The Reunion. Jana DeLeon

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      Chapter Three

      As she pulled through Calais, Joelle studied the old buildings, looking for something that appeared familiar. The weathered brick buildings were typical of any old small town, but none of them sparked even a twitch of memory. The café caught her interest as she pulled by, but only because she planned to spend her two weeks allowing others to cook for her. She hoped the food was good, as it appeared to be the only option.

      Her stomach rumbled as her thoughts turned to food, and she realized it was well past lunch. She’d almost stopped several times, but each time she pressed the accelerator and continued down the highway, anxious to get the long drive over with. Unfortunately, she had arranged to meet the attorney at the house in about ten minutes, so eating would have to wait a bit longer.

      As soon as she passed the last building on Main Street, she pulled a paper with directions from her purse. She’d gotten this far without referring to the attorney’s instructions, but when the directions started including items such as “turn right at the giant oak tree,” it was time to pay attention. The last thing she wanted to do was to get lost in the swamp.

      She turned to the right at a four-way stop, directing her car onto a semblance of a road. The economy rental she’d acquired before leaving Jackson was no match for the bumps and holes that mostly made up the dirt trail that led to the house, and she gritted her teeth as the dashboard rattled. She swerved to miss a huge hole, but her right front tire caught the edge of it and the entire car dropped. Cringing at the sound of the bottom of the car sliding across rocks, she clenched the steering wheel and leaned forward to get a better look at the road.

      The cypress trees that lined both sides of the road grew thicker, creating a canopy above the road that blocked most of the sunlight from entering. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn it was late evening rather than mid-afternoon. Surely, the house couldn’t be much farther.

      Fifteen minutes later, she rounded a corner and the house burst into view. Continuing her slow creep around what remained of the circular driveway, she looked up at the place she’d spent the first four years of her life, waiting for that spark of recognition to hit. She was disappointed when it never came.

      A new pickup truck was parked in front of the house, and she pulled up behind it and parked, figuring it belonged to the attorney. She jumped out of the car and stretched her aching legs and cast a glance back at the car. She’d rented the economy vehicle to try it out, thinking she might purchase the same model to replace her totaled Honda. The tiny car would be a huge benefit in the city, where she rarely drove more than twenty miles in one stretch, but after hours on the road, she was well aware of just how cramped her long legs were in such a compact space.

      Her suitcases could wait until after she’d spoken to the attorney, so she headed up to the front door. When she raised her hand and knocked, the door inched forward just a bit. She pushed the door open and stuck her head inside.

      “Mr. Duhon,” she called out. “It’s Joelle LeBeau.”

      She waited a bit, expecting the attorney to appear or at least respond, but only her own voice echoed through the giant entry. Deciding the attorney must be off in a part of the house where he couldn’t hear her, she stepped inside, then drew up short. A twinge of something—some tiny flicker of recognition—flashed through her, but as soon as she tried to grasp it, the flicker disappeared.

      The entry was massive, like the entry of a hotel or museum. The giant spiral staircase was centered toward the front and she peered up to see the balcony running around the entire second floor, doors to various rooms lining the upstairs walls. The first floor of the entry was littered—there wasn’t really a better word—with decorative columns and tables, all housing art, china and glass that seemed to have no consistency of era or country of origin.

      To the left, a wide hallway led away from the entry. Patches of sunlight streamed from the room at the end of the hallway and onto the stone floor. Figuring the hallway led to a family room or kitchen, she took off to the left, hoping to locate the attorney.

      The kitchen and breakfast nook were in sharp contrast to the rest of the house and had her smiling. Clearly, someone had put in long hours on this room and it showed—the gleaming cabinets, polished countertops and fresh coat of paint made the room a cheery retreat from the gloomy entry. Giant windows formed the far wall, along with a single door that led onto an overgrown patio.

      She gazed around the room once more before readying herself to continue her search for the attorney, and that’s when she realized the patio door was partially open. Now understanding why the attorney hadn’t heard her call out in the entry, she stepped outside and looked up and down the long stone patio. Shrubs and brush had grown right up to the edges, and vines climbed the stone columns and trailed across the ground, but it was clear that someone had recently started clearing the brush away.

      Following a trail of small branches and leaves, she walked to the far end of the patio and saw the tiny path that led straight into the swamp. The remnants of foliage continued down the path, but Joelle hesitated before stepping off the stone patio. Something about the swamp bothered her—more than just the dim, creepy appearance.

      She was just about to head back inside and wait for the attorney when a voice sounded behind her and she jumped, her foot slipping off the edge of the patio and onto the path several inches below. She struggled to maintain her balance, but the drop was just enough to send her crashing into the brush at the side of the trail.

      As soon as she hit the ground, she scrambled to get up, fighting the thick vines that she’d brought down on top of her. Suddenly, she felt someone grasp her arm and tug her completely to her feet. A branch slapped her across the face and her eyes watered, so the only thing she could make out when she was upright was a tall man with dark hair.

      Brad.

      Instantly, a mental image of her ex-boyfriend flashed across her mind, and just as quickly, she sent it scurrying to the recesses where it belonged. Brad was long gone and old news.

      She blinked a couple of times and the man came into focus, but this young, incredibly gorgeous and seriously ripped man couldn’t possibly be the aging attorney she’d talked to on the phone. The scowl on his face was just further proof. The attorney had been kind and cheerful. This man looked like those attributes were not part of his makeup.

      “I hope you’re not always this jumpy,” he said. “A fall in the horror funhouse could bring more than just vines crashing down around you.”

      A blush ran up her neck and onto her face, and she felt a flash of heat wash over her. “Maybe if you didn’t go sneaking up behind people, you wouldn’t startle them.”

      He raised his eyebrows, looking almost amused at her accusation. “I’m wearing work boots, and I was hardly tiptoeing across that patio. Hell, people back in town could hear me coming.”

      “Really? Then maybe you should tell them why you’re trespassing on private property.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