Keith Lafleur, Louisiana's largest and greediest building contractor, thinks he's cut the deal of a lifetime. The huge old, two-story, clapboard house is his for the taking as long as he can move it to a new location. It's too big to move as it is, but Lafleur's solution is simple: divide it in half. He has no idea, though, that by splitting the house he'll be dividing a family-one long dead.
Keith Lafleur, Louisiana's largest and greediest building contractor, thinks he's cut the deal of a lifetime. The huge old, two-story, clapboard house is his for the taking as long as he can move it to a new location. It's too big to move as it is, but Lafleur's solution is simple: divide it in half. He has no idea, though, that by splitting the house he'll be dividing a family-one long dead.
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Overview
Keith Lafleur, Louisiana's largest and greediest building contractor, thinks he's cut the deal of a lifetime. The huge old, two-story, clapboard house is his for the taking as long as he can move it to a new location. It's too big to move as it is, but Lafleur's solution is simple: divide it in half. He has no idea, though, that by splitting the house he'll be dividing a family-one long dead.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940011163395 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Deborah LeBlanc |
| Publication date: | 11/18/2010 |
| Sold by: | Smashwords |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 339 KB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Deborah LeBlanc is an award-winning, best-selling author and business owner from Lafayette, Louisiana. She is also a licensed death scene investigator, has been a paranormal investigator for over twenty years, and is currently the house clairsendium for the upcoming paranormal investigation television show, Through the Veil. She served four years as president of the Horror Writers Association, eight years as president of the Writers' Guild of Acadiana, and two years as president of Mystery Writers of America's Southwest Chapter. In 2007, Deborah founded Literacy Inc. a non-profit organization dedicated to fighting illiteracy in America’s teens. Deborah also takes her passion for literacy and a powerful ability to motivate to high schools around the country. For more information, visit www.deborahleblanc.com and www.literacyinc.com
Read an Excerpt
A House Divided
By Deborah LeBlanc
Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © 2006
Deborah LeBlanc
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-8439-5730-1
Chapter One
The blood didn't bother him.
The screaming did. That shrill, mortified cry, almost human in
nature, pained him like sugar melting into a rotted tooth.
Grimacing, Keith Lafleur scraped the sole of his right work
boot against the lip of the porch, and what remained of the
field mouse plopped to the ground. He hadn't meant to kill it,
but the damn rodent had startled him by darting out from under
one of the hay bales stacked on the porch.
After toeing loose straw over the small fan of blood and mouse
innards, Keith checked his watch, then leaned against one of
the six columns that supported the roof. Overall, the outside
of the house was in better shape than he had expected. It was
just ugly as hell. The paint coating the two stories of
cypress siding was severely chipped and had faded to a pale
pink. One small dormer sat in the center of a fifty-five foot,
gabled roof. It looked like a misplaced doghouse. Throw in the
twisted, wrought iron railings that fronted the upstairs
balcony, and you had the architectural malaise of New Orleans
French Quarter meets Rural Plantation meets Conventional
Nightmare.
Keith let out an impatient sigh and watched the hefty flow of
traffic moving along the two-lane highway in front of the
house. Across the highway sat a neighborhood,its houses an
eclectic mix of clapboards and bricks, old and new, so typical
of a growing, south Louisiana farm town. In the yard directly
ahead, an elderly woman with wispy white hair and a large,
prominently hooked nose worked a small garden. Every few
seconds, Keith saw her throw a glance his way. He was
considering flipping the old broad the finger so she'd take
her curiosity elsewhere when a car pulled into the graveled
driveway and parked behind his pickup.
"About damn time," Keith muttered, and stepped off the porch.
A woman got out of the car and hurried over to Keith with one
hand extended. "Mr. Lafleur?"
Keith nodded, suddenly too smitten to speak. He'd been
expecting Ed Bailey, the short, balding acquisitions manager
for Costless Drugs, and here he was staring into the eyes of a
goddess instead. The woman couldn't have been older than
thirty, with short, tousled blond hair and eyes the color of
toasted wheat. A taupe-colored suit hugged the curves of her
slender body perfectly.
