A Secret Life (23 page)

Joan squinted at her for a minute, then glanced back down at the book. She turned another page and an old black-and-white photograph dropped out.

She picked it up by the white bordered edge. “What’s this?”

Heather moved closer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it before.”

Joan squinted in the light at a man holding a baby boy. They were in what was obviously an opulent parlor in, maybe, 1950. The man was white, the child either black or of a mixed heritage.

She flipped the photograph over.
Gerard and John.

Joan looked at the front again. John’s father? He was white and wealthy and named Gerard?

She peered more closely at the picture, and her stomach felt hollow. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

“What?” asked Heather.

“That’s Gerard Dinose.” Joan’s mind scrambled to work out the significance of John’s parentage. Gerard Dinose must have had an affair with John’s mother, Samuel’s grandmother.

“Who’s Gerard Dinose?” asked Heather.

“The Dinose family owns half the businesses in Lafayette. They started out smuggling rum, then turned to sugarcane—”

“Impressive history lesson,” an unfamiliar male voice drawled.

Joan whirled to see a fiftyish, gray-haired man standing in the bedroom doorway and holding a gun.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H
EATHER GRABBED
Joan, and Joan automatically put an arm around her sister.

“What do you want?” Joan rasped.

The man sauntered forward. “See, that’s a tough one now.”

Heather tried to back away, but Joan held her ground. She watched the man closely, a weird sense of recognition coming over her. Had they met before?

“You want the violin?” she asked.

The man laughed harashly. “Yeah, right. I went to all this trouble over a stupid violin.”

Heather’s body jerked in reaction, but Joan held her still.

“Who—” Joan’s eyes widened, and her entire body went cold. She glanced at the picture and blinked in disbelief. The spitting image of Gerard Dinose was standing right in front of her.

“Nash Dinose, actually,” the man said. “My father’s been dead for years.”

Nash was John’s half brother? That meant he was Samuel’s uncle.

So why was he holding a gun on them?

“You’re not getting it yet, are you?”

Joan shook her head.

He snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Not clicking in?”

Had he murdered his half brother?

“I suppose I could just shoot you,” he mused.

Heather gasped, and Joan’s gaze zeroed in on the gun. Should she rush him? Would that give Heather a chance to get away?

“I’m not a monster,” said Nash. “But I am a businessman, and I will protect my interests.”

“You
killed
them,” Heather rasped. She shook free of Joan’s grasp.

“Heather, don’t!” Joan grabbed her by the arm.

“Of course I killed them,” Nash said easily. “I had to kill them.”

And Joan understood at last. John must have known who his father was. He was a threat to Nash’s inheritance. “They came after your money.”

“They might have. And by then it would be too late.” His eyes narrowed. “Used to be no court in the land would have recognized that bastard as an heir. But then we got all progressive.” Nash’s face twisted into a sneer. “I couldn’t take the chance.”

Joan finished the scenario, her stomach cramping in horror. “So you killed them both and framed John.”

“Case closed,” said Nash. “Until you came along.”

She had absolutely no interest in the sordid details, but she knew their best chance was to keep him talking. “And you didn’t know if I knew.”

“And you didn’t. Ironic. But now you do.” His gaze darted to Heather and back again. “You both do.”

“We couldn’t prove anything,” said Joan a little desperately. “Here.” She held out the picture. “Take it. Nobody wants your money.”

He snorted. “I just confessed murder to you. You think I’m stupid?” He raised the gun and tightened his finger on the trigger. “Sorry, girls. Think I’ll frame Samuel for this one.”

Joan launched herself in front of Heather.

The shot rang out, but she didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t feel anything, except a slow-motion descent to the bedroom floor, where Heather cushioned her fall.

She blinked up at Nash, curling her body around her sister, bracing herself for the second shot. There was no way he’d miss twice.

But Anthony was there, one arm clamped tight around Nash’s neck, the other struggling to get the gun out of his hand.

A second shot rang out, and Samuel shouted something.

The gun clattered to the floor, and the two men quickly subdued Nash.

“Nine-one-one,” Heather rasped in her ear. But Joan’s limbs were filled with a strange lethargy, and she couldn’t move.

She heard sirens.

She heard Heather call her name.

Then she heard the clatter of boots, and Anthony was standing over her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest, kissing her hair over and over again.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His hands moved over her body, testing for wounds.

The world started coming back into focus. Sounds made sense, and things seemed to return to the right speed.

She nodded. “I don’t think I’m hurt.”

“You sure? Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so.” Her limbs felt shaky, but she was pretty sure it was just shock.

Anthony helped her to her feet.

Alain had handcuffed Nash and was leading him out of the room. Red lights flashed through the window, and Heather stood in the corner, wrapped in Samuel’s arms.

“Something’s going on between those two,” Joan said to Anthony.

Anthony grinned. “You think?”

She looked up at him. “You know something I don’t?”

“Just what I’ve seen.”

Joan watched her sister for another moment.

Samuel stroked her face, shook his head, then pulled her tight against him, closing his eyes as if he wanted to absorb her.

Joan glanced away, focusing her attention on Anthony and his strength as he held her. They’d nearly been killed. It didn’t seem real, but they’d nearly died.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

As her shaking subsided, she was filled with a huge sense of relief. “It’s over. It’s actually over.”

“Almost. There are reporters out on the front lawn.”

“Of course there are,” she said with a laughing sigh. The sirens would have attracted every reporter in town. And she knew there were quite a few here to cover her story. “I’ll make sure I mention the music festival.”

“Joan, you don’t have to—”

“You think they’ll leave if we hide inside for a while?”

He shook his head.

“Then we might as well get it over with. Samuel?”

He looked up from hugging Heather.

“Should we get this over with?”

