False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [115]
“Noah, I realize I’m stepping out here,” Ethan said, “but would you consider drawing up a plan we could look at? We’d pay you, of course. The truth is, we’re going to need to hire someone to do the landscaping. We can’t really do much until the renovation is done because of the workers coming and going. But would you have any interest in tackling it?”
Noah’s eyes grew wide and animated. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?” Ethan said. “It seems fitting since we both have a family history at Langley Manor. But those times have changed, and we’ll gladly pay you for your services.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“It would be a privilege to help get that place lookin’ beautiful again. But it’s goin’ to be a long time before the renovation’s done. Can’t just sit on my thumbs all that time. I’ve got to find a place to stay. Get work to tide me over.”
Ethan smiled. “We can make some inquiries. Surely there are businesses and private residents who are looking for a landscaper. You’re practically famous after saving Vanessa and the Broussards.”
For the first time, Noah smiled like he meant it. “Actually the monsignor down at Haven House told me he would help me find work when I was serious about it. Said I could stay there as long as I’m workin’ and tryin’ to improve my situation. They don’t ask for rent, but expect everybody to pitch in with the chores—cookin’, cleanin’, maintenance, yard work, and such. Sounds like a good way to find my way back.”
Vanessa locked gazes with Ethan, marveling that a descendent of Josiah Langley and a descendent of a slave named Naomi had not only met, but were going to work together to restore the manor house their ancestors had secretly used as a doorway to freedom for hundreds of slaves.
“It’s just starting to hit me how historic this is,” Ethan said. “I mean, think about it. This is really something.”
“Actually”—a slow grin spread across Noah’s face—“it’s somethin’ else!”
CHAPTER 38
Pierce turned his Toyota Prius onto rue Madeline, the traffic bumper-to-bumper and moving at a snail’s pace. He glanced over at the gold building with black trim and the new sign suspended from the gallery just above the entrance:
Zoe B’s Cajun Eatery
Pierce and Zoe Broussard, owners
Owners. And partners. Something inside him stirred. He and Zoe made a great team. Hadn’t the past five years been the happiest of his life? Hadn’t he walked away from teaching without ever looking back—with little thought to the tenure and benefits and summers off? Teaching had been his profession, but cooking was his passion. Being able to bring that passion into a business partnership was a win-win for both of them.
Something caught his eye, and he looked up on the gallery above Zoe B’s. A man holding a toolbox stood outside the door. Zoe must have finally called someone to fix the broken bolt lock. That’s all he needed—a repair guy hanging around when he wanted to talk to her in private.
The cars ahead of him picked up speed, and he drove to the end of the block and turned right, then made a sharp right into the alley. He drove up behind Zoe B’s and spotted Vanessa’s Honda Odyssey. He wondered when the sheriff had released it, and if she would want to sell it after being forced by Cowen to drive it to the Vincent farm.
Pierce parked next to Zoe’s car and turned off the motor. Did he really want to do this? If he chose not to, and just drove back to Houma, would he ever be able to muster the courage to confront Zoe? To deal with the emotional wounds he felt right now? Or would he shut down?
He got out of the car and walked to the back door and unlocked it, then went inside and up the steps. He stopped in front of the door to his apartment. Should he knock? It’s not as though he was a guest.
He put the key in the door and slowly pushed it open. He started to call Zoe’s name when he heard voices in the bedroom and noticed the door to the gallery was left open a crack. His pulse raced. Was she entertaining a man? He dismissed the thought just as the man raised his voice.