Charming Grace (48 page)

I got out, took a deep breath, tossed my cheap plaid jacket into the car’s back seat, then retrieved two large, boxed pizzas from the passenger seat. I figured pizza delivery by a redhead in a tank top and tight jeans was as good as any other get-a-foot-in-the-door idea. As I walked toward a narrow side entrance near the lit window, my heart pounded with dizzying fear.

Boone, please still be inside this building and be unhurt.

Anxiety flooded me. I slowed, looking at the pizzas. What if I made these punks
mad
with the pizza-delivery pretense? What if they didn’t appreciate my sly, TV-suspense-show technique? What if they didn’t like anchovies?

Suddenly the door banged open and four big, unhappy, tattooed, earringed,
armed
men stepped out. When they got a good look at me in the fading light, their brows shot up in surprise. When I got a good look at
them,
I saw slow, cow-like eyes and knuckle-dragging expressions. I named them Dumb, Dumber, Dumberer, and Too Dumb To Breathe.

“Sweetheart, you took a wrong turn or something,” Dumb said in a swamp drawl. “This is private property.”

“We got a hunt club out here,” Dumber added.

“Huntin’ deer,” Dumberer put in.

Too Dumb To Breathe frowned at the others. “Huh?”

I looked from the Dumb Gang to the pizza boxes, then back again, and sighed. “All right, gentlemen, here’s the truth: My name is Grace Bagshaw Vance. I’m a former Miss Georgia and a former Atlanta TV host. My family’s rich enough to pay two million dollars for me without breaking their piggy banks. So I consider myself a fair trade for the Noleene brothers. Now, how about you letting the Noleenes go and kidnapping
me
, instead?” The idiots stared at me, open-mouthed. I held out the boxes. “Plus, I brought pizza.”

Grace.

They shoved her into the room with us, ruffled but unhurt. “Noleene, you attract
strange
women,” the lead dickhead drawled. Then he slammed the door shut.

“Gracie.” I grabbed her by the shoulders, ran my hands up to her face, smoothed them over her hair, checked her for damages.

She did the same to me, before cupping both hands around my face and kissing me. “I’m
sorry
,” she moaned. “I tried to make a trade, but they wouldn’t go for it.
And
they took my damned pizza.”

I knew exactly how Armand felt when he saw me come through the door. I wanted to yell at her for pulling such a stupid stunt, then kick the door down and take on all four mo-fo’s with my bare hands. I wanted her
out
of there. I pivoted toward Armand. “We need a plan.
Now.
”

He nodded vaguely, staring at Grace in wonder. She eased around me and thrust out her hand. “Armand? I’m Grace Bagshaw Vance. You better have a good reason for getting your brother into this mess.”

He took her hand between his, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the back of it. “All I can say, chere, is that when he came to visit me this summer in prison all he wanted to talk about was you, and I could see on his face that he was in love. I never wanted him to come here for my sake, anymore than he wanted
you
to come here for
his
sake.”

“Then I suppose you and I share the same problem where Boone’s concerned.
We love him.
” She faced me, again, looking up with tearful eyes that ripped my heart out then gave it back to me. “
I love you
,” she repeated hoarsely. “Hasn’t that been obvious to you since that night in Savannah, at least?”

“I’m kind of dense,” I whispered. “Do you know I’ve loved you since way
before
Savannah?”

I’m kind of dense,” she whispered.

We took each other in a ferocious hug, rocking back and forth, kissing roughly, the pain and love and joy and fear going way beyond anything just romantic. How could the best moment of my life and the worst moment of my life happen at the same time? I held her away from me at arm’s length. “I’m gettin’ you out of here. Go step in that toilet over there and stay out of the way. Me and Armand will coax the Gump Squad in here and kick ass. If I can just get a gun away from one of the bastards I’ll kill all of ‘em. Armand, get ready.”

But my big brother was already holding up both hands, shaking his head violently and going “No, no, no. Bro, calm down. We can go for broke
later
if we can’t talk these punks into listening. Just give me time. You know I’m a master bullshit artist.”

“Yeah, that must be why you’d already talked yourself out of trouble by the time I got here.”

“I’m a little rusty, okay? But—”

“Would it help,” Grace asked, “if I had a cell phone?”

We stared at her. Tight jeans. No bulges. Skimpy tank top. Only the bulges you’d expect. I coughed. “Hidden . . . where?”

“In a protective plastic baggie.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “And?”

Even in the dim light, she turned a little pink. “Just give me a moment of privacy, and I’ll retrieve it.” She walked, a little bow-legged but with great dignity, into the tiny toilet, and shut the door.

Armand gave a low whistle. “I just thought up an invention. The first cell phone for that time of the month when a girl needs to feel extra fresh —”

“End of conversation,” I ordered.

First of all, when I got Roarke on the phone and told him Grace had joined the party, he took a few seconds to go quietly ape-shit, ending with, “I should have known she’d track down Titter McCarthy. I never should’ve mentioned his name to her. She’s just like her grandmother. Hell on wheels and won’t take no for an answer. She loves you, son. You understand that, now? Grace loves you and you deserve it.”

She loves you, son.

She loves you. Son.

