Midnight on the Mississippi

by Mary Ellis

  “C’est vrai, Nicolette. I don’t know why I’m troubling you with my personal problems.” Exhaling a sigh, Hunter shook his head. “Do you think James’s death is somehow tied to Wellert Securities? That was a long time ago.”

  “I’m not sure, but he definitely could have learned a few unsavory tricks during his internship. Wellert was investigated many times for unscrupulous trading practices.” She crossed the kitchen to the window, needing more space between them.

  “True, but isn’t it more logical to look for suspects among those who lost money now? Those other incidents happened years ago. We should be able to narrow it down to a few dozen.”

  He sounded at the end of his rope. He reached for a bottle of bourbon from the shelf, but Nicki pulled it from his fingers. “Seriously, Hunter? This has to be about more than a fight with Ashley. Every engaged couple has spats.”

  “Have you even been engaged, Nicki? Did a guy ask to marry you after you just finished kissing somebody else on the dance floor?”

  Nicki’s heart pressed against her ribcage. He was talking about her, about them, about a kiss she thought he’d forgotten about. “No, but one kiss—even two—shouldn’t change the future if you love her.”

  If you love her. There it was, the elephant in the room that Mrs. Peteriere accused him of cleaning around. Nicki didn’t dare breathe.

  Hunter stared out the window, where a gentle rain beat against the pane. “You’re right. Kissing you could have been a regrettable misjudgment caused by alcohol, cold feet, or garden variety stupidity.” A flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder heightened the tension in the room, adding drama no one needed.

  “But I wasn’t drunk. I’m not usually stupid. And I don’t regret kissing you.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What motivated you?” Nicki tried to sound like a casual observer merely gathering facts without prejudice.

  “I don’t know. But I’m not in love with Ashley.”

  “Then why would you ask her to marry you?”

  “Strike my earlier comment about not being stupid. I proposed because I didn’t want to disappoint her or embarrass her or hurt her feelings. And why wouldn’t I marry her? She’s pretty, kind to small animals, works hard at her chosen career, and almost everybody likes her. I did what I’ve done my entire life—took the easy way out. I got caught up in the current and allowed choices to be made for me.”

  Nicki felt conflicted. “Marry her or don’t marry her. It’s up to you, but your decision has nothing to do with me. Those kisses were due to momentary insanity. We have no future, Hunter, because the only thing we have in common is this case.”

  “I know that, and I plan to take care of this. My cowardly people-pleasing is what led to this mess. If I hadn’t been so busy avoiding confrontation, James might still be alive.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “You’re responsible for this mess with Ashley, but Nowak’s death is on him. He built a house of cards that came crashing down on top of him.”

  Hunter forced a thin, patient smile. “I’m not sure how you are around puppies and kittens, but you are a nice person, Miss Price.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m not getting paid to be nice. And because you’re distracted with love life problems, I’ll work on the case in the den. I want to check if any of Nowak’s clients from Wellert Securities followed him to your company. There might be a connection there.” She almost ran from the kitchen. No way could he see how much his confession had upset her.

  Discovering that she cared about Hunter came as no surprise.

  Discovering how deep those feelings went scared Nicki to the bone.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hunter watched Nicki leave the kitchen. It was obvious she couldn’t wait to get away from him. She had a job to do and didn’t need his personal dilemmas. But as she pushed through the swinging door, she ran smack into an unsmiling Ashley.

  “Excuse me,” Nicki said, holding the door open with her hip.

  “Oh, hello,” Ashley drawled. “You’re the new investigator.” She stared down her tiny nose. It wasn’t a gesture Hunter admired. “Nicole Price, right?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, it’s Nicolette, not Nicole.”

  Ashley’s brow furrowed. “Nicorette? You were named after a stop smoking gum?” She giggled with amusement.

  Giving Nicki no chance to reply, Jeanette pushed in between the two women. “Mr. Galan’s busy working now, Miz Menard. You come back later. Wait till he calls you.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. I’m here now.” Ashley didn’t sound pleased. “And I will talk to my fiancé whenever I desire. Don’t you have some cleaning to do?” Her gaze held nothing but contempt for the diminutive housekeeper.

