Mimosa Grove (16 page)

Laurel put her arms around Justin’s neck.

“A little death seems a small price to pay for making love with you.”

Justin nuzzled the curve beneath her chin. “Are you willing to die again…for me?”

“Oh, yes, love. Please.”

Justin took her in his arms and began to kiss her all over, as if memorizing her shape and face with nothing but his mouth and his tongue.

Laurel dug her fingers in his hair, riding the sensual high until she lost track of where she began and Justin ended. Outside, a storm began announcing its arrival with a grumble of distant thunder. Lightning spiked on the horizon, shattering the atmosphere with a surge of power that mirrored their passion. Somewhere between the thunder and the rain, Justin rose up on his elbows and resumed their dance of love.

And time passed.

Stroke after stroke, he drove himself near the edge of a climax, only to pull back at the last moment because he wanted it to be with her. Measuring his rhythm with the sound of her breathing and the urgency of her caress, he managed to control his need.

And it was working until she gasped. Only once, and so softly he almost didn’t hear it. Seconds later, he felt her fingers digging into his arms, and then she moaned. The sounds were a trigger that loosened his control. She was coming undone beneath him as he came hard and fast in her.

Rain splattered against the windows, riding the gust front from the swiftly approaching storm. Wind tore through the mimosa grove with sudden fury, stripping fragile pink-and-white blooms from the huge trees and then scattering them about like confetti from heaven. Inside the old mansion, the lovers lay sleeping in each other’s arms, weary, but replete from their lovemaking. On a night such as this, only the restless spirits moved about.

Laurel slept, held fast within the safety of Justin’s arms. But though his presence was comforting, it was not enough to stop the dreams.

Laurel was motionless, her head pillowed on Justin’s shoulder as she slept. Somewhere in her subconscious, she knew they were being watched, and the knowledge gave her a faux feeling of power. No matter what visions might come, she would not face them alone.

Time passed with the storm, leaving the grounds of Mimosa Grove scattered with limbs, leaves and blossoms torn from the trees by the violence of the wind and rain.

“Help me.”

Laurel moved restlessly as the whisper crept into her dream. The image of Mattie Lewis’s face jumped before her mind’s eye, the same as it had been during her vision at the party—wide-eyed and sightless, with blood streaming down the side of her face. Laurel watched in slumberous horror as the first shovelful of dirt fell down on her face and into her slightly parted mouth.

“Help me.”

Tears pooled beneath Laurel’s eyelids. It wasn’t the first time she’d cried in her sleep. It would not be the last.

She wanted to help. God knows she’d tried to help, but no one had listened. Why did they always ask her for help when it was too late?

Still sleeping, she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a ball, pulling herself as far away from life as she could get, but it was still not far enough away to deafen her to the plea.

“Please…somebody help me.”

A frown creased Laurel’s forehead. Why did Mattie Lewis’s spirit cry out for help now? There was nothing Laurel could do. Even now, the second and third shovelsful of dirt were being tossed down into the hole. Dirt was in Mattie’s hair and completely covering one eye. As Laurel watched in dreamlike horror, the dirt continued to fall until she could no longer see Mattie’s face. Still the voice persisted, begging for help. Laurel shuddered in her sleep, unaware that Justin had awakened and had become an unwitting witness to what was happening to her.

Laurel felt herself staring down into a disappearing hole. Shovel by shovel, dirt was returned to its proper place, covering the awful deed that had been done. Desperate to see who was burying Mattie Lewis, she tried to turn around, but her mind wouldn’t let it happen. All she could see were the hands on the shovel, a Mickey Mouse watch on a man’s left wrist and the toe of one large boot. She stared down into the hole again, watching as the killer tossed the last shovelful of dirt into the gap, then began patting down the mound he’d made, using the back of the shovel. As he was finishing, the first drops of rain began to fall. Laurel could hear them hitting the surface of a metal roof that was just behind her. She could smell wet feathers and newly turned earth, and then the thunderstorm hit. She saw the back of the man’s head as he turned and ran for shelter, then nothing. She looked down, watching as the rain began to make tiny tunnels in the newly packed earth. Once more Mattie Lewis’s face appeared, and then, to Laurel’s horror, it began to morph into someone else. When the first shaft of lightning struck near the makeshift grave, the ghost of Chantelle LeDeux was reaching out to Laurel.

“Help me,”
she begged.

Laurel woke with a start, then sat straight up in bed. Shoving her shaky hands through her hair, she glanced toward the window. Raindrops were still visible on the glass, although the storm had finally passed.

“Dear God,” she whispered prayerfully, and covered her face with her hands.

Now she didn’t know what to think. It had made a sort of sense to her that Mattie Lewis’s spirit might have been begging for help, but she didn’t know what to make of Chantelle LeDeux’s unexpected appearance. All she knew of Chantelle’s history was that she’d run away from Mimosa Grove, leaving her husband and three children behind. Why was her spirit still earthbound—and here at Mimosa Grove, when it was the very place from which she’d fled?

