Belle Pointe

by Karen Young

  “No shit.”

  She had his full attention now. “Wait’ll you hear the rest. His uncle or somebody, anyway a relative, had a bar called the Boll Weevil.”

  “Oh, clever.”

  “Your mother’s name was Vicky then, not Victoria. She seemed smitten with Rudy, who was—get ready—a musician. In the style of Elvis. But all good things must end and Rudy was drafted and wound up in Vietnam.”

  “Where he was killed,” Buck said.

  “Yes. And here’s the interesting part. It was shortly after—I’m talking a few months later as I don’t know the exact time frame—Victoria began dating John, who happened to be home for the summer from college. In just no time, they were married.” She stopped, squirming a little under his gaze. “I told you it was far out.”

  After a long minute, Buck said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Whatever we’re thinking, it happened a long time ago. I just found it…interesting what with Jim Bob Baker’s death and your mother’s affair with Rudy, his older brother. Then she ups and marries John.”

  He shifted his gaze from her to the window, thinking. “I never knew much about my mother’s life before she married Dad,” he said, almost as if he was talking to himself. “She never wanted to talk about the fact that she’d—as they say—married up.” Moving away, he tucked his hands in his pockets, his eyes downcast. “I wouldn’t have known that her father was a whiz of a mechanic who worked at Belle Pointe except that Oscar mentioned it not too long ago. We had a complicated problem with one of the engines and he fixed it.”

  He’d moved back to the window. Pulling a cord, he let in a sliver of sunshine. “Oscar laughed and said I could probably have fixed it myself since I had Benny Hinton’s genes, who just happened to be the best mechanic in the Mississippi Delta. He could see I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  He turned his head to look at Anne. “That’s who trained Oscar—Benny Hinton—my grandfather. I swear that’s the first I ever knew about that.”

  “She never spoke of her parents, not ever?” Anne asked with an incredulous look.

  “I guess once she was a Whitaker she felt her background didn’t go with her elevated status.” He spoke with a bitter twist of his mouth.

  “We don’t know that,” Anne said gently. “It’s not fair to judge her. Maybe there were…circumstances. When Beatrice told me all this, she made it a point to caution me about assuming gossip to be true. So, until I hear the story from your mother herself, I’m reserving judgment.”

  “Then you’ll wait a long time, sugar. If she’s kept her secrets all these years, she’s not likely to tell all now.” Moving from the window, he rested a hip on his ancestor’s desk. “So, where were we before we got sidetracked by my mother’s past?”

  “Trying to figure out why anyone would want to destroy the archives and steal my laptop.”

  “Maybe my mother did it,” he said dryly.

  “Be serious. We’ve agreed we don’t have a single clue. And since you suspect Pearce might be responsible for the death of Jim Bob Baker, it’s worth doing a little digging into the lives of both brothers, don’t you think?” She was warming to her theory, pacing again, her eyes on the floor. “We’ve got to start somewhere. In the absence of any other lead, that’s where an investigative journalist would start.” She swung about and shot him a brilliant smile. “You did ask for my help, remember?”

  Arms folded, he smiled faintly.

  “What?” she asked.

  He reached out and pulled her between his legs. “Looks like I made a smart choice when I asked my wife for help.” He drew her closer. “You feeling better now?”

  “About my big discovery?” She gave a little shrug and stroked hair from his forehead. “I guess I have to. I can’t change anything, can I?”

  “Would you want to?”

  “I would want my father not to have been unfaithful.”

  He gave her a little squeeze, not quite a shake. “He’s a good man, darlin’. Don’t judge him too harshly. Think of it this way. Since Laura appears to have forgiven him, what would she want you to do?”

  That very thought had been in the back of her mind, but the shock of discovery was too fresh. With a sigh, she linked both arms around Buck’s neck. Tomorrow. She’d think about it tomorrow.

  “Hmm, you smell good,” Buck said, sniffing behind her ear.

  She tilted her head with a smile. “I should. It’s Joy. You bought it.”

