by G A Chase
Myles frowned at her and kept petting Cheesecake, who seemed to enjoy his attention. “I’m trying to learn basic math, and you’re talking advanced calculus.”
Getting riled up about a topic brought back the Kendell he knew. “Religions all over the world believe they can bless an object. How would that be any different than cursing one? It’d just depend on what kind of energy was being pumped into the thing.”
He grabbed a pillow and stuck it under his head with Cheesecake cuddled against his side. “I’m going to let you develop your idea without my input for a little while if that’s okay.”
* * *
The early afternoon light through the eight-foot-tall windows of Kendell’s apartment illuminated Myles’s dreams with a dull red background. The subtle change managed to wake him from his dream of being a medieval knight doing battle on his trusty stead, which had an unusual underbite.
Sleeping in one position on the couch had left his muscles aching. He pulled off the crocheted afghan that had been draped over him and looked around the apartment. Only Cheesecake seemed to be home. Her tired eyes kept watch over him from the ottoman. “Is Kendell at work, girl?”
The dog didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how she’d react to him getting up. Sleeping, he hadn’t provided much of a threat, but his moving around her mistress’s apartment might not be so well accepted.
“I’m just going to remind you that it was me who helped rescue you last night. I’m not taking all the credit, but I feel I’ve earned a level of trust from you.”
He worked his way to his feet while the dog watched. So far so good. With most women, Myles would attempt a polite overture first thing in the morning. For a dog, that would translate to a pet or a treat. But after the night Cheesecake had endured, Myles chose to view her more as a woman feeling under the weather than a wary dog. Trying not to look like he was sneaking around the apartment, he did his best to keep the noise down as he began his day.
By the time Kendell walked through the door, Cheesecake had moved to the patch of sunlight near the large window, and Myles had finished his cup of coffee. She smiled at the domestic scene. “I didn’t want to wake you. I hope you and Cheesecake got along okay. I worried that locking her in my room while I was away would set her off.”
He looked over at the dog, who appeared too well fed and comfortable to have been the same demonic wolf of the night before. “She’s tolerating my presence. I’m not usually all that social when I have a hangover, and she’s kind of displaying that same level of engagement.”
Kendell dropped her embroidered-canvas bag on the kitchen table. “I think our next step is obvious. We need to go back to Boudreaux’s jewelry store and see what he knows about this Malveaux family. We still need to discover if the story you dreamt—or imagined or whatever you want to call it—was true.”
“We could just drop the whole thing.”
“Are you crazy?” Kendell asked. “I’d say we’re making real progress. Plus, we may be the only two people who understand why this thing is dangerous.”
“So what? Is it really our obligation to try and stop something that we’re only imagining? As for my so-called skills, what use are they if I’m putting us in danger?”
Kendell sat on the overstuffed chair. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious? I am. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m onto something important. Let me ask you this: why didn’t you want to leave the pipe tool with Mr. Boudreaux?”
Things would have been so much easier if he had. “It’ll sound stupid.”
“Try me. When are you ever going to learn? I’m on your side.”
He had to admit she was the first person not to laugh at him for what others considered an overactive imagination. She believed in him. “While we were in the jeweler’s shop, it was like Serephine was holding my hand. I had this overwhelming emotion of being trusted to do the right thing.”
“Like you were there to protect her?” Kendell asked.
“I told you it’d sound stupid. I can’t protect a little girl who committed suicide before my great-great-grandparents were even born.”
The trust in her eyes gave him the same feeling of being counted on to do the right thing. “No, but maybe you can protect someone else from getting hurt. Even though we don’t have the tool anymore, let’s just see what we’re up against. That jeweler must have found something.”
He couldn’t tell if she had a lust for adventure or an overly developed desire to protect others. “Have you considered that he might not be innocent in last night’s adventures? Whoever wanted that thing had to find out about it from someone, and they had to know where you lived. Other than the shop where we bought it, he’s the only one who fits that description.”
She bit her lip as she looked at Cheesecake basking in the sunlight. “He seemed like such a sweet old man. That antique store didn’t have any reservations about giving us Samantha Laurette’s address. I would guess if someone asked about us, they would have given out my information too.”
“Doesn’t that frighten you? After last night, I’d think you’d want to stay as far from anyone connected to that pipe tool as possible.”
Her eyes sparked from the sunlight like the black star sapphires they’d encountered just before descending into this roller coaster of an adventure. “Cheesecake taught me not to back down from a fight. If we do nothing, we’re just sitting ducks. Those guys last night can’t be sure I didn’t see them, and we know they have some connection to Float World. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I doubt it ends with the stealing of a fifty-dollar antique. I have no intention of sitting around, playing the scared victim cowering in her apartment. We don’t have to confront them, but I need more information before I’ll feel at ease again.”
8
The old jeweler smiled as Myles escorted Kendell back into the shop. Myles still considered it more than likely that the old man had been the source of their misery, but whether his betrayal had been intentional or just a matter of letting the information slip to the wrong person was still to be discovered.
