Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (3 page)

An event she'd somehow never taken into account.

Zach-ar-ree For-tee-ay." Frank's drawl boomed across
the large room as he walked in Zach's direction.

Doc Allain nudged his elbow. "Go ahead, see what I'm
saying. Meantime, I'm checking out the eats."

The doctor faded into the crowd, leaving Zach to wait while
Frank came forward with his huge hand extended.

"Frank," he said warmly, taking the man's hand and
shaking it firmly. "How're you holding up, pay liter? I'm sorry about
Ellie."

Frank's face sagged as he whispered. "Oui.
La
maladie malefique
."

"That's as good as anything to call it. Though the
doctor calls it a stroke." Zach surreptitiously scanned the room. His
knees were quaking and the air felt thick, but hiding his true feelings came
naturally to him.

"Men of science know nothing," Frank countered,
then went on in the same conspiratorial voice. "Ankouer come for Ellie—he
take her breath and freeze her blood."

The remark caused Zach to turn on his zoom lens and focus it
on Frank. Bloodshot, slightly crazed eyes. Disheveled appearance. So the doc
had been right. Frank had taken a dive off the deep end. Finding himself a
little at a loss for words, he mumbled something about never knowing.

He could hear fragments of conversations that let him know
that others were aware of Frank's delusions. Some voices held fear, some pity.
Some were downright scornful. Well, grief did odd things to people, and Zach
didn't necessarily think the man's behavior revealed a guilty conscience.

He found himself unable to keep his attention honed the way
he usually did. He'd come back to Port Chatre looking for Jed's killer. Instead
he'd found . . .

"Is— I mean— Izzy, I heard she's here."

"
Oui
. She come and say good-bye to her
maman
."

"Frank, I—" He hesitated. How did you ask a man
such a question on the day he'd interred his wife? "I'd been, that is,
well, I'd been told Izzy was dead."

"A body washed up in the bayous, yes, and they told us
it were Izzy. Mistake of identity. She were up in the Saint Louie all
along." He gravely made the sign of the cross. "For them other poor
souls who was grieving for their daughter when the truth came out," he
explained.

The quaking in Zach's knees spread like wildfire through his
entire body. Why didn't you tell me? he wanted to shout. Why? Instead he asked
for a drink.

Frank's eyes lost their wild edge as they drifted to Zach's
visibly shaking hands. "That I can do, yes."

It only seemed like seconds later when Frank pressed a
tumbler into Zach's hand. Zach swallowed quickly, demanding his heart to stop
racing, demanding his lungs to inhale. After downing half the glass, he asked,
"Where is she?"

"On the
galerie
, I think I seen."

"Thanks." Zach finished the rest of the glass and
put it down on a nearby table. "I'll go look her up. Nice talking to you,
partner, and hang in there."

"I do my best."

Turning slowly so as not to betray his eagerness, Zach
headed for the open doors that led outside. He saw a slender figure looking up
at Richard Cormier. Her shoulders were slightly bent as if they bore a great
weight, but she listened in apparent fascination while Richard talked about his
businesses. She wore a black knit kind of thing, with a long coat-jacket that
skimmed the hemline of the skirt and clung rather enticingly to her slim hips.

Her smooth cap of hair almost matched the color of her
outfit and revealed the curve of her neck.

Izzy? Where were her curls? That long mane of gloriously
tousled hair?

Deciding he was about to find out, Zach straightened the
knot of his tie, sucked in his stomach, and took a step into a moment that,
until then, he hadn't known he'd been hoping for all his adult life.

"Afternoon, Richard," he said with forced
nonchalance. "Nice spread you've put on for the folks."

"Fortier," Richard replied evenly, making very
little effort to cover up his annoyance at being interrupted. "Come back
to see what I've done with your town?"

Before Zach answered, the woman turned around. His sharp
hiss of breath occurred at the same moment her face broke into a delighted
smile. "Zach!"

She rushed toward him, still smiling. His heart exploded
with joy.

"Izzy, I— Why didn't you . . . ?"

"A shock, isn't it?" Richard said archly. "We
were all surprised out of our boots."

