They had their man—Lemar Fuqua. His death was quite conveniently ruled a suicide. Even the slightest hint that there might have been an interracial romance between Fuqua and Lisette Desmond had been enough to make the man the chief suspect, and in the end, the only suspect .
Jolie was supposed to die that day. I shot her three times. Why didn’t the damn girl die? Once she was in the hospital, I couldn’t get to her to finish the job. Louis kept a guard at her door twenty-four-seven. Hell, even now, I break out in a cold sweat whenever I think about how I felt when she finally regained consciousness. At first she couldn’t remember anything, then gradually her memory returned, until she recalled every detail of the day she’d been shot. She swore she never saw the person who shot her, had no idea if it had been a man or a woman, if it had been a black person or a white person .
But who’s to say that she didn’t block out that one memory. What if a visit to Sumarville unearthed that forgotten knowledge?
If she returns, I’ll have to keep a close watch on her. And if she gives me any cause to suspect she knows the truth, then I’ll have to finish the job I started twenty years ago. And this time, I’ll make sure Jolie dies .
Chapter 4
Yvonne stayed discreetly in the background, quietly observing the mourners. No one would question her right to be here. As the family’s housekeeper, she would be expected to be present at the visitation tonight at Trendall Funeral Home. She had asked Theron to stop by, to offer his condolences to the family, but he hadn’t given her a definite answer. Surely he wouldn’t disappoint her; she so seldom asked anything of him. If he didn’t put in an appearance, Clarice would be upset. Clarice was especially fond of Theron, something he’d never questioned as a child but as an adult seemed to resent. Although she didn’t want her son to forget their people’s past and prayed that he would continue working for everything he believed in, she wished he could learn to forgive. She had considered telling him about the secrets from her past, wondering if it would help him understand her and perhaps himself. But what if the truth only fueled the anger inside him?
Yvonne silently watched the never-ending line of mourners as they made their way closer and closer to the family standing near the golden casket surrounded by enormous floral arrangements. Every time someone spoke to her, Georgette cried. Maybe Max should have asked the doctor to give her a stronger dose of Valium. Despite her sincere weeping, Louis Royale’s widow looked regal and undeniably lovely in her navy blue suit and pearls, her jet-black hair fashionably styled and her makeup flawless. At her left side, Mallory was a younger version of Georgette, only her eyes were different. She had Louis’s dark azure blue eyes, which made for a striking contrast to her ebony hair. Poor little Mallory looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else on earth than here. The girl was immature for eighteen and spoiled rotten. Louis had lavished all the attention on her that he had once given to Jolie.
Yvonne glanced at her wristwatch. Seven-thirty. They were halfway through the three-hour visitation and still no sign of Jolie. Clarice hadn’t spoken to her niece personally but had left her numerous messages. She had tried to prepare Clarice for the possibility that Jolie might not come home, not even for her own father’s funeral. But Clarice could not be swayed in her firm conviction that her niece would put in an appearance.
Max stood to Georgette’s right, his presence overpowering. Yvonne had sensed a unique strength in Max the first time she’d seen him. He’d been a quiet brooding little boy who had grown up hearing the ugly rumors about his mother and the speculation about his own legitimacy. He was not an easy man to like and didn’t seem to care what others thought of him. But people tended to either admire or fear
Jolie was supposed to die that day. I shot her three times. Why didn’t the damn girl die? Once she was in the hospital, I couldn’t get to her to finish the job. Louis kept a guard at her door twenty-four-seven. Hell, even now, I break out in a cold sweat whenever I think about how I felt when she finally regained consciousness. At first she couldn’t remember anything, then gradually her memory returned, until she recalled every detail of the day she’d been shot. She swore she never saw the person who shot her, had no idea if it had been a man or a woman, if it had been a black person or a white person .
But who’s to say that she didn’t block out that one memory. What if a visit to Sumarville unearthed that forgotten knowledge?
If she returns, I’ll have to keep a close watch on her. And if she gives me any cause to suspect she knows the truth, then I’ll have to finish the job I started twenty years ago. And this time, I’ll make sure Jolie dies .
Chapter 4
Yvonne stayed discreetly in the background, quietly observing the mourners. No one would question her right to be here. As the family’s housekeeper, she would be expected to be present at the visitation tonight at Trendall Funeral Home. She had asked Theron to stop by, to offer his condolences to the family, but he hadn’t given her a definite answer. Surely he wouldn’t disappoint her; she so seldom asked anything of him. If he didn’t put in an appearance, Clarice would be upset. Clarice was especially fond of Theron, something he’d never questioned as a child but as an adult seemed to resent. Although she didn’t want her son to forget their people’s past and prayed that he would continue working for everything he believed in, she wished he could learn to forgive. She had considered telling him about the secrets from her past, wondering if it would help him understand her and perhaps himself. But what if the truth only fueled the anger inside him?
Yvonne silently watched the never-ending line of mourners as they made their way closer and closer to the family standing near the golden casket surrounded by enormous floral arrangements. Every time someone spoke to her, Georgette cried. Maybe Max should have asked the doctor to give her a stronger dose of Valium. Despite her sincere weeping, Louis Royale’s widow looked regal and undeniably lovely in her navy blue suit and pearls, her jet-black hair fashionably styled and her makeup flawless. At her left side, Mallory was a younger version of Georgette, only her eyes were different. She had Louis’s dark azure blue eyes, which made for a striking contrast to her ebony hair. Poor little Mallory looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else on earth than here. The girl was immature for eighteen and spoiled rotten. Louis had lavished all the attention on her that he had once given to Jolie.
Yvonne glanced at her wristwatch. Seven-thirty. They were halfway through the three-hour visitation and still no sign of Jolie. Clarice hadn’t spoken to her niece personally but had left her numerous messages. She had tried to prepare Clarice for the possibility that Jolie might not come home, not even for her own father’s funeral. But Clarice could not be swayed in her firm conviction that her niece would put in an appearance.
Max stood to Georgette’s right, his presence overpowering. Yvonne had sensed a unique strength in Max the first time she’d seen him. He’d been a quiet brooding little boy who had grown up hearing the ugly rumors about his mother and the speculation about his own legitimacy. He was not an easy man to like and didn’t seem to care what others thought of him. But people tended to either admire or fear
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