by Emery, Lynn
“To say the least,” his mother, Madeline St. Denis, added sharply.
Julie strolled over and sat next to Noel. “Her claim is pretty shaky. Maybe she realized her scam wouldn’t work.” “Your objective conclusion?” Noel said coldly. They stared at each other until Julie looked away. He turned to his father. “Lyrissa isn’t stupid. Besides, their evidence isn’t shaky at all.”
“You’re the one who isn’t objective,” Miss Georgina said. Madeline looked at Miss Georgina. “Just how close have they become?”
“Obviously much too close.” Miss Georgina pursed her lips.
“Don’t even go there, people,” Noel growled. “This is about our family and the business. I’ve always stood by both.”
“And now? Lyrissa Rideau is the test, Noel. You’ll have to choose.” Miss Georgina lifted her proud chin.
“No, I won’t.”
His grandmother shook her head. “This woman is determined to destroy us. You can’t or won’t see through her. For the first time, I don’t trust your judgment.”
“Carlton is talking to board members, Noel. You’ve got to take some kind of decisive action to head him off,” Richard put in.
“I think we can prove the painting belongs to this family.” Julie spoke in a smooth tone. “We can use Jules Joubert’s reputation to cast doubt on their claim. He probably sold the painting for liquor, then tried to get it back.”
“Exactly the kind of strategy we need. Thank you, dear. At least you’re thinking dearly. Noel, you should rely on Julie more,” Miss Georgina said pointedly.
“Her loyalty is unquestionable,” Madeline added as she stared at her son.
“This game of dueling accusations in the media hasn’t helped, Grandmother. Julie, you shouldn’t have gotten involved without consulting me.” Nod glared at her.
Julie’s expression remained composed. “Your grand-mother asked for my advice and help. We can’t allow people like Lyrissa Rideau to run over us.”
“I think you should be grateful, young man,” Madeline said. “Julie is looking out for your best interests.”
Noel stood and buttoned his navy blue suit jacket. “I still nm Tremé£ Corporation. No more interviews until I consult with our lawyers.”
“The board won’t be happy, Noel. Don’t forget, we choose who runs the company.” Miss Georgina’s eyes flashed with anger.
“You want the company back? Fine with me. I don’t need the headaches from a bunch of hardheaded, narrow-minded dinosaurs who allowed it to get into a mess in the first damn place!” Noel shouted. He spun around and strode from the room.
Richard caught up with him in the hallway. “Son, I hope you know what you’re doing.” He walked beside Noel and put a hand on his arm.
“I do,” Noel shot back.
“Uh, your grandmother is worried that you just dropped your resignation in her lap,” Richard said. He yanked on Noel’s arm. “Will you stop for a minute?”
Noel faced him. “I sure as hell don’t intend to resign. They’ll have to fire me.”
“Good, but watch your back. Carlton we know about, but there are others you should keep an eye on.” Richard spoke in a low voice.
“Julie just made the short list. The stunt she pulled with Grandmother proves she can’t be trusted.” Noel wore a fierce expression. He would deal with her today.
“I was thinking of Lyrissa Rideau, Noel,” Richard said somberly. “Your grandmother could be right about her.” Noel walked away from him. “I’ll call you later, Dad.” He slammed the door hard behind him as he left his grandmother’s house.
Lyrissa gripped the receiver and fought hard to control her temper. “Mr. Polk, the brochure has to be perfect. I don’t care about your other jobs. We’re paying you to get it right.”
The part-time receptionist appeared at her office door. “Your grandmother is on line three,” she whispered. “She says it’s urgent.”
Before she could answer, the printer whined in her ear about his schedules. “Mr. Polk, we can’t hope no one notices twenty typos, one of them misspelling the name of our gallery!” she barked at him. “Your staff screwed up. Now, fix it! Mr. Taylor is talking lawsuit.”
She’d said the magic word. Mr. Polk babbled on about how much he valued their business. Lyrissa softened her tone now that he was cowed. They agreed on a delivery date for the brochure. Lyrissa glanced up again to find that Tameka had gone back to her desk. She heard her raised voice.