"I'm Patricia Egan, Mr. Bailey's assistant," she said, her
words ensconced in a sweet Mississippi drawl. "Unfortunately,
something came up at the home office in Jackson, and Mr.
Bailey wasn't able to get away. He sent me here with the
paperwork instead. I hope you don't mind."
Mind? Hell, if anything Keith figured he should send the man a
bottle of Scotch in appreciation. "Not at all," he said, and
reluctantly let go of her hand.
"And I do apologize for being late," Patricia said. "My flight
got into Lafayette on schedule, but I had one heck of a time
finding Crowley, especially this address." A blush painted her
cheeks. "I'm afraid I've always been a bit directionally
challenged."
Keith didn't know if the helpless Southern belle tone in her
voice was an act or the real deal. Either way it was working
its charm all the way down to his groin.
"If you'd like, when we're done here, I can lead you back to
the airport." He nodded toward his pickup. "All you'd have to
do is follow that truck."
Patricia flashed him a smile, and her eyes took on a
mischievous sparkle. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I don't fly
out until early tomorrow morning. I'm staying in Lafayette
tonight-a hotel right next to the airport."
Keith held back a groan. Could it get more perfect? "Then I'll
lead you back to the hotel."
She tilted her head as though sizing him up, the smile never
leaving her face. "I'd appreciate that."
Keith barely heard her. His attention had locked on her full,
coral-shaded lips. He wondered what they would feel like
pressed against his, what they would look like moaning his
name. His imagination was about to carry her lips below his
belt when another vehicle pulled onto the property. A white
pickup truck with LAFLEUR CONSTRUCTION INC. signs on the
doors.
"Shit," Keith muttered under his breath. Of all the rotten
timing.
"One of your men?" Patricia asked.
"My lead foreman, Jeff Mabry," Keith said as he watched the
man's long-legged stride quickly close the distance between
his truck and the goddess.
"Sorry I'm late," Jeff said when he reached them. He held out
a hand to Patricia. "Ma'am."
Keith gave a quick round of introductions, then suggested they
examine the inside of the house before they lost anymore
sunlight. Being it was three on an October afternoon, he
hadn't actually lied. Dusk normally fell around five. But the
truth really didn't have anything to do with lost sunlight.
Keith didn't want Jeff touching Patricia, not even in a
handshake. She was his prize, his newly found goddess, and he
wanted to keep it that way-at least through tonight anyway.
Agreeing that they should get to the inspection, Patricia
pulled a key out of her skirt pocket and led the way to the
house.
"Now, Mr. Lafleur, Mr. Bailey did tell you that Costless is on
a tight construction schedule and will need the house moved by
the end of next week, right?"
"Yes, he did," Keith said, moving past Jeff so he could walk
beside her. A breeze carried her scent toward him, and he
inhaled deeply. She smelled like a magnolia tree in full
bloom.
Jeff climbed onto the porch. "Only one week to move this
thing? No way that's gonna happen. This house has gotta be
what-forty-three, forty-four hundred square feet under roof?
It's going to take us a week just to get the permits."
Keith threw him a scowl. "I've already taken care of the
permits."
Jeff frowned and looked like he was about to say something
else, then thought better of it.
"Here we go," Patricia said, as she stuck the key into the
lock. She turned it right, then left, then right again. "I
wonder if the lock's rusted."
Keith moved closer, placing a hand over hers. The touch of her
skin sent an electrical shock throughout his body. It took a
second or two for words to form in his brain. "Let me try. The
door looks like it's off center."
Patricia's cheeks turned the color of overripe peaches, and
she slowly moved her hand out from under his.
Hoping his erection wasn't too noticeable, at least to Jeff,
Keith grabbed the doorknob, pulled up hard, then turned the
key in the lock. It opened on the first try. He pushed the
door open and stepped inside.
"Whew," Patricia said, fanning a hand in front of her face.
"Mr. Bailey warned me the house was in bad shape, but I didn't
expect it to be this bad."
