Chesapeake Summer (15 page)

“Chloe, Chloe.” His voice was amused, warm, filled with concern. “Why won't you ever learn? They'll hate you for it. Your family lives here. Your mother, your sister. Are you really that selfish?”

She jerked away, from him, from the rush of emotion, the revealing, vulnerable tears, and stumbled down the hall toward the bar. How dare he? How dare he pretend to care and then crush her with a single humiliating word? Why did he continue to have this power over her? He was right. She never learned.

He followed. “Let's dance,” he said, gripping her arm once again.

She pulled away. “I don't want to dance and, if I did, it wouldn't be with you.”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms, fitting his body against hers. The band, such as it was, crooned “Love Me Tender.” “You don't mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I hate you. I've always hated you.”

“Shut up, Chloe,” he muttered. “Shut up and dance with me. You smell good. You always smell the same, do you know that, like those bushes that grow outside your granddad's front porch.”

“Honeysuckle.” She could barely get the word out. Her face was pressed against his shoulder.

“No, the other one. You know, those little white flowers that die the minute you pick 'em.”

“Gardenias.”

“That's it. Gardenias. You're like one of those gardenias, small and perfect and sweet-smelling.” His arms tightened around her.

Her heart hurt. She had questions, a million questions, but she couldn't manage a single one.

Libba removed her tennis shoes on the porch. Dropping them by the front door, she opened it and stepped into her living room. It was dark. She checked her watch. Nine o'clock. Was everyone in bed already?

She walked down the hall to the large back room they'd converted into a den. Russ sat on the couch with Gina Marie nestled in his arms. Both were sound asleep. On the television screen,
Finding

Nemo
played to an unconscious audience.

Libba tiptoed across the room and turned off the power. Then she turned back to her husband and kissed his forehead. He stirred and opened his eyes.

“What time is it?” he asked.

Libba held her finger against her lips. “Shh. It's just after nine,” she whispered. “You're wiped out. Put Gina to bed. I'll take a shower and join you in a few minutes.”

Russ yawned. “I almost forgot. Your daddy called. He said for you to check in with him the minute you got home.”

Libba groaned. “I forgot. I was supposed to stop in and see him on the way. So much happened today that it slipped my mind. I'll call him now.” She looked back at her husband. He seemed to be drifting off again and she wasn't in the least bit tired. “Go to bed, Russ. I'm still kind of wired from the day. I think I'll drive over and talk to Daddy in person.”

Russ's eyes opened. “It's kind of late, isn't it?”

It was late, but it was mid-summer and the last lingering rays of sunlight hadn't yet disappeared into the bay. “Maybe he'll still be up.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Slipping into a pair of sandals, she grabbed her purse and left the house. Rolling both windows down in the car, she backed out of the driveway, increased her speed and let the wind cool her cheeks and lift the hair off her shoulders.

Her father's house was dark as pitch except for the porch light. Maybe Chloe was still awake. Parking the car, Libba climbed the stairs, rolled back the azalea pot, found the spare key and unlocked the door. She flicked on the hall light. Her father's bedroom was upstairs at the back of the house, not too far from Chloe's. The light wouldn't disturb them.

Libba climbed the stairs quietly. Chloe's door was open and obviously empty. She frowned. Where was she? She debated whether to go home, wake her father or wait for her daughter. Just then the door to her father's bedroom opened. Cole Delacourte, wearing striped pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, stepped out into the hall. He saw Libba and rubbed his eyes.

“Libba Jane, is that you?”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

She bit her lip. “It's only nine-thirty.”

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, I'm sorry for coming so late, but I just got home and you said you wanted to see me. I thought I'd spend a little time with Chloe if you'd already gone to bed.”

“Chloe's out with Tess. I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. I thought I'd have some of Serena's peach cobbler and a glass of milk. Care to keep me company?”

Libba smiled. “The thought of peach cobbler makes me drool.”

Together, they walked into the kitchen. Without having to think, Libba opened the cupboard to the right of the refrigerator and found two bowls. The ice-cream scoop was in the dishwasher and the spoons in the flatware drawer.

Serena's cobbler, delicately browned and thick with peaches, sat in a covered glass bowl in the refrigerator. “Do you want yours warmed and topped with ice cream?”

“Always.”

Within minutes, they were digging into heaping bowls of the rich dessert. It wasn't until they couldn't eat anymore that Libba remembered why she'd come. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Cole swallowed his last bite and pushed his bowl away. “It's about the investigation. A few interesting things have come up.”

“Such as?”

“Did your mother ever tell you about Verna Lee's father?”

