Midnight Bayou (19 page)

“Little shop in the Quarter.” He drew out the box, set it on Remy’s desk. “Take a look at it.”

Obliging, Remy took off the lid. “Elegant, if you want something you’re going to have to dig out whenever you want to know what time it is. Heavy,” he added when he picked it up.

“You don’t . . . feel anything from it?”

“Feel anything?”

“Look on the back, Remy.”

“Names and dates are right,” Remy concluded. “Hell of a stroke of luck, you stumbling on this.”

“Luck? I don’t think so. I go into a shop, buy Lena a ring, then—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, just back up there a minute. A ring?”

“I told you I was going to marry her.” Declan shrugged. “I found the ring. It doesn’t hurt to have it ahead of schedule. But that’s not the point.”

“Pretty damn big point, if you ask me. She know you’re up to this?”

“I told her how I felt, what I wanted. I’m letting her stew on it awhile. Can we get back to the watch?”

“
Et là!
You always were mule-headed. Go ahead.”

“I walk into that shop, decide I need a watch because mine’s acting up. I decide I need a pocket watch even though I’ve never used one, never thought about using one. Then, I see that one, and I know. I know it was his, I know she bought it for him for his birthday. I know what it says on the back before I read it. Exactly what it says. Because I heard it in my head.”

“I don’t know what to think about that.” Remy raked his fingers through his hair. “Isn’t there something about how some people touch an object and get images from it? Its history or whatever?”

“It’s called psychometry. I’ve been doing a lot of reading up on paranormal science in my spare time,” Declan explained when Remy frowned at him. “But I’ve never
had anything like that happen before. Lena’s got a theory. That this is a reincarnation deal.”

Remy pursed his lips, set the watch back in its box. “I guess I’d be more inclined to put some stock in that rather than the psycho whatever.”

“If it is, then the house, now this watch, are triggering past-life memories. Pretty weird.”

“The whole thing’s been weird since the get-go,
cher.
”

“Here’s the kicker. If I accept that I was Lucian, then I know Lena was Abigail. What I don’t know is if I’m supposed to bring her into the house, to make things right from before. Or if I’m supposed to keep her away from it, and resolve the cycle that way.”

I
n the Vieux Carre, where Lena prepared to leave her apartment for the bar and the afternoon shift, she opened the door and stepped into another cycle. An old one.

“Baby!” Lilibeth Simone threw open her arms.

Sluggish with shock, Lena was unable to move back before they wrapped around her like chains. Trapped, she was assaulted with impressions. Too much perfume that didn’t quite cover the smell of stale smoke, the bony form honed down by years of hard living. Sticky layers of hair-spray over curls dyed black as pitch.

And through it all seeped her own dark dread.

“I went downstairs first, and that handsome young man behind the bar said you were still up here. Why, I’m so glad to catch you!” The voice was a bright bubble that bounced and jerked in the air. “Let me just
look
at you! I swear, I
swear
you just get prettier every time I see you. Sweetie pie, I just have to sit down a minute and catch my breath. I’m just so excited to see you, I can hardly
stand
it.”

She talked too fast, Lena noted, walked too fast on the
spiked backless heels she’d paired with hot-pink and skin-tight capris. Those were warnings that she’d taken a hit of her current drug of choice very recently.

“Look what you’ve done with this place!” Lilibeth dropped into a chair and dumped a floral suitcase beside her. She clapped her hands like a child so the plastic bracelets on her bony wrists banged together. “Why, I just love it. Suits you, baby. It sure does suit you.”

She’d been pretty once,
Lena thought as she studied her mother. She’d seen pictures. But all that prettiness had been carved down, diamond-hard, to canny.

At forty-four, Lilibeth’s face showed all the wear from too much liquor, too many pills and far too many men.

Deliberately, Lena left the door open and remained standing just inside it. The sound of traffic, the scent of the bakery across the street, kept her grounded. “What do you want?”

“Why, to see you, of course.” Lilibeth let out a trill of laughter that scraped over Lena’s brain like nails on a blackboard. “What a thing to ask. I got such a yen to see you, baby. I said to myself, My Lena’s busy, but we’ve just got to have a little time together. So I got myself on a bus, and here I am. You just have to sit on down here, honey, and tell me everything you’ve been up to.”

