Lies Agreed Upon (3 page)

Dreux eluded her gaze. “Well, I believe our letter explained that our law firm represents Gulf Coast Refining,” he responded blandly. “The company owns a large plant located on the Mississippi near New Orleans. With the demand for energy, the company needs to expand on adjacent vacant land, your land as it turns out. It’s a lot zoned for industrial or agricultural use but currently supporting only some sugar cane fields and the occasional cottonmouth. I want to assure you of that in case you are worried that you will be helping some rapacious capitalists bulldoze a protected wetland.” He cocked his eyebrow and gave a small wry smile to acknowledge the anti-corporate suspicions of the younger generation.

“My firm was retained to track down the owner of record for the land and get an agreement to sell. Luckily for me, there is a clear line of inheritance over several generations,”
continued Dreux, and then donned a solemn look. “It led me from your maternal grandfather, the last scion of an elite old Creole family, to your mother. We were in negotiations, but communications stopped, and we were told she had passed away suddenly. My sincere sympathies on your loss, Miss Parnell. Your mother left her property to you. So here we are.”

There were several things in Dreux’s
explanation that surprised Tess, and she struggled not to let it show in her expression. He said the property had a “line of inheritance” and was a family legacy from her maternal grandfather. She knew her grandfather had been a doctor in Louisiana but not that he was heir to “an elite old Creole family.” Dreux also said her mother had been negotiating to sell the property at the time of her death. So was Dreux the mystery visitor involved in the “offer” mentioned by Gina?  Did it really matter? Tess looked into the bland, hazy-sky eyes and could not bring herself to discuss her mother’s suicide with this polite old stranger. She accepted his condolence without comment.

“Oh, my mom did say something about it, but no details,” Tess
fibbed instead, embarrassed to admit how little she knew of her mother’s affairs. “She definitely needed the money,” she added to put the icing of truth on her little lie. “It’s funny I didn’t find any paperwork, though,” she remarked. “Are you sure the ownership is legally clear?”

Tess was voicing a real concern. The lack of documentation was baffling given her mot
her’s penchant for obsessively detailed recordkeeping.

“Oh, your mother’s ownership has never been disputed. For many years, she has leased some acres to a local sugar cane cultivator,” the lawyer assured her. “I am amazed to hear you say there is no documentation of previous negotiations.”

“Yes, it’s bizarre. However, I do know that there is a long history of payments to an SB Land Management in Louisiana, which must have helped with property management. Did you talk with this firm?” asked Tess, affecting a wide-eyed curiosity.

“Yes, well, I believe your mother had delegated management to a local entity,” smiled Dreux. “But my interest was in talking with the owner not the local surrogate.” He then bent to fuss over a leather briefcase on the floor beside his shiny black shoes. He cleared his throat, snapped the case’s gilded latches, and pulled out a multi-page, stapled document. He handed it to her gravely with both hands, as if presenting an award. “As a result of my inquiries, I drew up this family tree, which I thought might interest you. Here is your ancestry,” he said, “over 100 years of it.”
His expression was solemn. Bloodlines were something which Dreux took very seriously, Tess deduced.

Tess accepted the papers with
eager curiosity. A genealogy was mapped over several pages, starting from the original root stock on the first page: a gentleman named Antonio Cabrera, born in 1814 in the Old World of Spain and dead by 1884 in the New World of Louisiana. The name was alien. She had never heard her mother or her grandmother mention relatives named Cabrera.

She scanned more exotic names, each accompanied by a neat bracket of birth and death dates, marriage links and lists of descendants. The surnames started out Spanish and French, but then German, Irish, Italian and English surnames were grafted to the branches.
This family tree had apparently ended up producing a single fruit: Therese Parnell, age 28 and unemployed.

