Putty in Her Hands

by Lynn Shurr

  But on the second day, little things began to go wrong. It seemed to Remy that he spent more time putting out small fires like pinhole leaks in the water line and having the power restored after a midnight storm rather than making forward progress. Irksome to arrive at work and find Julia’s Ladies toilet tipped over by high winds, or maybe not since all the others still stood stalwartly in a row. Whether a childish prank or true vandalism didn’t matter. The men on the job shoved it upright again, and Todd hosed it out for the use of his boss. Every minor problem meant a delay, and delays cost money, running up the cost of the project.

  Yes, he suspected Todd of trying to drive him crazy. A security light burned bright on the property now, and the uncles camped there in the motorhome, but both of them slept like corpses and snored like freight trains after a day of work and a couple of beers. Easy for Todd to sneak out and do the damage. Yet, Remy hesitated to discuss his suspicions with Julia. She’d defend Todd, and they’d have their first real argument since he’d agreed to partner with Hartz. At home, all went smoothly. He wanted it to stay that way.

  In the past, he’d never given his sexual partners a thought from the time they left his bed until they got together again. As long as their drama didn’t touch him—he’d learned well to avoid those types from his college girlfriend—the affair ran on until both grew bored or found someone else. Not so with Julia. He doubted she’d ever prove boring. She might prefer another. Once, he’d vowed to figure her out, but it appeared she’d been the one to unravel Remy Broussard.

  For so long, he’d walked the line between his cruder small-town relatives and the more sophisticated life of his parents near New Orleans. When he’d reached the age of rebellion and insisted on knowing why he had to spend his summer in boring old Chapelle, his mother sat him down and revealed that Patty swore that if Melody tried to cut off access, she’d sue for custody of her son’s children. Unfit parents, she’d claim, involved in adultery and wife-swapping.

  “Why would she say that? Was it true?” Remy asked his mother, so afraid it might be.

  “No, but the Broussards can always come up with witnesses to anything when necessary. Your grandmother tried to break our marriage. When that didn’t work and we moved away from her sphere of influence, she simply tried another tactic. We weren’t trying to steal you away from your father’s family, only save ourselves. So, we struck up a deal of summers in Chapelle. You did enjoy them when you were small: fishing with your grandfather, wienie roasts, and street fairs. Amelia loved the endless trips to the mall and all the stuff they bought her. She wiggled her way out by asking them to send her to music camp and horseback riding camp and trips to Europe as she got older. That made them hold on even tighter to you.”

  Remy’s reluctance to stay with them got him a vehicle, that cherry red Mustang, to drive to the larger pleasures of Lafayette and their rental of a summer house in Cypremort Point with boating and Ski-doos, fishing and shrimp boils, plus lots of babes in bikinis. He’d gotten out of working as a busboy at the Barn to learn the family business. NuNu, a kid at the time, took the offered place clearing tables and scraping garbage off the plates in the kitchen. Yes, Remy guessed he’d been spoiled—but not by his parents who expected hard work academically.

  The biggest bribe to stay in the area was the sliver of land his house sat on and hope of building his premier project. As he put together dinner for the woman in his bed, he knew he’d throw it all over and follow Julia to New Orleans if she asked.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Two frickin’ flats discovered on his truck’s rear tires when he walked out to the road to keep an appointment with Hartz updating the man on progress and the need for additional funds Remy hated to beg. Not something he wanted to put in an email or ask over the phone. A call that he’d be late was not well received well by Mrs. Landry. “You have until three o’clock. Then, Mr. Hartz flies out to China. He’ll be gone two weeks.”

  Without his partner’s approval of the budgetary adjustments, part of their contractual agreement, the burden fell on Remy’s bank account to pay the bills. The local crew he’d hired to knock out walls on the third and fourth floors to accommodate modern bathrooms would expect payment on the thirtieth of the month, not two weeks later. He’d need them for other parts of the project and couldn’t afford to delay their wages, or they’d move to other jobs that paid on time. No wonder he’d noticed a couple of silver hairs in the dark forest of his hair this morning.

