A Twisted Ladder (14 page)

Daddy opened his arms to his daughter above as he swayed and sang.

I’ll tell you a story
Happened long time ago
A-little bitty pretty one
I’ve been watching you grow
.

Ethan wasn’t singing but he was keeping time. The twosome sang it through and ended with an abrupt silence that held for a heartbeat, and then all three burst into laughter. Madeleine leaned forward and tossed Whitney’s rose over the balcony. Daddy caught it but recognized it as having come from Whitney and he pinched it upside-down like he was holding a dead mouse. The other singer took it instead, and the two clapped their arms around each other’s shoulders, hooting in triumph.

Madeleine flowed down the interior stairs with Jasmine at her heels. She crossed the hall and threw open the front door. The other singer must have been Ethan’s chauffeur because he was getting behind the wheel of the hybrid while Daddy and Ethan strolled into the foyer.

“Hiya kitten,” Daddy said as he kissed her. “Guess I’m staying here tonight.”

“Sounds good. Want some tea?”

“Yeah, in a minute. Lemme change out of this monkey suit.” He headed for the stairs.

Madeleine looked at Ethan. “How about you? Tea?”

“Naw, just wanted to see that Daddy Blank made it home safe. Streets are crawling with Whitneys, you know.”

“Mm. Indeed.”

“And,” Ethan added, “I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” She smiled.

“Yeah, dinner. It’s a manner of providing food-energy to the human body. Only it’s done all leisurely and social-like.”

He leaned against the door. His eyes held an easiness that swept her with warmth. It made her want to reach up and stroke the square line of his jaw.

“Tomorrow night?” Ethan asked.

“Hmm . . .” But she thought of her father and how she would be loath to let him out of her sight until she was certain he’d been stabilized on his medications.

Ethan seemed to sense her turmoil and stepped toward her. “I know you like good food because I’ve had your couche-couche and boudin. So this is a little intimidating for me. Hmm. I’ll have to take you to the best place in town.”

She arched a brow at him.

He said, “I know. Monkey Hill.”

Madeleine laughed. “Monkey Hill? At Audubon Zoo?”

“Sure. You’re a psychologist, so what better way to spend an evening than studying primates in their natural habitat?”

“I didn’t realize New Orleans was a natural habitat for monkeys.”

“All right,
unnatural
habitat. You know why they built Monkey Hill in the 1930s, don’t you?”

Madeleine considered this. “So that the people of New Orleans could see what a monkey looks like?”

“Wrong. So that the people of New Orleans could see what a
hill
looks like.”

She had to laugh.

He grinned at her. “Well, maybe we’ll just
start
at Monkey Hill, then I’ll take you somewhere with better food. Pick you up at seven?”

She bit her lip. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t refuse him a third time. “OK, but not tomorrow night. Why don’t you call me later in the week?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll call you Tuesday.”

She’d meant later in the week than that, but she relented. “That’ll be fine.”

“Hmm. ‘Fine,’ she says. Lord have mercy, woman. You’re tricky.”

She laughed. “I don’t mean to be tricky. I am very much looking forward to seeing Monkey Hill with you. And your, um, driver.”

He looked out the window, then cocked his brow at her. “Not a chance. I only hired him for the night ’cause I knew I’d be drinkin.”

He took her hands in his and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, sweet and cool. And then he released her and pivoted toward the door and grasped the handle.

But he paused there, back to her, shoulders broad and dark in the dim light of the foyer.

He turned around. “Hold up a minute, Madeleine.”

He reached for her again. This time his warm hand went to the small of her back, and he kissed her fully, a firm, slow indulgence. And while this kiss was not entirely unexpected, the lusciousness of it did surprise her. The way he leaned into her; the way he tasted. His lips were soft and firm and confident and downright delicious. It felt as though currents of electricity had joined between them.

Her left hand slid up the wall of his chest and curled around his neck. He smelled like sandalwood and sun-drenched granite. Warmth radiated out to her limbs.

He released her, his fingertips just below her ear.

“Call you Tuesday,” Ethan whispered, and then he turned and left.

MADELEINE WATCHED THROUGH THE
glass inlay as Ethan strode to the hybrid. Her body held on to the feeling of sparks flowing through her. She still thought they made an unlikely pair, she and Ethan, but one dinner wouldn’t hurt. And maybe one more taste of those sparks. She turned toward the kitchen and switched on the light.

“Nice boy, that Ethan.”

Madeleine jumped. “Daddy! How long have you been standing there?”

He stepped toward his daughter. “Not too long. Long enough.”

“Shame on you!”

“Well it didn’t look like y’all wanted to be interrupted.”

She shooed him into the kitchen and huffed, checking the kettle. The water was still hot. She steeped two mugs with tea and settled down with her father.

Daddy dunked the tea bag a couple of times. “Thank you, hon. I don’t suppose you have a little nip of something for this?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you don’t get a spoonful of cod liver oil.”

“Or Chloe LeBlanc’s voodoo brew.”

Madeleine raised her brows. “I take it you saw her at the gala tonight?”