She stopped, her smile vanishing.

"Oh that." A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat.
"Everyone seems to think I came back from the grave. I just— For the
longest time I didn't know I'd been reported dead. Later . . . when I did,
well, it seemed better this way."

"Better? How's that?" Didn't she realize what a
kick in the gut she'd given him?

She made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Hard to
explain. It just did, that's all."

Zach stared down at her, taking in the monumental changes.
Gone were Izzy's soft consonants and drawn-out vowels. This was the studied
accent of an expensive Northeastern prep school. And she had taken off weight.
Where Izzy had been sensuously round, she was chicly slim. Actually, chic
described her perfectly, and if it weren't for those flecked golden eyes
meeting his, he'd hardly know this was the same person.

He let out his breath, allowing his stomach to sag. He'd
almost forgotten he'd been holding it in. They'd both changed through these
years, and not for the better in his opinion. But he had more to conceal than a
softening belly. His damned emotions seesawed like crazy. His stomach twisted
with disappointment, yet, stupidly, his heart still skipped with excitement The
faint spice of her perfume made it even harder for him to breathe. One thing he
knew, though—he wasn't going to dump his feelings at her feet.

"It's not important, just a surprise. But I am glad to
see you, Izzy." He thrust out his hand for a manly shake, feeling a sick
kind of satisfaction when he saw hurt flicker on her face. She recovered
quickly and by the time she took his hand, he wondered if he'd imagined that
look.

"I use the name Liz now. Papa's the only one who calls
me Izzy anymore." Smooth, flawless white teeth flashed at him. The best
dentistry money could buy, he'd be willing to wager. Izzy's smile had once
revealed overlapping incisors, with a small chip that he had quixotically
adored.

"Is it still Deveraux?" he asked, for lack of
anything better. He sure wasn't holding up his reputation for glib charm this
afternoon.

"Yes." She tilted her head slightly. "How
about you?"

"It's still Fortier."

She laughed again, a relaxed sound this time. "That's
not what—"

"Actually, Zach here's proved his magic touch with the
ladies," Richard interrupted. "Caught three of them. Too bad he
doesn't know how to keep them."

Liz slanted Richard a scowling look.

"Hey, partner, thanks for not leading off with my
faults," Zach retorted with studied laziness. Then he looked back at Liz.
"Divorce . . ." For no reason in particular, he lamely added,
"Two kids."

Richard made another snide remark that Liz didn't quite
register. From the moment Zach came onto the veranda, her heart had been
tripping like an old-fashioned ticker tape. He was taller than she remembered,
broader in the shoulders, narrower in the hips. His body revealed a dedication
to keeping fit that went well beyond a few hours a week at the gym, and the
wind swept back his tawny sun-streaked hair, revealing the high forehead, the
slash of brutal cheekbones, and the squareness of jaw that had remained etched
in her mind.

"What happened to all those blue-black curls,
cher
?"

"People change in twenty years. At least some of us
do." She tilted her head. "But it seems you haven't, except maybe
you're a little taller."

Zach laughed. The sound was rich and delightful and it felt
as though she'd heard it just yesterday. She'd always loved Zach's laugh and
the rich Cajun rhythm to his speech, which also hadn't changed.

"I thought you'd be mayor of Port Chatre by now."

His laugh vanished immediately. "Nah, I got a football
scholarship. Never came back after that."

"He wouldn't have beat out my pa, anyway," Richard
interjected.

Liz barely acknowledged the remark. Neither did Zach. Since
he'd walked into their conversation, Richard had faded into the background.

"Where're you staying?" Zach asked.

"Staying?" His eyes were as blue as ever.
"Oh, in your family's house."

"In my old house?" The news obviously startled
him. "Your pa buy the place?"

"It's his, yes. But he's probably going to sell it, now
that Mama's gone."

"Seems strange, thinking of him living where I grew up.
We shared so many memories there, you and me."

"Yes," she replied uneasily, refraining from
telling him that her parents had never lived there. Although the place wasn't
as large as Richard's, it was a true plantation house rather than a replica.
The real thing, a spot where she'd spun so many dreams. For an instant she
shared Zach's memories, almost hearing her girlish squeals as she burst through
the open shutter doors onto the second-story balcony, Zach hot on her heels
after some treasure she'd swiped.

