jen said.
Magnolia Market (9780310330585) Page 22