Knock Before You Enter

by D. A. Bale

  Trust me, ladies. Women aren’t the only ones to possess wiles – feminine or otherwise.

  “What is it, Vicki?” she asked.

  “I just wanna talk to you for a sec. You know…woman-to-woman.”

  Lucas stepped around the desk. “Well, I guess I’ll wait out in the hall.”

  “Wait,” Janine cried. “We’ll go out in the hall.”

  “Us?” I questioned.

  Janine scurried across the study with a keen interest in the rug pattern as she muttered under her breath. “I think you’re right. If Grandma-ma saw his bare chest, she wouldn’t make it to her ninetieth.”

  The slamming door echoed a little too loud in the mostly empty house.

  “That was Mr. Barthélémy on the phone,” I said. “While you were having your Sleeping Beauty moment, he discovered something pretty interesting about our Lieutenant Bonafeld.”

  “Like?”

  “Like he went missing and was declared a deserter from the Union Army.”

  “When?”

  “Roughly about the time his journal entries ended, if I remember correctly.”

  Janine gasped. “Would you run upstairs and grab the journal from under my pillow?”

  I hesitated. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “We’re on the heels of solving an historical puzzle here,” Janine whispered.

  “And which historical puzzle is that?” I asked. “The puzzle your grandmother gave us or the one Lucas is sidetracking us with?”

  “They’re one and the same, aren’t they?”

  “You tell me. One involves limestone bricks while the other gold.”

  “Technically, you’re the one who brought up the gold in front of Lucas.”

  I sighed. “Fine. But do you really think it is a good idea to involve Lucas any further in what we’re doing for Addie? I mean, we barely know this guy.”

  “What do you mean, we barely know the guy? The Monettes are a good Louisiana family.”

  “But are you sure he is who he says? We’ve only taken his word for it at this rate.”

  “Are you saying I should ask to see his identification?”

  I shrugged. “That’s a start.”

  Janine snorted. “You of all people should know how easy it is to forge an ID.”

  Okay, she kinda had me there. But that was a long time ago. Sorta. When we were still in high school.

  “My point is, are you sure it’s a good idea to let this guy in on your family secrets? After all, maybe he’s using getting close to you to get an insider look at the De’Laruse family empire?”

  The hinges in Janine’s jaw swung free. “Vicki Bohanan, are you saying you’re actually jealous of the attention Lucas is giving me?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” At least I was pretty sure.

  “You have a boyfriend already.”

  “Ex-boy…er, guy who’s a friend,” I said. “Though that may not be the case any longer. Just…it’s important to learn the difference, Janine.”

  Janine tossed her hands up in the air. “Lucas’ interest is in the historical details of this area. He didn’t even know about the gold.”

  “Or that’s what he wants you to think.”

  I had to give my bestie credit for stopping to chew on that morsel – for all of two seconds. “Look, you’ve always been a pretty good judge of character, Vicki, but will you trust that a little of your shrewdness may have rubbed off on me over the years?” She rested her hand on my bare shoulder. “Now it’s my turn to tell you to relax. We might just have better luck with additional help anyway.”

  Oh, this was so not going to turn out well. I sighed again for emphasis. “Okay, okay. But will you do me a favor first?”

  “What?”

  “Ask to see…”

  The office door swung open and muscled pecs gleamed golden in the light like Adonis returned from Olympus. “Ask to see what?”

  “That thing you tucked behind your towel, Mr. Eavesdropper,” I said.

  “Vicki!” Janine cried, completely misunderstanding my meaning.

  Lucas grinned and grabbed for his waistline. “I don’t mind.”

  “There’ll be no showing anything around here,” Janine ordered, closing her eyes. “Just go get the diary…please, Vicki?”

  I turned on my tail and gave my sheet an extra swish to signify my annoyance. I really didn’t like this idea of sharing secrets, but in the end the journal wasn’t mine. The story wasn’t mine. The history wasn’t mine. This was about Janine’s family, therefore hers to share with whomever she chose.

