by Lynn Shurr
“Why does everything exciting happen on their watch?” said Pammy, nodding toward the elderly women.
“We’re just lucky, I guess. Thanks for the ride officers, but I wish you’d turned on the sirens.” Miss Lolly inched her old bones behind the wheel of the Lincoln.
“Wasn’t an emergency, ma’am.”
Julia shook her head. “That’s two false alarms in two days. Maybe we should stop watching the place. I believe we can trust Remy not to defy the injunction. He meets with his investors later today. Then, we can decide how to move ahead.”
Miss Patty shook her immovable lacquered curls. “No secret who his investors are. I know my brother-in-law. No one can move him an inch—obese as he is.”
“We’ll see tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty
Remy skipped lunch in case he had to endure another Broussard Burger challenge. Though the setup in the Barn stayed the same with Old Broussard at the head of a table surrounded by his minions, no smell of fried onions or french fry grease filled the air, and no food appeared. NuNu only poured coffee from the big granitewear pot. Remy accepted his cup, but failed to offer so much as a thanks. Thanks for what? Trying to burn down the Queen and putting a bigger rift between him and Julia?
The old man missed nothing with those piggy eyes sunk in the flesh of his face. He called the meeting to order by saying, “First, NuNu got somet’ing to say to Remy.”
NuNu kept his watery, bloodshot blue eyes on the floor as he balanced the coffeepot on the edge of the table. “I guess I jumped the gun trying to burn down the Queen. Just thought I’d help things along since it seems like the Italian bitch is leading you around by your dick. Never thought you two would be out there naked in the bayou.” His wisecrack earned a few snickers
Some apology. “Julia saw you, and so did I because you didn’t have the sense to run instead of watching. I lied to keep you out of jail, NuNu. Claimed the man who started the fire looked like her intern, but the sheriff knew better. I should have saved myself the trouble since your coworkers covered for you.”
“Damn right dey did if dey wants to keep dose jobs,” Old Broussard interrupted.
“Next time, don’t do me any favors, NuNu. Lots of saleable salvage might have been destroyed. Another thing—if you ever speak of Ms. Rossi in those terms again, I’ll come next door and use you for karate practice.”
“Pussy whipped,” NuNu muttered.
Remy pushed back his chair. “You want to start now?”
Old Broussard held up his pudgy hands where a wedding ring dug deep into the skin. “Enough. Bot’ of you had your say. Se donner la main.”
Reluctantly, Remy shook his distant cousin’s hand and dropped it as if it were a hot baked potato. “Don’t try to help me again. Julia and her people are watching the place around the clock. Next time, there will be more witnesses.”
“You go now, NuNu. We got business here don’t concern you, no.”
As NuNu slinked away, Remy handed the old man and Slick copies of the proposals made by Jonathan Hartz. They were the only folks around the table who counted. Their heads began to shake almost immediately. He doubted if they read a single word.
“Everything he offers is a great deal. If he buys me out, I’ll give you half the profit. We build Black Diamonds later. If I go into business with him to restore the Queen, your investment will be placed in a special account kept separate to fund Black Diamonds when an alternative location is found. It’s win-win.”
“You t’ink we got you da land cheap so you could blow us off and go into business wit’ dat etranger rich man, heh?” Old Broussard’s chins shook in multiple-layered anger.
Still, Remy pushed him. “I didn’t ask for your help in buying the Queen. I could have managed that on my own.”
Slick made his only comment. “Ha! Good one.”
Ignoring the insult, Remy continued. “None of this means Black Diamonds won’t be built. In fact, you could invest in the Queen too, and sell out when she’s up and running for a nice profit if it’s about the money lying idle. You have to realize with the property under a no demolition injunction, we might not be able to proceed with our original plans for years.”
“Not about pousse-pousse.” Old Broussard rubbed two fingers together as if he held a wad of money. “Dis is about family. Who you loyal to, Remy, who?”