She glanced over at Justin, then gasped. He was lying quietly beside her, watching her every move.

“I didn’t know you were awake. How long have you been…?”

“Watching you?” he asked, finishing what she’d been about to say.

She nodded.

“Long enough to know that you were dreaming. You were, weren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Mattie.”

He reached for her, pulling her close to him and then holding her tight.

“I’m so sorry,
chère.
I wish there was something I could do.”

She looked away. “Yes, so do I.”

He rubbed his chin near the crown of her hair, nuzzling the tangles and smelling the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Want me to call Harper Fonteneau again?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “He’ll know soon enough.”

Justin tensed. “You mean she’s, uh…”

“Already dead? Yes.”

Justin’s belly knotted. It seemed impossible to believe that the sweet, smiling woman of last night was no longer of this earth.

“You’re sure?” he asked softly.

“I watched him bury her. I smelled wet feathers and the scent of rotting earth. He wears a Mickey Mouse watch and has a spot of white paint on the toe of his right boot.”

“Jesus,” Justin whispered, and then said a quick prayer, as if warding off the evil of what she’d just said.

He turned her in his arms, making her look him in the eyes.

“Talk to me, Laurel. I don’t know what to do for you…how to care for you. Tell me how to help you deal with the hell that you see.”

She wrapped her arms around him and then started to cry.

“Just the fact that you believe is all the help I need. I can’t help Mattie. She’s beyond that. All we can do for her is wait. Everything else will come in its own time.”

Justin’s eyes welled, then spilled over as he cried along with her, grieving for Laurel’s burden and the loss of his friend.

“Just hold me,” Laurel begged.

Justin wrapped his arms around her and then laid them both down as they wept for the life that was wasted.

Just before she fell back to sleep, Laurel remembered Chantelle’s plea. It was too late to help Mattie Lewis, but maybe if she could find out what it was that unsettled Chantelle’s wandering soul, she could help her put her spirit to rest.

W
hat might have been an awkward meal became, instead, a moment of bonding. Justin came down to the kitchen ahead of Laurel, following the scent of fresh brewing coffee and the sound of pans being banged about. Aware that he was going to be judged and probably found lacking, he decided to confront Marie with the news about Laurel’s latest vision before she could begin. She was bent over the oven door, trying to take out a pan of biscuits by using the tail of her apron for a pot holder.

He reached above her, took a pair of pot holders from a nail beside the stove and slipped in front of her.

“Good morning, Marie. Something sure smells good,” he said, and slipped the pan from the oven. “Where do you want this?”

She frowned and pointed to a cooling rack.

“That’ll do just fine.”

“Got it,” he said, and slid the pan onto the rack, but not before he nabbed a piping-hot biscuit for himself. “Lord, this is good.”

Marie tried not to preen, but she did take some pride in her cooking, and feeding a man who appreciated good food was always a pleasure.

“Well, you better have some sweet butter and preserves on that thing before it goes and gets cold.”

Justin certainly wouldn’t argue with such logic and moved toward the breakfast table.

“Sleep well?” Marie asked.

Justin slathered some butter on the biscuit, then took a big bite before answering.

“Um, sort of,” he said, and then laid the rest of his biscuit on a plate on the table. “After what happened at the party last night, I don’t think either one of us got much sleep. It was part of the reason I stayed with her.” Then he grinned and shrugged. “Only part. The rest was selfish. I love your girl, Marie, and she loves me.”

“Sure didn’t take you two long to fall in love,” Marie muttered.

“We’ve been seeing each other for months,” he said.

Her eyes widened. Her lips went slack. Then she frowned.

“No, you haven’t. She didn’t know anyone down here before she came.”

“She knew me…and I knew her.”

“What you talkin’ about?” Marie asked.

“The dreams… I’ve been dreaming of her…loving her…knowing her…for months. Every night. All night. And she was dreaming of me just the same. We didn’t know it until after Rachelle was found, and trust me, no one was more stunned than I was to realize that my dream girl was a living, breathing woman.”

“Sweet Lord,” Marie said, and fingered the cross she wore on a chain around her neck. “You tellin’ me true? You was knowin’ each other…in your sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Oh, my.” Then she frowned. “What were you saying about trouble at the party?”

“Laurel had a vision.”

“A bad one?”

“As bad as it gets.”

“Tell me,” Marie said.

“She saw Mattie Lewis die.”

“Oh, Lord, oh, Lord,” Marie moaned, then swayed where she stood. “Little Mattie… I remember when she and Aaron were born. Was Mattie there? Did she warn her?”

