Mischief in Mudbug (17 page)

“It’s probably time I put them to rest for good. But I’ve got to be honest with you. When this is over, I’m going to ask you to reconsider.”

Sabine nodded, praying that when it was all over, she’d have any reason at all to gamble on a future with Beau. “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

Beau leaned over and brushed his lips gently against hers. “Let’s get some rest. I know you’re as exhausted as I am.” He gathered her in his arms and they lay back on the bed. Minutes later, his breathing changed and Sabine knew he was asleep.

She lay there, enveloped in the warmth and caring of the most perfect man she’d ever met, and prayed that tonight wouldn’t be the last time she ever felt this secure.

Sabine had no idea what time it was when she opened one eye and glanced at the dresser. The red light of her cell phone blinked off and on, seemingly magnified by
the darkness. Beau was snoring beside her, so she eased out from under his arm and stepped over to the dresser to retrieve her cell phone. As she pressed the message button, she crossed the room and opened the drapes, surprised to see the sun already shining brightly. Maryse was going to kill her for sleeping so late with Mildred in the hospital. She was surprised her friend hadn’t already stormed the hotel, but since Maryse was also hoping Sabine would get lucky, that probably explained everything. When she heard Martin Alford’s voice, she stiffened, frozen in place as he gave her the results of the test.

It was official. Sabine was a Fortescue.

She sank down on the end of the bed and blew out a breath. This was it. It was exactly what she’d been looking for. Well, maybe not the weirdness and definitely not the threats on her life and Mildred getting caught in the crossfire, but she was one enormous step closer to finding a matching donor. Someone in the family might not want her around, but Sabine seriously doubted that every family member was conspiring to kill her.

If they could just find whoever was trying to kill her, everything could go back to some semblance of normal, and God willing, Sabine would have plenty of time left on this earth to enjoy the pure mundane. Beau stirred and looked up at her. The expression on her face must have worried him, because he immediately sat up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. Alford called. I’m officially a Fortescue.”

Beau ran one hand through his hair. “Well, that’s a good thing, right? I mean, considering everything else.
Jesus, I never thought I’d be glad for you to be related to those nuts.”

Sabine smiled. “Perspective is a real bitch sometimes.”

“Definitely.” Beau looked over at the window and frowned. “I can’t believe we slept that late.”

“I’d like to believe I wore you out,” Sabine said and grinned, “but I’m guessing the murder games were probably a bigger exhaustion factor.”

“Well,” he said and looked her up and down, “since we’re already starting late, what’s another half hour?”

Sabine’s body immediately responded to his suggestion. Her nipples hardened and she felt an ache in her core. The same ache that Beau had quenched the night before. She hesitated for a moment, knowing this was a really, really bad idea, but then the memory of incredible pleasure overrode all common sense and she took one step toward him.

And that’s when someone banged on the motel room door.

“Sabine, Beau!” Raissa’s voice sounded outside the door. “Are you there?”

Sabine froze for an instant, then went into overdrive, tossing Beau his clothes and tugging on her own. The oddity of calm-and-collected Raissa banging on her hotel door at a time when she’d normally be opening her shop had sent Sabine into a bit of a panic. Fortunately, Beau sensed her urgency and was dressed, of sorts, before Sabine yanked open the door. Raissa burst into the room, holding a folder and looked relieved when she saw Beau there as well. “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night,” Raissa said. “Don’t you people answer your cell phones?”

Sabine felt the heat rise up her neck and shot Beau a sideways look. He didn’t look any more comfortable. At least neither of them planned on volunteering exactly why they had ignored their phones. “I overslept and was just checking messages,” Sabine said. “I’m sorry we worried you. Did you drive all the way over here for that?”

Raissa shook her head. “I’ve got some information for you, but I’m not sure what to make of it.” She opened the folder and stepped between Beau and Sabine so that they could both see the stack of papers inside. “That whole issue with the missing medical records concerned me, so I called in a favor. A lot of hospitals have started making digital backups of all their files, so I did some poking around to find out if Mudbug General had joined the wave of the future.”

Sabine stared down at the first sheet of paper. “Holy crap, Raissa. This is my dad’s file.”

