by Sandra Hill
Lena’s eyes were fluttering, a precursor to falling asleep once again. But before she did, she reached out one hand to clasp one of Grace’s. “Thank you” was all she said.
For Grace, it was enough. In fact, it was everything. The scary thing was, Grace was beginning to understand Tante Lulu and her interfering in everybody’s lives.
And, in some warped way, by helping this girl, it felt as if she was helping her own child.
Greasing the wheels of the law, Tante Lulu style...
“I wanna set up one of those foundation thingees.”
Lucien LeDeux stared, unblinking, at his great-aunt across the desk of his Houma law office. He wasn’t surprised by her request. Hell, it was mild compared to other stuff she’d asked him to do over the years. “Why?”
“Why not?” Tante Lulu shrugged her little shoulders, and it tugged at his heart to see her getting even smaller with age. She was wearing a floral muumuu—or whatever you called one of those Hawaiian kind of dresses that probably went out of fashion about fifty years ago—but, loose as it was, it couldn’t hide her diminishing height and bony frame. She wore her hair in its natural gray today, a helmet style that hugged her head, but that was offset by bright red lipstick with matching fake fingernails, thanks, no doubt, to his half sister Charmaine, a beautician.
He had to wonder how many years they would have the old bird around. Forever, I hope.
“Luc, I have plenty of money, and I’m thinkin’ it’s ’bout time I put it ta better use than earnin’ interest in some bank, or molderin’ away under my mattress.”
“You keep money under your mattress?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
She mentioned a sum so alarming he had to clutch the arms of his chair to keep from leaping over the desk and shaking her.
“It takes a lot of money to set up a foundation, then people to run it, campaigns to continue funding, that kind of stuff. How much, total, are you thinking of donating for seed money?”
“One, mebbe two million.”
“Dollars?”
“No. Apples. Of course I meant dollars. Jeesh!”
He would have swallowed his teeth, if he had false teeth. “Son of a bi...gun! Where did you get so much money?”
“Dontcha be usin’ that kinda language ’round me, boy.”
I’m a grown man with three kids, and she still calls me “boy.” How amazing is that? He grinned.
“It’s not funny. I’ll tell ya where I got the money. I’ve been around since the Gold Rush, practic’ly. Mebbe I never made much with my traiteur work, but I still managed ta save. I dint have no mortgage or big bills or chillen of my own. Then there was the Jinx treasure-huntin’ project. I was one of the biggest investors. When they found that pirate loot, whoo-boy, it was more money in the bank fer me. Plus, I own part of Charmaine’s beauty spas. And I bought stock in Micro-somethin’ or other when they first started making those gadgets.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are the gadgets you’re referring to computers? And could you possibly have bought Microsoft stock before the industry exploded?”
“Ain’t that what I jist said? I knowed this lady down in N’awleans who was second cousin to a young’un called Bill Bates who tol’ me I oughta buy the stock.”
Unbelievable! “Do you mean Bill Gates?”
“You are such an idjit sometimes, Luc. Do ya honestly think I doan know what a computer is? An’ Bill Gates is almos’ as famous as Richard Simmons. Holy crawfish! I’m old, but I ain’t stoopid.”
Okay, she sucked me in with that one. “You’ve got a lot of great-nephews and -nieces,” he pointed out. “Gifting them might be a good idea.”
She waved a hand airily. “I’ve already taken care of them.”
He raised his brows at that news. He was the only lawyer in the family, except for his sister-in-law Val, who specialized in more high-powered cases. How come Tante Lulu hadn’t consulted him? “Is this about that sick girl you took in last week? And the kids you and Grace are caring for?”
“Partly. It breaks my heart ta see what that girl’s been through. Lena Duval is her name. She’s only nineteen years old, but she’s been takin’ care of her whole family since Hurrycane Katrina, bless her heart—two younger brothers and a younger sister. An’ she’s had ta do it all, secret-like, ’cause, sure as shootin’, if Child Protective Services had known ’bout them, they woulda put ’em in foster homes. Separate foster homes. She was only fifteen at the time.”