“Yes, ma’am, but she’s on an important call and—yes, ma’am.” She turned to Lyrissa with a silent plea in her wide eyes.
Lyrissa waved to her. She couldn’t stop now that she’d finally made the mule-headed printer see reason. Besides, she didn’t need another dose of Mama Grace’s daily drama. Lyrissa endured her tirades each time a new article about Jules Joubert appeared.
Two men in suits walked through the front door while Tameka tried to soothe her grandmother. They scanned the gallery for a few seconds, then separated. One studied paintings that hung on the north wall of the lobby. The taller one walked past the reception desk to Mr. Taylor’s office. His companion followed him seconds later.
“Yes, Mr. Polk. I understand how hard it is to find good workers,” Lyrissa replied.
She propped the receiver against her shoulder as he continued to complain. Tameka hung up the phone and hustled across the floor to her door. Mr. Taylor walked ahead of the two men toward her office, but Tameka arrived first.
“Lyrissa, your grandmother is freaking out about something. You’d better call her, girl.” The young woman waved her arms
“Not now, Tameka. Excuse us.” Mr. Taylor nodded his head toward the reception desk.
Tameka backed up. “Yes, sir.”
The two men walked into her office and Mr. Taylor closed the door. “These detectives are here to see you, Lyrissa.”
The short man spoke first. “I’m Detective Campo, and this is Detective Murphy. We’re with the New Orleans PD.”
“Ma’am, a stolen painting was found at your place of residence on”—he broke off to consult a notepad in his hand—“Erato Street.”
“What?” Lyrissa sprang from her chair, still holding the receiver.
“You’re under arrest on suspicion of arson, felony theft, and aggravated assault in the commission of a felony,” Detective Murphy rattled off the charges.
“My God!” Mr. Taylor’s mouth hung open.
“No way!” Lyrissa shot back. “I’m not guilty of any-thing.”
“Ma’am, we don’t determine guilt. That’s for the courts to decide.” Detective Campo spoke in an even, calm voice. “Let’s just get this straightened out.”
Detective Murphy closed in on her from the left. “Yes, ma’am. Just handle your business and we can leave quietly.
She hung up on Mr. Polk cutting him off in mid-sentence. “This is a big mistake.”
“Of course it is, dear. I can’t believe anyone would seriously think you’re an art thief.” Mr. Taylor twisted his hands together. “Uh, did any reporters follow you here, officer?”
“We don’t control the press, sir,” Detective Campo said in a dry voice. “Ma’am, the owners have identified the painting as being part of the St. Denis collection.”
Detective Murphy read from his notepad again. “It’s called ‘Sunday Stroll on the Faubourg Trem6.’ ”
“According to Mr. Carlton St. Denis you claimed the painting really belonged to your family. There is some legal dispute, I believe.”
“Oh-oh.” Mr. Taylor put a hand over his mouth.
“That doesn’t mean I stole it. We had a good case. My attorney is confident we’ll get it back.” Lyrissa’s voice strained with the effort to convince them. Mr. Taylor lifted his hands in a helpless gesture when she looked at him for support.
“Yes, ma’am. Speaking of attorneys,” Detective Murphy said. He read her rights in a rapid-fire delivery. “You understand?”
“Yes,” she answered in a numb voice. A we
ight settled on her chest.
“I don’t think we need handcuffs, do we, ma’am?” Detective Campo raised an eyebrow at her. His expression implied he’d use whatever means necessary to subdue her.
“Of course not! Think how that would look!” Mr. Taylor blurted out.
He dashed to the front lobby and looked outside with a frightened expression. Tameka’s eyes stretched wide as she watched them escort Lyrissa to the door. Kevin emerged from the back of the gallery.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” he asked.
“Lyrissa has been arrested,” Tameka said in a stage whisper.
“Call my lawyer, Ebony Armstrong,” Lyrissa yelled over her shoulder. “Now!”
Chapter 25
Lyrissa heard her name through a thick fog. The ominous voice grew louder and louder, coming closer with each passing second. Her heart hammered until her chest hurt. She felt trapped. Fear pressed her down until she couldn’t breathe.
“Lyrissa. Lyrissa, wake up, baby.”
