What She Doesn't Know (11 page)

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Authors: Beverly Barton

Tags: #Suspense, #Contemporary romance, #Fiction

BOOK: What She Doesn't Know
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“Jolie!” Clarice scooted back her chair and jumped up. “My dear girl, we had no idea you were here.”
Her aunt came forward to greet her, arms open wide. Jolie offered Clarice an affectionate embrace, then released her and strolled over to the buffet. With a silly little smile on her face, Clarice returned to the table. Totally disregarding the others, Jolie lifted a plate and filled it with bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and two biscuits. Then she poured steaming black coffee in a china cup and added a liberal amount of cream. She recognized the china and silverware; both had belonged to her family for well over a hundred years.
Jolie wasn’t the least bit hungry, but what did that matter? She intended to start her takeover of Belle Rose the right way—by
breaking bread
with her deadly enemies. Despite how much she loathed the idea of dining with this bunch, she had every intention of joining them for all the family meals, which was sure to curb everyone’s appetite.
“Well, you’ve got your nerve.” Narrowing his gaze, Parry directed his attention directly on Jolie. “Nobody invited you for breakfast.”
Jolie placed her plate and cup on the table. “Now, now,
Uncle
Parry, with that tone of voice someone might think you don’t like me.” She pulled out the chair next to Clarice. “Besides, I hardly need an invitation to have breakfast in my own house.”
“Naturally, Jolie is welcome here at Belle Rose.” Georgette looked directly at Jolie and smiled. “We’re delighted that you could join us for breakfast this morning.”
Mallory groaned. “Honest to God, Mother, give the Southern belle routine a rest, will you?” Mallory scowled at Jolie. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
Under different circumstances, Jolie would have admired Mallory’s spunk, a trait they shared. But the fact that they were half siblings didn’t alter another more important fact: Mallory was one of them—the enemy. “My, my, little sister, where are your manners?”
“Screw you.” Mallory stuck her tongue out at Jolie.
Such a childish act. Jolie laughed.
“Behave yourself,” Max told Mallory, his tone even and totally unemotional; then he glanced at Jolie. “Disregarding Mother’s oversolicitous attitude and Mallory’s hostile one, would you mind telling us exactly what you’re doing here?”
Jolie sat, picked up a fork and took several bites from her plate. After swallowing, she offered Max an eat-dirt-and-die smile. “Why, I’m eating breakfast, of course.”
“Other than the obvious, why are you here?” Max asked.
All eyes focused on Jolie. Oh, she had them worried. Every last one of them. Even the cool-and-collected Maximillian. His unruffled attitude didn’t fool her. He despised her as much as the rest of his family; he was just more adept at masking his feelings.
Jolie lifted the cup to her lips and sipped Yvonne’s delicious coffee. Eyeing Max over the rim of the gold-trimmed china cup, she said, “I’ve decided to move in with y’all. I’ve got my suitcase outside in the car.”
“You can’t move in!” Mallory cried.
“Call Gar immediately!” Parry shouted.
“You intend to stay here with us?” Georgette’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, you’re welcome. You’re Louis’s daughter and this has always been your home.” She glanced at her son. “Max, you must go outside and get Jolie’s luggage.” She looked back at Jolie. “You’ll probably want to stay in your old room, won’t you?”
Mallory shot up out of her chair, stomped her foot and growled. “Damn it, Mother, stop this right now! Why are you being so polite to her? She has no right to stay here. This is our home.”
Jolie continued sipping her coffee. When no one replied to Mallory’s outburst, she turned and ran from the dining room.
“Hell, Max,” Parry said, “do something.”
Max eased back his chair, stood, walked around the table, and yanked back Jolie’s chair, just enough so that he could grab her arm and pull her to her feet. Tilting her chin upward, she glared at him, but made no effort to jerk free of his tenacious hold. He was spitting mad, but only the slight throbbing of a vein in the side of his neck even hinted of the rage boiling inside him. Provoking Max was like poking a stick at a rattlesnake—sooner or later he’d bite you if you didn’t kill him first. But God help her, she loved irritating the man. Loved seeing him sweat, albeit invisibly.
“I think we need to talk,” Max said. “Privately. In the study.”
Jolie looked pointedly at her wrist trapped in his grasp. “Do you intend to drag me there?”
“If necessary.”
She would call his bluff if she thought he was bluffing; but he wasn’t. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d pick her up and carry her out of the dining room, if she didn’t go with him peacefully.
“Then by all means, let’s talk privately.” She tugged on her arm.
