The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

  The Nicci Beauvoir Collection

  By Alexandrea Weis

  Book 1: To My Senses

  Book 2: Recovery

  Book 3: Sacrifice

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Alexandrea Weis 2015

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Chapter 1

  The magnolias and the debutantes blossomed onto the New Orleans social season with great fanfare, even though the flowers were much more appealing than many of the young ladies. Luckily, I was not among this spring’s unfortunate few, and would not have to spend hours in the afternoon heat wearing a long, white taffeta gown and feasting on wilted cucumber sandwiches. I had already suffered my own humiliation three seasons ago when I was primped, powdered, and paraded across the lawns of many of the city’s finest homes.

  The entire affair resembled a horse auction, as observers tried to determine what type of wives these young women would make for the lawyers, bankers, and doctors of tomorrow. Of course, they had to have the proper physique to interest any potential suitors: small enough to remain feminine, but large enough to breed half a dozen healthy little future social climbers. Their teeth had to be white, buffed, and polished as a sign of good breeding and their parents’ ability to afford premium dental care. A girl had to be able to walk without slouching, speak without saying anything of importance, and act as if the only reason for living was to carry on the traditions of polite society. This was the essence of being a debutante in the minds of all of the best of New Orleans’ oldest families.

  For this particular lawn party, I was to act as cheerleader for my cousin, Colleen. She was the latest member of our family to suffer the piercing gazes and snake-like charm of the old guard—what we younger folks affectionately called the long-standing members of the ruling social sect in our city. They were a rather elderly group of bored women who held firm to the belief that having one or two ancestors who had died in the Civil War put them on a slightly higher pedestal than those who just had a whole lot of money. My cousin Colleen, however, was parading among the elite of our city not because she was interested in pedigree, but because she was very interested in finding a husband with money.

  The main job of these functions was to arrange matchmaking services for the children of suitable families. The old guard would provide important introductions to a boy’s family that they felt best suited a lady’s individual class, breeding, and matched her family’s income. It was considered a detriment to her social standing to question the judgment of these esteemed and rather stuffy individuals. It was similar to a type of protective inbreeding program. Unfortunately, that resulted in a great deal of idiocy among their offspring. If my particular generation was any example of what faulty genetic material could produce, then Colleen could have been their poster child.

  Colleen had been given all of my Aunt Hattie’s looks and none of her social graces. She was short and plump, with dark brown hair and sad brown eyes. Like my aunt, she had an annoying habit of sucking large gasps of air in through her teeth when she laughed. This habit always prompted my father to refer to the two women as the “Hoover girls.”

  I had spent the entire afternoon at Colleen’s designated white linen table, observing as my aunt downed mass quantities of tea sandwiches and champagne. The more champagne my aunt drank the louder her laugh became, drawing the occasional curious stare from neighboring tables. I tried to find the appropriate moment to make a speedy departure, but Hattie kept calling or waving at friends to come over and join us, making it impossible for me to sneak away. Colleen, who was constantly fidgeting, looked completely miserable as the barrage of well-wishers breezed past our table.

  “Do you think I look stupid in this thing?” Colleen questioned, pulling at her white, off-the-shoulder dress.

  “You look great.” I brushed her heavy bangs from her eyes. “You’re the prettiest girl here.”

  “Ha! You’re the prettiest girl here, Nicci!” Colleen surveyed the crowd. “You’ve always been the pretty one, but thanks for the…well thanks.” She patted my hand just as Hattie came waddling up to our table.

  “Colleen, come on girl. Sit up straight.” Hattie fussed over Colleen’s hopelessly rumpled gown. “Mrs. Jacobs has someone she wants you to meet.”

  Colleen was terror stricken at being summoned to a command performance with the captain of the old guard, Eileen Jacobs. I stood and helped her straighten out her dress.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “You don’t have to marry him. Just smile and make some small talk and you’ll never have to see him again.”

  “Yeah, right. You don’t know Mom,” was all she could get out before Hattie dragged her away, still fussing.

  Colleen was right, of course. All Hattie wanted for her was a good marriage to a socially suitable husband and about six children. But then again, Colleen didn’t want much more than that for herself. She would have been happy with any man.

  Across the lawn, Hattie primped Colleen’s dress, then nervously danced about as Colleen shook hands with her prospective suitor. I chuckled, remembering how different my aunt was from my mother.

  Where Aunt Hattie was scatterbrained, my mother had been witty. Hattie had always been overly excitable and demanded attention like a puppy. My mother, on the other hand, had been calm; people gravitated to her like a beautiful work of art. Mother had been tall with deep auburn hair, creamy white skin, and warm gray eyes. She lacked all the classical features of her Italian heritage, but she had been the pride of the Bascelli family. Her musical laugh lit up a room. And men, well men found her to be the most fascinating creature they had ever seen. My father had worshiped her until the day she died.

  “God, it was awful,” Colleen reported, returning to our table. “He was very snooty and had huge buck teeth.” The inbreeding no doubt, I thought. “Never again.” She eased into the chair next to mine and snatched up her glass of champagne, downing the contents with one gulp.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, Colleen.”

