by Lynn Shurr
“I’ll follow him!”
Remy held Julia back by grasping the neck of her shirt. “No way. He could jump you anywhere out to the road.”
A truck gunned its engine. In the distance, sirens sounded, rushing aid to the Queen.
“I think he’s gone. I should steer the firemen.”
“I wish you had your crowbar along, but okay. Be careful.”
As she scooted off toward the road, Remy asked himself why he bothered trying to put out the fire. Instinct? Trying to impress Julia? The connection Julia spoke of that he’d felt and denied? Letting the Queen burn hewed to his best interests. Nothing more to stand between them with the ancient hotel reduced a heap of ashes. Still, he didn’t turn off the hose.
The fire engines took advantage of the new culverts and pulled into place. Part of the crew emptied the well of the pumper truck onto the inferno while another ran a line to the bayou to suck up more water, a far cry from the bucket brigades of the Queen’s youth. Remy shut the spigot, recoiled the hose, and let the professionals and well-trained volunteers work.
Chapelle’s new fire chief, a younger man with the fitting name of Ashton Blaise, stalked over to him. Julia dogged the heels of his fireman’s boots like an eager Dalmatian. Remy wondered if she noticed how handsome the man was, how heroic in his gear.
“Any idea why this started and who might have done it?” Chief Blaise questioned. “Ms. Rossi said you saw a man carrying gas cans leave the area.”
“We did.”
“A thin blond man,” Julia prompted.
“Only person I can think of fitting that description is Todd, Julia’s intern.”
Her outrage burned as hot as the fire. “How could you even suggest that? Todd totally supports restoration!”
Because the other man resembling Todd was his cousin, NuNu. Broussards did not rat on each other, even if they defended a rat.
The sheriff walked up and caught the tail end of the conversation. “I can think of another, Nolan “NuNu” Broussard. He has a record, but not for arson. Cousin of yours, Remy, right? We’ll check out both of them.” A man on the job for years, he knew about everyone in the area. Anyone focusing on his middle-aged gut and gray mustache instead of his shrewd eyes made a big mistake.
“Todd isn’t used to hard work in this climate. He was in bed before I left Alleman.” Julia staunchly defended her apprentice.
“And you were here because…” Sheriff LeDoux probed.
Julia shrugged, lifting the T-shirt that covered her to the thighs a little too high for Remy’s comfort. “We had a picnic on the new dock and went for a dip in the bayou.”
“That’s what you were doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“It’s my property and not the middle of the night, barely past nine o-clock.” Remy let his irritation show. “Even you were still awake.”
“Just thinking burning this place down would work in your favor.” Sheriff LeDoux contemplated the annex as its roof caved in over the old kitchen.
“I think Julia, who is highly in favor of saving this place, can vouch for me. We were both in the water when I noticed the smoke.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She spoke as if she begrudged Remy the alibi.
“Sorry we couldn’t spare this part of the hotel. Can we get in the front to make sure the fire hasn’t spread?” Chief Blaise asked.
“It’s open. Go ahead. I did block off the old kitchen recently. That might hold back the flames.” He truly regretted polishing the bannister and the parquet now, only more fuel for the fire.
“Lex,” Blaise called to one of the firemen heading up a group of volunteers. “Take a few men inside and make sure we don’t have worse to handle. Check upstairs as well.”
Remy winced at what they’d find in the ballroom. The answer wasn’t long in coming when Lex reported in to his leader. A broad smile split his black face. “No penetration on the main floor, but maybe some kids fooling around upstairs in the ballroom: sleeping bags, empty wine bottle, and this.” He dangled a delicate bra from his gloved finger and glanced at Julia in her damp tee as if assessing her cup size. “Could be they started the fire for more fun and games.”
“I’ll take that!” Julia snatched her underwear from the fireman’s grip. “As I said, we decided to go for a swim after having a little wine. No crime in that.”
Having given his report, Lex backed away. “Surely not a crime, ma’am.” But he failed to wipe that suggestive grin off his face.
“Glad we could save most of the hotel. My wife would not forgive me if I allowed it to burn. She’s solidly with the preservationists,” Blaise said.
