Audrey loosened the scarf around her neck. "I feel better, thanks. I hope you don't mind, but we've already ordered. I have to take my medication at specific times, and if I don't eat, it makes me sick."
Mary picked up her menu. "I have the same problem with penicillin. If I don't eat before I take it, I get deathly ill." Embarrassed, she realized the implications of her tactless comment. Of all the times to get foot-in-mouth disease! She felt her face burning and rested her forehead in her hand. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled. "I was trying to make polite conversation."
Audrey patted her arm. "Forget it. Jack told me you already know about my cancer."
Mary lifted her eyes, and compassion overcame embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could say or do to help."
Jack pulled his chair closer to the table. "Let's talk about something else," he suggested in an overly bright voice. "I haven't had a chance to tell Audrey about our little adventure at the McGregory house." He glanced at Mary, his eyes twinkling. "You tell her what we found. I don't think she'd believe it if I told her."
Mary's eyes widened and she leaned forward. "Oh my God. I've inventoried a lot of houses, but never one like this." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and gestured with her hands. "It was awful...
"... and the old man who lived there didn't even use an outhouse. He simply dug holes in the floor and went for it. You should've seen the faces of the cleaning crew when they found out they had to dig the stuff out of the holes with shovels and dump it into buckets. I bet they don't volunteer for clean-up duty again anytime soon."
Audrey smiled. "I bet they don't." She stared at Mary for a few moments, then patted her hand. "Mary, I hate to change the subject, but could you please tell me about what happened to you at the plantation? I'm very interested in past lives, and anything you could share would be appreciated."
Mary shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I'll be glad to tell you what happened, but I don't think it was a past life experience that I had. It's more like Magdalene wanted me to know what happened at the house before she disappeared. I think she was giving me all the background information about who lived at the house so I'll know how to help her."
Audrey's eyes widened. "You mean you don't think you're Magdalene?"
She shook her head. "No, that's why this is all so strange. I'm not Magdalene, that much I am sure of." She took a sip of her drink. "Let me start at the beginning, that way you can see how all the pieces fit together."
She began by telling Audrey her first impression of the house, and continued until she'd told her all about her therapist, and his recommendation. She considered telling Audrey that her Aunt Elizavon had purchased that plantation, but decided against it.
Audrey remained silent until she'd finished. "Are you going to go back to the plantation?"
Mary nodded. "Well, I'm certainly going to try. However, given the fact that I'm not exactly Mrs. Martine's favorite person, it might be a problem. But, I'm certainly going to try."
Audrey smiled and lifted a hand to massage her temple. "I hate to say this, but I think I need to go upstairs and lie down." She turned to Mary and held out her hand. "I really appreciate your sharing what happened at the plantation with me, and I hope you get the chance to go back there. Jack told me you're leaving tomorrow, so I guess this is goodbye. I'm so glad I finally got to meet you."
As she started to leave the table, she suddenly turned and grabbed Mary's hand. "I'd like to ask a big favor. You don't have to answer now, but I'd appreciate it if you'd think about it. If you figure out a way to get back into the house, do you think you could give Jack a call, so I could come down? I'd like to visit the house, even if it's only for an hour. I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't have much time left, and you and that house are the only things I've found that even point to a past life, and the ability of someone's spirit to reach out from the grave. It's very important to me--especially right now."
Mary felt like a fraud as she squeezed the frail, white fingers. "I'll see what I can do, Audrey, but I'm not promising anything. I still have to figure out a way to get back inside." She knew she was telling a lie, but maybe God would forgive her this once. Elizavon would never let a stranger stay in the house, and she wasn't about to jeopardize her only chance to go back there by promising to bring people with her. Her gaze fell to the floor as she mumbled her response. "I'll let you know what I find out."
Audrey squeezed her hand one last time. "Thanks, Mary. If I don't get to see you again, I'm glad I met you. Take care."
Guilt consumed Mary as she watched Jack escort Audrey out of the room. After they disappeared into the hallway, she walked to the bar and ordered a tall drink to drown her sorrows. As she drained the glass, she tried to figure out why she'd been so mean. She could have told Audrey that Elizavon was going to let her stay in the house for a month. But then, Audrey would have wanted to come down, and the way her luck ran, it would probably be the day Elizavon made a surprise visit. Once Elizavon discovered she had guests staying at the house, she'd throw a temper tantrum and kick them all out.
Mary forced her guilt into a back corner of her mind. She had to make sure she stayed at the plantation long enough to figure out what happened to Magdalene. Until that happened, nothing else mattered. Not even her and Jack.
Chapter 27
At exactly eight am, the red and white moving truck pulled into the parking area of Philippe Martine's construction company. Two muscular men, both dressed in blue overalls and matching caps, got out of the cab. One of them held a clipboard, and flipped through the pages as they walked toward the main building.
Philippe Martine watched them enter the building, then released his hold on the light beige drape. This was the day he'd been dreading for weeks. Foreclosure had begun. He wondered why he wasn't upset, and realized he simply wanted this process over and done. He'd fretted about the company day and night for the past six months, and had long since realized there was nothing he could personally do to salvage it. The matter had been taken out of his hands by a building industry slump so devastating that companies older than his were going under. He'd already done his grieving. Now there was nothing left to do but endure this one last degradation, then move on with his life.
