Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Paul clicked the button to respond, rushing to type out a few lines. This sort of letter confirmed that he was doing the right thing. He wished he could use his own name but it was impossible. No matter how much he wanted to take credit for the project, it would always be attributed to Mr. B.W. Keats, not Paul Olivier. He covered his cyber tracks: connecting through proxy servers that changed IP addresses every few minutes, and using dummy accounts to send packets of information. He carefully chose only books that were no longer under copyright. Still, that wouldn’t stop the lawsuits if publishers thought there was easy money to be made. So far, they seemed to think it was a waste of time to try and track down his alter ego. And that’s the way he wanted it to stay.

  “Mr. Olivier, your meeting is in ten minutes and it’s down on the twenty-fifth floor, which leaves you approximately two minutes and thirty seconds before you need to get your jacket on and get in the elevator.” Mrs. Connors kept her voice carefully neutral.

  Paul glanced at the jacket on his chair. The woman was uncanny. “I’m done here, Mrs. Connors. Thank you.”

  She disconnected without responding and he sat for a moment, staring at the intercom. Maybe Mrs. Connors could take over the email sorting. She was professional, intelligent, and exact. But she also had enough to do as his assistant. Paul sighed and logged out, grabbing his suit coat. Folks liked to say money could buy everything, including happiness, but the only people who believed it were the ones who’d never had as much as he had. He knew the truth. Money bought a lot of shiny things, but when it came down to it, money couldn’t buy loyalty, trust, or love. Or someone to keep your secrets. There would always be someone who would offer more, and you’d never know when that betrayal would come.

  Punching the button to his private elevator, he stared into his own reflection. As a kid, he’d felt like he could only count on a few good friends and his family. Even though the world called him “tech genius” and “wunderkind,” his face was on magazine covers, and journalists begged for interviews, Paul knew that he was still that geeky kid from the lowlands of Louisiana.

  The doors slid open and he stepped inside. Andy said this project was his superhero identity, but he felt like he’d been living a double life for years. At least this one made him feel like he was doing some good.

  Chapter Four

  Technology… is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand,

  and stabs you in the back with the other.—Carrie Snow

  “A businessman from New York is needing a place to live while his company finishes some project here. He contacted me through the ad on the rentals site. Maybe you need some time to Hoover? I’d like to show him the apartment this afternoon, if that’ll work for you.” June LaTraye’s nasal voice made this a statement, not a question.

  “Of course. You have a key. And thank you for working on this so quickly.” Alice couldn’t help grinning. Natchitoches was a tourist town, not a place many wanted to come to live permanently. And if they did, they were usually looking to retire in a nice place on the river, not a walk-up apartment in the historic district. This was promising. Even a few months’ rent would really help the book store’s bottom line.

  “You want to meet them first? If they seem like they’re fixin’ to sign a lease d’rectly, I mean.”

  Alice paused. June was a good realtor, but she also had a keen eye and great intuition. Her teased, blond hair and bright pink lipstick hid an uncanny ability to weed out unreliable renters. “You know, I think it’s okay if you want to handle that part. I trust you. If they’re interested, I’ll run over and plug in the icebox.” Plus, it was a really big building. They only shared a few walls and those were brick. If even this man held a few parties, it wasn’t likely to disturb her peaceful evenings.

  “Okay, hon. I’ll ring you later and let you know how it went.”

  Alice hung up and whispered a prayer of thanks. She pulled the rings out of her shirt and kissed them, hoping her parents could see her happiness. Whenever she felt like things were falling apart, God sent her a sign that she hadn’t been forgotten. She felt like a smile was permanently etched to her face. She filled the kitties’ water dishes and poured herself one more mug of coffee, letting the promise of good news color her mood.

  Padding back into her bedroom, she searched through her closet for the cheeriest sundress she could find. She had a whole closet of retro clothing but today she felt like celebrating the possibility of a new renter. Slipping on a fitted, red polka dot shirtdress and a little white sweater, Alice decided a simple ponytail would finish the look. Not that she ever did anything much with her hair, since it was untamable. She grabbed a pair of red patent heels and set them by the front door.