Since Tess did
not recognize a single name among the family’s early branches, she skipped to her own name and began to work backward. Following the link from her parents, Peter Parnell and Joanne Reid, to her maternal grandparents, she immediately stopped in surprise. Here was the probable explanation for her mother’s avoidance of the Louisiana family connection. The parents of Joanne Reid were listed as Emily Reid and Guy Cabrera. Why had her grandmother Emily always called herself Mrs. Reid? Why had her mother and grandmother never mentioned that her grandfather’s last name was Cabrera? There was only one reason that she could imagine: Her grandmother had not been legally married to Guy Cabrera.

She glanced up at Dreux, wondering if he was old-fashioned enough to be judgmental about her grandmother. She certainly found herself judging. It was
not any ancient sexual misstep that disturbed her, but she had always thought her forthright mother and genteel grandmother were honest to a fault. Now she realized that they had knowingly obscured the truth. Her entire album of family memories was warping. She stared down at the paper in silence, trying to gather her thoughts. “Why are you so quiet now, Mom?” she angrily queried the spirit realm.

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin to look Dreux in the eye. “I must admit to you that I’ve never heard the name Cabrera,” she said. “My grandmother and mother told me lots of great things about my grandfather
, but they never used that name. Is my mother an illegitimate Cabrera heir?”

“Oh, no, no,” replied Dreux hastily, reaching out to place a light but reassuring hand on her arm. “I am so sorry. I did not realize that your family did not explain the issue of the name change. In Louisiana, even illegitimate children are legal heirs if acknowledged by the parent, but your grandparents were very definitely married. Did you find no documents in your mot
her’s effects that might have hinted at the reason for your grandmother’s return to her maiden name?”

“I admit I have not
gone through all my mother’s personal papers. Things were in something of a mess because she died so suddenly,” mumbled Tess.

“
That’s completely untrue. I prided myself on order and efficiency. I never tolerated mess.”

“What is your understanding of the reason for my grandmot
her’s use of her maiden name?” Tess asked.

Dreux looked down and picked a piece of invisible lint from his expensive sleeve. “Oh, your grandfather died tragically young, right before your mother’s birth, and there was appa
rently a dispute between your grandmother and her in-laws, not uncommon in any family. Anyway, your grandmother decided to move back to Texas where her parents lived. At some point, she began to use her maiden name for herself and your mother—as a fresh start perhaps. I certainly could not guess the motives, but the legality of the inheritance is clear,” he smiled reassuringly.

“So, out of all these descendants, I am the only surviving heir?” Tess persisted, suspicious that Dreux was hiding some key piece of the inheritance puzzle. If her own family could lie to her, why not this strange little man?

“Not such an odd result, really. The fertility of past generations was offset, alas, by high infant mortality and disease,” Dreux expounded, his eyes looking into the past with a dreamy smile.

“Creepy. Do you think it’s the fatality or the fertility that turns him on?”

“And then there were the wars
—starting with the War Between the States,” continued the old man. “And there were terrible storms. Katrina was more recent but not the only hurricane to take its toll. Many family trees grew and fell. I am from an old, respected Louisiana name, and I am the only descendant of my branch,” he sighed.

He
abruptly ended his contemplation of the fragility of heritage and continued more briskly. “Now I have brought along information on your property as well as a transfer of title to Gulf Coast Refining for a very generous sum of $500,000, as we told you in our letter. In considering value, you must take into account the property’s small size and the difficulties of building on swampy river silt. There is also the fact that, during its long period of absentee ownership, a portion of the property was apparently contaminated by toxic waste water. The EPA recently ruled that an investment in cleanup is required. Luckily for you, Gulf Coast Refining will handle it if it acquires the land. Independent fair-market property evaluations, soil tests, geological studies, etc. are provided. I also have tax records, maps, aerial photographs, and comparable listings of property right here. Of course, I would suggest you visit the property in person to ascertain the fairness of the offer. I will be happy to meet with you in New Orleans.”

