Chapter Thirteen

Julia didn’t darken his black door all weekend. Remy took solace at Broussard’s Barn, the one place in the parish where no one would hassle him about the demise of the Queen. The Clarion made the most of the oak tree protest with full color pictures on the front page. The kid got a photo credit and a by-line for his interviews with Miss Lolly and Miss Maxie, who vowed to keep such a close eye on the project not one leaf would be bruised in its execution. Julia stayed in the background, not commenting, letting the society have all the credit. No matter that once the bush hogging was done, they’d all gone home one by one, unlocked by a master key she’d kept in her bra as if he might try to seize it from her.

Remy danced with women he didn’t care about, had a few drinks, and if he didn’t cry in his beer, he did brood over it. Old Broussard summoned him to the front and asked how the project was going. “Culverts go in Monday,” he said, telling the truth, but not telling it all.

“Bon,” the old man replied and sent him back to his table where a free drink he hadn’t ordered appeared within minutes. Definitely time to go home after that.

Bright and early on Monday, he had a good breakfast and lots of coffee before donning his hardhat and heading for the Queen. His contractor was there with a flatbed loaded with concrete culverts, backhoes to ream out the clogged ditches, and a small crane to lift out the crumbling pipe under the drive and insert the new ones. The police he’d requested to handle traffic during the process stood by their squad car awaiting his arrival—as were the protestors who lined the road for a quarter of a mile, staying on the public access strip between the ditch and the roadway, careful not to step over the white line and get in the way of the cars or equipment. Each one held a placard reading, “God save the Queen” with a little crown over the Q remarkably like the one on Julia’s truck. Now, she’d brought God into the fight.

Not just eccentric women this time either. Some had dragged their retired husbands into the fray. Waving their signs, Patty and Pammy stood side-by-side overdressed in lime green and orange pantsuits. Julia’s reedy intern had locked arms with two very elderly men who were telling the cub reporter they’d stayed a short time at the Queen before shipping out for WWII. “The food was hot and good, and the sheets clean even if she wasn’t in her prime,” one said very loudly, probably hard of hearing. Todd winced at the volume, but continued to hold the ancient veterans upright.

Remy didn’t see Julia. However, Jane Tauzin was there with a bullhorn rallying the troops. “Stand firm. Don’t break the line.”

He approached the officers. “What can we do about this?”

Officer Chauvin shrugged. “Not much. Miz Tauzin has a permit to demonstrate. The protesters ain’t in the street or on private property so we can’t remove them with or without force.”

“No force!”

Officer Ancona raised his eyes skyward. “Maybe it will rain, but not a cloud in sight. God does seem to be on their side today. To think I left New Orleans for days like this!”

The Regal Restorations truck drove up and squeezed into a spot on the other side of the road. Julia got down and sauntered across to Jane. “Sorry I ran late. I’ve been on the phone with Jonathan Hartz.”

“Is he coming?” Jane asked with unbounded enthusiasm.

“No, he and Celine are in Seattle for a few days, but we couldn’t wait for them. Nice job getting everyone here and into place.”

“Oh, one of the churches loaned us a bus. Really convenient. We parked on the Ste. Jeanne d’Arc lot as a central meeting place, and the Baptists delivered us here. They’re standing by for pickup.” Jane raised the bullhorn to her lips. “Julia is here!” A hoorah went up from the protesters.

Enough was enough. Remy left the company of the police and the cultch of workmen waiting to get started. He approached Julia and Jane. “Yes, nicely done and remarkably fast.”

“Thank you,” both women said simultaneously.

“You know this culvert work has to be done, Julia, whether we tear the building down or renovate it. Why don’t you let it happen?”

“Maybe we will once we get the historic designation.”

“It won’t come through before my demolition permit. That is already in the works.”

Julia and Jane exchanged glances as if mindreading. Their synchronization gave Remy a slight chill. “What?” he asked.

“Would you hold off on demolition until we can arrange a meeting with Jonathan Hartz? You need to hear what he has to say, but he won’t be back in town until next week. I can’t speak for him,” Julia said.

Remy took a deep breath. “I could wait a week, but only if you stop blocking my culverts.” He heard a click-whirr. The Jimmy Olsen of Chapelle was back taking pictures and gathering news. Jeez, the kid had freckles and red hair exactly like the original. Remy pointed a finger at him. “Leave.”

