“And what did your dad teach you?”
“How to sail and how to build boats.” He smiled, and I noticed how his eyes seemed to warm with fond memories. “I have an uncle who would rather see me return to the family yacht building business my father started than have me doing what I do.” He shrugged and picked up a bowl filled with whipping cream from the counter next to him.
“And which one of your parents are you like?”
He looked up from his bowl. “Neither. I was adopted.”
“Oh.” My heart sank a little. “I didn’t realize.”
He shook his head. “It’s all right. I was loved, and the three of us had a great time together while it lasted.” His eyes were watching me intently. “What about your mother? Are you like her?” he asked as he started beating the cream in the bowl with a whisk. “You don’t look like your father.”
“I look like her, but I’m not like her at all. Her name was Ellen and she was beautiful, calm, and everyone loved her. I’m more like my grandfather, I think. His name was Lionel Beauvoir and he was said to be suspicious and distant.”
“I don’t see that. I’m sure there is a lot more of her in you than you think.” He carried the bowl of whipped cream over to the dessert cups filled with mousse. “She died when you were how old?”
“Nineteen,” I replied.
“Seven years. It never gets easier, Nicci. But at least you have your father, your uncle,” he winked at me, “and the Hoovers.”
Chapter 12
After the turkey, oyster dressing, ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy, and biscuits had been laid out on our long mahogany dining table, we were ready to begin the feast. Val opened two bottles of her champagne and made sure everyone’s glasses were filled to the brim. Dinner began with the usual rounds of toasting to all present and hopes for better times ahead. My father, who sat at the head of our table, then began carving, or should I say, hacking, into the turkey.
“You know, Billy,” Uncle Lance stood up from his place at the table, “you could get some lessons on how to carve that damn thing.” He walked over to my father’s side and took the carving knife away from him. “For once I would like to eat something at Christmas that doesn’t look like road kill.”
Dad frowned. “And you think you’re better at this than me? I don’t know why we even bother to have you over for Christmas dinner every year. Why don’t you go back to that bachelor pad condo of yours and leave me to cut this damned turkey in peace?”
“Would you two stop,” Val reprimanded. She then turned to Dallas sitting on her right. “Every year we have to listen to the Beauvoir bravado contest. When my Dan was alive we always let him do the carving.” She gazed over at Uncle Ned. “Ned, perhaps you should start taking over the honors?”
Uncle Ned waved his large hands and shook his head. “I’m an attorney, Valie, not a surgeon.”
Aunt Hattie sighed. “A shame we don’t have a doctor in the family for such occasions.”
I shot her a dirty look.
Aunt Hattie frowned at me. “I merely meant having a doctor in the family would be a nice thing. Just because you dumped Michael for that gigolo—”
“Artist, Hattie,” Uncle Ned interrupted her.
“Artist, gigolo, is there a difference?” She paused. “Nicci would not have had her heart broken so if she had stayed with Michael.” She turned to Dallas. “He was so in love with her. She would have been happy being married to a doctor.”
“No, she would have been miserable with the moron,” Val countered. “Hattie, were you so blind to see how empty the kid looked after David went back to New York following that fiasco of a wedding for Colleen and Eddie? Besides, the moron was an asshole.”
Aunt Hattie reached for her champagne. “Val, do you have to be so crude? And Colleen and Eddie had a wonderful wedding.”
“Yeah, great wedding,” Uncle Lance commented. “I especially liked the part where Eddie fell down the steps at Gallier Hall and had to be hauled away in an ambulance.”
“David didn’t tell me about that,” Dallas whispered to me.
“Shh,” I said softly to him, “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Val pushed onward. “You know, Hattie, the moron reminded me a lot of your second husband, what was his name?”
“Lester,” Colleen replied. “Now there was an asshole.”
“Colleen!” Aunt Hattie shouted down the table at her daughter. “Don’t you dare use such language!”
“I’ve heard you use a lot worse than that, Mother,” Colleen called out from across the table. “Like the other day when that guy cut you off in traffic you called him a—”
“That’s enough out of you, young lady!” Aunt Hattie barked.
“She ain’t no lady,” Val said under her breath so only Dallas and I could hear.
Dallas tried desperately to stifle his laughter.
“Hattie,” Uncle Ned was back, “why don’t you stop talking about the past.” He nodded at Dallas. “Nicci has a new man now.” Uncle Ned’s intrusive eyes zeroed in on Dallas. “What firm do you work for in New York?”
“Lewis, Schribbner, and Libby,” Dallas answered, trying to look serious.
“How long have you been with them?” Uncle Ned persisted.
“Ten years.”
“And before that?”
“Before that I was in school, finishing my MBA.”
“So you live in New York? Why?” Uncle Ned continued, never taking his eyes off Dallas.
Dallas shrugged. “It’s where the money is.”
Uncle Ned shook his head. “We could use some good architects down here now, especially with all of the rebuilding that will have to take place.”
“Most definitely.” Dallas paused as he placed some mashed potatoes on his plate. “Nicci showed me some of the city. It’s quite unbelievable what happened.” He passed the potatoes to me.
