The toddler twisted the doorknob, whispering to his sister who impatiently stood behind him. Alexandre pushed the door open and frowned as Vivienne shoved past him. "Be nice, Vivi," he mumbled, wrinkling his brows at the big man snoozing in the oversized chair. His huge feet were propped on the ottoman. Alexandre scratched his unkempt curls, wondering why the marshal was in his father's armchair. He padded over, standing at the armrest, extending his arm to poke the marshal in the nose. The boy startled from the deep snore and quickly decided to stare at Matt until he woke.
Vivienne quirked a ginger brow as she tunneled her way under the quilt, snuggling up to her mother. "Bonjour, Maman," she whispered, lips curling into a tender smile as her mother's lips brushed her forehead.
"Go back to sleep, Baby," Kitty tiredly murmured with closed eyes. She'd asked Doc for a sleeping powder after Matt had carried her to bed. She wrapped an arm around her girl, drifting back to sleep.
Alexandre supported his chin on the armrest, tapping his toes on the hardwood floor while he patiently waited for the slumbering giant to stir. He glanced over his shoulder and was tempted to climb into bed with his mother and sister.
Matt shifted in the chair, grimacing from the cramp in his neck. He rubbed his hand over the aching muscles, slowly opening his eyes, flinching as he met his son's identical blue orbs. The big man wasn't accustomed to beginning his mornings with a child gaping at him. He sank deeper into the chair, scrubbing his hand over his face.
"Morning, Marshal," Alexandre whispered.
"How'd you get in here?"
The boy pointed to the door and awkwardly vaulted himself over the armrest, tumbling into the lawman's lap. He giggled, wriggling around to get comfortable.
"Son," Matt grimaced as knees and elbows jabbed into his blanket-covered torso. He furrowed his brow at the boy's laughter. "You think it's funny? Huh?" Matt began tickling him.
Vivienne covered her ears, grunting in annoyance. She crankily sat up, glaring at her brother and the marshal. She clambered to her feet, thrusting her hands onto her hips. Her eyes narrowed on the pair, loudly shushing them until annoyedly shouting, "Tais-toi!"
"Vivienne Serena, you do not tell anyone to shut up even if it is in French. And sit back down," Kitty admonished with a sigh, fluffing the pillow under her head. She missed the days of sleeping until noon. "Apologize to your brother, and try to go back to sleep, please. Maman's tired, Vivi."
"Le Maréchal, too?"
"Le Mar—" Kitty's eyes flew open. She quickly sat up, staring at the big man in her husband's armchair with their son in his lap. "Matt!"
"Mornin'," he sheepishly replied.
"You stayed in here with me?"
"I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"Oh," Kitty faintly mumbled. "I appreciate that," she sincerely replied, pushing the pillows up behind her, reclining against them. Kitty kissed the top of Vivienne's head as she cuddled into her side.
Moments later, the redhead felt her cheeks burn as her maid entered the bedroom. Kitty always contemplated what went through Delia's mind when Matt paid a visit to Louisiana, but the Creole never let her suspicions show. She eyed the tray holding her preferred coffee mug, another mug, and a pot of coffee on the tray. She assumed Doc had told the maid about Matt being in the bedroom.
Without a word, Delia placed the tray on the ottoman after bumping the lawman's legs with her foot. She set her mistress' café au lait on the bedside table. "Doc told me you were under the weather last night, Madame. I'll take the twins down for breakfast."
"Thank you, Delia."
"C'mon, Monsieur Alexandre. Sadie's cooking breakfast. She's makin' pancakes." The maid grinned as the boy scrambled out of the big man's lap to hold her hand. Delia set her eyes on the pint-sized redhead. "C'mon, Miss Vivi."
Vivienne shook her head. "Non. Stay with Maman."
"Tout de suite," the maid firmly spoke, putting her hands on her hips. She wasn't in the mood for the toddler's newfound fondness of testing limits. "You're not being sassy today."
Vivienne grumbled, but kissed her mother on the cheek. "Au revoir, Maman."
"I'll be down in a little while, Baby. Be good for Delia."
"Oh, she will," Delia declared while Vivienne slid off the side of the bed. She barely heard Alexandre's well-intentioned whispers to his sister but saw the roll of the girl's eyes. "Do not roll your eyes at your brother because he did as I asked, and he's tryin' to make you do right. What did I tell you? No sass. You get close to being three-years-old and think you don't have to listen. Let me tell you something, little girl, you're gonna listen to me today."
Kitty hid her amusement behind her floral-painted mug and drank slowly, shaking her head as the door closed. She drew in a breath, rubbing her thumb along the cup's handle. "Matt, I'm sorry about last night. That's not how I wanted to tell you about the baby. I didn't know how to tell you," she admitted.
He nodded, gazing into his mug, observing the steam rise from the chicory coffee. It wasn't lost on him that she seemed to find it problematic informing him when she was with child. "When," he paused, running his finger along the edge of the tray, "when will the…"
"Early December," she answered, biting her lip, hating how he seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. "You'll still be welcome at Christmas, Matt. No matter what, you always will be."
Matt took a sip of his coffee and rested the mug on his thigh. "Do the twins know?"
Kitty tapped her nail against the rim of the cup, studying him and his silence about the Christmas visit. "Not yet, but I think they sense it. Alexandre more than Vivi."
"I don't think she'll take it too well."
"I don't know, Matt. Vivi's full of surprises."
"Like her mother," he remarked, easing out of the armchair. "I should get goin'. I'll see you later."
"Sure," Kitty responded, watching him walk to the door. She hit her head against the headboard and thought about how summers never seemed to go well for them.
