his jaw and strode up behind her.
“Not much to look at in the daylight, is it?” he asked, wondering why she still hadn’t turned around when she should have heard his footsteps.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, but her gaze remained focused on the house. “No, I guess it isn’t,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced. Finally, she turned to face him, a pleasant, but determined look on her face.
Uh oh. He’d seen that look before. His mother and sister wore it very well, especially when they wanted something. Well, he didn’t care what Fancy Shoes wanted. He wasn’t agreeing to anything.
“I spoke to Mr. Wheeler this morning,” she began, “and he assured me he hired a new caretaker. He’ll be calling you as soon as he gets into the office to get your permission to forward your employment paperwork to me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some identification now.”
“And if I do mind?”
“Then he also assured me that if I was uncomfortable, he would ask you to leave.”
John’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. She held all the cards. He couldn’t afford to lose the job, and he definitely couldn’t afford Ross Wheeler digging deeper into his background to placate some crazy woman. The New Orleans police had already asked the attorney for permission to search the estate, but unless they produced a warrant, Ross Wheeler wasn’t going to allow a bunch of law enforcement officials to “tromp through a house of valuable and delicate antiques.”
The Cypriere locals claimed they’d never set eyes on his sister when questioned by the New Orleans police, and without any proof whatsoever that Rachel had ever been to laMalediction, there was no chance of getting the warrant Wheeler required. If Wheeler found out John had lied about his real purpose for wanting the job, he’d have every right to press charges against John and the New Orleans police department. And since the department hadn’t exactly sanctioned what he was doing, there would be fallout all the way around.
“I assume my license will do,” he said as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He pulled his license from inside and handed it to her, biting his tongue as she looked at the license, then handed it back to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Landry,” she said and tentatively stuck her hand out. “I’m Olivia Markham. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but a single woman can’t be too careful these days.”
John started to ignore her hand, but her words resonated through his head. A single woman can’t be toocareful these days. If only Rachel had paid attention when he said the exact same thing to her. And here he was angry at a woman for doing just what he would have advised. He shook her hand, momentarily surprised at the firmness of her grip.
“I understand,” he said. “I would apologize for scaring you last night, but since that’s exactly what I was trying to do at the time, I guess it wouldn’t exactly make sense. Wheeler should have contacted both of us. Last night could have been ugly.”
Olivia looked relieved. “Yes, it could have, and I gave him a big piece of my mind this morning. In fact, I got him out of bed in order to do so, and I have to admit that I got a small amount of satisfaction out of it. I know Mr. Wheeler will be calling you later, but I’d be happy to show you a copy of my lease.”
“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Markham. You don’t exactly fit the profile of a swindler or thief. And since the road to the estate is hardly a highway, I can only assume you actually have business here or you would never have found the place.” With any luck, she’d tell him what that business was and he could figure out a way to use it to his advantage.
She waved a hand at the debris on the drive. “I know you’re busy with the mess from the storm, but I really need a favor. My car got stuck last night in the rain, and I’m afraid it’s completely blocking the path to the estate. Can you help me get it out?”
John’s thoughts swirled around, trying to zero in on the decision that might push her into leaving. He couldn’t outright refuse, as then she’d have ammunition for Wheeler to dismiss him but then he also needed to discourage her from staying. “I think there’s a mechanic in town with a tow truck. It would probably be better if you called him in case there’s also something wrong with the car.” Surely Olivia “Fancy Shoes” Markham wouldn’t isolate herself at the estate with no way to leave, gun or no.
Olivia frowned. “I hope nothing is wrong. The rental company isn’t likely to drive all the way out here to give me a replacement. Look, I know towing my car isn’t what you were hired to do, but I couldn’t help but notice a truck parked at that little house across the driveway so I thought maybe you could help. I just want to get my clothes and equipment into the house, and then I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”
John felt himself relenting and silently cursed his mother for training him to assist helpless females. Surely it was meant to be a matter of manners and not a burden, but it didn’t feel that way at the moment. “If that’s what you think is best. I think I saw a chain in the storage shed. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He carried the saw to the storage shed and dug out a chain he’d seen the day before. There was still the glimmer of hope that the car wouldn’t run. He could tell by Olivia’s expression that she hadn’t thought of that possibility until he’d mentioned it. It was also clear she wasn’t happy with the thought. Best case, the car would have to be towed back to New Orleans and she’d stay there a few days waiting on a replacement. Those few days might just buy him the time he needed to finish searching the house.
Worst case, the car might make it to the house but stop working afterwards. That was something he was fairly certain he could arrange.
OLIVIA WATCHED John walk away, completely confused by the man. He was abrupt and she got the impression he wanted to be rude most of the conversation but it seemed like something was holding him back from saying what he really wanted to say. Since Olivia was used to dealing with either New Yorkers, who tended to be very direct, or with B&B owners, who tended to be overly accommodating, John Landry was definitely a departure from the norm.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She reached into her shorts’ pocket and pulled it out. Speaking of New Yorkers, it was her editor. Great. She wasn’t exactly on schedule for this book, and wasn’t looking forward to admitting it. “Hello, Irene,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I never heard from you yesterday and got worried. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, no. I was supposed to call.” Olivia smacked her forehead with her palm. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“That’s okay. It’s just unlike you to forget to call, so I figured I’d better check in. So I gather you made it?”
“Sort of. There was a huge storm last night as I was driving in. The house is basically buried back in the bayou with only an overgrown dirt path to get to it. The car got stuck a ways from the house, and I had to make a run for it. There was absolutely no cell phone service. There was no electricity either. In fact, without my luggage there was a whole lot of nothing.”
“I don’t know why you insisted on that house. It’s the worst of the lot as far as convenience, location, communication and just about everything else. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s that lovely house in Boston that’s been converted to a very nice B&B. It has a spa….”
Olivia took a second
