What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  She groaned. “If only you could.”

  This wonderful man made her happy to be alive, but he was no miracle worker. He couldn’t erase the past, couldn’t undo what had been done. And only a miracle could make things right. It would take an act of God to ease the tension between Jolie and Louis’s second family, to change hatred and distrust into love and understanding.

  “Is it about Louis Royale’s will?” Nowell asked. “Was there some problem?”

  “Louis’s will?”

  Yes, of course, Nowell would be interested in Louis’s will, wouldn’t he? If they were to marry, as Nowell wanted, he would share in any inheritance she received. People thought Nowell’s only interest in her was her money. Some assumed she had much more money than she did; others thought she had much less. She wasn’t rich by Louis Royale’s standards, but neither was she poor. With the trust fund Louis had left her, added to her tidy savings, she was a millionaire.

  Clarice took Nowell’s hand and led him to the bench where they sat down, side by side. Looking into his beautiful dark eyes, she relished his adoring expression. Could a man fake such loving devotion? she wondered.

  “Louis left me a million-dollar trust fund,” she told Nowell.

  “Why, Clarice, my dear, you’re a very rich woman.”

  “Richer than before, that’s for sure.”

  “I knew that Louis would do right by you. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was. A very good man.” Clarice stroked Nowell’s smoothly shaved cheek. He was so hairy. His arms, legs, and chest. Jonathan had been hairy. When Nowell had first arrived in Sumarville, he’d been sporting a beard and mustache. But when Clarice had asked him to shave, he’d done so immediately and had been clean shaven ever since.

  “My darling, you’ve asked me several times to marry you and I’ve put you off, but Louis’s death has shown me that it’s foolish to wait for happiness. None of us has any assurance that we’ll be alive tomorrow.”

  “Clarice? Are you saying what I think you are?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ll marry you, if you still want me.”

  Nowell’s smile warmed her heart. He grabbed her, kissed her passionately, then whispered in her ear. “I’ll make you happy every day of our lives. I promise you that. You’ll never have a reason to regret marrying me.”

  She prayed that she wouldn’t be proven wrong, that her trust in Nowell wasn’t misplaced. He acted like a man in love. Every touch. Every whispered endearment.

  “How do you think your family will react to our news?” Nowell asked. “Max has made it abundantly clear that he dislikes and distrusts me.”

  “Naturally, I’d like Max’s blessings. I’m hoping that during the next year, you’ll find a way to bring him around. All he wants is for me to be happy. Once he understands that you are my happiness, he won’t stand in our way.”

  “What do you mean, during the next year?”

  “During our engagement, of course.” She ruffled Nowell’s silver gray hair. “We must have a proper engagement and a year seems quite appropriate.”

  “But Clarice, honey, I had hoped we could marry right away.” He gazed pleadingly into her eyes. “I want you to be my wife as soon as possible. I don’t want to wait.”

  “Patience. Patience.” She kissed his mouth tenderly. “We can’t marry now, not so soon after Louis’s death. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “No, of course not. I understand. But a year is such a long time to wait.”

  “We’ll be waiting only for the ceremony that will make our relationship legal. There’s no need to wait to consummate our love,” she told him, as she slipped her hand down his chest, over his belt, and cupped her palm over his crotch. “You’ve turned me into a wicked woman. There’s no reason why we can’t be lovers, is there? I long for you so, Jonathan.”

  Nowell cringed. This wasn’t the first time she had called him by another man’s name and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But what did it matter that she often confused him with the fiancé she had loved and lost so long ago? The first time she had called him Jonathan, he’d wondered if she knew the truth, but soon realized she couldn’t possible know. How would she have reacted if he’d been totally honest with her the way he’d planned on being when he’d first come to Sumarville? But seeing how emotionally fragile she was, he’d realized that the truth might destroy her completely. Instead of honesty, he’d chosen subterfuge. It had been easy enough to take on the persona of the one man she would never forget. If Clarice wanted Jonathan, he would give her Jonathan. He’d do anything—absolutely anything—to persuade her to marry him. And soon.