She twisted around then sat up with a cry. Slowly her bedroom came into focus. “No bars,” Lyrissa rasped from her bone-dry throat.
“You’re home safe and sound, cherie. Nothing is going to hurt you here.” Aunt Claire put her plump arms around Lyrissa and rocked her.
Lyrissa hugged her aunt as the pounding in her chest subsided. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock in the morning. I’ve got breakfast waiting
for you.” Aunt Claire brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead.
“I’d better call Mr. Taylor.”
“Shelton already called. He says you can take off all the time you need.”
“He means I’m fired,” Lyrissa muttered.
“Now, baby, he didn’t say you were fired. He meant you needed time off.”
“The last thing he needs is a suspected art thief working for him. I can’t blame him, either.” Lyrissa let go of her aunt. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“He’ll stand by you, dear. We had a little talk.” Aunt Claire’s sweet tone gave way to one of steel. “I reminded him how we helped him years ago when he first opened that gallery.”
“Thanks, sweetie, but I don’t want him to lose his business because of me.” Lyrissa threw the twisted sheets back and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Aunt Claire rubbed the small of her back. “We’re going to fight. You can’t hide in your bedroom forever. You’ve been in here for two days already.” She got up and put away piles of clothes.
Ebony came to the bedroom door. “Hey, girl. How are you doing?” She put her briefcase on the vanity.
“I was just telling her to get up,” Aunt Claire said as she tossed clothes in the hamper.
“Sorry. Being booked as a felon and tossed in a cage is a little unsettling.” Lyrissa waved her arms.
“Of course it was awful. But we got you out double quick, babe.” Ebony unbuttoned her blazer and sat down.
Aunt Claire paused in the act of folding a t-shirt “All the evidence is circumstantial. Someone is trying to frame you, no pun intended. They can’t place you at the scene of the crime.”
“You’ve been reading those legal thrillers too much.” Lyrissa gave her a weary smile that faded.
“She’s right. I mean, the painting is stolen and then pops up in your garage? Puh-leeze!” Ebony placed a hand on one hip. “I’ll rip that kind of evidence apart. That’s the good news.”
“Eb, there is no good news.” Lyrissa cradled her head in both hands. “God! What a nightmare.”
“Honey, get dressed. I baked your favorite apple cinnamon muffins, scrambled two eggs, and Ebony brought Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee.” Aunt Claire pulled her hands down.
“Yeah, girl. Get out of this room.” Ebony glanced around at the piles of clothes and magazines. “Looks like a bunch of gerbils are nesting in here.”
“Uh-huh, I’ll have to come out for my trial anyway,” Lyrissa retorted.
“Don’t frown like that. You’ll leave lines on your face. Now, take a nice warm shower and put these on.” Aunt Claire neatly draped a pair of blue jeans and a blue t- shirt with tiny white flowers over the stuffed chair next to her bed.
“Yeah, yeah.” Lyrissa didn’t move.
“Okay, the St. Denis gang set you up, but the good news is—”
“Wonderful, more good news,” Lyrissa muttered.
“Listen, our case must be damn strong. Why else would someone go to all this trouble?” Ebony leaned forward as she spoke.
“Sure.”
Lyrissa had lost interest in the painting. She’d thought of little else except that Noel hadn’t called. His silence meant he either believed she was guilty, or he knew his family had indeed set her up. Noel St. Denis, cut from the same cloth as his family. Mama Grace had warned her. Was she right?
“This whiny crybaby isn’t the Lyrissa I know.” Ebony slapped the bed hard. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
“I’d go fix you both a cup of coffee. Make her come out of this room, Ebony.” Aunt Claire patted Ebony’s shoulder, then left.
“We’d be there in fifteen minutes.” Ebony stood. “You heard her. Move!” She pointed to Lyrissa’s bathroom.
“Geez, who appointed you queen of the world?” she muttered irritably. She went in and turned on the shower.
“So you haven’t heard from him, I guess. That explains that pitiful ‘I-got-the-low-down-blues’ look on your face.”
“I can’t hear you,” Lyrissa lied. She took off her gown and stepped into the shower.
