False Pretenses (34 page)

CHAPTER 36

Zoe sat at her desk in the office at Zoe B’s and wiped the tears off her cheeks. Shouldn’t she get this over with? It wasn’t going to get any easier.

She folded the
Les Barbes Ledger
and tucked it under her arm, then got up and left the office. She walked through the alcove and out into the dining room, where Father Sam, Hebert, and Tex sat at the table by the window.

They looked up, wide-eyed and silent, as she walked toward them and stopped at the table.

“May I sit with you?” she said.

Father Sam fumbled to grab the back of the chair. “Please do.”

Zoe sat next to the priest and across from the other two men, her hands folded on the table, her pulse racing.

A second later, Savannah was standing at the table, a white carafe in her hand. “Are we ever glad to see you!” She filled Zoe’s cup with coffee and set the carafe on the table. “What an ordeal.”

Zoe wasn’t sure how to respond. Had they all read the
Ledger?
Had they watched the morning news? “I-I don’t know what to say. I was shocked and horrified to find out this Cowen who came looking for me was behind Remy’s murder.”

“We were too,” Savannah said. “Sheriff’s deputies came in to talk to us, and I gave the sketch artist a description of the man who was with Cowen.”

The others shook their heads.

Zoe’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t stop thinking that it would never have happened if I hadn’t lied to that reporter, who wrote the feature story on Zoe B’s.”

“Lied?” Savannah said.

Zoe nodded, moving her gaze around the table at four pairs of questioning eyes. “Yes. There’s something I need to tell you. My parents didn’t die in a house fire. I made that up when I moved here. I’m sorry I let you think it all this time. It was just easier than getting into matters I was uncomfortable with. The truth is: I grew up in an abusive home. When I was old enough to leave, I walked away. Eventually, I changed my name from Shelby Sieger to Zoe Benoit, and then Broussard when I married Pierce. I’m not even Cajun.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us this before?” Savannah said. “Who cares if you’re not Cajun? We like you the way you are.”

Shame scalded Zoe’s face. “It’s complicated. I was starting a new life and
really
wanted to fit in here. I didn’t think people would support a Cajun eatery unless the owner was Cajun. I apologize for misrepresenting myself. There’s more I have to work out—most of it with Pierce—but it’s a private matter. I hope you all will respect that.”

“Of course, we will,” Father Sam said. “We’re just so happy you’re safe, Zoe. You seem to be all right. But are you?”

“I will be. It’s going to take time. Vanessa endured the worst of it.”

“What about Pierce?”

“He wasn’t hurt physically.” Zoe sighed. “But he didn’t know I lied about my past until after Cowan accosted me and demanded money. He needs some time to think. He’s staying in Houma at his parents’.”

Half a minute went by without anyone saying anything.

“Don’t feel like you have to talk about your ordeal”—Savannah kept glancing at the Band-Aid on Zoe’s cheek—“but just tell me this: Was the article in the
Ledger
accurate?”

“About what happened with Cowen, yes. But you’re the only people besides the sheriff, the Langleys, and Pierce who know I lied to the reporter about my past. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t. Cowen was in Lafayette the weekend the feature story was in the newspaper. When he read it, the details all fit. He was convinced he had found the Zoe Benoit whose parents had owed him money.” Zoe shook her head. “Why did he have to kill Remy? It hurts me so much to think he killed Remy for nothing more than to distract the authorities.”

“You’re not responsible for anything Cowen did,” Tex said.

“I know that in my head. But my heart is broken. Remy would be alive if I hadn’t lied.” Zoe wiped a tear off her cheek. “How do I get past that?”

Hebert patted her hand tenderly. “
Un jour a la frou
.”

“Hebert’s right,” Father Sam said. “One day at a time. We’ll help you.”

She knew they would. Not that she deserved it. “Enough about me. This day is about paying our respects to Remy. How’s Emile?”

Hebert shook his head. “I tink he’ll do better after we get Remy’s funeral overwid. Later on, he’s going to carry his ashes down to da Roux River and let ’em go.”

Father Sam looked at his watch. “Which reminds me, I need to get over to Saint Catherine’s. I want to spend some time going over Remy’s eulogy. One o’clock will be here before we know it.”

At twelve-thirty, Zoe walked in the front door of Saint Catherine Catholic Church and took a memorial folder from the usher. She dipped her fingers into the holy water and crossed herself, then walked up the side aisle until she spotted Tex’s bald head in the third row. She bowed her head, made the sign of the cross, and moved into the center of the pew and knelt next to him.

Tex kept his eyes focused on something straight ahead. She wondered if this Texas Baptist felt like a foreigner in a Catholic church—or if he was just succumbing to the sobering heaviness of the moment.

Zoe bowed her head for what seemed a respectable length of time, and then looked up at the altar. So
that’s
what Tex had been staring at! In spite of Emile’s appeal that, in lieu of flowers, donations be made to Catholic Charities, the sanctuary was lavishly adorned with flower arrangements of every shape and size—all red flowers, the color of the cap Remy always wore. For a split second she pictured him standing there, smiling like an angel, his red cap backward on his head.