  Who had gone to pick up plate lunches today at Nguyen Fresh Fish?—Todd. He’d taken a lot of time for such a simple errand. Long line on Fridays, he explained, and Mrs. Nguyen had gotten Julia’s order wrong, grilled shrimp on her large salad, not fried. An argument ensued as to who had messed up. Todd agreed to take the fried shrimp salad if she’d make a grilled one for Julia. Eventually, he’d appeared with bags of Styrofoam boxes bearing teriyaki swai with sides of fried rice and oriental vegetables plus extra egg rolls for the uncles and Remy.

  Todd eyed the piece of swai on the end of Remy’s plastic fork. “I don’t know about that fish. I asked if the stuff was imported, and the lady just kept yelling at me, “Good Vietnamese food. You eat.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Remy replied.

  With stalwart digestion, the uncles were too far into eating the dish to back out and simply nodded

  Directly after, he went to get his truck and found the two slashed tires. He contacted Mrs. Landry, called a garage that did road service, stormed back to the hotel, and up to the ballroom where Todd worked a repair with the very sharp crack widener. He glared at the apprentice’s bony backside. Julia cradled one of the coffers from overhead as gently as a newborn baby. She lowered it into a crib of packing material supported by a sturdy crate. Remy waited for her to finish before blurting, “Someone slashed my tires, and I have an appointment with Hartz in fifteen minutes. His time isn’t easy to come by.”

  Julia fished in her pocket for her keys. “Not a problem. Take my truck.”

  “There is a problem, a big problem with sabotage on this job.”

  Todd didn’t turn, but his back stiffened like a porcupine about to throw quills, Remy noted.

  “I’m sending Todd to New Orleans with the coffers I picked out for replication. He’ll stay there working with my master artisans on doing the replacements. I’m trusting him with an important task. He’ll learn a lot.” Again, Julia handled the situation with complete calm that made Remy feel like the hothead, though judging how she’d handled his grandmother, she did have the capacity for huge explosions.

  “Okay, we’ll see how it goes.” He accepted her keys and kept his appointment with Hartz, removing the temptation to dip into the Black Diamonds fund as well as his own.

  For a while, the project ran smoothly. The trash heap on one side of the property grew large with broken timbers, crumbled plaster, and corroded fixtures awaiting the dump trucks to haul it all to a landfill. The summer’s rains held off, and Julia joined her uncles in doing external repairs. She deserved some fun, Remy thought. Hell, so did he. The Fourth of July had come and gone while he recuperated on his balcony watching distant fireworks soaring into the sky and bursting into stars and streamers of light. He’d turned down an invitation for a cookout at his grandparent’s place and grilled a solitary steak for himself. Time he showed Jules one of his favorite places.

  On the weekend with the uncles off to hit some of the local bars offering music for entertainment, Remy packed his second picnic for Jules with the romantic foods of seduction: red grapes and ripe strawberries, soft, mild brie to spread on fresh French bread, some thin slices of hard salami in tribute to her Italian heritage, chocolate truffles, and of course, wine, pretty much the same menu that worked the first time he’d been with Julia. He hoped she remembered.

  Turning onto a cane field road and parking out of sight in a bend, he helped Julia down, hands around her waist, for the sheer pleasure of doing it. She no longer refused his assistance. Progress.
He gave her the basket and loaded himself with the wine in insulated coolers, blankets, and the necessary bug repellent. Turning on a flashlight, he cautioned, “Watch out for fire ant mounds and snakes. The gators won’t be a problem. They stay on the lakeside.”

  “This is one of your favorite things, hiking through cane fields at night?”

  “Wait until you see what’s at the other end.”

  As expected, Julia didn’t chicken out. Two dark hillocks, too steep-sided to plow, rose up before them, the Two Tits, the space between referred to as the cleavage, fairly disrespectful of their antiquity. The name on the maps said the Twin Sisters.

  “Ancient Indian mounds,” Remy announced without giving away their nickname or their status as a make-out spot. He headed for a path up one side worn by many pairs of lovers. Before they reached the apex, both heard the giggles and groans of another couple. “Shit,” Remy said as they topped the mound.

