False Pretenses (3 page)

Zoe reached for Pierce’s hand and let Carter lead them toward the back of the house.

Vanessa met Ethan’s gaze and wondered if even he could love that child as much as she did.

“This place is going to make a wonderful bed-and-breakfast,” he said. “I can picture us living here. What a great way for Carter to grow up. He’ll charm the guests and learn some important people skills in the process. I can hardly wait to see the blueprints.”

“Me either. But the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that all the guest rooms should have a private bath.”

“I agree.… Honey, what’s wrong? You look flustered.”

“I am.”

“What happened?”

Vanessa fanned herself with her hand. The heat was suddenly oppressive. “Oh, I mentioned something I read in Augusta Langley’s diary about her feeling bad that the British had mistreated the Acadians, and Pierce went off.” She told Ethan everything she could remember about the uncomfortable exchange. “I totally agreed with Pierce about how awful it was. But I was floored at how prejudiced he is toward the British. I didn’t see that coming.”

“I haven’t noticed it.”

Vanessa arched her eyebrows. “You will if you ever get into a discussion about Cajun history. Be forewarned.”

“The last thing we need is a Cajun landlord who resents us. It’s going to be a long time before we move in here.” Ethan looked over her shoulder, seemingly distracted by something. “Is that a marble on the floor?”

He walked past her to the dining-room table, got down on all fours, and stretched out his arm underneath it until he had something in his hand.

“No way,” he said. “You’re not going to believe what this is.”

“Tell me.”

Ethan crawled out from under the table and rose to his feet, holding a tiny yellow object between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes wide. “It’s a lemon drop.”

“Very funny.”

“See for yourself.”

Ethan walked toward her, the object in his open palm.

“It’s obviously a lemon drop,” she said. “I just think you put it there.”

“
What?
Why would I do that?”

“As a prank. To make me think Carter actually saw some guy in the upstairs closet. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“Neither do I. And I’m not into cruel pranks. I have no idea where it came from.”

She studied his stony expression, half expecting him to break into laughter at any moment. “Well, I’m sure Carter didn’t put it there.”

“Honey …” Ethan gently gripped her wrist. “
I
didn’t. I promise.”

“We had all the locks changed. No one else has a key to the house.”

“Well”—Ethan pursed his lips and looked up the white staircase—“if Carter did see a man up there, the guy got in without a key.”

“How? The doors are all locked. Windows, too.”

Ethan shrugged. “I don’t have an explanation. Yet. But it wasn’t the ghost of Josiah Langley. Besides, I doubt they had lemon drops in 1839.”

“Don’t kid around, Ethan. This is creepy. How will we ever be safe here if someone can get in and out without a key?”

“Take it easy, honey. There has to be an explanation.”

“It terrifies me that Carter might actually have been close to this … this … trespasser.” Vanessa glanced up at the oil painting, a chill crawling up her spine. “Let’s not say anything to Zoe and Pierce. I don’t want anything else added to the ghost stories about this place.”

“Agreed. We need to talk to Carter again and start taking his description of this character seriously. And we need to report it to the sheriff.”

CHAPTER 2

The next morning, Zoe Broussard hurried down the stairs from her apartment above Zoe B’s Cajun Eatery and walked through the alcove and into the cozy dining area. The aroma of warm beignets, oven-hot bread, and freshly brewed coffee filled her senses.

The place was starting to fill up with customers, the hum of their voices the perfect background music. Could it really have been a decade ago that she opened this place? Little had changed, other than the size, the color scheme, and the addition of a few oil paintings from local artists. The same French country furnishings still flavored the ambiance.

Two of her longtime customers sat at the table next to the window, where she’d hung her prize fern. She unfolded a red and gold fleur-de-lis print tablecloth that matched the curtains, shook it, then spread it evenly across the table, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“There you go,” she said. “Still warm from the dryer. And don’t worry about the coffee spill on the other one. There’s almost no stain I can’t get out.”

“Aw, you take such good care of us.” Tex Campbell’s bushy silver eyebrows shifted as he winked at his tablemate. “What would we do without you?”

“You mean,
besides
starve?”

Father Samuel Fournier shot her a knowing look, his hazel eyes magnified by his thick lenses. “There’s more truth to that than I’d like to admit.”

Savannah Surette’s petite frame whisked past the table in the direction of the kitchen, her ponytail swaying. “I’ll bring you more coffee. Hebert called in his breakfast order and is on his way.”

“I wonder what’s keeping him?” Father Sam said. “He’s usually the first one here.”

Zoe shook her head, her arms folded. “Hebert shouldn’t be living alone. One of these days someone’s going to find him dead in his sleep.”

