What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  Jolie popped the last bite of an apple-and-raisin muffin into her mouth, then washed it down with a sip of coffee. She’d slept later than she had intended, but at least she’d missed another lecture from Yvonne, who undoubtedly still arrived at Belle Rose by six-thirty every morning, just as she had in the past. But she’d left Jolie coffee, muffins, and a note.

  Think long and hard before you follow through with your plans to remove your father’s family from Belle Rose. I’m afraid that you’ll be the one to suffer in the end, and I can’t bear the thought of your discovering, too late, that you were wrong.

  Dear, sweet, forgiving Yvonne, so much like Aunt Clarice. She was the type of person who would do almost anything to avoid trouble, to maintain peace. But peace came at too high a price for Jolie—and for Theron. By combining forces they could, hopefully, achieve two goals: return full control of Belle Rose to the youngest remaining Desmond descendant and prove that someone other than Lemar Fuqua was responsible for the Belle Rose massacre.

  Jolie tossed her suitcase into the back of her Escalade, then hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Reaching inside her purse, she felt around until her fingers encountered the small, sleek cell phone. She punched the button to dial Cheryl’s home number, placed the telephone to her ear, then shifted the SUV’s gears into reverse. By the time she turned the vehicle around and headed down the road to her family’s plantation house, Cheryl answered on the fifth ring.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m glad I caught you before you left for work,” Jolie said.

  “Jolie?”

  “Yes. Now, listen. I’m not returning to Atlanta today as I’d planned. As a matter of fact, I’m going to be stuck here for a few weeks, and I need for you to handle things in my absence.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing really. Just a snag that’s going to take some time to fix.”

  The back side of the mansion came into view as Jolie turned the curve in the paved road. Twenty years ago the path from Yvonne’s cottage to the main house had been gravel. Admittedly, she felt strange and somewhat out of place being back in Sumarville. But an eerie familiarity suddenly possessed her.

  She was going home. Moving in. And taking over!

  Was she really prepared to give up her life in Atlanta, even temporarily—her friends, her daily contacts at the office, her hands-on approach with her business—to right the wrongs from twenty years ago? Why couldn’t she just let Georgette stay on at Belle Rose? And what did it matter now, after all this time, whether Lemar had been framed for murder? Was she insane to put her life on hold for the chance to wreak havoc on her stepmother? And was she truly brave enough to face the possibility that Lemar was innocent, and out there somewhere the real murderer might do anything to stop Theron—and her—from instigating a new investigation?

  “I’ll set up a home office as soon as possible,” Jolie told Cheryl. “I’ll be working from Belle Rose until…” Until I run Georgette out of my mother’s house. Until Theron can convince the district attorney to reopen the case. “I’m hoping I won’t be here longer than a few weeks, but if necessary, I’m prepared to stay a month…or two.” Please, God, not that long!

  “A month or two!” Cheryl all but screamed. “What the hell is going on? You didn’t even want to go home for your father’s funeral and now you’re telling me that you’re going to move in with your stepmother. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “I’ve got to go,” Jolie said, as she parked her SUV in the drive at the back of the house. “I’ll call you tomorrow and fill you in on all the details. Right now, I’m fixing to claim my property.”

  The entire family, even Uncle Parry, was at the table when Mallory dragged herself downstairs and into the dining room. Her mother insisted that meals always be served in the dining room, something Aunt Clarice had told her was proper etiquette. As much as she loved the old loony bird, as Uncle Parry called her, Mallory wished that her mother didn’t set such great store by what Clarice Desmond deemed appropriate or ruled unsuitable. She had once complained to her father about how Aunt Clarice, who really wasn’t her aunt, wasn’t even any blood kin to her, seemed to make all the rules. He’d hugged her and reminded her that her mother had always been insecure because she’d been born very poor and that more than anything Georgette longed to be a genteel Southern lady.

