Wife of the Left Hand (Sugar Hill Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Give it a rest. You know that’s not true.”

  “We’re done, you and I. My lawyer will call yours. Let them squabble it out. I’m not arguing with you. Goodbye, Candace.” I hung up in her ear, put in a call to my attorney and leaned back on the suede couch as we hammered out the details of my departure. I felt tired, but at least my eyes weren’t burning anymore. I hoped the guy who tried to break into my apartment was blind now. Jerk.

  It had been a rough day, and I was ready for it to end. I flipped on the television and carefully avoided the news channels. I found a somewhat interesting ghost hunting program and began to doze off when my phone rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized, so I didn’t answer it. I let it go to voicemail and then checked it.

  “Hi, Miss Dufresne. This is Jamie Richards, the detective who was at your apartment this afternoon. I wanted you to know, although I shouldn’t be telling you this, that we have a suspect in the assault, the first one. He’s in interrogation now. If anything shakes out, I’ll let you know. Thanks, and I hope you have a good trip.”

  I listened to the message twice. Jamie Richards. The name suited him. For the first time today, I smiled. Cradling the phone, I fell asleep.

  Chapter Eight – Handsome Cheever

  Handsome Cheever leaned back in the seat of the car and sang along with Miss Billie Holiday, trying to take his mind off what he was about to do. Miss Billie had been dead and gone for a long time, long before he was born, but he loved her voice. It soothed his spirit better than any Sunday choir.

  “It’s quarter to three. There’s no one in the place, except you and me…”

  Handsome stared up at the house and then at the fading sunlight. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

  “We’re drinking, my friend, to the end of a brief episode. Make it one for my baby and one more for the road.”

  Walking around Sugar Hill after dark wasn’t a smart idea. Not when he could see what he could see. Feel what he could feel. His hands and clothes were already dusty from the dirt and salt he’d cast in the nearby cemetery and around his own home. He’d need a shower after all this because he was indeed sweating. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to do this. Nobody else knew, except him. Nobody who cared about the living, anyway.

  As Miss Billie’s voice faded, he turned off the car and tucked the keys in his pocket. He had parked his Camry far enough away that nobody from Sugar Hill would see him, not that there were too many folks there now. Only the housekeeper, and she was a devil of a woman. Thankfully, this dirt road ran behind the line of pines, and she couldn’t see him at all, not until he stepped out from his hiding spot. He would have to do that eventually.

  “I got the routine, so drop another nickel in the machine. I’m feelin’ so bad. I wish you’d make the music dreamy and sad…”

  His singing was rough and off-key, but it made him feel less alone, as if Miss Billie were with him. His own guardian angel. Yes, he liked that idea. Handsome popped the trunk and picked up the bag of salt, then retrieved a knife and slid it into his pocket. He didn’t have enough salt for the entire property, but he could salt around the house. That might help some. Might give the new one enough time to figure out what was stirred up in that old house. The old one had given up. In the beginning, when he was young, he’d tried to talk to her about it all, about what he saw plain as day and how he could help settle things down. But it didn’t matter to her. Miss Anne had no interest in doing battle with the dead. She wasn’t afraid of much, not in this life, but she was afraid of them spirits. She let them run her out of the old house.

  Then he could see that she too would be dead soon, and he gave up trying to convince her. Her flame would soon be snuffed out. It would flutter out like a greasy old candle that burned up its wick.

  Handsome walked up the small hill and dug his knife into the salt bag. He’d start here at the edge where it might be a little safer.

  “I could tell you a lot, but you’ve got to be true to your code. Make it one for my baby and one more for the road…”

  He sang along to the song in his head, the song he had memorized so many years ago. He popped out the knife’s blade like an expert, then he put it back in his pocket and dug his hand in the hole he cut to get the salt to start pouring. Shifting the weight on his shoulder to accommodate his task, he sang another verse.

