by Jana DeLeon
Justine’s pulse quickened. If Brian thought she’d leave over what he was about to say, it must be big.
“Wheeler wasn’t after the emeralds for their value alone but because of the way the estate documents are written. It’s complicated, but the gist of it is that until the emeralds are found, the estate can’t be sold. The land that makes up the estate is full of oil. Wheeler had the surveys done.”
“And his attorney’s cut from selling would have amounted to millions? That doesn’t sound right.”
“As an attorney, he wouldn’t have made millions, but as an heir he stood to make a killing, literally.”
Justine’s mind reeled. “An heir? You’re kidding me. How…?”
“Apparently Franklin Borque had a mistress, the person he would have been with if his father hadn’t made him marry Marilyn for the business deal. That mistress had a child who had a child and that line leads straight to Wheeler. The police found the documentation in his office to prove it all.”
Justine struggled to remain calm. “Do you have access to the documentation?”
“I could probably get it, but how would that help you?”
Justine’s mind raced to come up with a plausible reason that she’d need the information for her research on the emeralds. “I wondered if there was anyone else from that family line in Cypriere. If so, he could be behind the problems at laMalediction.”
Brian frowned. “According to his research, Wheeler was the only living relative left from that family line, but that was never verified. I suppose if there were others, he’d hardly have been handing out that information and a big cut of his inheritance. You’d think if someone in Cypriere was descended from Franklin Borque they would have already been yelling for their share of the estate.”
“Not if they’re behind all the stuff happening. Take Tom Breaux for instance. He is so entrenched in the old tales of voodoo and haunts that I’d bet he wouldn’t set foot on the estate grounds or take a dime of money from the sale. He thinks Olivia stirred something up by coming here. Not intentionally, of course, but I’d bet he’s not the only one who feels that way.”
“Or he could be a very convincing actor and is trying to scare you off.” Brian sighed. “Olivia thought laMalediction was just another job. When Wheeler accused her of being a descendant of Marilyn Borque, she was as shocked as anyone else.”
“Did she ever find any proof?”
“No, but Wheeler seemed certain, and Olivia is a dead ringer, if you’ll pardon the expression, for Marilyn Borque. I suppose when it comes down to settling the estate, she can have a DNA test to prove her relationship.”
“The graveyard,” Justine said, realizing how important that discovery had been, and not just for her own work.
“It will probably come in handy. I’ll call John after supper and get him to email you the documents found at Wheeler’s office since I don’t have a computer here.”
“That’s great. I can print everything, and we can compare it to what we know about the locals.”
Brian rose from his chair. “I don’t want to start cooking anything, given the weather. I’m afraid I might not get to finish. I figured I’d make a sub sandwich for supper. You want one?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Justine watched as Brian removed food from the refrigerator and started assembling the subs. She opened her laptop, at least trying to look as if she was working, but the emeralds were the last thing on her mind.
The information Brian had given her changed everything—opened up a whole other avenue of research for her family tree. And one she wasn’t pleased about pursuing at all. Based on what she knew about Wheeler, the man had been stark-raving mad, and after reading the diaries, she had no doubt about Franklin Borques’s mental health.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to block out the cold chill that passed over her. Heaven help her, if her mother was descended from Franklin and not Marilyn, Justine’s search for a normal life was over.
BRIAN SLIPPED INTO his bedroom after dinner and closed the door behind him. He retrieved his cell phone from the top of the dresser and was relieved to see that he still had service despite the storm. It wasn’t quite five o’clock yet and he was hoping to catch John before he left the police station.
“Landry,” John answered on the first ring.
“Hey, it’s Brian. I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you there.”
“I got held up with paperwork on a B and E, but as soon as we stop talking, I am on the way to dinner with Olivia.”
“Sounds nice,” Brian said, and although he was genuinely happy for his friend, he felt a tinge of jealousy. Not of Olivia, but of her and John’s relationship. Something he wasn’t likely to ever find.
“Well, she’s cooking, which isn’t always nice, but it’s never uninteresting.” John laughed. “So what’s up?”
Brian filled John in on their discoveries in the graveyard.
“Wow,” John said. “And you think the tunnel from the graveyard might lead to the house?”
“I can’t see any other reason for it. We didn’t have time to check it out today, but you can bet it’s first on my list as soon as this storm breaks.”
“If that tunnel enters the house somewhere other than the basement, it goes a long way to explaining a lot of things.”
“I agree,” Brian said. “What about that other thing I asked you to check on?”
“Sorry, man. I haven’t had a chance to do more than the cursory stuff, and it’s all clear. I’ll dig deeper first thing in the morning, and get with you as soon as I have something.”
