Tell Me Something Good Read online

  “Right.” Lyrissa suppressed a smile. She understood well that Mrs. St Denis wanted Lyrissa far away from her grandson.

  “The charity ball back on track?” Noel asked his grandmother.

  “Thank God for Rosalie. Beatrice had totally bungled handling the caterers, but everything is fine now.” Mrs. St. Denis walked to the desk and ran her fingers on its surface. “My husband’s grandfather had this sent from New York.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lyrissa said. She still hesitated to sit in the large forest green leather chair.

  “Go on.” Mrs. St Denis gestured to the desk and chair. “Don’t let us keep you from working.” She shot a pointed look at Noel.

  “I’d better get to the office. I’ll see you later, Lyrissa. Maybe I’ll join you two for lunch,” he smiled at her.

  “I’ll probably be gone by then,” Lyrissa said. “I have a class this afternoon.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Lyrissa’s pulse jumped again. Was that disappointment in his attractive brown eyes? “Goodbye.” She calmly turned her attention to taking papers out of her briefcase.

  “Goodbye,” he replied, still looking at her.

  “You can have lunch with me for a change,” Mrs. St. Denis put in.

  Noel turned to his grandmother with a boyish grin. “What a delightful idea. See you around twelve-thirty. He kissed Miss Georgina’s cheek and left.

  “Now, where do we start?” Mrs. St. Denis stood over her.

  “Show me the items here in the house,” Lyrissa said.

  For two hours Mrs. St. Denis led her through the spacious rooms, giving her a history lesson on the St. Denis family. Lyrissa mused that it was a distinctly sanitized version. Rosalie had been right in her assessment of some of the St. Denis forebears. Miss Georgina characterized them as astute businessmen who amassed a fortune through hard work. Mama Grace wasn’t alone in the opinion that more than a few had been ruthless robber barons. Yet Lyrissa had to admire their taste. The rascals had stolen well when it came to art. Finally they returned to the study. Mrs. St. Denis sat down heavily in a leather chair. She seemed winded and her face was lined with fatigue. Lyrissa started to sit next to her in the matching chair when Mrs. St. Denis waved her away.

  “No, no. Sit at the desk, Ms. Rideau.”

  “Thank you,” Lyrissa said.

  Lyrissa sat down in the captain’s chair behind the desk and gazed around the room. Around her were fine art, antiques, and wall-to-wall rare books. Rosalie appeared with a tray bearing glasses of iced tea. A girl could get used to this, she mused.

  Mrs. St. Denis patted her cheeks with a napkin and spoke after taking a delicate sip from her glass of tea.

  “There’s more in the attic, but I’m afraid I can’t climb up that narrow staircase.”

  She stood. “You rest, Mrs. St Denis. I’ll take it from here.” Lyrissa felt a surge of excitement at being able to search on her own so soon.

  “Sit and have some tea before you go back to work.” Her invitation was more a command.

  “Thank you.” Lyrissa bit back her frustration and smiled graciously.

  Rosalie handed Lyrissa a glass. She winked at her, and then turned to Mrs. St Denis. “I’ve got chicken salad, fresh romaine lettuce and chives, and sliced home-grown tomatoes. That okay for lunch?”

  “Yes, indeed. Rosalie’s chicken salad is famous,” Miss Georgina said to Lyrissa.

  “I’ll call /all when it’s ready. Around twelve-thirty, as usual.” Rosalie left

  “What’s next?” Mrs. St. Denis asked.

  “I’m going to look at each item again. I’ll fill in missing information on the list such as the names of artists, country of origin, that sort of thing.”

  Mrs. St. Denis lifted her chin. “I believe in being candid. I wasn’t happy that Felton Taylor assigned you instead of doing the work himself. But you seem meticulous in your approach. I like that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. St. Denis,” Lyrissa replied with a slight smile.

  “We should have done this long ago. We had other priorities.” Mrs. St. Denis took a deep breath. She seemed to have recovered from the effort to keep up with Lyrissa.

  “Yes, ma’am. Trem6 Corporation,” Lyrissa said.

  She nodded slowly. “Noel has done a wonderful job. Reminds me of his grandfather in that way.”

  The older woman seemed lost in her thoughts for a time. Lyrissa studied the oil portrait of Phillip St. Denis more closely. Noel had the same determined set to his chiseled features, the same finely etched jaw line as his grandfather.