“I’m not on your property. That starts on the other side of the ditch.” The reporter literally walked the white line edging the road and made for the two veterans who let go of Todd and straightened their VFW caps. They gave the boy their best denture smiles and a smart salute before grabbing Todd’s elbows in case they lost balance and pitched into the coulee. An interview ensued. Remy could hear their shouted answers where he stood, though he wasn’t sure what their battle stories had to do with a few days stay at the Queen umpteen years ago.

“That sounds like a deal to me.” Jane put the bullhorn to her mouth. “Mr. Broussard has agreed to delay demolition for a week. We will be back if no compromise can be reached. Hang onto your signs in case we need them again. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes. Thank you so much for coming.” She pumped her fist into the air, and cheers rose loud enough to stir to leaves of the oaks.

Julia reached for Remy’s arm. “I appreciate the concession.” Her blue eyes shone with warmth, maybe even heat, and stared directly into his. Her voice lowered to seductive. “I’m going to teach Todd to make lime putty and turn it into plaster early Monday morning, say around eight. Want to come and watch?”

“Sure sounds hot to me.”

“It will be. Wear old clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.”

“Dirty. You got it.”

Jane intruded. “If you two are done having a stare-down with heavy sexual overtones, we should herd everyone over to the fruit stand for pickup and get out of the way of the construction workers. How about asking the cops to stop traffic so we can cross the road safely, Jules?”

“Will do.” Julia turned to leave.

Remy stopped her with a light touch. “See you Monday—if not sooner.”

“Not sooner.”

Looked like he had a long and frustrating weekend ahead.

****

Once the volunteers were loaded on the bus and headed home, Julia retired to Jane’s cozy office in her renovated Cajun cottage. An abundance of family pictures and thriving houseplants bedecked the spots not covered by the stacks of Jane’s projects. Jane cleared a chair of papers topped by a child-sized baseball mitt left behind by a son and beckoned Julia to sit.

“That went well. No violence, and we’ve set Remy up to meet with Hartz. But we have to push for the historic designation, especially since he spilled that he’s applied for his demolition permit. Funny how he let you know when he was going to bush-hog and put in those culverts.” Jane leaned back in her office chair and regarded Julia very seriously.

“Those things came up in conversation when we were trying to change each other’s minds. I think he’d come around to our way of thinking if he didn’t have a commitment to his family to build the condos. They’re backing him.” Julia kept her eyes on her short, clean nails. Jane’s green Mother Nature gaze could be very perceptive.

“Ordinarily, you don’t want to mess with the Broussards,” Jane agreed.

“Remy said there could be trouble. Are you afraid? I didn’t mean to drag you or your family into danger.”

Jane shook her brown bob. “Heck, I jumped in with both feet, but I’m not worried. My husband used to run with Slick Broussard, and his mother and sister once worked out at the Barn. They’re still on friendly terms. I know Merlin put the word out to let his wife do her thing. She wins some, loses some, he says. He was one of my hopeless causes, so he ought to know. A lot of people are still scared of him, which I guess helps in this case.” Jane picked up one of her photos of herself and Merlin surrounded by apple blossoms and gazing into each other’s eyes. With a dreamy look, she said, “I mean does he look like a dangerous man? We danced to Apple Blossom Time at our wedding.”

“Hell, yes, he looks dangerous. I’m glad he’s on our side. Maybe having an in with the Broussards will help too.”

“Well, I think Remy is leaking information about his plans because he wants to score with you.”

Glad her olive complexion didn’t give too much away though she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, Julia said, “I doubt that.” Because he’d already scored.

“His attraction could be useful, not that I’d want you to prostitute yourself for the Queen.”

“Maybe his heart isn’t truly in those condos.”

“Ha! I’ve never seen a man more into his own project than Remy. He might think the sexual attraction could work both ways and convince you to cease and desist.”

“No, we agreed…” Time to change the subject. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that Celine prodded Jon to make some calls to expedite our historic designation. He hates bludgeoning people with his wealth, but it does help move things along, especially with politicians. The Office of Cultural Development has all the information Todd and I put together. We could get the Queen added to the survey of Louisiana Historic Standing Structures any time now. I only hope we can delay the demolition long enough.”

“We’ll file an appeal against it as soon as we get on that list. You keep working on Remy.”

And that would be a pleasure for Jules.