  He stopped, angling back to give her a hard look. “You were mad enough to leave, but you remembered to take a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of perfume with you?”

  Framing his face, she leaned close so that he was able to catch the scent she’d applied lightly between her breasts. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “This…for starters.” He snuck a hand beneath her sweater and found her breast. Anne made a little sound, recalling that Miriam was in the house and could easily walk in, but as Buck nuzzled her tingling breasts through her sweater, warming her with his breath, it was hard not to give in to a moment of pure pleasure. After all, she’d had a bad morning.

  “And this…” he murmured, reaching for the zipper on her jeans.

  “Buck—” She looked back in agitation at the door, wide open. “I was just teasing. We can’t—”

  “Didn’t your mama tell you that a girl can get in a lot of trouble teasing a man?” His hand was inside her jeans now, nipping at her throat while he worked his way into her bikinis. Eyes dreamy and heavy, Anne did nothing to stop him until she heard sounds of footsteps nearing the library. She glanced back at the door just as Miriam appeared, beet-red and apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Buck,” the housekeeper said, sending an anxious look over her shoulder. “Ms. Victoria just came in. I thought you’d want to know.” With a last flustered look at Anne, she scurried away.

  “Omigod!” Anne batted at Buck’s hand; Buck grinned wickedly, but she had no chance to say more—or do anything—as he gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth and as neatly as he’d invaded her jeans, he had them zipped and her sweater straightened when Victoria walked in.

  Nobody spoke for a beat or two. Victoria’s gaze sliced from one to the other, then settled on Buck, who showed not a trace of embarrassment. “Buck, that is a very valuable antique you’re sitting on.”

  “Ma. Back from Memphis already?” He took his time straightening up, using a minute to study his mother’s face. He’d seen her looking better, he decided. Claire could be right.

  “I was never in Memphis.” Victoria’s look shifted to Anne. “This is a pleasant surprise, Anne. Has Miriam been told to set an extra plate for lunch?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Anne told her, managing a polite smile. “And thanks, but I’ll just pop over to the square and get lunch.” Anne had skipped breakfast, but lunch with her mother-in-law was not a pleasant prospect. And she’d be safe enough on her own in the middle of town.

  “Uh-uh, you’re staying,” Buck said flatly. “She shouldn’t be popping around anywhere on her own…under the circumstances,” he told Victoria.

  “The circumstances,” his mother repeated. “That would be the fire, which I understand has been declared a case of arson. I got details from Chief Breedlove when I dropped by his office a while ago. I’m shocked, truly appalled that you and Paige had such a close call, Anne. Criminal activity in Tallulah. It’s incredible.” With a click of her tongue, her gaze narrowed on Anne’s face. “How are you feeling?”

  “No lingering effects. Mostly I had a good scare.”

  “That’s basically what Paige said.” Victoria’s gaze shifted to Buck. “It’s fortunate you came along when you did, Buck. Of course, there will be severe consequences for that girl’s outrageous behavior. She’s simply out of control.”

  “She’s a normal teenage kid, Ma. And we came damn close to losing her.”

  “And the journals,” Victoria said. “W
hich reminds me. I stopped at the Spectator intending to pick them up. I expected to encounter resistance since they were on the premises during the fire and might be impounded, but they’re Belle Pointe heirlooms. They could be damaged in careless hands. However, I was told by Jack Breedlove that he’d turned them over to you.” Her gaze roamed around the room. “Where are they?”

  “In a safe place.” He moved to stand close behind Anne.

  “But not here where they belong? Why not?”

  “Just haven’t gotten around to it,” he said, shrugging. “By the way, Ma, where were they all this time? I’ve done paperwork here in the library since I’ve been on the job and they weren’t here.”

  “That’s a very good question. It’s a mystery to me how Paige found them and I intend to ask the minute she gets home from school. Nobody has written in them since John died, nor has anyone had a chance to write in them. I know I haven’t. As it falls to me to officially record activity here at Belle Pointe, I personally prefer using the computer.”

