The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “I know David is dead. I buried him almost three years ago. At least, I thought I buried him.”

  My father placed his hands on my shoulders. “You buried David. You went to the morgue after he was murdered and identified his body.”

  “But I never got a good look at his body,” I countered. “I was shown a corpse lying on a gurney through a glass window in a dark room for five seconds. I never got a good look at his face. And the funeral was closed coffin. None of us ever saw his body.”

  My father gave me a wary glance. “What do you mean you never got a look at his face?”

  “The morgue officials had half of his face covered with a towel. The police said it would have been too traumatic for me to see his mutilated face. So, they covered half of it.” I walked over to a chair at the table next to my father.

  “And was it him?”

  I turned back to him. “I don’t know. At the time, I thought that it was David. Same hair color, same height and build, and then when they showed me his wallet and the engagement ring he had bought for me that day, I broke down and started crying. He was found next to the red Jeep he owned. The wallet discovered with his body had his New York driver’s license in it. I figured it had to be him.”

  “You figured it had to be him?” My father shook his head. “Nicole Beauvoir, listen to yourself.”

  “I have been listening to myself, Dad. For damn near three years, I have believed that was David I buried up at that cemetery in Hammond. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “You think because you saw someone in a crowd of people that looked like David, you’re convinced that he’s alive?”

  “There’s more to it than just seeing David in a crowd of people, Dad. There are other things. Things I have heard from Dallas. Things I have learned from David’s former boss, Simon La Roy.”

  My father tilted his head slightly, as he looked me over. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then he sat down on a chair at the table next to him.

  “What other things?” he calmly asked.

  I turned away to the wedding guests surrounding us. I had tried to hide so many things from my father. I wondered how much longer I could keep everything bottled up inside of me before the weight of such burdens became too overwhelming.

  “Nicci?” my father’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts. “Perhaps all of this is the result of everything you have been through.”

  “Don’t start that again, Dad. You think I’ve snapped.” I reflexively folded my arms across my chest as I turned back to him. “Do you think I’m that weak?”

  He got up from his chair. “It’s not weakness to have…emotional issues after everything you have been through.” He put a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Such trials would cause even the strongest person to have some kind of meltdown. Perhaps this is just a reaction to all the stress you have been through. Up until now, you really haven’t had time to come to terms with what happened up at the house in Hammond. You haven’t had time to cope. It’s not surprising. In the past five months, you have written a new book, sold your house in Hammond, moved to Connecticut with Dallas, and helped Colleen plan this wedding. You simply haven’t had time to think.”

  I searched my father’s eyes and, for the first time since I was sixteen, I felt the man was a complete stranger to me. In adolescence, we all feel our parents are some alien life form just waiting to beam back up to the mother ship, but as we mature we realize we are more like our parents than different from them. In that instant, I knew my father did not understand me, nor would he ever be able to understand me. I had surpassed his life experiences. Yes, he had lost a great love, my mother, but he had not traveled to the murky depths of murder and deception that I had arisen from. Shooting a man does not drive you to madness, I reasoned, if anything it gives you clarity. Life becomes very black and white after such an event. Kill or be killed, that’s all there is to it. Everything other than that becomes simply insignificant.

  I reached out and gently patted my father’s hand. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe this is all just stress. I have been overdoing things a bit lately.”

  The concern in my father’s eyes instantly vanished, like a black cloud ascending up into the sky. He was appeased.

  He smiled at me. “That’s my girl. Let’s forget this conversation ever happened. You’ll see. A few days of peace and rest at home and you will feel like your old self again.”

  “Sure, Dad.” I smiled a fake reassuring smile for him.

  Inside of me, I could feel the doubt and apprehension burning like an out of control forest fire. I had to find out if the man I had seen had actually been David. And no matter where my search led me, I could never tell anyone what I discovered. From this point on, I was completely on my own.

  ***

  Later that night, my father and I made the short drive home after dropping Betty at her house by Tulane University. My father was listening to a business show on the radio while I stared out of the window of his BMW 750i as the dark streets sped past.

  “Betty seems nice,” I commented, turning to my father.

  He nodded. “She’s really something special.”

  “I think she’s good for you.”

  He glanced over at me, frowning. “You’re not all weirded out or whatever you call it because I’m seeing her, are you?”

  I shrugged. “I have to admit it’s a little odd to see you with someone after so many years of your being alone, but I’m happy for you. I’m glad you have someone to take care of you.”

  He smiled, as he looked ahead to the dark road. “It feels a little odd to me, too. After your mother died, I never thought I would ever want to be with another woman, but with time you learn to let go and move on. Betty will never replace Ellen, but she is what I need right now in my life.”

  I directed my attention back to the streets flying by while our car made its way down St. Charles Avenue. Ever since I had seen the figure walking through Jackson Square, my doubts about my future with Dallas had been eating away at me. I wondered if I should just take my father’s advice and begin a new life with Dallas. But how could I move on to the future when there was still so much of my past left unresolved? How could I be with Dallas when I had not yet put David behind me?

