CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“All those that needed to leave are gone,” said Irene, looking haggard and harried. Matthew clutched her hand, holding her steady. Even Gaspar noted that his usually energetic and exuberant mother looked tired, but he wanted to know how all this happened.

“All except seven people who somehow died or were buried here without anyone’s knowledge, Mama. You expect me to find the killers of people who died almost three hundred years ago or as early as eighty years ago.”

“I expect you to do what you can to give them folks peace,” she said quietly. Gaspar knew she was exhausted, but he wanted some damn answers.

“Mama, I know you’re tired, but you need to tell us now what you did,” said Gaspar.

“She doesn’t need to tell you anything,” said Matthew in a firm tone. His sons stared at him, all swallowing at the harsh tone used by their father. He never displayed signs of his alpha tendency. Until now. “I’ll explain everything when the time comes. Until then, just help us get these folks back to where they need to be. Let your mother rest, and I’ll check in with you later.”

“Alright, Pops. But this is about the weirdest thing she’s ever done.”

Matthew stared at his son with a warning that he felt to his bones. Nodding, he held his hands up, giving into his father’s fierce expression. Matthew opened the door to the conference room, speaking softly to his wife, handing her over to Claudette. He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him.

Gaspar stared at his brothers, all the men wondering if this was a blood-relation moment only and perhaps some of them should leave.

“No. It ain’t a blood-relation moment.” The entire room froze as they stared at Matthew. “Even if it was, you’re all about as close to blood relation as anyone in the room. It wouldn’t matter. You don’t get to demand answers on this one, Gaspar. None of you. You just don’t. I will tell you what needs to be said when the time is right, but you will not force my hand on this one, Gaspar. Not one of you. You have no idea how much this has taken from your mother. But listen to me good. Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus of voices.

“I don’t owe you one damn explanation, and neither does she. You are fulfilling your purpose on this earth, and so are we. That’s all you need to know right now. Am I clear?” His voice had a strange echo to it, resonating through to their very bones.

“We’re sorry, Pops,” said Miller. “You’re right. We shouldn’t question anything, considering all you and Mama have done for us. But you must see how strange this all is.”

“I see that it’s another day in the life of those at Belle Fleur. Men and women helping their fellow humans. That’s what I see. Strange, not strange, it don’t matter.”

“Yes, sir,” nodded Nine. “We understand. Our apologies, Matthew.” Matthew nodded at the room, leaving to find his wife. It was silent for a while. Then Alec looked at his older brothers and the other men.

“I’ve never seen him like that. Never heard him like that. You don’t think…”

“Don’t say it!” said Luc. “It’s not their time. It can’t be. It’s too soon.”

Every man in the room wanted to say it. They wanted to speak it out loud. This couple was a hundred years old. It was nearing their time, but they couldn’t bear to think of it happening. Not yet.

“Let’s just talk about what we have,” said Ghost, nodding at the men. “Lilliana Marceneaux is nineteen years old. She was sent out here, unescorted, to attend a ball where she allegedly was to meet her fiancé. Count Jonathon Tiestemone.”

He turned, hearing Code typing away on the computer. He looked up at them.

“I have him. His family owned twenty ships that transported goods from Europe to the colonies. It says here that he married late in life, having only one child, a son, who died at twenty-three.”

“How late is late in life?” asked Ghost.

“Fifty-one,” frowned Code. Ghost shook his head.

“No. He was much younger when she was to meet him. She said there were others with daughters at the ball. Hamptons, Duplessis, they had two daughters. Comeaux, they had three daughters. Did he marry one of them?”

“No. He married Francesca Ballagia. Her father was a lesser-known merchant in Sorrento. She was twenty-seven when they married. That’s pretty late for a woman in Italy. There’s a photo of a painting of her. I’m not understanding this. Lilliana was beautiful. This woman is, um, well. See for yourself.”

He placed the photo of the painting on the screen, and there were groans in the room. Francesca may have been a good woman, but she was nothing to look at. Rotund or Rubenesque was the right description for her. She had thinning hair, a long-pointed chin with a mole on it, and very large ears for a woman.