  Chapter 11

  “My advice is for you to talk to Jolie.” Garland Wells sliced into his medium-rare T-bone steak. “Make a deal with her—you won’t contest Louis’s will if she agrees to do the same.”

  Max’s meal remained untouched in front of him. Not that the food at the Sumarville Inn Restaurant wasn’t good; it was. But ever since Louis’s death, Max hadn’t had much of an appetite. What he needed was some positive feedback from Gar, not a suggestion that he compromise with Jolie.

  “I’d prefer to not contest the will, but Mother and Mallory won’t be able to endure having Jolie living at Belle Rose. Not for very long. Something has to be done as soon as possible.”

  Be honest with yourself, Max—you need Jolie gone from your life just as much as, if not more than, anyone else in your family.

  Gar chewed slowly, swallowed, and pointed his fork at Max. “I put together an ironclad document for Louis. He wanted to make sure that his wishes were carried out in this matter.” Gar sliced another piece of steak. “Believe me, I tried my best to talk him out of setting things up for Belle Rose the way he did, but he was adamant. And you know how Louis could be.”

  “What was he thinking? He had to know that Jolie wouldn’t accept having my mother living at Belle Rose, if there was any way she could force her to move out.”

  “She can’t make Georgette move.”

  “No, but she can make Mother’s life so miserable that she’d prefer leaving Belle Rose than staying there and enduring Jolie’s revenge.”

  “Then it’s up to you to see to it that your mother doesn’t cave in and give Jolie what she wants. Just wait her out.” Gar ate another piece of steak. “By the way, Theron Carter phoned me bright and early this morning. He wants a copy of Louis’s will. It seems he’s representing Jolie now.”

  “What?”

  “Mm-hmm. There’s something smelly about their association. Theron must think Jolie can do something for him. Or it could be that he has a personal interest in Jolie. I remember when we were teenagers. I had the audacity to tell him that he shouldn’t be hanging around my sisters and Jolie, not after we all reached a certain age. He hated my guts after that. Of course, I can’t say I blame him. And I can’t believe that by that time I hadn’t learned anything from my father’s mistakes.”

  “Maybe the guy wants something else from Jolie,” Max said. “I’ve been hearing rumors that Carter would like to see the Belle Rose massacre case reopened. If that’s true, he might think he needs Jolie’s help.”

  “Damn! You’re right. If Jolie joined forces with him in trying to get that old case reopened, then Katie-bar-the-door. With her being one of the victims, not counting that she’s a Royale and a Desmond, her opinion would carry a lot of weight with certain people.”

  “That’s just what we all need, just what this town needs—reopening old wounds that could rip Samarville apart. Right down racial lines.” Max knew that if the case was reopened, the past would come to life again. Old rumors would resurface. Rumors about him having been the murderer. Rumors about his mother and Louis’s adulterous affair. Everyone he loved would be hurt. His mother. Mallory. Uncle Parry. Even Aunt Clarice. How could Clarice deal with having to relive that horrible day when she discovered the bodies? But if his guess was right and Jolie had joined forces with Theron Carter, then obviously she didn’t care who got hurt in
the process. All that mattered to Jolie was wreaking havoc on Georgette and her children. God, how she must hate them!

  “I sure don’t want to see that happen.” Gar washed down another bite of steak with a big swig of iced tea. “Those were some dark days for Sumarville. I don’t think anyone went unscathed by what happened at Belle Rose. It didn’t seem possible that something so horrible could have happened here, where folks didn’t even lock their doors at night.”

  Max remembered that Yvonne had begged the sheriff’s department to look for other suspects. She had been so sure her brother couldn’t have committed the murders. At the time, Max hadn’t really cared if Lemar Fuqua did it or not, hadn’t cared about Yvonne’s convictions, because he hadn’t known her then. He’d just been thankful that the law hadn’t gone after him. They had questioned him, as they had Uncle Parry, but nothing ever came of it. Both he and Uncle Parry had told the sheriff where they were and what they were doing that day. Thank God, no one had ever checked out his alibi.

