The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Read online

  My father laughed. “Go to bed.”

  Once in my room, I closed my door to the world outside and got ready for bed. My parents had always called my room, my “sanctuary.” There wasn’t much furniture, only a bed and a desk. The walls, however, were lined with bookshelves spilling over with all kinds of books. It was here I practiced my favorite obsession, reading. I could sit for hours, undaunted by the outside world, and indulge in my imagination.

  I turned out the lights and settled under the covers. As I lay in the darkness, my thoughts kept returning to the conversation with David Alexander. Unable to silence my restless mind, I got out of bed and went to my desk. I took out the small, wire-bound notebook I had hidden away in a drawer. Most of my life, I had kept a handwritten journal, preferring the feel of a pen on paper rather than typing on my laptop. Tonight, I felt an uncanny urge to write about David Alexander. As I listened to the gentle rumblings of an approaching storm outside my window, I opened my notebook to a clean white page and began my tale.

  Chapter 2

  A week later, my spring semester came to a close. I had just finished the last of my final exams, and was enjoying a quiet evening at home, making notes in my journal, when the ringing of my phone interrupted me. Reluctantly putting down my pen, I checked the caller ID, and groaned.

  “What are you doing?” Colleen’s loud voice berated when I picked up. “Let me guess, nose in a book.”

  “What do you want, Colleen?”

  “I’m coming to get you.” Colleen already sounded like she had been drinking…a lot.

  “Colleen, it’s really late.”

  “That’s no excuse. There’s a party at Sammy’s.” Her voice became very muffled.

  “Colleen, what are you doing?”

  “I was just trying to take off my jacket. It’s a bitch to drive and remove clothing. So are you coming or what?”

  Now, this was what I called an impasse. Colleen had already been caught drinking and driving twice by the police. The second time, Uncle Lance had paid off the judge to drop the charges. So I had to make a choice: let Colleen kill herself on the road or take over the driving and go with her to the party. I knew the only reason she was even considering going to Sammy’s was to see Eddie.

  “Okay,” I grudgingly agreed. “Just come over and I’ll drive us both to the party.”

  “That would be great. I’m almost out of gas, anyway.”

  An overwhelming feeling of disgust settled over me as I hung up the phone. The last place I wanted to go was to a party, and the last person I wanted to deal with was a drunken Colleen, or even worse, a brawling Eddie.

  What a complete waste of time. I dragged myself out of my room and down the stairs.

  When she arrived, Colleen ran over the garbage can in the driveway. Thankfully, it was made of rubber and no damage was done to her new BMW. I got her to drink some coffee when she came in the house. While she was distracted with the coffee, I took her car keys and hid them in the hall closet. No matter what, I was making Colleen sleep it off on our sofa when we returned home.

  “Why are we going to crash Sammy Fallon’s party?” I asked on the drive over.

  “Not crash. Eddie invited me. He got accepted into Tulane’s architecture school, so Sammy is having a blowout party.” Her head was rolling around like it was one of those toy animals on a spring.

  “How come I never heard about the party?”

  “‘Cause you ain’t in the know, dawlin’.” Colleen’s New Orleans accent got thicker when she drank.

  I frowned. “How much did you drink before you came over?”

  “Plenty bunches,” she giggled. “I found Neddie’s hiding place for the liquor cabinet key.”

  Neddie was Uncle Ned. He was Hattie’s third husband, and the only one who ever really gave a damn about Colleen. He had been looking after the girl for several years, taking up the slack when Colleen’s own father dropped out of the picture.

  We arrived at Sammy’s house to find cars parked everywhere. An expensive line of German sports machines were scattered on lawns and even in the middle of the street. It looked like half the city had turned out for Sammy’s celebration.

  I maneuvered my red Honda Civic into a tight spot at the end of the long driveway. Sammy had the largest house on the block in a rather exclusive neighborhood. There was the most obnoxious pink fountain in the center of her front garden, as well as two large stone lions at the entrance to the walkway. Her tastes had not strayed far from her Bourbon Street beginnings.

  At the front door, we were greeted by a man in a white tuxedo, carrying overflowing champagne glasses on a silver tray. Colleen snatched two glasses and disappeared into the crowd scattered throughout the front entrance hall.

  I declined the champagne and started to make my own way into the throng. There were people there that I knew from high school and college, while others seemed to be the same hangers-on that I always associated with such parties. None of the faces conjured any sense of friendship or regard for me, nor was I particularly interested in starting some inane conversation with a total stranger. So I just waved and smiled at the faces I did know and turned in the opposite direction when anyone looked as if they were coming my way. My strategy worked well for a while, until I ran into the hostess.

  “Nicci! I am so glad you’re here. Eddie will be thrilled to see you.” Sammy’s voice reverberated off the pink silk wallpaper and white marble floors in her living room.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Fallon. I’m sure Eddie is around here somewhere…I’ll go look for him.” I bolted from her and into the deeper reaches of her home.

