Farah and I silently sit at the back of the skiff as it takes us and the reporters towards the Cavanagh plantation. As its brick walls, covered in vines, come in sight, Farah tenses my unease. The news of Ernest Boudrot's sudden death has shocked me. I remember the man with his vibrant blue eyes and a smile that could dazzle the entire Promenade. The fact that Joane's father is no longer alive, doesn't add up.

There's only one thought that keeps me fixed on the solid gate that creaks open in front of us: Ernest Boudrot's death was not an accident. No matter what happened, the man didn't die a natural death. Certainty tainted the thought that the one responsible for Mister Boudrot's death, was also responsible for the death of councilman Banner. A sickening feeling washed over me at the sudden realization that perhaps the one responsible for all of that might also be the one who took Reed.

In the wave of reporters that dash towards the enormous white plantation, two women in colorful dresses caught the eye of a servant in a pitch black attire. She gave us a welcoming smile although we knew the sadness in her eyes was genuine. She guided us towards the main entrance, straight through the massive wooden doors until we joined the reporters who were waiting at the bottom of a majestic curved staircase. Even the Marisol Hotel's lush lobby couldn't compete with the grandeur of the Cavanagh Plantation.

The reporters shushed and our attention was pulled towards two dark clothed figures appearing at the top of the landing, overviewing the unusual scenery of reporters and uninvited visitors. Dressed in the deepest shade of black, Cecily and Joane overlooked us all. Sadness and grief was radiating from their features and nevertheless the feeling of inferiority boomed over us as we looked up at them and watched them descend the carpeted staircase until halfway.

They stopped and almost simultaniously folded their hands in front of them. Joane bit on her lip at the sight of all these foreign people in her house. When her eyes crossed mine, confusion spread over her face almost as clearly as the sadness. A muscle in her cheek tightened. My attention was torn away when Cecily cleared her throat.

"Thank you for coming this soon. We've chosen to inform you the right way to ensure that no wrong information gets out. We all know the power of rumors in New Paris." She tried to joke with a chuckle which was void of emotion. 

"A maid found my husband in his library. He was unconcious but seemingly unharmed. In panic she called for the doctor but all help came too late. My husband had died at night. Heart failure." Her voice thundered through the silent house, as she summed up the facts and the reporters eagerly scribbled down word for word what she offered them. "Ernest Boudrot enjoyed his last glass of cognac before he left this earth in the warmth of his most favorite place in this estate. Although too soon, it isn't given to many to die in such a peaceful manner."

With a nod, Cecily Boudrot indicated that she was finished and she rose an eyebrow to dare any of the reporters to ask for more. One daredevil raised his hand. Both Cecily and Joane pierced their fierce blue eyes onto the poor man. Scratching himself at the back of his head, he raised his gaze and dared to open his mouth.

"My condolences." He started to which Cecily offered him a fake smile. Joane kept on murdering the man with a mere look. "Now that Mister Boudrot is no longer able to continue the sugar plantation, how do you see the continuation of the trade?"

An awkward silence embraced us. Joane, for one moment, lost her cold stare and a flash of anger showed when she balled her fists and prepared a tirade for the reporter before her mother placed a soft hand on her upper arm. "We are still debating on the fate of the trade, but our investors and clients don't have to fear. My husband had a loyal team behind him who will be able to continue the trade until the right decision has been made."

Before any other reporter could bombard them with more questions, Cecily Boudrot finished the short interview. "Thank you for your attention, gentlemen. Please, enjoy some refreshments in the dining room before your departure."

Without another word, she stiffly turned around, nearly had to drag an infuriated Joane up the stairs before she disappeared into the dark hallway.

The men chatted as they made their way to the dining room as indicated and Farah and I were both left alone in the entrance hall. A butler came up to us.

"Ladies?" he started as he folded his hands behind his back and gave us a nod "Can I help you?"

Frozen in place, I looked at the old man in front of me. Although at first I thought Ernest Boudrot was murdered, his wife informed the press that the man had died a natural cause. I did not want to doubt any of the Boudrots at this very sensitive timing but I had to know more. Reed was interested in Ernest Boudrot and now that man had mysteriously died. Reed's disappearance and Mister Boudrot's death were linked, not a single hair on my head doubted that. But was it smart to confront Boudrot's mourning family this soon?

Before I could rely on Farah, I already opened my mouth. "I'd like to have a meeting with Misses and Miss Boudrot."

The man frowned "I am afraid the timing is inconvenient, milady. The Misses has clearly instructed no visitors after the conference you've just witnessed."

Fear controlled my heart as it stammered against my chest. "Please, sir. I need their help." I begged but the man didn't seem very convinced.

I risked it, took the poor servant by his sleeve and pulled him closer so that I could whisper to him. "I am looking for the same people who killed Ernest Boudrot." With a confused look, he looked up to my face.