  One more cup of coffee and she’d head downstairs. The black-and-white tile kitchen floor gleamed in the early morning sunlight. She lifted the double-hung window above the old porcelain kitchen sink, propped it with a chipped mug that was older than she was, and inhaled. The air smelled of the river a few hundred feet away, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the humidity was finally easing off. A feeling of intense satisfaction filled her. She led a charmed life, compared to most of the world. Even with her money worries, her existence was about as peaceful as anyone could ask for.

  Looking across at the row of hardwood trees that edged the opposite bank of Cane River Lake, she remembered the moment she’d learned Mr. Perrault had left her the shop. She was a month from graduating with a degree in English Literature. She’d already enrolled in a master’s of education program, assuming she would do what English majors did and teach. But Mr. Perrault’s last will changed the trajectory of her life, spinning her out of the program and back to Natchitoches.

  Her college friends did their best to warn her, even sitting her down in a sort of intervention, laying out all the reasons she shouldn’t return to her tiny hometown. But what they didn’t understand was that Alice liked her quiet life, her small town, her Cane River people. She had never yearned for the big city. She was content in this place and she felt no shame in choosing it. In fact, she was thrilled to come home. The first years after college her friends would travel from Atlanta or Miami or Seattle. They wanted to experience the food, the accents and the cypress groves without the commitment of trying to make a living. Alice was happy to play tour director. As much as they encouraged her to travel to their cities, she just never found the time.

  Alice turned, letting her gaze wander over her little kitchen and toward the bright living room where every wall was covered with full bookshelves and the furniture was more comfortable than stylish. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to find the time. Maybe it had never been a question of money. This place was as much a part of her as her love of classic literature or her collection of cats.

  When Cane River Lake flooded five years ago, she was out in the rain with everyone else, loading sandbags and praying for a miracle. When the grade school organized a bake sale to benefit the soccer team, she spent a whole weekend making pies, even though she’d never played soccer in her life. When the parish council wanted to impose an extra tax on little barbeque stands in the region, she picketed in front of city hall with her neighbors. She, Alice, who avoided crowds with the dedication of the truly introverted, had stood shoulder to shoulder with them and felt at home.

  The smile that touched her lips at the memory, now slowly faded away. There was a new threat in town. It wasn’t flooding or a lack of school supplies or exorbitant taxes. But it was just as insidious, just as damaging. Alice pulled in a long breath, as if steadying herself for an argument. That ScreenStop store was not what Natchitoches needed. Her people had a culture that was unique to Louisiana, unique in all of the South, and she wasn’t about to let some entertainment giant kill it off with a steady diet of immorally violent games filled with bikini-clad warrior maidens. Mr. Perrault had given her countless lectures on the damaging effects of modern media and she was glad she’d listened. She kept her life simple and as low tech as possible. She ig
nored the fashion mags, didn’t watch the talk shows, and refused to get sucked into the latest TV shows. Especially the TV. Really, it seemed like every Emmy winner was either sickeningly violent or extolled a shallow kind of lifestyle contrary to everything she held dear.

  If she had to track down the council person that gave ScreenStop an okay without a vote, she would. She was going to stop the construction any way she could. If they moved it across the river toward the other big box stores, she might be able to live with it, but there was no way she was going to let that technological eyesore exist down the block from her building.

  Alice picked up her mail and flipped through the stack. She needed to get going or she’d be late opening the store. She refused to be lazy about the store hours, even if there weren’t many customers. She opened the first envelope without glancing at the return address and scanned the front page.