Zoe’s eyes burned with tears. That beautiful human being would still be alive if Cowen hadn’t come to Les Barbes looking for her. How many other people were thinking the same thing? She could almost feel the stares.

She turned her focus on her hands and didn’t look to her right or to her left. After a few minutes she eased back and sat on the pew.

God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry
.

She heard a man coughing. Sounded just like Pierce. She’d already done a double take twice today, thinking she had seen him. Would she ever adjust to his absence? It was as though half of her had been stripped away and she was exposed and vulnerable.

She heard shuffling and realized everyone was standing. She rose to her feet just as the organ began to play a song she didn’t recognize. She waited as Remy’s relatives walked slowly down the center aisle and into the first two rows, not surprised to see Hebert with them.

Emile looked a decade older. Father Sam, dressed in white vestments, walked behind the cross bearer and up the steps to the altar. It occurred to her that she had never seen him outfitted for Mass before.

“‘I am the resurrection and the life.’” Her white-haired friend spoke with gentle authority. “‘Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.…’”

She felt Tex slip his arm around her. His show of tenderness so touched her that she could restrain the tears no longer. She took a handkerchief out of her purse, held it to her mouth, and quietly wept.

Pierce sat at the far end of the back pew at Saint Catherine’s, wearing sunglasses, and with enough mousse in his hair that no one should recognize him. He waited several minutes until the congregation, row by row, came down the center aisle and exited the church.

Zoe had looked broken, her face red and swollen, her gait wobbly and frail. At least Tex Campbell held her by the arm and seemed to steady her. Was he aware that she and Pierce were thinking of separating? Or had Zoe kept that secret, too?

It was disturbing to see Emile Jarvis look so devastated. Would he ever recover from this? Would he ever be able to accept that his sweet, innocent son was hung from a live oak, his head bashed in?

Pierce put his hand on the back of his neck and massaged the muscles. He felt at the same time fury and compassion for Zoe’s plight. She had lied about herself. She would have to live with the consequences. But could there be any doubt that she cared deeply about Remy and would have never put him in danger? She wasn’t the monster; Cowen was. If there was any justice at all, Cowen was in hell.

One by one the stragglers left the church until Pierce was the only one left. He got up and walked down the side aisle and up to the front of the church where the statue of Mary stood, vases of flowers at her feet. He put an offering in the box and lit a votive candle, then knelt and said a prayer for Remy.

Finally he stood, a lump in his throat, and whispered, “Rest in peace, bud. You’re in a better place.”

Was he? Pierce wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. If God was so good, why had Remy been murdered? Why was his own life falling apart? He’d been faithful. He’d done exactly what the Church had required of him. He never missed Mass on Sundays and holy days. He went to confession regularly. Communion every Sunday. He kept the Ten Commandments the best he could. Said the rosary. He tried to be a good husband. He was faithful to Zoe and loved her with all his heart.

Did he deserve to have his marriage fall apart? Or to find out his father wasn’t his hero after all—that he was capable of doing something so dishonest?

Pierce glanced over at the altar and saw Father Sam, now dressed in black slacks and his black clerical shirt, reading the note cards on the flowers.

He turned around and walked quickly down the side aisle and exited by the side door. Most of the people who had populated the pews had left now. The parking lot was almost empty—like his heart and soul.

His father’s voice seemed to echo in the void.
Just because she didn’t have the courage to tell you things she’s ashamed of doesn’t mean she never loved you. Or that she lies to you about other things. I didn’t.

Pierce sighed. How was that even possible? Should he get in his car and drive back to Houma? Or should he go find Zoe and take the first step to save their marriage? There was little chance he would change his mind about going back to her. But unless
little
chance became
no
chance, didn’t he owe it to himself to at least be open?

You’re the one with the power….This can have a happy ending. It just depends on how much grace you’re willing to give Zoe.

Pierce started the car and turned on the air conditioner. He adjusted the side mirror and heard laughter. He caught a glimpse of a young couple walking into Louie’s, one of the man’s arms around a pretty brunette, the other holding a curly-headed blond baby.

His heart felt as if it had gone limp and was lying in a heap. Could he bear to spend the rest of his life without Zoe—without any chance at his dream to raise a family with her? He was thirty-seven. How many years would it take him to start over? To find a woman he loved the way he loved Zoe?

Who was he kidding? He could never love any woman the way he loved her. He blinked to clear his eyes and swallowed the tightness in his throat, then pulled out of Saint Catherine’s onto Church Street, still not sure what to do.

His dad said he had all the power. So why did he feel so lost?

CHAPTER 37

Vanessa sat on her living room couch, cuddling Carter and soaking in the wonder of being alive—and being
home.

“When is Daddy bwinging the candy man to our house?” Carter hugged Georgie and looked up at her with those deep blue eyes that reminded her of her own.

She stroked his thick strawberry-blond hair with her fingers. “Any minute, sweetie. Daddy had to drive to the Haven House to pick him up. That’s not far from the courthouse. You know where that is.”

Carter gave a nod.

“But I think it’s time we called the candy man by his real name.”

“What is it?”

