“Behave, Lucille. She hasn’t married me yet and I don’t want you scaring her off with your uncouth ways.” Nate grinned, sliding his eyes to his fiancée. She lifted an eyebrow and Abram felt the love between the two of them. Nice to see Nate happy.
Nate looked back at Abram, refusing to let him fade into the background. When it came to his family Abram had always liked the background. If he stayed quiet long enough, sometimes they forgot about him. Suited a lone wolf like him just fine. Or at least most of the time. “So, what’s up with Vincent?”
Abram shrugged. “Ask Monty. He’s the quarterback coach.”
“Yeah, I’ll get him on the horn. I have him on speed dial,” Nate drawled as Annie elbowed him. “Aren’t you an offensive coach? Shouldn’t you know?”
“You didn’t hear? I’m the water boy.”
“Come on, boys, let’s not start,” Picou warned, her fork clattering on the china.
Abram snapped his mouth closed and tried to figure some way to get out of there early. His mother was to open gifts after dinner. Abram never knew what to give her, so he’d purchased a gift certificate from a Baton Rouge salon. Standard son gift—not creative, but useful.
“When are we opening gifts?” Annie asked, nudging Nate again. His soon-to-be sister-in-law was perky, fit and pretty with brown curly hair and clear gray eyes. She was a former FBI agent and had met Nate while on an assignment in Bayou Bridge. Five months ago, after finding Della, they’d formed a partnership in a private investigations firm specializing in unsolved murders. Using grants and Nate’s savings, they’d hit the ground running, solving a case in Alexandria that had put them in the spotlight and brought more business their way.
Annie had been good for his brother if the smiles were any indication. Before Annie, Nate had rarely smiled. After Annie, he sometimes resembled a blooming idiot.
“Let’s go into Picou’s sitting room,” Lucille suggested, scooting her chair back and grunting as she rose. “You come on with me, Miss Sally girl. I found something of yours the other day when I was cleaning out the cabinets in there.”
Lucille didn’t wait on Sally. She waddled out and expected everyone to follow. Like sheep they moved their chairs back.
“Hold on,” Nate mumbled, shoving the last bite into his mouth.
The sitting room was like every room in the house, filled with posh antiques that had been well used. The fabrics on the chairs and window had been expensive and well maintained, if not out of style by fifteen or twenty years. Family pictures squatted between costly oils and original sculptures. The carpet on the floor was a threadbare Aubusson.
Sally perched on the end of the couch, holding a worn-out-looking pacifier, presumably Lucille’s great find. She picked up a gift wrapped in floral paper with a large fluffy-looking bow. “This is from me.”
Picou sat in her normal overstuffed armchair and took the gift. Love shone in her eyes when she looked at Sally. “It’s wrapped so pretty.”
Sally rubbed the material of her skirt between her fingers and gave up a smile.
Picou opened the gift while everyone found a comfortable spot. His mother lifted the lid. “Oh, my.”
“What is it?” Lucille craned her head, and Abram noticed her wig was on crooked.
“Look.” Picou picked up a small painted canvas and held it aloft. It portrayed a sunset on the swamps and was rather well done. His mother looked at Sally. “Did you do this?”
Sally nodded. “I dabble around with painting every once and while. I thought it suited you.”
Picou wiped tears from her cheeks with hands that bore more rings than necessary. His mother liked drama, wearing caftans, crazy feathers and ribbons in her soft gray hair and ornamenting herself like a palm reader at the state fair. She should have looked ridiculous. Okay, sometimes she did look a bit kooky, but it suited her. “Thank you, dear. I shall always treasure it.”
Sally kept fiddling with her hem but managed another smile.
Annie handed Picou another small gift. “From us.”
Abram could tell it was a gift certificate. He hoped they hadn’t bought one to a spa. Rain on his parade, and all that. Nate constantly one-upped him on gift-giving.
Picou pulled the red ribbon from the polka-dotted box. “This will make a good hair bow.” She tucked it beneath her thigh.
Abram felt excitement radiating off Nate and Annie as Picou lifted the lid. Maybe they’d gotten her a trip? If they did, he’d be pissed. He’d once mentioned sending her on a cruise, and Nate had freaked over the expense. If Nate went and trumped everyone with a trip somewhere, he’d—
“A grandmother’s brag book?” His mother’s eyebrows knitted together as she lifted the pink-and-blue photo book from the tissue paper. She flipped the book open and stared at a grainy-looking black picture. Two or three seconds tripped by.
“Oh, my God!” Picou reared back against the chair, her eyes wide, her mouth open. “Is that—is that—”
Annie started giggling and Nate just smiled.
His mother stared with wonder at the picture in front of the book. “Are you telling me I’m going to be a grandmother?”
Nate nodded.
Annie collapsed in laughter.
Picou shrieked.
Lucille clapped.
Annie and Nate had given his mother the gift she’d always wanted. Progeny. A stupid manicure and pedicure seemed like a booby prize compared to a baby. Like winning a five-dollar raffle ticket after winning a jackpot of over a million.
He looked at his sister, who for once wore a genuine smile. “I think we lost on the gifts.”
Sally laughed. “I think you’re right.”
* * *
LOU STARED AT the flashing lights in the driveway refusing to believe what she was seeing.
Officer Harvey Coe climbed from the driver’s side and then opened the back door of the car. Waylon, head down, emerged.
“Evening, Lou,” Harvey said, walking toward where she stood on the porch. “Hated to be bringing Waylon home this way, but I thought it might be best. He and a few boys were drinking beer down at the Sav-A-Lot parking lot, busting bottles, and such. One of the windows of the store got broke. Thought about arresting them, but being this is boys being boys, I gave ’em a warning and called Mr. Davenport about the window.”
Waylon refused to look at her. He seemed to be studying the ragged pansies she’d planted that fall, and since she knew he had very little interest in botany, she knew he was afraid of her. He should be. Fury chomped away inside her. How dare he do something so infantile? So stupid?
“Well, this is such a nice surprise,” Lou drawled, swatting away the moths dancing around the porch light before crossing her arms, mostly to keep
