by D. A. Bale
Adelaide De’Laruse held court from the grand staircase, her diminutive frame bolstered by the extra foot of height offered by standing on the second stair from the ground floor. Her white hair and cream suit dress stood in stark relief against the surrounding mahogany wood, while the ginormous foyer chandelier cast a glow over her like sunrays shining down from Heaven.
Personally, I thought Hell suited her personality better, but who am I to judge?
They say behind every successful man is a good woman. Or maybe it’s more a man diving into mountains of work to escape a hard-ass wife. My sympathy for Lou’s sentence in purgatory rose. Hopefully the Man Upstairs would give him a waiver for time already served BD.
You know – Before Death.
“Hello, Mother,” Charlotte said stepping forward with a stiff hug and an air kiss of both wrinkled cheeks. “You’re looking well.”
“No longer surrounded by cigar smoke and a proper diet will do that for a woman,” Addie replied, gaze sweeping over her daughter top to toe in three seconds. “Whereas you look a bit pudgier than last I saw you, Charlotte dawlin’. Another ten pounds around the middle, is it?”
Not even through the doorway for one minute and we were off to the races.
Color bloomed across the middle-aged Mrs. De’Laruse’s face before sweeping her arm out and urging George forward. “Mother, you remember Georgie?”
“Of course, I remember my grandson. I may be almost ninety, but my brain remains intact. How are you, George?”
“Doing well, Grandma-ma,” George said as he gave the old woman a wilted hug without going for a fistful of sag.
Some people have all the luck.
“Still snorting the spirits, I smell,” Addie huffed. “Just like your grandfather.”
“It’s a new cologne,” George sputtered.
“Sure, eau d’ distillery,” I whispered to Janine. “It’s all the rage.”
Janine tittered, drawing the iron gaze of the ruling matriarch.
“Ah, my granddaughter,” Addie said, stepping from the staircase and strolling surefooted across the gleaming marble floor. “The crown jewel of the De’Laruse line.”
Janine just stared at me in mute shock before accepting the suspiciously gracious hug from all four-foot-nine shrunken inches. “Uh…hello again, Grandma-ma.”
“How is that doctorate coming along?”
“Quite well, Grandma-ma. It keeps me busy.”
“I don’t know how you do it all, my dawlin’ dear. Writing a doctoral dissertation. Teaching classes. Working at company headquarters. A true, hardworking De’Laruse, is she not, Charlotte?”
“Well actually…,” Janine started.
“That she is, Mother,” Charlotte interrupted. “But Georgie is the one working his fingers to the bone alongside his father, trying to uphold the De’Laruse legacy.”
I didn’t think George could appear any puffier. Boy, was I wrong.
“He’s holding something alright,” Adelaide grumbled before glancing my way then addressing my mother. “Audra, I’m so glad to see you again. And is this your progeny? Surely my eyes deceive me. Is it true the prodigal daughter has returned?”
“I heard there was going to be a rocking party Saturday night,” I said.
Okay, okay. Not the most eloquent greeting, but I couldn’t resist the call of that old nemesis – foot-in-mouth disease. It can be catching, you know.
A collective gasp reverberated across the expansive foyer and the air stilled as breaths sucked the air from the room like a vacuum. Addie pursed her lips and revealed where Charlotte learned that time-worn tradition of a mother’s expression of disappointment. But call me shell-shocked when the pursed lips spread into a rather mischievous grin.
“You are not wrong,” Addie said with a gleam in her sharp blue eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Victoria. What have you been doing with your time these last few years?”
I shrugged. “Mixing drinks. Raising…”
“Ahem,” Mom coughed.
“Uh…cain?” I corrected. “Shooting a few bad guys.”
Janine’s jaw dropped faster than my feline on fish-flavored treats. Hey, I was already in this too far to back out now.
“Really?” Addie’s brows raised just like Janine’s. “Anyone I know?”
“Depends. When was the last time you were in Dallas?”
“Too long. It seems I’ve missed all the excitement. Janine tells me you’ve had quite a bit of it this past year playing detective.”
