What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  Roscoe laughed. “I’ll be damned. But maybe some good will come of it. Jolie won’t stay in the house with Georgette, so she’ll probably go back to Atlanta where she belongs.”

  “What difference does it make to you where Jolie lives?”

  Roscoe rubbed his chin. “Personally, it don’t make me no never mind. But Max is my son-in-law and I’d hate for that gal to cause him any trouble.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Gar headed up the stairs, all the while wondering why his father wanted Jolie to leave Sumarville. What was the real reason? Not for one minute did he buy the explanation that Roscoe felt any great attachment to Max. Had the old scoundrel forgotten that when Felicia came up missing, he’d been the first one to accuse Max of murdering her?

  R. J. turned the yellow Corvette off the main highway and onto a backroad that led to the river. A couple of weeks ago when he’d been exploring Desmond County, he’d found an ideal spot for parking. He’d already tried out the place a couple of times and found the women he’d brought here had thought the old picnic area was romantic. What was it with women that they had to pretend sex was the same thing as love and romance? Of course, he’d learned at a young age to use his knowledge about women’s weakness for romance to his advantage. Moonlight, soft music, and a few well chosen words usually did the trick. Amazing how when you told a woman she was beautiful and that you’d never felt about another woman the way you felt about her, she’d spread her legs for you quick as a wink.

  “Where are we going?” Mallory asked.

  “Haven’t you ever been down here? Haven’t any of your boyfriends brought you parking at the river?”

  “I don’t go parking. My boyfriends take me to the movies or out to eat or they come to the house for supper. And if we want to be alone, there’s all sorts of places at Belle Rose where two people can get off by themselves.”

  R. J. eased the ’Vette to a stop between two old cracked concrete picnic tables that flanked the dirt road. “I don’t think I’d be welcome at Belle Rose.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged. “I figure I’m not the type of guy your folks would let you date.”

  Mallory turned to him, her face lit by the moonlight, and R. J.’s sex tightened. Damn, she was gorgeous. With that black hair and those blue eyes she looked sort of exotic. He unsnapped his seat belt, leaned over, and brushed a flyaway strand of her hair away from her face. Allowing his fingers to linger, he caressed her neck and knew he’d hit pay dirt when he heard her indrawn breath.

  “I guess all the guys tell you how pretty you are, don’t they?”

  She nodded. “My daddy says I’m his pretty little doll.” She swallowed the emotion lodged in her throat as tears gathered in her eyes.

  Hell! He hadn’t brought her here to listen to her talk about her father. The kind of comforting he wanted to give her was the kind that would put a smile on his own face. Good loving always helped any bad situation, didn’t it? It wasn’t as if he were being totally selfish. He’d make sure she enjoyed it, too.

  R. J. got out of the Corvette, rounded the trunk and opened the passenger door. “Your old man was right. You are a doll. A living doll.”

  She smiled. A crazy sensation hit R. J. square in the middle of his gut. He undid her seat belt, reached inside the car, and grabbed her hands, then tugged.

  “Come on. Let’s take a stroll by the river. If you want to talk, we can talk,” he told her, while in the back of his mind he thought about finding a grassy spot where he could lay her down for some sweet loving. “And if you need a shoulder to cry on”—he patted his left shoulder—“I’ve got one available.”

  She went straight to him, right into his waiting arms. With one hand R. J. reached around her and closed the car door while his other arm circled her waist. He drew her to him, her breasts pressing against his chest.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed into his eyes. Ah, she was his for the taking. All he had to do was reel her in. Slowly. Carefully. An uncertain little fish like Mallory could be easily scared off. R. J. planted a lingering kiss on her forehead, a ploy to make her feel at ease, but also to make physical contact so that later when he tasted her lips, she wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

  Tilting his head, he gazed up at the night sky. “Just look at that moon. Another few days and it’ll be a lover’s moon.”

  Mallory glanced heavenward. “When I was a little girl, Daddy and I used to sit outside and study the stars. He knew the names and the locations. We hadn’t done that in a long time.” She grasped R. J.’s biceps tightly. “Nobody understands. I love Mother, but…not the way I loved Daddy. He always took care of me, but Mother needs taking care of herself.”