Keith walked past the foyer. Hay was stacked three bales high
in the living room and dining room, and he spotted a pile of
dried cow dung near an archway. The oak plank floors had more
scratches than an abused roller rink, and it was littered with
chicken droppings. Most of the wallpaper had been stripped
from the walls, and what little remained had faded so badly,
Keith couldn't make out the original color. "Looks like
someone's been using it for a barn."
"My word!" Patricia cupped a hand over her nose and mouth. "If
you don't mind, Mr. Lafleur, I'll wait for you outside. The
smell in here is a bit much for me."
"No problem," Keith said, hating to see her leave his side.
"We shouldn't be long."
Patricia waved a hand over her head as she made a quick exit.
"Take your time."
No sooner had she made it down the steps than Jeff pointed a
finger at Keith. "You wanna tell me what's going on here?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Keith said. "And get
your goddamn finger out of my face."
"I saw you all up in that woman's space."
"Yeah, so?"
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "What about Barbara? Remember her? Your
wife-my sister?"
"Hey, it's not like I was banging the woman or anything."
"No, but you want to. Don't think I didn't notice that little
touchy feely game you were playing with her by the door. I
swear, man, if you hurt my sister again-"
"Back off." Keith pushed past him. "I was only looking, and
I'm not hurting any-goddamn-body by looking."
Keith stormed off toward what he assumed would be the kitchen,
then came to an abrupt halt just inside the entrance. "Whoa!"
Jeff appeared beside him. "What?"
"Gas, man, can't you smell it?"
Jeff gave a tentative sniff. "I don't smell anything."
Keith coughed, his lungs beginning to burn as they filled with
fumes. He held a hand over his nose and mouth. "Your sinuses
have got to be packed with shit if you can't smell it. We've
got to get out of here, out to the truck, call utilities."
Jeff shot him a perplexed look, then went into the kitchen and
circled the worn checkerboard tiled floor. "Man, they don't
even have a stove in here, and the gas lines are capped with
like two inches of dust on them." He pointed to a four-foot
nook cut out of the counter space near the front of the room.
"Check it out for yourself."
Feeling light-headed and a bit nauseous, Keith went over to
the nook and examined the gas lines. They were capped, just as
Jeff said. Scanning the room for another possible leak source,
Keith spotted a wall heater near the walk-in pantry, one
identical to the heaters he'd seen in the other rooms. He
walked over to it, ran a finger through the layer of dust
coating the grill, then leaned in and sniffed. No gas. Keith
frowned and sniffed again. Not only was there no gas leaking
from the heater, he no longer smelled gas period.
"Well?" Jeff asked.
"Nothing. It's gone now."
Jeff let out a harrumph that clearly said, "I told you so."
"Shut the hell up," Keith said, irritated and still feeling
nauseous.
"I didn't say anything."
"Then get that shit-eating grin off your face." Keith headed
out of the room. "And get your thumb out your ass and help me
check upstairs."
"Why are you bothering with this dump anyway?" Jeff asked,
trailing behind him.
"'Cause it's free, that's why."
"Nothing's ever free. It's gonna cost you a ton just to move
this monster from Crowley to Windham. That's forty damn miles.
You're talking police escorts, runners, utility crews to
manage power and telephone lines, and that's not even touching
what it'll cost you to renovate the place. Besides, where are
you going to put it?"
"First Street." Keith squinted against a headache forming
between his eyes. The clomping of their boots on the hardwood
floors sent a hollow echo throughout the house, which pained
his ears. He felt pressure building behind his eardrums as if
he were gaining altitude.
"Where on First?" Jeff asked, coming to a stop at the
stairway. "All you've got are two, one hundred foot lots, and
they're not even next to each other. This house won't fit on
one lot."
"It'll fit if I cut the house in half." Keith signaled for
Jeff to keep moving.
"But you'll cut into the load bearing walls if you do that,"
Jeff said. "It'll collapse."
"Not if we put temporary stud walls up to replace them-will
you just get the hell upstairs already?"