  So up the back stairs I tromped then down the hall to Janine’s bedroom. One quick glance under the pillow where we’d left the diary earlier kicked up my heartrate a few notches – and this time not from the glare of golden pecs.

  The Bonafeld journal was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The door slammed harder than I intended as I stomped from Janine’s room toward the suspected culprit’s. I didn’t even bother to knock.

  “Give it back, George!” I thundered, tearing into the room to witness yet another awkward sight.

  “What the hell?” George cried.

  Half-clothed, Sibby and George jumped away from each other. She tugged her blouse together as she attempted to sidetrack me and escape through the open door. But I was faster.

  I gripped her arm to find more bruising – and this time it wasn’t near the wrist. “Again, Sibby?”

  “It’s not what it seems,” she said.

  “You realize he’s just using you.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then enlighten me,” I challenged.

  “I-I…I’ve gotta go,” Sibby stammered, jerking away her arm and making her escape.

  Thank God for long shirttails, though it didn’t stop the flag from flying at half-mast. This was definitely a view I didn’t want to get used to.

  I tossed a full-bore glare George’s way. A greasy grin slid across his face, and he gave his junk a little jingle.

  “Like what you see, Vicki?” he asked.

  I’d had it with this slimeball. No one threatens my cat, steals from my friend, or takes advantage of females who are obviously messed up. Time to teach the De’Laruse heir apparent a thing or two. In two steps – okay, more like four – I stood toe-to-toe with him, and before he could even think about looking down at my boobs, I clamped a nut in the palm of my hand.

  And tugged.

  To say George screamed would be an understatement. If Charlotte would’ve been within ten miles of her precious baby boy, she’d have heard every tone, pitch, and decibel to the very highest note on every instrument ever invented. Hell, with the way my ears were ringing, it was reasonable to assume they could hear it all the way down in New Orleans.

  I grit my teeth and eased the pressure without letting go. “Where is it?”

  Tears sprang to his wide-open eyes. “W-w-where’s what?”

  A slight increase in pressure brought a round of fresh squeals. Big baby. “The journal.”

  “Journal?”

  The rush of footsteps thundering up the hallway signified company set to arrive any second. Better yet, the cavalry if it was Janine and Lucas. I only hoped it wasn’t Charlotte returned early from the Big Easy. Or my mom.

  “Vicki, what’re you doing?” Janine cried.

  “He took the journal,” I explained without looking away or releasing my hostage. “Where is Addie’s little black book?”

  George whimpered, but was too stubborn to give up the fight. Or maybe it was more like too stupid. “Isn’t she too old for black books? And what’s with the Roman orgy theme?”

  “Where?” I yelled, giving a firm tug to drive home my point.

  My ears got another ringing round as payment for my dastardly deed. At least with George’s family jewels out of commission, maybe Sibby would get a reprieve from seeing to his needs the remainder of our visit.

  “That is enough!”
Addie’s command came from the doorway adjoining her quarters with George’s – er, what used to be her husbands. “What’s going on here besides some sort of Greek tragedy?” she asked, looking over our bedsheet attire. “And George, put some pants on.”

  I released George’s privates from lockdown, trying very hard to wipe out the memory of where my hands had just been, and faced a slightly disheveled matron of the manor. “He took the Bonafeld journal from Janine’s room.”

  “He what?” Janine cried.

  “I didn’t take it,” George defended, flinching when my hand jerked his direction again. He retreated to a safer distance with his hands covering his privates.

  “George Emile De’Laruse, I’ve had enough of your antics where that book is concerned,” Addie said. “Did you take it from your sister’s room?”

  He raised his chin in a measure of defiance. “No, Grandma-ma. I didn’t take the journal from my sister’s room.”

  Addie’s eyes glinted as she focused in on her grandson. Janine looked about ready to tackle her brother, while Lucas held her back and grinned from the spectacle he once again got to witness. No doubt he’d have plenty of material to offer his father on the coming instability of the De’Laruse empire under the next generation’s leadership.

