Allure tha-2

by Lea Nolan

  Nearing the foyer, I hear a door creak and stop short as the hair rises on my arms. I’m sure the sound came from around the corner, in the hall that leads to the west wing. The only door nearby is the one to Beau’s private study. Which no one’s allowed to enter without him. It’s so private, he keeps the key on a chain attached to his pocket. After eight summers in the Lowcountry, Jack and I have never been inside that room. Come to think of it, I doubt Cooper has either. And since Beau’s still in the great room earning his Oscar, I know it can’t be him.

  Tiptoeing toward the corner, I peek my head out. Claude steps from the study and pulls the door shut behind him, then twists the knob to make sure it’s locked. He looks first to his right, then turns left. I jerk back, and listen to my heart pulse, praying I moved fast enough for him to miss me.

  “Miss Emma Guthrie,” Claude calls out.

  Dang. Not quick enough.

  He sings my name again. “I know you’re there. Come out.”

  Gulping, I force myself to walk around the corner. He’s standing in front of the study, his black suit perfectly creased, and wearing his blue-lensed sunglasses even though he’s inside. My legs tremble as Miss Delia’s words echo in my head reminding me to be strong. Drawing a deep breath, I reach under my collar to rub the blue and pink beads on my collier, which are supposed to help me connect with my spirit guide. With her at my side, I’m not technically alone with Claude. A calm rushes over me, starting at my hair follicles, tumbling down to my toenails. Forcing my shoulders back, I quicken my pace. “That’s Beau’s study.” I point to the door.

  His lips slip open over his ultra-bright smile. “You’re correct.”

  “His private space. No one’s allowed in there without him.”

  “I was just meeting with him.”

  “Really? Because I just left him in the great room. He’s been in there awhile crying about Missy.”

  His gaze drops to my dress. “Pity, you’ve had some sort of accident.”

  As if that’s going to deflect my attention from his trespass. Fat chance. Still, my hand clutches the moist spot on my midsection. “Yeah, your assistant tripped and spilled her drink.”

  He shakes his head as he clucks his tongue. “Clumsy girl. You really ought to stay out of her way. There’s no telling what kind of trouble she could cause.”

  I nod. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Claude’s brow arches above his lenses. “I wonder, Miss Emma, if you find it as interesting as I do that you are acquainted with the Beaumonts and Miss Whittaker?”

  “I can’t really say, since I don’t know how interesting you think it is. This is a small island. Just about everyone knows everyone. And it doesn’t explain why you were in Beau’s study without him.”

  Claude rubs his chin with his long, spindly fingers. “It is a small island. Tell me, how does someone like you come to know someone like Miss Delia?”

  What he’s really asking is how a little white girl like me—or as the Gullah say, a buckruh—would come in contact with an old Gullah woman. But I’m not going to honor that kind of a stupid question with an answer. “I don’t know. I’ve spent the last eight summers on St. Helena. Who can remember how they met everyone they know?”

  “Oh, I suspect you could if you tried.”

  I shake my head. “Nope, nothing comes to mind.”

  He leans close, way past the boundary of my personal space and whispers in my ear. “Let me offer you a bit of advice. You may want to steer clear of your dear old friend. My investigation of the museum robbery is far from over and I’ve developed some promising leads that all seem to end at her rickety doorstep. When I’m through, she may be looking at hard time.” He chuckles. “Though of course, given her advanced age she isn’t likely to have much of that left. I’d hate for you to get caught up in this nasty business.”

  I take a step back. “Do you seriously think a feeble, old lady in a wheelchair broke into the museum?” I work to sound extra snarky and indignant, but the tiny tremor in my voice reveals how scared I am of his power.

  “Perhaps. And maybe she had some coconspirators. You never know who an investigation like this may implicate. It’s one of the great joys of this job. The mystery.” He nudges closer. “The hunt. The capture.” His cologne hangs in the air, a nauseating mixture of patchouli, burned smoke, and a hint of something that reminds me of a Jolly Rancher candy.