“You know, artists back then would have painted the woman to appear more attractive than she really was. Is anyone scared by that?” asked Ghost.

“So, what would have made Jonathon not show up in the gardens to meet Lilliana, not be concerned when she disappeared, and then marry this woman some twenty years later?” asked Tailor.

“She said that her aunt and uncle sent her. Would they have had anything to gain by killing her?” asked Rafe.

“No. She didn’t have anything to leave them. They did provide for her, but I don’t think she was a burden to them. Are there any records of their residency, Code?” asked Ghost.

“A census record. It shows her living with them at the time. A small lot and home in what now would be considered Tremé. There are records of newspapers from that time, but we would need to get to the library to scroll and try to find anything mentioning her disappearance.”

“What about Tiestemone? You said he asked to court her and asked her aunt and uncle for permission to send her to the ball. Did he have anything to gain?” asked Miller.

“I can’t think of anything. Again, she had no wealth, barely a dowry. According to her aunt and uncle, he saw her walking with her aunt in New Orleans. A few days later, he asked her uncle for permission to marry her. The uncle said yes but that he wouldn’t force her. If they met, and she was in agreement, then he would be okay with the marriage.”

“Did she meet him at the ball?” asked Bull.

“She said he met her at the door, and there was an instant connection. They danced several dances, and then he asked her to meet in the gardens. She did say that the other young women were incredibly jealous of the amount of time they spent together.”

“Could this be a case of another woman killing her?” asked Grace.

“Anything is possible, especially in a time when women were vying for the wealthiest men. Looks didn’t matter as much for many of them,” said Angel.

“Let me take a look at the other young women who were there,” said Code. “I’ll see if they married and what became of them.”

“There is one other thing,” said Grace. “Tiestemone’s ships were transporting slaves from Africa and the West Indies. Someone could have been angry about that.”

“For that time period, most of America seemed okay with it,” said Nine. “But it doesn’t mean you’re not right.”

“Let’s see what Code can find, and we’ll go from there. Who’s next?” asked Gaspar.

“Tahlako Shikoba,” said Trak.

“Isn’t there something else we can call him?” frowned Tailor. “Y’all know I’ll never get that right.”

“It means Eagle Feather,” smirked Trak. “He’s a Choctaw, which would have been further north. He was sent down here to speak with other tribal leaders. He was very confused by the number of people. If I’m guessing, he was killed in the 1600s.”

“1600s? How in the hell are we supposed to figure out what happened to him?” asked Whiskey.

“He had an arrow in his back,” Trak said with a shrug. “That tells me it was most likely another Native.”

“Fuck me,” growled Ian. “Records of deaths for Native Americans are practically non-existent. If this area was inhabited mostly by French and Spanish traders, we’re going to be hard-pressed to find anything at all.”

“He knows,” said Trak.

“What was he to speak with the other chiefs about?” asked Nine.

“He said he was sent on horseback, and he mentioned that the horse was very, very fast. That might be significant if someone wanted the horse. His father was a chief, which meant he would be chief one day.”

“That’s damn sure motive to kill,” said Antoine.

“He was sent to speak to the other chiefs about how they would help to control the white men moving into their territories. Obviously, that didn’t work out,” frowned Trak. “He said this house wasn’t here, nor any house for that matter. He had pushed his horse very hard and stopped to give him water. That’s all he remembered. When I asked him to turn, I saw the arrow slit at the back of his shirt. I think someone killed him from behind, then took the arrow so no one would know.”

“Who would do that?” asked Sven.

“Any white men who were here would have been better with a rifle than a bow and arrow. I believe it was one of our own. His own.”

“How in the fuck do we help this guy? He can’t be more than twenty-five but was obviously skilled and intelligent. This is long before anyone would have given a shit about what happened to him other than his family. Sorry, Trak,” frowned Rafe.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re speaking the truth. I think we try to find any information on what the French and Spanish traders were doing with the tribes at that time. We might discover something. Anything would help him to rest.”