Page 66

She only knew that she spent the rest of the night pacing the floor, her phone clutched in her hand. She was calling Bryce the second she heard anyone outside her door. No matter how late it was.

Thankfully, the hours passed without further incidents, and by the time dawn was cresting over the bayous, she was showered and dressed and out of the house.

For a brief moment last night she’d tried to pretend that the Willows was just a beautiful estate and that her imagination had turned it into a menacing nightmare. Now she knew she’d been right. Either the place was haunted by ghosts or it had been infected with the evil of some demon that had crept from the depths of the swamp.

Once in her car, Livia locked her doors and stomped on the gas as she zoomed down the driveway at a speed that sent gravel spraying into the air. She only slowed long enough to allow the gates to open before zipping through and heading toward town.

A part of her wanted to keep driving. To head back to New Orleans and forget all about her family and their creepy estate. Unfortunately, she had bills to pay. Which meant she had to stay the full two weeks to get her check from the trust fund.

Plus, there was no guarantee that returning to her house would end her danger.

She had no idea who’d pushed her last night.

Or why.

It would be easy to assume it was connected to her mother. It couldn’t be a coincidence she’d been pushed into the pool where Giselle had plummeted to her death. But then again, if someone was determined to frighten her, what better way than making her believe she was being terrorized by a ghost?

Reaching the edge of Rushville, Livia shoved away the questions spinning through her weary mind and concentrated on her surroundings. The town wasn’t big enough to have a lot of traffic, but the locals tended to stop in the middle of the road to chat with a passing neighbor. Or just to gawk at someone’s new car. She didn’t want to backend someone because she was distracted.

A few minutes later she was parked in front of a shotgun house that was painted a bright yellow with green shutters. Like most homes in the neighborhood, it was built in a long, narrow design with a gabled roof and a small porch outlined with a white railing and dominated by a wooden swing.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the large, middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a square, weathered face sitting on the swing. It’d been years since she’d last seen Remy Broussard, but he hadn’t changed much. A few more pounds on his broad frame and a few more wrinkles on his tanned face, but the same welcoming smile on his lips as she climbed out of her car and walked up the pathway.

The scent of warm bread and freshly brewed coffee wafted on the morning breeze, reminding Livia of Robbie’s complaint that his father refused to move. In this moment she understood why.

She climbed the steps, relieved she didn’t have to knock on the door. It made it seem like this was a casual encounter, not that she had tracked him down to grill him about the past.

“Good morning, Remy,” she said, moving to stand next to the swing. “I’m not sure if you remember me—”

“’Course I do,” Remy interrupted, his smile widening. “Little Livvy. All grown up now.”

Livia glanced down at the cut-off shorts and sleeveless T-shirt she’d pulled on after her shower.

“And then some, unfortunately.”

“Looks good on you. Better than skin and bones,” Remy insisted, pushing himself to his feet with some effort. Obviously his arthritis was bothering him this morning. “Come in. I have a pot of coffee on the stove.”

Livia followed him into the small living room that opened to the even smaller dining room and then directly to the kitchen at the back of the house. Everything was well worn, as if it’d been around as long as Remy had owned the house, but it was scrubbed ruthlessly clean and freshly painted.

This was a man who took pride in his property.

Moving to the stove, Remy poured her a mug of the thick chiccory brew out of an old-fashioned coffeepot.

“Sugar? Cream?”

“Both,” she requested, hiding her shudder. She could already smell the coffee. It was going to be strong enough to wake the dead.

“Good girl.”

He doused the black liquid with a dollop of cream and a healthy portion of sugar before handing her the mug and motioning toward the small, Formica-topped table.

They settled on the folding chairs and Livia reluctantly took a sip of the steaming hot liquid, promptly burning her tongue.

“I spoke with Robbie last night,” she said, placing the mug on the table. The stuff was way too bitter to tolerate, even with the sugar and cream.

“Did you?” Remy looked surprised. “Is he doing work at the Willows?”

“No, he was there for Celeste and Winston’s engagement party.”