The Lyon Legacy

by Peg Sutherland

  His son? As if he wasn’t Mama’s, too. The odd exchange stuck in André’s craw through dinner and after he’d returned to the office. The more he puzzled over it, the less sense it made—unless Paul was the resentful one. Putting himself in his father’s shoes, André supposed he might be bitter about a forced retirement. So how bitter was Papa? Enough to cause problems between him and Gabrielle?

  No. Now Gaby’s paranoia was rubbing off. If he wanted to, Papa could simply ask him to leave. Paul Lyon had as much say in WDIX as his wife. More. The sixty-forty split in Grandpa Alexandre’s will left the greater share to his firstborn son.

  André was so deep in thought he barely heard Gaby talking about the board meeting. “André, are you listening? I said your uncle Charles surprised me today. He didn’t fight every proposal and expenditure. Why do you think that is?”

  “Perhaps he was more shaken by Papa’s heart attack than you give him credit for. You know the old adage about blood telling. Or is that money?”

  Gabrielle didn’t respond. Instead, she dragged a fat manila folder out of her in-basket. “Um...speaking of money, have you had an opportunity to read the latest résumés personnel sent up? I starred one. A man from Atlanta who has a great background in marketing, communications and advertising.”

  André joined her at her desk. “David Crowley does look impressive on paper. Do we have an opening?”

  “Jason still isn’t producing, and I have little time to devote to sales. Attracting new sponsors is our only hope of showing growth revenue for this year.”

  “So, invite Crowley in for an interview. Include a rep from personnel, and Frank Reeves from marketing. As sales manager, he’ll have to work closely with the guy.”

  “Would you set it up? While the phone’s quiet, I think I’ll file this mess. Beth usually files, but she’s on vacation. No sense letting the paper pile up.”

  “Sure, but why not request another clerk? You don’t have to do everything yourself, Gaby.” He took the résumé and headed for his desk while Gabrielle unlocked the filing cabinet. Her gasp had André turning. “Gaby? What’s wrong?”

  “The missing film canister.” She snatched it from the drawer and brandished it. “As if you didn’t know! Now I remember. The first day you were here, I unlocked this cabinet to show you the filing system. I haven’t opened the drawer since.”

  He crossed the room in record time. “Look at me, Gabrielle. For the last time, I’m telling you my hands have not touched that damned canister. Have the police dust it for prints if you don’t believe me. Are you so positive you didn’t knock it in there accidentally?”

  She scrambled to recall more about that day. “I punched in the cabinet locks before I took the budget folders to accounting. The film was on my desk. If you swear it wasn’t you, then...okay, I believe you. But maybe it was your uncle. He was with you. Did you leave him alone in the office?”

  “I don’t think so.” But André vaguely remembered Alain dropping by to collect his dad. Had he mentioned the film while they were there? He couldn’t be sure. “Does my uncle have keys to your file cabinet?”

  “No. But I keep an extra key in my desk drawer.”

  “Which you also lock. I know it’s an unsettling mystery. But we’ve got no evidence and no way to prove we haven’t just been careless. One misplaced film canister and one calendar mixup—they’re not exactly capital offenses.”

  “On the other hand, if Charles or his sons did either of these things to make mischief, it’s...it’s sabotage bordering on treason.”

  “Well, if you really believe they’re responsible,” he said hesitantly, “keep quiet about finding the film. After I phone Crowley, let’s return the canister to WEZY with an apology but without fanfare.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “People who are trying to cause a stink generally need a reaction. If they don’t get it, they give up—or grow bolder.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the former.”

  “Someone wants to see us at each other’s throats. The important thing, Gabrielle, is for us to stick together. Agreed?”

  “Yes, all right. If anything else happens, it doesn’t go beyond these walls.”

  He nodded. “By the way, do you have plans for the first Saturday night in March?”

  She leafed through her calendar. “Mardi Gras will be in full swing. I’ve got Mass on Ash Wednesday. But Saturday there’s nothing scheduled. Why?”

  He slipped two gilt-edged invitations from his inside pocket and waved them in front of her. “Want to go with me to the Bacchus ball?”