  She remembered her grandmother’s description of Phillip St. Denis as an enlightened despot who ruled his family and company with an iron hand. Mama Grace had sneered that he was cut from the same mold as his ancestors, and just as callous. Lyrissa wondered if Noel shared that quality as well. Certainly he exuded an aura of power. His tall, well-developed frame implied physical power as well. The image of his well-muscled thighs and arms flashed in her head. Noel had a hard body that could make a woman sweat bullets. Still, he was a St. Denis. He came from a long line of Creoles who’d looked down on the likes of her. Back to business, she mentally ordered herself, glad the handsome distraction was out of the house. With any luck she would not see much of him.

  “I understand that the artwork will be considered a corporate asset,” Lyrissa ventured.

  Mrs. St. Denis’s bemused expression cleared. “My grandson’s idea. We’ll see.”

  “Still, it’s important to document such valuable items. For inheritance purposes, if nothing else,” Lyrissa said in a discreet reference to Miss Georgina’s mortality.

  The older woman waved a hand. “That’s not an issue.” “I see,” Lyrissa answered, although she didn’t.

  “I’ll let you get to work.” Miss Georgina stood slowly.

  “Call Rosalie if you need anything. I’ll be in my office.” “Thank you.” Lyrissa watched her walk away. “Alone at last,” she whispered.

  The next hour passed quickly as she went back through the house and looked at each item. She went into the attic, a large room that was neat despite being packed with items. There were pieces of glazed pottery and small ceramic figurines, and several small paintings stacked against one wall. With the excitement of a child on a treasure hunt, she delighted in each new find of a significant piece of art. The discoveries heightened her anticipation of finding the one masterpiece she most wanted to see. Lyrissa’s heart pounded each time she spied a frame. With so much to look through, she was sure “The Stroll” was within her grasp. She imagined removing it from its frame, rolling it up into a tube, and simply walking through the door with it. The St. Denis family wouldn’t even miss it. After all, they weren’t even sure of what they owned.

  Lyrissa stood staring at a large framed map of Louisiana when it was still a Spanish colony. She traced a finger along the crescent outline of the old city of New Orleans. The Joubert and St. Denis families were from the same world, yet worlds apart. The distance was a good reason why she shouldn’t entertain lustful fantasies about Noel St. Denis. “I see you’ve found our own version of a flea market.” She spun around to find that her fantasy had materialized. Speak of the devil. Lyrissa cleared her throat. Her mind should be on her goal, not him. Noel smiled and her pulse rate revved like a racecar engine. He dipped his head as he stepped across the threshold into the attic. Lyrissa looked up at him, trying to recall every nasty story about his family that she’d heard. If only that silk suit didn’t drape across his muscular body so well. Noel looked less like a workaholic businessman than like a sexy black gladiator fresh from conquering foreign lands. He walked toward her radiating animal power and beauty in each step. In a flash like a camera bulb going off, she imagined being scooped into his arms and her mouth crushed against his. Lyrissa gasped when he pulled off his jacket.

  “I’ll help get some of this stuff out of your way. Tell me what you want.” He hung the jacket on an old mahogany coat rack nearby, and then stood with bo
th hands on his narrow waist.

  She stared at the way his custom dress shirt molded to his chest. Suddenly the dimly lit attic became an intimate hideaway just right for a romantic assignation.

  “What I want?” Lyrissa repeated in a dazed voice. His eyes warmed the longer they looked at each other. She cleared her throat and turned away. “I’m about to wrap up here.”

  “Too bad,” he murmured.

  Lyrissa glanced at him to see a faint, seductive smile curve his full lips up at the comers. Great! Mr. Lover could see right into her lust-filled, dirty mind. He seemed to have a “Gotcha!” glint in his eyes. She’d seen his type before. Noel St. Denis slipped neatly into a familiar category: dog. Lyrissa pulled back her shoulders and faced him. Her expression tightened as one eyebrow went up, the expression she used to brush aside unwanted male attention.

  “Actually, I’ve got a lot of other business to take care of. So it’s all good,” she said with a frosty smile. “Excuse me.” She stepped forward and waited for him to move. He didn’t.