  “Have you ever had any doubts about Lemar Fuqua’s guilt?” Max asked.

  “No. Well, not really. I feel certain that Sheriff Bendall followed the proper procedures. He even called in the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Mostly because the victims were Desmonds and one of them was married to Louis Royale.” Gar lifted his cup. “Old Horace Madry, our county coroner at the time, ruled it a double murder and suicide. And the CIB’s guy backed Horace up. I remember Daddy saying at the time that nobody could come back later and claim Lemar Fuqua had been unjustly accused.” Gar sipped on his coffee.

  “Well, I have to admit that I’ve had some doubts,” Max admitted. “I always thought it odd that those rumors about Lemar Fuqua and Lisette Desmond didn’t really take hold and circulate until after the murders. You’d think if the two had been carrying on an affair for years, somebody would have known about it sooner.”

  “I never believed that rumor about Lisette. She wasn’t in love with Lemar, and she wasn’t having an affair with him.”

  Max looked directly at Gar, whose facial features hardened and skin splotched with color. “How would you know for sure?”

  Gar’s gaze clashed with Max’s. He cleared his throat and glanced away hurriedly. “I don’t know for sure, of course, but…I remember Lisette. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I suppose I just don’t like the idea that she was as promiscuous as people said she was.”

  Max suddenly realized the truth. “You had a crush on her.”

  Gar huffed softly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t the way folks said she was. People say a lot of things that aren’t true. They’ve said an awful lot of nasty things about my mother.”

  “And Jolie still believes every one of them.” Gar picked up his knife and fork, sliced several pieces off his steak, then laid the silverware on the edge of his plate. “I wanted to ask you something… something about Jolie.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I was wondering how you’d feel about my asking her out while she’s staying in Sumarville. I wouldn’t, of course, if you decide to follow through with your plans to contest the will, but if—”

  “I’m not going to make any snap legal decision,” Max said. “But whom you date is your own business.”

  “Then you don’t object?”

  Max studied Gar for a moment. “I know Jolie looks a lot like her aunt Lisette…but you need to remember that she’s not Lisette. She has an agenda all her own for staying in Sumarville. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt. I get the distinct impression that Jolie looks out for Number One and to hell with anyone else.”

  Gar shrugged. “Who knows, she might turn me down…especially if there is something personal going on between her and Theron.”

  Max didn’t like the idea of something personal going on between Jolie and anyone in Sumarville. He didn’t want her forming attachments that might prolong her stay. He wanted her gone. And the sooner the better.

  Jolie didn’t recognize the district attorney’s secretary, but then why should she? She hadn’t lived in Sumarville in twenty years and anyone new to the area would be a stranger to her.

  “If y’all will just take a seat in Mr. Newman’s office, he’ll be with you shortly,” the slender, middle-aged blonde instructed. “He’s been delayed, but should be here within the next fifteen minutes. He asked me to extend his apologies for keeping y’all waiting. Would anyone care for coffee?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Cunningham. And no, I wouldn’t care for any coffee.” Flashing her his wide, thousand watt grin, Theron used only a fraction of his considerable charm, but it was just enough to elicit a smile from the woman. He glanced at Jolie and then at the sheriff. “Would either of you care for coffee?”

  Six-three, barrel-chested, ebony-skinned Ike Denton, who’d been a linebacker for Mississippi State a good fifteen years ago, shook his head.

  “No, thanks,” Jolie said.

  Sharla Cunningham left the door partially open when she returned to her desk in the outer office. Jolie wandered around the room, taking note of the items on the walls: Larry Newman’s law degree, photos of him with prominent people, an antique saber, and a pair of old flintlock pistols.