  Gaby snatched them from his hand. She traced the gold-filigree border with one finger, slowly lifting her lashes to stare at him. “You said you hadn’t accepted the Mardi Gras ball invitations from Charles.”

  “I didn’t. His were for the Comus ball. I just got these today.”

  She handed back the invitations, then wet her bottom lip. “A real ball. Costume? Of course it is. Oh, André, I’d love to go, but I can’t possibly find a decent costume at this late date.”

  He tucked the cards in his pocket. “I figured you’d say that, so I did my homework. Talk to Mama. She knows someone who knows someone...”

  “Bacchus,” she whispered again. “It’s huge. We’ve been trying for weeks to get interviews with all the Hollywood celebrities they’ve invited to perform. However did you wangle two invitations?”

  “I know Moon Landrieu. He’s this year’s king of Bacchus.”

  “The mayor? You know Maurice Landrieu?”

  André shrugged. “Yeah. I attended high school and college with two of his nine kids. Moon was in the state legislature then. He was practically the only parent who sympathized with our civil-rights activities.”

  “Is it true he received death threats?”

  “Yeah, but that was after I’d joined the merchant marine. Reaction to the movement got really volatile then. Maurice took a brave but unpopular stand. It’s all in the public record. I’m sure you know how discriminatory the original krewes were. Some still are. I’d never support any of those.”

  “Hmm. Landrieu must think a lot of you to give you two invitations. They’re very hard to come by.”

  “He sponsored me to the krewe. I thought if I worked on next year’s ball committee, it’d help us put together our twenty-fifth-anniversary bash. New krewe members receive a book that lists every local entertainment resource available. I imagine we’ll need balloons, food, decorations and the like.”

  “What a great idea, André. I’d have never thought of something like that.”

  “So you’ll go?”

  “You mean I forgot to say yes—and thank you? I thought the way I drooled all over the engraving sort of indicated my acceptance.”

  He laughed. “Then it’s settled.” He whistled on his way to make the phone call to David Crowley.

  THE NEXT EVENING, dinner talk among the adults at Lyoncrest revolved around the ball and possible costumes.

  “You lucky guys,” Rachel sighed. “Someday I’m going to go to one of the balls.”

  “Can me and Rachel go to Mardi Gras?” Leslie piped up.

  “No, sweetie.” Gabrielle tucked a curl behind her daughter’s ear. “People drink too much and some get awfully wild prancing through the streets in masks.”

  Leslie pouted. “Don’t want you to wear no mask. Masks are scary. Raymond said people in masks make voodoo and you die.”

  Margaret nearly knocked over her water glass. “Really, Paul, you must have another talk with Charles. Never mind, I will. Ray seems to delight in scaring the younger children.”

  Leslie’s pout began to tremble. “In church on Sunday, Ray said his big brothers are gonna make a voodoo doll of my mommy. He said Alain and Jason are gonna stick pins in the doll and Mama’ll get sick and quit work. She might even die.”

  Forcing herself to sound calm, Gabrielle assured Leslie that she was just fine.

  Margaret and Paul both gasped in shock.
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  Andre reached across the table and took Leslie’s hand. “Next time Raymond starts saying things like that, just walk away. He’s lying to scare you, Les Voodoo can’t hurt your mom. It’s fake. Do you understand?”

  Eyes teary and wide, the little girl nodded.

  “Good. Finish your shrimp étouffée,” he encouraged her, pushing her plate closer.

  “That Raymond is a jerk,” Rachel declared, setting down her fork and reaching over to straighten Leslie’s hair ribbon. “If he bothers you again, come find me. I learned a thing or two in the bayou that’ll frost his ears.”

  André didn’t doubt it for a minute. He was tempted to let Rachel handle Ray the way troublemakers were handled in Bayou Sans Fin. Then he thought better of it. “Uh, Rach, I appreciate your willingness to stand up for Leslie. But some things are better left in the bayou.”

  Rachel’s black eyes narrowed. “I s’pose. Can I at least tell him if he doesn’t lay off Les that I’ll do some voodoo on him? Turn him into a toad?”

