Tawny shouted, flinging open the back door and climbing in. “Oh, I’ve missed my boy so much.”
Tawny smacked noisy kisses on Spencer’s cheeks and neck as the little boy laughed and threw chubby arms around her neck. Annie couldn’t contain the smile twitching at her lips. Those two were totally gaga for one another. If it hadn’t been so damn sweet, it would have been nauseating.
“Hello, Tawny,” Annie said, pulling her purse along as she climbed out of the cool car and into the moist heat of the Deep South. Her breath caught and immediately she felt sweat pop out on her upper lip. Why did sane people live in such oppression?
Tawny looked up. “Hi, Amy, and I thought I asked you to call me Mrs. Keene.”
Spencer slid from the car. “Her name’s not Amy. It’s Annie.”
Tawny blinked. “You’re such a smart boy. Of course, it’s Annie. I forgot.”
Spencer ran up the grand stone steps of the large home. “Where’s the alligators? I wanna see them. Annie said maybe we’d eat some crawfish.”
Tawny followed, her platinum-streaked hair swishing with the rhythm of her steps. She wore towering stilettos paired with itty-bitty blue-jeaned shorts and a halter top and looked as if she’d tumbled from a Hooters ad.
Annie tucked a piece of brown frizz behind her ear and climbed onto the wide veranda of the house that Tawny and Spencer had disappeared into. She hesitated a moment, stretching her toes in her running shoes, dropping the bag at her feet and rolling her head side to side in order to work out the kinks the torturous hours of travel had given her.
“I can work that out for you if you want.”
The voice came from Annie’s left. She flinched, appalled to have been caught unaware, and turned toward the person standing stock-still in the shadows.
The older woman was about as odd a sight as Annie had ever seen. Dressed in a pair of faded black yoga pants and a skintight tank top, she stood poised like a crane. Her long thin legs bent at odd angles while her sticklike arms curved in midair. Thick silver hair lay in a fat braid over one shoulder as if it grew from the bright green bandana wrapped round the woman’s head. Serene violet eyes stared unflinchingly at Annie.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Annie said, trying to tamp down the alarm in not sensing someone within her immediate perimeter. Were her skills that rusty?
“That’s the point,” the woman said, unfurling and moving into another unnatural position. “That is the essence of Tai Chi—to ebb, flow and become centered. At one with the universe. A calm fixture within chaos.”
“Right,” Annie said, rehoisting her bag onto one shoulder and moving toward the open doorway.
“I’m serious about the massage. I’ve studied tension points in the body,” the older woman called. “Your aura is deep red. You need untangling.”
Annie turned around. “Untangling?”
The older woman smiled. “Or maybe a mint julep?”
“Who are you? And do you really serve mint juleps on the veranda down here? I thought that was a touristy trick.”
“Ah, maybe. I prefer good bourbon straight up, myself. Oh, and we call it the porch.”
“Me, too. On the bourbon.” Annie stuck her hand out. “I’m Annie Perez, Spencer’s nanny.”
The older woman smiled, but didn’t move toward Annie. She flowed into another position. “You don’t seem like a nanny.”
Unease pricked at Annie’s nape. “Yet I am.”
The older lady unwound, placing both bare feet on the planks of the porch. She took Annie in from head to toe. “I’m Picou Dufrene and this is my home. Welcome to Beau Soleil, Annie Perez.”
The woman seemed to possess the uncanny ability to see beyond the outer wrapping. Most people saw a young Hispanic woman and put her in a category. For the past few weeks, no one questioned her being the worst nanny to ever hold the position. Annie walked to the rail of the porch and rubbed a finger along the spidering paint as she surveyed the wide span of lawn with its moss-draped twisted oaks and allowed the romance of the place to seep into her bones. Maybe Louisiana wouldn’t be so bad for the next month. It wasn’t palm trees and balmy ocean breezes, but its earthy beauty tugged at the soul. Plus, the quirky Picou Dufrene interested her. “Thank you, Mrs. Dufrene.”
“It’s Picou.”
“Annie! You gotta see this!” Spencer exploded onto the porch, nearly tripping over himself. Annie put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Slow down,” she said, pulling his little hand into hers.
“I saw a bear!” His brown eyes danced with excitement.
Picou’s laugh was smoky. “That’s Chewie. My son Nate named him after the wookiee in Star Wars.”
Annie allowed Spencer to tug her toward the house. “I’m hoping this one is stuffed?”
Picou gave her a secret smile. “One can never be too sure at Beau Soleil. What seems benign can sometimes bite.”
Picou’s words followed Annie into the house, dancing around her mind, making her wonder if the kooky owner had some otherworldly sense about life and the people who trudged through it. Annie didn’t believe in magic hoo-ha crap, but she knew from her late grandmother some people were more perceptive than others. Or maybe merely more observant.
Better to heed Picou’s words and trust no one. Spencer’s life might depend on it.
CHAPTER THREE
NATE DUFRENE WATCHED Sandi Whitehall hurry out of the liquor store with two bottles of grain alcohol and a carton of Marlboros. Not good. Paul was drinking again and that meant the next day Sandi would likely be wearing heavy makeup and moving slowly. Not that the woman would ever admit to her husband beating the crap out of her every time he fell off the wagon. The whole damn town knew about the Whitehalls, but he couldn’t do anything if Sandi wouldn’t press charges. Which she wouldn’t.
He shook his head and watched the traffic creep by, nearly everyone braking when they caught sight of him sitting in the borrowed sheriff’s cruiser under the truck-stop sign advertising cigarettes, video poker and boudin. It was almost comical.
His mind flipped back to the brunette in the rental who’d pulled out of Breaux Mart a few hours before. She’d known he was law enforcement even if he’d been in his unmarked. He’d seen it in her expression as she’d pulled by him.
At first he’d thought her a regular soccer mom, replete with a rug rat in the backseat, properly restrained, until he’d caught sight of the rental tag. Of course, nothing wrong with renting a car for a trip. But still, she’d given off a strange vibe, and it had raised a flag in his awareness. Likely she was halfway to Alexandria or Lake Charles by now, heading to Grandma’s house or something equally harmless.
He settled into the seat and closed his eyes. He hated sitting out here, but Buddy Rosen’s wife had unexpectedly delivered a baby
