by D. A. Bale
So nothing about the cat. This I could handle.
“I’ve been rude?” I repeated bolting straight up from the floor. “Do you know what it’s like to see your best friend constantly blamed for someone else’s behavior?”
Pursed lips greeted me and spurred me on to greater heights.
“All our lives we’ve have to put up with George’s wandering hands, using any excuse he can to cop a feel.”
“George is clumsy, you know that.”
“Really, Mom? Gonna to use one of Charlotte’s tired old lines?”
“Victoria, that’s not…”
“Did you know he grabbed my boob on the plane yesterday? Did you know that’s only the million-and-one’th time he’s done that since he was little?”
“I don’t think…”
“Did you know he does the same thing to his sister? His biological sister. Did it to all the girls in Sunday School and Youth Group growing up? To countless other women at church and God knows wherever else? What do you think he was doing with that flight attendant on the plane? The guy is a creep extraordinaire. Just ask the girls who had his tongue down their throats at the club last night.”
For some reason, I didn’t mention Sibby.
My mom’s face reddened before the daggers of anger in her eyes returned to their sheaths. “Why did you never tell me about any of this?”
“I tried, Mom, so many times, but you wouldn’t hear of it. You kept making excuses for him just like Charlotte, so finally I stopped saying anything.”
“But try and understand. He’s her only son.”
“And there you go again. Excuses for George while my best friend gets the shaft from not only her mother, but mine as well. Even Addie noticed today at lunch, if you remember.”
Mom sat on the bed, opened her mouth then shut it again like a landed fish searching for a last gasp of air. I could almost hear the wheels spinning in her mind as she recalled events from the day in a new light – at least, that’s what I hoped she was doing.
I checked my temper before continuing. “It’s been years since I’ve had to put up with my best friend being blamed for everything while her brother gets off scot-free. Back then we simply got used to it, but today I…I just couldn’t stand by anymore and do nothing. Surely you’d do the same for your best friend.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Which is Charlotte,” she whispered.
“Which is why you came storming into my room just now.” I smiled and reached for her hand. “To stand up for her.”
“But you’re my daughter. I should’ve paid closer attention when you were younger.”
“You’ve been a good mother, and I turned out fine.” I puffed out my chest and raised my chin. “Plus, having to stand up for myself taught me to be tougher. Smarter. I figured out how to protect myself from George and men like him.”
A smile touched the edges of Mom’s lips as pooled tears released and trickled down her cheeks. “When did you become such a wise, young lady?”
Me? Wise? That’s something I’d never been called before – by anyone. Too many emotions had assailed me today, and I couldn’t stop the warmth from worming its way through my heart at this point if I tried.
“Shhh,” I cautioned. “Don’t tell anyone. It might ruin my reputation.”
A scrap of embroidered linen magically appeared in Mom’s hand as she stood and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Will you join us for breakfast at eight? Pierre is driving us into town for some shopping tomorrow, and I’d like to get you a new dress for Saturday’s soiree.”
I started to remind her of our agreement last summer until I remembered how much she enjoyed sharing those moments. Well, and she cut me off before I could get out a single word in response.
“It’s a special occasion, Victoria…for your best friend’s birthday.”
I laughed. “Okay, okay. Shopping tomorrow it is.”
“Wonderful,” she said with an air kiss. “See you in the morning.”
Morning – ugh! Well, if I was going to consider that job working undercover for Grady at a law firm, I guess I’d better get used to earlier hours. But early hours while on vacation? Oh, the sacrifices we make for others.
I picked up Slinky for a cuddle. “What say we call it a night and get some sleep?”
A knock at the bathroom door then Janine popped in with a grin stretched across her face, waving the Bonafeld journal.
Or not.
Chapter Twelve
Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wanted to crawl back in bed and ignore the promises you made? Shove your head under the pillow after throwing your phone and your alarm clock across the room?
Maybe it’s just me.