  Gabrielle patted her lips with her napkin to hide a smile. Her daughter had a great champion in the spunky Rachel. Gaby’s twinkling eyes sought Andre’s as she waited for his reply.

  Leslie giggled happily, obviously picturing her nemesis as a fat toad.

  “A toad?” André cleared his throat. He glanced at Gabrielle and his parents, who all shielded grins. “Oh, yes, I’d say a toad with warts might be in order for Raymond.” With that, a disturbing conversation ended in levity.

  Throughout the rest of dinner, however, André pondered Leslie’s innocent announcement. Had Ray Lyon overheard his older brothers plotting treachery? André’s experience with kids was limited. Conceivably a boy of Ray’s age, fourteen, might just dream up such a tale to make himself sound important. Then again...

  André wished Gabrielle wasn’t so adamant about preserving her independence. After dinner he’d bring up the idea of their driving to the station together. Maybe they could start again tomorrow. He intended to talk to his uncle, too. About Ray and other problems, too. Various employees had indicated that Alain seemed to think there was a nasty family secret that, if exposed, would drastically alter the stock split in old Alexandre’s will. Frankly, André doubted it. Enough of this, after twenty-five years!

  LuAnn hadn’t even collected the dishes or served dessert when Gaby took off with Margaret to visit a costumer in the Quarter.

  “Excuse me, son.” Paul pushed out of his chair. “I’ll skip dessert. I want to see my competitor’s editorial on TV. Bring your coffee and join me in my office.”

  “I promised Rachel some help with math,” Andre said.

  “All right. Then come in later for a chat. I’d like some information on this Dave Crowley you and Gaby have decided to bring on board.”

  André nodded as he cleared a spot on the dining-room table for Rachel’s books. When they finished, Leslie cajoled him into reading two stories. The women still hadn’t returned by the time he and his father had finished their discussion about Crowley. Paul agreed with hiring the man and said he’d let Charles know.

  Shortly afterward, Paul decided on an early night. André entertained the idea of going back to the office without Gabrielle. But a check of his pocket calendar showed that in the morning they were both scheduled to attend a six-o’clock marketing-strategies meeting. They’d combine it with breakfast at Brennan’s on Royal, because Gaby said it was a more relaxed way of introducing the new man to the sales staff.

  “I don’t know why that woman can’t set meetings at a civilized time like noon,” he grumbled, electing to call it a night, after all. He’d catch Gaby in the morning and talk to her again about car pooling.

  Before retiring, André phoned his uncle. Charles laughed off his suggestion that Ray was attempting to scare the younger kids. “You know how boys are, André.”

  As for André’s other question about Alain’s charge, Charles bluntly told him to ask his mother what secret she was hiding. André terminated the call, feeling shaken.

  So what was the truth? Was he a Lyon or not? Of course he was! He wouldn’t cast aspersions on his mother by even bringing up such a question.

  THOUGH ANDRÉ HAD SET his morning alarm for five, he still missed Gaby. How could he not have heard her leave her room to go downstairs? “Dammit, the woman comes and goes like smoke,” he muttered, tossing his jacket, briefcase and tie into the backseat of his sports car. Then he gunned the engine and peeled off for Brennan’s.

  Other than introducing Dave Crowley to the marketing staff, André didn’t know what exactly was on the morning agenda. That was something he and Gabrielle could have discussed if they’d driven to work together.

  In spite of the early-morning humidity, André dutifully knotted his tie before he entered the restaurant. He glanced up and down the tree-lined street, but didn’t see Gabrielle’s car. Perhaps she’d detoured by the office for some reason.

  In the private banquet room, Frank Reeves, the general sales manager, had already taken a seat. Dave Crowley sat beside him. André shook hands with both men and nodded a greeting to the three women who worked in advertising sales. All assessed the newcomer. Pete Terry, the sales coordinator, arrived and looked at the new face with interest. Jason Lyon had yet to appear. And Gabrielle.

  André pulled out his pocket calendar to recheck the time. There it was, 6 a.m., in Gabrielle’s neat penmanship. “Let’s order coffee and give the others a few minutes,” he told Frank.