  Realizing I can turn the tables on him, I cross my arms and stand my ground. “You only have this job because of Beau. What do you think he’d say if he knew you were in his study? I’m betting he’d wonder how you got in, seeing as he’s got the key literally chained to his body at all times.”

  Claude’s reptilian smile slips for just a second. “How do you know my visit isn’t part of my job? Perhaps my investigation has led me to look at the most unusual of suspects. Perhaps even the victims themselves.”

  “Huh? How’s that supposed to work?”

  “Can you imagine the real culprit might hire me to redirect the investigation and throw suspicion off themselves? Mr. Beaumont is one of the chief donors to the King Center, which stands to earn a substantial insurance settlement as a result of the robbery. As for his private concerns about a burglary here at High Point Bluff, well, the payout for a stolen ruby of that caliber would be substantial.”

  I snort. “You’d really turn on your boss like that? Beau got you this job. Without him, you wouldn’t even be here.”

  “Oh, I suspect I would have found a way to St. Helena eventually. Mr. Beaumont may have brought me to this island, but my only allegiance is to righting wrong. A heinous crime was committed on this island, and I’ll stop at nothing to make the culprit pay.”

  Whoa, and I’m the emo one? Okay, so we stole a couple of artifacts—one of which had been stolen from its rightful owner—what we did wasn’t totally right, but it wasn’t exactly what I’d call heinous, either.

  “Trust me, Beau Beaumont didn’t rob the museum or steal his own family’s ruby necklace.”

  “No, but perhaps your father, Jed did. He is Beau’s sole employee, is he not? Ever loyal. Perhaps to a fault.”

  My heart seizes. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from threatening to prosecute Miss Delia to dragging Beau and my father into this. I remember how he nudged Sheriff Walker into thinking Missy’s death was from natural causes. I’m not sure how he accomplished that little trick, but there’s nothing stopping him from unleashing his power to mess with my dad. And since the sheriff seems inclined to do whatever Claude wants, my dad will be in the slammer faster than he can spell turpentine.

  “That’s impossible. My father would never do anything like that. Ever.”

  He shrugs. “I only go where the evidence leads me. Now, you can either tell Beau you saw me in his study and risk where I might take my investigation, or we can forget this entire conversation ever took place and I can get back to my job.”

  I don’t have a choice, do I? If I say anything about Claude being in the study, there’s no telling what accusations he’ll lodge against Beau and my dad. I almost couldn’t care less about what happens to Beau, though he shouldn’t be arrested for something he didn’t do. It’s my dad I worry about. He’s just the caretaker who’s got nothing to do with Beau’s shady dealings or what Cooper, Jack, and I did this summer.

  My shoulders droop as I step aside. “I guess we’re done here.”

  “Nice necklace, by the way. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in Louisiana.” He brushes past me and slithers down the hall toward the great room.

  I grind my teeth. He may have won this round, but there’s no way he’ll win the next. I’ve got hoodoo magic and the element of surprise on my side. And I fully intend to use them.

  But first, I’ve got to warn Miss Delia.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Except I can’t do anything until I take care of my soaked and still-clinging dress. I charge up the stairs to Cooper’s room, tear it off, and blot t
he remaining cranberry juice on my skin with a towel he left tossed on his bed. Then I throw open his dresser and root for some clothes that might fit me. The best I can find is a pair of running shorts with an elastic waistband and a too-big T-shirt that hangs off my shoulders like a sack.

  There’s no time to rinse this chintzy sundress. Instead, I ball it up and tuck it under my arm, then race back to the great room. Taneea is nestled in the corner of the sofa next to Cooper, and Jack’s perched on the arm, tracking her every move. Claude and Beau are deep in conversation on the opposite sofa. Though Claude’s still wearing those god-awful blue sunglasses, I feel the weight of his stare as I cross the room to where Cooper and Jack are.

  I sit on the coffee table and lean close, keeping my voice low to prevent Claude from overhearing. “Hey, guys, listen. There’s something we’ve got to do.”

  Taneea snorts. “Nice outfit.”

  I glare at her.

  “Hey, those are mine,” Cooper says.