  “I enjoyed our lunch the other day. I suggest we meet again. In fact, let’s meet regularly so I can get progress re-ports.” Noel continued to smile.

  “Mr. Taylor has already agreed to keep Mrs. St. Denis informed.” Lyrissa tucked her legal pad under one arm. She maintained her distant demeanor even though he was disturbingly close.

  “I’ve already spoken to him about it.” His smile widened. “My grandmother put me in charge.”

  A muscle in Lyrissa’s right cheek quivered as she clenched her teeth. “Yes, well. I’ll be in touch,” she said after several seconds.

  “I look forward to hearing from you,” he said, his voice like quiet thunder close to her face.

  “Goodbye,” Lyrissa said, clipping the word off as she maneuvered around him. She went down the stairs quickly without looking back.

  “Ms. Rideau,” he called after her.

  Lyrissa paused, took a breath, and then turned to him as he came down each step. “Yes?”

  He took a business card from his inside jacket pocket. “This is my direct phone number.”

  I can do this. She took the small ivory square with gold foil lettering on it. Their fingers touched briefly, testing her strength. Ignoring the tiny needle of electricity, she lifted her chin. “I’ll finish here. Then I’ll need a list of your relatives’ addresses for the rest of the collection.”

  “No problem. Let me know when you’re ready,” he said with a sober expression. He pointedly gazed at her mouth.

  She nodded and walked away very aware that he was right behind her. Lyrissa put her tablet, pens, and pencils in her briefcase.

  “What time is your class?” he asked casually.

  “Four o’clock,” she said without thinking.

  “Then you’ve got time to stay for lunch,” Noel replied. He looked at her when she glanced up. “To give us a quick report.”

  How could she refuse? She could he. “All right,” came out before she knew it.

  As Mrs. St. Denis, Noel and Lyrissa ate lunch in the for-mal dining room, Lyrissa glanced up several times to find Noel looking at her. By the time the lunch was over, Lyrissa felt drained from all her efforts not to notice him. His grandmother watched Noel watch her. Finally she was on her way out the door.

  “I’ll be back on Tuesday morning around nine, Mrs. St. Denis. If that’s a good time for you, that is,” Lyrissa said. She frowned when Noel took out his electronic date book and tapped the small keypad.

  “Fine, fine. Just call and remind Rosalie. She’ll put it on my planner,” Mrs. St. Denis said. She also noticed Noel’s action. Her dark brows came together.

  “Goodbye, Lyrissa.” He held out his hand.

  After a moment of hesitation, Lyrissa took it, but let go after only a split second. “Goodbye.”

  Noel’s amber eyes flickered with some hidden message just for her. Or was she imagining things? Lyrissa nodded to Miss Georgina and walked away.

  She spent the next few hours trying to shake off the effect of his smoldering gaze.

  “I see something strange here in the cards.” Lyrissa’s great- aunt Claire pursed her ruby red lips.

  “Don’t be such an idiot,” Mama Grace said. “Taking up Tarot reading at your age.” She made a rude noise to punctuate her scorn.

  Lyrissa rolled her eyes. She loved her grandmother and great-aunt dearly, but they were a bit much at times. Still, Mama Grace was conservative compared to her baby sister Claire. A host of sterling silver bracelets tinkled musically each time Aunt Claire moved her arms. She was sixty-three going on sixteen. At sixty-eight, Mama Grace exercised full rights to be the authority as the elder sister.

  “The Tarot is reliable. Look at what happened to Earl Collins. The cards—”

  “Had nothing to do with it. Earl tripped over his big feet like he’s done since we were children,” Mama Grace said. “Now voodoo is a different matter.”

  “Will you two stop? Retirement means taking up knit-ting or Tai Chi, not witchcraft.” Lyrissa plopped down into an overstuffed chair.

  “Voodoo isn’t witchcraft, it’s a religion.” Mama Grace shook a finger at her. “Besides, we’re only exploring in the wonderful tradition of Miss Zora.”

  “True,” Aunt Claire said.

  “You know, Claire, I just thought of something. Lyrissa is doing what Miss Zora did.” Mama Grace smiled with pleasure. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Exactly, Grace. You hit it just right, as usual.” Aunt Claire nodded at her sister.