  With one arm draped around her waist, R. J. prompted her to start walking. As they strolled along the riverbank, Mallory continued talking, pouring out her heart, and R. J. made every effort to appear attentive and concerned. He told himself that she would remember, later on, how caring and comforting he’d been.

  “Max just doesn’t understand that I can’t be strong the way he is,” Mallory said. “He kept telling me that Mother needed me, that I should stay with her and take care of her. But how could I? Just being with her, listening to her cry and say over and over again that she doesn’t know what she’ll do without Daddy drove me crazy. Heck, I’m the child and she’s the mother. Isn’t she supposed to be the one looking out for me?”

  “Yeah, that’s usually the way it is,” R. J. agreed. “But sometimes we get the short end of the stick when it comes to mothers.”

  Mallory paused, her gaze riveted to the dark flowing river, the Mighty Mississippi that never slept. “Nobody else could possibly understand how I feel about losing Daddy. He wasn’t really Max’s father, you know. Just mine.”

  “I heard you had an older sister,” R. J. said. “Don’t you think she knows how you feel?”

  Mallory jerked away from him, pulling completely free of his hold. “Don’t call her my sister. Jolie hated Daddy because he married my mother. And I hate her. So does Max. She’s probably glad that Daddy is dead.” Mallory burst into tears.

  Acting instinctively, without any thought of making brownie points, R. J. wrapped her in his arms and stroked her back tenderly. “Go ahead and cry. Get it out of your system.”

  He couldn’t remember ever feeling so protective of another person. God help him, he wished he could ease her pain, take away the hurt. For the first time in his life, R. J. Sutton actually put someone else’s needs before his own.

  Damn it to hell! Things weren’t turning out the way he’d planned, but the night didn’t have to be a total waste. He could lay the groundwork for the future, maybe for a night next week when Mallory would be less inclined to talk and more inclined to make love. When he wanted something—and he wanted Mallory Royale badly—he was willing to wait.

  The mantel clock struck ten times, the sound reverberating throughout Yvonne’s small cottage. Jolie set her suitcase on a chair in the corner of the guest bedroom, a small space filled with antiques, several of which had belonged to the Desmond family in the past. An intricate vine-and-leaf design formed the headboard of a metal bed that had once been Jolie’s great-grandmother’s when she was a girl. Then there was the tall narrow highboy, its mahogany wood polished to a glowing shine; and the gilt-frame mirror in which she caught a glimpse of herself.

  After kicking off her heels, Jolie lifted her skirt, grasped the waistband of her pantyhose, and tugged them down and off. She kicked them aside, then started to unbutton her jacket.

  Yvonne knocked on the bedroom door, then called, “Jolie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve poured us up some tea. Do you want me to bring yours to you or do you want to come out on the porch and sit with me for a while?”

  What Jolie really wanted was to go to bed and get some sleep. But she knew that sooner or later, she’d have to talk things out with Yvonne. Might as well get it over with. “I’ll be right out.”

/>   When she opened the door, Jolie found that Yvonne had already returned to the living room and now stood by the front door, a glass of iced tea in each hand. As Jolie approached her, Yvonne turned and smiled.

  “It’s cooled off quite a bit and there’s a breeze stirring. Let’s go outside and sit a spell.”

  “Sure.” Jolie accepted the glass of tea Yvonne offered, then, barefoot, followed her outside onto the porch.

  “Why don’t you take the swing,” Yvonne said, as she sat in one of the two wicker rockers. “I remember how you loved my swing when you were a little girl.”

  Jolie backed into the swing, eased down, and settled in. Just as she lifted the iced tea to her lips, she saw a car’s headlights and then heard a vehicle coming up the long drive from the road. Yvonne watched the car’s approach, an expression of concern on her face; but when the Ferrari came to a full stop at the side of the house, she sighed and smiled as she rose to her feet.

  “It’s Theron.” Yvonne rushed to the edge of the porch and made it down two steps before her son got out of the car and met her.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.

