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tourists stroll the sidewalks where dozens of shops and eating establishments vied for their business.
    She smiled. Had business at Zoe B’s ever been better? She went inside and sat in the overstuffed chair, propping her feet up on the ottoman, and started looking through the day’s mail. The electric bill. The water bill. The cell phone bill. A credit card solicitation. An envelope with her name typed on the front. This didn’t come through the mail. Was the Merchant’s Association trying to save postage again?
    She slit open the envelope and unfolded a piece of white 8 ½ x 11 paper, on which letters had been cut from a magazine and glued to form five words: I know what you did.
    Zoe stared at the words, her mind racing with the implication. Was this a prank? How could anyone know what she had done? And why now, after ten years—
    “I thought I heard you come in.”
    Her pulse quickened. She turned to see Pierce’s tall frame filling the arched doorway. “You startled me, cher . I thought you were taking a nap.”
    “I couldn’t sleep.” Pierce yawned. “I’m starved. Dempsey’s overseeing the kitchen tonight. I thought maybe we could walk over to Market Street and eat at Louie’s. Don’t tell anyone, but your number-one chef is craving a big juicy cheeseburger and fries.”
    “All right. Let me change into something cooler.” Zoe fumbled to get the paper back in the envelope and quickly slipped it on the bottom of the stack.
    “Anything interesting in the mail?”
    “Just bills. I’ll keep them with the others and pay them all next week.”
    “I don’t know why you don’t learn how to pay them online and save yourself the trouble.”
    “Do we have to have this conversation every other week? I like writing them out! Okay?”
    “I’m just trying to save you time.” Pierce’s thick, dark eyebrows formed a bushy line. “Would you rather not go out for dinner? I can make us something here.”
    “Actually I’d like to go out.” She shot him an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I had another run-in with one of the waitresses for coming to work with cleavage showing. Why don’t these girls understand what’s appropriate attire for work and what isn’t? I’m fed up with having to police them.” Nice save! “Anyhow, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Let me go change. It’ll just take a minute.”
    Zoe went into the bedroom and flopped on the bed, her gut already starting to churn. Was she jumping to conclusions about the meaning of the note? Did it matter? The statute of limitations had run. The law couldn’t touch her.
    So what might the bearer of the note hope to get from her—money? Was she willing to pay for someone’s silence? Could she afford to? Then again, could she handle what it would do to Pierce if he learned the truth about her? The thought of losing his love and respect terrified her. And so did the thought of losing her business and her reputation. If she agreed to pay money, would that be the end of it? Or would she be trapped into paying someone for the rest of her life? This was never supposed to happen!
    She closed her eyes and willed away the fear. How she loved this quaint community of Les Barbes. Its French name translated as “beards”—which perfectly described the Spanish moss that hung from the live oaks and cypress trees. Before she moved here, had she any concept of what it was to really belong —to be part of something bigger than she?
    People here had roots. Proud roots soaked with the tears of their Acadian ancestors and transplanted deep in this foreign land that had received them with open arms when no one else would. Les Cadiens made Louisiana their home and evolved into a new people—Cajuns—never wavering in their Catholic beliefs, but with a language, music, and cuisine uniquely their own. Cajuns had not only survived; they had redefined themselves and thrived. Isn’t that what she had done? Wasn’t she a perfect