Beau raised his eyebrows and looked at Raissa. “People owe you favors that include hacking a hospital’s database? I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you did for them?”

Raissa looked a bit flustered but waved one hand in dismissal. “I don’t suppose I am. I expect you to use the information and pretend you have no idea how you got it. And don’t, for any reason, let anyone see it. My friend broke at least a hundred different laws to get this.”

Beau smiled. “Given the type of friends you have, Raissa, I’m not really interested in becoming one of your enemies. So I assume there’s something interesting in here and not just your usual run of the flu and athlete’s foot?”

“Anyone insane?” Sabine asked.

“Well,” Raissa said. “There’s nothing on Frances until she was seventeen and she was hospitalized for meningitis, but after that the rest of her file reads like something out of a Stephen King novel. That woman has some serious issues.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Sabine asked.

“Paranoid schizophrenic, according to this. Apparently they keep her fairly well-medicated so there’s minimal outbursts, but it says in her file that the last time they hospitalized her, she swore someone was coming out of the ground to get her. It’s no small wonder she’s been kept in the house and drugged to a stupor.”

“God, that’s awful,” Sabine said.

“Another interesting thing,” Raissa continued, “is that all the Fortescues are allergic to peanuts. It’s in all their records, except Catherine, but she’s a Fortescue by marriage.”

“So any of them could have guessed I had the same allergy, given that it was that prevalent in the family.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Raissa said, “but that leads me to the really interesting part.”

Sabine stared at her. “There’s more?”

“Oh, yeah, and it’s a doozy.” Raissa flipped through a couple of sheets and pulled one from the middle of the stack. “This is part of your father’s file, except, well, take a look at the test.”

Sabine and Beau leaned over to read the line Raissa was pointing to. Sabine gasped. “He was impotent.” She read the next line out loud. “ ‘Impotency most likely as a result of scarlet fever as an infant.’ But it’s not possible.”

Raissa stared at the paper, then looked at Sabine. “Maybe it’s a huge coincidence that you favor them. Maybe you’re a distant cousin—”

“No,” Sabine interrupted. “Alford left a message this morning. The results of the DNA test were positive.”

Beau and Raissa stared at her, then looked at each other, then back at her. No one seemed to have any idea what to say. “Maybe the test was wrong,” Sabine suggested. “That can happen, right? I mean, men who have vasectomies sometimes still surprise their wives with a baby.”

Raissa frowned. “I don’t know that this is the same thing. Your father was working for a doctor at the time they ran these tests. It looks like he was taking part in some sort of medical trial, but the file doesn’t state for what. I guess anything’s possible…”

Beau shook his head. “But it’s more likely that
if
you’re really related, your father is a different Fortescue.”

“My mother got pregnant by a different Fortescue?” Sabine sank onto the bed, her mind whirling with a million jumbled thoughts. “But even if that were the case, that wouldn’t show up as a positive paternity, not if I were the child of some distant cousin, would it?”

“Not likely,” Raissa said. “It would have to be an uncle, or a grandparent, I think, to register that closely.”

Sabine covered her hand with her hands. “Oh, Lord, that’s awful. My dad couldn’t possibly have known, could he?”

“Don’t go down that road just yet,” Beau said. “There’s always another explanation.”

Sabine looked up at him. “Like what?”

“Well, the Fortecues could have lied about the results,” Beau said.

“Why would they do that? What could they possibly have to gain by pretending I was Adam’s daughter?”

Beau looked at Raissa, who frowned. “Maybe so you’d stop looking for your father,” Raissa said.

Sabine stared at her for a moment. “Then that means they know the truth.”

Raissa nodded. “I think they’ve always known.”

The shrill ring of Sabine’s cell phone cut into their conversation, and Sabine flipped it open, desperate for any possible distraction. Her mind was overloaded, her emotions overwhelmed. This was so much more confusing than she’d thought it would be. And so much more dangerous. She glanced at Beau and Raissa, who were studying her with matched looks of concern, and pressed the Talk button.

“Sabine?” Catherine Fortescue’s voice was the absolute last one she expected to hear at the moment, and the last one she was prepared to speak to.

