Plunder: A Faye Longchamp Mystery #7 (Faye Longchamp Series)

by Evans, Mary Anna

  His request for a series of aerial photographs of the bay through time wasn’t surprising, given the other requests.

  Bobby took a stab in the dark. “Are you an oceanographer?”

  Dane gave him a dark look, then hunched over his work as if to dismiss Bobby from his presence. That moment of non-collegiality made Bobby think, Not an academic. By process of elimination, Bobby knew what the man was studying. More precisely, he knew what the man was up to.

  He was interested in the seafloor of that bay. He couldn’t care less about the islands dotting it. And he wasn’t an academic.

  Bobby totted up the evidence and checked Dane over one more time. Yep, the hair was so short as to be barely there. Combined with a sunburn and soaked-clean fingernails, a haircut that would be no trouble underwater and would dry quickly made him look an awful lot like a diver. Secretiveness made him look an awful lot like a diver who had found something underwater that he didn’t want to share.

  The man’s attitude had pissed Bobby off, so he took revenge in his trademark style, through a few well-chosen words delivered in a tone that sounded oh-so-friendly.

  He clapped his hand on the young man’s shoulder, as if he were giving a little brotherly advice. Then he put him in his place. “Many people wiser than you have wasted their lives looking for treasure in those waters. It’s not there. Or, if it is, the Mississippi has buried it in mud. And even if it is possible for you to find it…I think you should let it rest with the bones of the people who went down with the ship.”

  Dane gave him a sharp look that told Bobby he’d guessed right.

  Bobby released Dane’s shoulder and watched the man pull away. He pretended not to notice, and he kept talking. “I can’t stop you from looking for treasure. Even if you find it, it’s up to the authorities to decide whether you broke any laws doing it. But I can do one thing. I will be watching the way you handle those maps. Some of them are priceless. Break one rule, and I’ll have you kicked out of this place for good.”

  It was good to be a tenured professor, because it meant that Bobby punched no time clock and nobody cared if he sat at the Historic New Orleans Collection day and night, as long as his classes got taught. He had no classes today, so Dane would need to get used to having a spectator.

  After about thirty minutes of spectating, Bobby noticed that Dane’s short hair was damp with sweat. The man was not cool under fire.

  The sound of heavy and uneven footfalls entered the room ahead of the woman who made them. Bobby knew that Dauphine had returned before he saw her face.

  Dauphine had always been the kind of person who caught one’s attention, even before she got hurt. Now her eccentric clothing and voodoo-priestess demeanor were ramped up a notch by her injury. The crutch under her arm looked like it had been whittled out of snakewood by an evil leprechaun, and her usually benign expression was twisted into a scowl by the sheer pain of walking. It took her several minutes to gather her research materials and settle her significant bulk into a chair. Bobby could see that Dane was watching her.

  Good. It never paid to turn one’s back on a voodoo mambo.

  Bobby walked over to pass a little conversation with Dauphine, as he would have in any case, just because he liked her. After laughing at her description of little Michael’s adorable naughtiness, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  “See that blond man in the corner? Whenever you see him in here, make him feel unwelcome.”

  “You want I should hex him?”

  “No. Well, probably not. If I change my mind about hexing him, I’ll let you know. I just want you to keep him on his toes.”

  Thus commenced a very entertaining interval for Bobby. This was good because Bobby loved being entertained.

  Every now and then, Dauphine looked up from her work and fixed her gaze on Dane. She left it there until he noticed, and no longer. After she’d seen him sneak a glance her way, she would shift her attention back to the book in front of her, but her hands continued in their intimidation campaign. They crept into her pockets or they stroked the amulet at her throat or they softly caressed a curl at her temple. She doodled spirals on her notepad, first with her right hand and then with her left. Even Bobby wondered what in the hell she was doing.

  Within an hour, the pressure was too much for Dane. He was gone, and Dauphine walked out right behind him, taking her terror campaign into the streets.

  Bobby was alone again, free to enjoy the leisure to research that came with the coveted title of tenured professor.