Uncle Ned reached for the oyster dressing. “So do you plan on staying with that firm of yours or branching out on your own?”
“Really, Uncle Ned.” I glared across the table at him. “It’s Christmas. Save the interrogation for another time. The poor guy has already gotten an earful from Dad and Uncle Lance.”
“Sorry, Nicci.” Uncle Ned started filling his plate with the oyster dressing. “But you can’t blame me for being suspicious. If I had been this way with the artist we could have saved ourselves a lot of headaches.”
“He did paint pretty pictures though,” Aunt Hattie added. “Even if he was a gigolo.”
Everyone stared at her for a moment.
Val reached for the ham and stabbed two pieces with her fork. “You can’t investigate every man Nicci brings home, Ned.”
“You never questioned me about any of the men I was seeing,” Colleen said as she placed a rather large piece of turkey on her plate.
“That’s because you’ve never brought any men home,” Uncle Ned clarified, as he picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Most of the boys you dated had the intelligence of a six-year-old.” He fixed his tired brown eyes on Colleen’s date. “Except you, of course, young man. What is your name again?”
“Ray Phillips,” the lanky, red-haired boy answered in between mouthfuls of oyster dressing.
Aunt Hattie scowled. “Neddie, you can be so rude!” She stuck her nose in the air. “Sometimes I can’t believe I am married to you.”
“Neither can I!” Val yelled back while chewing on her ham. “Tell me, Ned, why did you marry Hattie anyway?”
Aunt Hattie’s mouth fell open. “Can you believe the gall of her?”
I noticed my father and Uncle Lance snickering away at their end of the table, amused by another of Val and Aunt Hattie’s usual rows.
“Not gall.” Val stopped chewing. “Curiosity, Hattie. You and Ned always seemed so wrong for each other.”
Uncle Ned started laughing.
Hattie’s face turned red. “Of all the unquestionably offensive—”
“Oh, l
ighten up, Hattie,” Uncle Lance cut her off as he placed a large section of turkey breast on his plate. “Val does have a point. You didn’t have much in common with the first two men you were married to either.”
“And I suppose you’re an expert on marriage?” Aunt Hattie called back to Uncle Lance. “Five is it now? And all under the age of what, twenty?”
Uncle Ned leaned over the table, reached for the biscuits, and glanced down the table at Uncle Lance. “Which one of them tried to kill you with a butter knife, Lance?”
“Number three, Darlene!” Uncle Lance laughed and turned to Dallas. “Came at me one Thanksgiving with a butter knife because she thought I was cheating on her.”
My father nodded at his brother. “Which you were.”
Uncle Lance just shrugged.
Val looked up from her plate and laughed. “Oh, I remember her. The cocktail waitress with the big boobs.”
“Stewardess,” my father corrected, rolling his eyes. “The cocktail waitress was number four, Katie.”
Dallas leaned over to me. “Is it always like this?”
“You should have been here the year Val’s two boys tried to kill each other on top of the turkey.” I smiled and reached for the biscuits.
Val rolled her eyes at me. “You mean when my two worthless bastard children were fighting over that stupid slut.” She laughed as she slathered some butter on her mashed potatoes.
“I remember that,” Uncle Lance joined in while cutting into his turkey. “They had both found out over Christmas dinner that they had been sleeping with the same girl from school.”
Dallas laughed and tried to cover his mouth with his napkin.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Aunt Hattie threw her fork down on her plate. “Do we have to talk about such lewd topics in the middle of Christmas dinner?”
Uncle Lance’s eyes became filled with mischief as he eyed his sister-in-law. “Well, I seem to remember a Christmas about thirty years ago, Hattie, when you got so drunk you wanted to go streaking through Audubon Park and Ellen was chasing you around the house trying to get you to put your clothes back on.”
Giggling could be heard around the entire table.
Aunt Hattie’s face turned red and her pale lips blanched as she frowned. “I can’t believe you brought that up, Lance!” She turned to her husband. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“No.” Uncle Ned smiled down at his plate. “I wish I had known you back then.”
“Now we know where Colleen gets it from,” Val remarked.
Colleen looked up from her plate. “Gets what from?”
* * *
After dinner, Colleen and I were on dish duty in the kitchen. She volunteered only to dry and help load the dishwasher, claiming she did not want to ruin her new acrylic nails with soapy water.
“So you and this architect,” she said as she dried a crystal glass, “is it serious?”
“No, we just met.” I nodded my head toward the kitchen door. “And you and Ray?”
She shrugged and smiled. “We’ll see.”
I handed her another glass. “He’s no Eddie, huh?”
“I thought marrying Eddie was all I ever wanted.” She rolled her large brown eyes. “Well, then I was with Parker and we were happy for a while.”
I furrowed my brow at her. “Whatever happened there?”
“Emily Thorne.” She grimaced. “You know, the slut that was supposedly my friend over at Newcomb College. She was in my wedding.”
I faintly recalled the young, round-faced girl with lovely blue eyes at Colleen’s house dressed as a bridesmaid so many years ago.
“I think I remember her.”
“I caught her and Parker in our bed together one afternoon when I came home early from class. Not as bad as what Eddie did to me, but there you go.” Then she gave a heavy sigh.
