But on this morning, something drew her back to Kerlerec Street.
She hadn't planned to go there. But on her way to the office, instead of turning toward the business district, without a conscious decision, she drove toward the Marigny. Traffic was light on this day.
Despite her prior resolve, she drove through the triangle target area, imprinting on her mind the places that Bingham Murdoch would destroy with his project. When she reached the house on Kerlerec Street, she rolled down the window beside her to breathe in the fresh morning air. There again were the children playing in the yard. Perhaps they were too young for school, or perhaps it was still too early in the day. Two of the boys played a rough version of kickball, as she and Jude had done at that age. The girl still sat on the swing, this time holding a doll on her lap, her lips moving as though talking to it.
Amalise lifted her eyes to the porch. There he was, the same small boy sitting on the top step almost hidden, one shoulder hiked, leaning against the post. She wondered why he didn't join the others.
"May I help you?" The muffled voice startled her, and she jumped.
Turning, she saw a woman standing on the street on the passenger side of the car, balancing two bulky grocery bags in her arms. The woman frowned at her. Amalise reached across the seats and rolled down the window.
"I saw you watching the children," she said before Amalise could open her mouth. She shifted the grocery bags in her arms in an irritated manner, and Amalise heard the hint of suspicion, a question in her voice. The woman's long brown hair was streaked with gray and pulled back to the nape of her neck. Fine wrinkles fanned the corners of her eyes, softening her expression despite the unfriendly tone.
Too old to be the children's mother?
"Yes, I was. They're adorable. Are they yours?"
The grocery bags slipped, and the woman hunched to grab them. A box of cornflakes tumbled to the street, and she muttered something. Amalise turned off the engine, pushed open the car door, and hurried around to where the woman stood. She picked up the box of cereal and reached for one of the bags. "Please, let me help."
Instinctively, the woman backed away. "No, thank you. I can manage." But even as she spoke, a bag slipped from her grasp. Amalise caught it as it fell.
"Whoa!" Amalise, smiling, reached out to steady the woman. "Are you all right?"
The woman closed her eyes and stood motionless for a moment, breathing deeply. When she finally looked back at Amalise, she wore a shaky smile. "Thanks," she said. Her tone was apologetic. "I think I would have fallen."
Amalise cupped her free hand beneath the woman's elbow, and they crossed the street together. When they reached the sidewalk on the other side, she let go.
"I can take it from here," the woman said.
Amalise shook her head. "I've got time. Let's get these into the kitchen."
The woman nodded, unlatched the gate, and shut it after Amalise. The boys in the yard halted their game to stare as Amalise trailed the woman up the steps. As they came close, the boy on the porch stood and slipped behind the post, as if to make himself invisible.
"This is Luke," the woman said, nodding toward him. "He's new." She rested her hand on his head as they reached the top step. "And he's still a little shy."
The child's Asian features were delicate. Up close his brown skin glowed as he stared at Amalise without expression. Dark hair framed his face, soft and shining in the sunshine.
"Say hello, Luke," the woman said, articulating her words with care, but the boy stood motionless. She turned to Amalise with an apologetic look. "He won't talk." Turning, she headed for the door, speaking over her shoulder. "He'll learn soon enough from the other children. We think he understands more than he shows."
Amalise followed, catching the screen door before it slammed behind them and feeling the child's eyes following her.
They wove their way through a living room, dodging toys and books and boxes. "Sorry about the disarray," the woman said as they entered the kitchen. Here, a rectangular table of sturdy oak stood in the center of the room, surrounded by six chairs. The woman set her bag down on the table and turned to Amalise with open arms. Amalise held out the bag, and in the instant before the woman took possession, she felt the contents shift and the bottom of the paper bag give way. They both jumped back as cans, bottles, vegetables, and the box of cereal all tumbled to the floor. Glass shattered and mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup splattered shoes, hemlines, and walls.
