Lies Agreed Upon (23 page)

Uncle Joe
gave up the effort to rouse interest in the natural surroundings and ended his speech with a sigh and a thoughtfully somber tone. “Lotta cypress lost out to da ole-time loggers. Dey start to log da trees heavy over 100 year ago and kep’ clear-cuttin’ right into da ’50s. Cypress take 100 year to get 75 foot to 100 foot tall. Dose trees we been lookin’ at are old souls—an’ lonely souls now.”

Joe looked over his somnolent load of tourists and revved the engine to jolt them back to attention.
After making a sweeping turn into a new finger of bayou, he called out merrily, “Allons, now le’s meet more geddas! In da meantime, ax any question you want.”  Someone asked about alligator meat, and Uncle Joe assured them it tasted “like chicken.”

As they motored along, Tess mulled a new perspective on her ancestors’ less than adm
irable legacy. First they profited from their slave-owning plantation. Then the rapacious lumber business stripped the wetlands to build Alhambra and guard the Cabrera place in society into the twentieth century. Meanwhile, the Donovan branch was doubtless busy with oil pollution. It seemed her family dynasty was prone to predatory economic practices, from abuse of men to abuse of nature. Her little 10 acres had racked up some heavy moral debts.

Uncle Joe again drifted to a rocking stop. Pete flicked ash from his ever-present cigarette and opened the bait bucket of ripe-smelling raw chicken
cut in large pieces. This time Pete banged on the side of the boat and dangled a chicken leg and thigh several feet above the water. Pete ignored the little alligators that were quick to appear, waiting until they were pushed aside by a 7-foot-long reptile. The bigger creature easily lifted itself from the water and clamped its jaws onto the chicken leg with a soft crunch, to the delighted gasps of the crowd. Two even larger alligators approached, and Pete held half a chicken by its delicate wing until one of the pair lunged upward and splashed back, snapping and swallowing the flesh while the tourists exclaimed excitedly at the controlled carnage.

Tess tried to take cell phone pictures. After a fru
strating series of blurred splashes, she finally caught an alligator with a claw-footed chicken leg dangling from the side of its jaw like Pete’s cigarette. As an afterthought, she surreptitiously snapped a picture of Pete, ash-dribbling cigarette in action, and another of Uncle Joe.

With the chicken bait exhausted, the boat moved on, passing waterways clogged by floa
ting leas of sawgrass, duckweed and blue-flowering water hyacinths. Uncle Joe pointed out a white egret in a lone cypress, and Tess was reminded of Remy’s photograph.

As they headed back to the tour dock, Uncle Joe handed around another skull and asked the tourists if they knew what kind of creature it was. “A type of skinny alligator?” asked one of the children.
Uncle Joe chuckled and provided the answer that Tess already heard echoing in her head as she accepted the needle-toothed, boney skull. “No, cher, dey call dat a gar. It’s a big, mean fish. I seen dem get to 6 foot long.”

Tess briefly stared down at her long-ago nemesis and then handed the skull off to the next curious pair of hands. There was no terror left in the dead
bone, but the disturbing aura of the bayou house was stirred and lingered. Miss Gloria’s stories began to connect with her memories.

Even her child-self understood that her grandmother and mother had a tense relatio
nship with Dad and Cee Donovan. Now she realized the Donovans might have blamed Guy Cabrera in some way for the boat accident that had taken their sons, one immediately and the other by his own depressed hand. There was the old feud over Elaine’s lesser inheritance, too. What had her mother shouted at Dad when he seized the gar? “The Donovans always claim more than their due”; now it made sense to Tess.

Mos
t of all, the visit would have revived the trauma of Desmond’s suicide for her mother. If the Donovans refused to recognize Joanne Parnell as equally victimized by the tragedy, it would have infuriated her grandmother and her mother. She now could guess at the conversation that had led her grandmother to shout, “What about the child then? I might forgive, but I can’t forget!”

But
what was the story with Bea Cabrera? Neither her husband’s youthful death nor her disabled child and his early death could explain the enmity toward Tess’s mother and grandmother that had been obvious to Tess even as a child.

