Page 17

“Perhaps next year. After Celeste’s marriage.”

Livia arched a brow. Interesting. “Winston’s joining the family business?”

“He has his own investments, but eventually we’ll combine the two,” he conceded.

Livia wondered how much her aunt and uncle were depending on the infusion of Durand money into the family coffers. She wasn’t allowed to see the accounts for the Benoit fortune, but she’d heard rumors of her uncle selling off numerous properties in Baton Rouge and Lafayette.

“And Celeste?” Livia demanded.

“What about her?”

“She’s not going to be a part of the empire?”

The older man looked confused. “Of course she’ll be a part, but she’s not interested in the day-to-day details of running the business.”

Livia would bet every penny that Celeste hadn’t been asked what she wanted. “I see.”

Adrian clicked his tongue. “Not all women are committed to a career.”

“Probably not.” Livia shrugged. “I think we should all do what makes us happy, right?”

Adrian glanced toward the mansion that glowed with an artificial brightness, his expression bleak.

“Or what’s necessary.”

CHAPTER 5

For once, Livia was grateful that her aunt had invited a dozen guests to join them for dinner. Pasting a smile to her face, she nibbled the roasted pheasant as the elderly man seated next to her spent a solid two hours explaining his complicated family connection to the Benoits, and how they had assisted Livia’s ancestors during their immigration from France to the new world. Nothing was required from her beyond an occasional nod of her head, as if she was listening to his rambling.

Barely waiting for the maid to whisk away the dessert plates, she jumped to her feet and disappeared to the blessed privacy of her rooms. She didn’t want anyone watching as she paced the floor, trying to convince herself that she was overreacting.

Okay, it was possible that Winston had been the stranger in her house. He certainly looked familiar. And it was possible that he’d lied about being in Ireland. That receipt showing he was getting gas in New Orleans last Thursday hadn’t appeared from nowhere. And it was possible that her uncle was involved in the mystery surrounding Winston Durand and Jacob Pearson. He’d been acting even stranger than usual since her arrival at the Willows.

But it was equally possible that none of those things were true.

Maybe Winston had been thousands of miles away, visiting his relatives in Ireland, when she’d seen Jacob sneaking around her house. And maybe someone else had used his vehicle.

And maybe her uncle was feeling overwhelmed by Celeste’s upcoming wedding. There would be nonstop chaos at the Willows leading up to the lavish ceremony and reception. Not to mention the outrageous price tag.

By midnight, she’d accepted there was no dismissing her suspicions. And part of her didn’t want to. Not when she had a legitimate means of answering the mystery that had gnawed at her since Jacob’s disappearance.

Rummaging through her satchel, she at last pulled out Bryce’s number and sent her a quick text, asking to meet her at the local dive the next day at noon. Only then did she crawl into bed and collapse in exhaustion.

The next morning, Livia ignored the bell for breakfast, preferring to hide in her rooms until it was time to head into Rushville. Then, slipping out the back door, she jogged to her car and jumped in, taking off before anyone could stop her. By noon, she’d settled into a dark booth at the back of the local restaurant, BB’s Bar and Grill. It looked a breath from collapse, but served the best food in town.

The warped wooden boards matched the open-beamed ceiling and the heavy bar that ran the length of the room. There were a couple of round tables and a half dozen booths crammed into the narrow space. Close enough that any private conversations would have been easily overheard if it wasn’t for the clamor of lunchtime guests and the jukebox that blared from the overhead speakers.

At five past noon, Bryce entered the bar and headed to the back booth. She was wearing her deputy uniform, but everyone in the place called out a greeting as she strolled past. Obviously, her position of authority didn’t dim her popularity.

Livia smiled as her friend scooted into the booth, her short hair tousled from the wind.

“I know this is quick, but you did say you wanted to get together,” Livia said in apologetic tones.

“No, no. I’m so happy you called. Although I have to be back at the office by one, so it will have to be quick. We’ll plan a girl’s night out for later in the week.”

“Sounds perfect.” Livia motioned toward the waitress. “What do you recommend?”

“I’m not a fan of fried food so I usually get the gumbo.”