Disgust rolled through her, and Lena clung to it. Better disgust than the despair that crept along just under it. “I have work.”

“Oh now, you can take a little while for your own mama. After all, you own the place. I’m just so proud of my baby, all grown up and running your own business.

“Doing so well for yourself, too,” she continued as she looked around the room.

Lena caught the look, and the cunning in it. It tightened her chest, and stiffened her spine. “I told you the last time it was the last time. You won’t get any money from me again.”

“Why do you want to hurt my feelings like that?” Lilibeth widened her eyes as they filled with tears. “I just want to spend a few days with my little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” Lena said dully. “Yours in particular.”

“Don’t be mean, honey, after I’ve come all this way just to see you again. I know I haven’t been a good mama to you, darling, but I’m going to make it up.”

She jumped up, pressing a hand to her heart. The nail on the pinkie of her right hand was very long, slightly curved.

Coke nail, Lena realized without shock or regret. Now she knew Lilibeth’s current drug of choice.

“I made some mistakes, I know I did, honey.” Lilibeth’s voice rang with apology, with regret. “You gotta understand, I was just so young when you came along.”

“You’ve used that one up.”

Lilibeth dug into her shiny red purse, pulled out a tattered tissue. “Why you wanna be so hard on your mama, baby girl? Why you wanna hurt my heart?”

“You don’t have a heart. And you’re not my mama.”

“Carried you inside me for nine months, didn’t I?” Sorrow became temper as if a switch had been flicked. Lilibeth’s voice rose, shrilled. “Nine months of being sick and fat and stuck back that damn bayou. Lay there in pain for hours giving birth to you.”

“And left me within a week. An alley cat spends more time with its litter than you did with me.”

“I was sixteen.”

It was that, the sad fact of it, that had caused Lena to make room, time and time again, in her heart. Until her heart had simply calcified from the blows. “You haven’t been sixteen in quite a while. Neither have I. I’m not going to waste time arguing about it. I have to work, and you have to go.”

“But, baby.” Panicked, Lilibeth shifted, back to the
teary, choked voice. “You’ve got to give me a chance to make things right. I’m going to get me a job. I can work for you awhile, won’t that be fun? I’ll just stay here with you for a couple weeks till I find a place of my own. We’ll have such a fine time. Just like girlfriends.”

“No, you won’t work for me, and no, you can’t stay here. I made that mistake four years ago, and when I caught you turning tricks up here, you stole from me and took off again. I don’t repeat myself.”

“I was sick back then. I’m clean now, honey, I swear I am. You can’t just turn me out.” She held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of pleading. “I’m flat broke. Billy, he took almost everything I had and ran off.”

Lena could only assume Billy was the latest in the string of users, losers and abusers Lilibeth gravitated to. “You’re high right now. Do you think I’m blind or just stupid?”

“I’m not! I just took a little something because I was so nervous about seeing you. I knew you’d be mad at me.” Tears spilled out, tracking bits of mascara down her cheeks. “You just have to give me a chance to make it up to you, Lena honey. I’ve changed.”

“You’ve used that one up, too.” Resigned, Lena walked to her purse, counted out fifty dollars. “Here.” She stuffed it into Lilibeth’s hand. “Take this, get on a bus and ride it as far away as this takes you. Don’t come back here again. There’s no place for you here.”

“You can’t be so mean to me, baby. You can’t be so cold.”

“Yes, I can.” She picked up the suitcase, carried it over to the door and set it outside. “It’s in the blood. Take the fifty. It’s all you’re going to get. And get out, or I swear to God, I’ll throw you out.”

Lilibeth marched to the door. The money had already disappeared into her purse. She stopped, gave Lena one last glittering look. “I never wanted you.”

“Then we’re even. I never wanted you, either.” She shut the door in her mother’s face. Then flipped the locks, sat down on the floor. And cried in absolute silence.

S
he was certain she’d smoothed away the edges by the time she drove out to Manet Hall that evening. She’d nearly canceled the dinner plans she had with Declan, but that would have given her mother too much importance.