  …Norma R. Green, hereafter known as the Testator, challenges the Last Will and Testament of Mr. Ronald B. Perrault. The Testator, also an heir at law by blood relation, was named in the will of the decedent as inheritor of By the Book until 2009, when the current will was written to benefit Miss Alice Augustine. The Testator appeals to the court for a review of the unintentional exclusion of Mrs. Norma R. Green, in light of the possible unsound mind of Mr. Perrault or the possibility his actions were made under duress.

  Alice snatched up the envelope and stared, heart racing. She forced herself to breathe, sat down, then took a glance at the page again. Mr. Perrault’s will was being contested five years after he’d passed away? Maybe it was a mistake. She found the number of the lawyer’s office, someplace in Houston, and punched it in.

  A secretary answered and Alice explained what she’d received, hating the quiver in her voice. The secretary transferred her, a man answered the line, and seconds later she was hearing the sound of her life being turned upside down.

  “I’m glad you called, Alice. My client would like to reach a fair and equitable resolution to this problem,” Mr. Crocket said.

  “I’m sorry. What problem? And how does your client know Mr. Perrault? He had no children or other relatives that I was aware of,” Alice said.

  “No, she’s not a child. She’s his niece, his sister’s child. Mr. Perrault and his sister weren’t close.”

  “But… the paper I got says that Norma was in the previous will? Is that correct?”

  He sounded pleased. “Exactly. It must be an oversight. She was the heir to all the Perrault’s property and assets until 2009, when a new will was drawn up, with you as the beneficiary. Since it doesn’t exclude her specifically, we can only assume it’s a simple oversight.”

  “The paper says he might have made the will when he wasn’t of sound mind or that he was under duress. I can tell you he was perfectly sane and no one forced him to give me the store. I didn’t even know he had until he’d passed away.” She tried not to let her anger show at the suggestion of forcing Mr. Perrault to change his will.

  “Well, I think it’s best to let a court decide whether he meant to exclude his beloved niece, Norma.” Mr. Crocket’s voice had gone steely.

  “Beloved? She didn’t even know he was dead!”

  “Miss Augustine, I suggest you retain a lawyer to present your case. You’re aware of the petition to the court and if we can’t come to an agreement about the property, then we’ll have to let a higher authority decide.”

  “The property. It’s just a store. And I live above it. I mean, there’s another apartment but the rent money only offsets the amount the store is losing…” Alice couldn’t help stuttering.

  “The store may not be worth much, but the property has been appraised at seven hundred thousand dollars because of the parcel of property, the location, and the historic nature of the building. If you’re willing to meet with us, my client is amenable to being bought out from her share of the property. A third of the appraised value would be sufficient.”

  Alice slumped against the chair. This woman and her lawyer wanted a quarter million dollars or they would take her to court to contest the will. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “If the building is sold, then the profits could be split evenly between you,” he suggested.

  “I won’t sell the bookstore. Mr. Perrault left it to me.”

  “Well, again, I’d advise you to hire a lawyer. Or you can take our offer. If the judge finds in favor of my client, then you could be left with nothing.”

  Alice felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if the walls were closing in on her. Black spots appeared in her vision. “Goodbye, Mr. Crocket,” she whispered and hung up. She leaned over, whispering prayers learned in childhood, the French words coming to her unbidden. God wouldn’t let someone take her store, would He? She’d lived her life according to all His commandments, carefully guarding her eyes and her heart, making her store a place of refuge from the gritty ugliness of the modern world. Didn’t that count for anything?

  The sound of the phone ringing so close to her head made Alice jump. The lawyer might be calling her back to harass her into selling the store. Alice held her breath, not making a sound, as if the person on the other end might sense she was there.

  The ringing stopped, and her own voice filled the room. Then there was a beep, followed by an extremely loud sigh.

  “Alice, pick up the phone. I know you’re there,” Eric said.

  She grimaced. Why couldn’t he just leave a message like everyone else? Why did she have to talk to him at eight in the morning?

  “Come on, Alice. I called last night and left a message. It’s really your turn to call me, but here I am, talking into the void.”