  I furrow my brow. “And?” Since when is it a problem that I borrow some of his clothes? He always lets me wear his shirt as a cover-up at the beach.

  “Am I going to get them back? That’s one of my favorite shirts.”

  Is he for real? “Uh, yeah, as soon as I wash it. But right now I need to go. Like now.”

  He gestures toward the door. “Okay. So go.”

  “But I need you to take me.”

  His face falls flat and his eyes—now the soft gray hue of a pussy-willow catkin—look hollow. “I’m exhausted. Can’t we go tomorrow?”

  Taneea strokes his arm. “Of course you are. You’ve been through a lot.”

  He turns to her and smiles. “Thanks. It’s been harder than I thought.”

  Jack scoffs. “Really, dude?”

  Cooper turns to him, his face drawn. “Yeah. It would be nice if you showed a little sympathy.”

  Jack throws his hands up. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you give me that tour you promised? I want to see the whole plantation.” Taneea pushes off the sofa and hitches her ugly bag over her shoulder, then threads between the sofa and the coffee table, maneuvering around my legs.

  “Sure. That sounds good.” Cooper stands and follows her, then glances back at me and Jack. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  Jack and I exchange looks.

  “Yo, I thought you were tired.” My brother rises to his feet.

  Cooper spins around. “I am.”

  “So you’re too wiped to drive but not to walk around High Point Bluff? In the heat?” Jack pushes further.

  He nods. “Exactly. Later.”

  Cooper’s definitely not himself. My stomach clenches. If I’m right about The Beaumont curse, it must be closer than I thought. Miss Delia had better figure out that last ingredient soon.

  “Did that just happen?” Jack asks.

  My throat constricts. “Yeah.”

  “And you’re just going to let them go? Why aren’t we following them? I could get between them again if you want.”

  I shake my head. “It won’t matter. Besides, we’ve got other things to worry about.” I push off the coffee table and clutch my likely ruined dress close to my chest.

  Jack follows. “I’m totally lost. What’s going on?”

  I fill him in on the walk home, about my suspicions that the Beaumont Curse is edging closer, gnawing on Cooper’s soul, and causing his distance and distemper, and on my unintended meeting with Claude, my suspicions about his power to influence, and his not-so-veiled threats against me, Miss Delia, Beau, and our dad.

  “This Claude guy’s cold. We can’t let him turn on Dad. No matter what,” Jack says as we climb the steps to the covered porch on the caretaker’s house.

  “And we can’t let him go after Miss Delia either.” Crossing the porch, we head into the house.

  “No way. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead right now. Or mostly a skeleton. We’ve got to warn her. I could borrow Dad’s truck to drive you over.”

  I pretreat my dress, toss it into the washer, then spin the dial to the correct setting. “Are you nuts? You can barely drive a stick shift. You’ll crash before we even get to the highway. Not to mention you don’t have a driver’s license, so it’s massively illegal.” I push the start button and the tub starts to fill.

  “True. How about we take the golf cart?” He rubs the scruff on his chin.

  “Also illegal. And superslow. I’ll just have to ride that old bike of mine that’s still in Dad’s workshop.” I race up the stairs to change into clothes that won’t fall off my body. Then freeze midway up the flight, slapping my palm against my forehead.

  With everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot to brew another batch of energy tea. My latest version gave me a little jolt, jogged my heart, and bolstered my mood, but it was only marginally stronger than the first and didn’t do much to curb my fatigue. Judging by my most recent encounter with Claude, I’m going to need to all the strength I can muster to counteract his plans for Miss Delia and my father. Which means I’ve got to take the concoction to the next level, adding a few new ingredients and letting it steep overnight.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

  “I just realized there’s something I need to do before I can go over there.”

  “Like what?”

  I contemplate explaining, but seeing as I’m keeping my energy booster from Miss Delia, I can’t exactly spill the beans to him. “Nothing much. It’s a hoodoo thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  …

  In the morning, I squint as I pour an extra-large dose of my new-and-improved super-energy tea into a vial, and then slip it into my messenger bag. Among other things, I added some kola nut to this batch, which is supposed to restore vitality and combat fatigue. Here’s hoping it gives me that extra punch I’m looking for.

