grabbed my arm before I could escape. “Have you heard my big news? I’m going to have a baby!”
“A baby?” I quickly glanced at her waist. Her flat-panel pants hugged her hips tightly and showed only a bit of a telltale bump. “That’s wonderful! How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks. But I couldn’t wait to share my big news. And it’s going to be a Christmas baby. We’re thinking of naming her Holly, if it’s a girl, or Nicholas, if it’s a boy.”
“Those are great names.” Whether or not Stormie and I saw eye to eye on most things, my heart always melted whenever the conversation turned to babies. “I’m sure y’all will find just the right name. I’m very happy for you and your husband. Now, if you don’t mind, I really should be going.” With that, I delicately extricated my arm and made my way back to the right side of the room. By now, several of the bridesmaids had left my table, with only a few leftover crumbs to testify to their presence.
Speaking of which, I had completely forgotten to grab a pastry! Seeing Stormie again had rattled me so, I could barely remember my own name, let alone to grab a beignet or two.
With a sigh, I turned again. Luckily, Stormie had disappeared, and someone new stood in her stead. It was Mrs. Honeycutt, only now she looked terribly upset.
I gingerly approached her. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t imagine things could have changed that much since we met in the hall.
“No. No, I’m not.” She looked at me with drowning eyes. “Something’s terribly wrong.”
“Wrong?” Earlier, she seemed so calm and collected, as if she hosted fancy get-togethers every day. But now, she seemed frazzled, as if she didn’t know what to do first. “What’s happened?”
“No one can find Wesley. He isn’t in his room, and no one’s seen him this morning. I sent our houseman to go look for him, but he hasn’t found him yet.”
Something about the mother’s distress pulled at my heartstrings. Of all the things for the mother-of-the-bride to face on the day of her daughter’s wedding, a missing fiancé should not be one of them.
“Please let me help you. I’m not busy right now, and you must have a million other things to worry about.”
“Oh, dear. That would be wonderful.” Her relief quickly gave way to doubt, though. “But I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that. You should be our guest today.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy to help you. Where did you say the houseman went?”
“I didn’t, but he’s over there.” She quickly pointed to the nearest window.
An elderly man stood on the other side of it, wearing navy coveralls and a tool belt slung low on his waist. Something about the getup sparked a hazy memory, but it refused to crystallize.
“Great. I’ll go talk to him.” I hurried away from the sunroom and followed the hall to the front door. Once I moved outside and traipsed down the stairs, I spotted the houseman in a side garden. Even with his back to me, something about his posture looked oddly familiar.
“Hello, there,” I called.
The moment he turned, the memory solidified. It was Darryl Tibodeaux, the Cajun caretaker from Morningside Plantation. Darryl and I met three years ago, when a bride disappeared the night before her wedding at the plantation. Darryl worked as a groundskeeper, and he and I bonded during the police investigation.
Time hadn’t changed a thing. Darryl’s coveralls still wore a fine layer of potting soil, and his thinning hair exposed a pale, freckled scalp.
He recognized me right away, too. “Miz DuBois!”
He hurried over and thrust out his left hand, since the sleeve on his right side was empty. Darryl lost the appendage in a horrible accident at an oil refinery, but he refused to be bitter about it. In fact, he could hoist things that were so heavy they would challenge a man half his age.
“No need to be so formal, Darryl.” I smiled and gave him a quick hug. “Last I heard, you were managing an arboretum in Alabama.” In addition to being a top-notch handyman, Darryl possessed a love of plants that inspired me to start my own garden back home. “What made you decide to come back?”
He winked. “Dat’s water under da bridge. I missed ma people too much ta stay away.”
“So, now you’re working here?” I was stating the obvious, since an embroidered HH decorated his coveralls, but I didn’t care. I was just so happy to see him.
“Yes, ma’am. Come back las’ month. Got da job here wit’ da Honeycutts now.”
“Darryl, that’s so wonderful! I guess you can take the man out of Louisiana—”
“But not da Louisiana outta da man,” he finished for me.
The minute our conversation lagged, I remembered why I came outside in the first place.
“Say, Darryl, I’m afraid Mrs. Honeycutt sent me out here to help you. She’s worried sick about her daughter’s fiancé, and she thought I might be able to help you find him.”
His aqua eyes slanted a bit. “It don’ look good, ta tell you da truth. I covered da house from top ta bottom, and most a’ da fields out back.”
“Hmmm.” It seemed to me Darryl would have a handle on the best places for someone to hide if he wanted some peace and quiet. Especially someone who wasn’t feeling well. “So, what’s left to search?”
“I was abou’ ta look at da silos.” He nodded at the twin water towers that bookended the mansion. Two stories tall, they resembled thin, pastel pagodas that stood watch over the property.
“But how will you get inside?” I peered at the nearest one, which faced east.
“Look closer. Deys got doors on der backs.”
Sure enough, someone had carved three-foot-high doors into the backsides of the towers, and crude wood handles kept the panels in place.
“I see. Why don’t we divide and conquer? I’ll check the one on the right, and you can check the one on the left.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied with the plan. “Meet ya back here. And be careful, Miz Dubois. No tellin’ what’s inside dem.”
I gulped, since I hadn’t even thought about what could be lurking in the structures. For all I knew, the towers could be home to a family of possums, a fez of armadillo, or worse. At least the structures were close to the house, so everyone would hear if I let out a bloodcurdling scream.
We turned, and, like two gunfighters in a duel, we each took a dozen paces to our respective water tower. Being July, the ground had hardened, even with last night’s showers, and my flats slapped against the hardpacked earth. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t wearing stilettos, because my toe caught on the exposed root of a pin oak on my way to the tower, and it nearly upended me.
After I regained my balance, I appraised the silo in front of me. In addition to a simple door that covered the opening, a turret spiraled from the roof of the tower, and it was made of horizontal