  When one of George’s chins quivered, Addie narrowed her eyes and pounced like a lioness on the Serengeti. “Let me phrase my question another way. Do you have the book I loaned to Janine?”

  It only took about a half second for George to concoct his next careful response. “I do not have on my person the book you loaned Janine.”

  I snorted. “You barely have anything on your person.”

  Janine stepped into the fray. “Stop with the half-truths, George. Is Grandma-ma’s book anywhere in this room?”

  This time it took all of two seconds to get a response out as he swept an arm in a wide arc. “There are several books around here, so I’m not sure which ones were Grandpa-pa’s or which ones are Grandma-ma’s.”

  Addie cast a raised brow my way that moved aside a few wrinkles. “Victoria dawlin’, would you mind? Your method of dealing with my grandson might procure more accurate results.”

  It took only one step for George’s mouth to drop open with a high pitch whine and for him to go fishing around in the nightstand drawer. “Okay, okay. Here it is.”

  He tossed the Bonafeld journal on the bed, and Janine snatched it right up before I did.

  “You are a liar, George De’Laruse,” Janine yelled. “And now Grandma-ma has witnessed it for herself.”

  “Hey,” George defended. “Everything I said was technically true.”

  “Phrasing something for the purposes of deception or misdirection is still a lie,” Janine snarled. “Even the Good Book says that.”

  “I didn’t take it from your room, Janine.”

  “No,” I said as realization hit my gray matter. “You made Sibby do it for you, just like you had her let out Slinky.”

  The air in the room thinned as everyone sucked in their surprise in unison, and I felt momentarily lightheaded. But maybe that was more when I turned around to see Addie had left the room – and I had a sneaking suspicion I knew why.

  ***

  I tiptoed my way down the stairwell, oblivious to the time. All I knew was that it was the middle of the night – and I couldn’t sleep. Again.

  Mom always said a glass of warm cocoa and homemade cookies could cure all woes. With all I’d eaten this week, I’d skip the cookies this time.

  The kitchen light glowed from beneath the door and a wave of warmth hit me as I opened it. Poor Maisie sat at the island stripping corn cobs and cleaning them of their bounty with a wicked looking utensil I’d love to threaten to use on George.

  “Miss Vicki,” Maisie said, as if I was a long lost friend. “What brings ya downstairs this time ‘o night? You’s too young t’ have sleep problems.”

  “I guess I’m sleepwalking then,” I said.

  She chuckled and heaved off the stool. “You sit yourself down here while I gets ya a cup o’ cocoa.”

  “Buttered rum would be better.”

  “Hmph.” She eyeballed me as I sat down. “Don’cha be tellin’ on me, but I gotta bit o’ cookin’ sherry hidden in the storage fridge.”

  “Maisie, you little she-devil you.”

  She grabbed the bottle and poured a bit in a juice glass. “They’s just some recipes that’d never taste right proper otherwise. Matter-o’-fact, Maurice is out huntin’ down some fat ol’ frog legs right now that I can use it on fo’ Miss Janine’s special birthday dinner on Friday.”

  “Or maybe he’ll finally bring in some gator tail,” I muttered.

  “Mighty tasty, mm-hmm. The alcohol gets cooked plumb out though, so no harm’ll come t’ Miss Addie when she stands ‘afore those Pearly Gates someday and claims she was a teetotaler.”

  I downed the glass like a shot and sighed as the warmth spread through my innards then poured another with a heavier hand than Maisie displayed. Teetotaler I’m not. “I owe you, Maisie.”

  “You can pay me back by helpin’ me finish shuckin’ this corn.”

  I eyed the pile of loose corn in the huge mixing bowl then the ears yet to meet their maker. “Haven’t you got enough already?”

  “Nah, we’s gonna need ten times this much ‘afore I’m done. Gonna be makin’ my famous corn chowder fer Saturday’s party, and I pulled out an old-fashioned, southern cornbread stuffin’ recipe for tomorrow, guan’teed to put a few pounds on those hips.”