He didn’t want to hear about any of this tug-your-heart bullshit. What it amounted to was Tante Lulu butting into other people’s lives again. “Where are the parents?”
“Her mother died of cancer a year before Katrina, and her daddy died durin’ the hurrycane. Prob’ly got drunk and drowned. But Lena and the kids been tellin’ anyone what asks that their daddy is workin’ out on the oil rigs.”
He frowned. “Who’s supporting them? Welfare?”
She shook her head. “Nope. If they’da asked fer help, them nosy social workers woulda been out ta their home, sniffin’ around. In fact, Grace sez they mighta been there yesterday. Ya gotta know, those youngens are livin’ in practic’ly a tin shack up the bayou. Sad, it is! Thass one of the things I wanna do with this foundation. Help build homes, or renovate homes, fer folks what been hurt by Katrina. And I wanna help families stay t’gether.”
“So what’re they livin’ on?”
“Waitressin’. Lawn work. Newspaper delivery. Baby-sittin’.”
Mind-boggling! And not just kids being able to survive on so little. How his aunt got involved in other people’s business, and dragged the rest of the family in, was beyond belief. But he had to admire her kind heart.
“Can’t you just give this group of kids money—I mean, not give it to them, but buy them a home and help them manage?”
“I could...and I will, but I wonder how many other families out there are still sufferin’ from that damn hurrycane.”
Tante Lulu hardly ever swore. It was an indication of her distress that she did now. Hell, it had been four years since Katrina, and everyone knew that hundreds, maybe thousands, of families still hadn’t recovered.
“Okay, how about donating a large amount of money to an existing foundation?”
“Nope. I want my foundation ta be different. Families, thass what mine will be about. There’s lotsa charities that helps sick kids. Me, I wanna help families.”
He tapped a forefinger to his closed lips, thinking. “I know this woman, Samantha Starr. She runs the Starr Wish Foundation in N’awleans. How ’bout I set up a meeting? Maybe she can give you some advice.”
“Thass a start.” Tante Lulu frowned, as if something just occurred to her. “Starr, you say? Is she from the Starr Foods family, the one that has that chain of supermarkets?”
“Yes.”
“Doan that beat all? I know ol’ man Starr. Crazy as a loony bird.”
Luc had to laugh, inside. It was like the dingbat criticizing the loony bird.
“Stan founded Starr Foods after World War II in a little French Quarter grocery store. Now there’s prob’ly a hundred supermarkets in the Starr chain across the South.”
Was there anyone his aunt didn’t know?
“And do somethin’ legal-like ta make sure this Duval family doan get separated.”
“Huh? What do you expect me to do?”
“Yer the expert. I jist doan want no state do-gooders on the trailer doorstep sayin’ Lena cain’t be the guardian of her family.”
“She’s only nineteen? I don’t know many judges who would think this is a good idea. Every agency in the state is going to jump on this case, wondering what kind of care they’d gotten from a fifteen-year-old after the disaster.”
“You kin do it,” his aunt said. “Yer the best.”
“Stop buttering me up.”
“It’s the truth, sugar. Mebbe I should go ta the newspapers. Ooh, I know. Celine’s a newspaper reporter. Bet she knows pe
ople.” Celine was his half brother Tee-John’s wife. A smart lady, Celine made herself scarce every time she saw Tante Lulu head her way.
“Don’t you dare go publicizing this—at least not ’til we know where we stand.” We? Did I say “we”? Man, I am so screwed. She’s roped me in again.
Tante Lulu stood and picked up her purse, a purse that was about the size of a Yankee carpetbag. “I gotta get started on a house fer these young’uns right away. And I gotta do it secret-like ’til we got all this legal nonsense straightened out.”
Oooh, he didn’t like the sound of “legal nonsense.” But then he figured “Don’t ask, don’t tell” might be the best policy for him at the moment.
“Too bad Angel Sabato got married. He usta work in construction. We coulda had him come here and put up a fine little cottage, lickety-split. Then when the social workers come ta call, they kin see the kids got a good home. Us LeDeuxs could help, but we doan know snake spit ’bout drawin’ up plans.”