  When he finally pulled up in front of our Uptown New Orleans home, I felt a strange sense of relief to have made it back to my childhood haven.

  The three-story white antebellum house with its Corinthian column facade had been a wedding gift to my mother and father. For the first few years of their marriage, my parents had lovingly restored the run down home into a Garden District showplace. Every original fixture had been painstakingly repaired, every scrap of wood refinished, and every plaster inlay retouched. The house had been a project that had joined my parents in life and, after the death of my mother many years ago, remained as a reminder of the love the three of us had once shared. In many ways, the house stood as a symbol of my mother, a tribute to her beauty, refinement, and infinite patience with all things.

  I looked around the shell drive to see where Dallas had parked our rental car after his early departure from the reception. I breathed a sigh of relief to see the small red Honda Accord pulled up right next to the garage at the end of the driveway.

  “Maybe you should go and straighten everything out with him now,” my father suggested behind me.

  I turned to him and nodded.

  He gave me an encouraging smile, and then started for the front steps.

  I stood for a moment out in the middle of the driveway and took in the heavy aroma of the New Orleans night around me. The scent of magnolias mixed with ligustrum filled the air. I had missed the smell of this city. In the silence of the night, I could hear the faint click clack of a streetcar making its way down nearby St. Charles Avenue. I closed my eyes for a moment and filled my senses with the city surrounding me. I found it curious that when confronted by tribulations we find comfort in what we have left behind. As if the imprints of
childhood are part of an inner rebooting mechanism for the soul. We escape to what we were before living changed us into what we have become.

  Inside the purple satin purse Colleen had designed to match my bridesmaid dress, my cell phone began ringing. I toyed with the idea of ignoring the call, considering the lateness of the hour. Then I remembered my publishing assistant, Dora O’Rourke, who often called after business hours with important questions about my book. I fumbled with my purse until I was finally able to retrieve my phone and answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Nicci. It’s Simon La Roy. Forgive the hour,” his high-pitched voice said over the phone. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be at your cousin’s wedding,” he confided.

  “Simon?” I stared down the drive. “How did you get my number? And how did you know about my cousin’s wedding?”

  “My dear woman, do you think a man like me couldn’t find you? You know what I do, and considering how well acquainted you have been with two of my best employees, should it even surprise you that I know what I know.”

  “Dallas doesn’t work for you anymore,” I stated emphatically. “He gave up stealing secrets.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Simon curtly remarked. “It was bad enough that you stole the heart of my prized specialist, David, but then you had to go and add Dallas to your collection, as well. How does he like building boats for a living, instead of working for me?”

  “He doesn’t miss all the intrigue, Simon. He’s happy having a legitimate life without having to hide what he does for a living.”

  “I’m sure he hasn’t walked away completely from his old life. Dallas was an expert at manipulation and interrogation. Old habits die hard in one skilled in such arts. Haven’t you found that to be true, my dear Nicci?”

  Anger bubbled up from the pit of my stomach. “What do you want, Simon?”

  “Yes, enough reminiscing.” He paused for several seconds as I waited anxiously for him to continue. “I noticed you and Dallas have two first class tickets back to Connecticut in two days’ time. However, I need you to stay in New Orleans for a while.”

  I pictured the short man dressed in one of his fine suits and admiring the silver handle on his cane, as he spoke to me. His brown, rat-like eyes flashed across my mind.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Simon gave an impatient sigh. “Something has come up in your quaint little town. A job for which you would be perfectly suited.”

  “A job? Simon, are you kidding me?”

  “I seem to remember you took me up on my offer to make you one of my specialists a few months back.” He laughed, sounding more like a little girl than a man. “I told you when I had a need for you, I would be in touch.” He paused and I could hear the sound of papers rustling on the other end of the line. “Keep your phone with you. I’ll call in the next few days with the details. In the meantime, find a way to send that former employee of mine back to his boatyard. This job requires only you.”

  “Simon, I’m not going to drop everything and hang out in New Orleans because you—”

  “Did I mention the job involves our dear boy, David, and his Jennys,” he edged in.

  I felt my heart skip a beat.

  “I guessed that would pique your interest. All things will be revealed in due time,” Simon declared and then he abruptly ended the call.

  I stood there in the dim light of the driveway staring at my cell phone.

  “Nicci?” a deep voice called from the front door.

  I glanced back to the house to see Dallas coming down the steps. I quickly put my cell phone back in my purple purse.

  “What are you doing out here?” He came up to me.

  “I got a phone call from…” I stopped myself.

  Dallas placed his hand on my forearm. “Who called you at this hour?”

  “An old friend,” I calmly stated.

  He pressed his fingers into my flesh. “You don’t have any old friends, Nicci.”

  I wrenched my arm free of his grip. “You don’t know everything about me, Dallas.”

  “I know enough,” he insisted. He stood for a moment, staring into my eyes as if trying to read my mind, and then he looked down at the ground.