  “You’d never know it, but buddy, I’m kind of a poet. And I’ve got a lot of things to say. And when I’m gloomy, you simply gotta listen to me until it’s talked away…”

  The back of the plantation had a purple shadow cast over it because of where the sun was. It gave him the cold chills when he walked into it, but he didn’t slow down. He cast the salt and hummed now. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a curtain move on the top floor, but he didn’t stop what he was doing.

  “Well, that’s how it goes, and Joe, I know you’re getting anxious to close. So thanks for the cheer. I hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear…”

  Most places needed only a sprinkle of salt at the corners of the building or a few scattered handfuls here and there, but not this place. He’d been watching Sugar Hill for years, and there were more than enough ghosts creeping about the property to warrant the whole bag and then some. He couldn’t understand, any more than he could understand why he loved Miss Holiday so much, but he had a strong urge to protect this new lady. She wouldn’t know what she was getting into, and she couldn’t die so soon. He knew the others wouldn’t tell her. Never. Not until it was too late. It might already be too late.

  “This torch that I found must be drowned or it soon might explode. Make it one for my baby and one more for the road…”

  Handsome couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Salt cleansing wouldn’t keep the spirits quiet for long, and when they did start stirring again, they’d be angry. But that was a chance he had to take, wasn’t it? He needed to give her a chance.

  Now he saw for sure that the curtain moved. No stopping now. Handsome walked the rest of the perimeter of the house until the bag was empty. It was a pitiful thing, really. This hoodoo magic wouldn’t affect much, not for long, but he’d help her if she would let him.

  This new one. She would believe him.

  Or she would die.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Nine – Avery

  The car whizzed down MacDonald Road, and the Mobile Regional Airport disappeared behind us. Compared to Atlanta’s massive complex, Mobile’s airport looked like one you’d find in a third-world country. There were no shuttles that carried you to your car; no glittering restaurants or tinkling piano music streaming out of upscale bars. At least there were escalators to take me from the upstairs concourse to baggage claim. For that I supposed I should be thankful. My arm was stinging—I probably needed to find a local doctor to take a look at it for me. Add that to my list of things to do. My feet hurt because I was wearing the wrong shoes, as always. To make matters worse, my oversize sunglasses and floppy hat hadn’t made a successful disguise. I had to be polite to overzealous fans who wanted to wish me well and then, of course, take a selfie with me. I politely refused.

  Luckily for me, a man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform holding a sign with my name on it waved at me from the curb. I walked toward him, dragging my suitcase behind me. People took my picture, but I pretended not to notice them. As best I could. Seeing my distress, he hopped up on the curb, opened the door and let me into safe quarters.

  Without answering their questions, he had tucked my suitcase in the trunk, closed it and shut the door behind him. There had been at least a dozen people waving at me and yelling my name. He had arrived just in the nick of time.

  I leaned back against the car’s leather seat and closed my eyes. It was very nice of my great-aunt to send a limousine, but that hadn’t really been necessary. I’d have to remember to thank her later. The only good thing about this trip, other than the nice ride, was that nobody on the plane seemed to care that I was a minor celebrity.
I had been totally relieved. But when I deplaned, it was a whole other story.

  “Miss Dufresne, I am taking you to Sugar Hill. But if you need to make any stops anywhere, just tell me.”

  “No, I don’t need to make any stops. Thank you.”

  “All right. It’s a thirty-minute drive. Please let me know if you need anything. Just say, ‘Hey, Handsome,’ and I’ll hear you.”

  “What?” I laughed. Was he asking me to call him “handsome”?

  “Oh, that’s my name, Handsome. Handsome Cheever. Like my daddy. I’ll roll the window up now, but you press the button and call me if you need anything.”

  The window began to roll up, and he continued his drive down the narrow roads of Mobile County. “Okay, Handsome.” I smiled at him and dug in my purse for my cell phone. I had not checked it since I boarded the plane. I was totally surprised to see that Jonah had sent me a text. I deleted it without reading it. I pulled up Tenille’s name and let her know I was in Alabama now. She sent me back a smiley face.