“I’m a lucky man on more than one count. And yeah, I’m finally beginnin’ to understand that.”

“All right. Look, I’m not sittin’ here in New Orleans twiddlin’ my thumbs. Armand thought he was dealin’ with a small-time boss, but that boss sold his territory to a bigger dog two months ago, and Armand went with the deal. The new boss is named Caesar Creighton. He’s based in Mississippi and he runs operations all over that state and most of Louisiana. You name it: Dope, gambling, strip clubs, hookers, guns.”

I looked at Armand. “
Caesar Creighton
ring a bell?”

Armand raked a hand through his hair.
“
Holy merde. Not him.
”

“Oh, yeah, that rings a bell,” I said to Roarke.

“Creighton’s a crazy bastard, but he’s not out to kill you—if you give him his money. The Caribbean money.”

“It doesn’t exist.”

“
What?
”

“Tell him he can be happy to know he’s donated two million dollars to charity over the last few years, courtesy of Armand. I hope he likes whales.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope. There isn’t any Caribbean bank account. Tell him. Armand wasn’t headin’ down there to live high on the hog with Creighton’s money. He was just planning to vanish. Get out of my way. Let me lead my life without worryin’ about him.”

“Remind me to hug him, and then to
kick his ass
.”

“Get in line behind
me
.”

“I’ll go back to Creighton. Let’s hope he believes me. If he doesn’t, I’ll think of
something
. Just stall his bulldogs and don’t piss ‘em off. They’ve got orders not to hurt anybody.”

“Until six a.m., right?”

“I’m not goin’ to let that happen. Sit tight. I’ll call you back. For godssake, don’t let Creighton’s dogs know you’ve got a phone.”

“Don’t worry. We keep it in a hidin’ place you wouldn’t believe. All right, we’ll be waitin’ for you to call.”

“Hold on there a minute,” Armand said. “I want to talk to him.”

“Roarke? Armand wants to speak to you.”

After a quiet second, Roarke said, “Sure. Whatever he has to say to me, I deserve worse.”

Armand took the phone in the big, dusty hand with the alligator tattoo on the back of it. Slowly, either savoring the moment or afraid of it, he put the phone to his ear. There he stood, my thirty-eight-year old brother, as big and tough as they come, the fast-talker, the sweet-talker, the wise-ass player who’d invented grand stories about our missing papa to make missing him easier to bear.

“I just want to tell you,” he said to Roarke, “in case we . . . don’t get a chance to talk again anytime . . . soon . . . I just want to say . . .
We didn’t forget you, Papa. And there’s nothing to forgive. Come home.
”

And then we all turned girly—him, me, Roarke, and Grace included, and cried.

In the dark of the night, whispering to me as Armand dozed in the opposite corner and I sat inside the circle of his arms, Boone told me more about his and Armand’s father, Roarke. And about Stone’s father, Roarke. I was so tired and so afraid, I couldn’t even be stunned by the details. In a world tilting wildly, the story made sense.

It was all G. Helen’s doing.

My grandmother had now pulled off the biggest coup of her career as The Notorious Radical in our Bagshaw family tree. A year ago she’d met a handsome and successful developer—Roarke—when he came to her about the property she owned at Chestatee Ridge. He’d charmed her, she’d charmed him, then won his trust—and he won hers. She’d gotten him to confess the real reason he wanted to hang out in Lumpkin County during the summer filming schedule for
Hero
.

G. Helen couldn’t resist an ex-con in need of help from a moonshiner’s daughter.

So she’d cheerfully set about helping him maneuver his youngest son, Boone, his oldest son, Stone, and her grieving granddaughter,
me
, into a messy, churning, mud-puddle of evolving reconciliation. All for the goal of bringing the Noleene, Roarke, and Senterra men together in a happy reunion, with me and Boone on top of the reunion party’s wedding cake.

Tonight it looked like her goal might fail, at least the party and wedding part, but I marveled at what she’d helped Roarke accomplish.

“This explains how Stone found you?” I whispered to Boone.

“In a way. Stone doesn’t know about Roarke bein’ his papa. Not yet, anyhow. But Roarke is the one who let him know he had two half-brothers at Angola. Roarke knew we were there. It tore him up. He wanted to help us, but he worried that we hated his guts and wouldn’t take any help from him. So he sent an anonymous letter to our famous older brother. Just to let Stone know he had two half-brothers in prison. Roarke hoped Stone would do the right thing by us. Stone took it from there.”

“And helped you.”

“And helped me,” I said quietly. “Like a brother. Because he is.”

“He could have told you the
truth
when he hired you. And not treated you like a Cajun
Stepin Fetchit
.”

“I got a theory about that. I think Diamond talked him into keepin’ the secret. Convinced him I was probably a loser, that I’d probably backslide and end up in prison, again. She probably said something like, ‘Just keep the facts under your hat in case one or both of the Noleenes turns out to be a lifer.’ She’s always been smart about what’s good for his image. That’s why he listens to her. Besides, the last thing she wants is for the world to know about Stone havin’ me and Armand for kin. Mr. Law-Man Movie Star and his jailbird half-brothers.” Boone chuckled darkly. “Wait ‘til she finds out Stone’s
papa
is an ex-con, too.”