  I crunched, stretched, and reached my way through the tightly packed horde of people, until I finally made it to the wide French doors that opened to the rose gardens and Sammy’s famous heart-shaped pool. To my amazement, there were more people outside than inside. A disc jockey was set up in the corner of the patio, playing a varied selection of disco and rap music. Some of the individuals milling about were wearing expensive evening clothes; others were dressed in jeans or shorts. It was a hodgepodge of tastes and styles.

  I couldn’t summon the strength to fight my way to one of several buffet tables scattered around the pool. The music was loud, the wine was flowing, and the people were guaranteed to be obnoxious. What I needed to find was a quiet hole to crawl into until Colleen had pooped herself out. I forced my way back inside the house and walked around the overcrowded foyer in search of the stairs.

  I found the landing to the stairs roped off with a No Admittance sign swinging casually back and forth. Sammy was not as crazy as I thought. She at least had the common sense to confine the party to the first floor. After giving a quick glance around the foyer, I climbed over the rope.

  The second floor of Sammy’s home was not as ornately decorated as the first. The expensive silk wallpaper and marble floors were missing from the upstairs quarters. I found only plush cream-colored carpeting, and walls covered in pale green paint. The fixtures were minimal and the decor was simple. The atmosphere suited me.

  When I rounded the corner of the landing, I noticed a light from behind a partially opened door off to the left. I carefully approached and eased my head inside to catch a quick peek of the room.

  Inside, I found dozens of bookcases filled with books. Unwittingly, I pushed the door open and headed straight for the closest bookshelf to the door. I did not notice the figure sitting in the room, until I heard his deep voice.

  “It must be a great party for you to seek sanctuary up here.” The accent was familiar.

  My face was red with embarrassment and was just about to start uttering my apologies when I suddenly recognized the man.

  “Oh, Mr. Alexander, right?”

  He sat in a worn leather chair next to a square oak table with a brass reading lamp on it. He was dressed simply in a white button-down shirt and casual black slacks. A leather-bound book was sitting across his lap.

  “Nicci Beauvoir.”

  “I wanted
to get away from the crowds for a while.” I pointed back to the stairs.

  He stood up and put the book down in his chair. “Don’t worry, I’m hiding too. Your secret is safe with me.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.” I gave him a curious side-glance. “Why are you hiding?”

  “I just like to avoid big drinking festivals.”

  I chuckled nervously. “Well then, you are in the wrong city. If someone catches a cold, people down here will use it as an excuse to have a party.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed. However, I’m glad you made your escape up here.” He turned back to his chair and picked up his book. “I am afraid Dickens was putting me to sleep, despite the pounding of K.C. and the Sunshine Band from the pool.” He motioned for me to take the red leather chair across from him.

  I remained standing by the entrance. “I had no idea Sammy had such an extensive library.”

  “Neither does Sammy. I don’t think she’s ever been in here. I come here to read and get away.” He cleared his throat. “Most of these books came from her first husband’s efforts. His name is all over them.” He waved his hand around the room.

  “I never knew him. I heard a lot about him though. None of it good.” I tentatively made my way farther into the room.

  “I’m sure Sammy would agree with you. From what I hear, he was quite a character. There is apparently a good bit of him in his son.”

  “I’m sure the only part that Eddie inherited from his father is his, uh…temper.” I paused. “My father used to tell me stories about the late Mr. Fallon and the days when he would terrorize everyone in town.”

  David Alexander snickered. “Sounds like Eddie is definitely his father’s son.”

  “Eddie never really knew his father. When we were kids, he tried to learn as much as he could about him. The more stories Eddie heard, the less he liked the man. After a while he stopped listening.” I watched and waited for his reaction. His eyes showed not the slightest hint of emotion. “These people are at their best when they’re demolishing lives.” I added as I turned and walked to the window overlooking the party below.

  “That sounds like a warning,” he said, coming up to me.

  “They can strip a decent person of their dignity in seconds, just like piranhas.” I forced myself not to turn and face him. “But I’m sure you know that already.” I started fingering the books on the wall next to the window, trying not to show how nervous I suddenly felt.

  “You don’t care for this crowd?”

  “Oh, it’s a long story.” I shrugged.

  “I’ve got all night. I’d like to know what I’m up against.”

  I leaned against the bookshelf, took in a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. Then I turned and gazed into his secretive eyes, trying to decide if he was really interested or just being polite.

  “What you’re up against?” I shook my head. “My mother thought these people were her friends, but when she needed them the most, they abandoned her. Leaving only my father and me to care for her while she was battling cancer. Their desertion haunted her until the day she died.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He took a step toward me.

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in on you.” I eased away from him.

  “Not at all. In fact, if you hadn’t come when you did, I might have thrown myself out of the window and onto that relentless stereo.” He waved dramatically at the window.

  We both laughed, nervously.

  “It’s admirable for Sammy to go to so much effort,” I confided. “I know she’s proud of Eddie for getting into architecture school. He can be a bright kid, when he wants to be.”

