by Jana DeLeon
Maryse gave him a withering stare. “Can you arrange to have my wayward husband served with divorce papers, too? I have to find Hank, and Helena’s death may be my last chance. There’s more at stake here than some inheritance. Besides, knowing Helena, she probably left me more debt or a pig farm or bubonic plague.”
“Fine. But as soon as you’ve showered and changed, I want to take you to the hospital.”
Maryse frowned. “I’ve already told you there’s no time. It’s a headache. I’ll have it checked out after the will reading.”
“What about your truck?”
“It’s not exactly going anywhere. It can wait until this evening.”
“You’ve got insurance?”
She gave him a dirty look. “Of course I have insurance. I also have smoke detectors and contribute to my 401(k).”
Luc held in a smile. “If you give me your insurance card, I can take care of the tow.”
“I can take care of the tow myself. I’m fairly certain no one’s going to steal it.”
Luc threw his hands up in exasperation. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Are you always this bossy?”
He stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well, you’ve just run into a brick wall.”
No shit. He looked at her and shook his head. “At least let me drive you to your appointment in New Orleans. I need to run an errand there today anyway, and you can pick up a rental car in the city a lot easier than getting one delivered to Mudbug.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and stared for a couple of seconds, and Luc knew she was wondering what his angle was. He hoped to God she didn’t find out until he was gone, because if Maryse was this prickly when she thought he was trying to help, he’d hate to see her reaction if she knew he was actually in Mudbug investigating her.
“Okay,” she said finally, “you can drop me off at the attorney’s office.”
Luc nodded, and she pointed a finger at him.
“But I want to be very clear,” she said, “that the only reason I’m accepting your offer is because I’m down to one source of transportation and I don’t think I can get my bass boat all the way to New Orleans—at least not by one o’clock.”
Luc couldn’t hold back a grin. “You make me feel very special, Maryse. I’m so glad you’re going to allow me to chauffer you around.”
Maryse shook her head. “Don’t get any ideas. Just because I’m catching a ride with you doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about sharing an office.”
“Now, what in the world makes you think I would get any ideas?”
Maryse frowned and walked over to the passenger side of the Jeep. “I know your type, LeJeune. Technically, I’m still married to him. Guys like you are always full of ideas.”
As she climbed inside his Jeep, Luc took a peek at her firm, round bottom, every curve clearly outlined in her wet jeans. Maryse was dead wrong about him. He wasn’t full of ideas—he was overflowing with them.
Chapter Three
Maryse stepped carefully out of her bass boat, making sure one of her shiny, satin heels didn’t slip between the boards of the dock. Luc sat at the dock in his Jeep and stared at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Okay, so it probably wasn’t an everyday sight, but did he have to laugh? She glared at him as she climbed up in his Jeep. “What? You’ve never seen a woman in a dress before, LeJeune?”
Luc shook his head. “Mostly I see women out of dresses, and I’ve absolutely never seen a woman wearing fancy clothes in a bass boat.”
“You would if you lived in Mudbug.”
Luc smiled. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for a will reading?”
Maryse shrugged. “It was either this or jeans.”
“You need to get out more.”
“Just drive,” Maryse said, and reached over to turn the radio on—loud. Then she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, shutting out all images and sounds of Luc LeJeune. God knows she had enough to think about. She was about to come face to face with Hank Henry for the first time in two years. It was probably a good thing she was wearing a dress. It wouldn’t be as easy to kick his ass in high heels.
Luc pulled up in front of the attorney’s office fifteen minutes early, and Maryse felt her back stiffen as she picked up her purse and prepared to step out of the Jeep. Turning to Luc, she gave him what was probably a grim smile. “I really appreciate you giving me a lift. And I’m sorry if I was a big bitch earlier.”
Luc smiled. “You weren’t that bad.”
Maryse felt a momentary burst of disappointment. “I’ll try harder next time.”
Now Luc laughed. “I don’t have any doubt about that. Now get inside and claim your pig farm and your divorce and anything else you’ve got riding on this reading.”
Maryse smiled for real this time, stepped out of the Jeep, and glanced over at the attorney’s office. Luc pulled onto the street, waving as he drove off. Maryse sighed and tore her gaze from the Jeep, trying to refocus on the will reading and everything that went along with it. Luc LeJeune was Hank Henry all over again…good-looking, charming, a professional flirt, confident beyond belief, and probably had a list of conquests that rivaled Alexander the Great. He was everything she was trying to avoid in one neat, gorgeous, well-defined package.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked to the attorney’s office, hoping the will reading would be quick and painless. She was due a break after the horrific funeral, and besides, locating Hank was the most important thing on her mind. She pushed open the door to the office and stepped into a cherry-wood nightmare. Antique furniture covered every square inch of the tiny lobby. The place was so stiff that even the threads in the Persian rug were rod straight. Chintz pillows graced the corners of every chair, the narrow couch, and the loveseat. The only plus was the room was empty. Apparently she was the first to arrive.