  A much younger pair engaged in some preliminary dry humping on a beach blanket amid a couple of six-packs half gone and boxes of Popeye’s fried chicken. The boy looked up, but kept his hands on both of his companion’s breasts under her T-shirt. “Get lost. We were here first. Aren’t you kind of old to be out here anyhow?”

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks to go elsewhere.”

  “Why, you winded from the climb, old man?”

  Remy shone his light on the freckled cheeks and red hair of the boy, the blushing face and blonde hair of the girl. He studied them for a moment. He drew on the worst threat available to control small town kids. “Miss, I know your mama. You want me to call her to come pick you up?” In fact, he’d brought her mother up here years ago, but she’d gotten pregnant at the local college by another guy, married, and gone on the mommy track, stuck in Chapelle forever.

  “Jayden! Take the money. Don’t let him call her.”

  Remy put the spotlight on the boy’s face again. “You work for the newspaper. I figure you’re over eighteen, and she’s what, maybe fifteen? I can call the cops if you want to make headlines for statutory rape.”

  “I’m sixteen,” the girl insisted

  “You know it’s not like that, dude. She’s willing,” her boyfriend claimed.

  The girl pushed Jayden aside and sat up. “I was, but now I only want to get out of here. Take the money, Jay. We can spend the night in the boat until the warden opens the levee road gates in the morning.”

  “Yeah, that will be comfortable, and we might get fined. No one is supposed to be on the lake at night disturbing or poaching Mr. Hartz’s precious birds, Mindy.”

  Mindy twisted a lock of her hair around a finger and delivered a coy look worthy of her mom. “I’ll make it worthwhile. Mama thinks I’ll be at Savannah’s all night.”

  Remy handed her the hundred. The girl rose, tucked the bill into her hip pocket, and rolled up the towel.

  “Please pack out your garbage,” Julia said from her place in the shadows.

  While Mindy gathered beer cans, full and empty, in addition to the chicken boxes, Jayden sulked. “Say, aren’t you the Italian sexpot the whole town is talking about? You want to be a headline too?”

  “The difference is I’m way over twenty-one and can go on a picnic at night without lying to my mother on my whereabouts.” Nope, Julia Rossi did not back down.

  “Move your boat while you’re at it,” Remy added. “Use the oars. You won’t get caught if the warden is on patrol.” He’d done that more than once.

  The advice went unappreciated, but faced with two people completely unfazed by his threat, Jayden grabbed the full six-pack from his girlfriend and followed her down the far side of the hill. “See if I ever give you free publicity again,” he promised before stumbling after Mindy.

  “The less I see of the press, the better I like it,” Remy said only loud enough for Jules to hear. No sense in arguing with belligerent children. He shook out a thick blanket and anchored it with citronella candles, lighting each one to keep off the mosquitoes. Far too hot for sleeping bags. “You ready to eat?” No use proceeding until the kids were long gone. He freed a wine bottle from its pack and applied a corkscrew.

  “Sure.” Julia stood contemplating Indian Lake. “I take it you’ve brought lots of women here. I’m one among many.”

  “No, I brought girls here when I was as young and randy and as bored in Chapelle as Jayden. You’re the first and only woman I’ve brought to this spot. I came here in the daylight, too, with my sketchpad and a pair of binoculars to get away from my grandparents. Did some bird watching.” He handed her chilled white wine in a glass.

  “You don’t seem the type.” Julia took a sip and regarded the view: moonlight and the shadows of cypress trees on the water, white egrets perched in the rookery, the ripple of an alligator on the hunt.

  “I was. Haven’t been up here in a long, long time.” He unpacked the basket and laid out the fruit, bread, and cheese while Julia did a three-sixty exploration of the top of the mound.

  She paused with her back to the lake and peered over the rows of cane, their bent leaves silvery in the moonlight and swaying in a light breeze good for keeping down the mosquitoes. “I wonder why these mounds were built.”

  “No one really knows. For ceremonies or burials, I’d guess. Some say people could gather here if the lake flooded. The kids like to think virgin sacrifices took place, but most likely maidens lost their virginity here in more recent years. Anyhow, the landowner didn’t want the mounds excavated, folks say.”