He didn’t release her immediately, as if weighing his options, trying to decide the wisest course of action. He loosened his hold just enough for her to pull free. With a wide, gracious sweep of his hand, Max urged her into action. Taking the lead, Jolie headed for the doorway, Max only a few steps behind her.
“Kick her ass out of here,” Parry called after them.
“Parry, will you, please, stop being so hostile,” Clarice said. “You’re not helping the situation with your ugly outbursts.”
Once in the hallway, Jolie kept walking, but couldn’t resist saying, “Is that what you intend to do—kick my ass out of here?”
“Believe me, that’s what I’d like to do,” Max told her. “Unfortunately, you have every legal right to live in this house. I just can’t figure out why you’d want to.”
Jolie rounded the corner, opened the study door, and breezed into the room that had once been her father’s private domain. Even now, with Louis Royale dead and buried, this paneled den was filled with his spirit, as if at any moment he might return to sit behind the massive desk or smoke his pipe while resting in one of the huge wing chairs. Memories of childhood moments in this room washed over her, moving her swiftly through time, back to when she’d been her daddy’s little darling. Jolie shook her head, attempting to dislodge such senseless reminiscing.
This is what you’ll be up against, if you stay here. Memories from the past, both good and bad. The kitchen where you found your mother’s body is still there; the room where you were shot and left for dead. And upstairs, the landing where Aunt Lisette died is waiting for you when you go up to your old room
.
“Sit or stand?” Max asked.
“What?” Her mind was still fuzzy with thoughts of the past.
Max shrugged. “We’ll stand.”
She nodded. Max looked as if he belonged in this room, as if it were as much his as it had been her father’s. Aunt Clarice had told her that Max had become a true son to Louis. How happy that must have made Georgette.
“Why are you moving in here?” Max asked.
“Truthfully?”
“That would be nice.”
Jolie smiled. “Why am I moving into Belle Rose today?” She laughed, the sound a throaty mocking chuckle. “Because I can. And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me.”
Chapter 10
 
Max had the overpowering urge to grab Jolie and shake her until her teeth rattled. He remembered her as a girl, running barefoot all over Belle Rose, riding her mare bareback, swimming in the pond on hot summer days. She’d been little more than a child, just a rebellious, pampered, undisciplined teenager—a great deal like Mallory. Both of them had been spoiled at a young age by a father who adored them. How many times had he listened to Louis talking about Jolie, always with a mixture of joy and sadness? She had broken her father’s heart by refusing to ever see him again after he remarried. Over the years, Max had grown to dislike Jolie intensely. He thought of her as an uncaring daughter who hadn’t matured enough to understand and forgive human frailties. The more he’d loved Louis, the more he’d hated Jolie.
Now, here she was, home at Belle Rose, where Louis had longed for her to be. But she hadn’t returned to make an old man happy. Too late for that now. No, she was here for revenge. And apparently she was still spoiled and undisciplined—with no regard for the feelings of others.
“You do realize that while you’re making everyone else miserable, you’re not likely to be anything but miserable yourself.”
Jolie shrugged. “It’s the price I’ll have to pay.”
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Is your life in Atlanta so dull and meaningless that you’d rather stay here, live at Belle Rose, just to disrupt our lives?”
“What makes you think that my decision to live at Belle Rose has anything to do with you…or with anyone else who lives here?” Jolie plopped down in one of the wing chairs, making herself right at home.
“Give me one good reason, other than the one I’ve stated?” Max sat on the edge of the desk, then crossed his arms over his chest.
“Oh, my. So big and bad and dangerous.” Jolie placed her open palms on her cheeks and rounded her eyes, mimicking fear. “You’re so intimidating. Should I be trembling?”
“You have no idea how dangerous I can be.”
“Is that a threat?” Jolie met his menacing gaze head-on.
Damn her, she was daring him to prove himself. He was unaccustomed to having others stand up to him. Usually his killer stare was enough to make even the biggest, meanest son of a bitch back down. After all, Maximillian Devereaux had a reputation as a man you didn’t dare cross. So why was this sassy-mouthed woman unafraid? Didn’t she realize that he could break her in half with his bare hands?
Max eased off the desk, stood and walked over to her, then leaned down and grasped the chair arms on either side of Jolie. She swallowed hard, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes; but she didn’t break eye contact, nor did she show any sign of real fear.
“It’s a warning. I will not allow you to torment my mother or constantly aggravate my sister.”