  Chapter Eleven

  Miranda fastened a beady eye on Faye. As usual, her glare made Faye want to take two steps back. This was impossible, because she was sitting down.

  Miranda might respect education, and she might have asked Faye to help her interact with her lawyer, but that didn’t make her responsive to every last suggestion Faye might make. She was out-and-out confrontational over the notion that Amande might need her own legal representation.

  “My granddaughter already has a lawyer. He’s my lawyer. Bernard Reuss took care of things for me when my husband died. He can take care of this…nuisance.”

  Miranda flapped a disgusted hand wave in the direction of the copy of Justine’s will lying on her dining table. Tebo had donned reading glasses and was studying it, word by word.

  “Bernard will be here any minute. You see how good he treats me? He comes to me when I need him.”

  Faye saw Didi perk up when she heard that a lawyer was on his way. The woman had been huddled on a low stool in the corner, silent and morose. Faye thought her sisterly grief exuded a look-at-me smell. Now that a man who probably had money was on his way, Didi had somehow managed to shove her grief aside. She was instantly on her feet, checking herself out in the mirror.

  When the esteemed lawyer Bernard Reuss arrived, he wore a short-sleeved shirt with a wrinkled tie. His briefcase was tucked under his arm, because the handle was broken. Shaking Miranda’s hand with a nasal “Afternoon, Ma’am. So sorry for the loss of your son,” he then gave an obsequious nod to everyone else in the room, one at a time. A ski-slope nose and slickly combed-back black hair gave Reuss the look of an opossum. His habit of shyly ducking his head after each sentence enhanced the effect.

  Faye wasn’t big on judging people by their appearance, but the practice of law involves a certain amount of showbiz. Crackerjack attorneys manipulate their images to influence judges and sway juries. Success breeds success. Reuss’ appearance was so far from awe-inspiring that Faye had to wonder whether he made house calls because he didn’t have an office. Or because Miranda was his only client.

  Faye had been fascinated to watch Didi turn on her sex appeal in advance of the lawyer’s arrival. Her eyes had softened. Her lips had dampened. Her hands had slowly run down her torso, smoothing her tank top over a slim waist and full hips. At the sight of Bernard Reuss, that sex appeal had flipped off like a switch. A slump now hid the graceful body, and sullenness clouded the eyes. Faye could have sworn she saw the woman’s lips dry up on the spot. She wondered if Didi did these things consciously, or if some women just had the knack of alluring men without really having to think about it.

  If this was Miranda’s idea of a perfectly good lawyer, then she was welcome to him, but Faye wouldn’t have chosen him for Amande. She locked eyes with Joe and raised her brows, but he was playing things cool.

  Reuss pulled out a pair of drugstore reading glasses and looked over the will, then told Miranda essentially the same tale that Bobby had told Faye: her dead husband’s property wasn’t hers, but she could use it till she died. Then it would be divided up between her husband’s children—Didi and Justine. Since Justine was dead, her part of the estate would be divided between her heirs—Amande and Steve. As much as Justine might have wished to disinherit the daughter she’d abandoned, Louisiana wouldn’t let her do it. Amande was a forced heir. The state said that she got a quarter of her mother’s worldly goods and there was nothing anybody could do about it.
r />   Hooray for Louisiana! Faye thought.

  Didi watched Reuss’ mouth the entire time he spoke, as if that were the best way to calculate exactly what she’d be getting on the day her mother died. Tebo just kept fingering the will, as if it might magically reveal a way that he could also get a windfall that day. After all, she was his mother, too.

  Faye was pretty sure he was out of luck. Hooray for Louisiana!, again.

  All Amande had to say was, “So you mean we don’t have to move?”

  The wormy little man smiled, revealing teeth that were far whiter and more even than Faye would have predicted. “No, Darlin’, you don’t have to move. Nothing has to change for you at all.”

  He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a legal-sized file folder. “I’m compiling an inventory of Justine’s estate. I don’t think there’s going to be much. When people die of cancer, there’s usually a long period of unemployment prior to death. Even if her scumbag husband—”

  “Scumbag. ’Zat a fancy legal word?” Tebo asked.