  I took in the scenery as we sailed to our destination. I had never been to Belle Fontaine, but I had spent quite a bit of time last night looking at pictures of Sugar Hill online. I couldn’t believe that I belonged to a family with such a rich history—and such an incredible house. How was it that a house as old as this one still stood beautifully on its original grounds? Why had Grandma Vertie been so tight-lipped about our extended family? Had she had a falling out with her sister, Anne? Even when she passed away, she didn’t leave me any clues, and I never felt inclined to investigate my family history. I couldn’t blame it all on her. My busy life didn’t permit me too much free time. Until now.

  We turned off MacDonald onto Laurendine Road, which was even narrower. There were patches of thick woods, the occasional house and more woods. It had rained recently, so the pavement was dark and slick-looking. The grass and trees were bright green, and the air—even inside the car—smelled fresh, like newly mown grass. There were no four-lane highways, no honking horns or semis jockeying for position on the road. Life here was so different from life in Atlanta. I already knew that after less than an hour.

  “Almost there, Miss Dufresne. About five more minutes.”

  I nodded and slipped my glasses back on. I wasn’t sure who would greet me or what to expect. My sunglasses were as close as I could get to a game face right now. I stuck my cell phone back in my bag and leaned forward to get a good view of the house as we arrived. I had to admit I was getting excited about the prospect of seeing it in person. There weren’t too many things written about the house online. I’d been following the GPS on my cell phone, and I read the street sign as we made the last turn. Yes, this was Jackson Lane, named for some obscure politician who established this road at the beginning of the 19th century. Gravel rocks popped under the tires as we eased down the curvy road. Tall bushes and clumps of greenery crowded together on the sides of the road, as if they were struggling for domination. Or air.

  Then I noticed a black wrought-iron fence piercing the greenery every few feet. The foliage thinned, and the fence became clearer; soon there was no foliage crowding it, just a blanket of dark green grass. After about a quarter of a mile, the car came to a driveway, and in the distance I could see Sugar Hill.

  The house did stand atop a small hill, which was a rare thing for this area. My research had told me that most of the region was flat with sandy soil, except where the trees grew unchecked, thick and wild. This was a wild place, or it had been. Two lone oaks stood between the road and the plantation. Not much in the way of a protective barrier, but then again, who would want to hide this house? Surely there had been more trees, maybe even an orchard in the front, but this area was known for evil squalls that blew off Mobile Bay. And there was a history of summer hurricanes. I’d read that online too.

  Sugar Hill was an architectural masterpiece. It was a two-story home, but hidden under the sloped roof I saw evidence of an attic and above that a small crow’s nest. There were plenty of columns, too many to count right now. Unlike some plantations, Sugar Hill had columns on the front and on both sides. I wasn’t sure about the back. A balcony circled the top floor with a black cast-iron railing between the columns. The grass was evenly cut, and bright red flowers filled massive planters on both sides of the front door. This couldn’t be home, could it? I felt like Alice stepping through the looking glass.

  The car came to a stop, and that’s when I noticed the people. Crowds and crowds of people lined up along the sides of the house. I got a peek at shiny cars hidden away in a back parking lot. Anxiety knotted in my stomach. Handsome Cheever opened his door and walked to mine. Nobody had told me fans would be here. Surely the house didn’t employ this many people. Was this some kind of living museum or something?

  Handsome opened the door and stood politely waiting for me to have the courage to get out. “What is all this?” I asked him nervously.

  “Why that is the Dufresne clan, miss. Probably the whole family.”

  While I dithered, a big man with a neat beard and a suit that barely fit him walked toward me. “Good afternoon, Avery. I am your cousin Mitchell. We met briefly in the hospital, but I doubt you remember me. Aunt Anne couldn’t make the trip down here. She’s been sick today, but everyone else in the family is here to greet you, so she hopes that makes up for her absence.”

  I got out of the car, dragging my oversize purse behind me. I teetered on my heels as I tried to steady myself. My doctor was right; I did need to take anti-anxiety medication. Mitchell put out his hand and offered to walk me up the brick steps. I didn’t refuse him. He was my cousin, after all. Imagine having a cousin.