His gaze clashed with Jolie’s. What he saw in her eyes was bullheaded determination. They were going to do battle. War between them was inevitable. His gut instincts warned him that she was no more likely to give an inch than he was, so this would be a fight to the finish.
To the death
.
She lifted her face until they were eye-to-eye, their noses almost touching, only a hairbreadth between them. “Just how do you plan on stopping me? By killing me? I’ve heard the rumors, you know. About your killing your wife. Poor Felicia. And about how some people believe you might have killed my mother, so yours could marry my daddy and move into Belle Rose. Tell me, Max, have you already tried to kill me once?”
She realized, too late, that she’d gone too far in her taunting. Pure rage burned in Max’s blue-gray eyes. Anger stained his cheeks. His nostrils flared and he snorted, like a bull preparing to charge. She opened her mouth to speak, to admit that she’d overstepped the bounds; but before she could utter a word, Max grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her out of the chair and shook her. Roughly. Several times. She gasped for air, then finally managed to cry out as his big hands bit into her upper arms. Instantly he loosened his grip and shook her one last time, but with less force. Tears lodged in her throat, threatening to erupt at any moment; but she willed herself to remain calm and not show him any fear. Her gaze connected with his and what she saw in his eyes at that moment surprised her. Pain. An agonized, tortured expression.
Had she hurt him with her thoughtless accusations? Was it possible that Max Devereaux was capable of ordinary human feelings? If you pricked him, would he actually bleed?
“Damn you!” His chest lifted and fell heavily with his labored breathing.
“Max, I—”
He released her so abruptly, shoving her slightly in the process, that she almost lost her balance. “Move into Belle Rose at your own risk.”
“Another warning?” Now, why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut? What was it about Max that made her want to antagonize him? Was it because, despite the fact that she intensely disliked him, hated his mother and resented his whole damn family, she’d never gotten over her teenage infatuation?
Face it, you find him devastatingly attractive, but you know that he’s the last man on earth you should want
.
“Keep it up,
chère
, and you’ll find out.” Without another word, Max turned and walked out of the room.
Jolie released a long strained breath, feeling as if she’d narrowly escaped the full effect of Max’s wrath. Sooner or later things would come to a head between them. Later, she hoped. She needed time to build her strength, to prepare herself. During the years she’d lived away from Belle Rose, she had fought more than her share of battles, many of them emotional; as a businesswoman, she had faced, fought, and bested worse bastards than Max. But she had never locked horns with an opponent who was capable of murder.
But was Max really a murderer? Did she truly believe that he was responsible for the Belle Rose massacre? And what about the unsolved mystery surrounding Felicia’s death? Twenty years ago she would have defended Max with her whole heart. But she had been young, foolish, and hopelessly enamored with the brooding bad boy. Now she was older and wiser and didn’t put her trust in others so easily. Just because she was still attracted to Max didn’t mean she should let down her guard. She had no reason to believe in his innocence, no reason not to consider him a prime suspect.
“Well, what did he say?” Parry demanded as he paced the floor in his sister’s sitting room. “Does he have a plan to get rid of her? Has he contacted Gar?”
Reclining on the white silk-tufted chaise longue in her white-and-beige sitting room adjacent to the bedroom she had shared with her husband, Georgette sipped leisurely on her afternoon iced tea. On these hot, humid summer days, she did so enjoy these little luxuries. Ignoring Parry, she glanced around, taking note of her opulent surroundings. She’d have to redecorate these rooms soon, once an appropriate amount of time had passed. Louis’s presence was unbearably strong in her boudoir.
“Are you listening to me?” Parry asked.
Georgette did so wish that Parry would leave her alone. She’d had a most disturbing morning and her nerves were simply frayed. But knowing her brother as she did, she didn’t doubt that he’d keep pestering her until she responded. In some ways, Parry was like a pesky mosquito buzzing around, driving a person crazy. Naturally she loved Parry. He was her only sibling. And growing up more or less orphans in New Orleans—with their mother dead and their father a worthless drunk—they had found ways to keep body and soul together. They had done what they’d had to do. She was horribly ashamed of her past and prayed that no one would ever learn the truth about Georgette Clifton, who’d been a whore at thirteen. When she was eighteen, one of her clients, Philip Devereaux, who visited New Orleans several times a year, fell in love with her. She had been fond of Philip, but she’d been incapable of loving anyone. Not then. Not until years later. Not until Louis.
“Answer me, damn it, woman!” Parry got right up in Georgette’s face. “Jolie Royale is the fly in our honey. We’ve had it made all these years. Louis was a generous man. And completely devoted to you. But mark my word, that gal is trouble. She wants us out of Belle Rose and she won’t stop until she’s taken away everything we’ve got.”
