“Me, too,” the butler said. “I’ve known Miss Mireille since she was a little bitty girl, and me just a boy myself.” He sighed. “I’m going to pray hard as I can she’ll be healed.”
“That’s the best possible thing we can do right now,” An’gel said.
Jackson nodded, and An’gel watched him depart, his shoulders slumped. She felt a fresh wave of anger toward Sondra for all the harm and distress she had caused. Then she realized that she had to calm herself or her blood pressure would remain sky-high, and that wouldn’t do. She poured herself a cup of tea, added a little cream and sugar, and stirred.
The warm liquid was a welcome balm for her frazzled nerves. As she sipped her tea, she listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She was curious to hear Thurston’s report on his conversation with Sondra. If he would share it with her, she thought. He might not want to talk about it.
An’gel didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later Thurston strolled into the parlor. He appeared remarkably calm, An’gel thought, in contrast to his state when he left her to confront Sondra.
“I’m having tea,” An’gel said. “Would you care to have some? I can ring Jackson and ask for a second cup if you’d like.”
Thurston shook his head. “Thank you, no. Right now I’d rather have a bottle of bourbon, but it’s too early in the day for that.” He glanced at the windows. “Even though it looks like blackest night outside right now.” He chose an armchair near the sofa and leaned back, rubbing his forehead.
“How is Sondra?” An’gel asked. She figured that was general enough an inquiry for Thurston to answer briefly or in detail, depending on how much he wanted to share with her.
Thurston laughed, and the sound was grim to An’gel’s ears.
“I think I managed to get through that piece of granite that serves as a brain. I told her the wedding would have to be postponed indefinitely.”
“How did she take that?”
“Not well,” Thurston replied. “She kept insisting that she was going ahead with the wedding, no matter what, but I told her that Father McKitterick wouldn’t officiate under the circumstances.”
“I doubt that went over well,” An’gel said. She poured a second cup of tea.
“No,” the lawyer said. “It didn’t, but I kept at her. I finally got through to her, though.”
“How?” An’gel asked.
Thurston grinned. “The one thing Sondra is really terrified of is public ridicule. She wants everyone to be impressed with how beautiful she is, and she can’t stand being laughed at. I promised her that I would personally tell every single person in St. Ignatiusville what she had done to her grandmother, and I assured her that if she went out in public, everyone would point at her and laugh. People love Miss Mireille in this town, and they’ll turn against Sondra completely if any word gets out about this.”
An’gel was horrified. “Surely you’d never share this with the whole town. Mireille would be utterly humiliated.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” Thurston waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “But Sondra thinks I will. She’s so self-centered, she’ll never figure that out, however. She is unable to understand anything from a point of view other than her own.”
“You’re right about that,” An’gel said. “I don’t suppose she expressed any concern for her grandmother.”
“Nothing will touch that petrified heart of hers,” the lawyer replied. “She’ll never take responsibility for what happened, I can promise you that.” He stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Forget about what time it is, I need a drink.” He found a glass and a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a sizable portion. He brought the glass back and resumed his seat. He lifted the glass in An’gel’s direction and said, “Here’s to Miss Mireille’s complete recovery.”
An’gel said, “Hear, hear,” and raised her teacup.
Thurston drained his glass and set it on a side table nearby. He glanced toward the windows. “Looks like the rain is slacking off. It’s not as dark out there as it has been.” He got up and walked over to look outside.
“Thank heavens,” An’gel muttered. The atmosphere in the house felt oppressive, and she would be happy if the weather cleared up enough to allow her to leave.
A chirping sound emanated from her handbag. She delved inside and pulled out her cell phone. She and Dickce had recently upgraded their phones from the old flip versions to phones that could take pictures and send text messages. She hadn’t tried the messaging function yet, but it appeared that someone had just sent her one. Dickce, she figured. She touched the screen and the message app opened.
“Mireille in ICU. Jacqueline says she’s stable, holding her own. Doctor not sure about chances of recovery.”
An’gel sighed and peered at the small screen. She touched the text box, and a keyboard appeared. With one finger she tapped a response. “Thanks. Will be praying for her.” She hit the Send button, feeling slightly proud of herself for having sent her first text.
Another message appeared. “Will call later.”
An’gel typed in her response. “Okay.”
No further message popped up, and An’gel put the phone back in her purse.
Thurston resumed his seat. “News?”
“Yes,” An’gel said. She gave him the update on Mireille’s condition.
Thurston’s face darkened. “It doesn’t sound good.”
“Unfortunately, no,” An’gel replied. “I feel so helpless, as I’m sure you do.”
“I feel like going back upstairs and wringing that girl’s neck for what she did,” the lawyer said.
“You might have to get in line,” An’gel said wryly.
Thurston grinned. “Not that it would do Miss Mireille one iota of good, but it sure would make me feel better.” He stood. “I think the storm’s let up enough that I can probably get back to my office without being washed away. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Ducote, I’ll be going.”
“Do be careful out there.” An’gel got up and followed him out of the parlor.
As they moved into the hall, the front door crashed open, and a tall, muscular young man strode in, obviously worked up over something. He shed a raincoat and let it drop to the floor where he stood. Then he apparently caught sight of An’gel and Thurston and pulled up short.
“Where is Sondra?” he demanded. “I’ll kill her before I let her marry that jackass Lance.”
CHAPTER 12
Even standing several feet from the open door, An’gel felt the moisture blowing in.
Thurston spoke before she could admonish the stranger to close it, however. “Trey, there’s water blowing in. Shut the door.”
Trey stared blankly at the lawyer for a moment before Thurston’s words evidently sank in. He scowled but complied with the lawyer’s command.
“Well, where is she?” he demanded when he turned back, staring hard at Thurston.
“Upstairs in her room,” the lawyer replied.
Trey bolted up the staircase. Moments later An’gel heard him bellow Sondra’s name.
“Should you follow him, do you think?” An’gel asked. The strange young man’s violent words concerned her.
Thurston shrugged. “He’s more hot air than action most of the time. I doubt he’ll do anything other than get into a screaming match with Sondra.”
“Who is he?” An’gel asked, feeling slightly relieved by the lawyer’s response. “He looks vaguely familiar.”
“Horace Mims the Third,” Thurston replied. “Otherwise known as Trey. He’s been mooning over Sondra for years, but as far as I know, she’s thought of him only as a brother.”
“The last time I saw him,” An’gel said, “he was much shorter and weedy looking. No wonder I didn’t recognize him.”
Thurston laughed. “He’s a gym rat. Spends three hours a day there, last I heard tell.”