"We both know that he didn't die naturally. I need to find those who killed him before they kill someone else."

I had never thought the severe man would disregard the rules Cecily Boudrot had expressed but when his stone cold eyes glanced back and forth between the landing and the dining room, I somehow knew we might be able to converse with the remaining Boudrots.

"Wait for the Misses in the living room," the butler instructed us as he pointed to a door in the corner of the hall. "I'll see what I can do"

❖❖❖❖❖❖

The living room was wonderful. It had nice big windows, with thick white drapes hanging in front of them, slightly bouncing off the dark wooden floor. Three comfortable beige couches were located to guarantee the perfect view over the plantation on the other side of the glass.

Unable to control my nerves, I strutted in front of those windows, whilst Farah observed me closely, her hands neatly folded in her lap. As I passed the same vase filled to the brim with bright yellow flowers for the seventh time, the door burst open. My eyes glued immediately onto the two figures storming into the room.

"My butler is inadequate." Cecily Boudrot commenced, throwing a quick glance over our appearances. I could see the judgment as her eyes lingered over Farah's well worn dress and my own hasty put together ensemble. "I'd wish to mourn in peace and quiet." She continued.

"I understand, Ma'am..." I started but Cecily cut me off with the mere rise of her hand. "I won't hear it, child. Please, respect my family and leave Cavanagh."

I gaped at the woman. No matter her sorrow, the ease with which Cecily unpolitely showed me the door, struck me as incredibly rude. Even more, it fueled the anger I felt over the entire situation. How I was unable to get any further in the search for Reed and now this woman, this stuck up thing, was going to refuse me to follow the single clue I have.

"With all due respect..." I started, every word dripping with venomous fury. "My husband is missing and I would hate to see him end like yours. So please, not as two different women, but both as wives to our husbands, hear me out."

Cecily's face clouded over. I could hear her gasp for air, preparing the tirade that was sneaking its way through her lungs onto her tongue but Joane finally said a word. I had almost forgotten Reed's ex fiancée was in the same room.

"Mother." She said warningly, silencing her mother with one word. Perplexed, Cecily watched her daughter, her own cheeks blazing red with frustration.

"What do you know?" Joane said, not giving her mother another look and throwing a scrutinizing one in my direction.

Her question made me think. What did I know? After Edgar Banner's murder, Reed was certain about who to blame. The evening of the Masquerade, organized by the Boudrots, Reed is kidnapped as his best friend Griffin Carmody witnessed. When looking for a clue, anything that might lead us to Reed, the only thing we find is Ernest Boudrot's name. And then, our single hint gets murdered before we even had the chance to talk to him. Our enemy is still unknown and Reed has been gone for two days.

The next question was even harder. No matter how difficult it would be to convince Joane to provide us with information that might lead us to Reed, it would prove even more difficult to convince her without revealing the little we do know.

"Reed disappeared the night of the Masquerade. No one in the hotel knows anything. We wanted to ask your father for a list of all the invites. Perhaps someone had a motive to want Reed gone and away for a while."

Joane placed her weight on her other leg, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Even mourning, the Boudrot daughter was a picture perfect. Her intelligent eyes threw me a vile look.

"I'm sorry but your story isn't very convincing, Annabelle Whitacre." She said, pronouncing the last name hard and hostile. "Leave the lying to the other New Paris women and speak up the truth." Joane continued, nodding her head as to stimulate a confesion out of me.

Instead, I felt hopeless and trapped. If she wanted the truth, she could get some.

"You want the truth? Sure. I am not telling everything I know because I don't trust you for the slightest bit." In the corner of my eye, I could see Farah visbly flinch at the angry tone in my voice but the frustration of this search was wearing off on me. "Reed is missing, probably getting hurt as we speak. I do not want to waste my time politely asking for some vague clue that will leave me searching for far too long whilst Reed might already be dead. You don't need the whole truth to decide whether or not you should help Reed. He's a friend of yours, he deserves your help!"

After this outburst, Cecily Boudrot seemed to have found her voice again. "Reed Whitacre? A friend? Please, leave this estate before you continue to make such silly insinuations and address my daughter with such a lack of manners. No wonder the Whitacres chose you to be their daughter in law! You are just as wild-mannered as they are!"

I didn't look at Cecily. Instead I continued to beg Joane with one look. I wouldn't do so again, but I was desperate. If she had ever had warm feelings towards Reed, then this was the time to prove her loyalty to who used to be her fiancé no matter what had happened between them.

Joane bit her lip, contemplating her course of action. Finally, when Cecily stopped accusing me for the dirt in the street, Joane opened her mouth.

"We'll have tea in the library. Mother, I think it would be wise if you did not join us."

For the second time that day, I saw Cecily Boudrot speechless.

"I will help you find Reed, but then you need to come clean and tell me everything you know, Annabelle. Because right now, you are the only link I have to have any chance on the vengeance my father deserves."