Some Like It Hot (4 page)

“Me? I said nothing, but some of the wait staff spoke to him. Don’t know what they said.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it, Joe.”

“Hey, I know you’d do the same for me.”

Robert hung up the phone feeling unsettled. Who in New Orleans was having him investigated?

And why?

“R
OBERT
L
E
S
OEUR DOESN’T
trust me to watch his back? Well, I don’t trust him to watch mine.” Melanie stormed into her
apartment, mumbling under her breath and stripping off her sweaty exercise outfit as she went.

The little black kitten that had shown up on her doorstep last week darted under the couch. She’d fed it and now she didn’t know what to do with it. She wasn’t much of a pet person. Sweet as they were, pets tied you down. Realizing she’d startled the poor thing, she immediately softened her step and stopped grumbling.

“Here kitty, kitty, come see me.” She dropped down on her knees and peered under the couch. The kitten eyed her with apprehension. She wriggled her fingers and the little creature came to her. “I’m sorry. We won’t discuss Robert LeSoeur anymore.”

Melanie cuddled the kitten for a few minutes, then set her down and headed for the bathroom. She tossed her clothes into the cheap discount store hamper someone had given her—why spend money on a fancy hamper when it just held dirty laundry?—then yanked the elastic band from her ponytail and tossed it onto the counter. She adjusted the shower as hot as she could stand it, stepped into the old claw-foot tub and pulled the curtain.

Steamy water trickled over her shoulders, calming her down. Okay, so maybe she’d overreacted to Robert’s comment. Maybe she was just a little bit touchy on the subject. Maybe she hadn’t always been the most responsible or reliable person in the world, but a girl could change. Problem was, how did you go about changing the mind of people who thought they had you pegged?

Sighing, she rested her forehead against the wall.

Face it, you have been unpredictable in the past. Who went backpacking through Europe after she dropped out of
college, without thinking to inform her parents of that little detail until she was already in France, spending her tuition money on youth hostels and rail passes?

That was nine years ago and she’d paid her parents back.

Who got married three weeks to the day after David Muncie swept her off her feet, only to discover, six weeks into the marriage, that he was a control freak with an explosive temper and an addictive personality?

Remorsefully, Melanie rubbed a bar of honeysuckle-scented soap over the burn scar at the left side of her waist. But that was a long time ago, too. She hadn’t done anything so rebellious or careless since then.

When she was away from New Orleans, people saw her as confident and capable. She kept her focus on her work and she was well-liked among her colleagues. In her old job, she’d been named employee of the month three times. And just before she’d left Boston to come home after her mother’s heart attack, a headhunter had come snooping around, dangling visions of executive chef positions at five-star restaurants.

Melanie lathered her hair with shampoo and ruthlessly jammed her fingers through it, trying to scrub her regrets away. New Orleans might be where she was born, but it hadn’t felt like home in a very long time.

How she wanted to belong here again! But was it even possible?

A forlorn loneliness seeped into her, and she stepped out of the tub, wrapped a thin towel around her wet hair and a thick fluffy bath towel around her body. The black kitten was curled up on the mat, eyes closed, purring like mad.

Well, at least someone trusted her.

Melanie reached down and scratched the kitten’s soft fur, right behind her ears where she liked it. The happy purring intensified, and Melanie no longer felt so alone.

When had it started? This sense of separation from her family that often plagued her, even when she was in the same room with them?

It wasn’t that her mother and father had teasingly called her their most wonderful little “oops.” It had been no secret that Remy and Anne had thought their family was complete after Sylvie was born.

Her father had loved his four girls, but Melanie had always wondered if he’d secretly hoped for a son. At least she had been a tomboy, but it still hadn’t been easy growing up the youngest. Her sisters had done everything ahead of her, and she never seemed able to catch up. But she still remembered exactly when it was that she realized how to get her family’s attention.

The family had gone on the only vacation Melanie ever remembered them taking together. The hotel was closed for renovation, so her father had rented a camper and they’d driven to the Grand Canyon.

Melanie was six that summer. She and her sisters had ridden in the back of the camper, but after a while, she’d gotten claustrophobic. She’d had a panic attack and had to switch to the front seat, where she could see out to keep from becoming sick.

She’d loved that special time wedged between her parents, her sisters in the back. She’d pretended she was an only child. Remy had let her tune in the radio station of her choice, and she’d rested her head against Anne’s shoulder, while her mother gently stroked her hair.

But once they arrived at the Grand Canyon, it was business
as usual. Her sisters came out of the camper and Melanie wasn’t special anymore. She was the little one again, lost in the shuffle.

She’d had a temper tantrum at their picnic spot and her mother had made her go lie down in the back of the camper to cool off.

But Melanie had sneaked out when her mom wasn’t looking, and hidden behind a pile of boulders to build a rock tower that would reach the moon.

