Angel at Risk

by Leann Harris

  He opened his mouth to reply, but Henri launched into a diatribe of French. Jean-Paul didn’t understand it all, since Henri’s Cajun accent was pronounced, but he did pick out “ungrateful child” and several other descriptive words about Claire’s character.

  Henri finished his tirade in English. “I don’t care if your papa gave much money. You won’t insult a guest of mine. Apologize.”

  Claire’s eyes shot sparks of loathing at Angeline, as if it were Angeline’s fault she had no manners. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go,” Henri commanded. He turned to Angeline. “I regret that rotten child was rude. Her papa bought her this job. Come.” He walked out of the building. “Claire’s papa thinks that his money can buy anything. Too bad it don’t buy graceful children.”

  Jean-Paul thought he couldn’t have stated it better. As they walked down the pebbled path, Jean-Paul grasped Angeline’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She smiled at him, but he still detected a trace of hurt in her eyes.

  Once inside the office Henri said, “Now tell me, Angeline, what you think has happened.”

  Jean-Paul noted that Henri addressed his question to Angeline and not him. He didn’t take offense, because if she could get the information from the secretive old man, the better for them.

  Angeline explained what she had found. “I don’t know if we’re on a wild-goose chase. Do you know if Marianna wrote those missing chapters?”

  Henri nodded. “She sure did. She told me she’d almost finished the book. I know she’d written up through World War II.”

  “And she put that on the computer?”

  “Yes. I watched as she started chapter sixteen. It was the beginning of the Depression and Huey Long. Did you know Roger was a good friend of Huey’s?”

  She sat down in the desk chair. “Then there’s a missing disk.”

  “And if I don’t miss my guess,” Jean-Paul said, “it contained evidence that got Marianna killed.”

  Henri frowned. “Maybe she hid it here in this room, yes?”

  “The only way we’ll know is to search,” Jean-Paul replied.

  They spent the balance of the day searching through the bookshelves and filing cabinets. Henri noted that several journals and a box of documents were missing. All items were from the early twentieth century. The old man huffed and puffed about the missing material.

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “The same person who killed Marianna.”

  Claire appeared at the office door. “I’ve locked the house, M’sieu Colton, and I’m going home.”

  Henri held out his hand for the keys, which Claire surrendered.

  “Are you the only one with a key?” Jean-Paul asked after Claire’s departure.

  “Yes. But I leave the keys in my desk, in the small office I have in the main house.”

  Jean-Paul rubbed his chin. “So it wouldn’t be hard for someone to take the keys and make a copy, then put it back in your desk without you knowing about it? Right?”

  The old man seemed reluctant to agree. “Yes,” he finally said. “You want to take home Marianna’s files so you can look at them this weekend?”

  “Yes,” Angeline answered.

  Jean-Paul shouldn’t have been surprised at Henri’s offer, but he was. Henri Colton, who wouldn’t so much as let a piece of paper be taken off society grounds, had offered Angeline an entire box full of important papers. Another miracle he attributed to Angeline.

  “Thank you, Henri. That will be very helpful.”

  The old man beamed.

  Jean-Paul returned the folders he’d reviewed to the box and picked it up. Henri locked up after them and followed them to Jean-Paul’s truck, then took Angeline’s hand. “I look forward to seeing you on Monday. If you need anything else, chère, come to my houseboat. I will get it for you.”

  As they watched the old man drive away, Jean-Paul said, “Angeline, this is a grand day in parish history. Henri Colton invited someone to his house. M’dame Eleanor will not believe this.”

  “Maybe we should invite Henri and Miss Eleanor to the house at the same time. Something tells me they would be interested in seeing each other.”

  Jean-Paul started the engine. “Are you matchmaking?”

  Snapping on her seat belt, she said, “After all this time, someone should.”

  As he pulled out of the parking lot, he saw the sheriff’s car sitting across the road. A chill raced up his spine.

