Wildest Dreams (The Contemporary Collection) (5 page)

“Nobody, I swear,” he said, a high-pitched note of protest in his voice. “What is this?”

“I’m just trying to find out why you spent our future on a car.”

He frowned. “It’s my money; I work hard for it. I have a right to buy what I want.”

“Yes, but you said—”

“I know what I said, but God, Joletta, we’ll be married forever and I feel like I’ve never been free.”

“Are — you saying you would like to see other women?” She had known he always checked out any attractive woman who passed while they were together but had thought it was a habit he would grow out of as he became more mature.

“Why not?” he said with a shade of belligerence in his tone. “And maybe you should see other men. It might be a charge, who knows; I certainly never managed to turn you on that much.”

“I haven’t complained,” she said, her voice low.

“Maybe you should have; it might have helped. As it is—” He shrugged.

She swallowed. “I never knew you felt this way.”

“Now you do.”

It was a long moment before she could speak past the ache growing in her throat. “Fine, then. I don’t think I want to marry someone who doesn’t care any more than that about me, either.” She fumbled at the ring he had given her. It came off easily since it had always been too big. She grasped his hand, slapped the ring onto his palm, and closed his fingers over it. “Take it,” she said, “and just go away. Now.”

He stood staring down at the ring with a look of amazement and indecision on his face for long seconds. Abruptly, he swung from her and climbed into the car. The Miata laid down long strips of black rubber as it pulled away.

The sudden end of Joletta’s plans and everything she and Charles had shared had been like a death. Her life had been so intertwined with his that she felt torn apart. The hurtful things he had said remained with her, eating away at her self-esteem.

Mimi had helped her, Mimi and time. However, even Mimi had not been able to convince her that all men weren’t like Charles. Most of those she met had seemed exactly like him, ready enough to take her out, ready to jump into bed as if that were some kind of test for the future. Joletta had not been interested in being tested, didn’t trust a future that had to be tried out beforehand. She had seldom progressed beyond the first date, and had become less and less likely to agree even to that.

Mimi had told her she was burying herself in the research library. It was possible her grandmother had been right. You could count on the past; it never changed.

Rone flipped his light switch off and on again as a farewell for Joletta Caresse, then drove on for a quarter of a mile before making a left turn and parking in front of a convenience store. He checked his watch before he got out and went in. Returning a few minutes later with a large coffee in a foam cup covered by a plastic lid, he started his car and drove back the way he had come.

At the apartment complex again, he pulled into the drive, found a parking space, and cut the engine and headlights. The complex was fairly new, built in separate buildings of two to four apartments each that were set at various angles around a central pool area. From where he was parked, Rone could see the bedroom window of the apartment he had checked out earlier as belonging to the woman he was watching. It was covered by mini-blinds that were tightly closed, though now and then he could catch a glimpse of a shadow passing over them.

He took the top from his coffee and tasted it. Grimacing, he shook his head. Too strong, it must have been simmering for hours, but he was going to need it to stay awake. Discarding the lid in the litter bag provided by the rental company, he shifted in his seat, trying to make his long frame more comfortable. He propped one wrist on the steering wheel as he took another sip of coffee and allowed his gaze to return to the lighted window above him.

He sighed as he shook his head in bemusement. The impulse to kiss Joletta Caresse had been irresistible. It had also been a dumb thing to do. He didn’t care; it had been worth the risk.

His first night on the job and he had blown his cover, to use a phrase out of some mystery thriller. That might be bad or good, depending. One thing it had been was necessary; he couldn’t have let the creep with the knife touch her. There had been a few bad seconds when he thought he was going to be too late. Next time he would be more alert.

Next time. God.

He hadn’t been sure what he was doing was necessary. It had seemed so melodramatic, even paranoid. Apparently, it wasn’t, not at all.

He felt like such an amateur. He had almost let her see him there at the perfume shop; he had thought the place was further along the street, hadn’t expected her to be quite so wary. He would have to do better.

He hadn’t been ready to find someone else on the trail either. He had tried to give both Joletta and himself some space by waiting for her near the parking lot, a big mistake. That creep. Where had he come from? Had he really had a knife? There had been a flash of some kind, and it had seemed best to have a good excuse for stepping in when he had.

But to kiss her? Unprofessional. Wrong. A clear case of taking advantage. He should feel worse about it, he really should.

Joletta Caresse was something else, not precisely beautiful but lovely rather, in a soft, old-fashioned way, a loveliness mixed with pride and swift-moving intelligence that made a man want to move in close, to find out if what he thought he saw was real. She was fragile looking but amazingly fearless, and with an obvious inner strength. She smelled wonderful; there had been the scent of roses in her hair. The way she felt in his arms, soft and silken but firm where a woman should be firm, rounded where she should be rounded, made the muscles in his abdomen tighten just to think of it. Something had been so right in the size and shape and touch and smell of her that it seemed she could, if she would, step right into his dreams and take up where his fantasies of the perfect woman had left off.

He must be crazy.

And God, no doubt about it, had a weird sense of humor.

There she was up there, just possibly the woman he had been looking for all his adult life. Here he was down here, waxing poetical about her like a lovesick teenager and burning his mouth on bad coffee.