“Ye-yes.” Sabine pointed to the phone and signaled to Beau and Raissa.

“Sabine, this is Catherine Fortescue. I hope I didn’t call too early.”

“No, Catherine,” Sabine said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I’ve been up for a while.”

“Good, then that means you’ve gotten the message from Mr. Alford about the test results. I can’t tell you how pleased the family is to have Adam’s child with us. I’m sorry we had to jump to legal proof so soon after our first meeting, but now all that unpleasantness is behind us.”

“I understand,” Sabine said, “and I told Mr. Alford that I’d expected to take the test. It wasn’t an inconvenience, I assure you.”

“Thank goodness. I was a little concerned. It’s all so tacky, really. But the reason I called is that we’d like to meet with you to get to know you better and to start working on some of the more unfortunate legal work required to set up your trust fund.”

“Oh no,” Sabine protested, “I already told you I didn’t want any money.”

“The Fortescue estate is quite clear on the rules for heirs. You’re the firstborn child of a firstborn child, and that comes with certain privileges, as well as obligations, I’m afraid. While I certainly have the utmost respect for your wishes, we really don’t have much choice in the matter. Of course, you’re free to do whatever you’d like with the money once the fund is established and transferred.”

“Of course.” No point arguing. She’d just deal with it later.

“If you’re available, we’d love to have you over tonight for dinner.”

Deciding the best possible decision at the moment was no decision, Sabine said finally, “I need to check my schedule at the shop first. If that’s okay, can I give you a call in the next hour or so and let you know for sure?”

“That will be fine,” Catherine replied. “And please feel free to bring your detective friend. Mr. Alford says he has a reputation for being quite a specialist at this sort of family dynamic. He might be able to lend some advice.”

“Thank you. I’ll let him know.” Sabine said goodbye and closed the phone. Beau and Raissa were brimming with impatience. “Catherine wants me to go to dinner tonight to ‘get to know me better and start the
legal work for my trust fund.’ ” She looked at Beau. “You’re invited.”

Beau shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes it,” Raissa pointed out, “but it does present an opportunity for the two of you to get a closer look at the Fortescues in a somewhat manageable environment. The sooner you find out what they’re hiding, the sooner Sabine’s life might get back to normal.”

Beau stared at Raissa as if she’d lost her mind. “How the hell is that manageable? Possibly confronting a killer on his own turf? Especially
that
turf—isolated doesn’t even begin to describe the Fortescue estate. That’s the quickest way to ensure a call to the coroner in my experience.”

Raissa shrugged. “So go about your normal business and wonder if today is the day, or if it’s going to happen in Sabine’s apartment, or her shop, or this hotel. Since Sabine’s poisoning never got out and Sabine herself hasn’t mentioned it to the family, whoever took that shot at her probably thinks the entire thing was dismissed as accidental. Same with Mildred’s accident in Sabine’s car.”

“Great,” Beau said. “So he’s not on the defensive. Instead, he’s looking for another opportunity to strike.”

Raissa shook her head. “If it is a Fortescue behind this, do you really think he will take a shot at Sabine while she’s on the family estate? Talk about bringing down the house of cards, unless of course he
is
insane, but then it’s not going to matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’s going to keep trying. And most likely get more desperate. This dinner might be an opportunity to do a little spy work. Especially if one of you
could get out of the Fortescues’ sight long enough to do a little snooping.”

Beau blew out a breath and looked at Sabine. “I still don’t like it, but Raissa’s right. We can’t lock you up in this hotel room and wait for another bomb escapade. And at least I was included in the invitation so you don’t have to make up some excuse to bring me along. Not to mention that I’m guessing they won’t be put off forever.”

Sabine nodded and glanced over at Raissa. The psychic mouthed the word “Helena,” and all of a sudden Sabine understood exactly why Raissa was suggesting this was a great opportunity to snoop. And what could possibly be a better weapon than the spy no one could hear or see?