Her tower didn’t quite reach her waist, and looked more like a heap of rubble, but when she was finished, she’d hurried out to show her family what she’d done.

She could still see herself, crouching in the dirt, the Grand Canyon a panoramic background behind her, as she realized that the picnic table was empty, and the camper no longer parked alongside it.

Melanie let out a shriek and ran into the road just in time to see the camper disappearing around the bend.

They’d left her!

Her heart was pumping hard and she got that claustrophobic, carsick feeling all over again. Her family had driven away without her! They didn’t want her anymore. She tasted the salt of her tears and put a fist to her stomach.

She’d felt so very, very small and all alone.

A hand clamped on her shoulder and she looked up, legs trembling, to see a kind-faced forest ranger in a Smokey the Bear hat staring down at her. “What are you doing out in the road, little girl?”

That’s when she’d thrown up on him.

He’d taken her to the ranger’s station, and a nice-smelling lady ranger had cleaned her up and then given her chocolate
milk and cookies and a coloring book and crayons. Other grown-ups came to make a fuss over her, asking her name and where she was from. That’s when she told them about her parents driving off and leaving her.

There was a flurry of activity and then some policemen showed up. Some time later another policeman came into the ranger station with her parents behind him.

Her mother scooped her into her arms and covered her face with kisses. Her sisters were crying and her father kept apologizing. Remy and Anne had thought she’d fallen asleep in the back of the camper with the other girls, and her sisters had thought she was in the front with their parents. It wasn’t until the state trooper pulled them over to tell them they’d left a daughter behind that they had even known she was missing.

Her mother kept a tight grip on Melanie for the rest of the day. Her sisters sang her songs and told her stories. Her father let her pick the restaurant for their evening meal. Everyone paid her lot of attention, and it was glorious.

And that’s when the realization hit her. If you wanted to get noticed, you had to rock the boat.

So began Melanie’s flirtation with rebellion. Whenever she felt ignored or left out, she would do something outrageous to make them remember that she was there.

She’d turned into a naughty girl.

But she was a girl no more. She was a grown woman who was determined to make up for her past mistakes and prove to everyone that they could indeed depend on her.

Robert LeSoeur included.

A
FTER HER QUICK SHOWER
and a change of clothes, Melanie met her sisters for Saturday morning brunch at La Grand-mère’s. As they waited in line for the maître d’, Melanie glanced at her oldest sister.

How lovely Charlotte was, with sleek hair the color of toasted pecans and exotic, almond-shaped green eyes. She possessed a timeless beauty, a genteel Southern charm she’d picked up from their mother. She had a sense of grace that Melanie had never learned—never cared to learn, actually.

Charlotte smiled at the middle-aged maître d’, laid two polished fingertips against the back of his hand and sweetly asked for the best table they had with a view of the Mississippi. They were seated immediately at a corner table overlooking the river.

No doubt, Char had a way about her. She was all cream and roses. All pearls and lace. She still wore stockings, even during the muggy New Orleans summer months. Next to her elegant oldest sister, Melanie felt shabby, eclipsed, invisible.

Renee sat on Melanie’s right. A couple of years younger than Charlotte, the former Hollywood studio executive was now in charge of hotel public relations, and she looked the part. Renee was willow thin and kept her pale blond hair
styled in a simple but chic shoulder-length cut. There was no denying the glow in her sister’s eyes since she and Pete Traynor had fallen in love.

Melanie tried to shrug off a twinge of jealousy. She wasn’t normally the envious type. What was wrong with her today?

“No beignets for me,” Renee said when the waiter brought a complimentary basket of the square French doughnuts, deep fried and dusted with powered sugar, to the table. “I’ve been overindulging lately.”

“Great.” Melanie reached for the basket. “More for me.”

“You’re so lucky,” Charlotte said. “You’ve never had to worry about your weight.”

“That’s because Mel’s always in motion,” said Sylvie, the sister closest to Melanie in age. “She burns off the calories before they have a chance to stick to her hips.”

“As if you have anything to complain about.” Melanie licked powdered sugar off her fingers with a groan of appreciation. “I’d kill for curves like yours.”

Sylvie was the quintessential Bohemian earth mother with her curly red hair, green eyes, fair skin and heart-shaped face. She was also plainspoken, and her honesty took some people off guard. She had moved home to run the art gallery at the hotel, bringing her daughter with her. Daisy Rose was now an adorable three-year-old and Anne’s only grandchild to date. The entire family spoiled her shamelessly.

Her sisters were all so different from her, Melanie thought, even physically. She was the only one who’d inherited their father’s dark coloring.

Like Renee, Sylvie had just recently fallen madly in love. Her beau, Jefferson Lambert, was a widowed New England
lawyer with a teenage daughter, and he and Sylvie took turns shuttling between Boston and New Orleans.

It seemed love was in the air at the Hotel Marchand.