“Angel isn’t married.”
“What?”
“His marriage was annulled almost a year ago—a month after the ceremony, actually.”
“How come no one tol’ me?”
“Maybe no one thought you would care.”
She stood, leaned across the desk, and swatted him a good one with her Richard Simmons fan. “Sometimes you are dumber’n a gator on roller skates, Luc. ’Course I care. Now gimme some sugar.”
He walked around the desk and leaned down, way down, to kiss her cheek.
As she walked out the door, telling him to call her when he’d set up the meeting with Samantha Starr, he heard her say to his secretary, “Do you hear thunder?”
And Luc just knew that someone better duck quick.
It ain’t that hard to lasso an angel...
“Hullo! Who’s this?”
“Angel...Angel Sabato.”
“Well, how are ya, cher?”
“Who is...whoa! Is that you, Tante Lulu?”
“Yep. Whatcha up to, boy? Still treasure huntin’?”
“Yeah. Sort of. I just got back from Germany. The Amber Project was a bust.”
“Sometimes thass the way things go.”
His suspicious mind went on red alert. The old bat wouldn’t be calling him for no reason. “Why are you calling me, Tante Lulu? Oh, no! Did something happen to Grace?”
“Grace is fine. That one, she be learnin’ ta be a traiteur real good. The only thing she has trouble with is milkin’ snakes fer snake-pee ointment.”
“Are you kidding?”
“’Course I’m kidding. Mon Dieu! Are all men idjits? Anyways, I’m glad ta hear ya still care what happens ta Grace.”
Note to self: Keep your frickin’ mouth shut, Sabato. Do not mention she-who-shall-remain-on-my-shit-list. He bit his bottom lip into silence, but he noticed that his hands were fisted with tension. It had taken him a long time to stop thinking about Grace 24/7. Did he want to open a vein again?
Hell, no!
“So, yer between jobs, then?”
I should end this conversation right now. Talking to this wily old bird is like jump roping in a minefield. “Yeeeesss,” he said hesitantly.
“I have a job fer you.”
“No.” Whew! I thought she was going to say something about thunderbolts...or Grace.
“Ya cain’t say no before ya even know what the job is.”
Wanna bet? “Yes, I can. Because there is no way in hell that I’m coming back to Louisiana.” There! I took a stand. Man, I am so proud of myself.
“Why not?”
She’s like a puppy on a pants leg. “Ask Grace why not.” Damn! I can’t believe I said that. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
“This ain’t about Grace.”
I sincerely doubt that. “What’s the problem?”
“We need ta put up a little house fer some orphans, and we need ta do it fast and secret-like.”
“Tante Lulu, as noble as your project sounds, I am not coming back to Louisiana. No way.”
“No way?”
If there was such a thing as mental Teflon, Tante Lulu had it in spades. He shouldn’t say anything. He really shouldn’t.
Did he listen to himself?
Nope.
“You’re trying to set me up, aren’t you? Well, you’re not going to rope me in that easy. I have my pride.”
“Pooyie! Pride doan make the gumbo boil.”
“What?”
“We’re desperate here, Angel. We need a builder. There’s plenty of people ta do the grunt work, if only they had blueprints and directions. And you can name yer price. Hello...are ya still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Besides, I have a feelin’ about you and Grace.”
“That door closed a long time ago.”
“Didja ever think ya mighta given up too easy?”
Only every other day. “What makes you say that? Does she talk about me?”
“Heck, no. This news’ll jar yer preserves, boy: Grace thinks yer still married.”
Oh, that’s just dandy. She must think I’m a one-hundred-proof slimeball. “I’d like to help you, but I just can’t.”
“I’m disappointed in ya, boy. Instead of pitchin’ a hissy fit and runnin’ off ta marry the first gal ya met, mebbe ya shoulda stayed here and fought fer what ya wanted.”
She hung up before he could answer.
Long after the connection was broken and he was still listening to the dial tone, Angel sat with a puzzled expression on his face. Then the oddest thing happened.
He found himself saying a little prayer to St. Jude.
Chapter 4
The cast gets bigger, and bigger...
