want or need. And when my aunt left me Bon Temps I decided it was time for a change of scenery. I’m here because I want to be here, not because I’m hiding or running from someone.”
Standing, Shiloh came around the table, picked up the money and dropped it into her unzipped handbag. “Lunch is on me today. Once you’re settled in you can repay the favor.”
That said, he nodded and walked across the expansive restaurant. He knocked on a door with Office painted in large black letters. He opened it, walked in and closed the door, leaving Gwen staring at the space where he’d been.
She didn’t know his connection with the owner of the Outlaw and didn’t want to know. Gathering her handbag, she stood up and made her way to the entrance. The conversations stopped again as all eyes were trained on her. It was the first time in a very long time that she felt self-conscious. As a teenage girl she was always mindful whether her pants or tops were too tight whenever boys made ribald comments about her body. But as her body matured she’d learned to accept her looks and who she’d become.
Why, she asked herself as she stepped out into the bright sunlight, did she suddenly feel like an awkward teen who wanted to run home and change her clothes? It wasn’t the first time men had stared at her in a pair of body-hugging jeans. However, it was the first time that a group of men had stopped talking to stare at her.
What made the men in southern Louisiana different from those in New England, other than they spoke a French dialect as well as English?
The questions bombarded Gwen’s mind as she waited for the ferryboat. Was it because she was a stranger? Was it because the Outlaw was traditionally a male establishment? Or was it because Shiloh had called her darling in front of other patrons?
Moving over to a wooden bench positioned under a sun-bleached striped canvas awning, she sat and stared out at the slow-moving water. Instead of the uneasiness she’d experienced when seeing the murky swamp for the first time, she felt a wave of calm wash over her. It was as if she’d escaped into a world where the stress and craziness of what she was familiar with no longer existed.
Time moved on in a pace that could not be measured by seconds, minutes or hours. The sound of the approaching ferryboat shattered the stillness of the afternoon. Gwen stood up and walked down to the pier. It was time she returned to the boardinghouse, checked out and went home.
She knew that dust, grime and the musty smell associated with long-shuttered houses awaited her. But she welcomed the challenge. She couldn’t wait to begin Bon Temps’ makeover.
Gwen worked nonstop around the clock, averaging five hours of sleep each night in order to make Bon Temps habitable. She knew she should’ve hired a cleaning company, but considered the housework she’d done therapy. She didn’t have an office to go to, so airing, dusting, mopping floors and cleaning windows gave her a sense of purpose.
It took half a day to air out and clean the bedroom, sitting room and adjoining bath that she’d selected for herself. A search of the pantry yielded a large tin filled with exotic teas, and as dusk descended she’d sat on a cushioned love seat on the second-story veranda watching a cluster of fireflies illuminate the velvety darkness while listening to the unfamiliar nocturnal sounds.
The rest of the week was spent cleaning the other bedrooms, the kitchen and shopping in an upscale mall in Morgan City, twenty miles southeast of Franklin. It was the first time she chided herself for not having purchased a sport utility vehicle, considering how her trunk and the inside of her car now over-flowed with grocery bags and other household items.
A moving company delivered cartons filled with her clothes, favorite books, electronic equipment, CDs, DVDs, her computer, photographs and family mementoes. And once a telephone technician installed the data lines she needed for a telephone, computer modem, and fax machine, she finally felt in control of her life. Aside from her cell phone she’d felt cut off from her family and friends.
Sitting at her computer, she opened a new document: Bon Temps Restorations. She wanted to replace the wallpaper throughout the house, reupholster sofas and chairs, repair and hang the magnificent living room and ballroom chandeliers, and repair the plasterwork on the ceilings. All of the wood floors and tables in the rooms on the first story were in need of refinishing. Bedroom closets overflowed with colorful dresses and costumes, suggesting that Gwendolyn Pickering had not led a reclusive lifestyle. The task of emptying the many closets still awaited her, a project she planned to tackle at her leisure.
The telephone rang, shattering her concentration. Peering at the display, she saw the name of her late aunt’s attorney. She’d called his office in New Orleans, as he’d suggested during their last conversation, with her new number. Picking up the receiver, she introduced herself.
“Gwendolyn Taylor.”
“Afternoon, Miss Taylor. Billy Sykes here.”
She smiled. He’d referred to himself as Billy whereas stuffy Boston lawyers would’ve been Mr. Sykes. “Please call me Gwen.”
A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you’d allow me that honor. I suppose you’re settlin’ in all right.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. I’d love to come down and sit a while with you, but right now I’m up to my eyeballs in a case that’s sure to get a lot of media coverage. I just wanted to tell you that your aunt left a package with me about seven months before she passed away, and I’m going to send it to you by a bonded messenger.”
“What’s in it?”
He chuckled softly. “You’ll see when you get it. He should get it to you by Thursday.”
Her curiosity piqued, Gwen wondered how much Billy knew about Gwendolyn Pickering. She hadn’t had much contact with her mother’s favorite aunt. Gwendolyn, as she wanted to be called, traveled from Louisiana every five years to reconnect with relatives in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. She refused to vary her schedule, not even for a funeral. The year she celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday the visits, telephone calls, cards and letters—always without a return address—stopped. Everyone suspected she’d passed away until William Sykes called to inform Gwen that her great-aunt had left all of her worldly possessions to her namesake.
“How well did you know my aunt?”
“I didn’t know her as well as my daddy did. But, he can’t tell you anything because the Lord called him home last year. All I can tell you is that she didn’t want me to contact you until after she’d been cremated.”
“I’m glad she could trust you to follow her wishes, and I look forward to receiving the package.”
“All I can say is Gwendolyn Pickering was quite a woman.”
“Thank you, Billy, for everything, and if you’re ever in the neighborhood, please come by.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Goodbye, Billy.”
“’Bye, Gwen.”
She hung up, wondering what else her aunt wanted her to have. Her gaze shifted back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Her fingers touched