There were things still hidden, perhaps even darker secrets entangling the bayou house residents that long-ago summer, Tess suspected. She turned her face into the breeze along the boat’s side and tried to let Uncle Joe’s merry narrative flow soothingly over her disturbed thoughts.

The tour boat soon slipped into its home berth, where the white van was waiting patiently to gather up its sightseers. Tess lingered in the boat as the others climbed out. She had recalled the context of the word “Manchac” and Remy’s suggestion she ask about the Cabiracs.

S
he approached Uncle Joe as he cheerily waved farewell to the departing tourists. He looked at her politely. “You got a question, miss?” he smiled.

“Oh, yes, but not about the tour, Mr. Comeaux,” Tess
responded. “I’m, uh, visiting family here, and I recently heard a story about a family friend from Manchac. He lived there in the 1950s. It’s not a big place I assume, and since you spent time there, I wondered if you might know the family. The last name was Cabirac. The family friend’s name was Noah Cabirac.”

Uncle Joe raised his brows and looked at Tess more closely. “Ah, I bet you’re Remy’s
gal. He said a single lady was plannin’ to come today. I t’ought it might be you. Da rest of da gals was too young or paired up.” Tess noticed that Pete had drawn near and was listening curiously.

Tess blushed and nodded, “Yes, Remy was kind enough to give me a ticket even though we’re newly acquainted
—”

“Oh, yeah, he’s real frien’ly dat Remy,” Uncle Joe rescued her from a stammering expl
anation of the relationship with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Now what you wanna know? Some news on a Cabirac family from Manchac? Well, I’m not recallin’ a Noah Cabirac, but dere was dis ole Cabirac dat we all called TinTin Cabirac. I t’ink he had a daughter. Couzan J.J. might know da son. Me, I paid more attention to da girls back den.” Behind him, Pete chuckled appreciatively at this remark.

“Could you ask your Cousin J.J. about Noah Cabir
ac?” asked Tess, determined not to waste the opportunity provided by Remy’s favor.

“Yeah, J.J. might know
more. ’Cept he’s not here right now. I tell you what, young lady. I can ax J.J. an’ relay it to Remy. Remy got your phone number?” Tess blushed and shook her head. “Well, you got his number?” Tess felt her cheeks heat further as she nodded. Uncle Joe grinned, “Well, den, you an’ Remy got a reason to get togedder, I t’ink. So you give him a call an’ leave your number an’ tell him dat I’m gonna give him information for you. I always like to he’p out a pretty lady. Yeah, Remy an’ me got dat in common.”

“Thank you, Mr. Comeaux,” murmured Tess, with a
blushing glance at Pete’s gap-toothed grin. “That’s very kind of you. And it was a very interesting tour.”

Tess received several calls on the way back to New Orleans but did
not pick up as she focused on driving. She was already too distracted by the events of the day to risk multitasking. Back in her hotel, she finally summoned the energy to check her phone and saw Tony had left a voicemail.

“Hey, Tess, I did find something a little troubling in the paperwork for your inherited land,” Tony’s message started ominously. “Let’s get together to talk. Is tonight OK? Give me a call.”

Her heart sank. She had not realized how much she had counted on a simple transaction. She would give away some land she did not want and get some cash she really needed. She was not looking for a David-and-Goliath fight, with her tossing pebbles at Dreux’s giant client—even if cheered on by a bevy of good-looking champions like Tony and Jon. With a sigh, she called Tony.

“
How you makin’, Tess?” Tony sang out merrily.

“
Hi, Tony. I’m fine. I just finished up a short swamp tour. Based on your message, should I be glad to have gleaned a bit of gator-handling experience?”

“Well, you’re dealing with some folks with big teeth for sure.
But I’m thinking I have more good news than bad news. So when can we get together? How about a quick walk to Arnaud’s over on Bienville for dinner?”

“That sounds good,” Tess agreed.

“You got it. I’ll meet you in the lobby of your hotel. It’s the Hotel d’Iberville, right? Hey, I guess I can call you Tess of the D’Iberville, uh?” laughed Tony, and Tess obliged with a weak chuckle. She had been surprised Jon had not joked about the same literary connection, except that he was generally humorless. “I’ll make a reservation for 7:45 and meet you at your hotel at 7:30.”