  “Who does own the land—Hartz or the Patin family?

  “Not Hartz. He has title to the lake only. Not sure if the Patins lease it for farming or own it. Why does it matter? Come here and sit down.” Remy patted the place beside him and dangled a juicy strawberry as bait.

  “That would have more allure if it were covered in chocolate,” Julia said, but gave into the coaxing. She sucked the berry from the stem and licked his fingertips.

  “I promise there is chocolate to come, paired nicely with the red zinfandel.”

  Julia broke off the heel of the French bread and spread it with the ripened brie. “Ah, there is going to be dessert that isn’t me this time.” She did remember.

  “Yes, both kinds.” Yet, she didn’t seem entirely with him as if her mind wandered through the cane fields.

  They fed each other grapes and bits of salami, made a mess of the truffles melted a little in the heat, but enjoyed tasting chocolate in each other’s mouths. The zinfandel did its work, and finally Julia peeled off that tight red top she’d worn the day of the scene with his grandmother and unhooked her bra. Remy immediately rubbed chocolate on her nipples and laved them clean. He discarded his shirt, craving flesh-to-flesh contact. They fell kissing on the blanket, each massaging the other’s back. The pressure built, urging him to get entirely naked and Jules with him. Remy reached for the snap of her cutoffs.

  Sirens screamed so loudly across the lake a cloud of egrets took flight circling in the night sky like shooting stars. Wails came from all directions. Julia sat up. “Sounds like a big fire. More than one firehouse is responding.”

  Remy attempted to bring her back in his embrace. “Nothing we can do about it.”

  But Julia stood up following the direction of the engines heading south. “Look at that light on the horizon.”

  “Probably just the streetlamps in Chapelle.”

  “No, bigger, brighter. Remy, I think the Queen might be burning. We have to go.” She scrambled into her bra and top, tossed him his shirt.

  Remy dashed everything into the basket and heard a wineglass break in the rush. Blowing out the candles and throwing them on top of the remains of the picnic, he rolled the blanket faster than Mindy had her beach towel. Rough going down the hill and over the ruts of the dirt road in haste, with only the flashlight and the moon for guidance. If there were snakes, they slithered out of the way. The deep marks of their sneakers roused the fire ants in the smashed mounds, but Julia and Remy were gone before they swarm
ed.

  They raced the truck through the sleepy end of Chapelle, then more carefully past the bars with men lounging on the sidewalk outside, some staggering into the street trying to get to the other side. Remy moved them swiftly to the roadblock without killing anyone. The vehicles of the volunteers lined the street on both sides. A man Remy recognized as one of the Queen’s previous protectors removed the barricade and let them in, shouting, “Not the hotel, the scrap pile, Miss Julia.”

  “Thank God,” said Jules.

  Four fire trucks fought the blaze, though two of them trained their hoses to dampen the wall of the hotel and the woods bordering the property.

  “Thought you’d be here quicker since you live across the way,” Chief Blaise addressed Remy.

  “We went out for dinner. How did this get started?”

  “No storms or dry lightning tonight. Same as last time. You could smell the accelerant.”

  “Gasoline?”

  “Yes, it’s cheap and hard to trace. Hell, no one around here thinks anything of a man filling a few cans to fuel his ATV or his boat. Go one parish over and not a soul knows who you are, just another guy planning to go off road or fishing. The fact that it hasn’t rained lately helped things along too. Are you going to ask the sheriff to check out the apprentice again?”

  “He’s in New Orleans.” Julia inserted herself into the conversation.

  “He might have driven…”

  “Remy, enough! Todd is staying with Sam’s family and doesn’t have a car. How about your cousin for a suspect?”

  “Old Broussard told him to lay off. He rules that branch of the family. But the sheriff can call on him. NuNu will be at the barn making burgers all weekend.”

  “Yeah, like he was the last time.” Julia let the sarcasm drip from her words.

  “I’ll set up a meeting with Nonc on Tuesday. The Barn is closed on Sunday. The old man considers it a sacred day. He does go to church and spends the afternoon resting. No one disturbs him. I’ll see if I can prevent this stuff from happening again. I paid the price for the Queen. He should honor that.”