Lies Agreed Upon (18 page)

A sudden drumming on the window and a rumble of thunder startled her out of her reverie. The afternoon thunderstorm had arrived and wrapped its gray shawl around the old hotel. Tess sighed and placed the barely broached book on the bedside table. After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the puzzle book. Here at least all the clues were provided, and discovery of a pa
ttern was possible with only a little patient effort. She curled up in cozy retreat, the only sounds the soft scratch of pencil on paper and the thrumming hush of the rain.

Tess eventually got up to shower and dress for her evening out. Before going downstairs, she pulled out Remy’s card and sat looking at it in indecision. She
had decided to go see Miss Gloria and then to head over to his uncle’s swamp tour tomorrow. He had asked her to let him know, hadn’t he? She took a deep breath and dialed his number.

“Hello?” Hearing his voice made her jump. She had
expected to leave a message.
“Coward.”

“Oh, hi, Remy. It’s Tess. I just wanted to let you know that I, um, I’ll be going
on your uncle’s tour tomorrow. I mean tomorrow afternoon,” she stammered. “You said to let you know.”

“Sure, I’ll tell Uncle Joe to expect you. You sound rattled. Everything OK?” asked Remy.

“Everything’s fine,” assured Tess, trying to put confidence into her voice. “I’ve got a meeting with an old relative who knew my grandfather. And then I’ll head over to the swamp tour. Oh, and I found out something about the fatal boat accident affecting my family.” She described the small article she had found on the Internet, pulling out the little scrap paper on which she had written the words “Noah Cabirac, Manchac.”

“A guy named Noah Cabirac from Manchac? That’s interesting. I’m glad you called then,” said Remy after a short pause. “You know, Uncle Joe knows Manchac pretty well, and his par
tner J.J. used to live near there. You can ask them if they know the family when you’re out on the tour. It’s a long shot, but you might get some useful info.”

“OK, thanks, Remy. That’s a good idea. So I guess you’ll be too busy to join me on the tour and make sure I get VIP treatment from your uncle?” Tess bit her lip at the temerity of the suggestion and felt herself coloring even though he could
not see her.

“I’d love to be there, but I’ve got a photo shoot that I’ve got to do.
Give me a rain check for your next tourist outing, especially up Lafayette way,” he offered. Tess ended the call with mixed feelings about the progress of their friendship. After a little reflection, she decided that, all in all, it was a positive sign that Remy was encouraging her to make another invitation. 

She ended up sitting in the lobby 10 minutes ahead of the stated
rendezvous time with Jon. She gnawed on her bottom lip and second-guessed her choice of perfume and jewelry as she waited. She was wearing one of her “good” dresses—a short, sleeveless black sheath—to which she had added a loosely knit taupe shrug and a heavy gold choker with matching earrings. The jewelry was an expensive gift from Mac, a memento of previous success with the opposite sex, which she thought might boost her confidence in her ability to charm the young lawyers.

She also was clutching the
thick manila envelope of paperwork provided by Dreux, minus the material on family history. It seemed like an odd armful to bring to a fancy restaurant; she wished it would fit in her purse, but it was too bulky. On the other hand, the envelope allowed her to see her evening with Jon and friend as a business meeting more than a social occasion, and she felt more comfortable with that definition. There was no personal acceptance or rejection involved in a discussion of real estate.

“You look nice, miss,” piped a shy voice from the reception window. It was the same doe-eyed young desk clerk who had checked her in.

“Oh, thank you, um, Pierre,” said Tess with a pleased blush, only remembering him because the French name was so at odds with his very un-French way of speaking.

“I think your date’s here. He got a real nice car,” said Pierre, with an admiring nod t
oward the street, where the Mercedes’ silver rear could be glimpsed through the lobby doors. Tess did not have the heart to correct Pierre’s romantic assumption before Jon entered a few moments later, startlingly handsome in an expensively tailored black suit.