  Buck frowned. “You’re saying the journals haven’t been seen since Dad died and yet somehow Paige got hold of them?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She moved to the door. “I’m heading to the kitchen to give Miriam instructions for lunch. When I return, I want to see the journals returned to their proper place. There.” She pointed to a glass-front cabinet against the wall opposite John Whitaker’s desk.

  “Now what?” Anne asked Buck in a hushed tone after Victoria left. “I don’t think your mother is going to stand by and let me read those journals.”

  “I can see how it wouldn’t be any fun with her breathing down your neck,” he said, looking thoughtful. “I wonder where Paige got hold of them.”

  “I wonder why they were hidden in the first place.”

  He looked at her. “You, m’dear, have a suspicious mind.”

  Her expression turned gloomy. “But not suspicious enough to guess my parents’ secret.”

  “Hey, we’re making progress,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “You’re calling them your parents.”

  “Do we really have to stay for lunch?” she asked. Since she’d gone to the lodge with Buck after the fire, she didn’t have a change of clothes. “I need clothes and it’s a good time to go to their house and get my luggage.”

  Standing close, he stroked the side of her arm. “We could go back to the lodge and get naked and you wouldn’t need any clothes.”

  She laughed. “In your dreams.”

  “Yeah, so what d’you say?”

  “I say Beatrice will be at her shop and Dad’s probably hanging around the scene of the fire, so it’s a good time to take my things to the lodge.”

  He went still. “You’re moving in?”

  She looked at him. “Well…yeah.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Buck said after a minute, “but just so we’re clear, are you moving in to avoid your folks or because you want to be with me?”

  She shifted to look at him directly. “I thought we cleared that up last night. We made love with no protection. For me, that’s as complete a commitment as I can give.”

  He caught her hand and brought it up to press a kiss in her palm. “I guess I need to hear you say it a lot before I’m totally convinced. You scared the hell out of me in St. Louis when you left.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I never stopped loving you and last night was an epiphany for me when I thought I might not be able to tell you that ever again.” She sighed. “As for grabbing an excuse for avoiding Dad and Beatrice, I’m just chicken enough to admit it, yeah.”

  Buck lowered their laced fingers to his thigh. “I’m supposed to be the partner in this relationship who doesn’t like to talk things out. The longer you dance around the problem, the more time you give for grievances to fester.”

  “I can’t believe I’m being counseled on the value of communication by Mr. Buttoned Up himself,” she said grumpily.

  “That was then, this is now,” he said virtuously. “I’ve learned the error of my ways.”

  She ignored that. “I’ve thought of another reason we should go now,” she told him, casting a sideways look toward the house. “It’s a legitimate excuse to skip lunch with your mother.”

  “Good thinking.” He caught her hand to hustle her toward the door. “I guess putting off resolving your differences one more day won’t matter.”

  Twenty-Two

  Some differences were to be resolved that day whether planned or not. Just as Anne unlocked the door of their house, Franklin and Beatrice pulled into the driveway behind Buck’s SUV. “So much for sneaking in and grabbing my luggage on the sly,” she muttered.

  “Best laid plans and all that,” he murmured in her ear before turning to greet his in-laws.

  As Beatrice approached them on the sidewalk, her smile was strained. She looked as if she’d had a bad night. “This is a nice surprise,” she said, her blue eyes—so like Anne’s—watchful. “You’re just in time to have lunch with us.”

  “Thank you, but I only came to pick up my luggage,” Anne said, noticing how alike she and her birth mother were. Now that she was aware of it, the similarity was striking. Flustered at the discovery, she looked down at herself and added wryly, “I don’t think this outfit is good for another day.”

  Franklin was close behind Beatrice carrying three bags of groceries. “Here, let me give you a hand with that,” Buck said.

  “Good to see you, Buck.” Franklin handed over two of the bags and looked beyond Buck to Anne and said heartily, “Well, this is good timing. I’m glad we didn’t miss you, Annie-girl. I told my wife you’d be coming for your luggage. No talking her out of it, I said.” Head cocked, he gave her an openly affectionate look. “We’d sure like you to have lunch with us.”