  Ouch. That was right. She’d forgotten all about him.

  “I hate your machine. I know you know that. Nobody uses them anymore. They cut you off just as you’re―” Beeep!

  Alice stood up, eyes wide, hand hovering over the receiver. Too late to pick up now, and probably not a good time to call back. He’d be irritated with her for not answering. She tried to tell herself that it was simply hard to pretend to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. Truthfully, she just didn’t like to talk to Eric on the phone. He had one of those personalities that was better in person. Face to face, his rapid-fire speech and expressive voice was entertaining. On the phone, he seemed bossy and off-putting. She’d text him when she got downstairs and ask him to meet her for lunch. That would patch things up. Plus, she could really use some advice. Eric was a dentist, not a lawyer, but he might know what to do.

  Alice took her mug of coffee and headed down the narrow, wooden stairs from her apartment to the back of the shop. It was Friday and Charlie would be in soon, because she had a half day of school on Friday. When she’d told Alice that she wanted to apply to work in ScreenStop, it had hit Alice hard, right in the heart. The lawyer’s letter was a kick to the same spot. Alice knew she might be fighting a losing battle to keep her store, preserve their culture, and swim against the rising tide of technology, but she couldn’t let any of it go. She was going to encourage Charlie in every way that being Creole was important. It was sacred. She’d speak French, even when Charlie answered in English. She’d remind Charlie to be proud of what she’d been given by birth. If only Charlie would give up the gaming and come back to what really mattered. Alice would explain it the way Mr. Perrault had explained to her. Charlie would understand how much was at stake. She had to.

  ***

  “All ready?” Paul kept his voice as upbeat as possible.

  “Huh.” Andy responded with a grunt. In the background of the call, Paul could hear clanking and thuds. “With every item I pack, I ask myself again why we’re doing this.”

  “Must be a short answer. Or you’re not packing very quickly.”

  “I don’t get any answer, so now I’m finished.” He heard Andy pull a long zipper.

  “You don’t have to go,” Paul said. He wanted Andy to come to Natchitoches, but he didn’t want his friend to feel miserable, either
. It might be better if the CTO just stayed in the big city.

  “Nope. I’m in. Just questioning my own good judgment and your sanity. Did you get the apartment lined up?”

  “We’re seeing it this afternoon. Try not to look like a party animal,” Paul said.

  “I’ll do my best ‘working stiff’ impression. And this place will be high tech, right? We’re not going to be adjusting the rabbit ears to watch a game or playing on an old Atari or something?”

  “It may not be now, but it will be when I’m done with it,” Paul said, laughing a bit. He was sure the place had cable. Well, actually not very sure. But they could get a good gaming set up installed in a few hours. As soon as the lease was signed, he’d have everything overnighted. He’d managed to get the building permit shoved through faster than he’d ever dreamed possible. Surely he could get the manager to install cable Internet service. “I’ve got to pack. The car should be there to pick you up in about an hour. Meet you at the gate.”

  “You’d better. Paul and Andy’s Excellent Creole Adventure is about to begin.”

  Paul disconnected, but instead of starting to pack, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. New York City teemed with bodies, noise, and choking exhaust fumes, but that was far, far below the glass walls of Paul’s high rise bedroom. He stared out at the skyline and wondered if he should just cancel the entire Cane River project. He must be crazy to think of coming back to that backwater. Maybe Andy was right. Was he making a bad business decision just to satisfy his ego? He took a long moment to let the idea sit, and then he shook his head. No, Andy was only partly right.

  Paul headed to the walk-in closet, where he pulled a suitcase from the back. It was true, he didn’t need to spend two months in Natchitoches. He could open the store and fly in for the night, maybe two. His ego had everything to do with dropping out of his life in New York City to show off to the people who used to make him feel like trash. But he was certain it was a good business decision and the store would be successful. He wanted to cram his rags-to-riches story down a few throats, but he wasn’t stupid enough to throw away a million dollars to do it.