  “Easy for you to say. Who got introduced to Parker Roy at her first lawn party?” She rolled her brown eyes. “Parker Roy! Only the best looking and richest guy in town.” Colleen reached across the table for her mother’s half-empty glass of champagne. “You always get the great guys, Nicci. You just never go out with any of them.”

  “Colleen, you know Parker and I are just friends. Anyway, I consider myself selective, that’s all. Looks and money are not important criteria for me.” I stared off into the crowd, wanting to avoid another heated confrontation with my cousin.

  “There you go again. You know, I think you’ve turned down half the male population of the city.” She glimpsed the table, searching for more champagne, no doubt. “Nicci, can you ever just look at a man for the sake of looking?”

  “So are we now talking about the rating of buns or the general appeal of the guy’s body?”

  “You’re hopeless.” Colleen rose from her chair. “I’m going in search of more booze. Care to join me?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Nicci, you can’t keep hiding up in your room with your books all your life. You have no friends and yo
u never go out. Christ, you’re missing out on everything.”

  “Colleen, I don’t think you need any more champagne.”

  “You know what else?” She shook her head. “Oh, never mind.” And with that, Colleen walked away, trying to look poised as her high heels stuck in the grass.

  “At least I can wake up the next morning and remember the night before,” I mused.

  I knew once Colleen started drinking, she wouldn’t quit until someone pried her hands off the bottle. Then again, this was New Orleans, where one’s first encounter with alcohol usually occurred before puberty.

  As Colleen stumbled her way to the bar at the far end of the lawn, I was pondering how I was going to get her to my aunt’s car when I noticed the new face in the crowd.

  What immediately struck me was that he didn’t seem to belong there. He was poised, tall, slender, and dressed in a dark tailored suit. I was dazzled by the stranger’s ability to glide his way, smiling and laughing, through the party. The head of every woman followed him as he moved. He appeared indifferent to their gazes, but I could sense he was acutely aware of the attention he was attracting. It was as if every movement, every nuance of his performance, was perfectly timed and executed. Like the way he recklessly carried his champagne glass, but never spilled a drop. How he ran his hand through his thick brown hair, then raised his eyes and stared off into the throng. What probably attracted the most attention from the crowd was the woman on whose arm he strolled. It was Samantha Fallon.

  Samantha, Sammy to her friends, was a woman who used any means at her disposal to perpetuate her many lucrative enterprises. She owned stocks, real estate, oil wells, and dabbled in scrap metal. My father considered Sammy a formidable competitor to my family’s own scrap metal business, Beauvoir Scrap.

  Sammy had married into her fortune and status, and unlike my mother, she lacked the ability to enchant people with her beauty and charm. Any beauty Sammy possessed had long since faded. So she had become another of the plastic surgery addicts among the old guard. If it had not been sucked, lifted, or stretched on her body, it was silicone. She had the face and figure of a centerfold model, but the eyes of a well-worn and cruel old woman.

  It was rumored Sammy had started out as a stripper in the French Quarter, and that was supposedly how she met her late husband, a powerful Louisiana attorney named Gerald Fallon. Mr. Fallon was a notorious gambler, drinker, womanizer, and bully. Their union had lasted twenty years, with Sammy spending most of that time in Europe. She would often be overheard saying there were only two things Gerald had given her—money and her son, Edward.

  Edward, or Eddie as he preferred, was also among the guests at our social affair. I had seen his bright red mop of hair hiding among the magnolias throughout the afternoon. Most people generally tended to steer clear of Eddie. Like his father, he had an affinity for drinking, gambling, and fighting. Women, however, scared Eddie to death. It was well known among our circle that Eddie’s fighting rampages usually correlated with Sammy’s interest in a new man.

  I eagerly searched for Eddie in the crowd, wondering if he was aware of his mother’s newest conquest. I became alarmed to see Sammy continually kissing and touching her escort, teasingly trying to evoke a response. The gentleman, however, was more discreet with his affections. I couldn’t help but think that Sammy was not getting her money’s worth with this one.

  I spotted Eddie sitting beside the large open bar near a flowing garden fountain. Colleen was sitting next to him, trying desperately to attract his attention. She was like a good bloodhound when it came to finding her man. Her infatuation with Eddie dated back to grade school.

  Eddie sat leaning against the bar on one of the wrought-iron stools. His thick shoulders hunched over the bottle of champagne he held in his stubby hands. His shirtsleeves were already rolled up and his cream-colored shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His green eyes were zeroed in on Sammy and her date.

  “Don’t you think that one looks a bit like a gigolo?”

  I spun around. “Aunt Hattie! You startled me. And where did you learn such a word?”

  “Good Lord, child, I’m not that much of a prude. You know, some of us did have sex in the eighties! How do you think you people got here?”

  “Aunt Hattie!” My voice rattled in my throat.

  Maybe she’d had one too many. In all my life, I had never heard my aunt speak about what she had termed “delicate matters.”