At the reception window, Maryse checked in with a pinched-faced elderly woman wearing horned-rimmed glasses. Once the woman confirmed her identity, Maryse turned to consider her options and decided on a chair in the far corner of the room with a clear view of the doorway. That way she’d be sure to see Hank, just in case he showed up to collect his bounty. She’d put her attorney on speed dial in her spare phone, and he had a deputy waiting nearby ready to pop in and serve Hank the all-important papers. Everything was in place except her missing husband. As usual.
She removed the chintz pillows from their perch at the back of the chair, arranged them in the middle of the seat, and sat on top of them. Probably not what the decorator had intended, but she didn’t really care. The chair was bound to be uncomfortable as hell, and she’d already put her body through enough strain today. She glanced at her watch for at least the tenth time in so many seconds and heard the office door open.
She sucked in a breath, wondering who was going to walk across the entryway, and did a double take when three women walked in—one of them a nun, in full habit, robes and all. The other two were in their sixties and wore the dark clothes and bad makeup of Helena’s generation, so she figured they had to be family.
But what was the deal with the nun?
Surely she wasn’t a relative. Being related to Helena Henry would be enough to convert a religious person to atheism. The other two women presented their IDs to the receptionist, then proceeded to cackle over the reading.
“She better have left me her porcelain angels,” the first woman said. “I’ve been wanting those for years.”
“Well, I don’t give a rip about those angels,” the second woman said, “but I desperately want her family quilts. Do you have any idea how much those quilts are worth? They’re practically a part of history.”
The other woman nodded. “Why do you think I want the angels? One just like them brought five hundred dollars last week on eBay. Think what we could get at the auction.”
“Well, all I can say is it’s about damned time she died. I could have used a trip
to Bermuda last year.”
Definitely Helena’s family.
As the two hens finished their business and moved away from the window, Maryse leaned forward in her chair, straining to hear what the nun was saying. Sure enough, she was here for the will reading. This was getting stranger by the minute. Maryse picked up a couple of magazines and was trying to decide between Law Review and Law Today when the door opened again and Harold walked in…followed by a fuming Helena.
Maryse scrunched down low in her chair, hoping Helena wouldn’t notice her, but the ghost crossed the room and sat on the chair next to her. Harold checked in, gave Maryse a suspicious look, then took a seat across from her.
Helena glared at Harold. “Asshole,” she said. “Do you know he had the nerve to drive over here in my new Cadillac with one of those floozies he was seeing?”
Maryse stared at her, a bit surprised. “What floozies?”
“Did you say something?” Harold asked, frowning.
“No,” Maryse said quickly, “Just clearing my throat.” She leaned to the side and held the magazine up in front of her face. “What floozies?”
Helena didn’t bother to lean or whisper, but then she didn’t really have to. “Damn man was always getting a piece of something or other on the side. Started almost as soon as we were married, although I didn’t really know about it until after Hank was born. Cut him off right quick, I did. Not about to catch something from one of Harold’s floozies. Probably rot my crotch out.”
Maryse considered briefly the type of woman that would sleep with Harold Henry and decided Helena had probably made a wise decision. “So why didn’t you divorce him?”
“No way! Oh, granted, Harold couldn’t get half of my holdings—everything was inherited, so even the income drawn off it was solely mine. But when we were married, we had a prenup that gave Harold a boatload of money if I ever asked for a divorce.”
Maryse lowered the magazine and realized that everyone in the lobby was staring at her. She gave them a smile and pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Sorry, I just remembered a call I need to make.” She pretended to push in some buttons, gave a fake greeting to the nonentity on the other end of the line, then turned sideways in her seat and leaned in toward Helena. “So what would have happened if he left you?”
“He wouldn’t have gotten a dime. It had to be my decision or he got nothing. Why do you think he’s hung around all these years, cavorting with floozies, hoping I’d divorce him?”
Maryse cringed, with little doubt in her mind that Harold had probably paid dearly for his indiscretions. Good God, was a free ride and a luxury sedan really worth living with an angry, embittered Helena every day?
“And the payoff is for what exactly?” Maryse asked. Rich people were very confusing.
“Hmmpf. Apparently for being so useless he couldn’t work and wouldn’t be able to support himself. You have to understand. I married Harold when I was nineteen. I didn’t get control of the trust until I was twenty-one. Since no one thought our marriage would last, the lawyers insisted on something to protect my inheritance. Then Harold insisted on something to protect himself, since he was about to deploy to Vietnam and figured that would give everyone too much free time to change my mind.”
Maryse absorbed all this. “So how much money are we talking about?”