“We’ll be meeting Tony at the Commander’s Palace in the Garden District. The resta
urant is at the top of the ratings, so I think you’ll enjoy it,” Jon said as he eased away from the hotel, his hands calm and confident on the steering wheel. He immediately lapsed into his usual aloof silence. Taking her cue from his last remark, Tess tried to fill the awkward quiet with chatter about her tourist experiences for the rest of the short drive.

The Commander’s Palace restaurant
occupied an aqua-and-white turreted Victorian skirted by a flirty striped awning. The brightly fanciful building was moored in defiant gaiety across from the aged walls of Lafayette Cemetery, whose narrow alleys lined by time-worn, above-ground tombs provided a favorite backdrop for Hollywood horror.

As soon as they ente
red the restaurant, a young man approached Jon with a wide smile and outstretched hand. He was dressed in a conservative suit but sported a bright purple patterned tie that hinted there might be a more adventurous character under the surface.

“Tony, I hope we haven’t kept you waiting,” responded Jon, smiling and grasping the other man’s hand warmly. “Let me introduce you to Tess Parnell
, who’s visiting from California. Tess, this is my old friend Tony Mizzi. We went to high school and undergrad together.”

“Nice to meet you, Tess,” said Tony softly as he shook her hand in turn. He was several inches shorter than his friend and had a slight but wiry build. His narrow olive-skinned face was harshly angular, with a masculine Roman nose that contrasted strangely with long-lashed a
lmost girlish brown eyes. His mouth was wide and full-lipped, and he grinned broadly to reveal large teeth with a noticeable gap between the top front incisors.

Tess was at a loss to explain the a
ppeal in his homeliness, but there definitely was something attractive about the gap-toothed grin and puppy eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Tony. Jon has told me that you can help me out in evaluating this li
ttle plot of land I’ve inherited,” replied Tess, hefting her manila envelope meaningfully.

“Whoa, let’s get to our table and have a drink before we open that can of worms. An
ything prepared by Dreux may be a bit wriggly,” laughed Jon.

Behind
its ebullient aqua-and-white facade, the restaurant rambled through a series of elegant dining rooms and a lushly landscaped courtyard. Tess noticed that the clientele was older and well-dressed, although Jon fit in easily with his professional look and confident stride.

Almost as soon as they were seated, Jon was hailed by a party of three men, apparently other members of the legal community, who were seated several tables away. He rose and went over to shake hands cordially
. He engaged in a brief exchange with a florid older man whose mane of white hair, expensive suit and manicured nails proclaimed him a Southern social lion. The older man ended the conversation with a pat on Jon’s bicep and a courtly nod.

“Wasn’t that Judge McCall?” asked Tony when Jon returned. “Is he hearing one of your cases?”

“Nope. He was just asking about one of the partners who had a heart bypass,” said Jon, beginning to peruse the wine list with serious concentration.

He kept his attention firmly fixed on the
wine selection, although Tess noticed that people at nearby tables were surreptitiously eying his elegant profile. She had no idea if it was because Jon was so handsome or on friendly terms with a powerful man. She and Tony Mizzi were certainly not on the social radar, she thought, frankly grateful not to be the cynosure of curious eyes.

Jon
chose a California chardonnay to start, and Tony and Tess acquiesced to his obvious knowledge. Tony watched with amusement and Tess with bemusement, as Jon sniffed, sipped and swirled a sample pour before nodding his approval to the anxious wine steward.

“Jon took a class in wine tasting and selection, and he’s been working on his role as
wine connoisseur ever since,” remarked Tony with a grin and wink to Tess. Shrugging off Jon’s annoyed look, he continued to focus his warm brown gaze on Tess and asked, “So what do you do when you aren’t being an heiress? Did you go to a college out West?”

Tess found herself opening up to Tony about her UCLA education and librarian exper
ience, concluding by saying she had been laid off and was “between jobs and considering a career change.” It was an admission she attributed to the effect of Tony’s flirtatious, nonjudgmental interest.

