“I thought you were just going to look around?” Joan peered into Anthony’s face, the yellow light flickering off its planes and angles.
He was the rugged Anthony once again, sweaty, streaked with dirt and scratches. The feelings she’d had in her living room the first night of the intruder rushed back. She wanted him. Right here, right now.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Joan quickly neutralized her expression and took the new water bottle to Heather.
Her sister looked up worriedly from Samuel’s leg.
Joan commandeered the second oil lamp, moving it to the floor for a better view. The cuts were deep and jagged.
“I’ll try to find a clean bandage,” said Anthony. He peeled back the dust cover on one of the beds, unzipped the knapsack and dumped everything out.
They had water bottles, beignets, cinnamon rolls and a half bottle of French wine.
“Luc runs a classy outfit,” said Samuel.
Anthony checked the side pockets and found some cloth napkins.
“Those will do it,” said Joan. She turned to Samuel. “You want to drink a little of the Médoc before we pour it on the wound?”
“Hell, yes,” he said.
Heather blinked and turned away.
Anthony crouched down beside Joan. “How does it look?”
“Wish I had more medical training,” she said. Quite frankly, it looked terrible. But she wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“You’ve had medical training?” asked Anthony.
“No. I said I wish I had.”
Samuel chuckled above them.
A sob escaped from Heather.
“Hey.” Samuel’s voice was soft. “Come here.” He held out his hand to her. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad,” she sobbed. “I don’t know how you can joke about it.”
“If I can joke about it, then it can’t be that bad.” He motioned with his hand.
“I’m certified in first aid,” said Anthony.
“Really?” asked Joan.
“Really,” said Anthony, and she quickly moved out of the way.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said to Heather.
Samuel nodded his agreement.
“It’s got to hurt like hell,” said Anthony. “But that old boy didn’t cut anything vital.”
Heather took a couple of hesitant steps toward Samuel. He wrapped his big arm around her and pulled her against him.
“I need you—” he said.
Joan blinked at the pair in amazement.
“—to hold my hand while they pour on the wine,” Samuel continued. “That part will hurt like hell.”
Heather gave a hesitant smile, and the intimate moment was over, making Joan wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.
“WE HAVE TO STOP meeting like this,” said Samuel from the narrow bed in the clinic’s surgery room.
Heather smiled as she stroked her fingertips across his forehead, hoping she was being of some comfort. She suspected the codeine and Novocain the doctor had administered were giving him a lot more comfort than she could.
Back at the bayou shack, they’d lain side by side all night long in one of the little beds, listening to the storm crash above them. Samuel hadn’t slept much. He’d tried to stay still, but his muscles were tense and his breathing mostly shallow.
“You have to promise me you’ll stop taking chances,” she said.
“You’re holding me responsible for the behavior of an alligator?”
“I’m holding you responsible for disturbing said alligator.”
“I don’t see how that’s fair.”
“Who said anything about fair, bucko? I’m trying to have a wild sex fling with you, and you keep messing up your body.”
He chuckled at that. “Lie down beside me.”
“Here?” She glanced around. They were alone in the room, but the nurse or the doctor could walk in any minute.
“What? No discovery fetish?”
She frowned. “Now that’s just creepy.”
“Strike that one off the list.”
“Definitely.”
He reached for her hand, gently kissing her palm. “I’m just messing with you. I want to ask you something.”
He shifted to one side. “But it’s gonna be a letdown if you were expecting a proposition.”
She grinned and lay down on the bed beside him, absorbing the heat and strength of his body. “This is no time for propositions.”
He put his arm around her and cradled her on his shoulder. “I was wondering.” He paused. “You planning to be in town for a while?”
Heather shrugged. She hadn’t given it that much thought. She should have gone back to Boston days ago, but she couldn’t seem to tear herself away.
It was nice to see Joan, of course. And she’d pretty much given up on Paris. For better or worse, Anthony was a big influence on Joan’s life. Heather hadn’t quite figured out how far it went, but she was kidding herself if she thought she’d get Joan to leave him.
Plus there was the murder mystery. And then there was Samuel. She’d only been with Samuel a few days. She knew deep down in her heart it wasn’t enough.
His fingertips stroked her hair. Despite the circumstances and the location, she felt her body respond to the touch.
“See, thing is…” he said.
She tilted her head to look at him.
“If you were to stay for the music festival…”
“Isn’t that still a few weeks away?”
He nodded. “I thought… I’d appreciate it if you’d play my dad’s fiddle.”
Heather turned and rose up on her elbow, her chest tightening with emotion. She was unbelievably touched by the request. “You want me to stay here? For a few more weeks? And play your dad’s music at the festival?”
“Or you could come back for it.” He shrugged, his focus going to the far wall. “Either would be great.”
Either would be great. But staying would be greater. Staying here in Indigo with Samuel for weeks, and then introducing the Ambrogino to the world along with his father’s music.