Even after four cups of caffeine at breakfast to jolt my sluggish brain awake, my head lolled against Janine’s shoulder as we made the short jaunt into town, our mom’s tittering on from the limo’s rear seat about mundane marriage things.
Speaking of mundane marriages, when were the dads going to make an appearance? Thanksgiving was only two days away, and they’d yet to show their mugs. Actually that was fine with me. The less time I spent around the sperm donor, the better off everyone would be. Might as well enjoy my freedom while I had it.
Gee, I was beginning to feel like that sixteen year-old from last night. Thank God George stayed behind to sleep in – and this time, I was pretty sure that’s all he was doing.
Janine elbowed me awake before I left too big of a drool stain on her blouse. “There’s the Hammond Historical Society building,” she whispered.
I peered through half-opened lids to take in the neo-classic architecture as the limo slid to a stop at the traffic light before making a left and pulling up to a boutique. Pierre held the door open for us as we stepped to the curb. The corner edifice of the historical society building remained visible.
My turn to elbow Janine then gesture toward the intersection. “Two birds with one stone.”
“Quoting Ovid now, are we?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Gent.” Raised brows turned my way. “Hey, I remember some of my college days too.”
Janine stifled her snicker as we followed the older generations into the shop, earning a scowl from her mom. I sure hoped standing up for my bestie on this trip hadn’t created more problems for her down the road. Thus far, no one had mentioned last night’s incident with George – then again, would you tell everyone you piddled in your panties?
Me neither.
This place looked one step shy of a bridal boutique, with all of the silk, satin, lace, and beading shimmering in the LED lights. My eyes hurt – and I didn’t have the excuse of a hangover this time. Does an emotional hangover count?
Janine shuddered alongside me. “Are we in a...?”
“I think so,” I responded.
The farther we walked the more evident it became that the meeting with one Lucas Monette had Charlotte dreaming of a white Christmas wedding.
“Mom,” I whispered, drawing her attention. “What are we doing in a bridal boutique?”
“Relax, dear. Bridal is only a small part of their business…and it’s the only shop in town with appropriate labels and enough selection of evening wear to choose from without having to go all the way down to New Orleans.”
“Appropriate labels aside, New Orleans is only a forty minute drive.”
“True, but Addie prefers to shop local. I believe the owner is also a family friend.”
Ah yes, small town loyalties. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in loyalty as much as the next person, especially when it comes to my friendship with my bestie, my Corvette, and job security – though that last one remained in doubt at present.
“Miss Adelaide.”
A diminutive gentleman, who looked like he was one step shy of the crypt-keeper, came shuffling over with his arms open wide to take Addie’s hand and kiss it. I was afraid after bending over with a creak he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight again, but my fears were all for
naught. Mostly.
“Good to see you again, Alphonse,” Addie replied in her usual stiff and formal demeanor. Hmm, some friend. “I trust you are ready for my fitting?”
“All arranged, Miss Adelaide,” Alphonse responded, cocking an elbow to escort her, though I wondered who was supporting who as they toddled away. “I’ve set you all up in the main dressing salon.”
Another gentleman stepped from a side panel I hadn’t noticed before. He appeared to be a younger version of Alphonse, from the shellacked hair – though thicker and darker – to the gray linen suit and deep burgundy tie that made me long for a stiff glass of wine. Ah hell, forget the glass and just hand over the damn bottle.
“Antoine,” Addie called over her shoulder. “See to the needs of my family and friends here, particularly my granddaughter. Ensure everything goes on my account.”
Mom stiffened, opening her mouth before flattening her lips in a controlled effort not to argue and make an unladylike scene even though we were the only ones in the boutique. Among the wealthy, money is no object unless someone tries to take what’s rightfully yours – or pay for something you can easily accommodate yourself. Perhaps allowing someone else to unnecessarily pay for her dress might help my mom understand a little better what had transpired between us last summer.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate all of the clothes and shoes Mom purchased for me over the years. There just comes a time in every child’s life when a relationship is better built on love, trust and self-sufficiency instead of Gucci, Vuitton, and Manolo Blahnik.