He gave Heather one last squeeze, then grinned at Joan. “I’m not scared if you’re not.”

Joan disentangled herself from Anthony. “Like you’re scared of anything.”

Samuel limped toward the door. “Anthony was the one that brought down Dinose.”

Anthony tucked Joan’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Only because you’re recovering from gator bite.”

“This is true,” Samuel said to Heather. “Normally, I’m pretty much invincible.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Heather. “Otherwise, your stupidity would have gotten you killed a long time ago.”

Alain reappeared. “I’m going to need statements from all of you. Can you meet me down at the station?”

“We’re going to appease the reporters for a minute,” Anthony said. “Get them out of your hair.”

Alain nodded. “Don’t take too long.”

Joan headed down the stairs with Anthony at her side. The minute they were through the front door, six microphones were shoved in her face.

She took a breath. She could do this. It was just like Charlie Long, only with more questions.

“Who was shot?” came the first question.

“Was anybody killed?”

“How does your book fit into this?”

A
NTHONY WATCHED
from the sidelines while Joan stood on the front lawn patiently answering the reporters’ questions. There were three news trucks, at least eight reporters, several cameramen and a multitude of other people running around with clipboards, headsets and toting thick wire feeds.

Amidst the chaos, Joan was doing a great job, and he couldn’t be prouder. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the sight of her with Nash’s gun pointed at her head. If he’d been one minute later, one second later…

He shuddered now just thinking about it.

“Does this exonerate your father?” a reporter shouted to Samuel.

Samuel stepped up, and Heather jostled Joan’s elbow, holding up her cell phone.

“It’s Mom,” Anthony overheard Heather say.

Joan took the phone and backed away from the reporters. His attention stayed with her.

She listened for a minute, the animation slowly leaving her expression.

Anthony cursed under his breath.

“But, I don’t—” she started.

Then a silence.

“Mom—”

She heaved a heavy sigh, wiping her damp hair back from her forehead. “Mom—”

Another silence. Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes.

Anthony watched the fight and self-confidence drain right out of her.

She opened her eyes and glanced furtively at the reporters, then she shrank farther into the alcove of the front door.

He wanted to grab the damn phone and pull her into his arms.

“See, I didn’t—” she tried again.

“Just—”

Her face went pale, and she blinked rapidly.

Anger welled up inside him. He knew it was her family, but damn it, nobody had a right to crush her spirit like this.

Joan’s voice cracked.
“Please, Mom—”

Finally, Anthony couldn’t stand it any more. He’d stood back and watched while these people ripped Joan to shreds under the guise of loving her. This had gone beyond ruining her career. They were totally demoralizing her.

A red haze formed in front of his eyes, and he strode forward and plucked the phone from her hands.

He stuffed it against his own ear. “Mrs. Bateman?”

Joan grabbed for it, but he turned away, holding her off with his other arm.

“To whom am I speaking?” The voice on the phone sounded every bit as imperious as he’d expected.

“This is Anthony Verdun.”

The police, the reporters, even Joan herself faded into the background.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s busy. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Anthony,” Joan whispered urgently.

“I
demand
that you put my daughter back on the phone.”

“And
I
demand that you stop harassing her.”

“Anthony!”

There was a sputtering sound on the other end of the line.

“Further, I demand that you get your head out of your ass—”

“Anthony!”

“—and take a good long look at how much your talented and successful daughter has accomplished. I don’t particularly care that your blood’s bluer than—”

The phone disappeared from his hands.

He looked up to see Samuel hand it back to Heather.

“You’re losing it, buddy,” said Samuel.

Anthony glanced over his shoulder, wondering if the reporters had overheard. What he saw was Joan’s incensed expression.

Samuel immediately resumed talking to the reporters, raising his voice, walking toward the curb, ensuring their attention was distracted.

“You are
so
fired,” Joan rumbled.

“Yeah?” Anthony stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Yeah.”

“You think I was rude and out of line?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.

“And you think your parents have the right to speak to you that way?”

Her nostrils flared. “They’re my parents.”

He shook his head. “Then your biggest problem isn’t whether or not I’m your agent.”

“Anthony,” Heather interrupted.

He held a warning hand up in Heather’s direction, keeping his gaze on Joan. He had to say this, and he had to say it now. “Your biggest problem is that you’re willing to let them ruin your life. And you know what? I can’t stand to stick around and watch it happen.”

He turned on his heel.

His head pounded and his gut ached as he walked away. But he’d done everything he possibly could for her, and it was getting both of them nowhere.

He really couldn’t stand to watch her parents rip her joy, her confidence, her career out of her grasp. And there was no way he could stand to watch her crawl back into her shell, afraid to be who she was, afraid to love what she loved, afraid to accomplish the things her talent would allow.

He pulled out his car keys and clicked the unlock button. He’d stop and give Alain his statement, and then he was heading back to New York. Stephen would probably fire him for losing Joan, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

He had a feeling it would be a long time before he cared about anything again.

A
S
J
OAN WATCHED
Anthony walk away, her entire body went numb.

She felt a tug on her shoulder and realized that Heather was pulling on her arm. She allowed herself to be led into Samuel’s front hall.

“You know what?” asked Heather as the door clicked shut on the noise and flashbulbs.

Joan blinked stupidly at her. Anthony had left her. He’d left her for good this time.

“Anthony is right,” Heather practically shouted.

Joan jerked herself back to life and stared incredulously at her perfect sister. “He just told our mother to get her head out of her ass.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“Where’s the phone?” Joan glanced frantically around. “Where’s Mom? I have to—”

“And our mommy
should
consider pulling her head out of her ass.”

“What?”
Had Heather lost her mind?

“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past few days, Joan? Hmm? Do you?”