“Just helped a few friends take out the trash,” I acknowledged. “But I’ve decided to retire my amateur PI license after that last one.”
Or not. Grady’s revelation and offer remained on the table, but I wasn’t about to tell anyone around here about that – yet. If I took up that mantle, I’d soon have a bonafide PI license, which meant what I said about retiring the amateur one wasn’t quite a lie.
Technically.
The matriarch’s stare morphed to the hardened gaze we all knew and feared. “Hmph.” And with that, the interrogation extravaganza ceased. “Sibby!”
While my ears recovered from the rafter ringing, a buxom brunette dressed in a curve caressing blue cotton dress materialized on the second floor landing. Her dark eyes swept over our group with barely concealed fear before darting to her employer.
“Yes, Mrs. De’Laruse?”
“Show everyone to their assigned rooms, then help Pierre and Maurice deliver the luggage.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Returning attention to her guests, Addie continued. “After you’re all settled, I’ll be in the front parlor if you wish to join me.”
“Yes, Mother,” Charlotte said.
“Do you think that includes us?” I whispered to Janine as we mounted the wide stairwell.
“I didn’t hear our names specifically mentioned,” Janine replied. “So maybe we can claim ignorance if Grandma-ma gets upset we didn’t join them”
“At-a-girl.” There was hope yet for my best friend learning a few of my wily ways with words.
Believe me, I’ve spent almost a lifetime trying to teach that girl how to relax. All Janine had ever wanted growing up was her parents’ approval, to show them that she could be an asset to the family business interests someday. Case in point, Janine held a CPA license she’d never been allowed to use and had become a perpetual student, currently pursuing a doctorate in music and teaching more classes at the university than her advising professor.
All Charlotte constantly nagged her daughter about was to get married and produce a passel of crumb crunchers, thereby freeing up time for more fawning over the younger male De’Laruse set to lead an empire. ‘Bout the only thing George could lead was a chorus line of strippers and porn stars as they descended down a drug-infested rabbit hole. The heir apparent had been coddled and caressed from the cradle – and lacked the brain cells God gave a goose. Or in this case, is that a gander?
So after spending all of her almost twenty-seven years acquiescing, overachieving, and doing everything short of prostrating herself before her parents like penitent progeny, Janine had taken tentative steps in my direction these last few months.
Don’t worry. I wasn’t about to lead her down my brand of trampy terror. More along the lines of loosening her up a bit. Not taking life so seriously. Letting her blond hair down – and making sure a cute guy took notice. Before the week was out, I was determined to find a guy to lay a big one on my bestie. It’d be the perfect birthday present.
And a little more in line with what my pocketbook could handle these days – especially after factoring in all this week was gonna cost me in the long run. The Lincolns in my checking account were already crying with the prospect of a week away from work. Still, I had to think of something awesome I could get my one and only bestest best friend – even if it ended up being only a lip lock from a hot guy.
Just kidding. Sorta.
The maid directed Mom and Charlotte to two second floor bedrooms b
efore escorting us down the opposite hall to smaller bedrooms joined by a central bath. That meant George ended up in the master suite. I only hoped Addie kept the hidden pass-through to her bedroom locked. Having been around the elder De’Laruses from the time I toddled from my designer diapies, that lock had probably rusted shut from lack of use long before Janine or I were even born.
Janine opened the connecting bathroom doors between our rooms then threw herself across my queen-sized canopy bed before I’d even released Slinky from the critter carrier.
“Ah…a whole week with no classes, books, or deadlines.” Janine sighed.
“Just bayous, booze, and boys,” I returned, pouring kibble in a dish. “I’m thinking we need a night in New Orleans.”
“I doubt if our moms would agree to that.”
“Who said anything about taking our moms?”
Janine grinned. “I’m so glad Grandma-ma put us in these rooms together. It feels like one of our old sleepovers this way.”
I filled Slinky’s water bowl at the faucet. “You do realize that means George is in the master suite.”