“But she can’t take away…Louis protected me…protected all of us. He left my children two-thirds of his estate.”
As if he hadn’t even heard her, Parry grumbled, “Max needs to get rid of her. I’d be more than happy to help him dispose of her body. Maybe toss her in the river. She’d make good fish food.”
“Parry! You’re talking crazy. Max would never…Just hush up such nonsense. If anyone should hear you, it might resurrect all those ugly speculations that surfaced when Felicia died.”
“What do you think, Georgie? Do you think your son killed his not-so-loving and unfaithful wife?”
“No, I most certainly do not. Max is a good man. A devoted son. He may have a violent temper, but he keeps it under control.”
“Yeah, he controls his temper…most of the time. But I’ve seen him come close to losing it completely, and so have you. When he gets all closed-off and brooding, don’t you ever wonder if he inherited a weakness for evil from his father?”
“Philip Devereaux was kindness personified,” Georgette said. “The man didn’t have an evil bone in his body.”
A hint of scorn tinted Parry’s loud boisterous laughter. “Hell, Georgie, I wasn’t referring to Philip. I was talking about Max’s biological father.”
“Philip was—”
“Philip was the sap who married you and made an honest woman of you, but he didn’t sire that Black Knight son of yours and we both know it.”
Georgette would not listen to another word. How dare Parry bring up ancient history. Now, of all times, when the family should stand united, presenting themselves in the most favorable light possible. To the community. And to Jolie.
“Hush up such stupidity,” Georgette told her brother. “What if someone should overhear you? I’ve forbidden you to ever discuss anything about our lives before we came to Sumarville. And you promised me you’d keep our secrets.”
“I’ve never breathed a word. Not to a soul. Not even when I’ve been…when I’ve had a little too much to drink. At least as far as I know.” He chuckled, a mirthless, guttural
haw, haw, haw
. “Hell, you don’t think I’d want people knowing what I did when I was a kid, do you?”
Georgette reached out and grasped Parry’s soft smooth hand. The hand of a man who hadn’t done any physical labor in many years. Neatly manicured nails proclaimed him to be a gentleman. But she knew better. Beneath the polished exterior that Parry presented to the world, her baby brother was gutter scum, just as she was.
“Max has gone to the office today,” she said. “He’s meeting Gar for lunch to discuss our options. And until we have some legal way of dealing with Jolie, we are going to make her welcome at Belle Rose. Do I make myself clear? She is Louis’s daughter and I will not allow anyone in this house to mistreat her.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” Parry gazed at her, puzzlement in his eyes. “You know, Georgie, sometime during the past forty years you’ve turned into a lady. A real lady.”
Just because Jolie was back in Sumarville, there was no reason to panic. Even if she stayed for a while, what difference would it make? She doesn’t remember seeing me that day. She has no way of knowing what I did. If she could have, she would have identified me years ago. If there had ever been any evidence linking me to the crime scene, that evidence is long gone. Thank God, the local authorities had been more than willing to believe that Lemar Fuqua had murdered the Desmond sisters and then killed himself. The damn fools hadn’t looked any further, hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else might have had motive and opportunity. And at the time Louis Royale had been so focused on whether Jolie would live or die that he’d seemed unconcerned about who had killed his wife and her sister. Or maybe he’d been glad that Audrey was dead, glad someone had removed the one obstacle that stood between him and the woman he loved
.
I was lucky and my luck has held for twenty years. All I have to do is continue on as I always have. I have nothing to fear. Nothing except memories. Memories of that bloody day. Memories that won’t leave me alone, that have haunted me. I hadn’t planned on killing anyone. Why did I have to overhear her talking about me? Why hadn’t I realized sooner what a manipulative bitch she was? She forced me to do the unthinkable. It wasn’t my fault. It was her fault. She gave me no other choice. Damn the woman. I had hoped her soul was rotting in hell, but after seeing Jolie, I know now that Lisette’s evil spirit has come back to haunt me
.
Now, look what you’ve done to yourself. Your hands are trembling. You’re feeling queasy. Why do you upset yourself this way? Because Jolie’s back, because she’s the only other person alive who was there that day. But she didn’t see you. She swears she never saw the person who shot her
.
But what if she remembers something? What if…
Stay calm. Don’t lose control. You can wait her out. She’ll go back to Atlanta sooner or later, with no harm done. Except to your nerves
.

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