Susan cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “And?”
“And what?” he said.
“Could we get a frame of reference here? This is the first woman you’ve brought home since Pam died. What is she to you? A friend, a lover, a wife?”
“None of the above,” Jasmine quickly interjected. “As a matter of fact, we don’t even like each other very much.”
Susan clapped as she laughed. “Perfect! You and I will get along great.”
Romain shot Jasmine a glance that seemed to challenge her denial of lover. Or maybe it was only a guilty conscience that made her interpret it that way. But she offered him a serene smile she didn’t feel, and he turned to his sister. “Where’s Tom?” he asked.
“On the phone, talking to his parents.” She rolled her eyes. “They hate it when we leave Boston.”
“So does he,” Alicia said under her breath.
“What about the other kids?” Romain asked. “I thought they’d be running all over the place. Mason’s three by now, isn’t he?”
“He’ll turn three next month. He and Curtis are in front of the TV. Mom and Dad gave them a new game system for Christmas, and it’d take a lot more than a visit from an uncle who never calls or writes—an uncle they barely know—to pull them away from it.”
Jasmine held her breath as she waited for Romain’s reply.
“You told me they didn’t need an ex-con for a role model.”
For a moment, Susan looked as if she’d retract that statement, maybe even apologize. But then she straightened her shoulders. “They don’t.”
“Because a philanderer father is so much better.”
“T-Bone.” His mother touched his arm and angled her head toward Travis, and he muttered an apology. Fortunately, little Travis didn’t seem to be following the conversation; he was merely waiting for a chance to break in.
“Do all those trophies in our room belong to you, Uncle T-Bone?” he asked eagerly.
Romain mussed his hair. “For the most part.”
“How’d you get them?”
“Track and basketball.”
“And football,” his father said. “Romain was quite a running back. I think he could’ve walked on to a college team if he hadn’t joined the marines,” he added for Jasmine’s benefit.
He certainly had the build of an athlete. But Jasmine was trying not to think complimentary things about Romain.
“I’m going to play football like you,” Travis announced.
A genuine smile curved Romain’s lips for the first time since they’d arrived, giving Jasmine hope that this might be an enjoyable visit, after all. But his sister cut him off before he could respond. “No, you’re not. Only big dummies who don’t care if they blow out a knee play football.”
“I never blew out a knee, Susan,” Romain said with strained patience.
“But you did get a concussion. I often wonder if that’s to blame for everything.”
“If I remember right, you were the one who encouraged me to play my senior year.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I realized what a disappointment you’d turn out to be,” she snapped and went inside ahead of them.
Portsville was quiet. A truck passed, going in the other direction, but it was the only vehicle Gruber had seen for miles. The cemetery looked like it’d be more fun than the town.
He pulled into Portsville’s small grocery store to buy a drink and see if he could glean any information. What business did Jasmine have here? Why did she leave New Orleans for rural Cajun country? It had to have some connection to the reason she’d come. She was here at his invitation, after all.
His car door groaned as he forced it open. He needed to buy a new sedan. He had a truck that was barely a year old, but he mostly kept it around back, out of sight.
His old Honda Civic was much more nondescript; he preferred to come and go unnoticed.
The ice machine in front of the old grocery store rattled, catching Gruber’s attention. Man, what he could fit into a freezer that size! His own freezer was getting too packed, which made it difficult to save everything he wanted—
“They’re closed.” A ruddy, bowlegged man had just come out of the bar next door.
Gruber knew he had to look stupid, standing there with his hand on the door, gazing fondly at an ice machine. “What’d you say?”
“I said they’re closed.” The man motioned toward the clumsily printed sign taped to the door. Merry Christmas! it read. See you on December 26th!
“Oh.” Gruber blinked at it. How had he not seen that?
“You visiting for the holidays?” the man asked.
“Just passing through.”
“I’m Croc. I own the bar here. I don’t open till four, but if you’re hungry, I’ll make you a burger.”
Croc? The Cajuns down here were such rednecks. “Actually, I’m…um…looking for my sister.”
The man’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Does she live in town?”
“No, but she mentioned coming down this way to, you know, sightsee. Her name’s Jasmine Stratford.”
Croc chewed harder on the toothpick dangling from one side of his mouth.
“Never heard of her. What does she look like?”
“She’s small, attractive. Part Indian.”
His eyes were riveted on Gruber’s clearly Caucasian features. “Indian?”
“East Indian. We have different fathers,” he said.
“I haven’t seen anyone by that description. But you might check with Henry over at the hotel. He put up a few visitors this past week.”
Gruber glanced down the dock to see a sun-bleached wooden building on pilings. The words Lil’ Cajun were painted on the side. “I’ll do that,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Good luck finding your sister.”
“By the way—” Gruber caught the man’s arm. “If you happen to see her, don’t tell her I was here, okay? I’m trying to surprise her. For Christmas.”
Croc gave him a friendly nod. “I won’t say a word.”
“You’re East Indian?”
Jasmine hesitated with a bite of lamb halfway to her mouth. She hadn’t expected to be the focal point of the Forniers’ dinner conversation. She was just tagging along with Romain until she could get back to New Orleans, where she hoped to promptly forget him. But, from their behavior, Romain’s family hadn’t seen him with a woman in a very long time, and they were more than a little curious about her.