The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(91)
Author: Karen White

He surprised me by sliding out of the truck to join me next to the broken front steps. “It’ll go faster if I help. Just show me what to do.”

 

I grinned. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to say that to me.”

 

“Funny,” he said without smiling, his eyes scanning the leaden clouds. Fat plops of rain began pelting fallen leaves around us. “I thought you said it wasn’t supposed to rain until after three o’clock.”

 

I opened up my weather app again. “It now says ten percent chance, but the temperature is still thirty-three degrees and is supposed to stay there until sunset, when it will dip into the twenties. So we’re good, right?”

 

“Assuming the temperature remains above freezing until we get home, we’re good. Otherwise . . .”

 

“Otherwise what?”

 

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Come on—let’s get this done.”

 

As soon as we entered the house, the clouds opened up, allowing water to cascade through holes in the ceilings and broken windows, leaving puddles on the well-worn heart pine floors. I checked the temperature again, just to be sure. “It’s still thirty-three degrees.”

 

Our eyes met. “It’s your call,” he said. “Just know that if you end up making the wrong one, I will never let you forget it. But I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”

 

I sighed. “We’re already here. Let’s get this done so we can leave.” I threw him a measuring tape and a notepad with an attached pencil I’d pulled from my backpack. “You start with each room upstairs and begin measuring and documenting everything you see. And take pictures of everything, including door handles, crown moldings, and any plumbing fixtures. We need to be as accurate as possible.”

 

We lost track of time as we worked inside the house, which seemed to be at least twenty degrees colder than outside. I had to keep stopping to thaw my fingers so I could type on my laptop and press the button on my camera.

 

I could hear Beau talking to someone upstairs, the words too muffled for me to understand, which was fine with me. Three hours later, as I was taking pictures and documenting the handmade tongue-and-groove cabinets in the kitchen, I heard Beau curse, and then the sound of his feet clattering down the steps.

 

“Have you looked outside?”

 

I rushed to the porch to see a newly white landscape, with a thin layer of snow dusting the weeds and rocks of the yard, like the house had been graced by a fairy godmother and dressed for an enchanting evening. Except it wasn’t.

 

I looked at my weather app. “It’s twenty-eight degrees and falling. I’m so sorry, Beau. I didn’t mean—”

 

“Grab your stuff. We’ve got to go. Now.”

 

I threw my laptop, notepads, and camera into my backpack and ran out toward the truck. I had made it about two feet when I slipped on a hidden rock and ended up on my back with the wind knocked out of me.

 

Beau’s face appeared above me. “Are you all right?”

 

When I nodded, he unceremoniously hauled me to my feet and held on to my elbow until I was safely inside the truck. “This isn’t good, is it?”

 

“Nope.” He started the engine and I felt the welcome blast of the heater on my face. Taking out his phone, he said, “I’m going to check on road conditions on I-10 to figure out what to do next. Meanwhile, I want you to try a different weather app and let me know what the temperature is doing.”

 

Still feeling winded from my fall, I just nodded and did as he asked. I groaned. “It’s twenty-seven degrees now, and there’s now a weather advisory indicating an expected accumulation of up to half an inch across the New Orleans metro area.” If Beau were from the Northeast, or anywhere except the South, I would have had to explain to him that even a single snowflake could paralyze entire cities and clear out all grocery stores of bread and milk.

 

“Today is not our day to buy a lottery ticket. I-10 eastbound is completely shut down with a jackknifed tractor trailer, and they’ve shut down the Causeway because of icy conditions.”

 

I pushed back the panic crawling up my throat. “Okay. Let’s drive back to Abita Springs. These back roads are mostly dirt and gravel, so less slippery, right? Then we can get a couple of rooms in one of the inns I saw downtown.”

 

He turned on the wipers and I watched the blades make fans on the windshield as they pushed back the snow. After putting the truck in gear, he said, “Let’s just hope that everybody else had the sense to stay home. That will give me less of a chance of hitting someone.”

 

“I’d offer to drive, but I don’t think that would help the situation.”

 

“Nope. But you do need to get your license. You can do it next week.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“I’m not asking. It’s time.” He began to inch the truck forward. “That doesn’t mean you can’t ask me to drive you. You’ll probably miss my company.”

 

“Can you just focus on driving, please? It’s already getting hard to see.” I sat as far forward as I could to help him navigate the road, whatever part of it was still visible in the dim light.

 

“I’m guessing Abita Springs doesn’t have a snowplow.”

 

Beau snorted as his hands gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t think the entire state of Louisiana has a snowplow. Which is probably a good thing. People around here can’t drive cars. Can’t imagine what would happen if we put them behind a plow.”

 

It took us more than an hour to retrace our route back to town and find our way to a hotel I remembered passing while looking for the café earlier that morning. It was a turn-of-the-century home that appeared to have been converted into an inn that I might have found more charming if it were warmer outside and I weren’t feeling desperate. “Should we have called ahead for reservations?” I asked, looking around at the small but full parking lot.

 

“This isn’t New Orleans during Mardi Gras, Nola. And nobody with half a brain would be out driving anywhere in this kind of weather.” He sent me a pointed look. “Stay there and I’ll come get you.”

 

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and opened my door. The ground showed only a thin layer of snow, and the asphalt parking lot didn’t look slippery. I stepped out onto the ground, and before I could tell Beau Never mind—I can do this myself, my feet had skidded out in front of me for the second time, landing me firmly on my backside.

 

“You okay?” Beau asked, his words of concern not completely hiding the twitching of his lips.