He released her, sighing with disappointment. The reason for his disappointment twitched in his lap. “What?”
“It’s Mama.”
He sighed again. “You don’t think she’ll like the idea of you marryin’ me?”
“She won’t like the idea of me marrying anyone,” Monica said bluntly. “You don’t know—she’ll be so upset.”
He looked startled. “For God’s sake, why?”
Monica bit her lip, uncomfortable with airing their family laundry. “Because that means I’d be sleeping with you.”
“Of course you’d—oh.” Now he looked uncomfortable. He was probably recalling all the old gossip about the arrangement Mama and Daddy had had. “I guess she doesn’t like things like that.”
“She hates the very idea. And with Faith Devlin back in town, she’s already upset.” Cautiously Monica nudged him in the direction she wanted him to go. “If Faith left again, it would put Mama in a lot better mood, but I don’t know how to manage that. Gray is trying to make her leave, but he says there isn’t much he can do, not like before.”
To her surprise, Michael went still, and a grim look darkened his face.
“I know how he feels. I wouldn’t want to do anything to put that girl out of another home, either.”
Monica drew back, uneasy that he had responded directly opposite to the way she had wanted. She had expected him to understand immediately. “She’s a Devlin! I can’t look at her without feeling sick—”
“She didn’t do anything,” Michael pointed out in a reasonable tone that set her teeth on edge. “We had trouble with all the other Devlins, but not her.”
“She looks just like her mother. Mama nearly went to pieces when she found out one of the Devlins had come back here to live.”
“There’s no law that says she can’t live where she wants.”
Because he seemed to have trouble grasping the point, Monica decided to be blunt. “You could do something about it, though, couldn’t you? Gray isn’t doing much, but you could think of some way to make her leave.”
But Michael shook his head, and disappointment knotted her stomach. “I was there the last time,” he said soberly, a distant and somber look darkening the blue of his eyes. “When we ran them out of that shack they lived in. For the rest of the Devlins, I didn’t care, it was nice to get rid of them, but Faith and that little boy—well, they suffered. I’ll never forget the look that was on her face, and I bet Gray still thinks about it, too. That’s probably why he’s taking it easy on her this time. God knows I couldn’t do something like that to her again.”
“But if Mama—” Monica stopped herself. He wasn’t going to do it. He couldn’t understand, not really, because he didn’t live with Mama, didn’t know how that cold disapproval could slice to the bone. She controlled her dismay, and smiled at him. “Never mind. I’ll handle Mama, somehow.”
But how? She had never yet managed to handle Mama, to shrug off those hurtful things she said the way Gray did. Gray loved Mama, she knew, but he ignored her a lot of the time. Monica still felt like an anxious little girl, trying so desperately to live up to the standards Mama set, and always falling short.
She would have to do it. She couldn’t lose Michael. She would tell Alex she couldn’t meet him anymore, and somehow—somehow—she would get rid of Faith Devlin, and make Mama so happy, she wouldn’t mind if Monica got married.
Eleven
Faith hung up the phone, a puzzled frown on her face. That was the sixth time she’d called Mr. Pleasant and not gotten an answer. He didn’t have a secretary; Mrs. Pleasant had filled that role, and he hadn’t had the heart to replace her when she had died. Mr. Pleasant had checked out of the motel; rather, the key had been left on the nightstand in the room, and his things were gone. The room had been paid for in advance, so there was nothing unusual in that. She had done it herself, more than once.
What was unusual was that he hadn’t called her, and he’d said that he would. She couldn’t believe he had forgotten. He would have called if something wasn’t wrong. Given the state of his health, she was afraid he was in a hospital somewhere and was too ill to call. He could even be dying, and she wouldn’t know about it. The thought of dying alone made her chest hurt. Someone should at least be there to hold his hand, as she had held Scottie’s.
Other than being worried about him, she didn’t know what, if anything, he had found or whom he had questioned. She would have to continue on her own, without the benefit of whatever answers he had gotten.
