Page 79 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Sorry. Stole it.”

He kisses me on the cheek and hopefully, only loud enough for me to hear, says, “That’s not the only thing you stole.” He pats his chest and winks.

I playfully swat him for being so cheesy, but secretly love it and he knows that.

He sits at a table with Leonie in a high chair and orders two BLTs. I don’t register the double order until Antoine tosses Molly an apron.

She ties it on and says, “Lunch break. I’ll take my cream brool payment when you’re done.”

“Did you arrange this?” I ask Maddock.

“Sure did, Mrs. Witt.”

I gasp and stare at him in shock.

He takes a bite of his sandwich as if he didn’t say anything unusual. Does Molly know something I don’t?

I stutter, “Catch up.”

He says, “Ketchup? On my fries, sure.”

“I mean catch me up on what’s going on,” I say, popping one into my mouth.

“Oh, when I asked Molly to start covering your lunches so you could eat, she wanted a scoop. Asked if you’re the future Mrs. Witt.”

“Despite, um, the easing of my stubborn independence, I do have a say in that.”

He smiles. “Of course. Also, there’ve been some developments adjacent to Shady Lane.”

“Do you mean like the construction of a housing development?” I’m not sure what to think of that. I like our rural plot.

He shakes his head. “The bulldozer driver found an old car parked there. Looks like someone is living in it.”

From two booths over, Jesse cranes his head and says, “It’s not Sawyer. He’s staying with Thelma at the Pigs in a Blanket for the time being. Speaking of Mrs.—”

Molly appears like a ghost and asks, “What do you know? Is Sawyer going to propose to Roxy?” she squeals.

Leonie does, too.

I mutter, “Nothing is private in this place, I swear.”

“Any idea whose car?” I ask Jesse.

“Ran the plates. Stolen vehicle out of New Orleans. Trunk full of empty bottles of Fifolet.”

“Figures.” Probably the first of the scavengers for the hunt. Even though it’s waned in popularity in recent eyras, people still turn up.

“No one is going to be dumping their trash—found some of that—oyster shells, or stolen vehicles down that way anymore,” Maddock says with finality.

Leonie claps like she seconds that motion. But something about the car bothers me and not just because we may have a petty criminal on our property. However, I can’t put my finger on what it is.

That evening, after dinner, we take a walk down the newly widened lane that passes the cemetery and leads to the Metairie Stronghold. The sweeping live oaks covering the road were enchanting but the lower limbs and older growth posed a hazard, so now it’s a bit clearer and brighter.

Maddock points to a spot toward the swamp. Minou sits on a rock, licking her paw. “Jesse had that car towed out of here.”

“Good riddance. I wonder if that’s what I was hearing while you were gone.”

“Could be.” We pass the graveyard and he wiggles his fingers. “Or ghosts, zombies, or the crocogator.”

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