The Legacy (5 page)

A bullfrog let out a loud, groaning belch, a stark reminder of where they were.

And why he was here.

Marjo jerked back. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just—” He cut off the sentence.

“I’ve really got to go,” Marjo said, breathless, confused by her body’s betrayal. Then, before she could do something really stupid like kiss him again, she turned on her heel and headed off to work.

The one benefit of working with dead people all day—it effectively killed all thoughts of romance.

O
N
M
ONDAY
,
Cally came by, dragging Marjo out of the funeral home long enough for a quick lunch at the Blue Moon. Cally knew Marjo well enough to know she’d forget to eat, buried in the paperwork on her desk. Once their food arrived, Cally cocked her head one way, then the other, studying Marjo from the opposite side of their booth. “Something’s different about you today.”

“Same as always.” Marjo forked at her
boulettes de chevrettes,
but didn’t take a bite.

“You don’t lie very well, you know.” Cally grinned. “And you have that stunned, can’t-believe-I-did-that look about you. So…” Cally leaned closer. “What did you do?”

“I kissed Paul Clermont,” Marjo whispered, knowing the Indigo gossip chain often started right here at the Blue Moon. “But it didn’t mean anything.”

“You kissed him!” Cally sat back, clearly shocked. “I don’t blame you. He is totally hot.”

Marjo agreed with Cally’s assessment, but that
still didn’t make it right to be fraternizing with the enemy.

“It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Marjo said. “And it’s not going to happen again.”

“Uh-huh. That’s the same thing I say when I dip into a box of chocolates. I’m going to stop at one.”

“Well, this time I will. Getting involved with that man will only confuse the issue. I have enough going on, what with the effort to renovate the opera house and the CajunFest happening there in a little under two weeks.”

“Speaking of things you say won’t happen again, are you going to sing at the festival?” Cally asked.

Marjo was surprised by the question. “Me? Why? We have lots of great local talent. Nobody needs me.”

“That’s a crock and you know it. Heck, half the town’s been asking about you, wondering if you’ll sing.”

“It’s been years since I stood on a stage.”

“So? Just get up there, girlfriend, and use the gifts God gave you.”

“I am. At the Savoy.”

“Marjo,” Cally said, reaching for the friend she’d had ever since the two of them had met in Mrs. Langley’s kindergarten class, “when are you going to quit that funeral home and pursue what makes
you
happy?”

Marjo shook her head. “I’m thirty-five. I can’t be going after some pipe dream.”

“Now is the perfect time. Before you’re ninety and can’t remember the words to your own songs.”

Marjo laughed. “Tante Julia can remember every person she ever came in contact with, along with the words to some songs that shouldn’t be sung in mixed company.”

Cally rolled her eyes. Before she’d entered the nursing home, Marjo’s ninety-two-year-old aunt had been well known in Indigo for her compulsion to tell off-color stories at the worst possible time. Like during a wedding or a baby shower. Or, worst of all, at Tee Tim’s funeral. “Tell me she’s not performing at the festival.”

“Only as a backup singer,” Marjo joked.

“Seriously, Marjo, you should get up there. Show Indigo what you’ve got. You never know where it might lead. Like, out of this place.”

The waitress slipped the bill onto the table. Marjo laid some money on top, then rose, her food still mostly untouched. Her appetite for it had deserted her. “I have to get back to work. The Dufrene family is coming in at one and I need to put together some information for them.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it? In between thoughts of kissing Paul Clermont again, of course.” Cally winked.

“I’ll think about singing. But not Paul Clermont.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.” Cally gave her a grin.

After she left the diner and returned to work,
Marjo tried not to think about what Cally had said, or about kissing Paul Clermont, but it didn’t work. No matter how busy she got, or how many times she straightened the furniture in the viewing rooms, both thoughts kept coming back, stubborn as thistle.

Particularly the one about kissing Paul.

What had gotten into her? How could she have risked upsetting the careful balance of her life? She had plans, plans that required she stick to a prescribed path if they were ever going to work out. Because Gabriel needed that security and there was no one to give it to him but her.

After work, she headed home, made supper for Gabriel and herself then set off for the restoration committee meeting at the Blue Moon Diner. Most of the usual members were already there, dining on sweets and coffee. At this rate, she might as well move into the back room in Willis and Estelle’s little restaurant.