For everybody except me.

Not that Melanie wanted to get married again. She’d had enough of that nonsense, thank you very much. But she wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend.

Of course, she hadn’t included Charlotte.

Melanie cast a glance at her sister and wondered if Charlotte had given up on love entirely. At forty, she looked a good five years younger, but Charlotte lived and breathed the family business to the exclusion of a personal life. Like Melanie, she’d been married before and divorced.

Odd to think they had something in common. They were so dissimilar in every other way, from their height to their dispositions.

“I know I shouldn’t.” Sylvie winked conspiratorially at Melanie. “But pass the beignets.”

She grinned and handed the basket of deep-fried dough to her sister. As a kid, Melanie had easily coaxed Sylvie into going along with her schemes, even though Sylvie was the one who usually got into trouble because she was six years older and should have known better. But Sylvie inevitably forgave her.

“What are the rest of you doing with all those childhood mementos Mother’s been giving you?” Renee asked. “I’m running out of storage space.”

“I just shoved them in a closet.” Sylvie dabbed powered sugar off her chin.

“I’ve got mine in storage,” Charlotte said. “There’s no room in my house. You can toss your things in with mine if you want, Renee.”

“What old childhood junk?” A tiny stab of the same abandonment she’d felt the day she watched the camper disappear around the bend at the Grand Canyon prodded Melanie.

“Mère’s on a cleaning spurt,” Charlotte explained. “I think she’s getting restless, and since we’re doing our best to keep her from coming back full time to the hotel, she’s looking for things to do.”

“She hasn’t given me any childhood keepsakes.”

“She probably hasn’t unearthed yours yet,” Renee said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get them, and then you’ll wish you hadn’t, because you won’t know what to do with them.”

Unless Mother didn’t keep any of my stuff.
Melanie shook off the thought.

“So, Char,” she said, after the waiter had brought them all chicory coffee and taken their breakfast orders. Her sister didn’t like having her name shortened, but Melanie did it just to tease her. She was the only one who could get away with it. “What’s this tête-à-tête about?”

Charlotte fingered the strand of pearls at her neck. “The Charboneaux-Long wedding is next Saturday and I’m circling the wagons. Considering the problems we’ve had lately, I’m planning to bring in additional security.

“This wedding is the event of the social season, and the last thing we want is for anything to mar Carly Charboneaux’s big day. I need all of you to make sure the event runs flawlessly. After that incident with Ella Emerson, we have to make sure we keep the press at bay. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, let me know no matter how inconsequential it seems.”

Melanie thought of Robert and the reporter. Should she say something or keep quiet?

Restlessly, her mind wandered, recalling what had
happened in the kitchen yesterday afternoon and in the market this morning. She thought of Robert’s long muscular frame. The way he carried himself, slightly aloof, but with the confidence of a man accustomed to being in tight control of his feelings. She imagined running her fingers through his thatch of thick, wavy, wheat colored hair and rumpling it sexily across his forehead.

Whenever she thought about him, her body throbbed, and suddenly she felt hot and edgy.

“Botching the Carboneaux wedding would be a PR nightmare.” Renee’s words pulled Melanie from her reverie. “I’m not sure how I could get us out of that one.”

The waiter delivered their breakfast, and Melanie waited to speak until he was out of earshot.

“Is there anything I can do to take some of the burden off your shoulders? I want to help. Put me to work.”

Charlotte raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Is this a serious offer?”

“Of course.”

“Well, if you really mean it, then yes, there’s something you can do.”

“Name it.”

“Could you take my place at Grand-mère’s charity auction on Thursday night? I’m completely swamped and I honestly didn’t know how I was going to manage to fit it in. It’d be a godsend if you could step in.”

Melanie clamped her teeth tightly together to keep from groaning aloud. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d offered to help. Getting involved with their grandmother Celeste’s pet projects was never her idea of a good time, and being the youngest, she rarely got tapped to pitch in. But there
was no backing out now. Not when she was trying to prove to her family that she could be depended upon.

“Um…is this the bachelorette auction?”

“Yes.”

Great. She couldn’t think of anything more humiliating than being put up for auction so that well-heeled, middle-aged fat cats could drool over her. “Er…I suppose so.”

“No supposing,” Charlotte said. “This event is very important to Grand-mère. It’s either yes or no.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll do it.”

“You won’t back out at the last minute?”

“What do you take me for? A quitter?”

Charlotte, Renee and Sylvie exchanged looks.

“I never said you were a quitter,” Charlotte protested.

“Then why did you even ask the question?” Here she was, back at home, cast in the unreliable-baby-sister role again.

“Well,” Charlotte said, “I know you’re professional when it comes to your work at the restaurant, but you do have trouble keeping other commitments, and if you don’t show up, Grand-mère will blame me. Like she did when you were supposed to drive her to her doctor’s appointment, but took off to go to a keg party with your boyfriend.”