  “I wasn’t expecting any of this. I don’t know what to say.”

  “If you aren’t up to company, I can send them home, but they will be very disappointed.” I could tell by his tone he knew I was unsure about this unexpected, formal reception.

  I didn’t let him off the hook yet. I needed more information. “All these people are my relatives? Seriously?”

  “Yes, they are. I know you must be tired after your trip. Why don’t you just quickly greet them, and then we’ll send them home. I think some of them have arranged for some music and light refreshments on the Great Lawn, but you needn’t stick around for that if you aren’t up to it.”

  “Uh, okay.” Still not quite sure what the heck was going on, I nodded and walked inside with Mitchell. The doorway was so big that we both walked through easily. The place was breathtaking. The entranceway walls were painted a dark brick-red color with wide white crown molding and baseboards. A glorious painting of an incredibly handsome man hung on the wall to the left. The man was smiling, and that wasn’t an expression you saw too frequently in 19th-century paintings. Beneath the massive oil painting was a golden candelabrum with ivory candlesticks, an arrangement of luxurious red roses and a stack of small antique books. I wished I’d packed my camera. Photography was my second love, and I could see now that I would want to photograph every corner of this old house. My family home. Nope, it still didn’t seem real.

  Mitchell pointed to a soft-looking burgundy chair against the far wall. It was so large that it would have looked ridiculous in any house but this one. I sat in it, thankful to be off my feet at last. It had been a while since I’d worn heels, and it wasn’t as comfortable as I remembered. I smelled wonderful smells, cedar, lemon and some kind of spice I couldn’t identify. Mitchell smiled and stood beside my chair.

  “If you wouldn’t mind letting the family stop by, it would be such an honor for them to meet you. Some of them came from as far as Florida and Virginia to see you today.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. My finger began to warm, and I glanced down at my ring. If I squinted at it, it seemed to glow. “Why? I’m not that big of a deal.”

  Mitchell’s eyes narrowed like he didn’t quite believe me. Then he smiled and said, “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. I mean, it’s not like I’m some kind of b
ig-time actress or singer. I’m just a newscaster. Anyone can do my job, really.” I thought of Ed Stanwyck and Amanda Collins commandeering my desk, and the idea made me bristle again.

  “That’s not why they came. You are the family’s new matrone. They want to show their respect.”

  “You mean like The Godfather?”

  He frowned now, absolutely sure I was joking around. I wasn’t. This was getting weird and kind of creepy. The hair on my arms rose, and I felt as if someone had thrown a clammy blanket over my shoulders. “Well, no, not like The Godfather. Did Aunt Anne explain none of this to you? She gave you the ring, I see.”

  “I was kind of out of it. She might have read me a book or juggled fiery torches for all I know or remember. Just help me through this, if you don’t mind, and you can catch me up afterwards.”

  A line of people gathered at the door. First in line, I assumed, were the most important. There was a young woman, about my age, with perfect beach hair. It was long, full and light brown, with curls you would die for. She had a heart-shaped face and tanned arms and legs. She wore flats and a summer dress with a neat little cardigan.

  “Hi,” I said stupidly.

  “Hello, Avery. I am your cousin Summer. Mitchell here is my older brother. Welcome to Sugar Hill.”

  “Thank you, Summer.” I glanced from her to Mitchell and saw no family resemblance at all. She stood beside her brother, and I welcomed the next person. Mitchell made the introductions for the rest of the line.

  “This is Reed Dufresne, our cousin and yours. He is the family attorney and will be more than happy to answer any questions you have.”

  “Reed, it’s very nice to meet you.” Reed had neat dark hair and surprising blue eyes. He was no male model, with an average build and height, but something about him was extremely attractive. He dressed smartly in a black suit, blue shirt and black tie. He’s my cousin. Get it together, Avery! The ring warmed again, and I rubbed at it.