“Hey, as long as I don’t have to share this bathroom with that brother of mine, it’s all good. Plus, we’ve got the veranda on this side.”
“Which makes it easier to sneak out at night and back in by morning.”
“Vicki!”
She tossed one of the ten bazillion pillows right as my cat ventured from the crate to inspect the new surroundings, sending him scurrying back inside with a hiss.
“Sorry, Slink,” Janine called. “We’d better keep our doors closed to the hall so he doesn’t get lost around here, huh?”
“Or trampled on.”
“Gee, morbid much?”
“Just realistic,” I said, eyeballing the adjoining space. “Between your room, the bath, and my room, it’s about as much of a footprint as he’s used to.”
“True, but Sibby will be in and out of here during the day to straighten up.”
“Then we’d better find her and let her know to be careful and not let Slinky loose to wreak havoc on your grandmother’s rugs.”
“Good idea.” Janine sat up and rummaged around until pulling something from under my bed pillows. “What’s this doing under here?”
“What’s what doing under where?”
She took great care opening the cracked and splintered cover. “Looks like a book of some sort. A journal perhaps?”
I sat beside her and stared at the faded scrawl as she eased the weathered pages. “Or maybe the diary of a lovesick De’Laruse ancestor.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Janine inspected it with a squint. “I wish I’d brought my magnifying spectacles.”
“Magnifying spectacles?”
“We use them at school when we’re studying scans of some of the compositions of the masters.”
“Who, like Beethoven and Bach?” I asked to prove I’d paid attention to her musical ramblings. At least sometimes.
“Among others.”
“Hey, don’t I get credit for even knowing some of those musician types?”
“Composers,” Janine corrected, her gaze traveling up then down my frame. “And you look pretty good for a woman who’d have to be a few hundred years old to know those men.”
“I meant knowing about those guys.”
A chuckle at my expense. Turd.
“Remember that summer I spent at the Beethoven House in Germany? I bought the spectacles then.” Now it was Janine’s turn to stare off into space like a lovesick De’Laruse. “I’ll never forget studying those handwritten masterpieces. Touching them.”
“With a little latex between you, of course.”
“Certainly,” she returned. “Handling such delicate treasures without proper protection would be disastrous. Imagine the contamination of bodily fluids. Skin oils.”
I imagined a whole lot a things I’d like to do with skin oil, bodily fluids, and a little latex – all of them with Ze…er, Radioman. But double-entendres were completely lost on Janine, and the endless explanations would suck all of the fun out of the moment.
And yes, I meant that to sound dirty.
“So what’s an old diary doing under my bed pillows?” I mused aloud.
Janine wiggled her brows. “Guess we have a little mystery on our hands.”
Chapter Six
While Janine contemplated the supposed mystery of the day, I went in search of Sibby to advise her of the kitty and to enter our rooms at her own risk. After all, Slinky was known to hork up hairballs big enough to rival the Himalayas.
Plus, I didn’t want my critter accidentally escaping and becoming fodder for a gator sandwich. Even the thought made my knees a tad noodley – and not in the good way.
Generations of De’Laruse ancestors followed my stroll of the second floor hallways until I stopped at the top of the stairwell before Old Man De’Laruse. A younger version of Jean Louie Phillipe De’Laruse stared from the painting, sandy hair and laughing blue eyes as if holding onto a secret he was only too happy to keep to himself. Kinda like a nah-nah-nahnah-nah, I know something and you don’t moment. It’d always been my favorite picture of him instead of the older, more stoic and serious portrait of his later years.
And people wondered why I wasn’t in any rush to walk the matrimonial plank. The two portraits offered clear evidence of remaining free to swim away or having your feet chained with a cannonball to weigh you down faster to Davy Jones’ Locker.
A couple more jogs brought me outside the master suite. Sounded like George was in a rush to put his things away, probably so he could start making some inroads with the voluptuous maid.
Or finish them.
Guess there’s a reason Mom always tried to teach me the rules and etiquette of a proper young lady. It’s never a good idea to enter a room without knocking first – then waiting a few beats for an invitation to enter.