With lamentations, Amalise scrambled after several rolling cans. The woman set her bag on the table and retrieved a handful of paper napkins and a wet cloth. She cleaned up the broken glass and brought out a damp mop.
"So cheap, the grocery bags they use these days!"
"And I'm so clumsy." Amalise wiped up the remaining sauces with the soggy paper napkins.
"It's not your fault." The mop swirled on the floor around Amalise. "Caroline's my name, by the way. Caroline Jeansonne."
Amalise looked up, grimacing. "I'm Amalise Catoir."
Later, with order restored, Caroline made coffee. She set a mug in front of her guest. "Amalise. That's pretty. Is it a family name?"
"It was my grandmother's." Amalise looked around the small kitchen. She could see the wood planks beneath the red, yellow, and blue striped wallpaper. The floor was linoleum. The icebox was an older model with rounded edges, with photographs of the children and crude crayon drawings taped to the door. The stove was long past any warranty, well used but spotless.
"Would you like cream? Sugar?"
Amalise looked back at Caroline. "No thanks." She picked up the mug and sipped. "I like it black. But what a mess I've caused." She shook her head. "If I hadn't come along, you'd have made two trips, and none of this would have happened."
"Don't give it another thought." Caroline filled a second cup from a shining pewter pot. She gave a little laugh. "I'd have dropped both bags, and it would have been worse."
Amalise smiled, studying Caroline as she set the coffee mug down on the table and lowered herself into a chair. She looked to be around fifty or fifty-five. Her blue sweater and flower-patterned rayon dress were too light for the season. The sweater had tiny moth holes around the buttonholes.
"Is the grocery far from here? I'd like to replace the things that broke."
"That's not necessary." Caroline picked up her cup and sipped. "Stay awhile. I'd enjoy having a conversation with someone over the age of six."
"Are all of these children yours?" Amalise leaned back, resolving to replace the groceries as soon as she could.
"Yes . . . in a way. We foster them, but we're hoping to adopt." Her eyes dropped for an instant.
"That's wonderful."
"Ellis and I are older than the social workers would like, especially for so many children." She shrugged one shoulder and flushed. "And income is a problem." She sipped the coffee. "But we're giving the children a home, and that counts for consideration. We're providing them stability." She set down the mug and massaged the back of her neck.
"How long have they been with you?"
Caroline lifted her hand with a little wave. "Oh, we—my husband, Ellis, and I—we took in the first two, Charlie and Nick, a couple of years ago when they were toddlers. They're the boys you saw outside." She waved her hand in the direction of the front yard. "Daisy, the little girl, joined us just last year."
Amalise nodded. "And the boy on the porch?"
"Luke." Caroline seemed to hesitate as she picked up the coffee mug again and sipped before answering. "He arrived a few weeks ago. He'd been at the home in Gentilly for a few weeks when they called us for help. Just temporarily. It's a lot to handle, but they were overcrowded."
"Poor little thing."
She tilted her head, looking at Amalise. "Yes, But at least he's out of the institutional system
for a while. 'Three hots and a cot,' they call it. This is the first real home any of these children have lived in that we know of."
Amalise's stomach dropped. Murdoch's project would take care of that. She set down the coffee cup and looked at Caroline, casting around for a change of subject. "Luke looks Oriental. Is he from Vietnam?"
Caroline nodded. "From what we've been told, he was rescued from Saigon right before the Viet Cong moved in. He's been in an intake shelter on the West Coast. I guess someone just gave him the name Luke along the way. Things out there were in complete disarray, I understand. Papers were mixed up and records lost when the Saigon embassy burned after the evacuation."
"He seems lonely." Amalise dropped her eyes. What would happen to these children after Black Diamond? She told herself that she was creating drama where none existed. The family would get a good price for the house from Murdoch's agents and buy a nicer one, a newer one in another neighborhood.