  “Nicci, you’re not a child, but God knows my poor Colleen is. I was hoping she would find herself a suitable fellow here.” Hattie shrugged and took another sip from her champagne glass. “Shame we can’t get the very prosperous Eddie Fallon interested in my baby. Rumor has it that Sammy has her sights set on taking over another company.”

  “Since when have you been interested in Sammy’s business affairs?”

  “Oh, I just listen to the gossip.” Hattie frowned as she waved off my angry scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you hate to gossip. But honestly Nicci, how do you expect to keep up with half the goings on in town?”

  “Aunt Hattie, considering all the rumors that have been spread at our family’s expense over the years, I’m surprised you still associate with half of these people.”

  “It’s lucky for our family that I have listened to the gossip. I’ve been able to keep your father and uncle abreast of Sammy’s business dealings though the years. Thanks to me, they’ve been able to hang on to Beauvoir Scrap.” She peered over at Sammy Fallon standing next to her mystery date. The two were holding hands and smiling at each other. “Shame. Sammy did always have a better head for business than for men.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Men are Sammy Fallon’s business, Aunt Hattie.”

  Suddenly, a cacophonous laugh broke out from across the lawn. It resembled the sucking sound of a vacuum cleaner.

  Hattie sighed. “I wish I could get my daughter interested in the business of finding a man.”

  “Leave Colleen alone. One day, she’ll find someone.”

  “Find someone, ha!” Hattie slammed her glass on our table. “I can’t trust her to find her way around Tulane campus and she’s been going there for almost a year.”

  “Colleen has a lot more sense than you give her credit for. She will—”

  “She will screw it up, as usual,” Hattie interrupted. “Forgive me, dear, but the only one with sense in this family is you.” She nodded to me. “In fact, your mother used to say that she knew, if you didn’t marry into money, it was more than likely you would make it yourself.” Hattie stared off in the distance watching Colleen at the bar, still desperately trying to get Eddie’s attention. “No,” she continued, “Colleen will have to marry someone with money and sense.”

  It was the same story I had heard over and over, all my life. I was always treated like Einstein and Colleen was the village idiot.

  Hattie’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Where do you think she gets them?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Sammy Fallon. Where do you think she finds those men of hers?”

  “Maybe she calls an escort agency.”

  “I’m serious, Nicci.”

  “I was serious. Why does it matter to you?”

  “No reason.” She reached for the glasses hanging around her neck on a chain of pearls. “This one is rather good looking…pity. Uh oh.”

  I saw what had made my aunt grow quiet. Eddie had stumbled out of his chair and was staggering toward his mother and her date. I knew what he was going to do. Everyone at the party knew what he was going to do. His tirades were legendary. The last one cost his mother thirty thousand in medical bills, plus a hefty settlement with the gentleman’s attorneys.

  Quickly, I leapt from my chair and ran to intercede. I wasn’t sure exactly what I could do to stop him, but the last thing Eddie needed was to get into another fight, especially with all of the old guard watching. I reached him right before he stepped in front of his mother’s escort. I placed myself betw
een the two men and smiled radiantly up at Eddie. I could see the hate roasting in his green eyeballs.

  I took a deep breath. “Eddie, you don’t come and say hello to your friends anymore?” Playing the coquettish tease was not my specialty, but I knew it would have some effect on him.

  “Nicci.” His eyes seemed to soften. “I didn’t think…I wasn’t sure…I mean, well, uh, hello.” He smiled weakly, while trying to catch a quick glimpse over my shoulder.

  “Why Eddie, I thought we were friends. All this time I’ve been waiting for you to come over and say hello. I didn’t think it would be proper for me to come running up to you and…well I just couldn’t wait any longer. So here I am.” I batted my eyes. “And now I have gone out of my way in front of all these people and made a fool of myself chasing you down like some, some lovesick schoolgirl.”

  If this didn’t work, I would have resort to physical force.

  “You were waiting for me?” A smile as wide as the Mississippi spread across his red face. He caught himself and peered sheepishly at the ground.

  “Why don’t we go over and sit at my table, over there.” I pointed across the lawn away from Sammy and her date. “You can tell me all about your fishing trip to the Gulf.”

  I took his arm and escorted him to my table, where Aunt Hattie sat staring, her mouth gaping like a mullet. I seated Eddie strategically with his back to the crowd. We had just settled into our chairs when I saw Sammy’s handsome stranger turn, raise his glass to me, and smile.

  Eddie then began to tell me more than I had ever wanted to know about deep-sea fishing. He seemed to find great pleasure in describing the torment and torture he, and a boatload of drunks, had caused some poor fish. His chest puffed out with pride and his thick hands animated every detail of his adventure. He was a different person when he talked about fishing.

  I must have spent an hour listening to him. I kept smiling and looking fascinated while secretly contemplating the virtues of arming all small animals, fish included, with handguns. I also managed to keep the champagne flowing, hoping the effects would allay his interests in his mother’s companion. Just when I was certain the fishing story would continue into my old age, I was suddenly rescued by an unlikely source. Sammy approached the table.