I did the former. Missed the latter – and paid dearly for the oversight when my retinas had a hole burned into them the size of Mars. The planet, not the Roman god. George’s lily white, blubber-filled, naked ass greeted me as I interrupted his phallic finale with Sibby. Breakfast and lunch threatened an encore appearance before I slammed the door shut and slunk away.
First the flight attendant. Now the maid. All in one day.
And people thought I was trampy.
For the life of me, I could never understand what it was about George that drew women to his woodwork. It’d make sense if the guy was tall, built, and handsome. But we’re talking short, pudge-pie, pimple-pockmarked Georgie for crying out loud. The guy was a flashing screaming billboard for birth control. Only one explanation made sense for the bimbo brigade.
Money.
With the prolific philandering rivaling my dad’s, I was pretty sure there’d be a payout or two someday when a secret lovechild skirted into the picture – if there wasn’t one already. Hell, maybe I’d just witnessed the makings of the first.
Ew!
So with the need for bleach to strip – er, burn away the unwanted mental musings from my brain, I went in search of Janine. ‘Course I had to traipse the long way around the first floor to avoid the female frittering in the front parlor, which took me right into the kitchen.
“Lawd Almighty! Do my eyes deceive me? Is that our long-lost Miss Vicki?”
Addie’s long-time, Louisiana born and raised chef nearly sent the dainty platter of pastries to the floor with her ample hip when she circled the prep island. Maisie wiped her hands on the dusty and faded apron over her sturdy frame before enveloping me in a bear hug. Then she held me at arm’s length to inspect the march of time these last four years wrought.
“Too skinny,” she proclaimed.
I laughed. “You say that every time I see you, Maisie.”
“If you visited more of’n, I might not forget what I said ‘afore.”
“It’s only been what, four years?”
“They’s creepin’ up on me, child,” she said, tappi
ng her temple. “Gettin’ forgetful in my old age.”
“But not forgetful where it counts,” I said, helping myself to a lemon tart. “Still the best cook in all the south.”
Maisie playfully smacked at my hand. “And you’s still sneakin’ samples of my goodies.”
“With George around, it was the only way Janine and me ever got a taste.”
A huff as Maisie finished loading the pastry platter and filled the matching teapot before arranging it all on a serving tray. “That boy’s gotten big as a house.”
“More like a barn,” I corrected as the memory of his enormous carcass flashed across my mind like a brain bleed. Perhaps Maisie would direct me to the laundry room.
“Miss Charlotte shoulda sent him to one’a them fancy weight loss spas years ago.”
“He’d probably have gotten kicked out after eating all of the fat-free ice cream on the first day.”
Maisie’s smirk turned down to a frown as she stared at the ceiling. “If’n Sibby don’t get down here soon, Miss Adelaide will have her hide. She don’t like it when the steam is off her tea.”
Yeah, George beat Addie to Sibby’s hide a few minutes ago, and I was pretty sure his steam was in cool-down mode by now too.
Ugh! If only I’d paid closer attention to all of Mom’s lessons when I was younger, maybe that lemon tart wouldn’t be attempting a Hail Mary. Even a thousand mea culpas wouldn’t save me now.
Someone get me that brain bleach.
***
Dinner on any day of the year in the home of a De’Laruse was a rather formal affair. Addie’s home was no exception. The dining room table glittered with an array of china, crystal, and silver dancing beneath ten thousand watts from the chandelier and enough candles to light up New Orleans.
Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. There were licking flames enough to rival the Great Chicago Fire.
Still too much. Let’s just say there were enough candles in this one room to light up the entire house and make an already warm girl lean toward this side of glistening.
Typically fall is my favorite time of year for its cooler temperatures and the drop in humidity, but sometimes Mother Nature forgets to ensure the southern climes receive the annual memo. Louisiana sported an unusual warm spell for November, hovering in the mid to high-eighties during the day and dipping only into the low seventies at night. With an older woman at the household helm, that meant the dining room windows stayed shut up tight to Mother Nature’s nightly comforts.