“OK, thanks, Tony. See you then.” Tess ended the conversation with a sigh similar to the one that had preceded the call. Why did everything become complicated? She wanted her money so she could get on with her life.

“What’s wrong with you? I can’t believe you’re moping because you can’t wait to return to California and your status as single unemployed female.”
 

Tess shook her head irritably and checked the next message on her phone.

Tess’s apartment manager had left a voicemail: “Are you on schedule for return next week? I have the lease renewal ready. Please make an appointment to sign.” Tess gnawed at her lip a moment and then concluded she still had enough time to wait on a decision. 

Next she read a text
comment from Christina on the two cell pictures Tess had sent, one of a chicken-chomping alligator and one of cigarette-puffing Pete: “Nice gator. Guide smokin but not hot.” 

Jen had texted simply
, “Call after 1 PT.”

Since it was past
4 p.m. in New Orleans, Tess replied to Jen and waited through a long series of rings. Just as Tess was about to give up, Jen answered. “Hello, am I speaking with Therese Parnell or the new Evangeline?” Jen asked in a solemn voice.

“What? Of course, it’s Tess. Who the heck is Evangeline,” responded a baffled Tess.

“Your gator pics inspired me. Evangeline is the lovelorn Acadian maid in ‘the forest primeval’ of that famous Longfellow poem. They have statues of her in Cajun Country. I’m trying to please the librarian in you,” answered Jen.

“I vaguel
y recall it from American Lit. Lovelorn, huh? It sounds like the fate my mother would predict for me. I’m not pleased if you see a parallel!” laughed Tess.

“Well, never mind then. So,
how are you doing with your nontourist activities, meaning the property matter that sent you there in the first place?” Jen probed.

“Well, I have two lawyers helping me
now. One is Jon Beauvoir, and he’s the grandson of an old friend of the Cabrera family. Jon referred me to his friend, Tony Mizzi, a real estate lawyer. Tony is reviewing my paperwork, and I’m meeting him tonight to get his suggestions.”

“Bravo! I assume you have full faith and confidence in these guys. How much is Tony charging?”

“Oh, he’s helping me for free. And before you start in with your suspicions, let me tell you he’s a very nice guy,” asserted Tess quickly, sensing an immediate bristling on the other end of the line.

Jen was silent for a moment and then
asked, “What’s his angle then? Does he, or this grandson Jon of a newly discovered ‘old family friend,’ have some interest in the property or in Gulf Coast Refining? Have you even checked? Or maybe Tony figures he’ll get a better reward than cash.”

“He’s not—
” Tess began to protest.

“Take your blinders off,” interrupted Jen.
“You are one of those irritating women who are completely unaware of their attractiveness to the opposite sex. I think it’s because you hatched in the nest of an overbearing dragon lady who squashed all vanity out of you. It worries me that you assume your new male acquaintances—you don’t know them well enough to call them friends—have only innocent intentions when it comes to a pretty single girl. You need to be less trusting of your new lawyer boyfriends.”

Jen
’s suspicions might have shaken Tess’s faith in her judgment in the past, but her confidence in her own decision-making had grown since arriving in New Orleans.

“They’re not my ‘boyfriends,’ but your concern is duly noted
,” Tess responded, keeping her voice pleasantly calm although she was slightly irritated by everyone’s assumption that she was a naïve ninny. “I promise to keep up my guard. Honestly, Jen, I’m not as clueless as you all seem to think.”

“I hope not,” Jen conceded. “I don’t want you to skip into a meeting and say, ‘My, what big teeth you have, Mr. Refinery
’; that’s what I worry about.”

After her conversation with Jen, Tess resolutely dug Remy’s business card from her purse. It was an indication of
her new boldness that she was disappointed rather than relieved to get his voicemail. She left a message about requesting information on Noah Cabirac from Uncle Joe.

Restless, with hours to go before meeting Tony, she studied her wardrobe in dissatisfa
ction. When she had packed for her trip, she had made a loner’s decisions. She had not planned for much social interaction—except for reuniting with Mac, who was accepting, even approving, of her simple style. Now she didn’t want to be seen again and again in the same clothes. She felt she had outgrown her wardrobe in some fundamental way. She felt a compulsion to shop.