“Would that be such a bad way to go?” Father Sam pushed a lock of white hair off his forehead. “But that skinny mullet will make ninety-five on his next birthday and hardly ever sees a doctor.”

“He still needs looking after.”

“That’s what he’s got us for,” Father Sam said. “And he seems just fine to me.”

“Shoot”—Tex waved his hand—“he shamed us at checkers the other night—
again
. All his burners are still lit.”

“That’s beside the point,” Zoe said. “He’s an old man.”

“Old is as old does.” Tex sat back in his chair, his thumbs hooked on his suspenders, his bald head shiny under the overhead lights. “Hebert’s mind is sharp as a tack.”

“He’s old enough to be your father.”

“Impressive, don’t you think?” Tex flashed a grin as wide as the Rio Grande. “I suspect that ornery Cajun is gonna be around for a while yet.”

Savannah stopped at the table, filled two cups with coffee, and set the white thermal pitcher on the table. “Your orders are up next.”

The tinkling of the bell on the front door caused Zoe to turn just as Remy Jarvis shuffled in the front door, a red cap backward on his head and two copies of Monday’s
Les Barbes Ledger
in his hand.

“Happy day, everybody,” Remy said. “I am late. My bike got a flat tire. Mister Ives fixed it for me. It cost fifty cents. That’s two quarters.” Remy’s eyes were wide. “And I had two quarters!”

“Ives is a good friend, isn’t he?”

Remy bobbed his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Mister Ives is my friend. I brought two newspapers, Miss Zoe. Sorry I am late.”

Zoe took the papers and patted Remy’s cheek. “You’re not that late, and it couldn’t be helped. I knew you’d be here.”

Remy beamed, a seven-year-old in a grown man’s body. “Bye. Happy day, everybody.” He turned and left the eatery.

“That was sure kind of ol’ Ives,” Tex said. “Wanna bet he asked Remy how much money he had on him and acted like two quarters was exactly what he charges to fix a tire?”

“Ives would do just about anything for Remy,” Zoe said, scanning the front page. “I’d like to think we all would.”

A few seconds later the front door opened again, and Hebert Lanoux stepped inside, dressed in too-short khaki pants, a wrinkled yellow shirt, and socks that didn’t match.

“There you are,” Zoe said.

Hebert, his mass of mousey gray hair sticking up in the back where he’d slept on it, shuffled over to the table and kissed Zoe on the cheek, then sat next to Father Sam.
“Bonjours, mes amis.
And how’s everybody dis fine day?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Tex said.

“I’m feeling great.” Father Sam took a sip of coffee, looking authoritative in his black and white cleric shirt. “How come you’re late?”

“Oh, I made da mistake of listening to da news and lost consciousness.” He laughed, exposing a row of discolored teeth. “So much of what dey call news is
rahdoht.”

A row of lines appeared on Tex’s forehead. “What’s raw dot?”

“Boring talk dat goes on and on and on,” Hebert said. “Can’t get jus’ facts anymore. Now we got to listen to everybody’s opinion. And den somebody’s opinion of everybody’s opinion.”

Zoe nodded. “That’s why I prefer the newspaper. Pierce listens to cable and tells me what I absolutely need to know.” She handed one copy of the newspaper to Father Sam and tucked the other under her arm.

“But isn’t it great we live in a country where we’re allowed to speak our minds?” Tex took his red kerchief and dabbed his forehead. “No one’s forcin’ us to watch the tube.”

“Good point,” Father Sam said. “We can always slow the TV. Or just turn it off.”

Savannah came out of the kitchen, her smile infectious, her right hand balancing a round tray almost as wide as she was tall. “Here we are, fellas.”

Zoe studied the breakfast entrees as Savannah served them. Pain perdu for Father Sam. Eggs benedict for Tex. Beignets and a side of andouille sausage for Hebert. Beautifully arranged on the plates. A slice of orange and a sprig of mint. Pierce always made such a nice presentation.

“Will that do, everybody?” Savannah said. “Or is there something else I can bring y’all?”

“I think we’re good,” Tex said. “Still got half a pot of coffee.”

“Uh, since you asked”—Hebert picked up his knife and fork—“I could use a little o’ dat citrus marmalade on dese beignets.”

“Done. Anybody else?”

Father Sam smiled sheepishly. “More milk for my coffee?”

“Coming right up.”

Zoe heard a child’s voice and turned, surprised to see Vanessa and Carter Langley coming in the door.

“Miss Zoe, guess what?” Carter raced toward her, Georgie tucked under his arm. “Mommy said I could have cwepes!”

Zoe crouched next to Carter. His round eyes looked like big blue buttons, and his dimpled cheeks were flushed with sheer delight.