  She barely remembered Larry. He’d been years older than she, a high school senior when she’d been in grade school. So how old would he be now—in his early forties? She did recall that his mother had been a Martin and had come from a family of schoolteachers. And hadn’t his father been a Sumarville policeman?

  Ike sat in one of the two matching leather chairs facing the large oak desk. With his massive shoulders slightly slumped, he dropped his hands between his knees and nervously patted one foot on the tiled floor.

  “He’s playing with us,” Ike said. “Keeping us waiting this way.”

  Theron crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “I don’t think so. He knows that the outcome of this meeting will be the same whether we talk now or later.”

  “You sound awfully sure,” Jolie said. “What do you know that we don’t know?”

  “I know it’s a foregone conclusion that we’ll get what we want. The district attorney can’t refuse our request.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Ike eyed Theron inquisitively.

  “Because I’ve learned how the system works. And I’ve done my homework on this case.” Theron sauntered casually to the door and called out to Ms. Cunningham, “I’ve changed my mind. I think I would like a cup of coffee. Black. Two sugars.”

  Ms. Cunningham glanced up at him and smiled. “Certainly, Mr. Carter.” After rising from behind her desk, she peered into her boss’s office. “Anyone else want coffee?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Ike said. “Black.”

  “Nothing for me.” Jolie noted the way Theron watched Ms. Cunningham as she left the outer door open when she headed down the hall.

  The moment the secretary was out of earshot, Theron turned around in the doorway. “I put in a call to the state’s attorney general early this morning. When we discussed the situation, I told him that Louis Royale’s daughter, who’d been the only victim who survived, wanted to see the case reopened as much as I did. Bill Sanders assured me that he would call Larry Newman and persuade him to let us take a look at all the files on the Belle Rose massacre. And if we can come up with anything—and I mean anything—that indicates the Belle Rose massacre wasn’t a double murder and suicide, then he’ll see to it that the case is officially reopened.”

  Ike chuckled softly. “I’ll be damned.” He glanced at Jolie, cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  “No need to apologize for your language,” Jolie assured him, then looked directly at Theron. “You’ve come a long way, baby.” Smiling, she winked at Theron, who winked back at her. “Your uncle Lemar would be very proud of you.”

  “I hope so. He’s the reason I became a lawyer, the reason I’ve worked hard, did my time in Atlanta and Memphis. Reopening this case has been a major goal i
n my life, and achieving that goal has been a long time coming.”

  “You’ve spent twenty years preparing for this day,” Jolie said. “And I’ve spent twenty years running away.”

  “You’re not running now,” Theron told her.

  “No, I’m not. I’m staying. I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of before I leave town.”

  Using his digital phone, Lawrence Newman punched in the numbers for Roscoe Wells’s unlisted private line. The phone rang four times.

  Wells answered, “Yeah?”

  “It’s me,” Larry said.

  “I thought you had a meeting with Yvonne Carter’s boy this morning.”

  “I did. I mean I do. He’s probably waiting in my office right now. I told Sharla to serve them coffee and tell them I’d been delayed.”

  “Why put it off?” Roscoe chuckled. “You’re going to tell that young hotshot lawyer that there’s no need to reopen a twenty-year-old case when there’s no new evidence.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Roscoe growled. “What do you mean? I told you what to do, how to handle it. That’s simple enough.”

  “I got a call from Bill Sanders before I left my house this morning.”

  “Hm—mm. And just what did our attorney general have to say?”

  “I’m to let Carter and Ms. Royale take a look at the case files, and I’m to instruct Ike Denton to assist them in any way he can.”

  “Shit! Bill Sanders is a prick, but he’s an ambitious prick. He’s planning on running for governor. Did you know that? He’s smart enough to realize he’ll need the black vote if he wants to get elected in Mississippi. I guess he thinks pacifying Theron Carter will win him a few points with Carter’s people. Looks like I’m going to be forced to contact some old friends I haven’t associated with in years.”