The buzzer on his phone officially started the demise. A few moments later, his secretary escorted the men into his office. He recognized the taller of the two as Bill Fife, one of his former managers. He gestured for them to take a seat in the leather chairs that faced his desk, and raised his eyes to theirs. "It's Bill Fife, right?"
Bill Fife nodded and shifted uneasily in his chair. He handed Philippe the pages from his clipboard. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Martine, but we have orders to remove all the equipment in the construction trailer. These papers are an itemized list of everything we're supposed to take." A dark red flush mottled his skin, and he glanced at the floor. "You'll need to sign the release form before we start," he mumbled.
Philippe thumbed through the pages. "Everything seems to be in order." The room grew quiet as he scribbled his name. "Do you have the address?"
Bill nodded. "Yeah. We have a loading crew headed that way. A tow truck is scheduled to move the trailer this afternoon."
Philippe reached in his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. He detached two and held them out. "Here's the extra set of keys. My foreman, Jerry Todd, is already there. He has the other set."
The two men rose to leave. When they reached the doorway, Bill turned. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Martine. You don't deserve this kind of treatment. This damn depression is hitting everybody hard."
Philippe nodded. "Thanks. You're a good man, Bill. I was sorry to let you go." As they disappeared down the hall, he turned his chair to face the grandfather clock that occupied a place of honor on one wall. He thought about all he struggles he'd endured to build his construction business. There'd been other lean times, but nothing like this. Business was so bad he'd been forced to lay off everyone except Jerry Todd,
his foreman, and Michelle Semanteaux, his secretary. They would be gone by the end of next week. He wondered how long it would be before his creditors took everything--including his dignity.
Michelle placed the morning mail on his desk and withdrew. He thumbed through the letters and sighed as he realized they were all foreclosure notices. Once he sold the plantation, he'd have enough money to pay everybody off and make a fresh start. He'd had one offer from some rich socialite from Boston, but it was so low, he'd refused. As he opened the mail, he wondered if he'd made a mistake letting Duchette talk him into rejecting it. Francois was sure they'd make a counter offer, but what if they didn't?
The shrill ring of the phone interrupted his musings. He picked up the receiver and Francois' deep voice echoed in his ear. "I have wonderful news, Philippe. Miss Phelps' attorney has made a counter offer of $350,000. I don't think they'll go any higher, because he showed me a certified check for that amount. My advice is to take the counter offer. It could be years before every parcel is sold."
Philippe did some swift calculations. It wasn't as much as he wanted, but it would work. He could hear Francois' breath, whistling in and out. "Take it."
"There's one other thing."
Damn. He knew that toad would cause problems. "What is it?"
"Miss Phelps wants the oil, gas, and mineral rights included in the deal."
Philippe breathed a sigh of relief. "There's no oil or gas on the property, so that's not an issue. How soon can we close?"
Francois chuckled. "She wants a fifteen day escrow. It'll be tight, but I think we can do it."
"Do whatever you have to. I'm on my way to a meeting. I'll drop by your office at two o'clock and sign the papers."
"Aren't you going to thank me for selling your property so quickly?" Francois asked in a hurt tone.
"I'm paying your commission, that's thanks enough." Philippe hung up, his mind already on other matters. As soon as the line was clear, he phoned his attorney. "John, it's Philippe. I've accepted an offer for the plantation this morning for $350,000."
"Congratulations, Philippe. That will solve a lot of your problems."
"I would've liked to get more, but the buyer's attorney showed my realtor a cashier's check for that sum, so I took their offer. Can you see what you can do to speed up escrow? It's supposed to go fifteen days, but I'd like to close sooner."
"Sure. I'll see what I can do."
"You'll need to call my creditors. Foreclosure's already started. They started on the construction trailer this morning."
There was a long pause on the other end. "I'm sorry about that, Philippe. I tried to hold them off, but there was nothing I could do."
"Not your fault. See if you can get them to stop the rest, will you?"
"Shouldn't be a problem now that you've sold the house." The sound of John's calculator echoed in the background. "There won't be much left after I pay off the creditors." He cleared his throat. "Does Nicole know?
"Not yet. She still thinks we're rolling in dough." Philippe's laughter was scornful. "She has a one-track mind. Even though I've told her money is tight, she still placed an order for a new Lamborghini®."
More silence. "Don't worry about it. I've already sent the registered letter to the dealer canceling the order." He cleared his throat. "Philippe, you've got to talk to her. The bank called this morning. Nicole wrote a post-dated check for eighteen thousand dollars, made out to Duvalle's Furs. They tried to put a hold on the funds in your account so they could run it through early. That's why the bank called me. Did you know she bought a new fur coat?"
"No, I didn't." Realizing the distasteful task that lay before him, Philippe cursed under his breath. "Will they take the fur back?"
"I don't know. You'll have to talk to the manager. I'm sorry, Philippe."
"Don't worry about it. It's my problem, I'll deal with it. I love Nicole, but sometimes she's a pain in the ass."