She didn’t have a clear idea of how to go about it, what clues to look for, even what questions to ask—assuming anyone would talk to her. The only ones who were likely to answer her questions would be any newcomers, and they wouldn’t be in a position to know anything. The old-timers would know, but they would heed Gray’s edict against having anything to do with her.
A thought came to her, and she grinned with anticipation. There was one person, at least, who would talk to her—unwillingly, but he would talk.
She dragged a brush through her hair and twisted the heavy mass into a top-knot, securing it with a few pins and leaving tendrils loose around her face and at the nape of her neck. That was the limit of her grooming; a few minutes after having made up her mind, she was on her way to Prescott, to Morgan’s Grocery.
As she had expected, Mrs. Morgan spotted her the moment she entered the door. Faith ignored her and wandered toward the dairy section, which was at the back of the store, safely away from Mrs. Morgan’s sharp ears. It wasn’t long before Ed came hot-footing it down the aisles, his beefy face florid with both indignation and exertion. “Maybe you didn’t understand too good,” he said, huffing to a stop in front of her. “Get on out of my store. You can’t buy your groceries here.”
Faith stood her ground and gave him a cool smile. “I didn’t come here to buy anything. I want to ask you a few questions.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m goin’ to call the sheriff,” he said, but an uneasy expression crossed his face.
His mention of the sheriff made her stomach clench, probably the reaction he had hoped to get. Her spine stiffened, and she forced herself to ignore the threat. “If you answer my questions,” she said quietly, “I’ll be gone in a few minutes. If you don’t, your wife may learn more than you want her to know.” When it came to threats, she could make a few of her own.
He paled, and cast an anxious look toward the front of the store. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine. My questions don’t concern my mother. I want to know about Guy Rouillard.”
He blinked, surprised by the turn. “About Guy?” he repeated.
“Who else was he seeing that summer?” she asked. “I know my mother wasn’t the only one. Do you remember any of the gossip?”
“Why do you want to know about all that? It don’t matter who else he was seeing, because it was Renee he ran away with, not any of the others.”
She glanced at her watch. “I figure you have about two minutes before your wife comes back here to see what’s going on.”
He glared at her, but said reluctantly, “I heard he was seeing Andrea Wallice, Alex Chelette’s secretary. Alex was Guy’s best friend. Don’t know that it’s true, though, because she didn’t seem tore up when Guy left. There was a waitress out at Jimmy Jo’s, I can’t remember her name, but Guy saw her a few times. She’s not there anymore. Heard tell he had a thing going with Yolanda Foster, too. Guy got around. I can’t remember who all he was messin’ around with, or when, exactly.”
Yolanda Foster. That must be the ex-mayor’s wife. Their son, Lane, had been one of that group of boys who hung around Jodie when they wanted a good time, but wouldn’t speak to her if they met her in public.
“Was that common knowledge?” she asked. “Were there any jealous husbands around?”
He shrugged, and glanced again toward the front of the store. “Maybe the mayor knew, but Guy donated a lot of money to his campaigns, so I dou
bt Lowell Foster would have kicked up very much if he’d known Yolanda was . . . uh, collecting donations.” He smirked, and Faith thought how much she disliked him.
“Thanks for the information,” she said, and turned to go.
“You won’t come here again?” he asked anxiously.
She paused and gave him a considering look. “Maybe not,” she said. “Call me if you think of any more names.” Then she walked briskly from the store, not even glancing at Mrs. Morgan on the way out.
Two names, plus the possibility of the unknown waitress. It was a beginning. What intrigued her, though, was the mention of Guy’s best friend, Alex Chelette. He would likely have the answers to most of her questions.
The Chelettes were one of the old, monied families in the parish—not on a level with the Rouillards, but then neither was anyone else. She knew the name, but couldn’t dredge up any memories of them as people. She had been only fourteen when she’d left, and more withdrawn than most, keeping to herself as much as possible. She had paid attention only to those who had direct contact with her family, and as far as she could remember, she had never met any of the Chelettes. Alex was still likely to be around, though; the case of Guy Rouillard aside, old money tended to remain in one place.