He nodded. “God help me.”

“You know when this whole thing started, I was surprised to find out that Mémée’s mother was even alive. You never talked about her.”

“Well, honey, your grandmother never thought much of Miss Chloe, even though she was her own mother. Wasn’t till after your grandmother died that I ever even met her. My mother kept her well away from us kids.”

“And you kept her well away from us, apparently.”

Daddy shrugged.

“Why did you?” Madeleine said.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated. Felt like I was being disloyal to my mother as it was. And anyway . . .” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Chloe’s an odd one. Old school river folk, you know? She has a funny way of showing you things. You wind up following her somewhere dark and weird. Don’t get me wrong. She’s smart, and she knows things. Next thing you know she’s led you into the attic of a burning house, and she’s guarding the escape ladder. Know what I mean?”

“No. As a matter of fact I have no idea what you mean.”

He sighed. “Like I say, it’s complicated. You kids were young, you had enough troubles. Didn’t need to be bringin some crazy woman around to make things worse.”

“She said she’d kept an eye on Marc and me from a distance anyway.”

Daddy gave a rueful laugh. “Lotta good that didja.”

And then he sobered, running his hand along his jaw and gazing into his cup. “I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t have just done right by you kids. You didn’t have a mother, and I was no use as a father.”

Madeleine’s lips parted, surprised by the suddenness and vulnerability in his change of tone. “You loved us, Daddy, and you were there for us when you were well. We made it through OK.”

“Did you?” His blue eyes held hers. “And where is Marc now that he made it through OK?”

Madeleine swallowed and said, “It’s not your fault.”

She averted her eyes, running her hand across the worn kitchen wall to that same scar, the place where paper bubbled up, and let her fingers explore the loose corner where it pulled back.

“Don’t know why, but after all this remodeling, I can’t seem to bring myself to tackle the kitchen.” She looked at her father. “Tell me what else you know about Chloe.”

He sighed. “Not much to tell, other than folks were afraid of her. My mama wanted nothing to do with the woman. Said Chloe’s about as huggable as a frog in formaldehyde.”

Madeleine grinned, not realizing she was still tugging at the bit of wallpaper until it pulled free an inch. “Oops.”

The opening revealed several layers of paint and some crumbled plaster. To peel back two or three more inches would be to reveal the blemish where the wallpaper bubbled out.

Daddy nodded at the scarred wall. “Better leave that alone.”

“I know. Can’t seem to let it be. Like peeling a sunburn. And I’m convinced there’s a mouse or something living in there. I’ve caught movement going on.”

“What, you heard?”

“Not so much heard, but I could just tell . . .” Madeleine swallowed, unable to finish the thought, as she recalled that last phone conversation she’d had with her brother.

Daddy watched her face. “You’re just fiddling because of worn nerves. Guess I been putting you through the paces lately.”

She shook her head. “All I ask is that you keep up with your meds, Daddy. That’s it. The rest of it . . .” she waved a hand.

He retreated within himself a half step. “Sure kitten. Sure I’ll take’m.”

His sincerity was underwhelming. Maddy felt her ears at her shoulders again.
Let smoke be smoke
.

He said, “I’m telling you darlin. You pull that off, you might find a whole lotta mess under there.”

“What? Oh.” She’d unconsciously resumed fiddling with the wallpaper, and it lifted another inch even as she saw what she was doing. She smoothed the loosened corner back against the wall but as soon as she removed her hand, the paper floated backward again. It looked as though once uncovered, it would never go back.

Daddy leaned forward and flicked a bit of material that dangled from within the layers. “Look at that. They plastered right over the original wallpaper. In fact it wudn’t even paper—looks like they used fabric. The same pattern from the center hall. My mama said that was specially commissioned from Paris a long time ago.”

“How long?”

“Four generations at least. Maybe more.”

Madeleine swept her gaze over the kitchen and the foyer beyond, taking in the tray ceiling and other details that made the house unique. “Really? Paris?”

“Yeah. All these old Victorians put the best materials into the grand old center halls. Make a fine impression when you first walk in. Never mind that the rest of the house is shadows and dust.”

“And beauty.”

He smiled at her, miles of blue in his eyes. “You’re right, kitten. Endurable beauty. You’ve kept the house up real well, too. Way better than I would have. Kitchen aside.”

She laughed.

He pointed out the mahogany and cypress millwork. “See that? That’s my favorite part. Cypress wood straight from the bayou. Local craftsmen right here in New Orleans carved those panels when they built this place. See that sugarcane motif on the frieze? Same as the one outside on the verandah? Cane’s what led to the family fortune.”

“Yeah. Funny. I didn’t even recognize that was a sugarcane motif. Always thought it was just grass or something—some generic pattern like acanthus leaf.” She paused, thinking about her grandmother and Chloe, and all the documents Marc had left spread out all over the little Creole cottage in Houma. “What else do you know about our family?”

“Not a hell of a lot, really. My mama didn’t like to talk about’m. All kinda rumors about . . .” He paused with a laugh. “You know, family gossip.”