As she talked, she realized that Jon was listening attentively since she had never shared any personal information with him. She probably would have hesitated to admit she was unemployed if she had been alone with Jon, she realized. She felt comfortable with T
ony, but she felt guarded before a man like Jon, who could chat with judges and capture the interest of a room full of strangers.

It was strange to think that she
could be at ease with impressive powerhouse women like Jen but not their male counterparts. But she was not looking for the same kind of approval, she told herself.

“What kind of approval do you want from Jon? How is it different from what you want from Remy or Tony?”

Tess blinked in baffled panic. Luckily, the waiter arrived to ask if they were ready to order.

Tess stared down at her menu with fierce concentration, determined not to let any stray anxieties derail her pleasure in the evening. She asked both Jon and Tony for recommendations to steer the conversation toward the impersonal and realign the men in safe roles as culinary guides. On their advice, Tess ordered turtle soup as a first course and roasted quail stuffed with Creole sausage as an entrée. The men fed their carnivorous souls with a hearty mixed grill including lamb and rabbit sausage. And Jon requested more wine.

Primed by alcohol, Tony and Jon regaled Tess
throughout the meal with amusing anecdotes from their time together as undergraduate students at Tulane University. Most of the escapades were instigated by Tony, who was apparently Jon’s naughtier alter ego. Despite his slighter stature and flawed looks, Tony also was clearly the ladies’ man of the two. His relaxed laugh, twinkling eyes and gift of gab were more successful in winning hearts than Jon’s physical perfection and serious intelligence.

The conversation finally turned to Tess’s property.

“What’s the history of land usage?” asked Tony.

“Well, it was a sugar plantation until the family sold off most of the surrounding land. This 10-acre parcel was retained because it included the residential house and gardens, al
though the house later burned down. My mother leased some land to a sugar cane grower right up to this year. It’s my impression from Mr. Dreux, who represents Gulf Coast Refining, that a portion of the property was recently found to be contaminated by toxins, and a cleanup is EPA-mandated. Also, the area closest to the river may be prone to flooding,” Tess explained. She had only sipped her one glass of wine during the meal so that she could keep a sharp focus on the business purpose of the dinner meeting.

“Here’s what Mr. Dreux gave me.” Tess passed the envelope to Tony, who set it on the empty chair next to him with a nod.

“I just want to make sure Tess isn’t getting a bum deal, Tony,” said Jon. “You know I have experience with Gulf Coast Refining and Dreux’s firm.”

Tony eyed Jon. “What’s your connection to all this, Jon? Tess is a West Coast girl, and this is her first time in New Orleans. She’s not an old Harvard pal or ex-girlfriend. So how did you meet Tess?”

Tess bit her lip and waited to hear Jon’s explanation.

He looked at Tony calmly, clearly prepared for the question. “Tess actually came to me because Mr. Dreux had told her my gran
dfather Sam was an old friend of her grandfather. Since Tess didn’t know much about her family here, she came seeking my grandfather at the restaurant, found me there instead. She asked if I could put her in touch with Grampaw Sam so he could provide her with information about her grandfather Guy Cabrera. We had a nice get-together at Grampaw’s house in Tremé, and, knowing Dreux and Gulf Coast as I do, I offered to advise her before she signs off on the deal they are offering.”

“Your grandfather and her grandfather were friends? It doesn’t seem too likely given se
gregation,” commented Tony with a dubious look.

“You’re right. ‘Friends’ is probably the wrong word. They weren’t attending the same s
ocial functions, but my grandfather knew the family well. My great-grandparents had worked for the Cabreras. The family patriarch Ben Cabrera even left my great-grandfather a legacy for his loyal service. Our family restaurant was originally owned by the Cabreras, and my grandfather grew up playing with Tess’s great-grandfather. So my grandfather definitely can tell Tess something about her family roots,” Jon concluded.

Tony nodded at this explanation, and Tess relaxed. Tony then opened the envel
ope and pulled out the papers. Brows knit in concentration, he began to flip through them as the entrée dishes were being cleared. He was still engrossed when a waiter came to ask about dessert and coffee.