She walked down to the pay phone at the end of the parking lot and looked up the Chelettes. The residence was listed as “Alexander Chelette, atty.” Below it was the number for “Chelette and Anderson, Attorneys at Law.”
Thinking that now was as good a time as any, she fed in a quarter and dialed the law office. A musical voice answered on the second ring.
Faith said, “My name is Faith Hardy. Could Mr. Chelette see me today?”
There was a tiny pause that told Faith her name had been recognized, then the musical voice said, “He’s in court all morning, but he can see you this afternoon at one-thirty, if that’s convenient.”
“It is. Thank you.” As she hung up, Faith wondered if the musical voice belonged to Andrea Wallice, who had been Mr. Chelette’s secretary when it had all happened, or if this was a different one.
She had almost three hours to kill, unless she wanted to drive home and come back later. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the slice of toast she’d eaten at six-thirty had long since vanished. She wondered if she would be served in any of the restaurants in town, or if Gray’s influence had extended there, too. She shrugged. No time like the present for finding out.
There was a small café on the square. She had never been in it, she thought as she parked almost directly in front of the door. She had never eaten out until she had gone to live with the Greshams, and they had introduced her to the wonders of restaurants. The thought of them made her smile as she entered the cool, darkened café, and she made a mental note to call them that night. She tried to stay in touch, calling them at least once a month, and it had been almost that long since they last spoke.
Customers seated themselves, so Faith chose the booth at the rear of the café. A pleasant-faced young woman, short and round, bustled up with a menu. “What will you have to drink?”
“Sweet tea.” That the tea would be iced was a given, unless hot tea was specifically requested. The usual choices were merely between sweet and unsweetened.
The waitress darted off to get the tea, and Faith glanced down the selections on the plastic menu. She had just decided on the chicken salad when someone paused beside the booth. “Aren’t you Faith Devlin?”
Faith tensed, wondering if she would be asked to leave. She looked up at the woman standing there. “Yes, I am.” The woman looked vaguely familiar, brown eyes, brown hair, and a square-jawed, dimple-cheeked face. She was smallish, about five foot three, and had the perkiness of a cheerleader.
“I thought so. It’s been a while, but it’s hard to forget hair that color.” The woman smiled. “I’m Halley Bruce—Johnson, now. I was in your class at school.”
“Of course!” As soon as she heard the name, the face clicked in her memory. “I remember you. How are you?” Halley had never been her friend—she hadn’t had any friends—but neither had Halley taken part in any of the cruel teasing Faith had endured. She had been civil, at least.
The expression in her eyes now, however, was downright friendly. “Will you join me?” Faith invited.
“Just for a minute,” Halley said, slipping into the booth opposite Faith. The waitress returned with Faith’s tea, and took the order for her chicken salad. When they were alone again, Halley smiled wryly. “My husband’s folks own this place, and I run it for them. I’m expecting a delivery any minute now, and I’ll have to check it in.”
Since Gray already knew about the agency, there was no point in not talking about it, so Faith said, “I’m playing hooky. I have a travel agency in Dallas, and I really should have told my manager where I’d be, but I forgot to call before I left the house.”
Social and financial positions established, they smiled at each other as equals. Faith felt a warm rush of pleasure. Even after she had gone to live with the Greshams and attended high school, she hadn’t had any girlfriends; she had still been too wary and withdrawn, too traumatized, to form any friendships. It wasn’t until she had started college that she had made any friends at all, and the casual acceptance of her dorm mates had been a revelation to her. Shy at first, she had quickly bloomed, joyfully participating in the female rituals that had been closed to her as a girl: the all-night gab sessions, the teasing and laughter, the swapping of clothes and makeup, the frenzy of getting ready in the mornings, sharing the bathroom mirror with her roommate. For the first time she had participated in the endless analysis of the murky mystery of men—rather, she had listened, smiling a little at their naïveté. Though at that point many of her dorm mates had already had sex and Faith had still been virgin, she had felt infinitely older, more experienced. They still viewed men through the rosy lenses of romance, while she had no such illusion.