Tante Lulu arrived late for her meeting with the Starr Wish Foundation folks. It was all Daniel LeDeux’s fault.
It had taken her and Luc more than an hour to convince Daniel to accompany them and possibly serve on the board of directors of the new foundation she was forming, if that actually happened. Grace was back at her cottage, keeping a watch on Lena. After all this time in bed, the girl was antsy to get up and about, which could set her back a ways, if she wasn’t careful.
“I swear, old lady. Drag me into any more of your schemes and I’m going to throttle you,” Daniel said under his breath as they walked down the hallway toward the conference room at the Starr Foods headquarters in New Orleans.
“Someone’s shoelaces are tied too tight.” She might be old, but her hearing was still good.
Daniel glowered some more. “First you have me practicing medicine in a state where I have no license. Then you try to get me to prescribe Viagra for a friend of yours. Then you try to redecorate my apartment—with a circular bed and a mirrored ceiling. Then you sign me up for Cajun dance lessons, as if I don’t already know how to dance. Now this!”
“Shut yer trap, boy. Dontcha know how ta show respect fer yer elders?”
“Listen up! You may be the Queen Bee of Cajun Busybodies, but I’m tired to death of you involving me in your peccadilloes.”
“What pickles?”
“Not pickles. Peccadilloes. Little offensive acts.”
“Well, I declare! Mus’ be an Eskimo word. But me, I ain’t never been offensive in all my life.”
“And you only being as old as God’s toothbrush.”
At his sarcasm, Tante Lulu just smiled and said, “Personally, I’m thinkin’ yer ornery ways are jist signs of yer bein’ horned up.”
“She means horny,” Luc interpreted with a grin. Daniel pulled at his hair with both hands and gritted out, “Aaarrgh!”
Luc looped an arm over Daniel’s shoulder. “It’s better to just go along with her, cher. If you’re not careful, she’ll sic the thunderbolt on you.”
“The what?”
“Never mind. Now’s not the time,” Tante Lulu told them both. “How do I look?” She’d put on her la-de-da business outfit today, to impress the Starr folks. A suit and pumps with little high heels. Even nylons. Okay, the
suit was pink, and her hair was bright blonde, but a lady still needed to look like a lady.
“You look great,” Luc said.
Daniel’s eyes held a different opinion, but then, he was from Alaska, and them Eskimos up there wouldn’t know style if it hit them in the head with a glacier.
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ plastic surgery. I have a few wrinkles on my face that need a lift. My powder gets clogged in the furrows.”
“A few wrinkles?” Daniel scoffed. “Hey, don’t be thinking I’ll give you a face-lift. I’m not that kind of doctor.”
“A doctor’s a doctor. By the way, ya coulda wore a suit, like Luc,” she complained. Daniel actually looked fine in khaki slacks, a golf shirt, and loafers, but he needed to have his ego deflated a bit. All the LeDeux men were too good-looking for their own good, thought they were all that and a bowl of grits.
“You could have left me at home.”
“You been hibernatin’ too long. Time ya got out and socialized. Do ya even have a girlfriend?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh, no! Don’t you dare. You are not getting involved in my personal life. Whether I have a girlfriend or not is none of your business.”
“Are ya gay?”
Daniel sputtered, “You...you...no! I am not gay.” Luckily, the conference room door opened just then and a woman stood there, waiting to greet them. She was tall, about five-ten, and nearing thirty, if not over that hump. Her auburn hair was held back off her face in a French braid. Freckles covered her face and arms, exposed by the short-sleeved, belted jade green dress she wore. The freckles gave a clue as to her identity. All the Starr family were covered with freckles. They were Yankee carpetbaggers who’d moved South from Boston after World War II but came from Scotland generations back.
“Hey, Sam!” Luc shook the lady’s hand, then turned to Tante Lulu. “This is Samantha Starr. Sam, this is my great-aunt, Louise Rivard, or Tante Lulu, as she prefers.” Luc waved a hand at Daniel, who was scowling like a nitwit. “Sam, this is my half brother, Dr. Daniel LeDeux.”