  Lyrissa sighed. Mama Grace and Aunt Claire had long been ardent admirers of Zora Neale Hurston. They had in fact become experts in Hurston’s writings and her life as an ethnographer. Miss Zora, as they called her, had been an educated and daring young woman. In order to learn about the folklore and culture of poor blacks, she’d taken on the persona of a working-class uneducated person. She’d even gone so far as to be initiated as a voodoo priestess.

  “God created a plethora of mysteries and there are just as many ways to seek the answers,” Aunt Claire said.

  “In fortune telling and chicken bones? I don’t think so. You’re retired librarians, for goodness’ sakes! Give me a break”

  “Don’t be a smart mouth,” Mama Grace shot back.

  “Okay, fine. But I’ll stick to what really works.” Lyrissa nibbled on the small squares of fresh apple Aunt Claire had served her. “Does anyone want to hear about my first day working for Georgina St. Denis?”

  “Of course we do!” Aunt Claire dropped the card she was holding.

  “So tell us. How bad off is the old hellcat?” Mama Grace leaned forward with a gleam in her eyes.

  “She’s doing great, considering,” Lyrissa said.

  “Humph! Georgina St. Denis will live to be one hundred on sheer meanness.” Aunt Claire scowled.

  “Did you see the painting?” Mama Grace said.

  Mama Grace referred to the reason Lyrissa would suffer Miss Georgina’s tantrums. “Sunday Stroll on the Faubourg Tremé” was a magnificent oil painting done by their ancestor, Jules Joubert in 1819. It had been acquired by the St. Denis family under questionable circumstances. “Stolen” was the word her grandmother used regularly.

  “I couldn’t exactly do an inventory, Mama Grace.” Lyrissa looked at her. “I’m going to take my time, get familiar with the house and the personalities.”

  “What personalities?” Mama Grace said.

  “There’s the housekeeper. She comes in four days a week.” Lyrissa shifted in her chair.

  “No problem.” Aunt Claire shrugged.

  “And then there’s him” Lyrissa thought of broad shoulders covered by expensive fabric.

  Mama Grace blinked in confusion. “Georgina’s husband has been dead for almost ten years now.”

  “Her son lives in that new fancy suburb, Gentilly Estates,” Aunt Claire put in.

  “I mean her grandson, Noel” Lyrissa kept her voice neutral, despite the way her body responded when s
he said his name.

  “Of course. They made him CEO of the company. Our friend Bessie knows a lot about them. Did she mention him, Claire?” Mama Grace gazed at her sister.

  “She didn’t say much. Bessie mostly knows about the older family members. What’s he like?” Aunt Claire turned to Lyrissa.

  Lyrissa stared ahead without seeing the lovely Louisiana landscape painting on the wall. She thought of lightly tan muscled arms. Phillip Noel St. Denis was like a quiet storm. He’d snuck up on her with his eyes the color of almond. Too bad he was an arrogant piece of work. Still, he had a body that inspired fantasies. Lyrissa was a normal female. Unfortunately, she was a female who’d hit a long dry spell when it came to finding decent male company.

  “Lyrissa?” Aunt Claire’s eyebrows formed twin arches as she exchanged a glance with Mama Grace. “I think we’ve got a little problem brewing,” she murmured.

  “Lyrissa Michelle, focus,” Mama Grace ordered with a solemn expression.

  “He’s handsome, I take it,” Aunt Claire said.

  “He’s okay.” Lyrissa avoided her gaze. She hoped Aunt Claire hadn’t developed a skill at reading minds.

  “Hmm,” was all Aunt Claire said in response. She continued staring at her great-niece.

  “I was just thinking about ways to look around the house with them there.”

  “Sure you were.” Aunt Claire glanced at Mama Grace again.

  “Cut that out,” Lyrissa said. “I’ve got only one interest in that family, to get back our property.”

  “If you say so.” Aunt Claire seemed unconvinced.

  “Concentrate on your priority and ignore anything else.” Mama Grace stared at her steadily as though to detect any sign she’d do otherwise.

  “No problem,” Lyrissa replied in a firm voice. A tiny voice in her head said, Liar.

  Chapter 4

  Lyrissa’s best friend, Ebony Armstrong, gazed at her in amazement. They had met for lunch in a small soul food deli on the comer of Louisiana Avenue. Ebony worked as an attorney in a law firm with offices downtown.