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“Angry with who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Livia insisted. “I need to know what happened.”

“Love. Betrayal. It festers. Festers and festers and festers.” Helene turned to stare at the pool that was covered, as if trying to protect the past. Or keep it hidden. “Until you slice out the evil or die from the poison.”

“Who betrayed her?”

“Everyone.”

“You mean, everyone in the family? Or—”

“She’s here,” Helene interrupted, leaning toward Livia. For once, there was no smell of alcohol clinging to her breath, but the clouds had returned to her eyes. As if she was losing touch with reality. “Do you feel her? She watches us. She’s afraid.” Helene sent her a worried frown. “She whispers you’re in danger.”

The sensation of invisible fingers brushing over her cheek sent a chill inching down Livia’s spine. No. Sucking in a sharp breath, she dismissed the fear that it was Giselle sending a warning from the grave.

Hadn’t she decided when she was standing in the mausoleum that she had no connection to her mother?

Still, she turned the conversation from Giselle Benoit. Helene’s insistence that the dead woman was watching over them was starting to freak her out.

“What about Manny?” she demanded. The missing chauffeur might have some insights into the Benoit family dynamics and what was happening before Giselle ended her life. “Where is he?”

Helene glanced toward the garage. “He’s gone.”

“Where did he go?”

“My father got rid of him.”

“He was fired?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Helene’s expression hardened, her tone bitter. “Henri Benoit didn’t need a reason. This was his house and we were all his puppets.”

“Even my mother?”

“No. Giselle refused to bend to his will.” Helene visibly shivered despite the smothering heat. “Now she’s free. Just like you’re free.” Without warning, the older woman grabbed Livia’s hand and gave it a painful squeeze. “Don’t let this place pull you in. It’s toxic. Stay free.”

With her warning delivered, Helene released Livia’s hand and turned to drift back to the house.

Livia watched her go, her mind churning over the events of the day. So far she’d watched a security tape with a hooded figure that might or might not be Larry Sutton trying to break into her house in New Orleans, enjoyed a lunch in the park where her mother was supposed to have a meeting the day after she died, been locked in an empty apartment above the garage, and exchanged a vicious battle of words with her cousin.

All in all, an eventful day. But amazingly, the fear that was humming through her body when she’d realized the door to the apartment was jammed had transformed to anger.

She didn’t know who was stalking her. Or why. Or if they had any connection to Larry Sutton. But she did know that she wasn’t going to become a willing victim.

She was Livia Benoit. Granddaughter to Henri Benoit.

One way or another, she was going to figure out what was going on. And if it was someone in her family, she would make them pay.

CHAPTER 12

Rushville, LA

Friday, July 4th