Emilie Richards - Rising Tides

He missed the vulnerability of the Dawn he had known, but this new woman intrigued him just as much. He imagined traces of the vulnerability were still there, layered under a new self-confidence and independence. But she had learned how to protect herself. He just hoped she had learned from whom.

The pageant ended with Spencer, another gracious remnant of New Orleans’s splendored past, who had come to the morning room with Pelichere. Now that everyone had arrived, he rose. Spencer stooped, as if he carried a heavy burden, but he seemed determined to see the morning through.

“I’m happy everybody stayed,” he said. “That was Mrs. Gerritsen’s wish. The rest of her wishes are just as specific. I’ll elaborate on them now. The reading of this will is going to be conducted exactly the way I promised Mrs. Gerritsen that it would be. I will not deviate in even one small detail.”

Ben admired Spencer as he spoke. A good gust of Betsy-generated wind would send the old man spinning, yet he possessed a composure that Ben could envy. He supposed it came with age and battles won. There was no way to fabricate it. Father Hugh had possessed it, too.

Ben listened as Spencer repeated the conditions he had communicated to them last night. It was all so mysterious, yet everything fit with what Ben knew of Aurore. Like Spencer’s, Aurore’s looks had been deceiving. He wished he could have known her as a young woman. What had Dawn taken from her grand mother, other than the English equivalent of her name?

“Before I continue,” Spencer said, “I’ll point out that Mrs. Gerritsen was very specific. You are to be in residence here, and there are to be no exceptions. If you need to leave for a brief period, please arrange it with me.”

Ferris got to his feet. “Everyone here has better things to do than play games with a dead woman. My mother won’t know if her wishes are carried out. You must be aware that these conditions can be challenged in court. What judge would believe my mother was competent when she made this will?”

“It’s possible you’re right, Senator. You could certainly attempt a challenge. You might win. Of course, there are a number of people who spent time with your mother during her final days who would swear to her competency.”

Ben watched Dawn touch her father’s arm. Reluctantly, Ferris sat down. “I’m sorry,” Dawn said to Spencer, “but you have to admit, this is unusual. You’ll have to give us all a little time to adjust.”

He smiled at her, only at her. “Shall we get on with the first bequests, then?”

Dawn looked around the room, as if counting votes. “Is anyone leaving?” Her gaze stopped at Ben.

He shook his head slowly. She lifted one brow be fore she turned away from him. “Shoot, Spencer.”

He looked down at the document in his hands. “As a matter of fact, my dear, the first bequests go to you, and to Ben.” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out two small boxes. He stepped forward and held out one to Dawn, then moved across the room to give the other to Ben.

“Any rules on how or when to open this?” Dawn asked.

Spencer slipped his papers inside his jacket. “None. And now we’re done for the rest of the day. We’ll meet here tomorrow morning at the same time.”

“Done?” This time Cappy stood. “Really, Ferris is right. I have a house to look after, and commitments I’ve made. What’s the purpose of cooping us up like rats in a cage?”

Spencer bent his head, but his words were clear. “It may take some time to discover the purpose.”

“I think my mother-in-law lost her mind, and you assisted.” Cappy swept out of the room, much as she had swept in. Ferris was slower to exit. He bent his head to Dawn’s for a moment, then shook it after she opened the box, as if to say he agreed with his wife. He took one last, assessing look around the room before he followed Cappy.

Ben kept his eyes on Dawn. She had opened her box, and the contents seemed to fascinate her. The box was the size a jeweler might use for a necklace or a brooch. Like his, it didn’t appear to have been wrapped or marked with any emblem.

“So what are you planning to do?”

Ben realized Phillip was at his side. “What should I do?”

“Open it, and see what’s going on.”

Ben flipped off the lid. A key, old and tarnished, lay inside. “How did Mrs. Gerritsen know what I’d always wanted?”

Nicky and Jake came over to examine the key. Ben glanced at Dawn and was surprised to find her looking at him. She held up another key, smaller than his.

Phillip stepped aside so that Ben and Dawn were looking straight at each other. “Do you suppose the two keys are related?” he asked her.

Dawn rose. “Maybe they’re related, and maybe they aren’t.” She strolled toward Ben. “Would you like to see mine? Or does the fact that it’s been in my hand make you squeamish?”

“You’d be surprised what I can tolerate.”

Dawn dropped her key in his hand. “Mean anything to you?”

He glanced down. “No more than mine. Was your grandmother some sort of a practical joker?”

“Never.”

“Does my key look familiar to you?” He held out his hand.

She took back her own and stared at his for a moment. “A key is a key.”

“It usually leads somewhere.”

“Not in Aurore’s Wonderland,” she said. “Mine’s too small to go to a door. And yours is too old to go to any of the doors in this house. All the locks were updated years ago.”

“All?”

“I think so. Peli?” She motioned for Pelichere to join them. “Would Ben’s key fit any of the locks in the cottage?”

Pelichere squinted, then shook her head. “No.”

“Maybe the keys are symbolic.” Ben cushioned his in the palm of his hand. “The old and the new?”

“Mine’s not new,” Dawn said. “It’s small, but it’s old.”

“The large and the small? Does this mean anything to you?” When she shook her head, he shrugged. “It appears we have two keys to nothing.” Ben dropped his in his shirt pocket.

“No. My grandmother had a reason for this. I know she did,” Dawn said.

Silently Ben congratulated her. As awkward as the situation had to be, she was trying to make sense of it. “We share some history. Maybe the keys are related to that.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Dawn said. “Except that once you called me a murderer.”

“Do you really want to talk about that now?” Ben asked.

Dawn glanced at Nicky, who had silently been taking in the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds,” she said. “This must seem crazy to you. Apparently this has nothing to do with you and your family.”

“I think you and Ben might need some time to cool off. Don’t you?”

Nicky might be a stranger to the Gerritsens, but she was already taking charge of the situation. As Ben watched, Dawn nodded. Then she turned to him. “You pride yourself on getting the facts straight. Tell Spencer I’m going for a walk, will you? God knows I wouldn’t want to be forced to give back my key.”

The garconnière was one of the few original out buildings still left on the Gerritsen property. Once the house and land had belonged to Pelichere’s great-uncle. Dawn wasn’t entirely certain now if a story her grand mother had told about riding out a childhood hurricane inside its walls was fact, or a fiction she had embroidered over the years. But she did know that her grandmother had purchased the property in the twenties.

As a child, Dawn had not been allowed to play in most of the outbuildings, some of which had been torn down to protect her. But the garconnière, like the house, was built of bousillage, an adobelike mixture of mud and Spanish moss packed between cypress boards. Traditionally, a garconnière was a place for bachelors in Cajun families to live until they were married, usually an attic reached by stairs from the end of the gallery.