  He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  I sighed. “I’m sure Sammy’s money, more than Eddie’s brains, got him into that school. I just hope it doesn’t cause more problems for him by creating unattainable expectations.”

  He finally retreated to his chair. “Then this is not the first time she has done this sort of thing?”

  “You know Sammy. Only the best for her son.”

  “Well, an overzealous mother does not explain the boy’s annoying outbursts and sulking nature.”

  “It sounds like your relationship with him is…strained.” I tried to control my smile.

  “I just prefer to stay away from the little bastard.” His voice was cold.

  An uncomfortable silence crept into the room. The music from the patio brought the pounding rhythm, like a heartbeat, to distract me from the proximity of the man. I glanced over to see that he was looking down at the book on his lap.

  When he raised his eyes, he caught my gaze. “So you are a lover of books?”

  “Yes,” I replied, relieved to fill the space between us. “I love to read.”

  “Really?” He shifted in his chair. “You don’t look like the kind of girl who would spend her days locked away with her head in a book.”

  Why not?”

  “Well you are….” He checked himself. “Or should I say, you don’t look like a bookworm.” His gaze glided quickly over my figure.

  I felt an old, familiar fire burn in the pit of my stomach. The same sensation I always had when I was being judged.

  “Why? Because I’m not wearing thick rimmed glasses or dressed like an old maid? So if a woman is attractive then it would be difficult for you to think of her as anything other than a bimbo.” I paused and grinned sarcastically at him. “Do all men typically lump women into two categories? Tell me, which do you prefer? The booby bimbo or the ugly bookworm?”

  He smirked. “Well, there is always plastic surgery, so a woman can be both beautiful and intelligent.”

  “Oh, I see. Then you must feel right at home with Sammy and her friends.” I smirked back at him.

  “Tell me, Ms. Beauvoir, are you always so diplomatic?”

  “Please, call me Nicci. It’s the least you can do when we’re insulting each other.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think anyone would consider you a bookworm. Bookworms are withdrawn and avoid confrontation. I think you like confrontation.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t care who I offend.” I leaned against a nearby bookcase. “I grew up in the most rigorous of fishbowls, Mr. Alexander, and I have never done what is expected of me. I don’t like being placed in a mold and I have spent most of my life trying to break free of stereotypes.” I paused and looked his face over, warily. “We may be in the twenty-first century, but many of the people I know are still living in ancient times.”

  He held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I can see you aren’t one to wither under pressure and follow the crowd. It is a very admirable quality.”

  “My father calls it my stubborn streak.” I laughed, starting to feel a little more relaxed.

  “Maybe to those who do not understand you. People with goals don’t let anything or anyone get in their way.”

  I took a seat in the chair across from him. The soft leather gave beneath my body. His eyes followed my every move.

  “You have your whole life planned, don’t you, Nicci?”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “No, not at all. There are too many who never plan. Never stick to their dreams.” He paused and tilted his head slightly to the left, still watching me. “When we last met we talked about dreams, I believe.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “Only for interesting people.” He leaned a little closer to me. “You told me people never bothered to get to know you or your dreams. But I want to get to know you, Nicci, and therefore I should know all about your dreams.” His gray eyes flashed.

  “Are you always this way? You’re not like the others out there.” I waved my hand to the window overlooking the party below.

  “God, I hope so.” He laughed. “I’ve spent so much of my life around
normal, boring, uptight people. I would welcome the slightest suggestion of being different.”

  “Well, you are the most different person I have ever met.” I shook my head. “And the most direct.”

  “I believe we waste too much time trying to explain things,” he said, thoughtfully. “I prefer to get to the point as quickly as possible. I think you are the same way.”

  I looked at the floor and heard him shuffle in his chair. There was another brief period of nervous silence.

  “So you are in college?” he started again.

  “Yes, I go to nursing school at LSU.”

  “Nursing school?” The inflection in his voice changed oddly.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why, doesn’t that suit me either?”

  “No, I don’t see you as a nurse. I thought that maybe you would be studying something like history or politics; something suiting a woman of your character.”

  “Another uncharacteristic venture on my part? Really, Mr. Alexander.”

  “David,” he corrected.

  “Okay, David. You know, you’re starting to sound like my father.”

  “He doesn’t want you going to nursing school?”

  “No. He wants me to pursue other interests.”

  “Marriage and screaming brats, eh?”

  “Something like that,” I snickered. “My father wants me to pursue the family business. He cannot understand that I have my own goals—”

  “Your own dreams.”

  I shook my head. “I sound silly, don’t I?”

  “No, not at all. You have a great deal of passion inside of you. That is very rare. I had an aunt once who said passion was a sign of creativity. All painters, poets, and generals have it because it’s the spark that ignites dreams.” He leaned back in his chair. “So which are you?”

  “What?” I questioned, distracted by his eyes.

  “Are you a poet, painter, or general?”

  “None of the above.”

  “I don’t believe that. I would have pegged you as a general.” He nodded his head and added, “It’s all right. I don’t betray secrets, Nicci. I don’t betray friends.”