I had been wondering how to delicately question my cousin about her ex-husband since our dish duty began, so I seized on the opportunity.
“Do you talk to Eddie anymore?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
She raised her bleached eyebrows at me and laughed. “Only through a lawyer.” Her face grew serious once again. “You haven’t seen him lately, Nic. He’s not the same.”
I put the wet glass in my hand down and stared into her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you’ll run into him sooner or later. Once he finds out you’re back in town, he’ll come looking for you. He’s still in love with you, you know.”
“Eddie was never in love with me,” I quickly asserted. “Besides, how would he know I’m back?”
Colleen’s puppy-like brown eyes widened and she sucked in gasps of air, attempting to laugh. “Are you kidding? Mom has called every person she knows from her botany club to whatever other stupid group she has joined and told everyone you’re home.” Colleen paused and then put one of the glasses back on the tray beside her. “She, ah, even called Michael’s mother. You know she still hopes—”
“Oh, God! No, Colleen!” I shouted, cutting her off. “Not Michael.”
“Yep!” Colleen laughed at my reaction. “So you better keep that fine man out there close to your side.” She stopped and tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’s kinda cold, isn’t he?”
“Is he?”
“You know, emotionless, I guess is the word.” She shrugged again and picked up another glass. “It’s like he’s going through the motions, but underneath I get the impression he’s just using us.”
I studied my cousin for a moment, surprised at her intuitive nature. I had always thought of Colleen as a wandering snowflake just riding the wind, with no direction and no interest in where the wind took her. But she had changed since I had been gone. She had become, not more introspective, just a little more wary. I guess the cruel actions of others can do that to a person. We often learn self-preservation out of necessity rather than choice.
“What makes you think Dallas is using us?” I asked.
She waved the dishtowel in the air. “Oh, I don’t know, Nic. Maybe he’s out to get Beauvoir Scrap, like the other one. Maybe Sammy has sent another secret agent to destroy the business. You and your men.” She rolled her eyes again as she picked up another glass. “And I thought I had drama in my life. Compared to you I’m a Sunday school teacher.”
That made me laugh.
Chapter 13
The next morning I was sitting in the living room enjoying a quiet cup of coffee and the morning newspaper. Uncle Lance had headed out with my father to go over some papers at the office. I thought I was going to be left alone in the house with Dallas when he came bounding into the living room dressed in a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes.
“I’m going to get out and stretch my legs,” he said, coming up to me.
“We could go for a walk in the French Quarter.”
“No, Nicci.” He patted his flat stomach. “I need to burn off that dinner from yesterday.”
“I didn’t realize you were a runner.”
“I like to stay in shape.”
I watched from the living room window as he jogged down the shell drive in front of the house and out onto the street, keeping up a brisk pace as he went.
“And what a nice shape it is,” I mumbled to myself, almost laughing at my own audacity.
When I turned from the window my eyes immediately fell on David’s portrait of me hanging over the mantle.
“Would you approve?” I asked the ghost of David.
I stared up into the eyes so filled with fire and life. The eyes of the girl I had been before his hasty retreat back to New York, before his loss, and before Katrina.
I was a woman who had loved and lost, but now I felt that hauntingly familiar twinge of desire inside of me once more. A year ago I would never have thought myself able to want a man again; now I was not so sure. The practical side of my nature insisted that I would love again, but my heart, still bruised from the past, was less convinced.
* * *
<
br /> Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang and I got up from the couch fully expecting to see Dallas standing there on the verge of a coronary. But when I opened the front door, a pair of bloodshot green eyes and a mop of bright red hair greeted me.
“Eddie!” I screamed.
“Hello, Nicci,” Eddie said. He ran in the front door and hugged me, almost smothering me in his chest.
I could smell the sour aroma of whiskey on his tailored gray pinstripe suit. When he stepped back, I could see he was heavier than the last time we had met. His face was rounder, paler, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was barely twenty-six, but he looked like he was in his mid-thirties.
“Geez, you look great,” he said as his eyes traveled down my body. “I heard you were back in town.”
I searched the shell driveway behind him. “Eddie, this is unexpected.” I silently prayed to the gods of synchronicity above to send me some help, or at least a witness. “So how have you been?” I asked, trying to remain calm.
“Good,” he stated. He walked past me and into the living room.
I glanced once more out to the shell drive but saw no sign of Dallas. I decided to leave the front door open, despite the bitter December weather. When I turned and saw Eddie standing in the living room, I suddenly felt foolish. Here I was giving in to all this talk of one of my oldest friends being involved in David’s murder. As I watched Eddie’s eyes pan around the living room, taking in the tree and the Christmas lights, I knew then he was no killer. He was just a kid who had spent his life trying to be something he was not. His father.
The late Gerald Fallon had been a famous Louisiana attorney known for his unquenchable desires and his volatile marriage to Sammy Fallon. Eddie had been hearing stories about his corrupt and cruel father all of his life. And all the years of vicious gossip seemed to have finally taken their toll.
I shook my head and silently berated myself for thinking so foolishly about my childhood friend. I turned and went to close the front door when Dallas suddenly came running up the porch steps.
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 43