“Yes,” she said in a rush, meeting his gaze. “Yes, I’ll play. Yes, I’ll stay.”
His face lit up with a broad smile, and he eased her down to gently kiss her lips.
Even that insubstantial touch left her breathless.
“But you’re going to have to tell me,” she breathed.
“Tell you what?”
“When this thing we’ve got going is over. You’re going to have to tell me. Otherwise, I might hang around for a very, very long time.”
He kissed her again. Longer, deeper, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as if he were never going to let go. It might have been the effects of the codeine, or it might have been some deep emotion.
“Okay by me,” he finally whispered, his voice thick.
AT SAMUEL’S kitchen table, Joan flipped the final page of the final photo album that she and Heather had located in his closets. There were pictures of Samuel at all ages, pictures of his mother, pictures of his father, and pictures of many younger versions of Indigo residents that she recognized.
The older pictures were all from his mother’s family. Some were captioned, showing that they’d emigrated from Mississippi in the early 1900s to settle in Indigo. Other members of her family had then left the town in the Sixties, but Maisie had stayed to marry John Kane. Samuel was their only son.
There were almost no pictures of John as a child, and nothing that showed any members of his family.
“Has Samuel told you much about his father’s family?” she asked Heather.
Heather turned from where she was replacing framed photos on the fireplace hearth. She shook her head. “No. And it’s weird.”
“Weird how?”
Heather glanced guiltily around the cottage. They were alone while Anthony picked Samuel up from the clinic.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” she said.
Joan stood up. “Tell them what? You know something?”
“Not about the murder,” said Heather, heading for the stairs. “But, quick, come and look.”
She led Joan up the staircase to Samuel’s bedroom. There, she glanced out the window, then crossed to the closet and took out an old violin case.
She set it on the bed and flipped the catches.
“I don’t understand,” said Joan.
“It belonged to Samuel’s father. He used to play it on the porch.”
Joan stared down at the instrument. It was richly grained and beautifully arched, obviously of very fine quality.
“It’s an Ambrogino,” said Heather in a hushed voice. “And I played it.”
Joan glanced up to see Heather’s eyes shinning with excitement. “You think there was money in his father’s past?”
Heather shook her head. “Samuel doesn’t know. He just remembers his father playing it on the porch.”
“This is an incredibly fine heirloom.” Joan ran her fingers over the classic varnish.
Heather nodded her agreement. “And that’s not all.” She crossed to the closet again and came back with a leather-bound book. “His dad wrote music. Cajun tunes.”
She set the book down next to the case and carefully opened the cover.
The aging paper was impressive, and Joan’s piano training allowed her to read the music. The songs themselves were catchy, but unremarkable.
Joan looked through the pages, picking the fragile paper up by the corners and turning it face down. There was song after song.
“Somebody should copy these,” she mused.
“I’m going to suggest it to Samuel.” There was something in Heather’s tone, a repressed excitement.
“What?” asked Joan.
“Nothing,” said Heather. But it was obvious from her expression that it was something.
“What else do you know?”
Heather shook her head.
Joan squinted at her for a minute, then glanced back down at the book. She turned another page and an old black-and-white photograph dropped out.
She picked it up by the white bordered edge. “What’s this?”
Heather moved closer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it before.”
Joan squinted in the light at a man holding a baby boy. They were in what was obviously an opulent parlor in, maybe, 1950. The man was white, the child either black or of a mixed heritage.
She flipped the photograph over. Gerard and John.
Joan looked at the front again. John’s father? He was white and wealthy and named Gerard?
She peered more closely at the picture, and her stomach felt hollow. “Wow. Oh, wow.”
“What?” asked Heather.
“That’s Gerard Dinose.” Joan’s mind scrambled to work out the significance of John’s parentage. Gerard Dinose must have had an affair with John’s mother, Samuel’s grandmother.
“Who’s Gerard Dinose?” asked Heather.
“The Dinose family owns half the businesses in Lafayette. They started out smuggling rum, then turned to sugarcane—”
“Impressive history lesson,” an unfamiliar male voice drawled.
Joan whirled to see a fiftyish, gray-haired man standing in the bedroom doorway and holding a gun.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HEATHER GRABBED Joan, and Joan automatically put an arm around her sister.
“What do you want?” Joan rasped.
The man sauntered forward. “See, that’s a tough one now.”
Heather tried to back away, but Joan held her ground. She watched the man closely, a weird sense of recognition coming over her. Had they met before?
“You want the violin?” she asked.
The man laughed harashly. “Yeah, right. I went to all this trouble over a stupid violin.”
Heather’s body jerked in reaction, but Joan held her still.
“Who—” Joan’s eyes widened, and her entire body went cold. She glanced at the picture and blinked in disbelief. The spitting image of Gerard Dinose was standing right in front of her.