Warm pelts from the shower massage beat against her neck, shoulders, and back. Lyrissa covered herself in bath foam, then stood under the shower and rinsed off. She stepped out and dried off with a fluffy pink bath towel. She found clean panties and a bra on the bathroom counter.
“Thanks,” she called out as she put them on. Ebony had made up her bed by the time she padded back into her room.
“You’re welcome. Listen, word on the street is, Noel’s got his hands full. I hear there’s a real family fight going on. That could be why he hasn’t called.”
“Must be Carlton. His cousin thinks he should be CEO. Still no excuse.” Lyrissa pulled the shirt over her head. She went to the mirror and brushed her hair.
“According to reliable sources, things are pretty nasty. By the way, that witch Julie Duval is having a field day.” Ebony raised an eyebrow at her.
Lyrissa whirled around. “What do you mean?”
“She’s suddenly become the company spokeswoman. She all but said you’re guilty in one news interview.” “Humph! I’m sure she’s climbing all over Noel.” Lyrissa tossed her hairbrush across the room.
“Whoa!” Ebony’s eyes stretched wide.
“What else did that skeezer say?” Lyrissa crossed her arms.
“It’s more what she doesn't say. She implies a lot with-out coming out and saying what she means.” Ebony pursed her lips for a moment. “Kinda like a lawyer.”
“I’ll bet.” Lyrissa’s eyes narrowed to slits. “So that’s how it is, huh? Well, I’m not going down easy, you witch!”
Ebony grinned. “All right, girl. Let’s rock ’em until they can’t see straight.”
“We’ll talk about it over breakfast. I’m suddenly very hungry.” She marched out ahead of her.
“You might want to put on your pants and some shoes.” Ebony laughed. “Just a suggestion. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
They exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter. Lyrissa got dressed and went to the kitchen. Mama Grace sat at the table alone. She didn’t look up when Lyrissa walked in.
“Where is everybody?” Lyrissa went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.
“Ebony is on the phone. Claire’s in the laundry room,” Mama Grace replied.
“Oh.” She considered leaving. She stood at the kitchen counter.
“Sit down. We have to talk.”
Lyrissa heaved a sigh and obeyed. “Go on an
d say it. I wouldn’t be in this fix if I’d listened to you. Noel hasn’t called. The whole thing is a setup. I—”
“I can speak for myself” Mama Grace broke in.
“Yes, ma’am, you sure can.”
“I did tell you that those people are ruthless. And yes, you let your heart rule when your brains should have taken over.”
“I know.” Lyrissa drank a gulp of the smooth dark liquid to bolster herself.
“But... I pushed you into getting involved. I called that reporter. All those stories forced them to do something desperate. You were right. I should have let you handle things your way.” Mama Grace sniffed. “I’m the reason they’re after you.”
Mama Grace pressed her lips together. Deep lines criss-crossed her face. Her shoulders slumped, making her look shrunken. Lyrissa put down her coffee mug and placed an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s not your fault,” she said gently.
“Yes, it is. I should have known they’d try to destroy you the way they destroyed your great-great-grandfather.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“You’ve been beating yourself up for way too long. None of what happened now or fifty years ago is your fault.” Lyrissa pressed her cheek against Mama Grace’s face.
“We lost our house, the business, everything. All because I wouldn’t listen to anyone. I had to have my way.” Mama Grace covered her face with her hands.
Lyrissa tugged her grandmother’s hand down. “Let it go. You were young and in love. The St. Denis family did what they do best, steamroll over people.”
Aunt Claire joined them. “She’s right, Grace. You’ve been carrying around guilt and bitterness for too long. Let it go.”
Mama Grace smiled sadly. “I’m too old and stubborn to change. Bitterness is the only thing that kept me going for the past twenty years. That, and caring for you.” She touched Lyrissa’s face.
“Papa, Mama and the rest would want us to be happy no matter what. We put too much value on one object. That painting isn’t worth all this suffering,” Aunt Claire said fiercely.
“I’m so scared for you, baby.” Mama Grace wiped her eyes. “The important thing now is to clear your name.” “And keep her out of the slammer!” Aunt Claire slapped a fist into her palm.