Olivia “Fancy Shoes” Markham wouldn’t isolate herself at the estate with no way to leave, gun or no.
Olivia frowned. “I hope nothing is wrong. The rental company isn’t likely to drive all the way out here to give me a replacement. Look, I know towing my car isn’t what you were hired to do, but I couldn’t help but notice a truck parked at that little house across the driveway so I thought maybe you could help. I just want to get my clothes and equipment into the house, and then I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”
John felt himself relenting and silently cursed his mother for training him to assist helpless females. Surely it was meant to be a matter of manners and not a burden, but it didn’t feel that way at the moment. “If that’s what you think is best. I think I saw a chain in the storage shed. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He carried the saw to the storage shed and dug out a chain he’d seen the day before. There was still the glimmer of hope that the car wouldn’t run. He could tell by Olivia’s expression that she hadn’t thought of that possibility until he’d mentioned it. It was also clear she wasn’t happy with the thought. Best case, the car would have to be towed back to New Orleans and she’d stay there a few days waiting on a replacement. Those few days might just buy him the time he needed to finish searching the house.
Worst case, the car might make it to the house but stop working afterwards. That was something he was fairly certain he could arrange.
OLIVIA WATCHED John walk away, completely confused by the man. He was abrupt and she got the impression he wanted to be rude most of the conversation but it seemed like something was holding him back from saying what he really wanted to say. Since Olivia was used to dealing with either New Yorkers, who tended to be very direct, or with B&B owners, who tended to be overly accommodating, John Landry was definitely a departure from the norm.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She reached into her shorts’ pocket and pulled it out. Speaking of New Yorkers, it was her editor. Great. She wasn’t exactly on schedule for this book, and wasn’t looking forward to admitting it. “Hello, Irene,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I never heard from you yesterday and got worried. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, no. I was supposed to call.” Olivia smacked her forehead with her palm. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“That’s okay. It’s just unlike you to forget to call, so I figured I’d better check in. So I gather you made it?”
“Sort of. There was a huge storm last night as I was driving in. The house is basically buried back in the bayou with only an overgrown dirt path to get to it. The car got stuck a ways from the house, and I had to make a run for it. There was absolutely no cell phone service. There was no electricity either. In fact, without my luggage there was a whole lot of nothing.”
“I don’t know why you insisted on that house. It’s the worst of the lot as far as convenience, location, communication and just about everything else. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s that lovely house in Boston that’s been converted to a very nice B&B. It has a spa….”
Olivia took a second to imagine a hot shower and a mattress less than fifty years old. “Don’t tempt me. I know this wasn’t the location you wanted, Irene, but I think the story is here. My mind is already whirling with possibilities, and I never got that feeling in the other house.”
“I suppose,” Irene said, but Olivia could hear the disapproval in her words. “Well, I hope this problem with your car hasn’t set you behind. Howard’s called twice this morning wanting a status report, and he’s frothing at the mouth like a demon child.”
Damn. Howard was the vice president, and he disdained his company’s recent foray into what he called “mass market trash.” The fact that Olivia and the other authors of that “mass market trash” were the only thing keeping the publisher afloat in a tenuous market seemed to make him even angrier. If Howard had his way, the publisher would only print thick coffee table books with bizarre photos of fruit and dead flowers. Or the obscure literary journal that would sell five or six copies, purchased by the author’s family to see if they were mentioned.
Olivia bit her lip, then finally blurted out what she needed to say. “If I run into problems with the car, I might have to backtrack to New Orleans for a day or two. I know I’m already behind my normal schedule for finishing a rough draft because of the time it took to work out the lease arrangements here, but if there is a delay I don’t see it being more than two days, max.” She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she was rambling.
For a couple of seconds there was dead silence on the other end of the line, and Olivia steeled herself for the disapproval that was surely to come.
“I don’t have to remind you that marketing has already spent a literal ton of money on this book,” Irene said. “The book that you seem to find excuse after excuse to delay.”
“I know this is an important release, and I promise you that I’ll make up the time as soon as I’ve gotten everything under control here.”
“Is there something else wrong? You don’t sound like yourself, Olivia. You sound like you’re on the ragged edge of sanity.”
“Everything will be fine. I think I’m getting a little jumpy and starting to panic. I guess I’m overreacting.”
“Really? That’s interesting considering you’re the most organized, controlled person I know, and that’s saying a lot. What’s got you spooked? The storm? I know it can’t be the house itself. It’s not like you haven’t done this a time or two before.”
Olivia looked up at the house and shook her head. “I don’t know, exactly. I mean, this is definitely the most remote location I’ve ever been to, and the house hasn’t been occupied in over thirty years, so that gives it a much different ‘feel’ than the others. And given that I arrived in the midst of a monsoon, and had no power…then there was a run-in with the caretaker.”
“What run-in?”
Olivia described the scene in the kitchen from the night before. “I called the estate attorney first thing this morning and everything checked out,” she finished, “but it scared the life out of me.”
“I should say so. Well, if you won’t consider a more civilized location for this book, will you at least consider relocating to a hotel in New Orleans until I can arrange you security of some sort? I can’t afford for some angry caretaker to distract you from your work. There’s a firm in New Orleans that I’ve used before. I could probably get someone assigned to you within a week. You could work from photos until then.”
“A week at a hotel in New Orleans. I have to admit, it’s very tempting, but I really think the story is here. I’ll call you back if I change my mind.”
“Okay,” Irene said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Promise me if you run into any problems that will delay this book, you will let me know immediately. Olivia?”
Olivia looked over at the storage shed as John walked out carrying a long length of chain, the grim look on his face clear as day, even from a distance. She was apparently three for three in making people’s day this morning. “I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know in a couple of hours what I’m going to do.”
She flipped her phone closed and dropped it back in her pocket. If Olivia was a betting woman, she’d bet everything she had that she was the source of John Landry’s discontent. But if she was such a trial, why bother with her at all? He certainly could have made up any sort of excuse for not wanting to tow her car with his truck.
Granted, she could cost him his job if she wanted to be a real bitch about it, but was a handyman job in the middle of nowhere all that great a gig? With all the hurricane reconstruction going on in New Orleans, the last place she’d expect to find a young, able-bodied man would be hidden away in Cypriere.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the