Midnight Bayou

seem dead.
    H e gave himself Sunday. He slept late, woke to a sky fighting to clear, and spent another hour in bed with the books Effie had brought him.
    She’d marked pages she felt would have the most interest for him. He scanned and studied old photographs of the great plantation houses. And felt a thrill race through him as he looked at the old black-and-white picture of Manet Hall in its turn-of-the-century splendor.
    Formal photographs of Henri and Josephine Manetdidn’t bring the same thrill. With those there was curiosity. The woman had been undeniably beautiful, very much in the style of her day with the deep square bodice of her ball gown edged with roses, and the high, feathered comb adorning her upswept hair.
    The gown, tucked into an impossibly small waist, gave her a delicacy accented by the sweep of the brocade skirts, the generously poofed sleeves that met the long white gloves.
    But there was a coldness to her face, one Declan didn’t think was a result of the rigidity of the pose or the quality of the print. It overwhelmed that delicacy of build and made her formidable.
    But it was the photograph of Lucian Manet that stopped him in his tracks.
    He’d seen that face, in his dream. The handsome young man with streaming gold hair, riding a chestnut horse at a gallop through the moss-laced oaks.
    The power of suggestion? Had he simply expected the face in the dream to be real, and was he projecting it now onto the doomed Lucian?
    Either way, it gave him the creeps.
    He decided he’d drive into New Orleans and treat himself to a few hours’ haunting the antique shops.
    Instead, less than an hour later, he found himself walking into Et Trois.
    It did a strong Sunday-afternoon business, he noted. A mix of tourists and locals. He was pleased he was learning to distinguish one from the other. The jukebox carried the music now, a jumpy number by BeauSoleil that do-si-doed around the chatter from tables and bar.
    The scent of food, deeply fried, reminded his stomach he’d skipped breakfast. Recognizing the blond tending bar from his second visit, Declan walked up, tried a smile on her. “Hi. Lena around?”
    “Back in the office. Door to the right of the stage.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Anytime, cutie.”
    He gave the door marked PRIVATE a quick knock, then poked his head in. She was sitting at a desk, working at a computer. Her hair was clipped back and made him want to nibble his way up the nape of her neck.
    “Hi. Where y’at?”
    She sat back, gave a lazy stretch of her shoulders. “You’re learning. What’re you doing at my door, cher ?”
    “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if you’d let me buy you lunch. Like a prelude to tomorrow night.”
    She’d been thinking about him, more than was comfortable. Now here he was, all tall and rangy and male. “I’m doing my books.”
    “And I’ve interrupted you. Don’t you hate that?” He came in anyway, sat on the edge of the desk. “Bought you a present.”
    It was then that she noticed the little gift bag he carried. “I don’t see how you could’ve fit a new car in there.”
    “We’re working up to the car.”
    She kept her eyes on his a moment longer as she took the bag from him. Then she dipped in for the box. It was wrapped in gold paper, with a formal white bow. She took her time with it; she’d always believed the anticipation was as important as the gift.
    The bow and ribbon she tucked neatly back into the bag, and after she’d picked at the top, slid the box out, folded the paper precisely.
    “How long does it take you to open your presents Christmas morning?” he asked.
    “I like taking my time.” She opened the box, felt her lips twitch, but kept her expression sober as she took out the grinning crawfish salt and pepper shakers. “Well now, aren’t they a handsome pair?”
    “I thought so. They had alligators, too, but these guys seemed friendlier.”
    “Are these part of your charm campaign, cher ?”
    “You bet. How’d they work?”
    “Not bad.” She traced a finger over one of the ugly grins. “Not bad at all.”
    “Good. Since I’ve interrupted you, and charmed you, why don’t you let me feed you? Pay you back for the eggs.”
    She eased back in her chair, swiveled it as she considered. “Why do I get the feeling, every time I see you, I should start walking fast in the opposite direction?”
    “Search me. Anyway, my legs are longer, so I’d just catch up with you.” He leaned over the