The Secret of Cypriere Bayou. Jana DeLeon
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sending me a copy of his paperwork.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Landry’s paperwork is confidential. Without his consent, I can’t really send you his information.”
“Fine. Then I’ll be by your office tomorrow to cancel the lease.”
“Wait! Surely something can be worked out. I don’t want you to cancel.”
“And I don’t want to cancel, but as you know, the house is very remote. I have every right to know exactly who I’m sharing space with. If you’re not willing to provide that information, then I won’t feel comfortable staying.”
“I understand,” the attorney said, but Olivia could tell by his tone that he wasn’t the least bit happy with the situation. “I will contact Mr. Landry today and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll give me approval to forward his paperwork to you for your review. If not, then I’ll relieve him of his responsibilities and find another person for the position. Will that suffice?”
“For now, but I want that paperwork before the day is over. Email all the documents to me. Does Mr. Landry have a first name?”
“John. As soon as I get to my office, I’ll contact Mr. Landry and get his permission to forward the documents. Give me a couple of hours.”
“Thank you. I’ll be looking for it.” She flipped the phone shut and tossed it back on the nightstand. The attorney had annoyed her with his forgetfulness and seeming unwillingness to understand the situation he’d placed her in. Did he really think it was acceptable for her to be shut away in the middle of nowhere with a stranger? If so, he’d obviously lost all common sense.
She stretched, touching the floor with her hands, then rose back up, thinking about her agenda for the morning. First, she was going to brush her teeth, then she was going to put on her mud-caked boots, stroll outside in her makeshift pajamas, and ask John Landry to show her some ID. Then she was going to convince him to help get her car out of the mud.
Piece of cake.
Ten minutes later she stepped outside and walked to the middle of the huge circular drive. She slowly turned to get a good look at it in the daylight. The bizarre angles of the roof, the two round attic windows positioned on each side of the chimney, the stained glass window that created prisms of light in the entry—all of them exactly as she remembered. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.
She hadn’t been mistaken last night. Her view of the house hadn’t lasted more than a second before the flash from the lightning had faded, but that one second had been enough. This was definitely the house. She crossed her arms over her chest as a chill swept over her, despite the heat and humidity of the early morning. For as long as she could remember, she’d dreamed of this house. Frightening dreams that she awakened from in a cold sweat, but the only thing she ever remembered was the house.
The house she was certain she had never, ever set foot in before last night.
Chapter Three
John heard the front door of the main house close and looked up from his work as the woman walked to the middle of the drive then turned and faced the house. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, but then once he’d realized there was no car in the drive and saw her mud-covered boots next to the front door, he’d gotten a clear picture of what must have happened. She’d probably grabbed the minimum amount of necessities and hiked from wherever her car had gotten stuck. He could only hope that the lack of reliable roadways, utilities, and phone service would send her running straight back to whatever big city she’d matriculated from.
Though he knew less than nothing about ladies’ shoes, he recognized her boots as an expensive designer brand that his half sister was drooling over the last time he’d met her in the French Quarter for lunch. Fancy, soft leather. Not even a steel toe. Women who spent eight hundred dollars on a pair of shoes couldn’t possibly find much of interest in a dusty old house in a town with only a café and a gas station serving as the local commerce. At least that’s what he was banking on.
He picked up several pieces of the branch he’d been working on and carried them to the pile he’d started at the far end of the circular drive. With every step he took, a curse came to mind. He needed to be in that house, looking for something, anything to help him find his sister. That rotten branch could have waited another fifty years by the looks of the rest of the estate, but here he was slaving over debris blocking a drive that no one had used in years and it was all that woman’s fault. He flung the wood onto the pile and spun around. It was time for action. He didn’t have time to lose.
She stood at the edge of the circular drive nearest the house, with her back to him. He paused for a moment wondering what in the world she was doing, staring up at the roof of the house, following the lines from one end to another, but then he set his jaw and strode up behind her.
“Not much to look at in the daylight, is it?” he asked, wondering why she still hadn’t turned around when she should have heard his footsteps.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, but her gaze remained focused on the house. “No, I guess it isn’t,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced. Finally, she turned to face him, a pleasant, but determined look on her face.
Uh oh. He’d seen that look before. His mother and sister wore it very well, especially when they wanted something. Well, he didn’t care what Fancy Shoes wanted. He wasn’t agreeing to anything.
“I spoke to Mr. Wheeler this morning,” she began, “and he assured me he hired a new caretaker. He’ll be calling you as soon as he gets into the office to get your permission to forward your employment paperwork to me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some identification now.”
“And if I do mind?”
“Then he also assured me that if I was uncomfortable, he would ask you to leave.”
John’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. She held all the cards. He couldn’t afford to lose the job, and he definitely couldn’t afford Ross Wheeler digging deeper into his background to placate some crazy woman. The New Orleans police had already asked the attorney for permission to search the estate, but unless they produced a warrant, Ross Wheeler wasn’t going to allow a bunch of law enforcement officials to “tromp through a house of valuable and delicate antiques.”
The Cypriere locals claimed they’d never set eyes on his sister when questioned by the New Orleans police, and without any proof whatsoever that Rachel had ever been to laMalediction, there was no chance of getting the warrant Wheeler required. If Wheeler found out John had lied about his real purpose for wanting the job, he’d have every right to press charges against John and the New Orleans police department. And since the department hadn’t exactly sanctioned what he was doing, there would be fallout all the way around.
“I assume my license will do,” he said as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He pulled his license from inside and handed it to her, biting his tongue as she looked at the license, then handed it back to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Landry,” she said and tentatively stuck her hand out. “I’m Olivia Markham. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but a single woman can’t be too careful these days.”
John started to ignore her hand, but her words resonated through his head. A single woman can’t be toocareful these days. If only Rachel had paid attention when he said the exact same thing to her. And here he was angry at a woman for doing just what he would have advised. He shook her hand, momentarily surprised at the firmness of her grip.
“I understand,” he said. “I would apologize for scaring you last night, but since that’s exactly what I was trying to do at the time, I guess it wouldn’t exactly make sense. Wheeler should have contacted both of us. Last night could have been ugly.”
Olivia looked relieved. “Yes, it could have, and I gave him a big piece of my mind this morning. In fact, I got him out of bed in order to do so, and I have to admit that