“Yes, but it did no good. Aaron got mad. Wouldn’t believe Laurel. Even when Mattie was afraid to go home, Aaron took her just the same.”

Marie grabbed his arm. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you could call Harper Fonteneau…. He could go—”

“Already did that. He wasn’t in the office, and he never called back. Besides, Laurel said it was already too late.”

Marie sat down in a kitchen chair, then pulled her apron over her face.

“This is bad,” she wailed. “Poor Mattie…and poor Laurel. She gonna leave, I just know it. If this don’t quit happenin’, she gonna leave me.”

“No, she won’t,” Justin said. “You underestimate Marcella’s granddaughter. She’s tougher than that.”

“I pray that you’re right,” Marie said, and then suddenly froze and tilted her head, as if listening. “She’s comin’ down the stairs.”

“So how about wiping your face and cooking me some eggs?”

“Yes, yes. It’s time to start the eggs. How you like ’em?” she asked.

“How about over easy?”

Marie nodded as she stood. She started toward the stove, then paused. Justin looked up and caught her staring at him.

“What?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head.

“Nothin’.”

“Say what you think, Mamárie.”

Her chin jutted slightly as she frowned.

“I was thinkin’ that it’s been a long time since a man’s voice echoed within these walls.”

“And?”

“And it’s just a good sound, okay?”

It wasn’t until she smiled and winked that he realized he’d been braced for a rejection. He relaxed and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“What’s okay?” Laurel asked as she walked into the kitchen.

Justin pointed to the partially eaten biscuit on his plate, then picked it up and offered Laurel a bite.

“These biscuits,” he said. “Only they’re not just okay. They’re fantastic.”

“Baby girl, you wantin’ one egg or two?” Marie asked as she stood at the stove.

Laurel walked to the stove and took the egg out of Marie’s hand.

“Mamárie…I need a hug,” she said softly.

Marie’s eyes watered, but she blinked back tears.

“Well, sure you do,” she said gently, and wrapped her tiny arms around Laurel’s waist.

It didn’t matter that Laurel was a head taller. Laurel was all she had left of Marcella, and that made her precious.

“Tula is gonna come over with her nieces again and help me tackle the top floor. Anything special you want done to the rooms?”

Laurel frowned, remembering that she had yet to do much exploring up there.

“I don’t suppose so,” she said. “Just clean them.”

Marie nodded, then pointed toward the table.

“Go sit yourself down. Everything is done but your eggs, and they won’t take long.”

“I’ll pour us some coffee,” Laurel said, and got down three mugs.

Together, the two women—one very old and one young, but very sick at heart—finished the meal and put it on the table while Justin watched. It occurred to him, as he sat, that they drew strength from each other’s presence. As long as Laurel remained at Mimosa Grove, Marie would be needed, and he knew from experience that feeling needed was what kept people young. And while, most of her life, all Laurel’s physical needs had been met, she had been emotionally isolated until now. Her Mamárie and Mimosa Grove were her touchstones, and hopefully, Justin thought, there would be a permanent place for him in her life, as well.

“Okay…eat up,” Marie said as she served up the last of the eggs.

Laurel carried the plates to the table, while Marie followed with the hot biscuits and a pot of fresh coffee.

Justin jumped up quickly and seated Laurel first, then Marie, who was right behind her.

Laurel smiled, accepting the gesture without thought, but Marie’s life had been sadly missing in such considerations.

“Well now, I suppose a body could get used to such…if a body wanted to admit a man might have his place around a house.”

Justin grinned, then, to add to Marie’s confusion, he leaned down and kissed her quickly on the cheek.

“Here now! What you doin’ all that for?” she asked.

With a straight face, Justin snagged another biscuit from the plate before taking his own seat.

“Damn good biscuits,” he remarked.

The pleasure on Marie’s face was obvious as Laurel picked up her fork. At that moment, she’d never loved Justin more, and the moment she thought it, she almost dropped the fork she’d picked up.

Love? Did she love Justin Bouvier? God knew she loved making love with him, and she did trust him in a way she’d never trusted another man before. Not even her father had gained such a place in her heart. She was thinking that she’d been so overwhelmed by everything that had been occurring that she’d taken his presence and their lovemaking for granted.

He laughed aloud at something Marie said, and Laurel watched the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his head tilted just the least bit to the right as he sat listening. As her gaze slid to his hands, she remembered their gentleness and their strength as they’d made love. Now he held a biscuit in one hand and a butter knife in the other with the same sense of purpose. What he desired, he went after.

Laurel sighed, then let a small bit of the weight of her world slide sideways—toward Justin, whose shoulders were far broader and stronger than hers. He’d offered. She would be a fool to deny his strength—or his love, should he offer that, as well.

“Laurel, honey…can I pass you anything?”

She blinked. Justin was looking at her, smiling tenderly.