In those days, she'd expected to raise his babies in that
house, to plant pretty flowers in well-tended beds, and breathe magnolia
fragrance in the spring. In those days before .. .

Liz frowned. Before what? Why had she fled Port Chatre so
long ago? And fled she had, with nothing to her name except a flour sack full
of ratty clothes and the thirty dollars she'd squirreled away for an
extra-special dress to wear to Zach's senior prom.

"Something wrong,
cher
?" Zach asked.

"She's probably tired," Richard said, putting a
possessive hand on her arm, and clearly preparing to steer her inside.

"I'm fine, Richard, thanks." She subtly shook off
his arm and kept her eyes on Zach. "Just fine. So how's Jed these
days?"

For a second Zach looked as stunned as if someone had
slapped him. "Jed died," he said flatly. "Almost three years
ago."

"Jed? Oh, no, Zach. How?"

"Drowned in the bayou, they say."

"I liked him so much." Liz shook her head, weighed
down by the shock of news that added to her grief for her mother. "I just
can't believe it."

"Hey, Fortier," Richard said, "you might
lighten up. Liz just put her ma to rest, remember?"

Zach had dealt with Richard's earlier jibe without much
effort, but now he felt confused. Until Liz had asked about Jed, he'd
completely forgotten his purpose for coming to Port Chatre. Since he'd identified
his brother's body, not a moment of a day had passed when finding his killer
wasn't Zach's main reason for living. Seeing Liz had completely erased it from
his mind. "Sorry," he said distractedly. "My timing is piss
poor."

Richard opened his mouth, probably to add another sarcastic
comment, but a hollow ring sounded before he got a chance. Liz reached for the
handbag draped over her shoulder and came out with a cellular phone.

"Oh, hi, Stephen," she said, after snapping it
open and identifying herself. "Well, yes, this is a bad time. I'm at my
mother's wake."

Then she was quiet.

Who was this guy that he'd call her at a time like this?
Zach wondered sourly.

"Uni-Tech? Okay, fill me in."

Another thoughtful silence followed, then Liz looked up and
met his eyes. Zach realized he'd been staring, and when she turned around and
drifted farther down the galerie, softening her voice to make it harder to
hear, he felt rebuked.

What kind of woman talked business during her mother's wake?

The same kind who ran off in the night and let her boyfriend
think she'd died. The same kind who never called or wrote to let him know it
wasn't true. The same kind who had caused him to momentarily forget his
brother's unsolved murder.

He was a fool to have let his youthful dream come alive
again. A complete fool. And if he had any illusions about renewing their lost
love, he'd be a bigger fool if he didn't kiss them good-bye.

"When we sell this other stock, I've no idea where to
put the funds," Stephen said. "You got any more of those
hunches?"

Normally his remark would have amused Liz. But she had no
right even being on the phone with

him, so her reply was stiff. "I don't have hunches.
Just educated guesses like everyone else."

"Sure you do. That's why you've got an eighty-percent
success rate."

"I've got other things on my mind at the moment,
okay?"

"Right," Stephen replied, without a hint of
contrition, which didn't surprise her. Tunnel vision, that was Stephen.

"So how's it going in Philly?" he asked in a
dutiful tone.

"Groversfield," Liz corrected.

"Right. You holding up?"

"As well as can be expected."

"When are you coming back?"

"I'm not sure. My father's not taking this well. I want
to stay around a few more days until he's over the hump."

She saw Zach crook his neck to look in her direction and
deliberately turned away from him. Did he realize what she was doing? What she
had done all along? Suddenly she wanted to spill it all, tell Stephen she
wasn't really from Groversfield, Pennsylvania, and that her father wasn't a
banker, but a Cajun tour guide who believed in ghosts and phantoms and had just
gone over the edge because her mother had died.

Just then her father dashed through the doors, heading
straight for Zach.

"Batard!
" he roared. "
Batard!
"
He followed this with a tirade in French that told Liz how deeply upset he was.