The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(82)
Author: Karen White
Jolene put her arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “And here I was thinking Nola was the smart sister.”
We were still laughing—and panting from the long climb—when we reached the couple waiting for us at the top. A petite and very attractive dark-haired woman, who shared more than a passing resemblance with Michael, stepped forward and embraced me warmly.
“I’m Angelina Sabatier, and you must be Nola. We’ve heard so much about you, I feel as if I already know you.”
“Likewise,” I said, keeping my voice even. I was in uncertain territory here, and I needed not only to be on the alert but also to try to be fair-minded. It was the only way to ferret out the truth. Yet as I looked into the friendly and warm face of Angelina Sabatier, it seemed ridiculous that I had people waiting by their phones for an SOS from me.
She turned to the tall, slender man beside her. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut military short, and his hazel eyes smiled with the rest of his face as he offered his hand in greeting. He didn’t seem nervous, or evil, or anything other than like a family man hosting a weekend house party. Or maybe Sunny wasn’t the only actor. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. We are so pleased that you all could spend part of your weekend with us.”
I introduced them both to Jolene and Sarah, then followed them inside. As expected, the house was expansive, with towering ceilings and elegant furnishings. I didn’t have time to inspect anything closely as we were led through the house onto an enormous screened-in porch that covered the entire rear portion of the second story. A table had been set with six place settings in the russet shades of autumn leaves, along with a stunning centerpiece of fall vegetables and pinecones. Despite it being midday, candles in small hurricane lamps lined the center of the table. Four tall heat lamps encircled the table, and an outdoor fireplace blazed beneath a wooden block mantel.
“I was hoping the weather would be a little more cooperative for waterskiing, but I’m afraid it’s too chilly,” Angelina said.
“No worries. There is still plenty to do, including swimming in the pool, since it’s heated,” Robert said as he pushed in my chair before moving to Jolene’s. “Or hanging out in the basement, where there is a theater, a popcorn machine, and just about every game ever invented. We just want everyone to relax and have a good time while we all get to know each other.”
As Michael began pouring mimosas, Angelina picked up a silver pitcher and began filling my and Sarah’s glasses. “It’s made with Perrier instead of champagne,” she said. “After Mardi Gras each year, I can’t stand the taste of alcohol for at least a month, so I’m an expert on all sorts of mocktails. And sugar-free, carb-free—”
“And taste-free,” Robert added with a laugh.
“—foods,” Angelina finished with a grin. “I tell myself each year that I’m not going to go overboard, but then there’s all the parties and festivities, and I can’t seem to help myself. That’s what Carnival season’s all about, isn’t it? Indulgence before penance.” Her face became serious. “It’s actually a lot like life.”
There was an awkward silence before Michael said, “I’ll help you bring out the food.” He headed inside through the French doors, with his aunt following behind.
We had an amazing brunch of biscuit and pancetta casserole, French toast with praline syrup, and deviled eggs, followed by ciambella Romagnola-Italian breakfast cake, which, despite protestations from Angelina that it was incredibly easy to make, I told her was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Even Jolene agreed. While I was wishing that I had worn my much stretchier jeans instead of the wool pants, Jolene cornered Angelina to discuss recipes, and Sarah asked Michael what sorts of classic arcade games might be in the basement and how good he was on each of them. Robert asked me about my job and what projects I was working on, and we commiserated about the constant battle against the termites that thrived in New Orleans.
It felt odd to be discussing such mundane subjects with someone I’d always equated with evil. I had to remind myself that Robert Sabatier had married into the Broussard family and that his genetic makeup was not shared with Antoine Broussard. That still left a lot of questions, but I couldn’t believe that Robert would do something like mastermind the kidnapping of a small child.
The whirring of cicadas from the oak trees that dotted the property sent a wave of homesickness through me. It’s not that I never heard the croak and whine of the large insects in my new home, but the wall of sound from all the trees here reminded me too much of sitting in the garden on Tradd Street and listening to the insects’ love songs in the side garden’s ancient oak, from which a swing had hung since long before I had joined the family. Under its sheltering arms countless family photos had been taken, starting with photos of Jack and Melanie’s wedding, the songs of the cicadas inseparable from my memory of long summer days and posing with my growing family.
The morning turned into afternoon, the languid conversations reminding me of my own family eating and talking around the dinner table, and I had to blink a few times to remind myself that I was with Michael and his aunt and uncle, the same people the Ryans suspected of either having knowledge of or being directly involved in the kidnapping of Sunny and the murder of Angelina’s aunt Jeanne.
I got up to use the bathroom twice, and both times half-heartedly peeked into other rooms. I even opened a drawer in a hallway chest—it was empty. Despite my initial intentions, I knew any kind of snooping would yield nothing. And if I were caught, my embarrassment would be terminal.
When the mimosa pitchers ran empty, and I was sure the button on my pants would pop and take out someone’s eye, Angelina stood and began clearing the table. “Nola, would you please help me put the food away? And Michael, if you would please show Jolene and Sarah the basement . . . Maybe choose a movie and make some popcorn? I’m looking at the clouds outside, and I think we’re in for a storm.”
He didn’t protest, which made me think that this had all been prearranged and there was something Angelina needed to talk to me about. Alone. Robert excused himself to go check the score of the Kentucky–Ole Miss game, with a promise that he’d be back to help.
Angelina and I made small talk as we loaded the dishwasher and stored leftovers in matching Tupperware containers. Angelina asked me to sit down at the kitchen table to take a rest, and she gave me a tall glass of ice water while she wiped down the counter. We chatted about my parents and their visit, and about whether I planned to be home for the Christmas holidays, since it would be the first year I would be living on my own in another city.
I had begun to relax, believing that our visit really was about getting to know one another without the background of hints and allegations. I took a sip of my water as Angelina joined me at the table. She took a deep breath and smiled softly.