  She glanced away to find Beatrice standing with her hands clasped tightly together, almost as if in prayer. Oh, God, what a nightmare! Her eyes bounced to Buck and away again. “We still need to drop my stuff off at the lodge and Buck needs to get back to Belle Pointe.”

  “Maybe a glass of iced tea?” her father wheedled. “It’s turned out warm today.”

  “Iced tea sounds good,” Buck said, slipping an arm around Anne’s waist and nudging her inside. “My wife isn’t used to these sudden turns from chilly to hot yet.” He glanced down, meeting her eyes. “Right, sugar?”

  What, was he a facilitator for intervention now, she wondered. It was a sneaky trick, but if she refused now, she would come off looking bitchy and spiteful. “Iced tea sounds nice,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’ll just get started packing my things and have it when I’m done.”

  Beatrice closed the door. “Franklin, do you think you and Buck can manage to brew tea? And I’ll give Anne a hand collecting her things.”

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  Beatrice lifted her hand without a hint of diffidence. “You can grant me just this few minutes, Anne,” she said firmly. “And then you won’t have to talk to me again…ever, if that will make you happy.”

  Anne flushed at the rebuke. She was the wronged person here, she reminded herself righteously. “I really don’t have anything else to say, Beatrice. And I’d rather not—”

  “You don’t have to say anything. You just have to listen.” Beatrice was careful not to touch Anne as she moved past her, one arm extended to usher her toward the bedroom. “Come along now.”

  Without much choice, Anne gave a tiny huff, but she did as asked and was stonily silent as they headed for the bedroom. At the door, she stopped short. Her suitcase lay open on the bed, neatly packed. The room, emptied of her things, had a sterile look. The top of the dresser was cleared off, as was the chest of drawers except for a chintz-covered box that Anne didn’t recognize. Beatrice had even packed her hanging bag with toilet articles collected from the guest bathroom. It now lay on the bed, zipped and ready to go.

  She turned to look at Beatrice. “It seems you’re eager to get rid of me.”


  “I won’t even dignify that with a reply. Frankly, your father and I were hoping you’d reconcile with Buck and move in with him at the lodge, but whether or not that happened, we knew you wouldn’t want to be here.”

  “It would be too uncomfortable. This was a major shock to me. I need some time….”

  “Of course.” Beatrice again shushed her with a lift of her hand. “We—Franklin and I—have had thirty-four years to come to terms with what we did, whereas you’ve had only a few hours. In your place, I’d need some time, too. You really don’t have to explain your feelings. We understand.” She paused with a faint smile. “Well, at least I understand. It’s a bit of a struggle for your father.”

  Anne sat down on the bed. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty? If so, it’s working.” Her voice rose with emotion. “I have a right to be upset. My whole life has been lived around a lie!”

  Beatrice sat, with Anne’s luggage between them. “You’ll get no argument from me on that,” she said sadly as she looked around the room. “I could paper these walls with the letters I’ve written to you since Laura died where I confessed everything, but of course they were never mailed. I hoped—prayed—there’d come a day when I could tell you in a straightforward, honorable way.”

  Anne touched her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t know what you expect from me. If you agree it’s okay that I need more time, why did you force this conversation? I just wanted to come here and get my things without seeing you. Or talking. If that’s cruel, then I’m sorry. It’s the way I feel.”

  “It hurts,” Beatrice said softly. “I don’t deny that, but it’s not cruel. We can’t help what we feel, you any more than I. And there is a reason I wanted this conversation…forced it, as you say.” She nearly winced on the word forced as she rose. Moving to the chest, she lifted the chintz box. Rectangular shaped, the lid was secured with a bow of rose-colored ribbon.

  “When you take your things, I’d like for you to take this, too.” She untied the ribbon and opened the box. Anne saw it was divided into two parts. On one side were letters, fifty or sixty, she guessed at a glance. On the other side were photographs. Dozens of photographs, the top one a studio portrait of Anne when she graduated from high school.