The Reunion. Jana DeLeon
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“Well, I’m glad you’re fixed now. How’s Janey doing her first semester of college?” John’s sister had volunteered at the crisis center her senior year of high school.
“She’d doing fine. She’s working with disabled kids two days a week after class.”
Joelle smiled. “That’s great. Tell her we miss her and good luck.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and left.
She closed the door and placed the package on the secretary’s desk, but as she started to walk away, the name on the package caught her eye. Joelle LeBeau.
Frowning, she picked up the package again. It was unusual for her to receive a courier delivery. The secretary usually dealt with all incoming paperwork and orders. She glanced at the return address and sucked in a breath.
Calais, Louisiana.
She studied the return address more closely. What in the world would an attorney in Calais want with her? She was only four years old when her mother died and she was sent to live with distant cousins in Mississippi, but certain moments of her childhood on the LeBeau estate were etched in her mind, with recall so vivid it was as if she were watching it take place on a television. For years, she’d tried to convince herself to visit Calais—to confront her stepfather, the man who cast off the three sisters—but every time she approached the entry for the highway to New Orleans, she drove past it.
Not ready to face those vivid memories yet.
She tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter, already certain she didn’t want to hear anything her stepfather had to say. If Trenton Purcell was on his deathbed and begging forgiveness, she’d raise a glass and toast, but she’d never accept an apology for what he did.
As she began to read, her pulse ticked up until she could feel it beating in her temples. Her evil stepfather was dead. He had been much older than her mother, so Joelle knew the day would come sooner than later, but she’d never expected to be notified of the event.
Then she read the second paragraph and sank down onto the desktop, her knees weak. It was all theirs. The estate, the fortune—everything her mother and her mother’s ancestors had built—it all belonged to Ophelia LeBeau’s three daughters. Purcell hadn’t been able to control the fortune after his death.
She continued reading and frowned. In order to inherit, she had to spend two straight weeks on the estate, to be verified by the local sheriff. Her two sisters, Alaina and Danae, had already completed their two weeks and were anxious to meet her.
A wave of excitement rushed over her, then a flash of anxiety. All these years, she’d wanted to meet her sisters, but hadn’t even known where to start looking. Now they were waiting for her at their childhood home—waiting for her to come fulfill a rather bizarre inheritance request so that they could finally claim their birthright.
But that meant not only returning to Calais, but staying in that house. The house with bad memories.
A mental image of her vandalized car flashed through her mind. Maybe leaving Jackson for a couple of weeks wasn’t a bad idea. It might give Brant a chance to realize that the Jackson Police Department wasn’t for sale like the one in Willow Grove. She had plenty of vacation coming. In fact, she hadn’t taken more than a day off at a time since she’d started working at the crisis center over five years ago.
A horn honked outside and she stuffed the letter into her purse and swung the strap over her shoulder before hurrying out of the office. She’d call William Duhon, the attorney who’d sent the letter, first thing in the morning. Then she’d call her boss to say she was taking a long overdue vacation...for the long overdue purpose of addressing her past.
Chapter Two
Tyler Duhon stared in dismay across the café table at his father, William, Calais’s resident attorney. Not even Johnny’s absolutely stellar banana pudding could sweeten Tyler’s disposition toward what his father had just asked him to do.
“No way,” Tyler said. “Look, I promise I’m not going to be lying around on your couch all day for months on end. I’ll be starting my own security firm as soon as I get all the permits and approved formation documents.”
William pushed his empty bowl to the edge of the table and took another sip of coffee. “I’m not worried about my couch. Your mother picked it out and I never liked it much—all those roses. And I’m well aware of your business pursuits as I filed the corporate formation documents for you last week.”
“Then what’s your angle?”
“I don’t have an angle. What I have is a spooky, partially repaired old house that has three deaths attached to it in as many months, and an heir who needs to occupy that house for two weeks in order to gain back everything that was stolen from her. I’d really like her to have an easier go of it than her sisters did.”
Tyler frowned. The happenings surrounding Trenton Purcell’s death and the subsequent arrival of two of Ophelia LeBeau’s daughters had set off a chain reaction of threats, break-ins, stalkers and eventually, three deaths—one murder and two in self-defense. But the facts paled in comparison to the sheer amount of disturbance that had rocked the sleepy bayou town.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do,” Tyler said finally.
“You plan on opening a security firm, don’t you? I expect you can protect the heiress and her assets. I’m not expecting you to do so for free. The estate will be happy to cover the cost of on-site security—in fact, in light of recent events, they’re requiring it.”
Tyler shook his head. “I’m opening a firm, but I’m not going to do any of the face-to-face work. I’m focusing solely on hardware and administration. I’ll hire some of my military buddies for the groundwork.”
William scrunched his brow. “You plan on sitting behind a desk all day? You’ll be bored within a week.”
I don’t think so.
“If I get bored,” Tyler said, “we’ll go shopping for a new couch. Mom’s been gone for years. It’s time you got some manly furniture in the place.”
William studied him, and Tyler forced himself not to squirm under his father’s scrutiny. Apparently, his attempt at levity hadn’t distracted his father for a moment. Tyler had never been able to hide anything from the shrewd attorney, who seemed to possess the ability to read minds. And more than anyone, his father knew how much Tyler hated sitting still—hated concentrating on paper and numbers and words. He was smart, but it had been a struggle to get him out of high school. He’d sit in class almost twitching with anxiety, wanting desperately to jump out a window and run until he sated his body’s always-demanding call to action.
It’s why he’d joined the Marine Corps as soon as he graduated.
The Marine Corps had immediately recognized that Tyler was able to sit still long enough to take a flight to where they needed him for action. Beyond that, and you risked a fidgety bored adult, carrying a weapon and expertly trained at using it. When Tyler wasn’t on maneuvers in the Middle East, he worked in the villages alongside the occupants, helping them rebuild their homes. He hadn’t sat behind a desk since high school, and he already knew he was going to be bored.
But you rarely saw people die when you sat behind a desk.
And that was the bottom line. He’d seen too much sadness, too much tragedy, and he needed to get away from it all. Which was why he was digging in his heels over the issue with the heiress. The last thing he wanted to do was sit all day in that monstrosity of a house with some fainting violet of a woman.
“I don’t know what happened overseas,” William said quietly, cutting into his thoughts. “I’d like to think that someday you’ll tell me. But I wouldn’t ask this of you if I had other options. The reality is, you’re the best person for the job and I need the best. This woman’s safety is on my conscience.