Marjo looked around. Sophie Boudreaux was absent, but that was expected. Exhaustion from trying to keep up with her job in Texas, manage the antique shop and help raise Alain’s two children, combined with a pretty serious case of morning sickness, had forced Sophie to curtail her involvement with the committee. It was too bad, because Sophie’s career as a professional fund-raiser made her a great resource person. Marjo scanned the rest of the group, and noted another important absence.

“Where’s Hugh?” The elderly man was the great
est supporter of the restoration project, and the only one of the committee members, as sweet and helpful as they all were, who understood Marjo’s driving need to preserve the town’s heritage. Hugh Prejean was the opera house’s champion, and she didn’t feel right beginning the meeting without him.

“He might have gotten tied up with something at home,” Jenny LaFleur said. “Although, I don’t remember him ever bein’ late before. He’s like the Indigo rooster, up and at ’em before anyone else has even put the coffee in the pot.”

Marjo glanced at the clock. Quarter after the hour. Jenny was right, Hugh was never late for anything. They’d often joked he’d be early for his own funeral.

Concern crossed the faces of the others in the room as Jenny’s words sank in. Marjo felt a sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away. Surely, Hugh would be here any second.

“Well, let’s get to work,” she said, pulling a file folder from her bag and handing out an agenda to everyone. “I’m sure Hugh will show up soon.”

But as she started the meeting and listened to Loretta Castille update everyone on the VIP dinner planned for the night before the festival, she wasn’t so sure even she believed that. Hugh was never late, never missed a meeting. For him not to be here was highly unusual.

“So what are we going to do about this man from Nova Scotia?” Doc Landry asked. His upcoming wedding to Celeste Robichaux had finally convinced
him to retire. “I met him and he seems hell-bent on trying to sell the opera house. He doesn’t give us the time of day for months, and then just thinks he can come on down here in a fancy rental car and sell the place out from under us?”

“I’m working on him,” Marjo said. “He is, after all, one of the descendants of Amelie and Alexandre, so he technically has the right to do whatever he wants.” Murmurs of dissent and frustration rippled through the room. “However, I’m hoping that if I can show him his family’s history, and what a valuable piece of that history the opera house is, he’ll agree to hold on to it and let us move forward.”

“And what if he doesn’t? A lot of people in this town are counting on the festival and the opera house.” Doc Landry scowled. “Indigo’s not exactly Boomtown.”

“I say we string him up and serve him in the gumbo,” Jacques Bergeron grumbled. “That’ll put a dent in his engine.”

Marjo didn’t try to figure out Jacques’s meaning. He had a habit of mixing his metaphors. When someone corrected him, he told them language was like soup—you could put in any old thing you wanted and still come out with something good.

“Let’s talk about the CajunFest,” Loretta interrupted, using, as always, her deft touch to soothe tempers and steer people back to the important issue. “Are we on track with all the participating businesses? I know we had a lot of interest from companies outside of Indigo, too.”

“Yes,” Jenny said, reading down her list. “We just got three more from New Iberia and five from other area towns. That should really add to the event. But…”

Jenny frowned, and Marjo felt that sense of dread again. The festival was so close; the last thing she needed was another disaster. It was bad enough that they were running out of time to finish the repairs on the opera house. “But what?”

“Alain just told me that two bands backed out. Seems the third member of the Possum Trio has a slipped disk and won’t be out of the hospital in time to play, and the other band had an argument over wearing matching sequined vests, which led to a very dramatic breakup. The loss of those two leaves a big hole in the schedule.”

“If there’s one thing that’s plentiful in Louisiana besides gators, it’s musicians,” Marjo said. “Don’t worry, Jenny, I’m sure Alain will find someone else.” The police chief, a fiddler in his spare time, had gladly taken on the task of coordinating all the musicians for the festival.

“Well, we were talking before you got here and we were thinking…” Jenny’s voice trailed off and she looked to the others for support. “Maybe you could sing.”

“Me?” Marjo squeaked. “But I—”

“Don’t give me a but, Marjo. You can sing better than half the people in Louisiana. You have an incredible voice.”