Great, the fire chief’s wife ran the local animal shelter. Even the animal activists were on Julia’s side. At least, Julia now knew the guy was married. Although still clearly pissed at him, she eyed Remy avidly. “You could have let her burn. I think in your heart of hearts, you want to restore this building.”
He denied it. “Plenty of good salvage to be taken out of the Queen yet. All I did was turn on a hose to protect my own best interests. The firefighters saved her.”
They stayed until the last coal drowned in water, and the firemen packed up their gear. The sheriff had gone on his way with a promise to stop by both Alleman and NuNu’s trailer. Reports would be ready Monday morning if Remy needed them for insurance purposes. Black streaks of soot marred the rear of the Queen, not that the cracked stucco over her bricks was all that attractive anymore.
Julia mused, “We’d wash that old plaster and put a new top coat on it. The hotel would gleam in the sunshine again like a white temple.”
Remy didn’t answer. “Can we go inside and check things out?” he asked Blaise, really meaning could they retrieve the sleeping bags and the rest of Julia’s clothes. At one point during the wait, she’d slipped into the deepest of the shadows and put on her bra, guessing rightly they were fooling no one.
“Sure. Glad we could put this one out with so little damage to the main structure.” Tipping his fireman’s hat, Chief Blaise left in his official red vehicle.
Julia charged ahead of Remy, up the stairs to the ballroom. The firemen had closed the windows, but a smoky haze hung in the air like the ghosts that supposedly haunted the place. She sat on the sleeping bags to draw up her panties and shorts, but let her shirt hang out over her thighs. No tucking in to show her shape.
Worth a try he figured, Remy asked, “Do you still want to spend the night?”
“No, I do not! Trying to foist the blame off on Todd when your own relative is responsible—I cannot believe you did that.”
“We don’t know NuNu is guilty.” He offered a hand to help her up. She slapped it away and sprang up on her own. Nothing more to do than roll up the sleeping bags and pack out the empty bottle and glasses.
“All I can say is you had better be at that meeting with Hartz if you expect me to trust you again. The Queen deserves a fair chance, not death by arson.” Her last words of the evening.
The ride to his house was swift and silent. Julia jumped ship at his dock before he had the Cormorant properly tied up. She sat in her truck until he opened the gate, then roared off into the night, her vehicle sounding as annoyed as she.
Yeah, he’d be at the meeting on Monday since he’d made a deal to attend. Too bad it wouldn’t and couldn’t make any difference to the fate of the Queen.
Chapter Eighteen
Remy got through Saturday night easily enough, satisfied after sex with Julia and tired from dealing with the crisis at the Bayou Queen. Sunday night didn’t go nearly as well with the worry over the upcoming meeting with Hartz, the possibility that NuNu had been arrested since he hadn’t spotted him at the trailer, and total silence from Julia.
How to deal with a powerful billionaire and still keep his obligation to the Broussard family? Remy guessed he could bail NuNu out, but how suspicious would that look to Sheriff LeDoux?
And Julia, whom he’d pegged as being just his type, a career wo
man who enjoyed recreational sex without a mention of marriage and children. The trouble was, Jules ran hot, not cold. She poured passion into everything from restoration to making love. Maybe that was the problem. He loved what she did and how she did it. Every once in a while, he caught himself wondering how many of their offspring would inherit her blue eyes—strictly from an interest in genetics. What if they merged their businesses as well as their bodies? Not likely to happen since he’d insulted Todd.
Monday morning inevitably came following a sleepless night. Remy shook off his fatigue with a hot shower and counted on Starbuck’s for breakfast and a hefty shot of caffeine. He braced himself to enter Chapelle’s modest police department and inquire if Sheriff LeDoux had solved the crime over the weekend. Shown right into the office, LeDoux stood to shake his hand after a quick bush of powdered sugar off his belly. Remy suspected the source as Pommier’s beignets.