But female friendship had remained a special joy to her, and she looked at Halley Johnson with the hope of finding that trembling within her.
“Where did you move to, when you left?” Halley asked, with a casual note that glossed over the circumstances under which Faith had left Prescott.
“Beaumont, Texas. Then I moved to Austin when I started college, and Dallas afterward.”
Halley sighed. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here, don’t guess I ever will. I used to think about traveling, but then Joel and I got married, and the kids came. We have two,” she said, brightening. “A boy and a girl. With one of each, it seemed like a good time to stop. How about you?”
“I’m a widow,” Faith said, her eyes darkening with the shadow of sadness that she always felt when she thought about Kyle, dying so young and so needlessly. “I married right out of college, and he died in a car wreck within the year. No kids.”
“That’s rough.” There was genuine sympathy in Halley’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it would be like to lose Joel. He drives me crazy sometimes, but he’s my rock, always there when I need him.” She was silent a moment, then the smile came back to her face. “What brings you back to Prescott? I can imagine someone leaving Prescott to move to Dallas, but not vice versa.”
“It’s home. I wanted to come back.”
“Well, I don’t want to be nosy or rude, but I would have thought Prescott would be the last place you’d want to live. After what happened, I mean.”
Faith gave her a quick look, but couldn’t see any malice in Halley’s expression, only a certain watchfulness, as if she hadn’t quite made up her mind about Faith.
“It hasn’t been a bowl of cherries,” she replied, and decided she could be as frank as the other woman. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Gray Rouillard won’t like it if he finds out you’ve served me. I gather he’s put out the word to all the merchants that he doesn’t want them doing business with me.”
“Oh, I’ve heard,” Halley said, and grinned, some of the watchfulness fadi
ng. “But I like to make up my own mind about people.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”
“You won’t. Gray isn’t vindictive.” She paused. “I can see where you might not agree with me. Granted, I wouldn’t want him for an enemy, but he won’t turn mean just because you ate some chicken salad in here.”
“Everyone else in town seems to take him seriously.”
“He has a lot of influence,” Halley agreed.
“But not with you?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just that I remember you from school. You weren’t like the others. If it had been Jodie, now—she wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for her chicken salad. You’re welcome any time, though.”
“Thanks, but let me know if there’s a problem.”
“I’m not worried about it.” Halley smiled as the waitress set the plate of chicken salad on the table. “If he’d meant to be a hard-ass about it, he’d have said so. One thing about Gray, you don’t have to second-guess him. He says what he means, and means what he says.”
• • •
Alex Chelette’s secretary was still Andrea Wallice, according to the nameplate on her desk. The woman sitting behind the desk was comfortably fiftyish, her face wearing every one of the years, her gray hair styled in a short, neat bob. Looking at her, trying to subtract a dozen years, Faith still couldn’t imagine her as the type of woman Guy Rouillard would pursue. His taste had run toward the flamboyant, not this tidy woman with the openly curious gaze.
“You look like your mother,” Andrea finally said, her head tilting a bit to one side as she studied Faith’s face. “A few differences, but for the most part you could be her, especially in your coloring.”
“Did you know her?” Faith asked.
“Only by sight.” She gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat. Alex hasn’t come back from lunch yet.”
Just as Faith sat down, the door opened and a slim, good-looking man entered. He was wearing a suit, an oddity in Prescott, unless one happened to be an attorney who had been at the courthouse all morning. He glanced toward Faith and visibly started, then relaxed, and a smile touched his mouth. “You must be Faith. God knows, you couldn’t be anyone else, unless Renee discovered the Fountain of Youth.”