chapter 4

They discussed their hometowns, families, and backgrounds over fresh stuffed lobster, succotash, and baked potatoes.

Not being a southerner, Grace was shocked he could trace his family tree back so far, and not at all sorry he couldn't trace it earlier than his distant relative's adoption in New York, 1860. It made sense to her. Her own people had been back in Europe then!

His parents were in a fatal car crash when he was young, and he was raised by his wealthy grandmother, who doted on him as all that was left of the son she had adored. His father had been a famous civil rights lawyer until he passed. He attended only the best schools, and worked mostly in IT, though he occasionally pursued his deeper interest in old homes. As a history buff, she enjoyed hearing that part. It was something they had in common.

She was a Midwestern girl with an urge for stardom, and indulgent parents. After years of pursuing acting, it no longer felt right, and it had left her angry, penniless, and feeling emotionally bankrupt. But for her parents continued generosity, she has nothing. She needed a change of scenery badly, and New Orleans provided it.

They could feel the connection of two people at a crossroads who had had enough of their present circmstances.

They'd started dinner at 7, and barely noticed until they were told the place at closing at 3:30 am.

It was instant. And it scared her. He felt safe, comfortable, trustworthy. But she'd been burned by this game before. Directors who promised parts, producers who promised an agent. There was a time when she'd trusted. But love...love was good for nothing.

So why did she want to invite him up? Drag him against her? Feel the softness of his plump flesh between her legs?

He drove her back to the hotel and walked her to the door. "So..." She leaned in, and he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her...

Beautiful, she was so beautiful on the dance floor...

Grace blinked. What had she just seen?

They parted reluctantly.

"Wow", he said, "So tell me more about...."

"No, read first, questions later, I'll text you", she said, laughing. "Good night, hank."

"Goodnight, Grace."

Once he was on the 10 headed north, he became immediately depressed and angry, and for the first time realized he was afraid. And very much did not want to return to that house tonight.

Bang! Hank startled awake and looked at the clock. 3 am, and the door had swung shut again.

"***",he growled. "Stop it!"

"Bang!" Then his own bedroom door swung shut.

He leaped out of bed. "Stop being a pussy! Fight me like man!" he shouted, "Stop hiding in the shadows."

Silence.

He jumped again as his phone buzzed. He had a message. Grace had sent him lots information on "feeding." Well, what else did he have to do? He sure wasn't going back to sleep tonight.

Jeremiah found him slumped over his desk, snoring, at 7:30 in the morning.

"Dude, you gotta get an exorcist or something in here", Jeremiah said, "You can't keep losing sleep."

Hank tried to come awake and waddled to the kitchen to make coffee.

"How did your date go?" Jeremiah called.

"Fantastic! She's beautiful and fun and funny and smart and special. I'm crazy about her."

"Wow. I guess I was wrong, good for you..." Jeremiah slammed his hammer into the wall...and it fell apart, raining antique papers and photographs.

"Hank, you better come in here."

In a tshirt and pj pants, Hank came back in with two cups of coffee.

"Oh my God!" He gathered up the papers. A marriage license. And a photograph.

"You know how expensive a photograph would have been then?"

"Well look at this place", Jeremiah motioned.

It was a black and white photo of a man and woman on their wedding day. A woman with dark hair in a white wedding dress, and a blonde man in a suit.

"Tristan Thibodaux and Annette Jennings on their wedding day", Hank read.

"Jennings ain't no fancy Creole name", Jeremiah said. "And why was it buried in the wall?"

"He married her for love", Hank said with sudden confidence.

"That ain't why no rich people ever married", Jeremiah said.

"This one did." Hank was certain.

Just as certain as he was that he'd seen those dark eyes before. Recently.

Hank was quickly dressed and off to the local library. He finally wound up in New Orleans to research important families from pre-war southern Louisiana.

In minutes, he found the Thibodauxs, generations of them, and then...they stopped. Pierre and Henriette had had 6 children, 5 girls followed by one boy, all of whom married, and apparently fled the county.

"Pierre Thibodaux...died of a heart condition, 1855.
Henriette Thibodaux...died natural causes 1874.
Abigail Thibodaux Johnston...died natural causes 1915.
Agnes Thibodaux Neverleigh...died natural causes 1925
Agatha Thibodaux Royce...died natural causes 1930
Alice Thibodaux Devereaux...died in childbirth 1920
Anna Thibodaux Ralston...died of TB 1917
Tristan Thibodaux... death by suicide, 1858
Annette Thibodaux...disappeared, declared dead 7 years after her disappearance
Tristan Thibodaux, Jr......also disappeared, declared dead 7 years after his disappearance."

Why in the world, Hank thought, would a spoiled lord-of-the-manor son kill himself? He had everything going for him, he'd inherited a cotton fortune, and wise investing meant he hadn't needed to lift a finger the rest of his life if he didn't want to.

And he had a gorgeous young wife who adored him. It didn't say the year Annette disappeared, but it was obvious. He died of a broken heart. Clearly everyone easily believed that a girl from a lower class would leave her loving husband for her bayou lover who was the real father of her baby, but it made no sense to Hank.

He'd seen her face in that picture. Glowing. Adoring. She loved her husband. He was certain of it. Hmm, and the so-called lover's body was the only one ever found, discovered in a tobacco field with a shot to the heart. The entire thing was too tidy for Hank's taste.

Whomever killed Annette wanted to make sure her lover never talked either. And he was becoming more certain than ever that she was murdered. It had to be difficult for a girl raised on red beans and rice, and chicken bone voodoo spells, to suddenly become lady of the manor. Had to ruffle a few feathers too. There were undoubtedly a few upset planter's daughters. And their fathers. How did Tristan's own family feel about his marriage?

He gathered what information he could, and returned to Twin Oaks. He thanked Grace for the info, and asked her out again. In the excitement about the house, he forgot how excited he'd been the night before discovering feederism. He was certain he wanted to be fed, and certain he wanted Grace to do it. He looked at her icon online, and at the black and white picture. Those eyes.