“Got your report right here. Blaise faxed me his statement. No need to make two stops. Definitely arson using a gasoline accelerant. We went back to the site in the daylight to look for shoe prints or tire tracks, but it’s been too dry. Good thing you mowed recently, or the fire department would have had a hell of a brush fire to control. We strung some crime scene tape just for good form. Don’t think the ruins will tell us anything more.”
Remy didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but he must. “Did you check out Todd and NuNu?”
An amused smile curved the stern mouth under the gray mustache. “Right after I left the scene. Rousted the intern from his bunk over the cab in the motorhome. Sleeps in his tighty-whities. Scrawny dude who fit the description, but the older men were still awake playing cards and vouched for him. He’s off the list. No motive, good alibi. As for NuNu…” LeDoux paused to take a deep drag of coffee from a truly hideous mug. “My little granddaughter made this. Like it?”
“She shows some real artistic talent.” Remy wished he’d get to the point.
“Which says you are a smooth liar. This is a mug only a grandfather could love. I’d offer you some bullpen coffee, and you’d probably claim it ain’t swill. About NuNu, he wasn’t at his trailer. I walked around the property. No sign of gas cans.”
Grateful that NuNu possessed enough intelligence to get rid of the evidence, probably in the bayou, Remy carefully let out a breath. “So, did you track him down?”
“Sure. Out at the Barn flipping burgers and frying catfish like he does every Saturday night. All the kitchen workers swore he’d been there since six when his shift started. No time cards used out there. Old Broussard says he trusts his employees to arrive when they should and do their job.”
Remy very nearly blurted out that they’d seen NuNu at his trailer around seven, which he guessed was the chief’s intent. He held it in and prayed the man wouldn’t question Julia too. He stood and gathered the reports. “Thanks for your diligence. Lots of people have taken sides on the issue of the Queen. I guess we’ll never know who tried to burn her down.”
The sheriff took another swig from the lumpy mug heavily adorned with purple unicorns and rainbows. “Mostly the Broussards against the town as usual. Might be they lose this one. If you want to protect your property, even for salvage, you better think about hiring a guard.”
“I’ll give that some thought.”
Remy found his way out, zigzagging around close packed desks. He had plenty of time to drive out to the Hartz mansion for the meeting. He’d expected to meet the big man in a boardroom on the campus of Hartz Technology, but Jonathan had developed the common touch since moving to Chapelle and marrying local. He could two-step and bass fish with the best of the Cajuns and belonged to nearly every organization in town, even Ducks Unlimited, though he didn’t hunt. They’d have their discussion at his Pecan Grove home, keeping it casual. The word beloved came to mind concerning Jonathan Hartz.
Remy figured he’d never earn that adjective, not the way this project was going. Truly, he meant to give this mostly rural parish a development they could tout and profit from, but the populace proved to be stuck in the past like so much of the South. He tried to soothe himself on the way out of town, passing the beautifully landscaped technology plant that employed so many, and heading beyond it into the country where Hartz lived by Indian Lake.
Pink Mexican primroses, hiding the wayside debris of beer bottles and fast food wrappers, festooned the edges of the deep ditches. Beautiful land if only people wouldn’t trash it. Crap, now he thought like Jane Tauzin. He arrived at the Grove a half-hour early, bad form, showed eagerness. Remy was only eager to get the meeting over and done. He took the gravel road running between the wall of the Hartz estate and a vast sugarcane field. Driving alongside the levee and hoping to distract himself with some eagle watching, Remy parked by the docks and waited, but only the usual blue herons and great white egrets appeared stalking prey in the shallows.
Two Indian mounds rose out of the haze on the far side of the lake. Known as the Twin Sisters, local lover boys had also dubbed them the Two Tits. Another place to take a girl not afraid to hike through a cane field at night and lie on a blanket under a starry sky. Julia came immediately to mind, naked and willing. No use loitering anymore, Remy turned his truck toward Pecan Grove and whatever waited there.
