Tee-John grinned then. It was always hard to tell whether his incessant, outrageous questions were serious, or teasing.
“What’s with the tin box on wheels?” René asked then.
Charmaine rolled her eyes. “My mother and Dirk,” she told him, then quickly added, “Don’t ask.”
As she walked around to the backyard with the two of, them, arms looped over each other’s shoulders, Tee-John commented, “Dirk, huh? Betcha he knows about penile bolts.”
They all groaned, including—she could swear—the St. Jude statue, which had been moved to the side yard.
Charmaine spent a short time with Luc getting updated on her loan shark situation. Bobby the Prick had accepted, reluctantly, the twenty thousand from the sale of her BMW, but he hadn’t yet accepted Luc’s contention that the clock had stopped ticking on the remaining thirty thousand she owed. In fact, since the loan originally had been twenty thousand, he was trying to negotiate down the balance, which might just happen with Luc’s good friend police detective Rosie Mouton putting on his own brand of pressure.
“So what do I do in the meantime? Can I go home?”
Luc shrugged, then scrutinized her carefully. “Do you want to go home?”
I do and I don’t. How’s that for clear as Mississippi mud? “I have to go back at some point soon, if for no other reason than to check up on my businesses.”
Luc handed her a folder and said, “These are reports from the spa in Houma and the shop in Lafayette. Except for routine problems, which are described in here, they seem to be doing all right without you… in the short term.”
“Yeah, but I need to prepare quarterly tax reports, end-of-the-year P&L’s, a bunch of stuff.”
“Wait a little longer if you can,” he advised.
If I can. “And if I can’t?”
“Maybe Rusty could go back with you.”
She snorted her opinion.
“No smooth sailing with you two yet?”
Are you kidding? “More like ship wrecked and drowning quick.”
“Maybe you need to kiss the St. Jude statue a few times.” He pointed to the second statue, which was tending one of the grills.
“You’ve been hanging around Tante Lulu too long.” She leaned over and gave Luc a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for all your help, brother dear.”
“No prob, sis. There is one other thing, though.” He handed her a second folder. The pensive look on his face boded ill for her mood, which wasn’t all that great to begin with.
Opening it slowly, she saw that it was the divorce application.
“Don’t get excited,” he cautioned. “I’m not asking you to sign it right now. In fact, I don’t want you to sign it now. Think it over carefully. Then we’ll talk some more.”
She agreed with a silent nod of her head. After that, they got caught up on old news. His recent vasectomy. Remy and Rachel’s plans to adopt a child, or children. Her father’s visit to the ranch. The dead steer.
Seated at another table outside were Sylvie and Linc. Linc and Clarence were gussied up today according to their vision of hunk cowboys. Pristinely brushed cowboy hats, shirts with two pockets and snap buttons, string ties, neatly pressed Wranglers, slicked-back hair. Lordy, Lordy! But how adorable that they cared enough to make the effort!
Too bad Rusty doesn’t give my ideas as much credibility.
Sylvie brought with her some old scrapbooks belonging to the Baptiste family. Turns out Charmaine had been right about having previously seen the picture of his ancestors Cain and Abel Lincoln. The black twins, a physician and a musician, had been best friends with the sugar planter Etienne Baptiste. Charmaine heard Sylvie graciously offer to lend Linc some ancient journals belonging to her family in which his ancestors were mentioned. Linc said he might just resume work on his book about early-Louisiana black musicians with all the new material he’d been given.
In the midst of all these revelations, they all got another shocker… well, Linc got the biggest shocker of them all. A late-model Mercedes sedan pulled up out front. They could see it from the backyard since it was forced to park off to the side.