“Which flavor crepes would you like?” she said. “Blueberry, strawberry, banana, or apple?”

“I want apple!” Carter glanced over at his mother and then added, “Please.” He cupped his little hands around her ear and whispered, “I don’t like peelings—just the goodest part of apples, like the kind in apple pie.”

“Well, you’re in luck because that’s the kind we have. I’ll tell Mister Pierce to be sure to get
all
the peel off.”

“Where do you want us?” Vanessa glanced around the room. “How about that corner table, where you-know-who’s mess won’t be so obvious?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Sit wherever you’re comfortable. Breakfast is on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Vanessa said.

“It’s the least I can do after Pierce’s blunt and unsolicited history lesson yesterday.” Zoe stroked Carter’s thick straight hair. “I hope you know he’s excited about you renting the upstairs apartment. We wouldn’t have rented it to just anybody. Y’all are so nice, and we know you’ll take care of it. How’s the back entrance working out for you?”

“It’s perfect. And with Carter in tow, it’s nice that our parking spots are close. Ethan and I love the apartment. Thanks for letting us share the balcony—I mean the gallery. We love to be out there in the evenings and watch the people on the sidewalks—and listen to the band playing at Breaux’s.”

“You like Cajun music?”

“
Very
much.” Vanessa’s face was suddenly animated. “Ethan’s grandfather grew up here and learned to play the accordion, banjo, and mandolin. He moved to Alexandria after he got married and for years played in a band called the Bayou Boys. Later on he learned to play the guitar and fiddle, too, and taught Ethan’s dad and uncles to play all of those. They still do.”

“Really?”

“They’re good, too. The band at Breaux’s reminds me of them. Ethan’s family has strong Cajun ties. I had intended to mention it to Pierce yesterday before he—”

“Insulted you?”

Vanessa’s cheeks turned as pink as her blouse. “I didn’t take it as an insult, but it was awkward. Maybe once he realizes that not everyone with British ancestry is the enemy, he’ll see that we can love and appreciate all the unique things about the Cajun culture.”

Zoe sighed. “Pierce needs to be around more people like you and Ethan. Ever since he quit teaching and became the chef here, he spends so much time back in that kitchen that he’s hardly ever exposed to anyone who isn’t Cajun. His world has gotten much too small. Please don’t judge him too harshly. He’s really a sweetheart.”

“I can see that. I was just caught off guard by his resentment of the British. Ethan and I will have to prove to Pierce that we’re all on the same side. I’d like us to be friends.”

“Me, too,” Zoe said. “Actually he’s fond of you. And he’s nuts about Carter. His issues with the British go back generations in his family. It’s not personal.”

Vanessa held out her hand to Carter. “Sweetie, we’d better go find a table and let Miss Zoe get back to work.”

“I want to sit
there!”
He pointed to a table against the brick wall and took off running.

“Carter, wait …” Vanessa sighed and looked at Zoe apologetically. “He hasn’t quite learned his restaurant manners yet.”

“He said
please
without being told. I thought that was very polite for a four-year-old. Relax. Just enjoy your breakfast.”

Zoe watched Vanessa get Carter situated at the table, at the same time admiring how the newly refinished oak floors accentuated the tan and ruddy tones in the brick. And the red and gold in the new tablecloths.

Hebert tapped her arm. “Who dat
p’tit boug?”

“Carter Langley. Isn’t he adorable?”

“Dat beautiful lady his mama?”

“Uh-huh.” Zoe studied Vanessa: a perfect size six with long, dark hair and striking blue eyes. She felt a tinge of jealousy and dismissed it. “Her name’s Vanessa Langley. She and her husband, Ethan, inherited Langley Manor. They’re renting the apartment upstairs while the house is being renovated and converted into a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Where dey from?”

“East Tennessee. Ethan’s a psychologist and just got hired by a Christian counseling firm in Lafayette.”

“Dat’s real nice. Hope dey work out.”

“Me, too.” Zoe lowered her voice. “I just hope the folks in Les Barbes will accept them.”

“They accepted me,” Tex said. “What’s the difference?”

“Da difference”—Hebert licked the powdered sugar off his finger—“is dat it weren’t your uppity British kin who looked down dere noses at da Cajuns.”

“But that young lady over there and her husband had nothin’ to do with that,” Tex said.

“No, they didn’t.” Zoe shook her head. “And they’re not the least bit uppity.”

“Good.” Father Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So there’s no reason to punish them for the faults of their relatives. The plantation house has been vacant so long that most people here have never even met a Langley.”

Hebert smiled, powdered sugar dusting his chin. “Guess dey will now.”