  Like I needed any more. The pounds kept packing on – and I hadn’t even gotten to enjoy the most important meal of the week yet. “Sounds delicious, but I’m what you’d call domestically-challenged when it comes to edible-type stuff.”

  “Not like ya can poison us this time.”

  “Maisie! That was an accident…and I said something before it went in the oven.”

  Her cackle warmed me about as much as the sherry. “That woulda been a sight, seein’ that cake explode all over my oven. Come on now, grab an ear and start pullin’. My poor hands cain’t do it all anymore.”

  I grabbed a couple of ears and started shucking – but I left the cob stripping to Maisie. Knowing my luck, I’d lose more than a little skin. Doubt if anyone wanted blood pudding mixed in with their cornbread. Lady fingers anyone?

  After all the years working for Addie, it was a wonder Maisie had any fingers left. Instead of gray streaks running through her ebony curls, the salt had overrun the pepper sometime in the last four years. I swept more of the corn ears my way and increased the pace of shucking.

  “Have you ever thought of retiring, Maisie?” I asked.

  “And let Miss Addie waste away on inferior cookin’? No siree.”

  “You, Maurice, and Pierre have been here as long as I can remember. Don’t you ever just want to sit down and let someone take care of you for once?”

  Didn’t even stop her. “This kitchen is like my home. Wouldn’t know what t’ do with m’self if’n I wasn’t cookin’ up a hurricane big as Katrina.” She smiled. “Though I’m lookin’ right forward t’ a vacation this Christmas. Haven’t seen my siblin’s fer awhile now, but guess what I’m gonna be doin’ the moment I arrive?”

  “Cooking?”

  We both got a good belly laugh from that one. Being in the kitchen with Maisie brought to mind the times Janine and I would sneak down the back stairs after being put to bed and finding steaming cups of cocoa ready for us on the counter – along with great big bear hugs. I wish I hadn’t always been in such a hurry to wiggle out of them. During the hard times, I almost wished Maisie was a family member – like a warm and doting aunt to balance all of the expectations and rules I had to follow.

  After working in silence for a few minutes, I asked the question that had plagued me the last few days. “Maisie, are you and Sibby really related?”

  “Sho’ am. They’s a good deal o’ distance between us, but family’s family.”

 
; Too bad we couldn’t pick them. “Is that why you recommended her for this job?”

  “Yep. When you’s bonded by blood, whether in this earthly life or by the blood o’ the good Lawd above, we all has a responsibility t’ look out fer one another.”

  “Why’d you have to look out for Sibby?”

  She stopped and fussed with the corn bowl, scooping a big measuring cup full and dumping it into a blender. “Let’s just say that Sibby has a past.”

  The whir of the blender cut conversation until she stopped and poured the puree into a pan on the stove.

  “But don’t we all?” I asked.

  “Oh, Miss Vicki,” she said as she repeated the measuring. “Not nearly as colorful as hers. Made it right hard fer her to get a job after cleanin’ up her life, it did. Some just don’t think it’s possible fer someone like her.”

  “What’d she do?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not my story to tell.”

  The blender whirred again. I waited until she finished and started stirring the mess that reminded me of diaper duty in the church nursery – the sperm donor’s idea of penance after the truck bed incident with the pastor’s son.

  See? There’s a reason why those dreams of Bobby continued to haunt me.

  “Was she by any chance a…” I hesitated. “…a prostitute?”

  The stirring sped up until Maisie’s wing flaps threatened to knock her into tomorrow. “And did Mr. George tell ya?”

  Puzzle one solved. “No, but I kinda suspected it after what’s been going on.”

  The wing flaps became a blur until she stopped and bent over the pan, her shoulders shaking. “I just wish I knew how he found out.”

  I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that question. It was obvious from the moment of our arrival that George and Sibby had met prior to this visit. Until now, I just didn’t know how. Puzzle two solved.

  Instead of getting wrapped in a great big Maisie hug, this time I enveloped her in a Vicki Special Delivery. “Don’t worry about Sibby, just leave it to me. Everybody deserves a second chance.”

  Maisie’s misty eyes stared into mine. “Ya think so?”