Belle Bayou

By Julia Weaver

When Valerie agreed to donate a few weekends to help her bookseller friend sort and catalog a private library, someone from her childhood reentered her life again.

A wounded but recovering soldier, formerly stationed in Iraq, had inherited the house containing the library.

Valeries weekends away from her book keeping business were usually spent on archaeological digs or surveys with a local university professor and his students.

The intertwining of these two groups and the sugar plantations and bayous where they all meet, cause drama, terror and a final conclusion to a mysterious disappearance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479756636

Julia Weaver

I write because it is fun to create characters and to invent situations that use some of my interests in the arts, archaeology and the places I have traveled. My past career was as a graphic artist and that enables me to have more fun in creating the cover art and photographs for my book. My husband and I are now retired and are living in the Southern California desert's Coachella Valley.

Book preview

Chapter 1

P enny leaned into Valerie’s

office and said, Pardon me, your aunt is on line one and she sounds ready to explode.

Please tell her I’ll call back in about ten minutes.

Mr. Buccer grinned, and said I’ll wait, you don’t want to upset Helena.

Val’s aunt rarely lost her temper, but when she did it could take more than a few minutes to calm her down. Val smiled at the dapperly dressed, old Negro gentleman. She is already upset and we are almost finished. I’ll have these records up to date by next week. You also need to do an inventory so we can make a profit and loss statement. The bank will want one.

He nodded. Yes, I know, things are more complicated nowadays, used to be a handshake would set a deal. I can get my boys to help me. I’ll let you know when we get it done. He finished his coffee and put his papers into a brown cardboard file folder, tied the string with a bow and stood up. It’s a pleasure doing business with you ladies. Penny escorted him out and when she opened the office’s street door, jazz music from a funeral procession wafted down from the cross street at the end of the block.

Something interesting always happening in the Quarter, Mr Buccer said and walked on down the street to watch.

Penny returned and stood watching Val sort paperwork. This business is like herding cats. He wants to buy a building to expand, but doesn’t know if he should get a loan or pay cash?

His finances are good, just in a muddle, Remember his brother in law? We finally got him sorted. Family businesses need an independent accountant, that’s why I started Numbers. Small business owners don’t like talking to banks when their papers are in a mess. We need to telephone his bank and find out their requirements for a loan. Val picked up the bone china coffee cups with their mismatched saucers and carried them back to the small kitchen area.

I can call the bank, you better call Helena.

Valerie telephoned her aunt and sat back to listen to the latest crisis. They had just been through hiring a new chef for Helena’s small supper club. The last chef had declared he was bored with Creole cooking and wanted to go to Nuevo Cuisine. He and Helena had yelled at each other for two months as he tried to sneak new dishes past her.

Valerie, sugar.

Oh oh, Val thought.

Joe says the piano man is in jail and Joe hasn’t been able to get somebody else on such short notice.

I don’t know anyone that Joe wouldn’t know.

Joe said could you play piano with them just for tonight?

Me?

He said you’re up on everything he does and you can pick the program and they could follow you.

"Helena, you know I never liked piano recitals, much less playing for the public. My business clients would think I’d gone crazy.’

Oh honey, I’ll get you a Mardi Gras mask and look up a slinky gown out of my collection. Nobody will think it’s you.

Val sighed. I’m through here for today. I’ll come home and we can discuss it then.

*     *     *

Val’s small office, in New Orleans’ French Quarter, was only two doors away from the Le Fountaine townhouse her father and his sister Helena’s family had owned since 1820.

The house was a Spanish Colonial with an inner courtyard that in the passing years had been remodeled and fancied up with wrought iron balconies and trim. Helena’s supper club was on the ground floor of the four story building.

Valerie had lived with her Aunt Helena since she was 12 years old. Val’s mama had brought her to town from the sugar plantation where she had been living. Her mama wanted to separate her from her two rowdy stepbrothers, the sons of her mama’s second husband.

Valerie was sent to private school and on to college, and now had degrees in literature and business, and had been keeping the books for the supper club since she was 15 years old. Now I’m to become an entertainer? What next? She thought as she turned the office door sign to ‘closed’ and left Penny to lock up.

The afternoon heat was unusual for January but an overhanging balcony shaded part of the sidewalk. She waved to Philippe as she hurried past his book store. His townhouse shared a wall with Helena’s and his business occupied the first and second floors of his building.

Val unlocked the wrought iron-trimmed street door and climbed the stairs to Helena’s apartment. She could hear Helena talking to Carrie, her housekeeper.

Oh, there you are, sugar. Try this on.

Helena, I haven’t said I’ll do it yet.

Be a good child and put this on, Helena said, handing Val a long black lace evening gown. I’ve got a black, flapper cut wig and a black lace mask on the way over here by messenger. Nobody will recognize you.

By the time Helena had fastened the dress, backless of course and slithered onto Val like a second skin, the wig had arrived. With Val’s dark blond hair tucked away under the sleek black wig a different person stood before her in Helena’s ornate Cheval mirror.

My my, you sure are something. exclaimed Carrie. Our little girl, a vamp.

Oh sugar, you’ve got a beautiful figure, nobody could tell with those loose baggy business clothes you wear. Here, put on the lace mask.

Well, said Val, turning around slowly, no one would know it’s me.

I think one glitter bracelet to sparkle while she plays, what do you think, Carrie? mused Helena.

You’re right, not too much flashy stuff.

Helena kissed Val on the cheek. Just like I was young again, can you believe that dress fit me thirty years ago? That’s French lace, sugar.

Val gave in; they were having too much fun to spoil it. I’ll play. Where is Joe? We need to plan the music.

Oh, thank you honey. He’s downstairs in the bar.

*     *     *

Joe kept the piano tuner on a regular schedule. Valerie practiced and played almost every day after work when the restaurant was closed. Joe’s Quintet used the piano every evening and Val knew his playbook as she had heard his music over and over. They often fooled around with new arrangements.

Val left Helena’s rooms and walked down the balcony built over the courtyard to her tiny apartment and changed into a loose T shirt and slacks. She entered the dining