  Reuss squared up the stack of papers in his hand. “Based on my client’s description of Steve Daigle, and based on the police report on his visit to this boat, ‘scumbag’ seems plenty accurate.”

  Tebo leaned back in his chair and laughed.

  The lawyer’s whiny voice resumed. “As I was saying, the scumbag may have cleaned out their joint account, or he might have truly been forced to spend everything to take care of Justine in her final months. I’m also of the opinion that Mr. Daigle is the kind of person who spends everything that comes in, regardless, and his income is always erratic. I get the impression that he’s a day laborer who works construction when he needs money and lays on his butt when he doesn’t. I doubt that we’re going to find that her estate has much in the way of cash. There’s a car and a boat in Daigle’s name, purchased before the marriage, so my client has no claim on them. There is no vehicle in Justine’s name.”

  “Shit,” Tebo said, though Faye couldn’t figure out why. He was not one of Justine’s heirs, and he couldn’t have been very emotionally invested in the idea of Amande having a car to drive when she got her license. She figured he was just enjoying the “something for nothing” aspect of the inheritance process, even though he wasn’t the beneficiary.

  “We can force an inventory of her personal property, provided Mr. Daigle hasn’t already had a great big garage sale. I think it’s worth doing. The little lady is entitled to a quarter of it, and she deserves to have some things that belonged to her mother, even if they’re only of sentimental value.”

  Amande didn’t respond. Faye couldn’t imagine how the girl would feel about having something her mother had treasured—a necklace, say, or a picture or a jewelry box. Amande had to feel like she herself should have been her mother’s treasure.

  “I went through my files from the settlement of your late husband’s estate, Mrs. Landreneau, looking for a record of the property that went directly to Justine upon his death.”

  Didi sat up straight and proved that she’d been listening. “I didn’t get anything directly when Daddy died. How come Justine did?”

  He peered at Didi over the rims of his reading glasses. “You’re no relation to Justine’s natural mother. Why should you get any portion of the property that came to Justine from her mother through your father? Once upon a time, Justine’s mama died without leaving a will, and Justine was an only child, so any property that had been her mother’s at the time of the marriage went to her, while her daddy got just a usufruct. When he died, she got control of what was rightfully hers.”

  Reuss made this pronouncement crisply, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Didi was dismissed. Faye thought that maybe Didi shouldn’t have turned off the sex appeal.

  “Justine’s inheritance from her mother wasn’t anything to write home about. A set of sterling silverware. Some nice china. Crystal goblets. I hope that husband of Justine’s didn’t sell it all on eBay, because someday the little lady here will have a place of her own. It would be nice for her to be able to set a table with heirlooms from her family. That’s about it, except for one piece of real estate.” He took his glasses off to look Amande directly in the eyes. “It’s worthless, dear. I’m sorry about that. Still, a quarter of it is yours. Too bad you have to share it with the scumbag.”

  “Real estate? Do you mean land? I own a piece of land?”

  Didi turned jealous eyes on the excited girl.

  “Yes, you do, part of it, but don’t get too worked up,” the lawyer said with an indulgent smile. Faye suspected that he was the father of a daughter himself. “Your island’s small, and probably growing smaller by the year, what with saltwater intrusion and all. It’s a little bitty island out in Barataria Bay, in the direction of Grand Terre. Here’s the location.” He handed her a photocopy of a map. “It’s sinking, like everything else around here. There’s a fishing shack that was filthy and bug-ridden when Justine inherited it, even before Katrina came through. It’s probably still filthy and bug-ridden, and I doubt it has a roof anymore. The china and the crystal goblets and the silver service are worth more money than your island, Dear. Trust me.”

  Didi got up and flounced to the room she was sharing with Amande. Miranda went after her. It was the first maternal act Faye had seen from the woman, beyond an occasional harsh nag in Amande’s direction.

  Faye and Joe looked at each other and stood. They’d done their best for Amande. She had a lawyer. The girl’s lawyer was also working for her grandmother, which wasn’t optimal, and he looked like a marsupial, but he didn’t appear to be completely ignorant of how to handle the situation. It was time to go. They had work to do.