“Oh, uh, yes. The strawberry preserves, please.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and passed the small crystal compote of ruby-red preserves with an overdone flourish.

Marie snorted beneath her breath and then grinned.

“You better watch out there,” she said. “You’re talking so pretty that you’re liable to sprout wings and take flight.”

Both Laurel and Justin laughed aloud at the mental image, and the meal progressed.

They were finishing up with last cups of coffee when a knock sounded at the front door, echoing through the hallway and into the kitchen.

Laurel had started to get up, when Marie waved her back down.

“Probably Tula and the girls come to clean,” she said. “You keep your seat. I’ll get it.”

Laurel nodded, then reached across the table to gather up the last of the dirty dishes as Marie exited the room. Laurel had barely gotten them into the sink before Marie was back, and with a look on her face that didn’t bode well for the day.

“It wasn’t Tula,” Marie said. “It’s Aaron Clement.”

Justin saw the expression on Laurel’s face and stood up. “I’ll talk to him,” he offered.

Marie shook her head. “No. He says he wants to talk to Laurel.” Her voice was shaking as she added, “He says to tell you he says, ‘please.”’

Laurel clutched her fists against her belly, then lifted her chin and nodded.

“Yes. All right.”

Justin met her at the doorway and then took her by the hand.

“I’m still coming with you.”

She nodded again.

Aaron Clement wasn’t a man used to asking for favors, but he was scared. When he saw Marcella Campion’s granddaughter appear in the foyer, all the breath slid out of his lungs in one swoop. He was still struggling to draw air when she reached him.

Laurel didn’t know it, but she was holding herself stiffly, as if braced for another verbal attack similar to what she’d experienced the night before.

“Mr. Clement?”

Aaron stuttered, then briefly closed his eyes, gathering himself and his thoughts. When he looked again, she was still waiting.

“Miss Scanlon, I—”

Laurel stepped aside, then gestured toward the living room to their right.

“Laurel, please. And maybe we’d all be more comfortable in here.”

She led the way without looking to see if anyone followed.

Justin might have glared a warning at Aaron until he saw his expression. Instead, he motioned for Aaron to proceed, then followed them both into the living room.

Laurel was already seated in a chair near the window. Unwittingly, she’d chosen the one place that put her in a small halo of light from the rays of the early morning sun. Given her reputation, appearing as an angel only added to Aaron’s fears.

“Please sit down,” she said, and smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, thankful that she was wearing lightweight capri pants, rather than her normal attire, which would have been shorts. It was hard to maintain dignity with her long legs all bare.

Aaron sat with a thump, then stared down at the floor, unable to face the woman with his request.

Laurel sensed his distress, and while her first instinct was to protect herself, she caught herself leaning forward with the intent to help.

“Mr. Clement…Aaron…may I offer you some coffee?”

It was the ordinary gesture of refreshment that undid him. One minute he was shivering in his boots, the next he was struggling not to cry.

“No, ma’am, but thank you just the same,” he said, then cleared his throat with a cough, unwilling to show how close he was to tears.

Justin took a stand beside Laurel’s chair, making it plain to Aaron just where his loyalties lay.

Aaron didn’t miss the significance, or the warning look on Justin’s face, and because of the way he’d behaved last night, he knew the first thing out of his mouth had to be an apology.

“Miss Scanlon…Laurel…I need to apologize for my behavior last night.”

Laurel’s heart ached for the man and for the loss he was about to suffer. She swallowed to keep from weeping.

“You didn’t need to come all this way to tell me you’re sorry.”

Aaron’s fingers curled around his knees, and he absently watched them turning white at the knuckles as he stared down at the toes of his shoes and struggled to find a way to continue.

“I didn’t come just to tell you that,” he said, then forced himself to look up. “Mattie is missing.”

Laurel’s eyelids fluttered slightly. It was the only sign of her emotional state.

“And you know this because…?”

Aaron shifted uncomfortably, then abruptly stood.

“I let her off at her house last night, then went home. She was fine.” Then he added, a little defensively, “And I went over this morning…but not because I believed what you’d said last night. It’s just that she’s my sister and I was checking up on her while her husband, Martin, is away. Only she wasn’t in the house, and some furniture was overturned…and her bed wasn’t slept in and—” He choked on the rest of what he’d been going to say and began to beg. “Will you help me find her? I thought maybe she’d gone out to check on the livestock and turned her ankle, or fallen into a ravine. It rained a lot last night, so I couldn’t find her tracks, but—”

“I’m so sorry,” Laurel said.

Aaron moaned. “What do you mean?”

Justin moved to his friend’s side and put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“She told you last night. She warned you what was going to happen.”

Tears were rolling down Aaron’s face faster than he could wipe them away. Laurel could see where he’d run his fingers through his hair earlier in frantic confusion. His eyes were wide, and so filled with terror she could hardly breathe. If only…