John chuckled. "Aren't all women?"
Philippe ignored his remark. "I'll stop by the furrier on my way out. Is there anything else I need to know?"
"Nothing we can't handle through here. I'm glad you sold the plantation. It's about time something went your way."
"Yeah. I'm beginning to feel like a free man again. I'll see you later." On his way home, he stopped by the furrier, and after talking to the manager, made arrangements for the return of Nicole's coat. He knew she'd be furious, but there was nothing he could do. They didn't have that kind of money to throw around, and she already owned two furs.
Nicole's red Mercedes® was in the driveway, and he parked behind to it. He found her sitting in the dining room, eating lunch. As usual, the mere sight of her beauty took away his breath. Her pale cream dress accentuated the blue-black luster of her hair, and the magnolia-like color of her skin. He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. This wasn't going to be easy, but it had to be done. He might as well get it over with. Maybe she'd stop spending money faster than it came in if she knew how broke they were. He cleared his throat, and she looked up. "Did Francois tell you I accepted an the offer for the plantation?"
"Surely you didn't take that insult of $300,000."
He pulled his chair closer to the table, and the maid placed a chef salad in front of him. "They made a counter offer for $350,00 and I accepted."
She slammed her hands on the table. "That has to be the stupidest thing you've ever done. Get on the phone and tell Francois you've changed your mind. That house is worth at least four hundred fifty thousand dollars. We're not taking any less."
He rose, walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured a neat scotch. "That's too bad, Nicole, because I've already accepted the offer. We have a two o'clock appointment in Francois' office to sign the papers. I know you don't give a damn about my business, but I need every dime of that money to pay off my creditors."
She raised her delicately etched eyebrows, then narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Tough. I refuse to sign the papers."
He walked over to back of her chair and leaned forward. "You will sign them," he whispered in her ear. "Because if you don't, all your precious friends will know we're in foreclosure. Think about what that would do for your social life."
She shoved him away and threw her iced tea glass across the room. "You're nothing but a worthless excuse for a man, Philippe. I always knew you were a loser, and now you've proven it."
He smiled an ugly smile. "That's nice, dear." Returning to his chair, he picked up his fork. "Oh, while we're on the subject of bankruptcy, you ought to know that I've cancelled the Lamborghini® you ordered, and made arrangements to return the new fur coat. Tell Dolly to bring it down, because the furrier is sending someone over to pick it up." He glanced at his watch. "They should be here in about twenty minutes."
He stared at his plate, and spooned a generous helping of creamy white dressing over his salad. "We're broke, my dear. If we're lucky, we'll be able to keep the house, the cars, your jewelry, and furs. Everything else goes, including the winter cabin in Colorado."
Shock rendered her speechless. She sat at the table, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
The incredulous look on her face was almost comical. If circumstances had been different, he might even have laughed. Unfortunately, this wasn't a laughing matter, and he needed to make sure she understood the desperate financial situation they were in. "Nicole, for once in your life, stop thinking about yourself and pay attention to what I'm saying. After we pay off the creditors, I'll have enough money to tide us over until spring. Once the building industry picks up, I'm going to start a specialized company. If everything goes well, we should be back on our feet in a year or so." He paused for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction. Was she paying attention? "Of course, that means you won't be able to buy anything new. Nothing--no furs, cars, or jewelry for at least a year."
Dark red splotches mottled her pale skin as she rose from her chair and stomped up the stairs. When she didn't return, Philippe let out the breath he'd b
een holding. At least she hadn't made a scene. He'd been dreading telling her about their financial situation. Whether or not she gave a damn was anybody's guess. He finished his salad, and when Dolly appeared with the coat, he instructed her to remind Nicole about their two o'clock appointment.
The meeting with the realtor went well, even though Nicole sulked the entire time. Once it was over, he left his copy of the papers with his attorney's secretary. He had a lot of thinking to do, so he returned to his office and gave his secretary the afternoon off.
The next ten days passed in a blur of activity. Philippe divided his time between closing his business and meeting with his attorney. It was a relief when he and Nicole traveled to Jusette's Title Company to sign the final documents on the plantation. The check they gave him was only fifteen thousand dollars, and he stared at it in surprise. It was hard to believe that this was all that remained of his once-successful business.
Nicole touched his arm and led him back to the car. Her attitude toward him had softened in the past few days. He wondered if it was because she realized what losing his business after years of hard work meant to him, or because she figured out she didn't have anyone else who would pay her bills if she divorced him. A bitter smile formed on his lips. It was probably the latter. Now that she couldn't count on a hefty divorce settlement, she was stuck. No wonder she'd changed her attitude. Even though he loved her dearly, he saw her for what she was--a selfish, spiteful woman.
He grimaced and turned his thoughts to the future. He'd signed limited agreements with a few of his associates, and lined up enough work to pay the bills they still owed for the next five or six months. Two different bankers had already offered to help finance his new endeavor. Maybe things were finally going his way.
Two days later, as he walked from the courthouse, he ran into Thomas Kingfield, an old friend who worked in the state highway department. They exchanged a few words, and as he turned to leave, Thomas placed a hand on his arm.
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