When a parade of models came into the dressing salon to strut their stuff, it finally dawned on me that Addie had arranged today’s private showing ahead of time, which accounted for the complete lack of other customers traipsing in and out of the shop. During a busy shopping week. Right before Thanksgiving.
The sneaky old bat – I mean, woman. Lady. After all, I was getting a free dress from her. Ooo, and I couldn’t forget about a wrap to protect the girls from the prying eyes of boys whose names started with a G.
Grady would laugh himself right out from under his cowboy hat if he heard me say that – er, in this case, think that.
As a cerulean blue number flounced by, Janine held out her hand to stop the procession. “I like this one.”
Antoine had the model twirl, sending the ruffled silk chiffon cascading like a waterfall until she came to a stop for Janine to feel the texture and inspect the crystal-edged layers. The tiny jeweled broach near the neckline held the top two ruffles together, making it appropriately modest for a De’Laruse, while the slim lines still screamed sex appeal.
Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Really, Janine? I think the color is too bold for your complexion. The cut is too narrow for your figure. You don’t want to reveal any flaws to the public, you know.”
The muscles in Janine’s jaw quivered as she released the dress fabric. However, this time it wasn’t from the recognizable effort to control tears. She raised her chin and cast a determined glance my way. I got chills as I waited to join my bestie in her first frontal assault against her mom.
“That’s what Spanx is for, Mother,” Janine said with all the confidence of her namesake.
“And the blue would bring out your eyes,” I interjected.
“Also these ruffles would help camouflage any unexpected flaws.”
“Or unanticipated ones.”
Even Mom jumped into the battle and flanked the enemy. “That neckline is quite lovely with that broach, Charlotte, and modest as well.” Mom shifted focus toward Antoine. “Are those Swarovski crystals?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Antoine replied.
Mom offered a single nod of acknowledgement. “Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for her to at least try it on.”
“I agree,” Addie said, entering the salon in an ivory silk-blend gown, studded with an array of crystals and beads set in the empire waistband and trickling down the long sleeves.
For a nearly ninety year-old woman, Adelaide De’Laruse cut a striking figure in that dress. We all oohed and aahed over her for a half second before her focus returned to Janine’s choice.
“And I’ve got a special diamond broach to set it off instead. Antoine, place a size six of the cerulean ruffled number in a room for my granddaughter.”
“Certainly, Mrs. De’Laruse.”
Janine’s eyes almost bugged out of her skull, and the smile pretty much squealed hurray without even opening her hard-pressed lips. I half expected her to leap up and do a happy dance in front of God and the entire town of Hammond, Louisiana.
“Well,” Charlotte conceded with a huff. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try it on, but let’s keep looking too.”
A subtle two thumbs up from Janine my way, and a not-so-subtle smirk Antonio tried to hide behind a cough, sent the model to do Addie’s bidding while the frock fracas recommenced.
First battle for my bestie won – and this time it was Charlotte left to lick her wounds.
Now if only winning a war were so easy.
Three hours later, everyone had chosen applicable attire and accessories and shuffled through fittings for final delivery on Friday – well, ‘cept me. Long gowns typically need a tuck or a hem for optimal presentation. Me? I’m not a long dress kinda gal, so I chose a nice little number that hit mid-thigh and hugged my curves – and came in black to match my new wrap. Call me frugal, ‘cause I just saved Addie a pretty penny on last minute alteration fees.
Pierre took my garment bag and carefully laid it in the trunk next to several pairs of shoes before addressing Addie. “Headin’ home, ma’am, or did you wish to do more shoppin’?”