  How ridiculous! She’d thought so then and she thought so now. What difference did it make what other people thought? The Royales were rich, weren’t they? Her daddy had been one of the most powerful men in Mississippi, hadn’t he? And this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. Family lineages, Civil War ancestors, and traditions from a world long since gone weren’t what people thought was important these days. Money and power were what mattered. Why couldn’t her mother understand that? Max understood. He’d once told her that he’d learned from her daddy that people overlooked a lot of deficits in a man’s background and personality if he wielded enough power. Now that Daddy was gone, Max would take over her father’s powerful position, wouldn’t he?

  “You shouldn’t come down to breakfast in your pajamas, especially such skimpy pajamas,” Georgette scolded.

  Skimpy? A see-through teddy was skimpy. A pair of butt-floss panties was skimpy. A bikini that was little more than a thong and pasties was skimpy. Mallory yawned and stretched, then glanced down at her satin boxer-shorts and camisole top. With a smart-aleck remark on the tip of her tongue, she suddenly felt Max’s heated glare zeroing in on her. She glanced at him, saw the expression of forewarning on his face, and quickly rethought her response. Of course Max was right—her mother deserved respect. And Georgette was more fragile than usual now, so soon after Daddy’s death.

  “I can go back upstairs and put on something else,” Mallory offered.

  “That’s all right, dear,” Georgette said. “We’ll overlook it this morning.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Mallory stared directly at Max. His lips twitched, the corners lifting slightly. He’d come very close to smiling at her. Poor Max. He didn’t smile much, especially not lately.

  “So, when are you meeting with Gar to see about getting something done about Louis’s will?” Parry asked his nephew, then filled his mouth with a spoonful of grits.

  Mallory felt the tension at the table. From Max. From her mother. And from Aunt Clarice. She wished that Jolie Royale would drop off the face of the earth. Why had Daddy left a third of everything he owned to her? Why had he left Belle Rose to her? Jolie had been cruel to Daddy, treating him badly all these years, refusing to ever come visit.

  “I think Gar should explain to a judge how Jolie treated Daddy, that she’s been mean and spiteful ever since Daddy married Mother.” Mallory sauntered over to the buffet, where the silver serving trays filled with breakfast items awaited her. “She has no right to anything, least of all Belle Rose. This is my home, not hers.”

  “Technically, this house is hers,” Max said. “Not only did Louis bequeath it to her, but the home originally belonged to her mother’s family.”

  “What difference does that make?” Parry split a biscuit and dribbled honey over the two halves. “This place would have rotted down years ago if Louis hadn’t put a lot of money into restoring it. Louis should have given this place to Georgette.”

  “No, he shouldn’t have,” Georgette said. “I wouldn’t have felt right if he’d left Belle Rose to me. But…well, I had hoped that perhaps he’d leave it to Mallory.”

  Mallory placed two strips of bacon on a small plate, then poured herself a tall glass of orange juice and returned to the table. “I agree with Uncle Parry. Daddy should have given the house to you, Mother. After all, you were his wife.” Mallory plopped down in the chair beside her brother. “You are going to make sure Jolie doesn’t get to keep Belle Rose, aren’t you?”

  Clarice cleared her throat. All eyes turned to her. Oh, shit! Mallory had forgotten that Jolie was Aunt Clarice’s niece, her
real niece, and that it was her family that had once owned Belle Rose.

  “Sorry, Aunt Clarice,” Mallory said. “But that’s the way I feel.”

  “Of course you have a right to your opinion.” Clarice folded her white linen napkin and laid it beside her plate. “But before y’all take any steps to have Louis’s will contested, you might want to consider the fact that Jolie could well be contemplating doing the same thing.”

  “What?” Georgette shrieked.

  “She wouldn’t dare,” Parry said.

  “What would she have to contest?” Mallory asked.

  “Our family’s right to remain living here at Belle Rose.” Max lifted his cup and took a sip of coffee. So calm. So cool and unemotional. That was her big brother. He never let anything get to him. Sometimes she wondered if he was susceptible to normal human emotions the way the rest of them were.