  Amande hopped up and followed them outside, brandishing her map, with the look of a teenager preparing to convince an adult to grant a wish. Faye hoped the wish wasn’t too outlandish, because she didn’t think she’d be good at telling a determined adolescent no. She should have known what that wish would be.

  “Will you take me out to my island? Oh, please. I want to see it so bad!”

  “You remember that Mr. Reuss said it was just a worthless spot of land? Even the shack on it is falling down. If we go out there, we’ll be an hour in the boat, each way. There will be nothing to see when we get there. Then we’ll have to turn around and come back.”

  Amande shrugged away those petty concerns. “I’ve got it all figured out. I know you two have a lot of work to do—”

  Faye was impressed that any teenager was mature enough to factor other people’s needs into an attempt to nag them to do something.

  “—but I think this trip to my island will help you out.”

  Uh-oh. Amande was unreeling a plan that would make it worth their while to do her bidding. Faye smelled trouble. She was learning that dealing with an intelligent and shrewd adolescent could be a minefield. Michael was already showing an ability to manipulate that made Faye quake in her workboots when she looked ahead thirteen years.

  “I’ve spent hours and hours looking at maps of Barataria Bay. I’ve studied new maps and historical maps and aerial photographs and fishing maps, trying to find the island where I found those silver coins. I know that area better than I know my backyard. Well, I don’t have a backyard, but you know what I mean. Anyway…I think this is it! I think it’s my island! Look!” She unrolled the photocopied map to show them.

  Faye thought she just might have found someone who loved old maps as much as she and her cousin Bobby did. Hating herself for indulging the adult’s urge to burst an enthusiastic young person’s bubble, she went ahead and did it. “What are the odds that your island, out of the thousands of islands between here and the gulf, is the one where you found that coin all those years ago?”

  “I think I’ve figured that out. Maybe my mother remembered the island from when her mother took her there when she was a little girl. When she was older, maybe my age, maybe she took Grandmère out there. Then, later, Grandmère took me. It was the perfect p
lace for a picnic. Some trees big enough to give shade. Really good fishing. And the shack didn’t seem like a shack, really. It was old, with interesting woodwork and peeling wallpaper and a cute little kitchen. It was like a dollhouse. That’s what it was, a dollhouse. I loved it.”

  She rolled the map up into a tube and gave it a tender little pat. “A few years ago, Grandmère stopped hoping my mother would come back. I think she never wanted to go back to the island, because it reminded her of my mother when she was a girl. There were too many memories there.”

  She unrolled the map again and looked it over, as if she couldn’t bear being separated from her very own piece of the world. “My grandmother doesn’t forget much. I’ve never believed she didn’t remember that picnic we took.”

  Faye found that she was talking like an adult again, and she hated herself for it yet again. “If your grandmother doesn’t want you to go out there, we just can’t take you, Amande.”

  The girl grabbed for one of Faye’s hands with both of hers. “Please. You can’t possibly understand this, but I’ve never had a piece of ground that was mine. Not even a rented piece of ground. Look at my home.” The houseboat rocked slightly beneath their feet. “I can’t go out in my backyard when I’m mad at Grandmère, ‘cause I don’t have one. I have to go sit at that picnic table that belongs to the marina, and I can only do that if nobody’s using it. And then I have to hope that none of the drunks from the bar decide to come blow their tobacco-y beer breath in my direction. That island’s mine….partly mine…and I want to see it. I’ve just got to have a boat of my own again, so I can go there when I need to be away from people.”

  That last sentence rattled around in Faye’s head. There were many reasons why she kept her impractical island home, and the need to escape from human weirdness was one of them.

  “Here’s the deal,” Amande said. “I know you need to work. If I understand your project right, maybe you need to go check out this island where I found some very old Spanish silver. Maybe there was a pirate lair there. Maybe there was a shipwreck nearby. Maybe it used to be a big island and there was a trading post there or a plantation or even a little town. You won’t know if you don’t go check.” The golden brown eyes narrowed. “And you can’t go check without the property owner’s permission. You need to see my island. And you want to see my island. To get my permission, you have to take me along.”