by Jana DeLeon
Looked like Harold better start packing. Maryse looked over at Helena, who gave her a huge smile.
Wheeler flipped the first page over and continued to read. “To my son, Hank Henry, I leave the sum of one million dollars in trust, upon the condition that he obtain respectable employment and remain clean, sober, and gambling-free for a term of five years—”
“Ha!” Maryse shouted at the speakerphone, where muffled cursing emitted. “Hank can’t remain clean, sober, and gambling-free for five minutes.”
“That will be enough, Ms. Robicheaux,” Wheeler said and shot her a disapproving look. “Actual fulfillment of the terms will be determined by Randolph Wheeler, or his succeeding associate.”
Good thinking on Helena’s part putting in that succeeding associate clause. Wheeler would probably be dead in five years. Heck, if he had to spend his time checking up on Hank, Maryse only gave him a couple of weeks.
She glanced over at Harold, but he just shook his head at the entire exchange. He looked a bit disappointed but not really surprised.
“To my cousins, Sarah and Rose,” Wheeler read, and Maryse heard the two behind her shifting on their couch, “I leave the remainder of my silver and china. You’ve been stealing it on holidays for years, so this way it will become a matched set again.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the nun, and the movement behind them ceased completely. “By the way,” Wheeler continued, “none of the china is real. It’s all a very clever reproduction.”
Maryse winced and tried not to laugh as she glanced back at the two putrid faces behind her. Rough one.
“To my husband, Harold, I leave the Lower Bayou Motel. You’ve spent so many nights there with other women that I felt you should call the place home. It’s been operating in the red for the last eight years, owes back taxes since 1986, and is covered with deadly asbestos. Nothing but the best for you, dear.”
Maryse smiled as the nun gave Harold a disapproving stare. She probably hadn’t been closed up in a room with this many sinners since Lent. The look on Harold’s face was absolutely priceless. Even Wheeler had smirked when he delivered the last sentence.
Harold glared at everyone, then waved at Wheeler. “Get on with it. Get to the good stuff.”
“Of course, Mr. Henry,” Wheeler said, obviously holding back a smile. “My final asset of this distribution, the property secured by state lease known as the Mudbug Game Preserve and Wildlife Center, as well as the annual fees paid by the government for said lease, I leave to my daughter-in-law, Maryse Robicheaux Henry.”
“That’s bullshit!” Harold jumped from his chair, reached across the desk, and grabbed Wheeler by his throat. The two cousins squeezed onto one side of the couch, and the nun made the sign of the cross. Maryse scanned the desk for a sharp implement to defend herself with but didn’t see a thing. Good God Almighty, Helena owned the game preserve? Maryse stared at the ghost in shock, but Helena only smiled and clapped, obviously enjoying the show.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harold continued to yell. “Helena can only leave that land to family. Those are the rules of the trust, and Hank is her only son!”
Wheeler pried Harold’s hands off his throat and smoothed his collar back down. “That may be the case, Mr. Henry, but Hank is not her only relative. Helena is perfectly within her rights to leave the land to her daughter-in-law, as long as the marriage lasted a minimum of two years.”
“She can’t cut me and Hank out of everything,” Harold argued, “and you know it.”
“Actually, sir,” Wheeler said, “she can cut you and Hank out of everything and you know it.”
Harold stared at Wheeler for a moment, then whirled around and narrowed his eyes at Maryse. “I don’t know what you and Helena cooked up, but I won’t stand for it. Hank is the rightful heir to that property. You’re just the dumb piece of ass he made the mistake of marrying.”
Maryse felt the blood rush to her face and her pulse begin to race. “You forgot dumb, landowner piece of ass. And believe me, the mistake was all mine.”
A bright red flush crept up Harold’s neck and onto his face. He clenched his fists, and for a moment, Maryse thought he was going to hit her. Harold glared for what seemed like forever and finally spit out, “I wouldn’t start spending the money just yet. And I’d watch my back if I were you.” With that, he stalked out of the office.
Helena winked at Maryse and hurried behind him, probably wanting a ringside seat when Harold told his floozies about his “big” inheritance. “I’ll see you later, Maryse,” Helena shouted over her shoulder as she left the office.
Maryse frowned. Not if I see you first. She turned back to Wheeler. “Some show, huh?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Wheeler apologized to everyone. He handed the nun an envelope. “There are additional instructions concerning your inheritance inside of the envelopes. It will take a couple of days to push everything through probate, then you can collect your bequeaths.”
The cousins glared at Wheeler and left the office, not bothering to take their envelopes. The nun thanked Wheeler and headed out wearing a dazed expression. It was no wonder. Her orphanage had just inherited the bank, and she’d probably heard more cussing in the past half hour than she had in the past forty years.