  Chapter 16

  Jean-Paul parked his truck in front of Miss Sophie’s dress shop. The whitewashed building, circa 1940, with a green cloth awning, also housed the only hardware store in town.

  Angie gave him a puzzled frown. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “You need clothes for tonight,” he explained. “Something elegant.”

  It amazed her that he had remembered such a mundane detail, when she hadn’t. “That’s right. Dinner with the Boudreaux. I’ll need a dress.”

  The reminder of the coming event made his mouth flatten into a thin line. “Come.”

  She followed him to the front door of the shop and glanced at the decals for bank cards on the glass pane. Grabbing his arm to stop him, she whispered, “I don’t have any money or credit cards to buy anything. I mean, with everything that’s happened, I simply forgot.” She looked around and saw a bank sign down the street. Suddenly it was important that she maintain this small amount of independence. Pointing, she said, “We can go there and have my bank transfer funds.”

  Jean-Paul looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty, Angeline. Your bank in Vermont would be closed.”

  Her spirit fell.

  “I’ll pay, then you can repay me on Monday when the bank is open.”

  She didn’t want to take more from him. And yet, his solution made the most sense. “All right.”

  Jean-Paul held open the door for her. The saleswoman behind the counter saw them enter but made no move to help them. Angie didn’t know if the insult was directed at her or Jean-Paul, but no matter who it was intended for, the action annoyed her. She glanced at Jean-Paul. The expression on his face was closed, but from the set of his shoulders Angie knew the woman’s behavior angered him.

  Another woman entered the shop and immediately the saleswoman jumped up to help her. As Angie looked through the dresses, she heard the women whispering.

  “That’s her.”

  “And with him. ‘Course it figures.”

  Angie’s hands gripped the plastic hanger she was holding so hard it broke.

  Jean-Paul circled the rack of clothes and planted himself between the two women. The saleswoman lifted her chin. “Do you need something?”

  Angie immediately knew she had to defuse the situation before something awful happened. “Jean-Paul, I don’t see anything here I want. Let’s go.”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded. With a parting glare at the women, Jean-Paul escorted Angie from the building. Apart from her own embarrassment, she felt protective toward him. How dare those women talk about Jean-Paul that way? She was tempted to go back in there and give them a piece of her mind.

  “There’s a place in the next town where we can go,” Jean-Paul said.

  She let the swell of emotion she felt for him fill her eyes. “What I have on will be fine.”

  He took in the simple white shirt and blue straight skirt. “No. We’ll get you something that will do justice to an angel.”

  She leaned up and brushed a kiss across his lips. The look of surprise on his face made her chuckle. Her impulsive action shocked her, too. Kissing a man in public was definitely out of character, but the gratitude and warmth in Jean- Paul’s green eyes eased her doubts.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Dennis Mathers’s voice intruded into their isolated world.

  Angie closed her eyes, hoping the sheriff would go away. She felt Jean-Paul’s entire body tense.

  “What do you want, Dennis?” Jean-Paul asked, turning to the sheriff.

  “Why,
nothin’.” Dennis slid his hands into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I just saw the little lady walk out of Sophie’s and came over to see if she’s recovered from the fire.”

  “She’s fine,” Jean-Paul answered tersely.

  “I got a call from the rental company today,” Dennis casually said. “They wanted to verify if your car was really destroyed in the fire.”

  Angie stopped and looked at him. “How did they know about the car?”

  “I called them before I came to get you at the hospital,” Jean-Paul replied. His gaze drilled Dennis. “What did you say?”

  “I told them sure, it was true.”

  The piercing whistle Jean-Paul gave made her jump. “I’m surprised, Dennis. Without any cash crossing your palm, you told the truth.”

  Dennis surged forward, his beefy fist pulled back. Before he could throw the punch, a cane came down on his knuckles.

  “Behave, you two,” Miss Eleanor commanded both men. “It’s a disgrace to see two grown men taunting each other like boys in short pants.”