“Jenny, I don’t think people want to hear me sing.” How long had it been since she’d sung in public, other than church?

And then it hit her.

The last time she’d sung in public had been at an audition, the day of the accident that took both her parents’ lives. The accident that had changed the course of her life, taking her away from her dreams of someday becoming a professional singer and into her role as Gabriel’s guardian. She’d also stepped into her father’s shoes at the Savoy Funeral Home, because it was what was expected.

“You’re better than that Possum Trio,” Jacques said, then let out a belch. “Sorry. This pecan pie is damned good.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Marjo hedged. “I’m sure we’ll find another musician and you won’t need me at all.”

“Uh-huh.” Jenny clearly didn’t believe her.

“On to the repairs,” Marjo said, eager to change the subject. “We still have quite a lot of work left to do on the opera house.” She looked at the list in front of her, now numbering twenty-plus items. “We have almost enough money to make basic plumbing and wiring upgrades, but nowhere near what we need to do a true historical restoration. How has the fund-raising been going?”

Luc Carter held up the latest balance sheet. “Another two hundred dollars came in since our last meeting.” He shook his head, clearly as disappointed as Marjo.

Two hundred wasn’t enough to pay the contractors to repaint the siding a historically accurate color. It wasn’t enough to replaster the walls, replace the floor and fix the chairs.

Marjo looked at the resigned faces around her and wondered how she would ever generate enough momentum to keep this project going.

“We need to raise more money, if we have any hope of getting the opera house up to code so it can be used during the festival and for Loretta’s VIP dinner the night before,” Marjo said. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“Why don’t we just hold the CajunFest at the Blue Moon or something? I’m sure Willis would let us use the parking lot.” Renee Porter gave a shrug. “I don’t think we’re going to get the opera house done in time. We can hold the festival performances there next year, at our second CajunFest.”

“Yeah, if that Canadian doesn’t sell it out from under us,” Doc Landry muttered.

“I won’t let him,” Marjo said.

Elsie Montrose looked up from her knitting long enough to lay a hand on Marjo’s. “Maybe it’s time to just let it go, Marjo dear. What use does Indigo have for opera, anyway? We’re just a little bayou town.”

If her own group was starting to bail on her, then Marjo needed to find another way to save the opera house, and fast, or the entire project would be lost, along with a vital part of Indigo’s history.

There was one key to success, and it wasn’t a
very cooperative one. Paul Clermont. Somehow she had to swing him over to her way of thinking. Maybe with a Valois heir behind the project, the rest of the group, the rest of the town, would be energized and the restoration would finally be completed.

As she left that night, concerns weighed heavily on her mind. Concern for Gabriel, who hadn’t come home for dinner again tonight. Sometimes the boy wandered off into the bayou and got so wrapped up in watching the frogs and the turtles that he forgot the time. But lately he’d done it more and more often, which meant he was probably spending time with Darcy again.

But Marjo couldn’t worry about that now. It seemed all her months of hard work on the opera house were going to come to naught. And she was concerned about Hugh. Perhaps he was ill or had fallen asleep early.

As she started walking back to her house, enjoying the night songs of the bayou creatures, she decided to stop by Hugh’s to check on him. He lived alone and was one of those stubborn men who believed a few onions could solve any ill.

As she turned down the road to Hugh’s place, she saw Paul Clermont approaching.

“Marjo,” he said, coming up beside her. “What are you doing out on Indigo’s streets so late?”

The image of the camellias he’d given her, sitting in a vase in the center of her kitchen table, came to mind, softening her as easily as they had when he’d
put them in her hands. “I’m checking on a friend. Actually, he co-chairs the restoration committee with me. He didn’t come to tonight’s meeting and I’m a little worried about him.”

“Do you want some company?” Paul asked.

She looked up at him, but in the darkness of evening and the small pool of light from the street-lamp, she couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or just teasing her.

She opted for sincerity. “Actually, I would.”

He pivoted, then fell into stride beside her, close enough that she could catch the scent of his woodsy cologne, feel the heat emanating from his body. “I’d like a little company tonight, too, and who better than a woman who would rather see me on another planet?”

She laughed. “You don’t have to go that far. Another country is fine.”

He returned the laughter. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way to Tibet soon, for another assignment.”