“That was ten years ago!”

“I’m just saying…”

“I’ll be there.” Melanie gritted her teeth.

“All right then. I’ll bring the dress over to your apartment on Monday. It might have to be adjusted.” Charlotte looked as if she might say something else, but then just pressed her lips together, nodded and sent Melanie a look that said,
I’m giving you a chance to prove me wrong.

Fine. That’s all she needed. A chance.

She would not let her sister down this time.

M
ELANIE WAS THE FIRST
to leave the restaurant after brunch was over.

As Charlotte watched her walk away, saucy black ponytail swishing in time to her long-legged trot, a knot of concern formed in her stomach. She and Melanie had often butted heads over the years, whenever Charlotte stepped into a surrogate mother role, but there was a special love in her heart for her youngest sister. Something was disturbing Melanie, but she had no idea what it was. Her baby sister had been distracted almost the entire time they’d been together.

“Do you think that Melanie is going to stay in New Orleans this time?” Charlotte asked her other sisters.

Sylvie shrugged. “She’s been back for four months and that’s the longest time she’s stayed since she left home, but when it comes to Melanie, who can say for sure what she’ll do?”

“Exactly. I’m worried that she’s ready for a change. She seems edgy lately. Restless.”

“I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary,” Renee said. “Except that she doesn’t seem to be getting along with Robert.”

“What do you mean?” That bit of news definitely left Charlotte feeling uneasy. If Melanie was having problems at work, Charlotte might have to intervene for professional reasons.

“It’s just kitchen gossip. Hearsay.”

“Let me know if you find out anything I should be worried about.” Charlotte once again toyed with the strand of pearls at her neck.

“Our Melanie is a restless soul,” Sylvie said. “She’s not the kind of person who sticks in one place for long.”

“I wish she would stay.” Charlotte sighed. “Chez Remy’s
been a different place since she came home. The kitchen is alive again, the way it was when Papa was here. Plus, I worry about her when she’s out in the world alone with no family nearby.”

“Maybe you should tell her that,” Sylvie suggested.

“I would except I don’t want to influence her to stay if that’s not what she really wants.”

“Maybe her footloose phase is over. She will be turning thirty soon,” Renee added.

Charlotte had never had the luxury of a “footloose phase” and she didn’t understand her sister’s restless nature. Remy and Anne had been consumed with getting the Hotel Marchand up and running during Charlotte’s childhood and teenage years, and they’d relied on her help in raising her younger siblings. Not that she’d minded. Caring for those girls, Melanie in particular, since she was so much younger, had been the joy of Charlotte’s life. She’d gone into the family business, but secretly harbored a little resentment that none of her sisters had followed in her footsteps. They didn’t seem to realize the sacrifices she’d made for the family.

But Charlotte wasn’t one to martyr herself. She’d chosen this path. She could have veered off if she’d wanted to. She didn’t blame anyone, and nothing meant more to her than her family and the Hotel Marchand.

Sylvie reached out and laid a hand over Charlotte’s. “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay. We’ve survived a lot these last few years and our bond has only grown stronger.”

To an extent, that was true. First their father’s death, then Hurricane Katrina, and recently their mother’s heart attack. It was Anne’s illness that had brought Renee and Melanie back to New Orleans. But Charlotte couldn’t help feeling that
Melanie was conflicted about staying. She wished she knew what was bothering her sister deep down inside.

“Try not to fret too much about Mel,” Sylvie said. “She’s resilient as rubber. Remember that time Mama and Papa pulled a
Home Alone
and left Melanie behind at the Grand Canyon? When the state trooper took us to her, she was sitting like a princess, surrounded by her admirers, drinking chocolate milk and eating cookies and coloring in a Barbie coloring book with a sixty-four pack of crayons. I was so jealous.”

Charlotte shuddered. “I don’t remember it that way at all. I remember her looking sad and lost and lonely in spite of the attention and the cookies and the coloring book. I remember feeling so guilty because I should have been watching her. It was my fault we left her behind.”

“You’ve always taken on too much responsibility for things that were beyond your control,” Renee chided her. “Come on, you were what? Sixteen?”

“Sixteen going on sixty,” Sylvie added. “Renee’s right. Stop assuming responsibility for everyone else’s happiness. You’ve got enough things on your plate as it is. Don’t worry about Mel until you find out there’s something to worry about.”

Charlotte nodded. Her sisters were right. But even though she tried to put it from her mind, she couldn’t help feeling that there was something going on in Melanie’s life, and her baby sister was just too proud to ask for their advice.

B
ACK AT
C
HEZ
R
EMY
, Melanie stood at the stove stirring diablo sauce for the red grouper starring on the Saturday night dinner menu. She cast a sidelong glance at Robert, who’d just strolled into the kitchen.