In the private dining room of the second floor, Henri stared at his plate of pain perdu with smoked bacon, momentarily wishing he'd ordered something else. There would be no little fingers stealing a slice of bacon or the last bite of pain perdu. He wished he was at The Oaks, sitting around the family table with his daughter on his knee, but instead, he was sitting across from the Chief of Police. He trusted David Hennessy. He'd known the man since he'd joined the police force as a messenger in 1870.
"Henri, what's this about? You're supposed to be on holiday."
"It's about Helena Fontenot, David."
The younger man dropped his forkful of poached eggs onto the plate. He sat back in his chair, rubbing the end of his handlebar mustache between his fingers, considering his valued friend. "I personally spoke with Philippe. He wouldn't answer any questions, but I know he had to have seen the killer."
"He did."
"Well?"
"Manon."
"Durand?"
Henri confirmed with a nod of his dark head.
The police chief scoffed and resumed eating his eggs Sardou. "That she-devil hasn't been in New Orleans in years."
"She's obviously returned, David. Yves saw her in my courtyard."
"Is Yves certain?"
"Yes, he summoned me from Baton Rouge. She carved 'la morte' into the base of one of the magnolia trees."
The policeman lifted his head to meet the Frenchman's eyes. "La morte," David echoed, recalling his partial knowledge of his friend's language. "The dead?" the police chief dropped his napkin into his lap after Henri's confirmation. "I'll put a man on your home."
Henri shook his head, disapproving of the security measure. "No, Manon won't come for me. She's after wives, David. Specifically…Kathleen. I've spoken to Eliza Jane," he referred to the owner and publisher of The Daily Picayune. He'd known Eliza Jane Nicholson would be supportive and compassionate to his dilemma. The journalist had been attacked with a pistol and a bottle of rum by her first husband's former wife, and she adored his Kathleen. The two had become fast friends when Kitty joined the New Orleans Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
Hennessy wrinkled his dark brows. "Why have you involved Eliza Jane?"
The Frenchman's lips curled into a smirk. "I believed you to be a better policeman, David. I plan to lure Manon to me. Eliza Jane's article in the newspaper will help."
"Henri, let me and my men handle this case. It's what we're paid to do."
"David, this is something I must do, but I need your help. Will you assist me? S'il vous plaît."
He sighed heavily but nodded his head. David gathered Henri had a strategy. Through his years of friendship with the tycoon, he knew Henri had seen every possible angle, good and bad. "I'll assist you," he decided, hoping he wouldn't have to notify Madame Broussard that she had been widowed.
Doc settled into the leather wingback chair in the empty den. He wished he could take the chair from The Oaks and have it in his cottage. He felt every man needed a faithful leather chair with classic roll arms and a button-tufted back. The family doctor propped his feet on the ottoman, picking up the old newspaper as the sounds of merriment drifted to his ears through the open window. He put his spectacles on his face, sipping his lemonade as he caught up on day old information.
"Kitty," he greeted, glancing over the edge of the page. "How are you feeling after climbing a mountain?"
"Doc," she scolded, rolling her eyes. "I had an easier time climbin' that mountain than I ever had trying to move that mountain."
He shifted in his seat, rubbing his fingers over his mustachioed mouth, deciding to change the subject. "Where are my grandchildren?"
"On the porch playing with kittens. Your granddaughter wants to take the cream colored one home to New Orleans. She's even named the little cat."
"Oh, she has, huh?"
"Honey."
Doc chuckled, tugging on his earlobe. He wouldn't be surprised if Vivienne did convince her papa to allow her to take the kitten back home.
"Want some more lemonade?"
"That'd be wonderful," he said, handing over his glass as he turned the page. He read the article, eyes widening with each detail of the murder that had taken place days ago. The elderly man barely heard the twins' protests over their afternoon nap as Delia corralled them inside the house. He put the newspaper into his lap, staring at Kitty as she returned to the room.
"Thank you," he said, taking the refilled glass. "Oh, Kitty, I nearly forgot. Silas brought this in earlier." He dug the telegram out of his pocket, handing it to her. "Don't you and Henri know Philippe and Helena Fontenot?"
"Yeah, Doc. You know them, too. You went to a dinner party with us at their house once. Remember? You got all riled when you found out Philippe was taking a tonic to purify his blood."
"Most asinine fool thing…a tonic to purify the blood! Any self-respecting physician shouldn't prescribe such a thing!" he bellowed.
"Doc," Kitty groaned, unable to take one of his medical tirades. "Why are you asking about them?"
His face turned serious. He softly cleared his throat as Matt stepped into the room. "Helena was murdered. The paper says she was shot through the heart by an intruder," he conveyed, pointing to the news story.
Kitty propped her arm on the back of the chair, peering over his shoulder at the article. "That's awful," she murmured, opening the message. She'd always liked the soft-spoken blonde.
"They know who yet?" Matt curiously asked. He'd heard that the New Orleans police force was incompetent and plagued with corruption but had shown signs of improvement since a new chief had been appointed last year.
"Not yet," Doc answered, slipping the newspaper to Matt.
Kitty's eyes focused on the wire from Eliza Jane Nicholson.
Kathleen, I am so sorry to hear that Manon has returned to our city. I'm doing all I can to help Henri bring her to justice.
The color drained from her face as her mind swirled. Her eyelids fluttered as her breathing became shallow. She staggered backward, swaying slightly, dropping the message to the floor.
Matt turned his head at the rustle of the note. "Kitty," he lunged forward, catching her before she hit the floor.