  “It’ll keep. A lady shouldn’t push her way into things not her business.” Jeanette spoke in a low voice, but every word was audible.

  “What?” Ashley squawked. “I don’t think it’s a maid’s prerogative to decide what constitutes ladylike behavior.” The two women faced off like bulldogs on opposite sides of a fence.

  “While you two sort this out, I’m going to work quietly in the other room.” Nicki squeezed through the doorway as the other women continued to glare at each other.

  “Good idea, Nicorette,” said Ashley, her focus never leaving Jeanette.

  Hunter knew it was time to intervene. Maybe with his well-honed skills of mediation and negotiation he could prevent a bloodbath in his kitchen. “Her name is Nicolette, Ashley,” he said, his tone encouraging no argument. “She works for me and we have much to do.”

  Ashley pivoted to face him. “For heaven’s sake, Hunter, you’re working in your kitchen, not chairing an annual board meeting. And why don’t you ever go to the office anymore?”

  “Because I feel it’s more important to clear my name of James’s murder and calm my clients’ fears so they don’t bolt. Both of those are better accomplished from home. Furthermore, Mrs. Peteriere is not my maid. I have no maid. You should know that by now.”

  Suddenly, Ashley morphed before his eyes. She shrugged her shoulders as though confused. “Darling, why are you getting so mad? I know she’s your grandmother’s maid. But the point is I shouldn’t be denied access to you by the hired help.”

  Jeanette marched toward the sink and began washing the two glasses there. She muttered a string of French phrases as she ran the water.

  “Jeanette didn’t deny you access. She simply indicated I was busy with something important.” Hunter tried his best to control his temper.

  Ashley’s nostrils flared. “What could possibly be so important with Nate’s cousin? Didn’t she get her PI license from some online correspondence course? You need Nate back on the case to avoid going to prison.”

  Hunter pulled Ashley into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut. “What’s the matter with you? She could still be in the dining room and might have heard you.”

  “Oh, pooh, I was just joking. Lighten up.” Pulling from his grasp, she flounced across the room. “Do you have any diet soda?” Her words drifted from the refrigerator’s interior. “Seriously, wouldn’t you do better with an experienced investigator rather than a backwoods farm girl?”

  A coffee cup Jeanette was washing slipped from her fingers and shattered in the sink. Hunter felt close to the boiling point. “Jeanette, would you please leave those dishes for now? I would like to talk to Miss Menard.”

  “You go ahead, Mr. Galen. I’ll just close my ears. I need to clean up these sharp pieces before someone’s throat gets cut.”

  “See what I mean?” Ashley whined. “She’s incorrigible. Jeanette refuses to do what she’s told, and now she has broken another coffee mug. I thought sixty-five was the mandatory retirement age in this country. Why must we have someone who won’t take orders working here?”

  Hunter closed his eyes. He pretended just for a moment he was someplace else instead of captive in his own apartment with three difficult women.

  His father never had these problem
s.

  His brother, Ethan, didn’t have these problems.

  But he had only himself to blame. In his misguided attempt to make everyone happy, he made no one happy, especially not himself. He had gone out of his way to avoid confrontation and ended up with an intolerable life. And only he could take back control.

  “Jeanette, please take Miss Price the can of soda she requested. She’s probably in the den. Why don’t you remain there with her? I wish to speak to Miss Menard in private.”

  “Oui, monsieur.” Jeanette picked up the soft drink and left the room.

  “Thank goodness,” said Ashley. “I thought we would need a crowbar to get her out of here.” She crossed her arms over her impeccable silk suit.

  Visions of Ashley entertaining rich old men, fawning and cooing over cocktails, flashed through Hunter’s mind like a movie clip. But his anger had nothing to do with her postcollege behavior. He could forgive foolish mistakes made while someone was young, but he couldn’t abide with rude and arrogant behavior by adults. “We need to talk.”

