mad at him.
Nice thought, but it probably wasn’t going to work.
“Zara,” Alain said after he’d rounded up the other searchers and let them know the child was safe, “did you paint the wall of the opera house?”
“Uh-huh.”
He sighed. “I’m gonna call your mama and let her know you’re safe. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.” He led her to his squad car and put her in the front seat with a stern order for her to stay put.
Luc followed, and while Alain was on the phone, he took the opportunity to question Zara. He opened the car door and leaned down, propping his elbow on the roof. “Why did you do that?” He pointed to the defaced stone wall. “That building is a historical landmark.”
“I did it because I’m a juvenile delinquent.” She struggled a bit over the words, but she got them out.
“Zara, do you know what happens to juvenile delinquents?”
“They don’t go to jail, do they?” She was starting to look frightened.
“Sometimes they get arrested,” Luc said, “and sometimes they go to jail. But the worst thing is that they make their mothers really, really sad. How do you think your mother is going to feel about this?”
Zara did seem troubled by this notion, but she also looked determined. “She’ll want to do what’s best for me.”
Alain opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. “Come on, Zara, I’ll take you home.”
“Can’t Luc take me home?”
“I have to talk to your mother and explain what you did. Then we have to figure out what’s to be done.”
Luc gave Zara’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then closed the door, his heart heavy. He was afraid Loretta and Zara were in for some tough times. It wouldn’t even surprise him if Loretta thought he had put Zara up to this stunt, just to turn himself into a hero.
His last view of Zara was her painted face looking forlornly at him through the car window, her little hand pressed against the glass. She would learn, and soon enough, that he was not a hero in anyone’s eyes. Especially not his own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LORETTA HUNG UP the phone, relief coursing through her veins like a drug. “She’s okay. That was Alain. He’s bringing her home.”
Adele’s eyes filled with tears of relief, and Vincent crossed himself in thanks. “So what happened? Where’s she been?”
“Making mischief, apparently. We’ll get it all sorted out when she gets here.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Soon the lights of Alain’s patrol car shone through the bakery’s front windows. Loretta couldn’t wait-she ran out the door and to the car, and when the passenger door opened and her little girl scrambled out, Loretta scooped her up and held her tightly.
“Oh, baby, I was so scared. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay. Luc found me.”
Loretta looked to Alain for confirmation.
“It was Luc who found her,” Alain said. They went back inside, where Loretta got her subdued daughter something to eat as Alain explained the evening’s events.
“Luc saw the commotion and stopped to help. He found Zara hiding in some bushes down near the bayou.”
Luc. She was going to have to do something about him. But first things first. “Zara,” she said, trying not to sound too accusatory, “can you tell us why you went to all this trouble?”
“Because I’m a juvenile delinquent. I come from a broken home.”
Loretta definitely smelled something fishy here. Zara had an agenda. And Loretta had a pretty good idea what it was.
Alain sat down next to Zara at the oak table. “You know, Zara, what I’ve found is, it’s not so much the number of parents that makes for a good home to raise a child in, but the amount of love and care and concern and guidance the child gets. And everyone in town knows that your mama, and your grandparents, too, give you enough love for ten kids. So I’m not buying this ‘broken home’ nonsense.”
“Thank you, Alain,” Loretta said, “but I think I know what’s going on. Zara’s on a campaign to convince me she needs a father.”
“Ahhh. Well, Zara, honey, I’m sure your mama would like you to have a father, too. But you can’t just buy one at the store.”
“I know that,” Zara said. “But I know where she can get one.”
Alain quickly pushed his chair back. “I think this investigation is no longer in my area of expertise.”
“Do I have to go to jail?” Zara asked, sounding scared but a little intrigued by the possibility.
“No, but you’ll need to clean up that wall you painted.”
“It’s just tempera paint,” Zara said. “It’ll come off with water.”
Well, that was a relief, at least. “We’ll take care of it tomorrow,” Loretta told Alain. “And I’ll come up with an additional punishment, just so Zara’s clear on the consequences of breaking the law.”
“Mama-”
“Not a word out of you, missy.” Now that the surge of relief was wearing off, Loretta’s anger rose.
Alain nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s best. And I’m just awful glad no harm came to you, Miss Zara.” He tipped his hat and went on his way.
Zara hadn’t eaten much of her dinner, but Loretta wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. “Are you finished here?”
She nodded.
“Then go take a bath and get all that paint off you. Afterward, it’s straight to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She slipped out of her chair and headed forlornly toward the house.
“Wait. Zara…”
Zara stopped, and Loretta went to her and enveloped her in yet another bear hug. “No matter what happens, no matter what you do, I’ll always love you. I’m put out with you right now, but I still love you. Okay?”
She nodded. “I love you, too.”
“Mama,” Loretta said, “do you think you could supervise her bath for me? And shampoo her hair? She’s got paint in it.”
“Of course.”
“I have something important to do.”
Adele nodded, understanding perfectly. Vincent just looked pleased. “We’ll spend the night here, if you need us to,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing. But you might, um…do something about your own hair.”
Well, that told her where her parents stood on the issue of Luc. They hadn’t pushed her one way or another when they’d learned of the breakup, but they’d obviously been hoping she would change her mind about Luc.
She checked herself in the car’s rearview mirror and realized her father had a point. She looked a fright, as if she’d been struck by lightning or something. She ran her fingers through her hair, then dug in her purse for some lipstick, but she gave up after a fruitless search. Luc would just have to take her as she was.
If he didn’t slam the door in her face on principle alone.
When she pulled up to the B and B, lights shone warmly through the windows. It was such a beautiful, inviting home, and Luc was the soul of it. A person who had created such a place from the ground up had to be good, deep-down good.
She was distressed that Luc’s car wasn’t there. She walked to the front door and rang the bell, and Celeste answered. The woman didn’t look quite as formidable as usual. Maybe she’d softened, too.
“Celeste, is Luc here?” Loretta asked.
“No, I’m sorry, dear. He left a while ago, didn’t say where he was going. But he seemed in a…melancholy mood. Would you like to come in and wait for him?”