He bent to his briefcase once more and pulled out a series of documents that he spread out on the coffee table in discreet little stacks, including photographs. These last showed an u
nattractive tangle of brush with the smokestacks of a refinery in the distance. He gave Tess a paternal smile.
“Don’t trust him.”

“I appreciate your efforts, but I really need time to digest all this,” Tess responded. He arched his wispy white brows.

“Certainly, there is no particular rush,” Dreux agreed, and Tess wondered uneasily at his swift capitulation. The old man eyed her for a moment before he carefully gathered up the documents and slipped them into a large manila envelope that he pulled from his briefcase. “After all, the property has been sitting in its relatively undeveloped state for many years, so a few weeks or even months won’t matter. I will be flying back to New Orleans tomorrow. You can get in touch with me there. Keep the documents and show them to your attorney, or engage a lawyer in Louisiana to advise you, one familiar with local property values and our different legal structure. I certainly suggest you look through your mother’s stored files for more information. In our brief dealings, she struck me as a woman who was careful with legal and financial details.”

As he spoke, he reached into the briefcase and
pulled out a folded newspaper clipping, which he dropped into the envelope before closing the flap. He then withdrew a gold case from his lower left coat pocket and flipped it deftly open with his left hand like some bewigged lord opening a snuff box. With his right thumb and forefinger, he pinched out a gold-embossed business card and delicately paper-clipped it to the manila envelope, careful not to scratch the card’s gilt lettering. He handed Tess the envelope with an intense look and a magician’s flourish, as if he had transformed paper into riches.

Dreux smiled politely and asked
, “Do you think you will visit New Orleans soon?”

“
I’d certainly like to visit the property and find out more about my heritage. But I’m not sure how soon I can arrange a visit. I have obligations here,” she hedged.

“Yes, then let me know in advance when you decide to come
. We can set an appointment. I’ll be glad to provide a bit more information about your interesting family history, at least as much as I know,” replied Dreux, standing slowly and offering his quavering hand. Tess looked down at the envelope, in which the ancestral chart sat sandwiched between legal type and grainy photos.

“I think you’re owed more than documents and a handshake.”

“Well, before you go, can you tell me a little more about the whole family legacy thing now? My mother and grandmother focused only on the most recent family past,” Tess prompted as she clasped and released his hand, an unpleasant bundle of finger bones sheathed in a thin glove of dry skin.

“Why it begins like all the best stories,” he answered, bending stiffly to pick up his leat
her case, “with desire.”

“Excuse me
, but I’m not following you,” she responded with a blank look.

“Always so sweet. Just ask him straight out if he’s gone senile.”

“The obsessive desire of a man for a woman
. That is the origin of the property,” murmured Dreux, straightening to look Tess in the eye. Seeing her astounded face, he smiled and once more patted her arm gently. “I’m old but not senile,” he reassured her. “You asked about the source of your inheritance, and if you look at the family tree there,” he gestured toward the envelope, “you will see two names at the beginning: Antonio Cabrera and Josephine Chastant. So I will tell you about the romance of those two.”

He began to drift across the lobby toward the entrance, and Tess walked numbly beside him.

“Imagine yourself in the New Orleans French Quarter one summer morning in 1839,” Dreux began to narrate. “Two gentlemen are strolling from the Mississippi River toward the French Market. If you visit, you will doubtless walk in their footsteps while touring the Quarter. One is a 25-year-old new immigrant from Spain named Antonio Cabrera, and the other is a 36-year-old Creole plantation owner named Paul Arnoult. The men are neighbors with a mutual interest in sugar cane cultivation. The younger man’s father in Spain purchased Louisiana land sight-unseen during the period of Spanish administration, and passed it to young Antonio, who has come to make his fortune. Antonio is pleasantly surprised to find that the property, far from being the wild swamp he imagined, is ripe for sugar cane planting. Arnoult is taking the young fellow under his wing and wants him to partner in the construction of a shared sugar mill. Arnoult’s motives are perhaps self-serving, but he also is a lonely widower, and the two are friends.