  But Ashley began rummaging in his pantry. “Did that Miss Price take the last diet soda? I don’t see any other six-packs.” With narrowed eyes and a hard-set jaw, she resembled a hawk spotting something tasty in a bean field.

  “Ashley, please sit down.” A headache throbbed behind his eyes as the woman he had recently asked to marry him turned into a stranger.

  “Oh, Hunter, can’t we just put this behind us and get out of here? You’ve been working too hard. We’ll have an early dinner at Jerome’s and take the yacht out for a sail. I’ll call the captain and crew. Would you like that?”

  “No, I would not. You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said and you haven’t for a long time. But you’re going to listen now.” Hunter was one notch away from shouting.

  Chastised, she closed the pantry door and sat primly on a chair. “I’m all ears.”

  “I don’t like how you treat Mrs. Peteriere or Miss Price and a lot of other people you encounter. If you feel someone is socially beneath you, you’re not very nice to them. And that must change.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been under so much stress lately. If I promise to do better, will you forgive me?” She turned up her blue eyes and moistened her lips with her tongue.

  “No, Ashley. I’m serious this time. I tried discussing this before, but you always shrug it off.” Hunter straightened his back. Postponing the inevitable would only make matters worse. “You have many admirable qualities. You are a beautiful, accomplished woman, and any man would be proud to make you his wife, but in many ways we are incompatible. We need to take a break from each other and think things through carefully.”

  Ashley seemed flabbergasted by his decision. “What about our engagement? The announcement will appear in Saturday’s society pages. What about the lovely party our families threw for us? We couldn’t possibly disappoint everyone after they went to so much trouble.” She rose to her feet regally, like a queen. “I will apologize to Jeanette. I know I should make allowances for the elderly. And I promise to be nice to your investigator, but let’s not overreact to a minor disagreement. Every engaged couple has them.”

  Hunter felt worse than at any point in his life. Ashley didn’t get it. She thought this was how people acted in a relationship—like actors on a stage playing their roles for an appreciative audience. “I’m sorry my family went ahead with the party without checking with me first. They had no right to take the decision out of our hands.”

  She looked at him in shock and then in dismay. Sniffing delicately, she went to the counter to tear off a paper towel from the hanging roll. Then she softly dabbed her eyes with it. “You mean you would have stopped them had you known?” Her tone indicated disbelief in the possibility.

  “Yes, I would have. I thought things between us were moving too fast. I had little control of your…agenda.” Hunter shook his head, feeling lower than a snake in the grass. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but we need to step back and take a good look at our relationship.” He let several seconds pass before adding, “Because I’m not the right man for you.”

  She shook her head, sending her long hair flying. “No, you’re angry because I was rude to Jeanette. I shouldn’t have acted that way. I know she has been with your family since before you were born. Everyone else is so fond of her. Besides I was taught to respect my elders.” Ashley pursed her lips and blew out her frustration. “We’ll let the announcement run in Saturday’s paper as planned. Then I’ll go up to Baton Rouge for a week. We’ll take a breather from each other and I can do some shopping.” Her eyes lit as the plan to save her world took shape. “By the time I get back, this spat will be forgotten. You’ll be glad to see me.” She placed a well-manicured hand against his chest, while a mega-watt smile bloomed across her lovely face. “And, of course, I’ll apologize to Jeanette on my way out.

  Hunter removed her hand from his shirt. “No, Miss Menard. You’ll call the Times and cancel the announcement. We can talk more when you get back from Baton Rouge, but I won’t change my mind. Put whatever spin you want on this because I have no desire to embarrass you. Tell everyone the breakup was your idea—the strain of James’s murder was too much. You couldn’t possibly proceed with wedding plans while I’m a murder suspect.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  Hunter walked to the window overlooking the garden. The dismal weather precisely matched his mood. “I don’t care if you tell people the wedding’s off because I am a murderer. Let’s just stop before any more arrangements are made for us.”

  Ashley wilted before his eyes, her face as white as a sheet as she finally realized she wasn’t going to get her way. “Very well, Hunter. We’ll say no more about this for now. I’ll do as you say and call the papers.”