Caroline nodded. "Only God knows what this child's been through. We'll warm him up soon, I hope. The social workers thought he had a sponsor here—that's why he was sent to New Orleans. But they were wrong."
"How old do you think he is?"
"It's hard to tell. He's all sticks and bones." Caroline's expression grew sober. "He doesn't eat much. Ellis says he's just not used to our food yet." She took a deep breath. "But he'll relax sooner or later, and we've been thinking about including him in our adoption petition. One more child shouldn't make that much difference, should it? But we don't know if that would hurt or help our application." She blinked and looked away.
Amalise heard the children calling to one another outside. She shouldn't have come here, she knew. She should leave. She glanced at her watch, set down the cup, and rose. "I've got to go. I need to get to work." With a rueful smile, she said, "I'm sorry for the mess, but I'm glad to have met you. I think it's wonderful what you're doing for these children." As she spoke, the front door slammed and little feet pounded through the living room and into the kitchen. Daisy raced toward Caroline, tears streaming.
Caroline reached for the girl. "Caro! Caro!" the child cried, sobbing something about her doll, the boys, and a ball. Caroline murmured to her words that seemed to soothe while she stroked the little girl's hair.
"This is Daisy." Caroline swung Daisy into her lap and looked up.
Amalise smiled but edged toward the door. She was eager to leave before she became further entangled in a problem she couldn't fix.
"Come back any time," Caroline said, stroking Daisy's hair. Come back, come back, come back.
Amalise nodded, heading for the door. She would, she said.
But she would not.
On the porch she found Luke still sitting alone on the top step. She looked down at the child, taking in his thin shoulders, the sharp cheekbones, the fine, straight hair, and something stirred inside. He looked so lost. Luke stiffened and stared out over the yard without moving, looking past her as if she did not exist.
Her throat grew tight as she walked to the car, realizing what she had just done. She'd put actual names and faces and stories to people sitting in the path of Bingham Murdoch's destruction. She climbed back into the car, berating herself. This had been such a mistake. The firm was counting on her to do her job, to be a productive member of the Murdoch team.
The very last thing in the world she could afford right now was to become emotionally involved with this family.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as the Black Diamond financial closing was over, Robert insisted, the agents would begin their work purchasing the Marigny properties. Bingham had a hard time convincing him to wait until the day after Thanksgiving. In the end, he'd had to issue an order to that effect. Otherwise, Robert would have charged right on. The kid would make a good CEO after the closing, but until then, he needed to understand who was in charge.
Robert sat beside him now in the Mangen & Morris conference room in a cloud of smoke. Bingham watched as he lit one Lucky Strike after the other while working his way through the first draft of the construction contract. Adam Grayson sat beside him, answering questions.
Bingham turned his attention to the blueprints of the target area spread out before him and covering the entire end of the conference table. Spidery lines outlined the properties to be purchased and demolished within the doomed triangle of the Marigny. He smiled to himself surveying the asterisks and numbers, curves, triangles and squares on the paper, and the lighter transparent overlay showing the locations of the future hotel, its grounds, and even the landscaping.
Just then the door swung open and Raymond walked in, followed by Amalise, both carrying an armload of documents. They deposited the papers at the other end of the conference table and then pulled out chairs and sat.
"Quite a load you've got there," Bingham said, eyeing the pile and hoping the papers weren't for him.
Amalise Catoir, the widow, merely smiled and gave him a little nod. Bingham dropped his eyes and tapped his fingers on the table, wondering how they'd managed to gin up so much paperwork in the past few days. Lawyers were such bores. He wished he were back in Cayman right now, sitting on the beach under a red-striped umbrella and sipping margaritas. Or flying, soaring free through the clouds to anywhere with sunshine and fresh air. He heaved a sigh and shook his head, glancing back at the stacks of paper. A necessary evil, like Robert, he mused.
Raymond caught his eye and let out a sympathetic laugh.
"I'm glad you bill by the hour and not the word." Bingham's tone was dry.