That would have acknowledged the grief that had slashed its way into her heart despite the locks.

She needed to put her mind to other things, and would never manage it if she stayed at home, brooding. She’d get through the night, hour by hour, and in the morning Lilibeth would be gone. From her life, and from her mind.

The house looked different, she thought. Little changes that somehow made it seem more real. It was good to look at it, to focus on it, and to contemplate that some things could change for the better. With the right vision.

Over the years, she’d come to think of Manet Hall as a kind of dream place, burrowed in the past. More than that, she decided.
Of
the past.

Now, with new unpainted boards checkerboarded with the old, peeling white, with some windows gleaming and others coated with dust, it was a work in progress.

Declan was bringing it back to life.

Though the front gardens were a bit straggled, a bit lost, there were flowers blooming. And he’d plopped a huge clay pot full of begonias on the gallery.

He’d have planted them himself, she thought as she walked toward the door. He was a man who liked his hands in things. Especially when he considered them his.

She wondered if he thought of her as one of his works in progress. Probably. She couldn’t quite decide if the idea amused or irritated her.

She strolled in. She figured that when two people had slept with each other a time or two, formalities were superfluous.

She smelled the lilies first, the good, strong scent bringing the garden indoors. He’d bought a lovely old table, a couple of straight-back chairs and, she saw with a grin, an enormous ceramic cow for the foyer.

Some would call it foolish, others charming, she supposed, but no one would call the entrance to the old hall sterile any longer.

“Declan?” She wandered in and out of the parlor, noting the few new additions. She circled into the library and found herself crossing to the mantel and the heavy candlesticks standing on it.

Why did her fingers tremble? she wondered as she reached out to touch. Why did those old tarnished candlesticks look so strangely familiar?

There was nothing special about them, really. Expensive perhaps, but too ornate for her taste. And yet . . . her fingers brushed down each of them, lightly. And yet they looked right here, so right she could imagine the slim white tapers they were waiting to hold once more; she could smell the melting wax.

Shivering, she stepped back and walked out of the room.

She kept calling his name as she started up the stairs. When she reached the first landing, the hidden door in the wall opened. She and Declan choked back simultaneous screams.

With a gasping laugh, she clutched at her heart and stared at him. He had cobwebs in his hair, dirt smeared on his cheek and hands. The flashlight he carried bobbled.

“Lord,
cher
, next time just shoot me and get it over with.”

“Same goes.” He blew out a breath, dragged at his hair
and the cobwebs lacing it. “You scared five years off me.”

“Well, I called out a couple times, then decided I’d just hunt you up.” She peered over his shoulder. “What’ve you got here, secret passages?”

“No, servants’ access. There are doors on every level, so I thought I’d take a look. It’s kind of cool, but a real mess.” He looked down at his filthy hands. “Why don’t you go fix yourself a drink or something? I’ll clean up.”

“I might be persuaded to fix us both a drink. What’re you in the mood for?”

“Could use a beer.” But he was studying her face now that he’d recovered from the jolt. “What’s wrong, Lena?”

“Nothing, other than you frightening the wits out of me.”

“You’re upset. I can see it.”

She tried a suggestive smile. “Maybe I’m sulking ’cause you don’t bother to kiss me hello.”

“Maybe you don’t trust me enough yet, and figure all I’m looking for with you is a good time.” He used one knuckle to lift her chin, stared into her eyes until hers began to sting. “You’re wrong. I love you.” He waited a beat, then nodded when she didn’t respond. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She started down the steps, then stopped, speaking without looking back. “Declan, I don’t think you’re looking for a good time, but I don’t know as I have what it is you are looking for.”

“Angelina. You’re what I’ve looked for all my life.”

H
e didn’t press. If she needed to pretend she wasn’t upset and skittish, he’d give her room. They took a walk through the rear gardens as dusk crept in.

“This place. All these years, people come, people go. Mostly they go. And here you are, doing more in a few
months than anyone’s done since before I can remember.”

She turned to study the house. Oh, it still needed work. Wood and paint. New shutters here and there. But it no longer seemed . . . dead, she realized. It hadn’t just been abandoned, it had been dead until he’d come.