Wheeler watched as the nun closed the door behind her, then blew out a breath and slumped into his chair. “There are requirements of your inheritance that we need to discuss, Ms. Robicheaux, but I hope you don’t mind if we go through them tomorrow. This entire exchange has exhausted me, and I have another appointment after this one.”
“I understand. I’m feeling kind of tired myself.”
Wheeler reached behind his desk and brought up a huge document bound in expensive leather. “This is all the instructions and restrictions that accompany the land inheritance. This land has been in Helena’s family for well over a hundred years, so a lot of the old rules were established long before my time and yours. You need to review this document in its entirety as soon as possible.”
He pushed the document across the desk to Maryse, and she lifted it, momentarily surprised by the weight.
“If you have no objection, I can meet you in Mudbug first thing tomorrow so we can go over the most relevant points. I’ll give you a call this evening to arrange a place to meet. In the meantime, the only thing you need to know is that you can’t leave town.”
Maryse stared at him. “What do you mean I can’t leave town?”
“It’s one of the restrictions of the original estate. You must remain in Mudbug for a probationary period of one week. That’s why I’m going to meet you there tomorrow. Once the probationary period is over, you’re free to go anywhere, of course.” He reached into his desk and handed Maryse an envelope. “There’s a set of documents inside that detail Helena’s agreement with the state for the lease of the preserve. The annual payment from the state is due next week, which means you’ll be receiving a check for fifty thousand dollars.”
Fifty thousand dollars a year! Maryse sucked in a breath and stared at Wheeler in surprise. “You’re kidding me.”
Wheeler smiled. “Not in the least, Ms. Robicheaux. Helena left you her most prized possession. It wasn’t an easy decision for her. You should feel honored.”
Maryse shook her head, the strangeness of the past two days washing over her. “But why?”
“One day, the land will be worth quite a bit of money…to developers and others. Helena was afraid that if it fell into the wrong hands, it would be immediately leased out to a chemical company or the like and the town she grew up in and loved would cease to exist. She held firm on the belief that you wouldn’t allow that to happen, regardless of the money involved.”
Maryse began to understand. If a chemical company leased the land, they’d close off the bayou, inserting sludge ponds for their runoff and new manufacturing facilities for their products where there was once marsh. The tides would shift, and with the tides, the shrimp, fish,
and all other bayou commodities that Mudbug residents made a living off of would disappear. If those commodities ceased to exist, so would Mudbug.
Helena had given her a great gift, but how could she have been so sure that Maryse wouldn’t sell out? Had Helena really had that much faith in her integrity, or was the only other choice so bad that she gambled on the second?
Maryse thanked Wheeler, lugged the giant leather book onto one hip, and made her way out of the building. As she stepped outside, she scanned the parking area for her truck before remembering it was sinking in the middle of the bayou.
Great. She yanked her cell phone from her pocket and pressed in 411. She was just about to hit the Talk button when Wheeler’s receptionist rushed outside and let out a breath of relief.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re still here,” the receptionist said. “I completely forgot to give you this.” She handed Maryse a rental car agreement and a set of keys. “A very nice young man dropped these off while you were in the reading. He said to tell you not to worry about your truck. He arranged to have it towed to a friend at the dealership.”
“He what?” Maryse asked, no doubt in her mind who the nice young man was.
The receptionist smiled at Maryse. “You’re so lucky to have such a gentleman looking out for you. It’s the red Honda Accord parked across the street.” She gave Maryse a wave and walked back into the office.
“Gentleman my ass,” Maryse said, even though no one was around to hear. She had no idea what kind of game Luc LeJeune was playing, but it was about to come to an end.
Chapter Four
Maryse raced back to her office, eager for two things: first, to confront the sneaky, bossy Luc and second, to study her lab supply book cover to cover to figure out exactly what she could buy with her lease money. This money could make a huge difference in her success, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. She was starting to doubt her personal quest for a medical breakthrough altogether. Better lab equipment would aid in her research and her morale.
If only Blooming Flower had told her what plant she’d used in her medicine before she died. But the Native woman had been tight-lipped about revealing any of her secrets. With a little more time, Maryse knew she could have won the woman over, but time ran out. As it always seemed to where Maryse was concerned.
Maryse sighed. Despite her misgivings about anything associated with Helena, it was hard not to be excited about what she could do with the money. Just knowing that the alternative could have meant the end of Mudbug made her heart catch in her throat. But things had turned out for the better.
At least she thought it was for the better.
She tried to focus on the highway in front of her, but her temples were pounding in time with her heartbeat. Maryse was beginning to suspect that the bossy Luc was right and she needed to see a doctor. The aspirin she’d taken only thirty minutes ago hadn’t done a thing. In fact, her headache was worse.
Yet another delay was annoying, but she refused to be one of those stubborn people who ignored all the signs until it was too late. Like her dad had. With a sigh, she pulled off the highway at the far end of Mudbug and headed for the hospital.