  “I came out here to tell you I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that at the reception,” he admitted as his eyes returned to mine. “I’m sorry. I have been pushing too hard on the subject of our getting married. I realize you have other obligations, right now. With your new book coming out, I know your publisher has put a lot of pressure on you for this book to do well.”

  I nodded, as I glanced nervously about the drive. “Hamper Publications is promoting Unfinished Business as their premier release of the summer.” I took a breath and tried to calm the panic simmering beneath my skin. “That, combined with all the good press Painting Jenny received, makes this book a little more nerve-wracking for me. Dora once told me, ‘you’re not a real writer until you publish a second book.’”

  Dallas pulled me into his arms. “You’re a real writer. That little snooty assistant of yours is a fool. Don’t listen to her.” He sighed into my hair. “After I got home, I realized that maybe all of the added stress could have prompted your seeing David.”

  I backed away from him. “Are you suggesting I wanted to see David because I’m stressed out about my book?”

  “I’m simply saying, I think maybe you need to relax more,” he replied as he gave me a supportive smile. “Let’s forget about what happened.” He reached for my hand as his eyes hungrily explored up and down my body. “Why don’t we go inside and get you out of that silly dress,” he said and started pulling me toward the house.

  As we made our way up the porch steps, he put his arm around my shoulders. “Who called?” he asked as we climbed the last step together.

  I felt my stomach clench, as we approached the front door. “It was no one, Dallas. Just an old acquaintance.”

  “Nicci, don’t try and keep things from me,” he murmured into my ear while letting his teeth graze my earlobe. “You know I will always find out what you’re up to in the end.”

  I stopped and studied his dark blue eyes. “And what are you going to do? Torture me to get me to talk?” I teased, wanting to dissuade his usual line of questioning.

  He grinned and the menacing aura in his face lifted. “I’ve got something else in mind for you.” He tightened his arm about my shoulders and urged me forward into the house. “Come with me,” he whispered.

  We stepped inside, and he shut the front door behind us. He took my hand and led me across the foyer to the wide walnut staircase. One by one, we climbed the steps without saying a word. At the top of the second floor landing, he let go of my hand and walked over to my bedroom door. Letting his eyes linger on my body, he pushed the door open with his foot.

  I slowly eased my way up to him, smiling suggestively. “What makes you think this will get me to reveal all of my secrets to you?”

  He traced the outline of my shoulders. “You’ve never completely revealed yourself to me in all the months I have known you, Nicci.” He sighed as his fingers traveled up from my shoulders to my neck. “It’s as if you’re afraid to share your secrets with me.” He placed his hands gently about my face.

  “You’re the one with the secrets, Dallas. Not me.”

  He gave me that knowing grin. The one he only seemed to share with me. “Then let’s have no more secrets between us. Starting right now,” he softly said. He leaned forward and kissed me.

  He gently urged me inside the bedroom while kissing my lips and face. As he kicked the door closed behind us, he started removing his tuxedo jacket. He threw the jacket onto a nearby chair and moved closer to me.

  I fingered the expensive stainless steel watch on his wrist, ran my hands up his white tuxedo shirt, and then slowly began undoing the buttons. The apprehension and anger that I had been carrying from the events of the day suddenly dissipated into thin air. A more pleasurable fee
ling coursed through me while I pushed the material off his shoulders. My hands hungrily caressed his smooth, muscular chest. I kissed the hollow at the base of his neck and placed my cheek against his chest as I savored the fragrance of his spicy cologne.

  “Just when I think you’re done with me, you give me that stupid grin of yours and make me feel like nothing is wrong between us,” I whispered against his skin.

  Dallas unzipped my dress and eased it from around my shoulders. “Isn’t that the way it is with most couples? We fight, and then we make up.”

  I felt the dress fall to my ankles, and then stepped free of it. “Are we making up?” I started unzipping his tuxedo pants.

  He reached around and undid my bra. “Well, we sure aren’t fighting.”

  I pushed his pants down and grabbed at his firm backside. “So what exactly would you do to me, if I did keep anything from you?”

  He held my face in his hands. “I’ll show you.” Then, his mouth came down ruthlessly on mine.

  Chapter Three

  The following morning, after Dallas had gone for his daily run and my father had left for the office, I was alone in my room reading through the press releases for my new novel, Unfinished Business. I thought I was finally going to get some work done, but a gentle rap at my bedroom door interrupted me. With a frustrated sigh, I got up from my bed and headed to the door.

  “Hello, Uncle Lance,” I said on seeing my uncle standing outside of my bedroom door. I stood on my toes to kiss him on the cheek and then walked back over to my bed. “Did Dad call you to come over and keep me away from all sharp objects, or are you here to raid the bar again?”

  Uncle Lance followed me into the room and took a seat on the chair next to my bed. “After your scene at the wedding yesterday, your old man thinks you have lost it completely. He asked me to stop over on my way to Val’s and check up on you. Where’s spy boy?”

  “Running. Maybe you should stop calling him that, Uncle Lance. Dallas is a boat builder now, not a spy.”