  “Damnation! I wouldn’t put it past her, the vindictive little bitch.” Parry speared his scrambled eggs with his fork. “She’d just better think again if she thinks she can run us off.”

  “Really, Parry, such language.” Georgette groaned. “And in front of Mallory.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Mallory grinned. Her mother often treated her as if she were still ten years old.

  “I don’t appreciate your referring to Jolie in such terms.” Clarice frowned at Parry. “I don’t agree with my niece’s opinion of Georgette, but I do understand why she feels the way she does. I believe if y’all will meet her halfway and give her a chance to get to know each of you, she’ll realize how wrong she’s been all these years. And if that happens, there won’t be any need for y’all to protest Louis’s will.”

  Poor Aunt Clarice. She always thought the best of everyone. Mallory doubted if Clarice had ever disliked anybody. But didn’t she realize it was too late to mend fences with Jolie? There had been a time when Mallory had longed to meet her older sister, had even dreamed of the two of them becoming friends. But that was before she’d learned the truth about what Jolie thought of their father’s second family.

  Jolie entered the house through the back door, but instead of going into the kitchen, she paused in the mudroom and peeped inside at Yvonne. Busy cleaning up from breakfast preparation, Yvonne didn’t notice her, so she mimicked a cough, which instantly gained her Yvonne’s attention.

  “Jolie!” After wiping her hands on her apron, Yvonne hurried across the room to the open door. “What are you doing slipping in the back way?”

  “I want to surprise the family. Are they still at breakfast?”

  “As far as I know everyone is in the dining room.”

  “Then there’s no time like the present for me to say hello and tell them that I’m moving in this morning.”

  “Theron shouldn’t have advised you to move into the house and cause trouble. I think you’re making a big mistake.”

  Jolie shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

  “At least let me warn them that you’re here,” Yvonne said.

  Jolie grabbed her wrist. “No need to do that.” When Yvonne gave her a condemning look, she immediately let go of her. “I’ll announce myself.”

  Jolie smoothed her hands over her hips before squaring her shoulders and taking a long deep breath. As she released her indrawn breath, she deliberately avoided the kitchen—a room she preferred to never enter again—and instead exited the mudroom through the door that led into the hall. The dining room was only a few steps away, on the left. Low voices flowed down the corridor. Unfamiliar voices. Then suddenly she heard a deep baritone that she vividly recalled.

  “Louis put all of us, including Jolie, in a bad situation. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was best for all of us,” Max said. “You know how Louis was, always wanting to take care of everyone he cared about and to make sure his actions were fair.”

  “Was it fair for him to leave Belle Rose to Jolie?” Mallory asked.

  Jolie realized that now was the ideal moment to make them aware of her presence. Mallory had given her the perfect cue. Jolie crossed the threshold and walked into the dining room as if she lived there, as if they should have been expecting her to join them for breakfast.

  “Yes, I think it was quite fair that Daddy left Belle Rose to me.” Jolie smiled when they all gasped in unison and turned to glower at her. Everyone except Max. Such a delicious sensation to see the shock on Georgette’s face, the hostility in Parry’s expression, the surprise in Mallory’s eyes, and the cold, controlled anger etched in Max’s strong features as he finally turned to look at her. “What I think was unfair is that he gave me no choice but to allow all of you to stay on here, regardless of how I might feel about it.”

  “Jolie!” Clarice scooted back her chair and jumped up. “My dear girl, we had no idea you were here.”

  Her aunt came forward to greet her, arms open wide. Jolie offered Clarice an affectionate embrace, then released her and strolled over to the buffet. With a silly little smile on her face, Clarice returned to the table. Totally disregarding the others, Jolie lifted a plate and filled it with bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and two biscuits. Then she poured steaming black coffee in a china cup and added a liberal amount of cream. She recognized the china and silverware; both had belonged to her family for well over a hundred years.

  Jolie wasn’t the least bit hungry, but what did that matter? She intended to start her takeover of Belle Rose the right way—by breaking bread with her deadly enemies. Despite how much she loathed the idea of dining with this bunch, she had every intention of joining them for all the family meals, which was sure to curb everyone’s appetite.