  Fifteen minutes ticked by. The waiters and those at the table were growing impatient. “Where’s Gabrielle?” Frank demanded.

  André shrugged. “I’ll call home and make sure she didn’t go back for something.” The answer was no. He didn’t bother to try the office, since the switchboard was still closed. Five more minutes had passed when Jason strolled in. His hair looked uncombed and he’d done a bad job of tying his tie. He pulled out the chair directly across from André and slumped into it. “Let’s get this show on the road. The brass hounds us to sell more ads,” he complained, “then wastes productive hours on stupid meetings so they can tell us what a piss-poor job we’re doing.” He glanced at his colleagues as if expecting expressions of support—but received none.

  André, who hadn’t slept well, wanted to slap him off his chair. Instead, he beckoned a waiter. “We’ll order.” When that was done and Gaby still hadn’t shown up, André worried that she might have had car trouble.

  “Shall I go ahead and introduce David?” Frank whispered.

  “Sure. Proceed as planned,” André said, not knowing what else to advise. But that caused a bigger stir than he could have imagined. Jason vaulted from his chair and knocked it over.

  “Does my dad know about this railroad job? It’s policy that promotions come from within! I see Gaby bailed out on this fiasco,” he sneered. “I guess now you see what a sneaky bitch she is...cousin.”

  André reacted instantly. “Take that back! Charles does know. Papa called him.” He had one hand curled in Jason’s shirtfront and the other drawn back, ready to connect with a row of smirking white teeth, when Frank pulled him off.

  Jason thrust out a belligerent chin and adjusted his tie. “Crowley will be history after I have a talk with my old man. You and Gaby are just trying to make me look bad.”

  Frank Reeves focused on André. “Take the little creep outside and I’ll help you wipe up the street with him. Hit him here and you’ll headline every local channel by lunch. I’m sure he’d love the publicity.”

  André gnashed his teeth and sat down. He turned to Crowley who, to his credit, seemed unfazed by the melee. “Gabrielle and I have the authority to hire staff,” he said, curtly including Jason in the statement. “Dave, welcome to WDIX.” André couldn’t suppress an ironic smile, one that the other man returned. “Frank, continue, please. I’m sure Gaby will be here soon.”

  Jason slouched but linked his hands across his chest in a way that displayed his boredom.

  The food arrived. The
y ate in virtual silence, then Frank discussed sales philosophies for half an hour. Gaby still hadn’t shown up by the time he closed his notebook. “That’s all I have. You want to add anything, André?”

  Jason swaggered to his feet. “Yeah, André, step up here and put your neck on the line. Gaby wants you to make an ass of yourself. She’ll hand you excuses, but the truth is, she’s got her eye on the station manager’s job.”

  André didn’t like Jason’s attitude—or his leisure suit. Did the kid have a whole damned closet full of those things? This one had pearl snaps down a boxy blue jacket. No wonder he couldn’t sell ads in the conservative business sector. They probably thought he was a weirdo.

  “David is the new assistant sales manager, and that’s all there is to it,” André said. “We’re expecting great things from him.”

  During the drive to the station, his worry about Gaby increased. As he turned onto Canal Street, he spotted her car parked in its normal space. Curious. Had she tossed him to the wolves?

  He stalked through the lobby, barely acknowledging Raylene, who as usual was on the phone. Upstairs, he strode into their shared office.

  Gabrielle glanced up.

  At the same instant they both exclaimed, “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been at a damned uncomfortable marketing meeting.” André put both hands on his hips. “Nice of you and Papa to clue me in about Lyon’s policy of promoting from within. How high will I swing for this gaffe, Ms. Villieux?”

  Looking puzzled, Gabrielle hauled her engagement calendar out of the drawer. After thumbing it open, she blanched. “I had that meeting written in ink.” She traced a finger over the space. “I don’t believe this. It’s been whited out.”

  André leaned over. Their noses almost touched. “I’ll be damned. So it has.” Straightening, he paced in front of her desk. “That couldn’t have been what Jason and Alain were up to the night we saw them,” he muttered. “We hadn’t even discussed hiring David yet. So, who?”