  “I thought maybe I should drop by and see if you’re angry with me for not making it over to Belle Rose this afternoon.”

  “I’m not angry,” Yvonne told him. “But I am disappointed. Clarice kept asking where you were.”

  Glancing past his mother, Theron’s gaze met Jolie’s. He grinned when he recognized her. “I see somebody else has an aversion to Belle Rose.”

  Jolie set her glass on the nearby windowsill, then stood and rushed forward to greet Theron. He’d been her childhood friend, more like an older brother or a favorite cousin than the housekeeper’s son. But by the time Gar Wells had warned Theron to keep his distance from Jolie and Sandy and Felicia, she and Theron had become aware of the vast differences not only in the color of their skins but also in their social positions in Sumarville. And once Theron left for college and she’d been shipped off to boarding school, they hadn’t kept in touch.

  When Jolie walked to the edge of the porch, Theron stepped up and held out his hand to her. She opened her arms and hugged him, prompting him to respond with equal affection.

  “Never thought you’d come back to Belle Rose,” he said, holding her hands between them and looking her up and down. “Little Jolie Royale all grown up. And looking like a Desmond.”

  “I am a Desmond,” she replied.

  “Half Desmond, half Royale.” He studied her face for several minutes. “You look like your Aunt Lisette.”

  “Thank you. She was a beautiful woman.”

  “That she was.”

  Yvonne handed Theron her glass of tea. “You two sit and talk. I’ll be right back. I’ll get myself another glass of tea and bring out some cookies.”

  Theron refused the tea. “No, thanks.”

  “Well, I’ll get the cookies anyway. I’m sure Jolie would like some to go with her tea.”

  The minute his mother went inside, Theron laughed. “She thinks we’re kids again. Giving us orders and serving us tea and cookies.”

  “I’m glad you showed up when you did,” Jolie admitted. “I’m pretty sure I was fixing to get another one of Yvonne’s famous come-to-Jesus talks.”

  After releasing her hands, Theron followed Jolie to the swing and sat beside her. “Then I’ve saved you from a fate worse than death. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can give you a talking-to like Mama can. She has a way of making me feel about two inches high sometimes.”

  “Maybe you can help me. She’s going to try to persuade me to make peace with that bunch of trash Daddy brought into Belle Rose. She and Aunt Clarice want me to play nice and act like a lady.”

  Theron chuckled. “Don’t tell me that Jolie Desmond Royale grew up to be anything other than a lady.”

  “I’m my own kind of lady,” Jolie said. “I’m not as socially conscious as the Desmond sisters were…as Aunt Clarice still is. I live my life the way I want to live it, with apologies to no one. And I’m afraid that I’m fixing to stir up trouble around these parts that’s going to upset a lot of people.”

  “You sound just like Theron.” Yvonne opened the screen door and came outside onto the porch. “My son has similar plans.”

  “Now, Mama, don’t start in on me.”

  Jolie looked directly at Theron. “Just how do you plan to stir things up?”

  “You first,” Theron said. “What are you going to do, contest Louis’s will?”

  “For starters.”

  “Mercy, girl, why would you want to do that?” Yvonne asked. “You got a third of everything and one-hundred percent of Belle Rose. How much more do you want?”

  Theron whooped and slapped his knee. “You mean you got Belle Rose? Heaven help Georgette Devereaux.”

  “Don’t I wish,” Jolie said. “Unfortunately, I can’t make her and her offspring vacate the premises. It seems Daddy put a stipulation in his will that they can remain at Belle Rose as long as they choose to.”

  “What you need is a smart lawyer to figure out a way to make that stipulation go away.”

  Jolie smiled broadly. “Do you happen to know a smart lawyer who might be interested in representing me?”

  “Stop this nonsense right now.” Yvonne set her glass and the small plate of molasses cookies down on the wicker table beside her rocker, then turned and glowered back and forth from Jolie to Theron. “No good will come from the two of you plotting together.” She narrowed her gaze on Jolie. “You should respect your father’s wishes in this matter.”

  “My father didn’t respect my wishes, and he certainly didn’t respect my mother’s memory, did he, when he married Georgette?”

