False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [18]
Vanessa sighed. With so much to look forward to, why was she longing for Sophie Trace and the tree-covered foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains? Was it the absence of family and close friends that weighed heavily on her this morning? Or was it that she had nothing to do while Carter was in preschool two days a week? She missed teaching first grade, but it was impractical for her to go back to it with this renovation about to start. Ethan was counting on her to juggle the details and oversee the process, and she was eager to do it. So why was she feeling this way?
Vanessa folded her hands on the steering wheel and rested her chin on them. Perhaps it was because she felt like an outsider here. As nice as Pierce and Zoe were, they and the entire Cajun community in Les Barbes were a family unto themselves. Could she and Ethan ever hope to be regarded as anything other than descendants of the British Langleys, who had looked down their noses at the Cajuns?
She could still see the indignant expression on Pierce’s face when he spoke of how the British had abused the Acadians. In spite of his apology, hadn’t his offensive posture revealed his resentment? What would it take to reverse his unfounded core belief that no person of British descent was worthy of his trust?
Vanessa wiped the perspiration off her upper lip, finally realizing how hot it was getting outside. She suspected that Zoe agreed with Pierce but was too polite to admit it. If she and Ethan were ever going to belong here, they had to make sure they weren’t permanently labeled.
A twig snapped. Her pulse quickened. She moved her gaze across the weed-covered grounds and glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Hello?” she heard herself say. “Is somebody out there …? Hello …?”
Suddenly everything was still, even the breeze.
Vanessa started the car and quickly rolled up the windows, making sure the doors were locked. A chill scurried up her spine. She scanned the trees along the forest’s edge. Was the intruder out there? Was he watching her?
Zoe walked out of the dining room at Zoe B’s and into the alcove, holding tightly to the weekly food order she needed to call in. She unlocked the door to the office, flipped the light switch, and let the door close behind her. On the floor was an envelope with her name typed on the front. Her heart sank.
She stared at it for a moment, her pulse racing, then reached down and picked it up. Who had pushed it under the door? Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the people coming into the eatery?
She grabbed the letter opener, slit the envelope, then pulled out a sheet of white paper, on which the same five words had been cut and pasted: I know what you did.
She slid down into the desk chair, filled with dread, her thoughts racing back ten years—to the scheme she had devised so she could get out on her own and support herself. She had executed each step with great care and without anyone realizing what she was up to. Or so she thought. Why would someone wait an entire decade before coming forward? Was it to extort money from her? Was she willing to get caught in that trap? And what if this person knew the truth about her family?
She looked up at the framed photo of Pierce and her, enjoying the dance floor at their wedding reception. Nobody seemed hung up that none of the bride’s relatives were there. All that mattered was that Pierce loved her and she was now a Broussard. How could anyone know what taking his name meant to her? Any children born to them would have a Cajun heritage with strong family ties, free from the shame she left in Devon Springs and without