“The Broussards of course.” Though in his heart of hearts, the place where Julia claimed he wanted to restore the Queen, he wondered if that were true. He hadn’t been raised here. His parents resented sending him to spend his summers in Chapelle with the demanding Patty, not to mention setting up his business here lured by a free bit of land and support for his project. They’d warned him.
“You tell Mr. Bi-yon-aire no deal. Den get your daddy or granddaddy to fight dat order.”
Since his father fled to Mandeville years ago to avoid doing the family’s legal business and escape Patty, Remy doubted he’d get involved now. His grandfather might come out of semi-retirement to fight the preservationists. He’d always been about progress, but touted Jonathan Hartz as among his best friends. Doubtful if Hartz thought the same. In the end, Guidry Broussard owed his political success to his cruder relatives and a pushy wife. Yeah, he’d fight the injunction free of charge even if it aggravated his grandmother.
Remy picked up his papers. “I’ll tell Hartz what you had to say.”
“You do dat. Don’t let us down, you.” Old Broussard enveloped Remy’s hand in his fleshy grip for a shake surprisingly strong and bone-crunching as he made his point.
Remy didn’t wince or rub his fingers afterward. Show no fear was always good advice when dealing with dangerous animals. He nodded goodbye to everyone else at the table and NuNu listening at the entrance to the kitchen. His anger rose as he drove away from the Barn. He could have bought the Queen without help in a fair auction. The deals Hartz offered were excellent for everyone. Why couldn’t one hog-headed old man see that?
He’d sleep on it—without Julia in his bed. She’d never be there again if he sided with his relatives against all reason.
In the morning with a clear head, Remy Broussard vowed make his decision for better or worse, richer or poorer, and whatever came next with Julia and the Queen.
Chapter Twenty-One
Remy awoke still angry, so angry he called Hartz immediately to ask for a few minutes of his time this morning. He got the PA, Adrienne Stone Landry, still called Heart of Stone by some of the locals, who made it abundantly clear that ten minutes was all the time the billionaire could spare. Her sleek body and alert, intelligent eyes reminded him of a Doberman, and she protected her boss/brother-in-law that well.
He had plenty of time to stop by the bank and remove the Broussard funds from his account. They were placed in a new account labeled Black Diamonds, Ltd. Someday, when the project moved forward, Old Broussard should thank him, though Remy wouldn’t place bets on it. He proceeded to the Hartz Technology plant, had his name checked on a list, and received his visitor’s badge, nothing warm and friendly about this part.
Remy parked where directed close to the grand lobby in spaces reserved for guests, after passing the water feature that once held gators which had gotten too friendly and been removed, and other Hartz amenities, like picnic areas and a basketball court all beautifully landscaped. He should have visited earlier to take a tour and soak in the magnificence of the lobby as impressive as any bank. The polished granite of the floor had an earthy brown tint edged in green stone. Chihuly glass sculptures hung from the two-story ceiling. Helpful signage said they were called swamp forms and did rather mimic the canopies of cypress trees, flocks of flying egrets, and maybe that one was an alligator. They didn’t block the view of the Hartz logo, twin steel blue hearts pierced by a golden lightning bolt, embedded in the center of the second-floor balcony.
He headed for the reception desk to make his presence known, but halfway across the space, Mrs. Landry beckoned him to take one of the o
pposing staircases to join her above the lobby. Hartz supposedly never took the elevator behind the desk, part of his fitness regimen. Remy did the same.
All business, Mrs. Landy greeted him by saying, “This way,” but he paused for a minute to peer over the railing at the glass sculptures. “They look different from up here as if we’re in an airplane flying over the Basin. Jesus, I wish I’d designed this place. It’s fantastic.”
The PA allowed herself to release a small smile. “Thank you. I had some say in its design. Come along, only ten minutes, remember?”
Remy followed her brisk pace to the inner sanctum of Hartz Technology, no waiting, no second interrogation by another secretary. They sailed right in under Mrs. Landry’s flag where again he felt the warmth of Hartz’s greeting and received the offer of water or coffee despite their limited time. The Hartz domain spread out beyond the tinted windows, the vast, single story factory surrounded by endless fields of cane and the brown water snake of the bayou winding through them. After a shake of the hand, Hartz took his seat and asked, “Are you here to accept any of my proposals?”