“I’m glad you two came back.” The old man disappeared for a moment into the back room. He returned with a file folder filled with receipts. “It took more digging than I expected. I ended up spending half the night going through family files, ledgers, and notebooks. Somehow, in the mountain of information, I lost the small slip of paper with your address on it.”
Or someone stole it. In spite of Myles’s misgivings, he really hoped Mr. Boudreaux was telling the truth. But even if he was being honest, someone close to the old man might need investigating.
“My great-great-great-grandfather was Pierre Lafitte Boudreaux. Apparently, somewhere in my family tree there’s a little pirate blood.” The wink from Mr. Boudreaux didn’t help with Myles’s anxiety. “He inherited this building from his father, who was the first jeweler in our family. The early 1800s in New Orleans was a pretty fabulous time to be alive if you were a white rich man with property. Slavery and cotton were booming. So Pierre’s father did quite well. Unfortunately, by the 1840s, when Pierre inherited the business, the bottom had dropped out.”
Myles wondered if this story was going to take all day. Being an archeology major had meant hours of rambling stories told by just such old men who had nothing better to do than bore the hell out of anyone who’d listen. He’d learned the hard way that interrupting only meant the story would have to be started over from the beginning.
“Being an artist working in precious metals and stones has never been cheap. Even back then, people wanted variety. By the time I took over, there was already a healthy inventory from my predecessors. But poor Pierre was still trying to build our family’s reputation. His skills were quite impressive, as you’ve noticed. But he needed money, and a lot of it, to keep perfecting his craft and building the business. That’s where the baron Archibald Baptiste Malveaux comes in.”
Finally. The mention of the name Malveaux heightened Myles’s att
ention.
Mr. Boudreaux talked as if he knew the baron personally, leaving Myles to wonder how much of the story was based on facts and how much made up to fill in the gaps. “The baron ran the major bank back then. Most of the building boom that followed the economic depression of the early 1840s was financed through his institution. But he wasn’t just an acute businessman. With his eye for political talent, he managed to get a number of powerful people elected at both the city and state levels. Why he didn’t pursue the national stage is a mystery, but in the days leading up to the War Between the States, I suppose he felt more comfortable keeping his influence close to home.”
The night before had been a late one filled with emotional upheaval. Though Mr. Boudreaux had a pleasant enough storytelling style, Myles feared he would fall asleep on his feet while listening to him.
“Pierre was small potatoes in the baron’s eyes. The business was much too small to warrant a loan, and my family has never been much for politics. Pierre and the baron wouldn’t have crossed paths. So when the elegant, well-dressed man in his thirties came into the jewelry shop looking for a headpiece to his walking cane, Pierre saw him as a much-needed client and not much else. I fear that lack of reading people might be a family trait.”
“What is a headpiece?” Kendell leaned forward on the glass display case, clearly more fascinated with the story than Myles.
Mr. Boudreaux pointed to a nicely carved wooden barrel by the front door filled with walking canes. “From the moment the baron commissioned Pierre, every walking cane that left this shop was topped with some kind of head or skull. For the baron, Pierre fashioned a highly detailed silver skull. According to the journals, and borne out by the financial statements, that skull head was the beginning of Pierre’s reputation as jeweler to the rich and powerful. But no matter how successful Pierre got, he’d always push aside the other orders for a new commission from the Malveaux family. Unlike many of the upper class of the time, the baron wanted his children to know the value of money. So though he’d lavish gifts on his wife and spend freely on himself, little Serephine would have had to save her allowance to purchase that pipe tool and have it engraved.”
“You got all that from those receipts?” Myles knew he was letting his irritation get the better of him.
Mr. Boudreaux produced the yellowed slip of paper. “He mentioned on the tag that he discounted the engraving ‘for the precious child.’ I’ve looked through a bunch of these sales slips. Discounting his product was not common practice for Pierre.”
Kendell eyed the expensive rings in the glass cabinet under her arms. “She must have really loved her father.”
“I only know what my forefather wrote and the newspaper clippings he saved. The Malveaux family dynamic wasn’t splashed all over the news like our modern-day celebrities. I suppose my predecessor thought it useful to gather what information he could on his most valued customer. With the baron’s connections, no reporter would have the nerve to write something controversial, so Pierre jotted down his personal observations to go along with the articles. All I know is Serephine killed herself in her father’s office at home within a year of giving him the pipe tool. Apparently, the banker took the death of his daughter hard. Pierre didn’t receive any more commissions from the family. I suppose the pipe tool carried too many bad memories. Of course, the War Between the States dominated most of the news not long after the girl’s death, so it’s no surprise that I couldn’t find anything else regarding the Malveaux family. There was a son, but he must have died in the war. I couldn’t find any information on him.”
“I don’t mean to sound forward, but did you tell anyone else about what you’d found?” Myles asked.
“No, though my son-in-law seemed quite interested in what I was doing. He’s always had a curiosity about the art of my family. I think he expects to inherit the shop one day. Too bad he has no skills when it comes to working with his hands.”