“Home, Pierre,” Addie responded in a tone edged with tired irritation. “Maisie should have a light lunch laid out for us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Wide blue eyes and a not so subtle tilt of the head toward the historical society building reminded me we had work to do – and I guess it was up to me to come up with an excuse.
“Hey, Mom…uh, it’s such a nice day out.” Yeah, with oppressive humidity thick enough to slice with a machete and unseasonably warm temperatures – even for Louisiana. “Janine and I thought we might do a little more shopping to walk off all of those delicious meals Maisie’s been serving.”
“Adelaide is tired, dear. We really should return to the estate.”
“Why don’t y’all go ahead while we get a start on our Christmas shopping?” I wrapped my arm across Janine’s shoulders and drew her to me like a python playing with its next meal. “Oh, and I haven’t picked out a birthday gift yet for my bestie.”
Mom cocked a suspicious brow my way. “What about lunch?”
“We’ll pick up something around here,” Janine offered a bit too cheerfully. “I’m not hungry yet anyway. You?”
“Nope,” I said, hoping no one could hear my stomach’s growl brought on by the mention of food.
“Call when you’re done, and Pierre will pick you up,” Addie tossed out to finish the conversation before climbing into the limo.
Mom just shook her head before following Charlotte inside the vehicle. With a smart tip of his hat, Pierre smiled at us as he closed the door. We waved as he drove away.
“Do you think they’re onto us?” Janine asked.
“No, not a bit,” I mocked.
As soon as the limo turned the corner out of sight, we spun on our heels and hurried across the street to the Hammond Historical Society. The musty scent tickled my nose as soon as we waltzed inside and looked around at a room that appeared at one time to have been a bank from a bygone era.
The teller line had the old cage appearance, the brass railings tarnished with several books stacked along the countertop and paintings of historical Hammond hanging on the far wall. They even had what looked like the original vault, the enormous round door yawning open revealing a table plopped in the center.
“Where do we start?” Janine whispered, her voice reverberating across the marble tiled floor.
>
“Don’t look at me,” I responded.
“What? Aren’t you the one who investigated and caught two criminals this past summer?”
“I wouldn’t say caught exactly.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Being in the wrong place at the right time?” I thought about that for a half second, remembering waving weapons and Jimmy-the-Super sprawled out on the floor with a gunshot wound – twice. “Or more like the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it.”
Janine huffed and threw her hands up in the air.
A white-haired man, who might’ve been a bank patron before it closed down and reverted to the society’s purpose, struggled to rise from an oak desk off to one side of the foyer. I could almost hear the snap of bone and squeak of joints as he came to a mostly standing position.
“Jerome Barthélémy at yer service. May I hep ya ladies?”
Janine tossed a frustrated glance my way, then walked up to the curator with an extended hand. “Hello, Mr. Barthélémy. My name is Janine De’Laruse and this is my dear friend Victoria Bohanan.”
Fluffy white brows put a deep dent into forehead wrinkles as he took her hand. “A De’Laruse, ya don’t say?”
“Yes, sir. We’re in town visiting my grandmother for Thanksgiving and wanted to do a little research on my ancestors in the area and anything you might have on the old homestead.”
He rubbed his chin with a gnarled hand. “I’d have t’ say anythin’ we’d have on yer family ‘uld pale in comparison t’ what Miss Adelaide has in her personal library.”
“We were thinking more public records, newspaper articles, society pages…that sort of information,” I offered.
“It’d take me a long while t’ dig through all the records we got on the De’Laruses. How long ya stayin’?”
“We could do it ourselves,” I said, “if you could point us in the right direction.”
He shook his head. “Cain’t let ya do that. Old records require trainin’…and gloves.”
Janine smiled with a raise of her chin. “It just so happens that I am trained in the proper handling of historical documents. I’ve even been up to my elbows in Beethoven’s original works a summer I spent in Germany as part of my music history doctoral thesis.” Two sets of gloves miraculously appeared from her purse as she whipped them out and extended one pair my way. “And I brought gloves.”