“Sounds good.” Brian paused for a couple of seconds, then finally told his friend what he’d been hesitant to say. “I told Justine about Wheeler’s relation to Borque. I know you don’t want the facts to get out, but I thought she had a right to know everything about the situation she’s in—in case she decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”
John was silent for a bit, and Brian was afraid he’d angered his friend, but finally he spoke. “I agree, given the things that have happened since she’s been there, it’s wrong to withhold the information. But, Brian, you’re asking me to dig into her background, which tells me there’s something about her that doesn’t sit right with you. Are you sure it was safe to give her that information?”
“You’re right. It’s a bit of duplicity. I think she’s hiding something, but at the same time, I don’t think she’ll leak the information.”
“I’ve always trusted your read on people and I’m not about to stop now. Just make sure this woman isn’t clouding your judgment. I met her in New Orleans with Olivia. She’s not exactly hard on the eyes and she’s sharp. A lesser man than you might be swayed by a couple of her attributes.”
A vivid image of Justine’s never-ending legs flashed through his mind and he shifted uncomfortably in his sweats. “I haven’t failed to notice her attributes, but this is business. She also pointed out that if Wheeler was a Borque, then others in Cypriere may be, too. For all we know, someone could have been in on the whole thing with Wheeler.”
“At this point, anything is possible. I’ll scan all the documents tomorrow, and email copies.”
“Great,” Brian said, and gave his friend Justine’s email address. “Thanks, John.”
“No problem. And, Brian—watch your back.”
“Always.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was almost eleven o’clock when Justine finally hopped in the shower for a quick pass, not wanting to linger with the storm raging. The lightning had ceased for the moment, but based on the news reports, the storm system had no intention of releasing Cypriere from its grip for another twenty-four hours. If that held true, there was no way they’d be able to reach laMalediction the next morning. The roads would be impassable, and even if Brian’s Jeep could manage it, he was far too cautious to even try.
Being closed up all evening in the tiny rental house with Brian had been hard, especially with her em
otions all over the place. The information about Wheeler had sent her reeling, and she was barely able to keep the stress from showing on her face and in her voice. Every conversation required a concentrated effort for her to maintain a semblance of control. Even during the short amount of time they’d taken to eat the sandwiches Brian had prepared, the conversation had seemed stilted.
She knew the dark cloud hanging over her head was causing her to be less focused on the now, less normal in normal conversation, but even Brian had seemed distracted. She wondered briefly if her sneaking out was still bothering him or the tunnel, or if it was something else entirely. The fact that she had no earthly idea how to read him was a stark reminder that she didn’t really know anything about the man she was sharing space with, other than the surface-level things. Given how many secrets she held below the surface, she knew Brian might have his own.
She ran a comb through her wet hair and sighed, wishing for the first time in her life that she’d paid attention when her mother was trying to teach her the old ways, especially when she was working on “relaxation” potions. Justine could have used one right now.
She slipped on yoga pants and a T-shirt and pulled her wet hair into a ponytail to dry. What she needed was that paperwork from Wheeler’s office, and fast, before she worked herself into a heart attack.
Brian had already said his good-nights before her shower, and she noticed the door to his bedroom was closed as she left the bathroom and walked the short distance down the hall to her bedroom, the lamp from the living room illuminating the hallway just enough to see. She’d left the lamp on in her bedroom and clicked it off just before sliding into bed.
The sheets were cool and she shivered for just a second before they began to warm to her body. That’s what I get for going to bed with wet hair. I’ll end up with a cold and have no one to blame but myself.
She turned on her side and listened to the sounds of the storm outside. The thunder and lightning was starting again, first at a distance, but creeping closer with every passing minute. For the first time ever, she wished she had a television she could turn on to block out the sound of the storm. Justine almost never watched television, much happier to sit down with a good book. In the past, a rainy day had seemed the perfect setting for curling up with a book and a cup of hot chocolate.
But now the storm seemed almost ominous. As if with every pass, it brought things to the surface in Cypriere. Things that used to be at rest. A practical person would call her fanciful for thinking such things. Her mother would swear she was a medium. Somewhere in the middle might lie the truth.
Closing her eyes, she tried to blank her mind and relax. Think of something else. Something pleasant and warm and sunny. Turning her imagination to the tropical vacation she was saving for, she began to drift off to sleep.
The sound of glass breaking and a hard object hitting her square in the back made her bolt upright in the bed. Not even a second later, the house alarm sounded. Before she could even register what had happened, her bedroom door burst open and Brian ran in, gun drawn.
“Get down!” he yelled as he pulled the drapes to the side and peeked out the window.
Justine slid out of the bed and onto the floor, reaching back with one hand to try and find the object that had hit her in the back. Her hand hit something wet and hard and she pulled it off the bed, trying to make out what it was with the little bit of light streaming into the bedroom from the living-room lamp.
It was a rock with a piece of paper wrapped around it, dripping wet from the storm.
“Do you see anyone?” she asked, barely able to see Brian as he peered out the window.
“No. I’m sure the coward left as soon as he dispatched whatever he put through the window. Did it hit you?”
“Yeah, in my back, but I’m okay. It startled me more than anything.”