"You should be happy about that," Robert muttered beside him. "Lawyers use ten words for every one that's needed."
Stifling a yawn, Bingham watched as Amalise and Raymond split the agreements between them and began reading, consulting each other and making notes in the margins, striking out lines and sometimes whole paragraphs. Bingham glanced at his watch and frowned. It was ten o'clock in the morning and already he was half asleep. Leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, he took a long breath and coughed in Robert's smoke, which brought to mind the fresh scent of cypress and pine from back in the days. He thought of the clean, cold wind blowing inland from the churning sea and almost shivered.
Robert stubbed out the cigarette and put down the document he'd been reading. "Coffee's low," he said to Amalise. "We've been waiting a while."
Amalise looked up and cocked one brow.
"Get us some coffee, please," Robert said. "I take cream, sugar." He glanced behind him at the empty credenza. "Napkins. And we need some spoons." Before Amalise could reply, he turned to Bingham. "And some croissants or doughnuts. Are you hungry?"
From the corner of his eye, Bingham watched Amalise's eyes grow wide. But not another muscle in the young woman's face had moved. "No. I'll wait for lunch," Bingham said. Robert could be such an idiot. He seemed to lack even basic social skills.
Raymond pushed back his chair and rose. "I'll see what we can do. Amalise is busy here."
Amalise bent over the documents and went back to work.
Robert didn't seem to notice. He returned to his conversation with Adam, a discussion of whether to cut back some of the landscaping in favor of enlarging the parking area.
Bingham narrowed his eyes, watching his protégé. Tom had assured him that Robert was the man for the job, that if anyone could get this transaction done in the time frame Bingham demanded, it was Robert. Bingham knew he was probably right. But there'd be a price to pay because, in both business and social discourse, Robert lacked a filter most people learned to use as they matured. Then again, the kid pushed out bonds like they were free candy. And he worked well with the raucous trading desks—Salomon Brothers in New York, Milkin too—so what should he expect?
Still. He leaned close to Robert and whispered, "Get your own coffee next time, son."
Robert's chin jerked a fr
action and he turned his head toward Bingham.
Ignoring him, Bingham pulled the survey over and traced the lines with his eyes. He'd keep Robert on a short leash, but Bingham had no illusions. Like the other investors Tom had brought in, Robert saw the opportunity down here: eye-popping revenues and inflated expenses, huge management fees, the tax-free skim, all tripling when casino gaming was inevitably approved. Project Black Diamond was Robert's big chance, and Bingham believed that right about now Robert was so hungry for this deal that he was capable of cannibalizing anyone getting in his way. Bingham couldn't recall ever having met a human being as purely driven by greed as young Robert.
Yes. He'd chosen the right man. Still, he was sorry for Robert's lack of social grace. Bingham studied Amalise from his end of the table. He liked the way she tackled problems, completely engrossed as she read, turning from one page to the next without looking up. She interested him.
Raymond returned with an electric coffee pot, accompanied by two young women carrying trays with cups and saucers, croissants from the deli downstairs, napkins, a few cold cans of Coca-Cola and Tab, and a bucket of ice. Robert stood, stretched, and sauntered toward the credenza.
Bingham looked down at the table again and gestured to Amalise. "Come take a look at the plans for the project. Have you seen this yet?"
With a look of surprise, she pushed her hair back behind her ears and sat up straight. "No, I haven't."
Standing, she walked over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the blueprints. Beneath the translucent overlay she could see the survey lines of the properties to be purchased. She bent, watching as he traced the parameters of the triangular property, stopping just before the warehouses on the river.
"This area right here is where the hotel will face, looking out over the Quarter and the river." He moved his finger to the spot at the tip of the triangle. "Best view in town. And this"—he traced faint lines over the blocks where homes now stood—"this will be the entrance to the resort." He lifted the overlay and set it aside, revealing the survey of the properties underneath. "You see?"
Chasing the Wind Page 8