  “Well, you’ve got your nerve.” Narrowing his gaze, Parry directed his attention directly on Jolie. “Nobody invited you for breakfast.”

  Jolie placed her plate and cup on the table. “Now, now, Uncle Parry, with that tone of voice someone might think you don’t like me.” She pulled out the chair next to Clarice. “Besides, I hardly need an invitation to have breakfast in my own house.”

  “Naturally, Jolie is welcome here at Belle Rose.” Georgette looked directly at Jolie and smiled. “We’re delighted that you could join us for breakfast this morning.”

  Mallory groaned. “Honest to God, Mother, give the Southern belle routine a rest, will you?” Mallory scowled at Jolie. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  Under different circumstances, Jolie would have admired Mallory’s spunk, a trait they shared. But the fact that they were half siblings didn’t alter another more important fact: Mallory was one of them—the enemy. “My, my, little sister, where are your manners?”

  “Screw you.” Mallory stuck her tongue out at Jolie.

  Such a childish act. Jolie laughed.

  “Behave yourself,” Max told Mallory, his tone even and totally unemotional; then he glanced at Jolie. “Disregarding Mother’s oversolicitous attitude and Mallory’s hostile one, would you mind telling us exactly what you’re doing here?”

  Jolie sat, picked up a fork and took several bites from her plate. After swallowing, she offered Max an eat-dirt-and-die smile. “Why, I’m eating breakfast, of course.”

  “Other than the obvious, why are you here?” Max asked.

  All eyes focused on Jolie. Oh, she had them worried. Every last one of them. Even the cool-and-collected Maximillian. His unruffled attitude didn’t fool her. He despised her as much as the rest of his family; he was just more adept at masking his feelings.

  Jolie lifted the cup to her lips and sipped Yvonne’s delicious coffee. Eyeing Max over the rim of the gold-trimmed china cup, she said, “I’ve decided to move in with y’all. I’ve got my suitcase outside in the car.”

  “You can’t move in!” Mallory cried.

  “Call Gar immediately!” Parry shouted.

  “You intend to stay here with us?” Georgette’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, you’re welcome. You’re Louis’s daughter and this has always been your home.” She glanced at her son. “Max, you must go outside and
get Jolie’s luggage.” She looked back at Jolie. “You’ll probably want to stay in your old room, won’t you?”

  Mallory shot up out of her chair, stomped her foot and growled. “Damn it, Mother, stop this right now! Why are you being so polite to her? She has no right to stay here. This is our home.”

  Jolie continued sipping her coffee. When no one replied to Mallory’s outburst, she turned and ran from the dining room.

  “Hell, Max,” Parry said, “do something.”

  Max eased back his chair, stood, walked around the table, and yanked back Jolie’s chair, just enough so that he could grab her arm and pull her to her feet. Tilting her chin upward, she glared at him, but made no effort to jerk free of his tenacious hold. He was spitting mad, but only the slight throbbing of a vein in the side of his neck even hinted of the rage boiling inside him. Provoking Max was like poking a stick at a rattlesnake—sooner or later he’d bite you if you didn’t kill him first. But God help her, she loved irritating the man. Loved seeing him sweat, albeit invisibly.

  “I think we need to talk,” Max said. “Privately. In the study.”

  Jolie looked pointedly at her wrist trapped in his grasp. “Do you intend to drag me there?”

  “If necessary.”

  She would call his bluff if she thought he was bluffing; but he wasn’t. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d pick her up and carry her out of the dining room, if she didn’t go with him peacefully.

  “Then by all means, let’s talk privately.” She tugged on her arm.

  He didn’t release her immediately, as if weighing his options, trying to decide the wisest course of action. He loosened his hold just enough for her to pull free. With a wide, gracious sweep of his hand, Max urged her into action. Taking the lead, Jolie headed for the doorway, Max only a few steps behind her.