Bayou Born(32)

Branna nodded and hoped Steven would never come up again. “I insist. Let me buy.”

“Well...if you insist.”

“Done,” she said. She opened her office door and stepped inside. Paper crunched under her heels. More messages from Steven? She closed her door halfway and hobbled to her chair to pull the papers off her heels. The harassment had to stop. She needed to figure out a way to handle Steven. If she continued to ignore him, he’d push until he sweet-talked Sadie into something drastic. He’d pulled stunts before. Would reason work with him? If the past was any indicator, probably not.

If not, she’d call Uncle Peter again and ask for more advice. Last time, she’d hired “the Big Gun,” her nickname for Uncle Peter, he had a chat, attorney to attorney, with Steven. Afterward, her ex-fiancé had left her alone…for a while.

Steven’s stunt last November had scared her and sent her running for the Big Gun. She remembered the incident all too well. A rainy night after she had finished teaching a class at the Senior Center and only a few students mingled in the hall, she investigated someone whistling an eerie tune. The sound echoed from the hall into the classroom where she sat reading essays. When she stepped out of the classroom and into the hall, the man continued to whistle as he strode purposefully in her direction, as though he had waited for her to appear. He carried folded papers.

“Branna Lind?”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly.

“You’ve been served.” He handed her papers, then walked away whistling a funeral march.

She’d listened enough to Steven’s attorney-speak to know what “served” meant. She glanced over the papers—suit papers—alleging breach of contract. Steven wanted a million dollars! Stunned, she raced home to Fleur de Lis and called her father who was at their beach house in Biloxi. He calmed her down and agreed to meet her at Uncle Peter’s law office.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, her anger burned on a short fuse. She marched in and took a seat in the chair in front of Uncle Peter’s desk. Her father sat next to her and patted her hand. When Uncle Peter read over the papers, he chuckled. She wanted to hit him.

“Start at the very beginning and read this document. This is Contracts 101,” Uncle Peter instructed.

She glared at him, but did as told.

“Steven Sterling, Plaintiff, verses B. Noel MyLove, Defendant.” She stopped. “What in the world? I’m not a lawyer, but this can’t be proper form.”

“Darl’n,” Uncle Peter drawled, “I think the man is desperate. He wants your attention. This looks like a lawsuit. Served it like a lawsuit—well, maybe—and written like a lawsuit. But it’s not.”

“But...” she sputtered. Leaning forward she tossed the papers back on Uncle Peter’s desk.

He laughed.

Her father sighed, crossed one ankle over a knee, and sat back in his chair. “Peter, explain.”

“Uncle Peter, what can I do?” she interrupted. “I’m done with that man. I’m sick of the harassment. Jewelry, flowers, cards, phone calls, and now this! A fake lawsuit? Served where I work! Isn’t there a law against that? He’s invading my space. Ruining my life.”

Her uncle sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Branna, there’s no law against a man trying to win back the woman he loves. I can see how upsetting this is to you. I’ll give him a call and ask him politely to stop. How would that be?”

“Can I have him arrested?”

“How about we try it my way first?”

“Hmph. Charge your billable hours to him!”

That had ended Steven’s attempt at wearing her down. Until recently. She hated that she had let him upset her. She didn’t want another empty apology from him, then or now. She promised herself, after a month of crying every day over that man, she would never cry over any man again. So far, she’d kept that promise.

“Excuse me.” Sadie interrupted her thoughts. Standing in the doorway she said, “Lester will be waiting for you at your house at lunchtime.”

“Thanks very much, Sadie.”

“Good morning,” James said as he walked into view behind Sadie. “Will you need a ride to your house or do you have a rental?”

“What?”

“Do you need a ride home? At lunch today?” James spoke slowly, as though she might not understand English.

“Why would I need a ride?”

“Because your car got just towed from the student parking lot?”

“I thought my decal was good for any spot, except the ones reserved for Dr. Westcott and Dr. Brown. Someone towed my car?”

“Correct. You can park anywhere, but those two spots, and your car was towed. I thought you had mechanical problems or something, thought that was the reason for the tow truck.”

“I own a Volvo. I don’t have mechanical problems,” she insisted.

“Well, your car just got towed. I saw the tow truck pull out as I pulled in. No one else I know has a metallic blue Volvo with Mississippi tags.”

“Oh, yeah, got to change those...What was the name of the tow company? Where are they taking my car?” She rose. Was James joking around? Her car towed? No. It had to be there.

“I’ll call campus security to see if they know anything. Maybe security can stop them before they get past the front gates.” Sadie scurried to her desk.

James appeared deep in thought, as though he scanned his brain for data. “Best Boys,” he finally said.

Confused, she shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“The name of the tow company is Best Boys.”

She yelled, “Sadie, the tow company is Best Boys.” She dashed for the door. Her high heels slowed her pace when carpet transitioned to tile. Changing from a trot to a fast walk, she called over her shoulder to James, “Are you coming to help me or not?”

When she arrived at the spot where her car had sat, her feet ached from pounding the sidewalk in heels. Campus security officers blocked the entrance and exit of the student commuter parking lot. Red lights flashed. She scanned the parking lot.

No tow truck.

No Volvo.

But in the spot where she had parked the Volvo less than two hours ago, a new Mercedes sedan waited with a big, red bow on top.

“Ma’am, please stand back.” An officer—an older, heavyset man with white hair poking out from under his cap—hitched up the waist of his pants. “Is your name Ms. Lind?”

“Where’s my car?”

“Are you Ms. Lind?”

“Yes.”

“I found this addressed to you and taped to the door handle of this here new vehicle.” The stern looking man offered a red envelope.

She refused to touch it. Instead, she raised her hands to shade her eyes from the bright sun. “But my car? Where has Best Boys taken my car? And why?”

“I’ve been told your fiancé authorized it.” The disapproval that etched the man’s face said he had better things to do with his time.

“Officer...” She looked for his nametag. “Officer Hutton, I don’t have a fiancé.” She flashed the back of her ring-less left hand and wiggled her fingers as evidence.

“What?” Shock registered on the man’s face.

“Ms. Lind says she’s not engaged. With whom did you speak to about her car?” James asked as he drew closer. A few students gathered in the parking lot appeared to be straining to hear the conversation.

“A man called, said he was Ms. Lind’s fiancé. He arranged for a tow truck to deliver her new car. He said it was an engagement gift, and that he had arranged to have her old car picked up.”

“And you let him?” she cried.

“Calm down, Branna. I talked to the dispatcher at Best Boys. Your Volvo is waiting in your driveway.”

“Oh great! Now it will end up with paint on it!”

James’ furrowed brow told her he didn’t understand.

“A painter is there today, painting the exterior of my house.” She turned to face the older man. “Officer Hutton, you’ve been had. I don’t have a fiancé. And if my Volvo has paint on it when I get home, you’re going to need to arrest me for killing Steven Sterling!”

“Yeah, that was his name. Mr. Sterling. Said he wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me? I’m going to surprise the hell out of him!” She reached in her pants pockets. No cell phone. It was in her purse, in her desk drawer. She couldn’t call Steven or Best Boys or even Bill to ask that he tarp the car to protect it. She couldn’t leave work to chase down the tow truck. She’d have to wait until lunch...then she had to meet the plumber.

Nauseous, she laid her hands over her stomach. Never in her life had she experienced so much chaos in such a short time. If only she could crawl back into bed and start the day over.