“Nash Dinose, actually,” the man said. “My father’s been dead for years.”
Nash was John’s half brother? That meant he was Samuel’s uncle.
So why was he holding a gun on them?
“You’re not getting it yet, are you?”
Joan shook her head.
He snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Not clicking in?”
Had he murdered his half brother?
“I suppose I could just shoot you,” he mused.
Heather gasped, and Joan’s gaze zeroed in on the gun. Should she rush him? Would that give Heather a chance to get away?
“I’m not a monster,” said Nash. “But I am a businessman, and I will protect my interests.”
“You killed them,” Heather rasped. She shook free of Joan’s grasp.
“Heather, don’t!” Joan grabbed her by the arm.
“Of course I killed them,” Nash said easily. “I had to kill them.”
And Joan understood at last. John must have known who his father was. He was a threat to Nash’s inheritance. “They came after your money.”
“They might have. And by then it would be too late.” His eyes narrowed. “Used to be no court in the land would have recognized that bastard as an heir. But then we got all progressive.” Nash’s face twisted into a sneer. “I couldn’t take the chance.”
Joan finished the scenario, her stomach cramping in horror. “So you killed them both and framed John.”
“Case closed,” said Nash. “Until you came along.”
She had absolutely no interest in the sordid details, but she knew their best chance was to keep him talking. “And you didn’t know if I knew.”
“And you didn’t. Ironic. But now you do.” His gaze darted to Heather and back again. “You both do.”
“We couldn’t prove anything,” said Joan a little desperately. “Here.” She held out the picture. “Take it. Nobody wants your money.”
He snorted. “I just confessed murder to you. You think I’m stupid?” He raised the gun and tightened his finger on the trigger. “Sorry, girls. Think I’ll frame Samuel for this one.”
Joan launched herself in front of Heather.
The shot rang out, but she didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t feel anything, except a slow-motion descent to the bedroom floor, where Heather cushioned her fall.
She blinked up at Nash, curling her body around her sister, bracing herself for the second shot. There was no way he’d miss twice.
But Anthony was there, one arm clamped tight around Nash’s neck, the other struggling to get the gun out of his hand.
A second shot rang out, and Samuel shouted something.
The gun clattered to the floor, and the two men quickly subdued Nash.
“Nine-one-one,” Heather rasped in her ear. But Joan’s limbs were filled with a strange lethargy, and she couldn’t move.
She heard sirens.
She heard Heather call her name.
Then she heard the clatter of boots, and Anthony was standing over her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest, kissing her hair over and over again.
“You okay, sweetheart?” His hands moved over her body, testing for wounds.
The world started coming back into focus. Sounds made sense, and things seemed to return to the right speed.
She nodded. “I don’t think I’m hurt.”
“You sure? Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t think so.” Her limbs felt shaky, but she was pretty sure it was just shock.
Anthony helped her to her feet.
Alain had handcuffed Nash and was leading him out of the room. Red lights flashed through the window, and Heather stood in the corner, wrapped in Samuel’s arms.
“Something’s going on between those two,” Joan said to Anthony.
Anthony
grinned. “You think?”
She looked up at him. “You know something I don’t?”
“Just what I’ve seen.”
Joan watched her sister for another moment.
Samuel stroked her face, shook his head, then pulled her tight against him, closing his eyes as if he wanted to absorb her.
Joan glanced away, focusing her attention on Anthony and his strength as he held her. They’d nearly been killed. It didn’t seem real, but they’d nearly died.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He chuckled softly. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
As her shaking subsided, she was filled with a huge sense of relief. “It’s over. It’s actually over.”
“Almost. There are reporters out on the front lawn.”
“Of course there are,” she said with a laughing sigh. The sirens would have attracted every reporter in town. And she knew there were quite a few here to cover her story. “I’ll make sure I mention the music festival.”
“Joan, you don’t have to—”
“You think they’ll leave if we hide inside for a while?”
He shook his head.
“Then we might as well get it over with. Samuel?”
He looked up from hugging Heather.
“Should we get this over with?”
He gave Heather one last squeeze, then grinned at Joan. “I’m not scared if you’re not.”
Joan disentangled herself from Anthony. “Like you’re scared of anything.”
Samuel limped toward the door. “Anthony was the one that brought down Dinose.”
Anthony tucked Joan’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Only because you’re recovering from gator bite.”
“This is true,” Samuel said to Heather. “Normally, I’m pretty much invincible.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Heather. “Otherwise, your stupidity would have gotten you killed a long time ago.”
Alain reappeared. “I’m going to need statements from all of you. Can you meet me down at the station?”
“We’re going to appease the reporters for a minute,” Anthony said. “Get them out of your hair.”
Alain nodded. “Don’t take too long.”
Joan headed down the stairs with Anthony at her side. The minute they were through the front door, six microphones were shoved in her face.
A Secret Life Page 18