Myles didn’t want to alarm the old man as to his son-in-law’s possible involvement in Cheesecake’s dognapping. He’d been so helpful. “Do you think we could talk to your son-in-law? If he showed an interest, he might know some other places to search.”
“You’re quite taken with that little bobble, aren’t you? There’s nothing that makes a craftsman prouder than to know something he’s made is cherished. Pierre must be resting just a little bit easier right now. I can’t imagine what you’d find out from Link. I love my daughter and respect her choice for a husband, but that guy will never measure up in my eyes. He drives limos around town. I’ll get you his information.”
* * *
Between investigative forays with Myles, working at the coffee shop, and her weekly performance with Polly Urethane and the Strippers, it took the better part of a week for Kendell to find a quiet day off for some quality time with Cheesecake. Her dog was feeling better, but she still yipped, barked, and made running motions with her feet as she slept. More than once, Kendell had woken her up because she seemed to be having a nightmare. Each time, the old dog gave her a lick or two of appreciation before rolling over to once again try and conquer her world of sleep. Neither of them had managed an uninterrupted eight hours since the rescue.
Kendell pulled Cecile, her whitewood acoustic guitar, from her case and began playing “You’ve Got a Friend.” Making music on the old instrument was more a collaboration than a performance. Her fingers tapped on the strings like she was performing a gentle massage. Each note was like the soft voice of someone she’d known since her earliest days learning to play—those once harsh stumbling sounds now smooth and effortless.
The song’s lyrics never failed to call Cheesecake to her side. The dog jumped onto the couch and laid her head on Kendell’s leg to look up at her mistress’s mouth and fingers, where the wonderful sounds came from.
Kendell’s eyes misted as she saw Cheesecake returning to the sweet, lazy dog, indicating that everything was good in their world. No matter what went on outside the apartment, they had each other. Not even a curse could change that bond.
The smell of sugar cookies wafted in from the kitchen. Kendell had never known a guy not to revert back to being a little boy when given a batch of baked goods, and cookies shaped like her dog were Kendell’s favorite to make.
Cheesecake gave her the familiar look of suspicion as the timer went off.
Kendell set her guitar aside. “It’s not like that. We still owe him some kind of thanks for coming to our rescue. Since when have you known me to make the first move on a guy? It’s not like my domestic skills have ever impressed anyone. I promise you he won’t get the wrong impression. If he hasn’t tried to make a move on me by now, I doubt he ever will. Guys just aren’t that clever.”
But she knew her dog had a point even if she didn’t want to admit it. Myles wasn’t like any other guy she’d met. The fact that she’d called him that night and not Polly or one of her other friends still baffled her. Looking back, he had seemed the most logical choice. He knew about the pipe tool. He kept late hours because of his job as a bartender. And, well, he was a guy. She felt safe around him. But her actions that night weren’t based on logic. In her terror, he’d been the one she wanted by her side. “Okay, so I’ll only give him half the batch. Will that make you feel better?”
Cheesecake could be a tough customer when it came to seeing Kendell losing control of her emotions. As a loyal companion, she preferred a quiet domicile where she was Kendell’s only confidant. Unwanted visitors, men in particular, had to earn their way into Cheesecake’s good graces and prove themselves worthy of Kendell’s affections.
* * *
Days would pass between Myles’s opportunities to pursue the investigation with Kendell. He resented the breaks. There was so much work to be done. As he nibbled at one of the few remaining cookies with white-and-black frosting, he checked himself in his hall mirror. He shouldn’t care what he looked like for her. She was still more like a best friend’s sister than anything else. But memories
of seeing her in her short skirt behind her electric guitar, playing to all of the audience’s desires, had a way of infecting his nightly dreams. The fact that she challenged him mentally didn’t hurt either. Unlike Charlie and his desire to fuck any woman who didn’t know any better, Myles had prided himself on wanting to get to know a woman first. Not that he had such intentions with Kendell. He made a quick check of his hands and clothes to make sure he was presentable for their next research project.
He shivered at entering the Williams Research Center building of the Historic New Orleans Collection. “This place reminds me of school.”
Kendell, however, was in her element. “I know, right? I love it here.”
“I think you and I had very different school experiences.”
Their online research had failed to uncover any mention of the baron Malveaux other than what Mr. Boudreaux had already told them. Myles figured the man and his deeds had been lost to history. Though he knew of libraries and research facilities like this one, he’d never bothered to set foot in one. Even the most complex of his college papers had relied almost exclusively on what he could pull up on his laptop.
As Kendell explained their mission to the woman at the desk—who looked exactly like a caricature of someone’s grandmother—he surveyed the ornately carved shelves filled with books. In his mind, he heard his mother telling him to look but not touch.
The old woman struggled to her feet. “I’ll get you set up over here. The rules are clearly displayed. Almost all of our documents are very old and fragile. Please, do be careful.”
He thought she fit that description herself. As the woman disappeared into the stacks, Kendell pulled out her writing pad and a pencil. Myles couldn’t remember using writing implements since he was a little kid. “You have got to be kidding me.”