  Jean-Paul and Dennis looked chagrined. Neither man had the gall to meet the little, old lady’s gaze. The sight of two big, powerful men being put in their place by a little bitty woman was almost comical. Miss Eleanor summoned the deputy from his squad car. “Come and drive the sheriff—” she waved her cane “—wherever he needs to go.”

  She said nothing until the sheriff had left. Miss Eleanor turned to Jean-Paul, a expression of reprimand on her face. “What do you have to say for yourself, hein? Scrapping like a naughty boy in the street. Shame.”

  He shrugged. “The man’s an ass.”

  “That may be, but you don’t have to stoop to his level.”

  Jean-Paul grinned. “You are right, M’dame.”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course. Now, what were you doing in Sophie’s?”

  “Trying to buy Angeline a dress for dinner at the Boudreaux mansion tonight. She refused our patronage.”

  Eleanor waved her hand. “Sophie never had a lick of sense. Come, take me home. I think I can solve your problem.”

  He leaned down and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “You are heaven-sent.”

  “You can be a smart boy when you want to be.”

  He laughed as he helped the women into his truck. “On the way, I’ll tell you about our visit to Henri’s houseboat.”

  Miss Eleanor’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Henri? Henri who?”

  “Henri Colton.”

  “What?” the old woman shrieked.

  “It’s a long story, M’dame. A long story.”

  * * *

  Jean-Paul glanced at the closed bedroom door, behind which Angeline was getting dressed for their dinner engagement with the Boudreaux family. He fiddled with the tie around his neck. He hadn’t worn a suit since his trial, but for Angeline he would endure the heat and humidity in this getup.

  He sat down, throwing his suit jacket over the arm of the couch. A smile played around his lips as he remembered M’dame Eleanor’s reaction to their tale about the trip to Henri’s houseboat. The little, old lady had kept a running commentary in Cajun French as Angeline related their experience. Angeline’s theory about M’dame having a certain softness for Henri was lent credence by her actions.

  He leaned forward and pulled several folders from the box they’d brought from the historical society. If he was going to have to wait on Angeline, he might as well put the time to good use.

  He closed his eyes and offered up a silent plea that he’d have enough patience and common sense to endure this evening. It would take a major stroke of luck, if he made it through the night without crossing swords with Roger and Catlin.

  He glanced at the name on the first folder, Roucheaux. He opened the file and read about his former schoolmate Émile’s grandparents and great-grandparents. The notation at the end of the notes puzzled him.

  “Jean-Paul.” Angeline’s voiced floated down the hall.

  He heard the tap of her heels on the wooden floor and glanced up. She was a vision in the dress M’dame Eleanor had given her. As soon as the old woman heard what had happened at Sophie’s, she went to her closet and presented Angeline with a dress she called her tea dress. The pleated bodice ran past Angeline’s tiny waist to the tops of her hips, then flared out in a skirt of soft, gauzy material that flowed around her shapely legs. A fine lace collar framed her lovely neck and delicate collarbone. The shoes and hose they had purchased on the way home. The champagne color of the material gave it the appearance of a wedding dress rather than a tea dress, and Angeline looked like a bride. He could think of her in no other way.

  She fiddled with one of the ivory combs that held back her hair from her face. Her hands smoothed down her hair, then toyed with the silver chain that disappeared into the neckline of the dress.

  “How do I look?” She sounded unsure of her appeal.

  Jean-Paul had no qualms about how good she looked. He felt the effect like a hard jab in his middle. Coming to his feet, he drew her into his arms and took her mouth with his. She moaned in surrender, her arms sliding around him.

  His natural inclination was to take her back into the bedroom and undo what she had spent so much time and effort doing, but common sense intruded. He stepped away. “Does that answer your question, Angel?”

  She looked thoroughly kissed and overwhelmingly tempting. “I would’ve believed you if you’d simply said I looked okay.”