Libba frowned. “Nothing specific.”

“She never told you his name or where he was from?” Cole prodded.

“What is this about, Daddy?”

“His name was Anton Devereaux. His father had a dry-goods store somewhere in Virginia. According to Nola Ruth, he disappeared. After your grandfather chased them down and forced the annulment, she never heard from him again.”

“That's right. What about it?”

Cole sighed. “I'm not sure. Apparently her version wasn't entirely accurate. Fifteen years ago, a man by the name of Anton Devereaux came to town and was arrested for a speeding ticket.”

“A speeding ticket?” Libba's eyebrows rose. “How can that be?”

“He refused to sign the ticket. I don't know the details. The point is he was taken to jail and bailed out by your mother.”

“Good Lord.”

“My sentiments exactly. He jumped bail and never showed up for the arraignment.”

“When did you find out about this?”

“Your mother told me right after we attended Amanda Wentworth's funeral.”

“What does that mean?” Libba wondered aloud.

He leaned forward. “I'm not sure, but I have a hunch. Let's say Anton Devereaux did come to town. Maybe he threatened to expose your mother's secret. Think how terrified she must have felt.”

“Yet she bailed him out.”

“Maybe that's why. It's possible he blackmailed her. Lord knows he had no reason to protect her.”

“Why didn't she tell you? You knew all about him. She had nothing to hide from you.”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. It's a bit late to ask.”

Libba swallowed. “What are you thinking about, Daddy?”

“That body on Bailey's land.”

Libba's hand moved to her throat. “You can't mean—”

“I don't know.”

“That's ridiculous. Mama isn't a murderer. You lived with her for forty years. You'd know if she was capable of something like that.”

“You never know that, honey. Desperation changes people.”

“Someone would have had to help her. Mama wasn't that big. How could she murder someone and transport the body all the way out there. It isn't possible.”

“Probably not,” Cole agreed. “I'm a foolish old man with an overactive imagination. It's just strange, the timing and all. Nola Ruth wouldn't hurt anybody. It nearly killed her to spank you.”

“I don't remember that she ever did, except once when I ran out into the street.”

Cole nodded. “I don't remember who cried more, you or your mama. I wasn't around much then, was I?”

Libba smiled. “You're making up for it.”

His smile was forced. “Forget all about this, honey. It's absurd. Talking it through made me see that. Leave the dishes. Serena will get them in the morning.”

Libba walked around the table and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. “It doesn't help to worry about this, Daddy. Mama's gone.”

“I'm thinking about Verna Lee. I wonder if your mother said anything to her. It sure would make me feel better if I knew she'd been in contact with her father sometime during the last fifteen years.”

Libba kissed the part of his head where his hair had started to thin. “If it'll make you feel better, I'll ask her.”

“Can you do that, Libba Jane? Would you feel comfortable?”

His look of relief stiffened her resolve. “Of course,” she lied. “I'll make a point of getting her alone. We'll get to the bottom of this and put it behind us.”

“You're forgetting something,” he said gently.

“What's that?”

“She might tell you that she's never been in contact with him, or worse, that all communication stopped fifteen years ago.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn't mean it has anything to do with Mama.”

Cole smiled. “You're a smart girl, Libba Jane, and a loyal one. Your mama would have been proud of you.”

C
hloe stood very still and stared at the brown column of Bailey's throat, the part that was level with her eyes. All around her couples, locked together on the dance floor, swayed to the beat of the country band. A wealth of emotions passed through her, the foremost of which was confusion, followed by embarrassment. Bailey was obviously drunk and, she rationalized, not in any condition to be reasonable. She spoke into his ear. “Give me your keys. I'll drive you home.”

“Let's get out of here,” he muttered, pulling her off the floor.

Too relieved to protest, Chloe stumbled after him, out the door and across the dirt lot to where the cars of the diner's customers were haphazardly parked. Bailey's silver Porsche stood out among the Dodges and Chevys like a newly minted dime on a stack of vintage pennies.

He was pulling her at quite a clip. A stitch began in her side. “Where are we going?” she gasped.

“Right here.” He pushed her against his car and lifted her chin so that she looked directly at him. “We need to talk.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“I'm tired of arguing with you.”

Deliberately she widened her eyes. “Were we arguing?”

“We're always arguing, ever since we met up again. That's not the way I want it to be with us.”

“Us?”

He shook her slightly. “Come on, Chloe. Stop playing games.”

Gently she broke his grip by pushing against him with her arms. “I'm not playing games. Except for a few brief encounters, we haven't spoken in four years. What do you mean by
us?
”

“We used to be friends.”

She raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Friends keep in touch.”

He swore and turned away so that only his profile was visible. At every angle, Bailey Jones was beautiful.

“So, what are you saying? You don't want to have anything to do with me?”

“I didn't say that.”

He looked at her and grinned. Once again, she felt that crazy drop in her stomach, the tingling, sharp-edged awakening of her nerves that only Bailey could bring.

“Maybe you don't know that most girls would die to be in your position.”

“My position?”

“Out here, with me.”

The edges of her temper curled. “Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?”

“When we were kids you hung around me like a fly on a honeycomb.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted, “but that was a long time ago.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from his back pocket, struck the match and bent his head to inhale. “So,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke, “what do we do now?”

Chloe shivered and rubbed her arms. The temperature had to be somewhere in the nineties but she was cold. “What do you want from me, Bailey?”

He looked bewildered, as if it was the last question he expected her to ask. “What is it?” she demanded. “Sex? Do you want to sleep with me?”

“God, no! I can't believe you said that.” He shook his head and looked up at the sky. “If that's what you think, you really are naive. It isn't that at all.”

“I'm sure there's a compliment in there somehow, but I'm not hearing it. So, what is it?”

“I don't know,” he said slowly. “I hadn't really thought about it.”

She looked at her watch. “I'll give you three minutes to think. After that, I'm going back inside and we'll forget we ever had this conversation.”

The beat of the music inside the diner matched the ticking of the second hand on her watch and the thumping of her heart. One minute passed, then two. She'd pushed him too far, but she wasn't sorry.

Bailey cleared his throat. “How about this? How about if we start talking again, just friends, and see where it goes.”

She looked at him, a steady look out of slanted blue eyes. “That might work.”

“Can I drive you home?”

“How do you know I'm ready to go home?”

He laughed. “That wasn't hard to figure out. The look on your face when you saw Skylar Taft was plain enough for anyone with half a brain to figure out.”

“I shouldn't leave Tess.”

“Why not? She's a big girl. If she wants to hang out with Skylar and company, that's her problem. Why inflict it on you?”

Since that had been her exact train of thought, Chloe couldn't take him to task for insulting her stepsister. “I'll go back and tell her I'm leaving.”

“Who are you gonna say you're leaving with?” The headlights of a departing car caught her in their glare. There was no mistaking the set of her jaw and the sudden involuntary clenching of her fists. Chloe Richards was a fighter.

“Claiming you were my friend was never my problem, Bailey. I don't need approval, not from anyone, but especially not from that group inside.”

He watched the door of the diner close behind her. “Go for it, Chloe,” he said out loud.

“Where have you been?” asked Tess. “I looked for you. I was ready to call your house.”

“I wasn't worried,” said Skylar. “It's not the first time Chloe has disappeared from a party. She's got a mind of her own.”

“I'm going home with Bailey.”

Casey Dulaine's mouth dropped. “As in
his
home or yours?”

Chloe ignored Tess's shocked expression. “Not that it's anybody's business, but we're going back to my granddad's.” She glanced at each one of them, Skylar, Buzz, Scott, Casey, Joni Marcoux and, finally, Tess. “We have some catching up to do and this isn't the place.” She threw twenty dollars down on the table. “Enjoy the shrimp.”

Tess caught up with her before she reached the door. “Are you crazy?” she hissed. “What's going on?”

“I told you. Bailey and I have some catching up to do. He's taking me home.”

“Just like that?” Tess demanded. “Do you have any idea what this looks like?”

Chloe's eyes narrowed. “Why the third degree? You're not my mother.”

“You'll be the topic of conversation for the rest of the night.”

“I don't care.” Chloe sighed. “Tess, this isn't high school. I never have to see any one of those people again if I don't want to.”

Two red spots appeared on Tess's cheeks. “What about me? How can you be so selfish?”

“Excuse me?”

“Think about the position you're putting me in. I either have to talk about you or defend you. If I go along with them, I'll feel guilty and if I tell them where to get off, I won't have a friend left around here.”

Chloe laughed. “Poor Tess. I give you permission to tell them I'm a slut. I won't hold it against you. Will that make it easier?”

“Why is everything a joke with you?”

“Why are those people so important to you?” Chloe countered. “You're living in NewYork. You want to be a lawyer. Who cares what they think?”

“All right, Chloe.” Tess's voice was cold. “Have it your way.”

Chloe watched her walk away. Shrugging, she stepped out into the sultry night air and headed toward the red glow that was the tip of Bailey's cigarette.

“All set?” he asked.