“On behalf of the Broussards, no.”
The billionaire’s always optimistic face fell, making him appear older and less boyish. “That will be a blow to Celine and Julia, not to mention Jane. I’m sorry to hear this.”
“It appears we won’t need the entire ten minutes,” Mrs. Landry said. “I’ll show you out.”
Remy stayed seated. He pulled the proposals from his briefcase. “Nor do I want to sell you the property. But, if you are still interested in entering into a partnership with me to restore the Queen, I’ll sign the deal today.”
The enthusiastic boy who still had a feel for what new games and products kids wanted reemerged. “Wonderful! While you will manage the project, I hope you’ll accept some suggestions from your 49% partner and the women who care so much about this restoration, especially Julia.”
“Yes, especially Julia. I won’t move forward without her by my side.”
Though Hartz and his PA exchanged glances over that comment, Mrs. Landry said, “The contracts are already drawn. I’ll get them.” She left by an inner door to her own upper-echelon lair.
“Do you mind if I share this news with Celine? She’ll be excited.” Hartz had his phone in hand.
“Not at all—but allow me to take the news to Julia. I’ll be going directly to Alleman from here.”
Hartz gave him an understanding smile. His PA returned with the contracts. “Sign in the indicated places. It’s the same as the copies I gave you the other day. Off you go to tell Julia.” He shooed Remy out of the office with a flick of his hand. The ever-vigilant Mrs. Landry tailed him until he left his guest badge at the desk and exited the building.
Feeling free and unencumbered by family obligations, he flew along the road to Alleman, ignoring the jolts caused by the potholes, and turned in at the pillars of the old plantation home. He found Marv in the kitchen, but no one else. “They’re upstairs. Todd is getting a lesson in crack repair.”
Remy homed in on the sound of Julia’s voice as he reached the landing and made his way to a bedroom with a tester bed, a huge walnut armoire, and two marble-topped nightstands shoved in its center. Sam and Sal probably provided the muscle to move the furniture. They stood out of the way with their arms folded while Julia in full plasterer’s garb lectured a rapt Todd. Remy entered quietly, content for the moment just to hear her voice full of enthusiasm for what she taught.
“Lime plaster is a living, breathing entity. Small cracks like these will open and close seasonally according to the humidity level and are not a major problem.”
“Kind of eerie, though,” Sammy commented. “I had an aunt with walls like that. Hated staying over at her place.”
“But we can get rid of them by making them slightly broader with a crack widener. No sophomoric jokes, please. This is very sharp tool. We cut away plaster to make the cracks wider, then fill them in with patching material. Don’t even think of using plaster of Paris,” Julia warned as if Todd had actually dared to suggest that.
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t do that or joke about it.”
“Plaster of Paris must be mixed with lime to be successful.” She drew the edge of the crack widener along the gap to show the width needed for the repair, then handed it to Todd to give it a try.
“Julia,” Remy said. “I have news!”
Todd’s hand slipped, and he gouged the wall. “Look what you made me do.”
Julia patted her intern’s shoulder as if he were a favored pet. “Not a problem. We can fix that.” Her tone cooled considerably when she faced Remy. “You had something say?”
“Yes. I signed a contract with Jonathan Hartz this morning to restore the Queen. I accepted the partnership. The Broussards are out of it. It’s just him and me and whatever grants Jane can get. And you. Especially you, because no one is better than Regal Restorations.”
“Ain’ that the truth,” Sal said. Not the person Remy wanted to hear from.
“Actually, you should get quotes from a variety of contractors for the best deal, but of course we will give you an estimate.” Julia turned back to Todd.
“But I want you.” He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe the cluttered room prevented Jules from flinging herself at him in joy and rapture, but certainly more than this coldness. Remy admitted he wanted to be rewarded for taking this brave step forward. Obviously, Julia had no idea what it would cost him financially or otherwise to sever ties with the Broussards over the Queen. Possibly all of his parish business. He might have to move back to the New Orleans area. Not a hardship if Julia lived nearby. “Jules?”
