Deadly Pedigree - By Jimmy Fox Page 0,45

deathbed statement of his wishes for his estate may not have been the tidiest, most prudent way to do it, but it was binding nonetheless.

Memorandum. That on the Eighteenth Day of May, 1859, these Declarants do solemnly affirm that Hayam Balazare was Sick upon his bed unto Death, and instructed us to write this Will with respect to his Estate. He being, in the best of our determination, of Sound Mind to direct and dictate such Disposition. Said Hayam did desire that his Immovables, along with his Movables, be given and bequeathed to his Son, one Jacob Balazare, and to his unmarried daughter, Euphrozine Balazare. To wit, his Immovable Property, set down in the books of this Parish, St. Denis; and his Movable Property, to wit, his gold, his silver, his crops in field, his 43 slaves, his furnishings and clothing, his animals, and all chattels inclusive which are not herein set forth. Further, that his son Jacob Balazare be made his executor. This Will being read back to him by these Declarants, and being too weak but to make his mark with some aid, the said Hayam Balazare then did declare and affirm that this Will was true. We bear witness, or words to that effect, accordingly.

Ransom Coulton

HB John Swett X (his mark)

(mark of said Hayam Balazare) Wlm. Nason

A true gem of genealogical information! Here, Nick had learned of two of Hyam’s children, and three men who were perhaps business associates, lawyers or notaries (not Swett, who was unlettered), friends, or relatives. He had a certain death date, and he’d also seen important details of Hyam’s elevated financial circumstances.

More questions to answer, but a good day’s work.

Dusk had given way to gentle evening, and the lamplights on the street below had switched on, giving a distinctly nostalgic glow to the smooth river-lake and the French Quarter-like section of buildings that faced it. Nick was hungry and tired. He shuffled his pilfered documents back into his battered briefcase and stood up for a stretch, intending to go downstairs to investigate the possibilities of dinner. He was thinking he was actually earning the obscene fee Armiger had paid him.

Noises from his now dimly lit room stopped him cold.

Ah, so this was Natalie Armiger’s plan: let him stumble across the important facts, like an unwitting retriever, and then knock him off. She’d taken care of Corban–maybe; now it was his turn. Was an assassin waiting in his room?

His paranoia had shifted into overdrive.

“I knocked…a little,” Sharla said from the dimness, coyly penitent, when Nick confronted her in his room. “I thought you might be in the shower or something, so I just came on in. I brought you a club sandwich. And another bottle of wine. On me.” She gave the last two words a sultry intonation.

He switched on a bedside lamp and put down the nearly empty, dripping bottle of bubbly he’d grasped as a weapon. Sharla’s flowing floral dress was very sheer, and light from the balcony magically illuminated her young figure to delightful advantage. She wore nothing underneath. Nick couldn’t look away.

There were two wineglasses on her tray. He recognized the expensive California chardonnay.

“Guess I’m nuts,” Nick said, “or old-fashioned, but that would seem a reason not to come in.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me.” She demonstrated with a mock zip of her lips. “My mother teaches all us hotel staff to be the soul of discretion. Don’t you just want to tell me some of your deepest, darkest secrets? I keep my mouth shut…when I want to.” She giggled.

In spite of his scruples to the contrary, Nick smiled.

He was just a man, fallible and helpless, ultimately, in the big scheme of things. Why should he fight his nature? Nature with a big “N”?

He uncorked the new bottle. “How old are you, by the way? Somehow I get the feeling you’re trouble in a pretty package. But a very pretty package, Sharla, I have to say.” He poured wine into the two glasses.

Sharla gave a throaty laugh that did to Nick exactly what it was no doubt supposed to do. “Why thank you kindly, sir.” She moved even closer, almost touching him.

He saw the pulse jumping at the base of her neck, felt the warmth of her body, and learned in an instant her distinctive combination of scents.

She kissed him.

And when she was through, running a finger around Nick’s lips, she said, “How old do you have to be to have fun, Mr. Nick Herald from New