As soon as he’d been cleared at the gate by some serious hired muscle, Remy found Julia’s Regal Restorations truck already sat in front of the mansion. No sign of Jane’s hybrid. Good, though Celine Hartz would surely be inside. He parked and mounted the brick steps of the portico with its four slender white pillars. A ring of the bell brought Hartz’s Hispanic housekeeper to the door. She escorted him past a truly magnificent hanging staircase and hand-painted wallpaper murals of Louisiana swamp scenes to a cozy breakfast room at the rear of the mansion.
There they waited, four against one, lacking only Jane Tauzin. Hartz, sitting at the head of a blue distressed table Remy would call shabby chic, rose to offer his hand. Nothing forbidding about the slight man with the expensive haircut that kept his blond hair from falling into baby blue eyes framed today with barely noticeable eyeglasses. He had a cordial smile for Remy and offered coffee from a carafe, a bottle of water, and a delectable assortment of Pommier’s pastries. If Remy recalled correctly, the housekeeper had married LeJeune Pommier and sometimes worked at the bakery, only one of several strange matches in the house.
Celine, the Cajun bride, sat on her husband’s right and his personal assistant, a tall, severe woman with blue eyes so sharp they could probably cut paper, held the place on his left. Inexplicably, this all-business female was the billionaire’s sister-in-law through an alliance with Celine’s brother, the game warden of Indian Lake. Yes, people still talked about that one too. Must be something in their water. Remy didn’t judge. To each her own. He wondered if the town gossips already speculated about himself and Julia. Let them say what they will.
What did bother him was Todd standing squeezed up against a tree-trunk side table festooned with ferns and other houseplants as if he were part of the display. Considering his build, he had large, long-fingered hands, and both rested on the rear of Julia’s chair as if guarding her back. Todd’s usually bland face scowled Remy’s way. Bearing a grudge, he guessed, about being accused of arson. Couldn’t be helped.
Julia merely nodded to acknowledge his presence and sent no smile his way even though he took a chair next to her. She wore her business attire and her no-nonsense face to the meeting. Sipping her coffee from a china cup, she selected and ate a mini-éclair in two precise bites. Instead of licking her fingers as she had at the picnic, she wiped them on a cloth napkin before speaking. “We lack only Jane before we can start.”
Celine Hartz with a smile as sunny as her husband’s poured coffee for Remy and passed it to him. Why all the happy, Remy wondered? She indicated the sugar and cream, real stuff, and the refreshments. “Jane said she might be late and to begin without her.”
Remy tested the coffee and added a bit of cream, fairly sur
e the beverage had been made with Starbuck’s beans since Hartz missed his Seattle brew and made sure the brand became available in Chapelle. The billionaire possessed the money to create whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted it. His proposal should be interesting.
With his assistant taking notes on a HartzPad, the billionaire started immediately. “To keep things short and sweet, I’ll offer you four times what you paid for the Queen, and reimburse you for the bush-hogging and the new dock if you supply me with the receipts for the work.”
“A generous offer, but I have investors who want the Black Diamonds development to be built on that land. I cannot renege.”
“Would they consider another site?”
Remy chuckled. Exactly how long had Hartz lived in the Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish? “What other site? Lots of agricultural land surrounds the town, but no one will sell, at least for a reasonable price. Remember when the Dollar Store paid big bucks for a ramshackle place to tear down and put up their building?”
Hartz nodded. “Yes, now everyone thinks their backyard is worth a million.”
“We need a lot more land than that for Black Diamonds. Being on the bayou is a huge selling point.” A thought occurred to Remy, one he might as well propose though he couldn’t be sure Old Brossard would approve. But, trying to cooperate might gain him some points from Julia. He didn’t care about refusing Hartz.
“That sugarcane field next door to you—it runs down to the levee road. Maybe Indian Lake could be a draw. Ever try to buy it?”
Hartz issued a rueful grin. “Often. The Patin family owns it and the sugar mill. Their board of directors is made up solely of relatives. Their policy is not one acre of cane land will be sold lest their heritage and livelihood be harmed. They mean it too.”
Curious, Remy asked, “What did you plan to do with the field?”
“I like my privacy out here and preserving the environment. I thought I might put in an arboretum. I’ll admit having a condo complex right next door does not appeal even if I could get the land.”