  He cupped her face, his fingers spreading over her cheeks and neck. Her skin was soft, smooth, and made him ache to touch more. “Non. You don’t simply look ‘okay.’ You are breathtaking, as beautiful as the first magnolia blossom in the spring.”

  Her hand came up, grasped his and brought it to her lips. “Thank you.” Warmth and passion filled her eyes.

  “The hell with the Boudreaux. Come back in the bedroom with me, chère.” When he reached for her, she danced away from him.

  She wagged her finger at him. “No, you don’t. Do you know how long it took me to get ready?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Aw, so you are really not an angel, because only a flesh-and-blood woman would say such a thing.”

  Wrinkling her nose at him, she said, “Have you found anything in those folders?”

  “Background notes on different families, research from other books, things like that. I think if we’re going to unravel this mystery, we’re going to have to read every one of those folders several times, to find whatever it is we’re looking for.” He pointed to the last page of notes on the Roucheaux family. “In this file, Marianna referred back to document twenty in file forty-two. I guess that’s some sort of bibliography. We’ll need to find that on the shelves when we go back.”

  He closed the manila folder, replaced it in the box, then carried the box into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” Angeline asked, trailing behind him.

  He opened the pantry door, sat the box down and pulled up a trap door in the floor. “Hiding this bébé. If we have unexpected visitors, they won’t find this evidence.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  He glanced up at her. “Can you still doubt it?” Her continued innocence amazed him.

  Her expression fell. “No,” she whispered, then walked back into the living room. Jean-Paul felt lower than a slug.

  He quickly secured the box in the hidey-hole, then went in search of Angeline. He found her standing in front of the window, staring out. He came up behind her, slipped his arms around her waist and placed a kiss on her neck.

  “I’m sorry, chère.”

  Her hands covered his. “It’s all right, Jean-Paul. Sometimes I forget to be cautious.”

  He nipped her ear. “That’s what I’m here for—to think of these things and keep you safe.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a sultry look. “That’s all you’re here for?”

  He patted her on her rear and stepped away. “Sa
ucy fille. Come, let’s go before I give in to my desire.”

  On the drive to “The Mansion,” as Jean-Paul referred to the Boudreaux house, the mood in the truck turned from gentle teasing to a dark tension. Angie fidgeted with the tissue in her hands, shredding it into little pieces, clueing in Jean-Paul that she was nervous. His somber mood didn’t help ease her mind.

  He turned his truck onto a brick drive lined with roses and honeysuckle. When the two-story mansion came into view, Angie gasped.

  “Quite a sight, hein?”

  She looked at him, then back at the house. “It’s very impressive.”

  “Yeah. The Boudreaux go in for the big and showy. They want everyone to know just how important they are and how much money they possess.” His voice dripped with contempt. Angie threw him a worried frown.

  He parked his truck right in front of the massive double doors. “My truck is not exactly the kind of distinguished vehicle these people want sitting out in front of their elegant place.” He nodded. “Good.” He got out and slammed his door.

  Guy emerged from the house. “Angeline.” He reached her before Jean-Paul did and helped her out of the truck. An odd expression crossed Guy’s face as he examined her from head to toe. “You look exquisite, my dear. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were my dear Aunt Jacqueline come back to haunt us.”

  Jacqueline has been the only worthwhile one in the bunch, Jean-Paul thought. Her heart was so kind, she never would have come back to disturb her own.

  Guy finally released Angeline’s hands and turned to acknowledge Jean-Paul’s presence. The old boy probably wasn’t any happier having Jean-Paul to dinner than he was being here.

  “Jean-Paul, how are you this evening?” Guy said in well-modulated English.

  The whiskey lacing Guy’s breath confirmed Jean-Paul’s guess. He felt only contempt for the man standing before him. It still amazed him that Marianna and Angeline saw anything admirable in this coward.

  Angeline laid her hand on Jean-Paul’s arm and gently squeezed. He understood the silent message. He plastered on his most charming smile.