Barbara Dunlop - A Secret Life

Joan stood up. “Tell them what? You know something?”

“Not about the murder,” said Heather, heading for the stairs. “But, quick, come and look.”

She led Joan up the staircase to Samuel’s bedroom. There, she glanced out the window, then crossed to the closet and took out an old violin case.

She set it on the bed and flipped the catches.

“I don’t understand,” said Joan.

“It belonged to Samuel’s father. He used to play it on the porch.”

Joan stared down at the instrument. It was richly grained and beautifully arched, obviously of very fine quality.

“It’s an Ambrogino,” said Heather in a hushed voice. “And I played it.”

Joan glanced up to see Heather’s eyes shinning with excitement. “You think there was money in his father’s past?”

Heather shook her head. “Samuel doesn’t know. He just remembers his father playing it on the porch.”

“This is an incredibly fine heirloom.” Joan ran her fingers over the classic varnish.

Heather nodded her agreement. “And that’s not all.” She crossed to the closet again and came back with a leather-bound book. “His dad wrote music. Cajun tunes.”

She set the book down next to the case and carefully opened the cover.

The aging paper was impressive, and Joan’s piano training allowed her to read the music. The songs themselves were catchy, but unremarkable.

Joan looked through the pages, picking the fragile paper up by the corners and turning it face down. There was song after song.

“Somebody should copy these,” she mused.

“I’m going to suggest it to Samuel.” There was something in Heather’s tone, a repressed excitement.

“What?” asked Joan.

“Nothing,” said Heather. But it was obvious from her expression that it was something.

“What else do you know?”

Heather shook her head.

Joan squinted at her for a minute, then glanced back down at the book. She turned another page and an old black-and-white photograph dropped out.

She picked it up by the white bordered edge. “What’s this?”

Heather moved closer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it before.”

Joan squinted in the light at a man holding a baby boy. They were in what was obviously an opulent parlor in, maybe, 1950. The man was white, the child either black or of a mixed heritage.

She flipped the photograph over. Gerard and John.

Joan looked at the front again. John’s father? He was white and wealthy and named Gerard?

She peered more closely at the picture, and her stomach felt hollow. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

“What?” asked Heather.

“That’s Gerard Dinose.” Joan’s mind scrambled to work out the significance of John’s parentage. Gerard Dinose must have had an affair with John’s mother, Samuel’s grandmother.

“Who’s Gerard Dinose?” asked Heather.

“The Dinose family owns half the businesses in Lafayette. They started out smuggling rum, then turned to sugarcane-”

“Impressive history lesson,” an unfamiliar male voice drawled.

Joan whirled to see a fiftyish, gray-haired man standing in the bedroom doorway and holding a gun.

HEATHER GRABBED Joan, and Joan automatically put an arm around her sister.

“What do you want?” Joan rasped.

The man sauntered forward. “See, that’s a tough one now.”

Heather tried to back away, but Joan held her ground. She watched the man closely, a weird sense of recognition coming over her. Had they met before?

“You want the violin?” she asked.

The man laughed harashly. “Yeah, right. I went to all this trouble over a stupid violin.”

Heather’s body jerked in reaction, but Joan held her still.

“Who-” Joan’s eyes widened, and her entire body went cold. She glanced at the picture and blinked in disbelief. The spitting image of Gerard Dinose was standing right in front of her.

“Nash Dinose, actually,” the man said. “My father’s been dead for years.”

Nash was John’s half brother? That meant he was Samuel’s uncle.

So why was he holding a gun on them?

“You’re not getting it yet, are you?”

Joan shook her head.

He snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Not clicking in?”

Had he murdered his half brother?

“I suppose I could just shoot you,” he mused.

Heather gasped, and Joan’s gaze zeroed in on the gun. Should she rush him? Would that give Heather a chance to get away?

“I’m not a monster,” said Nash. “But I am a businessman, and I will protect my interests.”

“You killed them,” Heather rasped. She shook free of Joan’s grasp.

“Heather, don’t!” Joan grabbed her by the arm.

“Of course I killed them,” Nash said easily. “I had to kill them.”