  “Mark my word, the both of you, there’s nothing but trouble ahead if y’all follow through with your plans.” Yvonne shook her head sadly.

  “I have a feeling your mother’s talking about something other than your agreeing to act as my lawyer in this case,” Jolie said. “Just what dastardly deed are you plotting?”

  “Something that might be upsetting to you,” Theron told her. “I don’t want to hurt Mama or you or Clarice, but it’s past time we all found out the truth.”

  Adrenaline pumped through Jolie’s body, preparing her for the worst. “The truth about what?” But she knew before he replied—the truth about the past, about the day her mother and aunt were murdered. The day Lemar Fuqua died. The day someone shot Jolie in the back and left her for dead.

  “I’m going to do everything in my power to have the Belle Rose massacre case reopened. I intend to prove that someone other than my uncle Lemar was the real murderer, that he, too, was a victim.”

  Suddenly Jolie realized that fate had played a hand in her return to Sumarville. She had wavered between attending her father’s funeral and simply sending an Atlanta lawyer to handle things for her. But at the last minute, something deep within her had urged her to make the trip. For the past twenty years she had strived to put the past behind her, to erase the memories of that day from her mind, to accept the fact that she would never remember anything more about those horrific events. But after all these years, it was what she didn’t know that caused her the most anguish.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Jolie said. “If you’ll help me find a way to gain full control over Belle Rose, I’ll stay in Sumarville and do everything I can to help you prove that Lemar didn’t kill Mother and Aunt Lisette. You know I’ve always believed in his innocence.”

  Theron sucked in a deep breath. “You do realize that the real killer might still be alive, might still be living in Sumarville? He…or she…isn’t going to take kindly to our investigating a murder that he thought he got away with.”

  “I understand what you’re saying—you’re warning me that the real killer might come after us, after me in particular.”

  “It’s a dangerous thing you’re talking about doing,” Yvonne cautioned them again.

  “Mama’s right,” Theron said. “Not only will w
e have the whole town against us, people who want to let sleeping dogs lie, but we could be risking our lives.”

  Did she have the courage it would take to stay in Sumarville, to face the ghosts from her past, to risk her life?

  “I realize the danger,” she said.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Theron searched her face for an answer.

  With steely determination, Jolie looked Theron squarely in the eyes. “We, my old friend, most definitely have a deal. So what do we do first?”

  “The first thing you do tomorrow morning is move into Belle Rose,” Theron advised. “Move in, take over, and shake things up a bit. I’ll speak to Gar Wells and get a copy of Louis’s will, just to make sure, but I’d say you’re within your legal rights to do anything you want with or to the land, the house…and the residents. Short of throwing them out.”

  A sadistic glee rose inside Jolie at the thought of making life a living hell for Georgette. Having Jolie living at Belle Rose, assuming the ownership in a personal way, was bound to upset the entire household. “Okay, that’s the first step in my acquiring full control of Belle Rose, so what’s our first step in getting the murder case reopened?”

  “I’ve already done some preliminary work. I have a meeting set up with the D.A. and the sheriff tomorrow afternoon,” Theron told her. “If you go with me, your presence alone should carry a lot of weight with both men.”

  “Tell me the time and the place and I’ll be there.”

  Theron smiled. “Ms. Royale, I think you and I will make a formidable team.”

  “Mr. Carter, I agree wholeheartedly.”

  When the two shook hands, Jolie caught a glimpse with her peripheral vision of the horrified look on Yvonne’s face.

  Chapter 9

  With visions of sweet revenge swirling through her thoughts, Jolie hadn’t been able to fall asleep until well after midnight. Admittedly she had mixed feelings about moving into Belle Rose, even if only for a few weeks—a month at most. She hoped that if Theron hadn’t been able to find a way to legally remove the trash from her ancestral home by then, her deliberately annoying presence would have prompted them to leave. Executing a thousand-and-one demented little torments would give her great pleasure and no doubt send Georgette screaming from the house. Patience, she cautioned herself. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and getting rid of vermin would take time and effort.