It was inching toward evening and Helena Henry sat propped up on the bed in Sabine’s hotel room, eating her third moon pie since arriving ten minutes before. Sabine wasn’t sure whether she should be amazed or disgusted. However, a critical review of Helena’s current outfit—some leather/spandex, studded combination reminiscent of eighties hair bands—gave Sabine pause. Despite eating the gross national product in carbs, fat, and sugar, the ghost was right. She hadn’t gained a single pound.

Maybe jealousy was a more appropriate emotion, although Sabine wasn’t quite ready to trade in her life for a permanent, calorie-free binge. She looked over at her half-eaten lunch of plain turkey sandwich on the dresser. Yet.

“So are you clear on what I need, Helena?”

“Yepfft…marphmellows sticking…wait.” She
chewed a couple of seconds more, then swallowed twice and took a huge breath. “Man, that’s good. I haven’t eaten moon pies in forever.”

Sabine narrowed her eyes at Helena. “Where exactly did you get…no, never mind. It’s better if I don’t know. Do you understand the plan?”

“I’m a bitch, not a moron. I hitch a ride with you and that sexy detective to the nutso house, then take a look around and see if I can find any skeletons in their closets.” Helena straightened up. “Hey, do you think they really have a skeleton in the closet?”

“I hope not. But anything you find that looks suspect, you report immediately back to me. Just no yelling, and for God’s sake, no eating while you’re there.”

Helena frowned. “No one said anything about not eating. Damn. Rich people always have fancy food when they have important company. What could be more important than a long-lost granddaughter? Maybe I could sneak a dessert or a dinner roll?” She gave Sabine an expectant look.

“Absolutely not! I am not going to play distract-people-from-the-floating-roll all evening. You will sneak and snoop and get dirt on these people as if you’re searching for a bottomless pot of red beans and rice. I don’t think I should have to remind you that this
is
a matter of life or death. And you of all people ought to know what an iffy thing death is.”

Helena sighed. “Fine. You don’t have to go all guilt trip on me. It’s not like I want you stuck here with me. Now, that detective would be a whole other story.” Helena’s expression brightened. “Hey, I don’t suppose there will be a little truck hanky-panky?”

“You don’t suppose right,” Sabine shot back, but the
disappointed look on Helena’s face was too comical for her to maintain her stern stance. Finally, she smiled. “But if you’re really good, I might see what I can do about a big pot of gumbo when we get back.”

Helena clapped her hands. “Whoohoo! Can we have beer, too?”

“I don’t know. Can you get drunk?”

“I can try.”

Sabine grimaced. “That’s what I was afraid of.” She was about to follow that up with the no alcohol rule when Beau knocked on the connecting door and poked his head in.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I thought you were talking to someone on the phone.”

Sabine forced a smile. “Just hung up. Give me a sec and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Everything okay with Mildred?” Beau asked.

Sabine nodded. “It’s all settled. Maryse is going to stay with her tonight, for which I will officially owe her a trip to New Orleans for a manicure and pedicure because she has to sleep in the stinky hospital in a lumpy recliner.”

“Not exactly a bad deal. I thought you women loved a pedicure.”

“I love pedicures, and if I wasn’t having one with Maryse it would be a good deal, but she takes picky to a whole new level. There was this incident a couple of years ago with a bottle of Purple Passion polish and the local police…” Sabine shook her head. “No, I don’t even have time to explain. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

Beau grinned and closed the door behind him.

Sabine gave Helena a stern look. “You will be quiet on the ride over there. I’m not going to give him any
reason to think the insanity is hereditary.” Helena nodded and pulled another moon pie from the box. Sabine snatched the pie and the box from her hand. “And no food. It’s not invisible like you, remember?”

Helena climbed off the bed and cast a wistful glance at the moon pie box. “You’re such a grouch, Sabine. What is it about you and Maryse?”

Sabine grabbed her purse and tucked her cell phone in a side pocket. “Gee, I don’t know. There’s that whole someone’s-trying-to-kill-me thing, or the I-can’t-live-a-normal-life-in-my-own-house and my-friends-are-getting-caught-in-the-fallout thing, and hey, we could always throw in getting-haunted-by-the-constantly-bitching-and-eating-ghost-of-the-nastiest-person-I-knew-in-real-life part of the equation.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Helena grumbled and headed out the door and down the steps to the lobby.

