always dressed to the nines, and had rocked a pixie cut for as long as Courtney had known her. While she didn’t stand much more than five feet two, including the heels, this widowed mother of six—five of whom were sons who reeked of testosterone—was a force to reckon with.
“Size doesn’t matter when you have superhero strength,” her oldest son, Nic, always said. “Mama has it in spades.”
Courtney had seen this woman stop arguments with a glare. She could break up a physical tussle between her sons with one sharp command.
Those superpowers and the smile were already smoothing the edges of Courtney’s mood.
“I’m really early,” she said. “But I wanted to talk with you before the house fills up.”
“Perfect. We have lots of catching up to do. I haven’t seen you for weeks.”
Since the bottom had fallen out of her world.
The house was unusually quiet today. During Sunday dinners, conversation swirled from the kitchen to the dining room to the family room down this hallway....
Everyone included. Everyone welcome.
The boundaries that constituted family were fluid with the DiLeos. There was always room for one more at the table. The front door was always open to anyone who needed a meal, a place to stay or some laughter. All that gracious hospitality was due to the enormous heart beating inside this one tiny woman. Mama DiLeo believed family was a function not defined by blood but by love.
Her heels tapped over the tile as she went to the stove and lifted the lid on a simmering pot, stirring the contents with a long-handled spoon. Steam rose, sending up a burst of garlic.
“Hope you’re hungry.” Mama set aside the spoon. “You’re my angel today. I could use help cutting these vegetables. My assistants are running late.”
“I should work since I forgot to bring anything. Not even flowers for your table.” Which only served to emphasize her deteriorating mental state. She never came to Sunday dinner without swinging by the bakery, the florist or the wine shop.
“The only thing you ever need to bring is yourself, honey.”
“That’s all you’re getting today, Mama. Good thing I know my way around a cutting board.”
With a smile, Mama went to the sink and washed her hands. “We need to make a pit stop before we get started. Grab that basket from the baker’s rack, will you please?”
Courtney did as requested and waited while Mama rooted through a drawer to locate a pair of clippers. Then Courtney followed her out the back door.
The scene from the porch was breathtaking. Mama was an inspired gardener, not in the traditional New Orleans sense of manicured lawns. She favored a more natural setting, with slate walkways lined with wildflowers, and benches beneath sprawling oak trees. Geraniums, hosta and butterfly bushes dotted the yard with splashes of color.
Courtney followed Mama to the herb garden, tried to absorb the peaceful setting to calm frayed nerves.
“So, what’s on your mind that you don’t want to discuss in front of everyone?” Mama asked as she knelt beside the garden to sort through a fragrant tangle of parsley and basil plants.
“I wanted to bounce something off you. I need some help, but I’m not sure I should ask for it. I trust you to advise me.”
Mama snipped some leaves and motioned Courtney to bring the basket closer. “What’s up?”
New Orleans might be the thirty-seventh-largest city in the nation, but Mama considered all the inhabitants related.
Family by blood. Family by love. Family by proximity. Family by work. Family by church. Family by krewe. A category for everyone she welcomed into her world. Courtney was one of the elite few with an official family connection. Sort of. Her brother Mac had married Mama’s unofficial daughter, Harley, who had become attached to the family at a young age.
There was no possible way Mama didn’t already know how life had blown up in Courtney’s face.
“I’d like to talk with Marc about my work situation, Mama. He tracks down people, and I need his opinion.”
Mama sank back on her haunches and glanced up. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. Not Nic?”
“We both work for state agencies, and I would never put him in a position of conflict.”
Mama frowned but conceded the point with a nod. “I already know why you don’t want to ask Harley and your brother.”
“All my family wants to help, of course, but everyone is so worried about Harley and Mac that I intentionally downplayed the situation so they wouldn’t start worrying about me, too.”
With Harley on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy, the whole family was in an uproar already. Mac was wrapping up their cases at their investigative agency and keeping up with their daughter’s schedule, which was another full-time job. That had been the only positive to this situation—all the free time had allowed Courtney to help by chauffeuring her niece around.
“They won’t be happy when they find out.”
That was an understatement. “They’re going to kill me. But I’ll deal with them when I have to.”
Mama pulled a face, and for a long moment, she just knelt there, clippers dangling from idle hands, clearly waiting. “Marc, hmm?”
“I would never dream of bothering him right now, but there’s a lot riding on the outcome.”
Children’s lives.
Then there was Courtney’s career. Giselle’s reputation. Nanette’s legacy. Nanette above all provided a convenient scapegoat for the FBI. Her heartbroken family, still struggling with grief, faced a media storm that would trash a woman who couldn’t defend herself. Courtney didn’t know what had happened to Araceli, but she knew Nanette would not have been negligent.
Courtney would not stand by and watch people she cared for take the fall any more than she would take the fall herself. She would not stand by while the FBI took their sweet time covering their butts while there were children missing.
“That’s what I want your opinion about. I know how difficult Marc’s recovery has been. If you don’t think it’s a good idea to bring up work, I will not open my mouth.”
For a moment, they considered each other. Then Mama’s eyes fluttered shut, and she inhaled deeply. She remained that way so long that Courtney felt compelled to look away, as if she had distressed a woman who didn’t need any more of a burden than to worry about the son she had almost lost.
Courtney would be left to accept that she was back to square one, all alone with the responsibility for a child’s life, whether or not she was on administrative leave. Where Courtney was didn’t matter.
Where Araceli was did.
But none of this was Mama’s problem, and Courtney had no right to put this on her. While she trusted Mama to be honest with her opinion about Marc, Courtney also knew that
