Blue Moon Page 10

  She'd show those snobs a thing or two. Once she convinced Philippe to start drilling, the money was bound to come rolling in. Even when they sold the property, she planned to keep the oil and gas rights. Nobody was going to get her money.

  She smiled as she thought of the new fur coat she'd purchased this morning. It was pricey, but well worth the money. The women in her bridge club would die of envy when they saw how stunning she looked in it. Even the other sales clerks commented on how beautifully the coat went with her hair and complexion. The best part of the deal was she didn't have to pay for it for six months. Long enough for the oil money to show up in their bank account. When that happened, Philippe wouldn't miss eighteen thousand measly dollars.

  As she read the letter, her smile turned to a frown and the color drained from her face. Her hand shook as she threw the letter on the table. How dare that geologist say there were no oil or gas deposits on the property. She phoned the survey office and demanded to speak to the manager.

  "This is Nicole Martine. I received your survey results, but surely there's some kind of mistake. All the surrounding properties have oil and gas wells. Are you sure your geologist looked in the right place? He was awful young. Maybe he doesn't have enough experience to find oil or gas deposits in our particular area. I would like for you to re-do the survey, this time with a more experienced person."

  The manager cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you're disappointed, Mrs. Martine, but Mike's our best geologist. He checked every place he could, but the tests came up negative. Believe me, if anybody can find oil or gas, it's Mike. We can do another survey if you insist, but you'll have to pay for it."

  Nicole screamed a string of obscenities into the phone. Her anger increased when she realized the man had hung up on her.

  She dialed Philippe's construction office and demanded that he come home at once. When he walked in, she waved the letter in his face. "Do you know what that stupid survey firm did? They sent us a letter saying there's no oil or gas on the property! I'm telling you, Philippe, that geologist was incompetent. I want you to demand that they redo the survey."

  Philippe reached out and plucked the offending letter from her hand. "There's no sense in getting into an uproar, Nicole. Come into the living room and I'll fix you a drink to steady your nerves."

  She followed him into the room. "I don't want a drink. I want you to sue that firm for every penny you can get. Their report is wrong. I know there's oil on that property. There has to be--every one of our neighbors has oil."

  He shook his head. "Cherie, just because they have oil and gas on their property, that doesn't mean we do. For one thing, the surrounding property only has one or two small pockets, not the big gushers you seem to think. Let me read the letter."

  Nicole pouted and stomped over to the liquor cabinet. She poured a brandy and watched her husband over the rim of the delicately etched crystal.

  Poor Philippe. He really was a toad. Sometimes she wondered why she'd married him. If it wasn't for the money he made building houses, she'd have left him long ago. She certainly didn't love him anymore, and doubted if she'd ever had. He'd simply been a convenient way to upgrade her standard of living. She gritted her teeth, remembering her terrible childhood. Whenever her alcoholic mother couldn't afford food or rent, she took Nicole to a homeless shelter for a hot meal and a place to sleep. Nicole could still recall the awful smell of the drunks and the roughness of the shelter blankets.

  Well, she'd clawed her way out of that pitiful existence by working two jobs until she could afford a decent apartment. When Philippe had come her way, she quickly decided he was her ticket to everything she wanted, and soon had him eating out of her hand. Before he knew what was happening, she'd conned him into asking her to marry him.

  None of her friends knew about her past, not even Philippe, and she was determined to keep it that way. She would never give up her life of luxury. There was no way she was going to allow Philippe--or anyone else--to make her poor again. Never.

  Her thoughts returned to her husband. He was rich all right, but unfortunately lacked a spine. He was like a jellyfish, floating until a wave came and gave him direction. And, to make matters worse, he was well on his way to becoming an alcoholic.

  He folded the letter and stuck it in his pocket. "I'll call the engineer and ask him about the test results. I told you before we started all this that the land had already been surveyed. This letter only confirms what I already knew."

  Nicole threw her glass into the fireplace and watched as the drops of brandy burst into flames. "For God sakes, Philippe, call the man if you want, but I tell you--"

  The doorbell interrupted her angry tirade. A smile replaced her frown as Francois Duchette's voice echoed in the hall. She gestured to the maid. "Linda, please show Francois in."

  Nicole rushed over to the tiny man as he entered the room and planted a kiss on either cheek. "Francois, how wonderful to see you. Don't tell me you've sold the plantation already?"

  He chuckled and perched on the edge of a chair. "No, Cherie. I've come to tell you I'm ready to put the property on the market. Have you gotten rid of the servants yet? I need a key to the new locks before I start showing it."

  "They left three days ago. I'm going over this afternoon to make sure they didn't sneak back in and steal something. Why don't you come with me, Francois? You can tell me all the latest gossip. You know everything that's going on in this dreary little town."

  He lit a cigarette. "For once, I have the time. I'll be delighted to accompany you."

  Nicole glanced back at Philippe, who was busy pouring himself a drink. "I'll see you later," she said. "We're having dinner with the Dubois family at seven. Please make sure you're home before then."