  I’ve called Cooper about a dozen times this morning, but his cell goes straight to voice mail, and no one’s picking up at the Big House either. So I’m guessing he’s too tired to answer, much less drive me over to Miss Delia’s. But with only three days till his birthday, time’s running out.

  Desperate, I yank my old ten-speed out of my dad’s workshop and sling my messenger bag over my back. I haven’t ridden a bike in years but Miss Delia’s isn’t far so it should be a snap.

  A half hour later, I chug my way up the long, uneven drive that leads to her house. Although it’s only ten o’clock, the sun is already scorching and sweat has drenched my hair and shirt and dripped down my backside into my shorts. I’d cry if I had any more fluid to spare.

  Peddling up to the bottle tree, I lay the bike on the ground and jog up to the hose that feeds the garden. Dumping my messenger bag on the ground, I twist on the spigot and let the cool water flow over my hand, then drink my fill before I douse my hair and clothes anew, washing the sweaty grime from my skin.

  Miss Delia wheels out onto the porch. “Lord, child, what are you doing?”

  I swallow a few extra mouthfuls before I turn off the spigot. “Cooling off. I rode my bike, but I almost had a heart attack in the heat.” I wring out my hair and T-shirt, splattering the flagstone walkway with water. “Cooper was supposed to drive me, but I couldn’t reach him.” Leaning over, I scoop up my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

  “I suspect not.” Her brow is creased and her mouth is turned down.

  An eerie sensation creeps up my spine. “What do you mean?” I walk up the path to the porch.

  She looks like she’s debating whether or not to say something, but then swats her hand. “Aw, heck. There’s no sense in sugarcoating it. He was here bright and early this morning to pick up Taneea. Barely said a word before they let out of here.”

  My stomach drops. “He was?” My voice trembles. I step toward the porch and grip the railing to steady myself.

  She nods. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s the Beaumont Curse. I’m sure of it.” I explain my suspicions about his recent
behavior, the proximity of his birthday, and the unusual strength and impatience of the curse.

  She sucks her teeth. “It’s an interesting theory, but I’m not sure it’s right.”

  My heart stops. “Why?”

  “You said he’s wearing the mojo bag you made and that it’s working?”

  I nod. “Checked it myself. It popped in my hand.”

  “Then he’s protected from black magic, at least until he turns sixteen. Once his birthday hits, well, now that’s another story.”

  “But the Beaumont Curse is different, isn’t? Couldn’t it grab him early?”

  “I doubt it. These things follow their own set of rules. If it’s supposed to take hold when he comes into his manhood, well, that’s when it’ll happen.”

  I run my fingers through my damp hair. “But it’s not like that has an exact date either. How does the curse know when to attack?”

  “I suppose it just knows. Come inside and towel yourself off. Then you can tell me why you rode over.” She wheels her chair back into the house, a definite sign she’s done debating this point.

  Fine. But she hasn’t answered one thing: if the Beaumont Curse isn’t causing him to be aloof and spend time with Taneea, then what’s up? Potential answers pop into my mind, most having to do with Taneea’s see-through clothes and plentiful cleavage, but I force them from my brain. That’s not Cooper. But still, he’s acting strange. I’ve heard Miss Delia’s side, but this time I can’t agree. She’s got to be wrong about the Beaumont Curse.

  Hopefully Cooper’s weirdness can wait a couple days. Claude Corbeau may not.

  Wringing out the last drops of fluid from my shirt on the cracked porch, I follow her into the house and head straight to the bathroom to towel myself off. Taking advantage of the privacy, I flip open my bag and pull out my vial of tea, uncork the bottle, then throw my head back and hope for the best.

  The muddy liquid is tangy and bitter, like a crushed aspirin tablet that dissolves on your tongue, only a thousand times more potent. I gag, then force down the entire bottle of putrid liquid that could probably peel the paint off Miss Delia’s front porch.