Any day now, something was going to tip her off about him, and then she was going to dislike him intensely, even hate him.

It was guaranteed. It could be no other way.

MIMI’S LAWYER OF SOME TWENTY YEARS’
standing was a silver-haired charmer who had been refusing offers for political office for as long as Joletta had known him. He had tried to make a pleasant occasion of the meeting called in his office to explain the provisions of Mimi’s will, ushering them into a paneled conference room and offering coffee. Aunt Estelle, seating herself on the opposite side of the long table from Joletta, with Natalie and Timothy on either side of her for support, had demanded that he get on with the legalities. He had complied.

There had been no surprises so far. The bulk of the estate, consisting of the French Quarter house, the perfume shop, and a certificate of deposit of no great size, had been divided in accordance with Louisiana’s forced heirship laws, with half going to Estelle Clements as Mimi’s elder daughter and the other half to Joletta as the only child and heir of her younger daughter, Margaret. Aunt Estelle’s lips thinned with irritation, but she made no comment as she waited for the lawyer to set aside one page of the document in front of him and turn to the next.

“We come now,” the lawyer said, looking from one to the other with a grim smile, “to the personal bequests.”

He read them out: to Estelle, the family silver she had always coveted; to Natalie, a few pieces of jewelry of great style but no great monetary value; to Timothy, the silver pocket watch and ivory shaving-brush set that had belonged to his grandfather and great-grandfather.

The lawyer cleared his throat before he continued in firm, even tones. “And the final items read as follows: "To my beloved granddaughter, Joletta Marie Caresse, I leave the piece of furniture known as my memory chest, along with its contents in their entirety. These contents shall include, but not be limited to, the brass-bound journal written by Violet Marie Fossier née Villère, dated 1854—1855, which shall be for the sole usage and ownership of said Joletta Marie Caresse, with the full right and permission to dispose of same in any manner which she deems suitable."“

The lawyer placed the copy of the will on the desk in front of him and folded his hands upon it. His manner businesslike, he asked, “Are there any questions?”

Aunt Estelle drew a hissing breath before hitching the solid bulk of her body forward in her chair. Her tone was stringent as she spoke. “Do you mean the diary, this journal, was there in my mother’s old chest all this time?”

“I assume so,” the lawyer answered.

The older woman turned on Joletta. “You knew it, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

Joletta felt an uncomfortable heat rising in her face, but she answered readily enough. “No, I didn’t, not immediately. I guessed it later.”

“This is outrageous,” Aunt Estelle declared, turning on the lawyer. “That journal is the most valuable piece of property in the estate. My mother can’t have meant to leave it in such a way that my children and I would not benefit from it.”

“The will was drawn up to my client’s specific instructions,” the lawyer at the head of the table replied in dry explanation.

“Then she can’t have been in her right mind,” the older woman snapped. “I want it overturned, now.”

“You can contest, of course, Mrs. Clements,” the legal representative said with a trace of steel entering his tone, “but I should warn you that there is little ground for it. My client appeared perfectly aware of what she was doing when she dictated the terms set down here, and there is nothing irregular about the way the matter has been handled. I can’t speak for the value of this journal, never having seen it, but I expect it is primarily sentimental in nature.”

“You didn’t know much about my mother’s business if you think so,” Aunt Estelle returned. “But never mind. I believe that nothing specific was mentioned about the formulas to the perfumes. Is there any reason why these could not be sold, any legal obstacle to such a sale?”

“None at all — subject to the agreement of all parties concerned,” the lawyer said in chill tones. “Since you and Joletta divide the estate between you, you would both have to sign the documents of sale and both share equally in the proceeds.”

“I understand.” The older woman gave a nod that made her fleshy jowls quiver.

“I’m not sure that I do,” Joletta said slowly as she turned toward her aunt. “You can’t mean to sell the shop?”

Aunt Estelle gave her a hard stare. “Why not, eventually? But I was speaking only of the formulas at the moment, especially the one for Le Jardin de Cour.”

“But Mimi would hate that. She would be so hurt if she knew you had even thought of letting it go.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what my mother would have wanted, Joletta, thank you very much.”

“Without that perfume, the shop will be useless,” Joletta protested, leaning toward her aunt. “The place is the heritage of the women of our family, a part of the history of New Orleans. You can’t just throw that away.”

Beyond her aunt, Joletta saw Natalie look at her brother with an expressive grimace. Timothy only shook his head, though there was sympathy in the glance he sent in Joletta’s direction.

Estelle Clements gave her son a brief look before switching her attention back to Joletta. Through tight lips, she said, “I don’t intend to throw anything away; I intend to sell it for a very high price. Much you should care, anyway. I’ll be making all the arrangements while you sit back and take half the money.”

“I can’t believe you would do it,” Joletta said, shaking her head.

The older woman’s expression sharpened into dislike and her massive chest heaved under its decoration of gold chains and ropes of pearls. “While I’m at it, Joletta, there is something I’ve been wanting to say to you. You lived off my mother for years, worming your way into her heart. You may think you’re going to push me and my children out of the way now while you take over, but I have news for you. As soon as that formula’s found, it’s going to the highest bidder, and there is nothing you can do about it.”