Chasing the Wind (33 page)

"What happens now?" Caroline's eyes sparkled.

"Caro!" Ellis flushed.

"Tomorrow we meet at the bank. Can you get there around noon?" Ellis and Caroline seemed fixed on the movement of her lips while she spoke, as if to ensure this wasn't just an hallucination. "We'll transfer the deed into your names, and the house will be yours."

Caroline let her eyes roam over the kitchen.

"Sure," Ellis said. "I'll arrange it with the boss."

"Good." Amalise pushed back her chair. "Whitney Bank on Carrollton Avenue."

"No inspections or anything?" Ellis's voice was teasing now.

She smiled. "I figure the new owners are familiar with any defects."

Caroline looked about once more, wide eyed. "It's ours?"

"Yes," Amalise said. "We'll have the deed recorded tomorrow afternoon."

A noise at the kitchen door caught her attention. She turned to see Luke standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his hands. He was barefoot. Soft white cotton pajamas imprinted with pale blue figures of a cute dog hung off him, several sizes too large.

As Caroline pushed back from the table, Luke dropped his hands to his sides and shuffled with a sleepy look over to Amalise as if he'd expected to see her there. She opened her arms, bent down for him, and he climbed into her lap. Curling into a ball, he nestled against her and closed his eyes. She held him, scarcely breathing as she looked down at his nodding head.

Caroline and Ellis looked at the two of them in silence. Amalise pulled Luke close, feeling the curve of his warm little body, his chest moving slowly with his breath in a sleepy harmonic rhythm. Resting her cheek atop his head, she gazed across the table and saw a look pass between Ellis and Caroline.

It was Friday afternoon, and he
was beat. He stood at the door to Bingham Murdoch's suite, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as they peppered him with questions. Murdoch and Robert Black sat in chairs. They'd left him standing.

"Yes, sir. Miss . . . ah . . . Catoir met the people from the Marigny in front of the bank about two hours ago, and they went inside together."

Murdoch looked at him hard. "The kids, too?"

"Yes." Black answered the question. His voice was cold. His eyes were splits of steel.

"Yes, sir," he echoed Black. "Four, I think. It's hard to count when they're moving around like they do."

Murdoch lips moved, but he had to lean forward to catch the words. "Go on. Did you follow them inside?"

"Yes, sir." He looked down. Dug his foot into the carpeting and looked back up again. Hitched one shoulder up a bit. "They went into an office. But that lobby's not very big. Couldn't hang around too long after that."

"That's not much help."

Confused, he glanced at Black who wore a look of disgust. He looked back at Murdoch. The old man was easier. "Ah. Well, they all came out together at the end," he added. "Miss Catoir, the parents, and the kids."

"How long were they inside?"

"About an hour." He squeezed his brows together. "The woman, she was crying, and the man just stood there shaking Miss Catoir's hand over and over like he weren't ever gonna let her go." His eyes darted between Robert and the older man. "I couldn't hear what they said. And then the woman, still sobbing away, she hugged Miss Catoir."

"And then what?" Black's voice was clipped. Impatient.

"Uh, then they got in their car, the family did. It was parked on—"

Murdoch flipped his hand. "Get to it. What did Miss Catoir do then?"

"She came back here . . . er, to the First Merchant Bank Building."

Murdoch looked down. He raised his toes and looked at the socks on his shoeless feet. He dropped his feet back onto the floor. "What do you think's going on here, Robert?"

"Simplest explanation is usually the best. She's pulling a scam—put the house in the family's name, and they'll jack up the price when we show up to buy. Figures we won't notice the history."

Murdoch tapped his fingers on the armrest. His voice when he spoke was mild, as if he'd come to some resolution. "You." He jerked his chin toward the door. "Go to city hall and take care of that clerk. Fix her up. Make sure she calls you about any property filed in the next two weeks in Marigny."

"Yes, sir."

Murdoch stood, looked around for his shoes, and found them. Dropped back down on the couch and shoved them onto his feet while he talked. "If there's another transfer of that property, we need a file stamped copy." When he looked up, his eyes were piercing. "Got that?"

He nodded.

"After the fix, you get on back here." Murdoch looked at Black. "Give the man some money. Enough to grab that clerk's attention."

Black dug into his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and handed him a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill. "That's not enough, let me know."

He stuck the bill in his pocket and nodded again. It was more than enough. He'd keep the change for his trouble.

"You can go," Black said, looking past him to Murdoch.

Stone cold, he thought, turning away. Both of them.

"Thank you," he heard Murdoch say.

Well, all right then.
The older man was easier to deal with than Black. But he was a puzzle. He'd seen that type before, and they always surprised you.

Later that afternoon, Rebecca and Jude sat at a small iron table on the front porch of the Columns Hotel in the heart of the Garden District, sipping iced tea with fresh mint leaf and looking out over St. Charles Avenue. The hotel, with its tall white columns and turn-of-the-century architecture and the wide covered front porch, was Rebecca's favorite shady place to spend an hour or two in the afternoon. Rebecca had called and asked Jude to meet her here.

She hadn't seen the sun in a few weeks, she'd said. "Need a break. Meet me at the Columns? I've got a couple of hours to steal."

"Sure," he'd said.

They had been talking for a while, or rather Rebecca had been talking about the Murdoch transaction. He'd been listening with one ear.

It was a difficult deal, she said, and everyone was on edge with the closing coming up next week. Amalise seemed especially tired and tense.