Brian walked into the hall and disarmed the alarm, then reentered the bedroom and sat on the bed. She rose from the floor and handed him the rock. “I guess it’s pointless to try and get fingerprints.”
“Probably.” He removed the rubber band that held the paper in place and peeled the paper off the rock. The ink was blurred from the rain, but Justine could easily see what was written.
Have you told him?
It took every ounce of strength for Justine to stifle the cry that wanted to escape. She looked at the note, taking a moment to gather herself before she faced Brian.
“This has to mean something,” Brian said.
“He’s a madman. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Brian’s eyes locked with her. “You don’t believe that. Your eyes give you away. What are you hiding from me, Justine?”
“Nothing!” Justine jumped up from the bed and stared down at Brian. “I’ve told you everything I know about this place—the journals, the emeralds. The graveyard was the only thing I hid, and I’ve already told you why.”
Brian shook his head. “He knows I’m aware of the graveyard. There’s something else he thinks you haven’t told me.”
Justine blew out a breath. “Well, if I haven’t told you, then it’s something I don’t know yet, either. Maybe he thinks I’ve made more progress with my research than I have. Maybe he thinks I’m stirring up a ghost. Whatever it is, I don’t know.”
“Okay.” Brian rose from the bed, still holding the rock and the note. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he thinks you know something that you don’t, but obviously he’s not going away. If you’re keeping something from me, no matter how small or how insignificant you think it may be, I need to know.”
Justine stared at the floor for a moment, then looked him directly in the eyes. “I have not shared every intimate detail of my life with you, and I won’t. But I am not keeping information from you that’s relevant to my work here.”
Brian’s eyes locked on hers, unwavering. She held his gaze, determined not to look away. She wasn’t lying. Her search for her own past had nothing to do with the missing emeralds she was hired to find. If she was guilty of anything, it was omission, but she didn’t care. Clearly, she was the intruder’s target, not Brian.
Finally, he gave her a single nod, but Justine didn’t believe for a minute that she’d convinced him. He was giving her the benefit of the doubt because he was a gentleman, but that benefit wouldn’t likely extend much further. If he wasn’t already picking her carefully created identity apart, he would be soon.
“I’ll tape a plastic bag over the hole to keep the rain out,” he said finally. “That will hold it until I can manage something better, as I’m sure the landlord will blame us for the damage and be in no hurry to repair it properly.”
“Will the alarm system still work?”
“Yeah. It was the sound of the glass breaking that set it off, but there’s nothing to stop me from arming the system again.” He inclined his head toward his room. “Why don’t you take my room. I’ll stay in here until the window is repaired.”
Justine nodded and walked silently down the hall into Brian’s room. She slipped into the bed and turned off the lamp burning on the nightstand. There was no light from the outside because of the storm, so the room was pitch-black. Justine didn’t particularly like it, but she was afraid her silhouette would show if she left the light on. That someone might be standing out in the storm watching.
She slid down between the sheets and pulled the covers up close to her face. The smell of Brian’s aftershave lingered on the sheets, the scent masculine and arousing. The masculine part was comforting. When it came to sheer force and instinct, Justine couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have protecting her than Brian. But as she drifted off into a light slumber, with Brian’s scent wrapped around her, she realized her biggest worry wasn’t the stalker, or even Brian finding out her past.
It was the way Brian made her feel.
JUSTINE AWAKENED the next morning with a start at her unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a second to remember the events of the night before and that she was in Br
ian’s bed. She slid out of the warmth of the covers and checked her watch. Seven o’clock. Given the excitement of last night and her two thousand worries, she was surprised she’d slept at all, much less to a time she’d consider “late” on a normal day.
She didn’t even have to look out the window to know it was still raining, but she pulled the heavy drape to the side and looked out at the gray sheets of water anyway. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The missing diary pages were beginning to fill in the blanks to her many unanswered questions, and she was only halfway through them, but she still thought the graveyard held more answers.
And quite possibly, a tunnel into laMalediction.
What a discovery that would be. It would prove that someone made of flesh and blood was haunting the house, and not a ghost. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find the emeralds somewhere out there in the swamp. The graveyard was consecrated ground, and it appeared as if Franklin Borque had not been interred there. It would make sense for Sissy’s cousin to secure the stones somewhere she knew Franklin’s spirit couldn’t go.
Sighing, she dropped the drape back in place and left the bedroom. Whatever may lie in the graveyard waiting to be discovered, it wasn’t going to happen today. No way would Brian risk traveling to laMalediction in this storm, especially when it showed no signs of lessening.
The smell of coffee hit her as soon as she stepped into the hall, and she entered the living room with a bit of trepidation at having to face Brian in the cold, gray light of day. He stood at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of the steaming coffee, and looked back at her when the living-room floor creaked.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“I would love some,” she said, and slipped onto a stool at the bar that separated the kitchen from the tiny dining room.
Brian poured another cup and slid it in front of her, along with a container of sugar and sweetener packets.