At last, she answered him. “I hoped this day might come, but didn’t really believe it. Anyhow, I already have estimates drawn up for Jane to use in her grant writing. I’ll get them to you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Still, Julia didn’t move from her spot, but Sam and Sal came over to slam him on the back and pump his hand. “Way to go, Remy.” If only they weren’t hairy Italian males.
“I came here directly from Hartz Technology to tell you myself.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to your lessons.” He backed from the room as if she might stab him with that crack widener.
He heard her uncles ragging on her as he left. “Jesus, Jules, why don’t you just seal him in a wall and plaster it over. He came through for you.” Nice to know someone was on his side.
His best hope—that she might deliver those estimates to him alone tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With a glass of red wine in hand, Remy sat on his waterside deck idling swatting at mosquitoes on an evening so still he could hear a distant train pass on the other side of the bayou. Soon time to go inside. No use saving the rest of the bottle for Julia. She wasn’t coming. He glanced toward Alleman with a few lights gleaming and at the dark bulk of the Queen where NuNu had ruined an epic evening. Yes, time to give up.
Someone buzzed for permission to enter at the gate. He raced inside to hit the button, not bothering to inquire who called. The Regal Restorations truck moved up the drive and parked in front of the house rather than on the pad. She wasn’t planning on staying, but perhaps he could change her mind. With a wide, perfect smile, he opened his front door.
Todd got down from the truck and delivered a portfolio. “Ms. Rossi wanted you to have these tonight.”
“Tell her thanks. I’ll look over her estimates immediately so we can get started on the project. And Todd, once again, I am sorry for implicating you in the fire.”
“You outright lied to save a relative.”
Remy half-expected the guy to poke out his lower lip in a sulk the Cajuns called bouderie. “Family ties are important in the South. You wouldn’t understand. And I didn’t lie. I only said you resembled the man who set the fire. Which you do.”
“Yet you didn’t turn him in.”
“He coug
hed up an alibi. Let’s let this go. I assume you will be working with us on the Queen.”
“I hope, but I won’t forget you made me look ridiculous to Julia. Goodnight.”
So, Ms. Rossi had been replaced by Julia. Had she slept with him out of pity—because Remy couldn’t imagine any other reason. “Goodnight, Todd.”
He’d barely gathered up the wine bottle and the two glasses when the buzzer rang again. He’d be willing to bet Todd forgot something—or maybe Julia had relented. Again, he raced for the front door without bothering to ask who wanted to enter and stepped outside. Stupid, very stupid.
Slick’s black SUV emerged from the night. He’d brought company with him. “The old man heard what you done and sent me to deal wit’ you, Remy.”
“Heard what?” Play dumb, back away, get inside.
“Blackie Tauzin’s wife sent one of those press releases to the Clarion saying you and Hartz signed a contract to restore that old eyesore on the bayou. We got ears at the newspaper. We can’t touch Blackie’s wife, and Hartz and his lady are the golden geese of Chapelle, so they’re off limits too. But you, Remy, you betrayed our family.”
“Tell Nonc his money is safe in a separate account. He can have his investment back if he wants; Black Diamonds will be built someday.”
“Don’t make no never mind to me. You got to take your licks for selling out to Hartz. Otherwise the whole parish will think the Broussards have gone soft.”
A pair of Slick’s goons thudded from the SUV and approached Remy on either side. He thought he might stiff arm them and take Slick down with a sweep kick, enough to get inside the house. But someone had gotten between him and the door—NuNu who’d skulked over the fence from his lair of a trailer like a hyena ready to feed.
If he were Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan, he would do a double somersault and break free, but he wasn’t that good. His martial arts skills were more defensive than combative. But he might be able to strike an important bargain. “Before you start in on me, promise that Julia Rossi has immunity too, and I won’t fight you. I’d also appreciate if you’d leave my teeth intact. Grandma Patty paid for my braces. You don’t want her on your back.”