  Philippe raised his glass in response, then drained it. He glanced down at his watch, and noted that he was nearly late for another meeting with the creditors. A tiny bead of sweat formed on his brow and rolled down his face. They were tired of his excuses, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stall. Today he planned to tell them his plan to use the proceeds from the sale of the plantation to pay off his debts. He'd give them the papers he'd had his attorney draw up. With a little luck, he could convince them to postpone foreclosure. If they agreed to give him a month or two to find some poor sucker to take the plantation off his hands, he'd come out of this mess in one piece. All he had to do was unload the property before his financial empire collapsed in ruins on top of him.

  Chapter 15

  "Why do I have to call him?" DeeDee asked as she handed Mary a mug of steaming hot chocolate. She stared at Mary for a moment, then sighed. "You're getting to be a real pain about this bed and breakfast thing. I thought you were coming over to do something fun."

  Mary resisted the urge to smack her. She was tired, irritable, and not in the mood to listen to DeeDee's harping. "Are you going to call the realtor or not?" she asked. "Because if you're not, I have better things to do than stand here and argue."

  DeeDee narrowed her eyes and held out her hand. "I was only kidding. God, you can't even take a joke any more. You need to lighten up."

  Mary counted all the way to twenty before she handed DeeDee the number. "You sure you know what to do?"

  "I'm not stupid. Why don't you fix a pot of coffee or something while I make the call? It'll calm your nerves."

  Mary ignored the request and sat on the couch, hands clasped. DeeDee had no idea how important this call was. She needed DeeDee to make it because she still used Edson, her married name, even though she was divorced. That way Nicole Martine wouldn't know the curator she'd been so angry at was interested in buying the plantation. She had to know how much they were asking. That would determine how many partners she needed. She crossed her fingers. The lower the price, the fewer the partners--and the headaches.

  Finding potential backers had been a real chore. When her own contacts didn't pan out, she called several investment firms and was surprised to learn that very few people were interested in
bed and breakfast proposals. After hours of work, she'd only come up with three names.

  DeeDee's conversation with Mr. Duchette, the realtor, didn't last very long. She spoke a dozen or so words, scribbled a few numbers, then hung up.

  Mary bit her bottom lip. "Well?"

  DeeDee looked up. "I thought you said the plantation was run down."

  "It is. Why?"

  "They're asking $450,000 for it."

  Her jaw dropped in astonishment. "That can't be right. Are you sure you heard the number correctly?"

  "I asked him twice. He's going to fax a photo of the house and property. I told him to be sure and send a photo good enough to use in a presentation." She eyed Mary for a few moments. "You look shocked."

  "I am. I can't believe they're asking that much. The Martines must really be desperate for money. There's no way the property and house are worth $450,000. I'll have to do some re-calculating. I figured it would go for $350,000 at most."

  DeeDee's eyes widened when she studied the faxed photo. "I hate to be the bad guy, but have you lost your mind? It's going to take a fortune to fix this place."

  Mary glanced at the photo and sighed. The exterior damage, clearly visible, looked worse than she remembered. She added the paper to her presentation and slid the folder across the couch.

  "Would you do me one last favor and take a look at this?"

  DeeDee flipped through the pages. "Are you sure you want to include the photo with your marketing pitch?"

  "I have to. If I can't produce a picture of the house, my chances are over before I start."

  "You can always offer them less, and see if they take it. When are you supposed to speak to these guys?"

  "Tomorrow. I only came up with three names." She rubbed her eyes and shoved the folder back into her briefcase.

  DeeDee stared at her. "You don't look too hot, sis. You've got bags under your eyes that go all the way to your knees. Working all day and night's finally caught up with you. You can't keep this pace forever."

  Mary let out a bitter laugh. She wished her lack of sleep was from overwork. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms as she recalled her most recent terror. It wasn't bad enough that she'd been having terrible dreams. Last night she'd actually seen the hazy image of a woman standing at the foot of her bed. She shook her head and dragged her thoughts back to her sister.

  "You need to quit working so hard," DeeDee said. "I still don't know why you want to buy this crummy old house."

  Mary counted to ten. "It isn't a crummy old house, and I've wanted a bed and breakfast for years. There's a lot of damage, but I don't think it will cost that much to fix."

  DeeDee grabbed her by the arm. "Listen to yourself. You aren't being objective, and that's not like you. I'm sorry, but I don't think you're going to find anybody who wants to go in on this deal." She counted on her fingers. "First, restoration projects are very expensive. Second, you have to redo the outside before you can get paying guests, so your backers can't possibly get a short term return on their investment. And three, interest rates are starting to go back up, so people are thinking twice about borrowing money."

  Enough was enough. Mary picked up her coat. "Thanks for the encouragement."

  DeeDee patted her arm. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I think you ought to know what you're up against. Give me a call after your meetings and I'll either help you celebrate or commiserate with you."

  The next evening, Mary recalled DeeDee's uncharacteristic advice as she swallowed her disappointment. Everyone had turned her down. She'd thought she'd had a chance until they made inquiries about the damage. She'd been tempted to lie, but told the truth, even though she knew it might be a death sentence for her project.