The emergency room was fairly quiet, and a nurse told her that a doctor should be able to see her almost immediately. She followed the nurse down the hall to a lab where a man in a green lab coat took an X-ray of the lump on her head. Then the nurse escorted her to an available room and said the doctor would be in shortly.
Maryse sat on the end of the hospital bed, the paper runner crinkling beneath her, and tried not to worry, especially since worrying tended to make the lump pound harder. It was just a bit of a goose egg. No worse than the ones she got as a kid playing around the bayou. Still, why did they always ask you to sit on those uncomfortable beds? Why couldn’t you just sit on the chair in the corner like a normal person?
She was just contemplating a move to the corner chair when the door opened and Dr. Breaux walked in, followed closely by a much younger, cuter man who was smiling directly at her.
“Hello, Maryse,” Dr. Breaux said. “This is Doctor Warren.”
Maryse tried not to ogle.
“Doctor Warren transferred here from New Orleans last week. He’ll be taking over some patients for me as I move into semi-retirement, so I want to introduce him to as many people in Mudbug as I can.”
Dr. Hottie stuck out his hand, and Maryse shook it, the ache in her head suddenly not quite so painful. “Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.
Dr. Warren cocked his head to one side and laughed. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He still held her hand in his. “Advanced Chemistry, Mrs. Thibodeaux…Christopher Warren.”
Maryse studied the man again, mentally running through the entire seating chart of high school chemistry. “Holy crap! Christopher?” She stared in surprise, the image of the thin, dorky, pimply-faced adolescent rushing back to her in a flash. “I would never have recognized you.”
Christopher smiled. “Late bloomer.”
Maryse laughed. “Better than not blooming at all, I guess.”
“Uhmm,” Dr. Breaux cleared his throat. “All class reunion business aside, we have three other patients waiting.”
Christopher immediately snapped back to professional demeanor. “Of course, Doctor Breaux.” He gently brushed the bangs away from Maryse’s head and took a look at the offensive lump. “Got a doozy of a goose egg there.”
“Is that your official medical opinion?” Maryse joked.
Christopher smiled. “Absolutely. Are you saying you’re already unsatisfied with my services?”
Maryse struggled to maintain her composure. Was he flirting? Surely not. Two men in one week was so far beyond her average it wasn’t even in the ballpark. Realizing she’d never answered, Maryse said hurriedly, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I never thought it was that bad, but everyone kept insisting I have it checked out so…”
Christopher nodded. “That’s always a good idea with a head injury, no matter how slight it seems.”
He stuck the X-rays on a machine and flipped on the light. Dr. Breaux stepped over, and they analyzed the gray blobs and mumbled to each other. As Christopher studied the X-rays, Maryse studied him. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly her type. Christopher was too pretty, too turned out, too GQ. Maryse liked her men a little more rugged. Five-star restaurants weren’t exactly her usual fare—just give her a guy who could drive a bass boat and shoot a gun. Christopher looked too refined for shooting anything but photos with his phone.
But he’s a doctor.
Maryse couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities a successful relationship with a doctor might bring. There was so much she didn’t know about the body’s chemical reaction to medication, so much she needed to learn but only so many hours in the day. And far more importantly, a man like Christopher was probably a much safer bet than a ladies’ man like Luc. God knows, she’d already made that mistake once and wasn’t interested in being a two-time loser.
She took a look at his perfectly manicured hands, then glanced at her own chewed nails. She remembered Christopher from high school, the quiet, brilliant kid who hid in the back of the classroom trying not to draw any attention to himself. That was probably the only reason Maryse had noticed him…because she was busy doing the same thing but without the benefit of being brilliant.
He had helped her with her homework a couple of times, never actually looking her in the eye, his neck flushed with red the entire time. Christopher Warren had been a nice kid and had probably become a nice man. And maybe, just maybe, if she had another man around, she wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about Luc.
Her mind made up, she flashed Christopher her best smile as he turned around to look at her. “Am I going to live?” she asked.
He returned her smile and nodded. “I’m afraid so, but with one whopper of a headache for a couple of days. I can prescribe you something stronger than aspirin for that, but otherwise, I just want you to t
ake it easy until the swelling goes down. Try not to jostle your head and it will heal a little faster. If it lasts more than a week, I’ll need to see you back here.” He looked over at Dr. Breaux for confirmation.
“Doctor Warren is correct,” Dr. Breaux said. “The X-ray doesn’t show anything to cause alarm, but you should watch the lump over the next couple of days and come back in if it gets worse.” He patted Maryse on the shoulder and nodded to Christopher. “I’ll leave you to the prescription writing. That way I don’t have to pull out my glasses again.” He smiled at both of them and left the room.
“Alone at last,” Christopher said, and smiled at Maryse.
Okay, he’s probably flirting.
Christopher pulled a prescription pad from his pocket and began to write, then handed her the slip of paper.
She took it without looking and asked, “Can I get this filled at the hospital pharmacy?”