Helena stared at Harold in obvious disgust. “Upwards of half a million. So I figured no way. I had ultimate control of the estate upon death, so I decided Harold would just have to suffer living with me if he wanted to maintain his lifestyle.”
Maryse leaned closer and whispered. “So what exactly did you leave Harold then?” After all, he was at the attorney’s office with the rest of them, so that had to mean she’d left him something, despite her griping and complaining.
Helena smiled. “You’ll see. You’ll all see. Especially Harold.”
Oh hell. This couldn’t be good. And here she was wearing high heels and a dress and sporting a headache set to turn into a migraine at a moment’s notice. Running was definitely going to be out of the question.
She was just about to push Helena for more information when a tall, thin man stepped into the reception area from the back office. He had not a hair on his head but seemed as though he was trying to make up for it with a long, flowing gray beard. His posture was as stiff as his suit, which had probably been purchased somewhere around the time he started growing the beard.
“If you will follow me, please,” he said, and Maryse immediately recognized the pompous voice as the attorney who had phoned her. “We’re ready to begin.”
Maryse tossed her cell phone back into her purse as everyone in the waiting area rose and followed Father Time down the hall and into a small office at the back of the building. The others had already taken their seats, so Maryse perched on the edge of a particularly hideous gold lamée–covered chair, positioned right between Harold and the nun. The two hens were on the couch directly behind them. Everyone stared at the attorney, Wheeler, like they were waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Or in her case, Hank Henry. Where the hell was Hank?
Wheeler took a seat behind a cherry-wood desk that occupied half of the room and gave them a sickly smile. “Thank you for coming. There were several people or agencies named in Helena’s will, but this group represents those she wanted to be present for a reading. The remainder will receive notification by certified mail.”
Maryse frowned, smelling a setup. She glared at Helena, but it did no good. She was too busy trying to strangle Harold from behind, but her fingers kept passing through his neck.
“What about Hank?” Maryse asked, unable to help herself. Damn it, that man was not going to get away with being married to her forever. If he didn’t turn up soon, she was definitely going to pursue having him declared legally dead—again. And if she ever got her hands on him, it wasn’t going to just be a declaration.
Wheeler reached over to the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Hank,” he said, and frowned, “is joining us by phone. He felt his presence here wouldn’t be prudent.”
“Prudent, my ass!” Maryse jumped up from her seat, glaring at the phone. “You listen to me, you sorry piece of—”
“Uhmm,” Wheeler cleared his throat and gave her a clear look of disapproval. “I’m sure that Mr. Henry would be more than happy to arrange a meeting with your attorney to discuss your unfinished business. However, your personal life has no place here.”
Maryse glared at Wheeler, then at the phone, then at Harold and Helena for producing that pile of pond scum. She also made note that the pond scum had not uttered a word during the entire exchange. “Fine, then let’s get on with it. Obviously, I have some business to do with my own attorney and the sheriff’s department. I can’t hang around here all day.”
Wheeler nodded, and Maryse took her seat. He picked up an expensively bound stack of paper from the top of his desk and said, “All the words I read from this document are Mrs. Henry’s. They have not been edited or altered by this office or any of my agents.”
Here we go. If Wheeler was already claiming absolution and hadn’t even read the first sentence, this was going to be a doozy.
The attorney cleared his throat and began, “I, Helena Henry, being of sound mind and bad attitude, do hereby make the following bequeaths upon my death…”
Harold leaned forward in his chair eagerly. Helena moved to stand behind Wheeler, looking like an excited five-year-old. Maryse slouched back in her chair and waited for the insults to fly.
“All of my real estate holdings in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Lafayette, as well as the income they produce, I leave to the St. John’s Orphanage in New Orleans. I also deed to them free and clear the building they occupy, which is mine to give.”
The nun gasped and from the shade of white that washed over her face, Maryse thought she was going to pass out. Maryse grabbed a notepad from Wheeler’s desk and fanned the woman. Helena owned an orphanage? And she was giving them real es
tate?
Maryse glanced sideways at Harold, but he looked as confused as she was and more than a little annoyed. Maryse guessed the real estate was worth a lot.
The nun finally waved at her and managed to squeak out a “Thank you.” Maryse put the notepad back on the desk and looked expectantly at Wheeler. God help her, this was starting to get interesting.
“My home and all the furnishings within, I leave to the Mudbug Historical Society, upon the condition that it be maintained as a historical tourist site, with a limit of four rooms available for rental as a bed and breakfast. All rental profits will go toward the maintenance of the property. In addition, I also leave the historical society my real estate holdings in downtown Mudbug. The rental income on those properties should more than offset any occasional shortfall in the maintenance of my home. Any remaining profits from the rentals are to be remitted to the Mudbug School District.”