  So much for being honest. She vowed that the next time she would lie through her teeth to get what she wanted. She tossed her briefcase on the table and fixed herself a cup of coffee. Without backers, she simply could not buy the plantation. Depressed and weary, she stretched out on the couch and drifted into an exhausted slumber.

  The ringing of the phone woke her. She reached over and grabbed the receiver.

  "Hello."

  "Mary, it's Jack. I know it's late, but I was hoping you'd still be at the office."

  Immediately awake, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice. What did he mean, office? She suddenly remembered she'd forwarded her calls. "It's okay. How are you?"

  "I'm fine. Look, this might sound odd, but I really want to see you again. I'm coming to Boston tomorrow for a meeting. Can we get together afterwards?"

  Her heart soared. He wanted to see her again! Before she could think, she answered. "Yes, I'd like that."

  "I should be free around four-thirty. We'll have a couple of hours. I'm not catching a flight back until seven."

  "Why don't I meet you at the airport? There's a nice restaurant there."

  "You sure you don't mind?"

  "No, that's fine. How about five o'clock, in front of the seafood restaurant? It's on the second level."

  "That sounds great. I'm really looking forward to seeing you. I've been thinking about you a lot." He paused, then added. "Look, I've got to go, but I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

  "See you tomorrow." She held the receiver for several seconds, wondering what she was doing. He was married. Had she suddenly lost her mind? She thought about calling him back and canceling, but decided it was about time she did something for herself. She wanted--no, she needed to see Jack, to hear his voice.

  Common sense told her not to start seeing him. That would only lead to problems. Guilt reared its ugly head, eating away at her joy the way sunlight melts patches of ice. Maybe she should call him and cancel. She could make up a plausible excuse. There was only one problem. What would she say if his wife answered? Obviously, "Excuse me, but I'm calling to cancel a date with your husband," wouldn't go over very well. She sighed and wondered how she could've gotten herself into such a mess.

  After mulling the situation over, she decided she'd meet Jack and ask him not to call her anymore. Whatever they had between them was better left unfinished. Even as she made her decision, she knew it wasn't over. Not yet. Deep insider her, she knew they were fated to participate in some drama that had yet to unfold. All she could do was wait, and hope she had the courage to see whatever it was through.

  Unwilling to spend another restless night in bed, she stretched out on the couch and pulled a comforter across her. It took a while, but eventually she drifted into a restless sleep, waking to the sound of someone calling her name. A movement at the foot of the couch caught her attention. She sat up, tried to focus her eyes. Tiny specks of light formed the hazy image of a woman as they merged into a substantial form. Long hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders and fell down her back and arms. Her dress looked like some sort of ball gown, cut low in the front, with a hoop skirt that fell outward in a circle toward the floor. The fullness of the skirt contrasted sharply with her tiny waist. Long gloves covered her arms up to her elbows.

  Mary realized she'd seen her before. Where? Chills rippled down her spine. The figure in the hallway at the plantation!

  "Who are you?" she whispered.

  "Mary, help me." The voice was thin and wispy.

  "How do you know my name?" Mary's voice shook. "Go away. I won't help you--I can't!"

  The wispy figure held out her hands. "Please."

  "What do you want from me?" Confused and frightened, Mary threw a cushion at the apparition. It passed right through the woman and landed against a bookcase. To her astonishment, the image faded away.

  She sat motionless for several minutes. When the woman didn't reappear, she switched on the light. Once she calmed down, she made up her mind to find whatever was causing these nightmares. If she didn't, she'd go crazy.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning Mary rubbed weary eyes in an effort to bring the figures on the page into focus. Checking other curator's work was tedious, even when she wasn't tired from lack of sle
ep. A dull headache throbbed at her temples, and she jumped when the phone rang. Jack's face came to mind as she reached for the receiver. "Mary Corbett."

  "Hey, sis."

  A sigh escaped before she could stop it. She was up to her ears in paperwork and the last thing she needed was DeeDee's gossip.

  "I'm really busy right now. Can I call you back?"

  "You always say that and never call me," DeeDee complained. "This'll just take a minute."

  "All right, I'm listening. What is it?"

  "Since you've done nothing but work day and night, I thought it would be nice if we could spend a couple of days at the Grand Resort Ski Lodge," DeeDee said. "My treat. I've already made reservations and reserved ski lift tickets."

  "I'd like to, but I can't," Mary replied. "We're three people short, and everybody's working seven days a week to get caught up."

  "Come on, Mary," DeeDee argued. "You have to have at least one day off. You can drive up then. It'll be good for you."

  No wonder DeeDee was almost broke. The Grand Resort was the most expensive ski lodge in their area. "I can't. Look, we'll be caught up in about a week. I'll put in for a couple days vacation, and you and I can go somewhere."

  DeeDee groaned. "You're a fool, Mary. You slave away night and day for that firm, and all they do is take advantage of you. You even worked New Year's Eve and New Year's day. Did they pay you overtime for it? Nooooooo. If I were you, I'd tell them where to stick it. Are you sure you can't take a few days off and come with me?"

  "Nope, sorry. Have a good time."

  "I was planning to, but since you can't come, I might not go. It's no fun by myself." DeeDee's voice sounded pitiful.