She nodded and held out her hand for his keys. “Let's go. I'm driving.”

He handed them to her without protest and slid into the seat beside her. Above their heads, a panel in the roof opened automatically. “So, you faced down the dragons.”

Chloe looked up and saw stars. “I did.”

“Any casualties?”

“None that I know of.”

“Where shall we go?” he asked.

She backed out of the parking lot. “Home. Serena made peach cobbler. We can fill our stomachs and talk on the porch.”

“I have a better idea. Come to my house.”

She kept her eyes on the road. “Do you have a house?”

“In a manner of speaking. I'm renting the Busby house while they're up north visiting their daughter.”

“I didn't know you were friends.”

He grinned. “I made them an offer they couldn't refuse.”

Chloe shook her head. “We're going to my house. Next time, maybe, we'll do yours.”

“Don't you trust me, Chloe?”

“I'm surprised you trust
me,
” she countered. “According to you, I'm the one hanging around you like a fly on a honeycomb.”

This time he laughed, a low rich chuckle that made her glad she was sitting down. “Okay, sweetheart, we'll go to your house. I only hope everybody's asleep. If not, you'll be facing down a few more dragons tonight.”

“Maybe.” She leaned back against the headrest and smiled into the wind. “But this time I won't face them alone.”

Libba Jane was digging through her purse for her keys when Chloe walked into the kitchen with Bailey. Her eyes widened with that strained look Chloe had memorized from the more difficult moments in her life.

“Why, Bailey, how lovely to see you again,” her mother lied.

“Thank you, Miz Hennessey.”

Chloe's mouth twitched. No matter what the circumstance, her mother always defaulted to the Beauchamp manners. “We came home for cobbler and ice cream.”

“Granddad said you'd gone out with Tess.”

“I did, but I met Bailey and we decided to come home.”

“You didn't leave Tess?”

“Actually, I did, but she wasn't alone.”

“Who—”

Chloe lifted her hand to end the conversation. “Trust me, Mom. It's better this way.” She looked pointedly at the keys in Libba's hand. “Were you leaving?”

“Yes. I stopped by to have a word with Granddad.”

“Keeping late hours at work, Miz Hennessey?” Bailey drawled.

“No. I came from home. Everyone was asleep and I was restless.”

Chloe frowned. Her mother was babbling. “Well, like I said, don't let us keep you.”

“Oh. Right. I'll say good night. Don't stay up too late.”

“We'll be fine. Stop worrying.”

“You're right. Bye, Bailey. I'll see you tomorrow, Chloe.”

“Good night, Miz Hennessey.”

Minutes later, they heard the sound of a car pulling away.

Bailey chuckled. “In the future, remind me that you're a match for any dragon, Chloe Richards.”

She reached for two bowls in the cupboard. “That's my mother you're talking about.”

“Now that I think about it, you're a lot like your grandma, Nola Ruth. Your mama's a pussycat compared to the two of you.”

Heaping two bowls full of cobbler, she set them in the microwave and pushed the power button. “How well did you know my grandmother?”

He sat down at the table. “I knew her by reputation only.”

Chloe scooped vanilla ice cream from the carton onto the warmed dessert and handed Bailey his. “I wish I'd known her before her stroke.”

Bailey dug into his cobbler. “This is great.”

“She was hard on me when I first came here,” Chloe continued, “but that didn't last long.”

“She had quite a temper.”

“I heard that, too.”

“Heard it. Hell, I saw it. It isn't something I'd forget. I must have been about seven, walking home from town. She comes speeding down the road in that big car of hers when suddenly she pulls over and the passenger door opens. Out steps this tall, well-dressed black guy. Miz Delacourte gets out on her side and starts shouting, moves in real close to him and pokes his chest. Then he gets mad right back and grabs her wrist. She yells and he lets her go, turns around and walks right past me as if I don't exist. Then she gets back in the car and drives away.”

Chloe stared at him, her cobbler forgotten. “You're kidding.”

“No. I'm not. That's the way it was.”

“I wonder what it means.”

Bailey was making a serious dent in his dessert.

“Did you notice anything unusual about him?”

“The whole situation was unusual.” He thought a minute. “The guy wasn't from around here. His accent was different.”

“I can't imagine why my grandmother would be arguing with a black man, unless he was Verna Lee's father.”

“That's a leap.”

“No, it isn't. Think about it. My grandmother was Verna Lee's mother. Verna Lee is black. It all fits. He came to town looking for his daughter. Maybe my grandmother didn't want anyone to know. The whole thing came out only four years ago. Maybe the body found on your land is the same man you saw with my grandmother.”