And Joan understood at last. John must have known who his father was. He was a threat to Nash’s inheritance. “They came after your money.”

“They might have. And by then it would be too late.” His eyes narrowed. “Used to be no court in the land would have recognized that bastard as an heir. But then we got all progressive.” Nash’s face twisted into a sneer. “I couldn’t take the chance.”

Joan finished the scenario, her stomach cramping in horror. “So you killed them both and framed John.”

“Case closed,” said Nash. “Until you came along.”

She had absolutely no interest in the sordid details, but she knew their best chance was to keep him talking. “And you didn’t know if I knew.”

“And you didn’t. Ironic. But now you do.” His gaze darted to Heather and back again. “You both do.”

“We couldn’t prove anything,” said Joan a little desperately. “Here.” She held out the picture. “Take it. Nobody wants your money.”

He snorted. “I just confessed murder to you. You think I’m stupid?” He raised the gun and tightened his finger on the trigger. “Sorry, girls. Think I’ll frame Samuel for this one.”

Joan launched herself in front of Heather.

The shot rang out, but she didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t feel anything, except a slow-motion descent to the bedroom floor, where Heather cushioned her fall.

She blinked up at Nash, curling her body around her sister, bracing herself for the second shot. There was no way he’d miss twice.

But Anthony was there, one arm clamped tight around Nash’s neck, the other struggling to get the gun out of his hand.

A second shot rang out, and Samuel shouted something.

The gun clattered to the floor, and the two men quickly subdued Nash.

“Nine-one-one,” Heather rasped in her ear. But Joan’s limbs were filled with a strange lethargy, and she couldn’t move.

She heard sirens.

She heard Heather call her name.

Then she heard the clatter of boots, and Anthony was standing over her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest, kissing her hair over and over again.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His hands moved over her body, testing for wounds.

The world started coming back into focus. Sounds made sense, and things seemed to return to the right speed.

She nodded. “I don’t think I’m hurt.”

“You sure? Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so.” Her limbs felt shaky, but she was pretty sure it was just shock.

Anthony helped her to her feet.

Alain had handcuffed Nash and was leading him out of the room. Red lights flashed through the window, and Heather stood in the corner, wrapped in Samuel’s arms.

“Something’s going on between those two,” Joan said to Anthony.

Anthony grinned. “You think?”

She looked up at him. “You know something I don’t?”

“Just what I’ve seen.”

Joan watched her sister for another moment.

Samuel stroked her face, shook his head, then pulled her tight against him, closing his eyes as if he wanted to absorb her.

Joan glanced away, focusing her attention on Anthony and his strength as he held her. They’d nearly been killed. It didn’t seem real, but they’d nearly died.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

As her shaking subsided, she was filled with a huge sense of relief. “It’s over. It’s actually over.”

“Almost. There are reporters out on the front lawn.”

“Of course there are,” she said with a laughing sigh. The sirens would have attracted every reporter in town. And she knew there were quite a few here to cover her story. “I’ll make sure I mention the music festival.”

“Joan, you don’t have to-”

“You think they’ll leave if we hide inside for a while?”

He shook his head.

“Then we might as well get it over with. Samuel?”

He looked up from hugging Heather.

“Should we get this over with?”

He gave Heather one last squeeze, then grinned at Joan. “I’m not scared if you’re not.”

Joan disentangled herself from Anthony. “Like you’re scared of anything.”

Samuel limped toward the door. “Anthony was the one that brought down Dinose.”

Anthony tucked Joan’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Only because you’re recovering from gator bite.”

“This is true,” Samuel said to Heather. “Normally, I’m pretty much invincible.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Heather. “Otherwise, your stupidity would have gotten you killed a long time ago.”

Alain reappeared. “I’m going to need statements from all of you. Can you meet me down at the station?”

“We’re going to appease the reporters for a minute,” Anthony said. “Get them out of your hair.”

Alain nodded. “Don’t take too long.”

Joan headed down the stairs with Anthony at her side. The minute they were through the front door, six microphones were shoved in her face.

She took a breath. She could do this. It was just like Charlie Long, only with more questions.

“Who was shot?” came the first question.

“Was anybody killed?”