  Hunter pitied her, not for the broken engagement—she would find a richer, taller, better-looking replacement by the end of summer—but because this could be the first time someone had ever said no to her. “Eventually you’ll agree we made the right decision,” he said as gently as possible.

  Ashley arched her neck and lifted her chin as a spark of her formidable spirit returned. “No. I think you’re making a mistake. A big mistake.” With that she marched out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and out the front door. She didn’t look back. And she also didn’t bother to apologize to Jeanette.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Strange how life worked out. You finally got what you think you wanted, and suddenly, what you wanted changed. Nicki felt no overwhelming joy when Ashley left the apartment, her face fraught with pain. The woman no longer looked imposing in her expensive heels and designer suit. Nicki felt pity for her until Ashley cast a withering glance over her shoulder on her way out the front door. She focused her wrath first on Mrs. Peteriere and then on her.

  What had Hunter seen in that scrawny scarecrow? How could he put up with such an overbearing attitude? Why couldn’t he date a nice person for a change? A person like her, for instance. Not that a man like him would look twice at someone with six-dollar haircuts and who ordered food off the value menu. Exhaling a weary sigh, Nicki locked eyes with Mrs. Peteriere. The woman was staring at her curiously, her vacuum cleaner forgotten.

  “You just gonna sit there, O’lette?”

  “I have gone over Mr. Galen’s books until I can practically recite them chapter and verse. I’m not discovering anything I hadn’t already considered about Mr. Nowak.”

  Mrs. Peteriere clucked her tongue and muttered something in French. “I’m not talking about your job.” She shook her tiny silvery head.

  Nicki closed the lid of her laptop, uncertain what to do. She’d watched the semiretired housekeeper open the kitchen door an inch so she could eavesdrop and smirk over some overheard exchange. Now she had been dusting a small Chinese vase for five full minutes. But brave, industrious Nicolette Price couldn’t possibly ask her what happened or what she found so amusing. It was her job to find a client with a motive to ki
ll James Nowak better than Hunter Galen’s. “Then what are you talking about, Mrs. Peteriere?”

  “They are kaput, he and Miz Menard,” Mrs. Peteriere whispered, dipping her head toward the closed door. “Perhaps Monsieur Galen needs a shoulder to cry on.”

  Nicki’s jaw dropped open. “Then perhaps you can call his parish priest. I don’t know anything about salving wounded souls.”

  Mrs. Peteriere clucked her tongue a second time. “You are nothing like your cousin.”

  “Thank you. I consider that a compliment. My cousin would try the patience of a saint.” Nicki tucked her laptop into her tote bag, giving up on work for the moment.

  When she glanced up, Mrs. Peteriere was staring at her. “Maybe I can fix something to eat for you two. Serve it out on the terrace. Very nice out there, you’ll see.” Her papery skin crinkled into a web of fine lines with her grin.

  “I’m sure the terrace is lovely, but I’m leaving. Thank you for your offer of lunch. Please ask Mr. Galen to call me later tonight.” Nicki picked up her purse and bag.

  “What’s your big hurry?

  “He needs time alone. But it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Peteriere. And you’re right about men not moving things when they clean.” Nicki bobbed her head at the elderly woman and hurried toward the door. The elegant suite of rooms suddenly felt cramped and confining, as though the walls had moved inward.

  “You know what they say about opportunities, O’lette.”

  Nicki heard the woman’s words follow her down the metal stairs to ground level. Good grief, she was a full-service employee—cooking, cleaning, and unlimited, unsolicited advice. Martha Stewart and Dr. Phil rolled into one.

  And I have trouble holding down one job at a time.

  Nicki lengthened her stride once she reached the sidewalk. The rain had stopped and the breeze felt cool on her flushed face. It would have been nice to share a quiet dinner with Hunter. Something told her Mrs. Peteriere was a better cook than Christine or herself, for that matter. They could have compared notes on the case, and maybe even tried that kissing business they had started in the dance hall. Nicki’s thoughts drifted into never-never-land until she sensed someone following behind her. The French Quarter wasn’t a good place to wander around daydreaming.