Sabine followed, praying that this whole thing didn’t blow up in her face. Praying that she’d even be around tomorrow to pray.

The drive to the Fortescues was painfully long and silent. Sabine was afraid to say anything lest she give Helena a reason to start sounding off and blow their cover. Beau was suspiciously silent and appeared to be in deep thought. Over what, she had no idea. At this point, it could be anything—her situation with the Fortescues, her earlier cancer announcement, the new information Raissa had provided, their lovemaking the night before, this fall’s football lineup.

She sighed and rested her head back on the seat.

Beau looked over at her. “Anything wrong?”

“Aside from the obvious, no. I was just thinking that a full night’s sleep last night might have been a good idea given what we’re doing now. My mind’s all fuzzy.”

“Whoohoo!” Helena sounded from the back of the car. “Why weren’t you sleeping? Details, woman, I want details. You can start with the bottom half and work your way up.”

Sabine closed her eyes again and clenched her jaw.
Do not respond. Do not even look at her.

“I know what you mean,” Beau said. “This whole thing was bizarre to begin with and it just keeps throwing angles at us that I didn’t see coming and can’t seem to fit to anything else. I wish it would all clear up. I have this overwhelming feeling that we’re missing something, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what.”

Sabine straightened in her seat as they pulled through the massive iron gates of the Fortescue estate. “Well, you’ve got a couple of minutes to figure it all out. Otherwise we’re back to Plan B.”

“There’s a Plan B?”

Sabine looked at the opposing structure and felt a cold shiver rush across her. “Yeah, stay alive.”

Two hours later, Sabine was mentally and emotionally drained as she’d never been before. Catherine and her ideas about “proper” behavior for a Fortescue, Frances’s interruptions with scripture that didn’t apply to anything they were speaking of, William’s uninterested silence, and Alford’s mild annoyance had gotten on her last nerve. In fact, it was more likely the last nerve was gone, too, and now they were eating away at bone.

Dinner had been an elaborate affair, served by the enthusiastic Adelaide, and while Sabine had to admit the food was fantastic, the atmosphere was so…op
pressed, she guessed was the best word…that it made it difficult to enjoy the meal. Finally, the last dish was cleared away and they left the stiff, formal dining hall for the relative comfort of the living room. Alford excused himself, claiming he had some documents to review for a client meeting the following morning. Sabine didn’t think he was telling the truth for a minute, but since contemplating the fuzz in her navel would be more interesting than hearing Catherine drone on any longer, she could hardly blame him for escaping. After all, he had to deal with the family far more than she did and had probably heard Catherine’s opinions every week for the last twenty or thirty years.

A couple of times Helena had popped her head into the room, but only long enough to shake her head at Sabine and pop back out again. Sabine was growing dreadfully afraid that she was enduring this insult to her entire life for nothing.

They had just settled in the living room with coffee and Catherine was droning on about the high-end, dresses-only clothing store that Sabine should open when Adelaide hurried into the room, interrupting Catherine’s monologue on “proper fashion for heiresses.”

“Mrs. Fortescue, a storm is moving in something fierce and there’s a leak around one of the library windows. It came up so sudden-like, I’m afraid we didn’t even know until quite a bit of the floor was soaked.”

Catherine frowned and left the room. She returned a minute later, a grim look on her face. “Adelaide is right. I can’t see an inch beyond the hallway window. The living room is so well insulated we couldn’t hear a thing.” She looked at the housekeeper, her agitation
obvious and unusual for the normally ultra-composed woman. “Have you checked the news? Where is the storm coming from?”

Adelaide shook her head. “Can’t get any signal on the television. As soon as we realized it was raining, we tried. I got an old radio up in my room. You want me to get it?”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “That would be very helpful.” She looked at Sabine and Beau. “I’m so sorry about all of this. The storm must have shifted at the last minute. If you’ll excuse William and me, there are some things we should tend to in case we lose power.” Catherine nodded at her husband and they left the room through opposite doors, the quickness in their step belying the calm presentation.