His ears pricked up at the mention of Amalise, but Rebecca went on, telling him now how she'd solved some major problem with the deal, and how everyone had thought it was a good idea. He smiled, congratulated her. Doug seemed pleased, and she hoped that would get her assigned to his next project.

Jude struggled to pay attention—he really did—to the stories of Doug the rainmaker, the partner with clout in the firm. About how the idea she'd come up with would advance her career. Still, he was distracted, because he'd decided the time had come to tell her how he felt about Amalise. She'd probably already guessed, he knew. The news wouldn't have much impact one way or another in her world. In Rebecca's world, work came first. But to be fair, to be clear . . .

Now he was waiting patiently for the right moment.

But Rebecca had more to say, and he found he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Streetcars rolled by, clattering and clanging, stopping and starting, discharging passengers and picking them up, while she went on about work.

From the sidewalk across the street, two small boys ran into the street and squatted near the streetcar tracks. Against the hum of Rebecca's voice, Jude watched as they carefully placed something on a track and then ran back to the sidewalk. There they stood, leaning against a fence, hands in their pockets, waiting.

He smiled. He knew what they were doing. Amalise would, too.

He missed her. He missed the little things—the shared secrets, the jokes. She understood his sometimes dry humor, things that flew right past Rebecca. He sipped the tea, looking at the beautiful oaks on the neutral ground, the center slice where the streetcars ran. Those trees still stood after centuries of hurricanes. Amalise would love sitting here and thinking of that. He wished she were here right now.

"It's sure noisy out here today," Rebecca said.

"Beats the foghorn back in P-town," he answered, turning back to her. He watched the condensation rolling down her glass.

"I imagine so."

Rebecca pressed against his shoulder. Like Amalise used to do. The thought depressed him, but he shook it off. He dropped his arm over the back of her chair. "Tired?" Maybe now he could bring up the subject.

She tilted her face up to his. "Not really." Rebecca sipped at her tea and set it down. "We're working long hours, but it doesn't wear me out like sitting still would. The closing's next Wednesday. There'll be plenty of time to rest after that." She straightened, and he lifted his arm. With a look at him, she pulled her hair back with both hands and let those red curls fall like silk.

No one could ever say Rebecca wasn't beautiful.

And then she launched into the deal again.

He watched the boys across the avenue. Another streetcar came along, headed toward downtown. It stopped and discharged passengers and then rolled off. The boys raced to the track and picked up their flattened nickel, inspecting it, heads ducked over the treasure, laughing. Then one kid put it in his pocket, and they sauntered off. Amalise would have laughed.

Rebecca's touch got his attention. "Speaking of Thanksgiving," she was saying. "Are you still coming over for dinner?"

For as long as he could remember, he had spent Thanksgiving in Marianus with Amalise and Maraine and the Judge. His throat grew tight. "I don't think so, Rebecca. We need to—"

He was going to say they needed to talk, but she interrupted. "Well, that's a shame. But then, I might just sleep all day. We're working on Friday, organizing things, post-closing. I'm looking forward to a day off, though." She picked up her glass and sipped the tea. "But if you change your mind, just let me know."

He looked at her and smiled. Even in the shade he could see the yellow flecks in those green eyes.

She launched into another long description of something that had happened at work, something about wiring funds or however they got the money into those banks, and he decided this was not the day for a serious discussion about his feelings. Rebecca was happy enough with her career.

And after all, Amalise had made her feelings clear.

Saturday. The closing loomed in just
four days. Fifteen copies of the final construction contract were stacked in the center of the conference table. Finished. Done.

The bank loan agreement was also complete, unless the investor group pulled something tricky again. The investors' agreement covering their subordinated debt was still in draft form—they were holding out on a few of the provisions. Richard Murray was back in New York drafting those new proposals.

And a small stack of purchase agreements sat on the conference table in front of Amalise. These were the ones she'd completed. The remainder of the agreements from her share—Rebecca had the other half—sat in her office, unfinished. Raymond had asked to see the ones that were done. So here she sat, waiting for Raymond to appear. That was the difference between a second-year associate and a fifth-year, she knew: She was the one to jump, and she was the one to wait. That's the way it was, but things would change for her in a couple of years. Everyone else was at lunch with Murdoch or back in their offices, working.

She chewed at the edge of her thumb near the nail because in the pile of agreements before her was one bearing the names of Ellis and Caroline Jeansonne, owner-sellers of the house on Kerlerec Street. Heart pounding, she prayed that Raymond wouldn't compare the names on the agreements to the original list taken from the survey. Unlikely as it was, this was a terrifying scenario, because the original list showed C. T. Realty as the owner of that property, and if they tracked back, her name would be found in the chain of title.

As long as he didn't match them up, she was safe.

Raymond wandered in and sat down beside her, eyeing the agreements. "I'm so glad I'm past this work," he said.

She laughed.

"How far have you gotten?"

"I'm a little more than halfway through." Well, almost. She slid the stack over to him.

He frowned.

She took a shallow breath, watching as he pulled the top agreement from the stack and set it down on the table before him. Raymond was thorough, but would he go through each one, duplicating her work as he'd used to do when she was still new to the firm? She sat very still as he carefully read the one he'd picked up, turning pages. At last he nodded and dropped it back onto the pile.

"Looks good," he said in a dismissive tone.

Her heart slowed to a normal rhythm as she let out her breath.

"You need to speed this up a little, Amalise. We'll be revising the wire memorandum shortly, and that'll require your attention."

"I'll do that."

He turned his chair toward her and leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. "I was looking at the closing list a few minutes ago. We've got a long way to go. Better book plenty of time with the typing pool, day and night from now on—proofreaders, people to make copies."