until the man paid.
* * *
DANAE LEBEAU was running late, as usual, but today she had a good excuse. The local radio station had been abuzz since the wee hours of the morning, broadcasting information about the attack on Alaina LeBeau weeks before and the subsequent death of her attacker at the hands of the local sheriff. Until now, it had all been gossip and speculation, while everyone impatiently waited for the state police to clear those involved and declare it self-defense. Now it was the hottest bit of excitement the tiny bayou town of Calais had ever seen.
My sister could have died.
The thought ripped through her as she listened to the reporter relay the gruesome details of that horrible night at their mother’s estate, the weight of the words crippling her. Her sister could have died, and Danae had never even told her they were related.
After their mother’s death, the three sisters had been separated by their stepfather, Trenton Purcell, and shipped off to be raised by distant relatives. Danae was only two when it happened, not old enough to remember anything about her life in Calais. The only childhood she’d known was in California, but years ago, she’d started slowly making her way across the country to Louisiana. Even though she couldn’t remember anything about her life in Calais, she’d always felt a tug—as if something was drawing her back to her birthplace.
Using an assumed name, she’d taken a job at the local café to try to find out information on her stepfather, who had lived as a recluse in her mother’s family estate for over two decades. But she’d managed to find out very little about the man, given that most of the townspeople seemed to completely dislike him and were happy to see him disappear from society.
After her stepfather’s death, Danae’s sister Alaina showed up in Calais to meet the terms of their mother’s will. According to the local gossip, each sister was required to live on the estate for a period of two weeks within one year after their stepfather’s death. Once those stipulations were met, their mother’s estate would pass to the sisters. It was shocking news to Danae, who’d always assumed their mother had left everything to their stepfather and that her ties to Calais had long since been severed.
Danae still remembered the day Alaina arrived in town. Through the storefront window of the café, she’d seen Alaina driving her SUV down Main Street. She’d dropped a whole stack of dishes and had her pay docked for the incident, but she hadn’t been able to help it. The only thing Danae had from her past was an old photo of their mother. Alaina looked as if she’d stepped out of that photo, changed into current clothes and driven by.
When she met Alaina early one morning at the café, Danae wanted to tell her that they were sisters, but years of living on the street had taught her to always stand back and assess the situation. To always limit exposure of herself unless absolutely necessary. That level of caution had saved her life more than once, and just because she experienced a familial pull, she had no reason to sacrifice something that had always worked for her.
But now, she wondered if she should reveal herself. From the local talk, she had a good idea about the terms of the will and knew that if she wanted to take part, she’d have to come forward. The distant cousin who had taken her in when her mother died had passed away long ago, a liquor bottle clenched in her leathered hand, and Danae had never gotten close enough to anyone to make lasting friendships. If anyone tried to find her, the trail stopped cold in California.
After Danae met Alaina and got a good feeling about her as a person, she’d been tempted to talk to the estate attorney, but she’d still held back. What if their middle sister couldn’t be located, either? Her understanding was that all three sisters had to meet the requirements of the will in order for any of them to inherit. If the last sister couldn’t be located or didn’t agree to the terms, then Danae would have exposed herself for no viable reason, and at a time when she didn’t feel comfortable doing so.
But the attack on Alaina had her rethinking everything. What if her sister had died and she’d never gotten the chance to tell her who she was? She could have missed one of her only opportunities to have a real family.
As she grabbed her car keys, she glanced at her watch and cursed. She even had the advantage of working second shift that morning, but she wasn’t going to make the later work time, either. Johnny, the café owner, was going to kill her for being so late. Likely, everyone in Calais would wander through the café this morning to gossip about the news report. Nothing this big had ever happened in the sleepy bayou town. It was going to be the talk for quite a while.
She flung open the front door of her rented cabin, ready to break some major speeding laws on the winding country roads, but stopped short at the sight of the plain white envelope that lay on the welcome mat.
Such a common, nonthreatening item shouldn’t have set off the wave of anxiety that flooded through her, but she immediately knew something was off. She hadn’t let her guard down long enough to make close friends, and even if she had, they would hardly drive ten miles into the swamp to leave an envelope at her doorstep.
Her hands shook as she reached for the envelope, and as soon as her fingers closed around it, she set off at a run for her car. Whoever had left the envelope might be watching, lurking somewhere in the swamp that enclosed the tiny cabin and blocked it off from the rest of the world.
She jumped into her ancient sedan, started it and threw it into Drive, tearing out of the dirt driveway before she’d even managed to close the car door. She pressed the accelerator just beyond the limits of safety, and her fingers ached from clenching the steering wheel as the old car skidded in the gravel. The narrow road seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, she reached the intersection for the paved road that led into Calais.
She pulled to a stop and looked over at the envelope that she’d tossed onto the passenger’s seat. Habit had her checking her rearview mirror, but no one was visible behind her. She glanced back at the passenger’s seat where the envelope lay, seemingly taunting her to open it. Lifting one hand, she bit her lower lip, then hesitated.
What are you—a coward?
Unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed the envelope and tore it open. A single scrap of paper containing only one sentence fell out into her hand.
I know who you are.
She sucked in a breath so hard her chest ached. All her careful planning and secrecy had been for naught. Someone had figured out her secret. But why did they leave this message? What were they hoping to accomplish by doing so? Being Ophelia LeBeau’s daughter wasn’t a crime, and Danae had no reason other than an overzealous sense of self-protection for hiding her true identity.
Someone must be trying to scare her. But to what end?
She shoved the paper into her purse and continued her drive to town. She’d stop at the café first and let Johnny know she had to take a bit more time that morning. He wouldn’t be happy and may even fire her, but that couldn’t be helped. Danae had the sudden overwhelming feeling that she had to find William Duhon, the estate attorney, and reveal her true identity.
Whatever someone hoped to accomplish with the note, she was going to cut them off at the pass.
DANAE SPOTTED ALAINA’S SUV in front of the attorney’s office and felt another bout of panic. Then logic took over and she decided it was a good thing. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. She hurried into the office and told a rather grim-looking woman at the front desk that she wished to speak to Mr. Duhon.
The grim woman frowned, which surprised Danae a bit, as she’d