“His name is Noah Washington. I think maybe Mister Washington is a little long. Why don’t you just call him Mister Noah?”

“Mister Noah?” Carter smiled with his eyes. “Is he bwinging us animal cwackers?”

Vanessa chuckled at her son’s developing sense of humor.

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. “It’s just us,” Ethan said.

Ethan showed Noah around the apartment, then took him into the living room and seated him in the most comfortable chair and brought him a glass of raspberry tea.

“This place is somethin’,” Noah said. “Kinda nice bein’ able to go outside on that big gallery and enjoy watchin’ the people on the street.”

“It is for now,” Vanessa said. “After the renovation is done, we’ll move into Langley Manor and operate it as a bed-and-breakfast.”

“That’s what Ethan said on the way over here. Sounds like you have big plans for that place.”

“We do,” Vanessa said. “We’ll have to make some modifications now that we know about the two tunnels. We want to preserve them.”

“Tell us a little about
you
.” Ethan put his arm around Vanessa. “We’re so grateful you helped Vanessa and Zoe and Pierce escape from Cowen. We’d like to know you better.”

“Not much to tell. I lived in New Awlins all my life. My folks have passed away now, and my brothers live in Detroit. Made my livin’ as a landscaper. I built a clientele and eventually had a crew of six workin’ for me. Married a beautiful woman named Rachellyn, who was a nurse at Children’s Hospital. We didn’t have kids for a long time, but the good Lord finally blessed us with two daughters born a year apart—Tasha and Teena.” Noah smiled at Carter. “We sure did enjoy those girls.”

“Where’s your family now?” Vanessa felt Ethan nudge her with his elbow. “I’m sorry. Maybe that was too direct. It’s just that I feel a connection since both our families once lived in Langley Manor and worked together on the Underground Railroad. I find that intriguing.”

“So do I. Josiah Langley was a fine man. None finer. From all G. G. told me, I’d be honored to shake his hand. But let me answer your question.” Noah laced his fingers together. “I lost Rachellyn and the girls after Katrina. We lived in the ninth ward. Flood waters took ’em before rescuers could get to us. The house is abandoned. I didn’t have flood insurance.”

“I am
so
sorry, Noah.” Vanessa hated that her words sounded rote. What else could she say?

“Me too,” he said. “My girls were fifteen and sixteen. I’ve missed out on their teen years and can’t seem to get my groove back. Most of my clients never came back after Katrina. My crew either. I’m just too tired to start over. The experience has me whipped.”

“Couldn’t you get help from the government?”

Noah shrugged. “Some. But I’m just kinda lost, if you know what I’m sayin’. I know I gotta pull myself up. But it’s been hard. Rachellyn would be ashamed if she could see me bummin’ it like this. I used to have more clients than I could get to.”

“What kind of gardening did you do?” Ethan said.

“You name it, I did it. Landscaping. Maintenance. I did a lot of commercial lawns. Loved it. I’m happiest when my hands is in the dirt.”

“Any ideas on what we could do at Langley Manor?”

“It wouldn’t be hard for you to make
those
grounds a show place. You just need to trim the live oaks and let more light in. Put in blossom trees—dogwoods, magnolias, crepe myrtles. Some azaleas. Bougainvilleas. A rock garden in the middle of the front lawn would look mighty nice, especially with a waterfall. You’d need Saint Augustine grass that can handle the shade. It depends on your budget. But that place could spruce up real nice.”

Vanessa squeezed Ethan’s hand, and he squeezed hers back.

“Noah, I realize I’m stepping out here,” Ethan said, “but would you consider drawing up a plan we could look at? We’d pay you, of course. The truth is, we’re going to need to hire someone to do the landscaping. We can’t really do much until the renovation is done because of the workers coming and going. But would you have any interest in tackling it?”

Noah’s eyes grew wide and animated. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?” Ethan said. “It seems fitting since we both have a family history at Langley Manor. But those times have changed, and we’ll gladly
pay
you for your services.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

“It would be a privilege to help get that place lookin’ beautiful again. But it’s goin’ to be a long time before the renovation’s done. Can’t just sit on my thumbs all that time. I’ve got to find a place to stay. Get work to tide me over.”

Ethan smiled. “We can make some inquiries. Surely there are businesses and private residents who are looking for a landscaper. You’re practically famous after saving Vanessa and the Broussards.”

For the first time, Noah smiled like he meant it. “Actually the monsignor down at Haven House told me he would help me find work when I was serious about it. Said I could stay there as long as I’m workin’ and tryin’ to improve my situation. They don’t ask for rent, but expect everybody to pitch in with the chores—cookin’, cleanin’, maintenance, yard work, and such. Sounds like a good way to find my way back.”

Vanessa locked gazes with Ethan, marveling that a descendent of Josiah Langley and a descendent of a slave named Naomi had not only met, but were going to work together to restore the manor house their ancestors had secretly used as a doorway to freedom for hundreds of slaves.

“It’s just starting to hit me how historic this is,” Ethan said. “I mean, think about it. This is really something.”

“Actually”—a slow grin spread across Noah’s face—“it’s somethin’
else!”