Jeff glanced up the flight of narrow stairs. "Man, look at the
friggin' spider webs up there."
Keith peered around him. Silvery threads ran in thick
circular, crisscrossing swatches from the middle of the
stairway all the way up to the darkened landing. "So? Just
knock them down on your way up."
"You knock them down on the way up," Jeff said, stepping back.
"Quit being a pussy."
"Hey, there could be brown recluses hiding up there. One bite
from those bad boys and you wind up with some flesh-eating
disease. No thanks. You can call me a pussy, but you can't
call me stupid."
"Aw, just get the hell outta the way," Keith said, and headed
up the stairs. When he hit the second step, the pressure in
his ears intensified. He gritted his teeth, grabbed the
banister for balance, and forced himself forward.
Swatting cobwebs out of the way, Keith kept one eye peeled for
creepy crawlers and the other on his footing. Halfway up the
staircase, the pain in his ears became so severe he thought he
might vomit at any moment. He glanced over his shoulder and
saw Jeff on his heels. Judging from his wide-eyed expression,
the only thing bothering the guy was his fear of spiders.
When Keith finally reached the landing, he was drenched in
sweat. He motioned to Jeff with a shaky hand. "Go check out
the rooms down that end of the hall. I'll get the ones back
here."
"What am I looking for?"
"Offsets, stuff like that. Anything we might have to sure up
for the move."
"Yeah, all right, but let's make this quick," Jeff said,
heading off at a brisk pace. "I can barely see up here it's so
dark."
When Jeff hooked a left into one of the bedrooms, Keith leaned
against a wall to catch his breath. He thought about Patricia
Egan waiting for him outside and tried to will himself into
feeling better. No way did he want to miss out on that
golden-haired opportunity. But even imagining Patricia's
slender legs wrapped around his waist didn't take his mind off
the pain. If anything, it made it worse.
With a groan, Keith pushed away from the wall and trudged down
the south end of the hall. Jeff had been right. It was darker
up here. A heavier dark, like a thunderhead had parked itself
right over the house. He did a quick survey of the bathroom
and two bedrooms, noting the gray soot that coated most of
windows and walls. The soot appeared thicker in the last room,
which was trimmed in Mother Goose wallpaper. He ran a finger
along the doorjamb of a closet, and it came away black.
As he studied the soot, rubbing it between thumb and finger,
Keith felt a whisper of movement across the back of his neck.
Jeff's rant about brown recluse spiders flashed in his mind,
and Keith slapped a hand over the spot, imagining the worse.
When he checked his hand for blood, all he saw was more soot.
Much more than had been on his thumb only a moment ago.
Keith backed out of the room, wiping his hand across the seat
of his Dockers. Before he made it into the hallway, a tickling
sensation ran across his left cheek. He frantically brushed at
it, fully expecting to see a fat arachnid flung to the floor.
Nothing fell from his cheek.
Nearly panting now, Keith stumbled out of the room, the pain
in his ears unbearable. He saw Jeff walking toward him from the
other end of the hall. His mouth was moving, his hands
animated, but all Keith heard was a muffled sound, like so
many words spoken under water. He raised his hands to cup them
over his ears, hoping it would relieve some of the pressure,
and noticed that soot covered both his palms.
Jeff's gestures grew frantic, his muffled words now one
continuous hum. He jabbed an insistent finger in the air,
pointing at something overhead.
"What?" Keith called, then cried out when the sound of his own
voice seemed to split his eardrum.
More pointing, pointing, stabbing at something overhead-above
him, above his head.
Ignoring the soot and pressing his palms to his ears, Keith
looked up toward the shadowed ceiling, where Jeff indicated.
In the same moment his eye caught movement, Keith felt
something fat and solid drop onto his forehead.
The sting came so hot and fast, it rendered him immobile. The
pain in his ears vanished. In fact, Keith felt nothing at
all-save for the wire thin legs that fluttered against his
right eye.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A House Divided
by Deborah LeBlanc
Copyright © 2006 by Deborah LeBlanc.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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