What the Hatmaker Heard

by Sandra Bretting

  “Okay.” Beatrice’s voice was weak but hopeful.

  “The next thing I want you to do is go to the break room and pull a lemon from the minifridge.”

  “A what?”

  “You heard me. Go grab a lemon. Then take it back to the counter and squeeze some of the juice into one of those bowls we use for cereal.”

  “Are you sure?” I could almost hear her mind spinning.

  “Positive. Then take the ruined spot and soak it in the juice. Don’t touch it for at least an hour after that. Then rinse the lace in cold water and—ta-da!—the stain will be gone.”

  “Just like that?” Once again, she sounded cautiously hopeful.

  “Yep, just like that. It’s how they used to clean lace a long time ago. Oh, and one more thing.”

  “Anything. What?”

  “You might want to check around the studio and see if someone left behind a doll that looks like me. A doll with pins sticking out of it.”

  She began to chuckle, but she stopped when I didn’t join in. “Wait a minute. You’re not serious, are you?”

  “Somewhat. This is the worst string of luck I’ve had in a long time.”

  Although I didn’t believe in voodoo spells or potions, I’d learned a thing or two about them since I moved to Bleu Bayou three years ago. People on the bayou sometimes created effigies of people they didn’t like. Then they stuck different colored pins in the dolls, depending on what they were trying to do. If they wanted to help someone, they might use blue pins, which stood for love, or red, which stood for power. In my case, the person must’ve chosen black pins, because those were guaranteed to cause something bad to happen.

  “You don’t believe in all that stuff, do you?” Beatrice asked.

  “Not really. But guess what? You’re the third person to call me today with bad news. First came one of the d’Aulnay sisters. She told me there was a fire on the Riverboat Queen last night, and now we can’t use it for our venue. Not only that, but our photographer agreed to shoot someone else’s wedding on the same day as ours. The very same day! Everything’s falling apart, Beatrice, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Hmmm.” Once more, I could almost hear her mind whirring. “Since you don’t need me down there, what if I make a few phone calls today at the studio? I could try to scare up another photographer for you, or maybe another place to have the wedding.”

  “That would be great. But only if you have time. I’m sure you’ve probably got a million other things going on down there. And, seriously, don’t give another thought to the rust stain. I think it’ll come out.”

  “Okay. To be honest, I was afraid to tell you at first, and I didn’t even know about the other stuff that happened.”

  With that, we said goodbye, and I tucked the cell into my pocket. At this rate, it was anyone’s guess what new calamity would befall me next, and the day was only half over.

  Chapter 10

  By the time I got back to the mansion, I could finally hear other voices echoing down the halls. Apparently, people got tired of waiting in their rooms by themselves, so they ventured outside to find some company.

  I headed for the kitchen first, where I thought I might find Nelle. A few people milled around the counter, but Nelle wasn’t one of them. What about the sunroom? Since I hadn’t visited that room recently, what with the telephone calls and all, I decided to head there next.

  I made it past the foyer, but I stopped in the hall when I spotted Lance leaning against the wall. He had his cell to his ear and was frowning.

  He gestured when he noticed me, which meant I should wait for him to finish. He hung up from the call a second later and then returned the cell to his pocket. “Hey there.”

  “Hey, yourself. I tried to find Nelle for you, but she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. I just got an interesting phone call from headquarters.”

  “Really? Was it about Wesley’s murder?”

  He shook his head. “No, something else. It’s about the arson investigator out of Baton Rouge.”

  “Baton Rouge? What about the fire department here in St. James Parish?”

  “Well, the team up north has access to more lab equipment. Anyway, remember that old paddle-wheeler called the Riverboat Queen? The one docked on the edge of the Mississippi?”

  My eyes widened. “Remember it? I was going to have my wedding there.”

  “Then I guess you already know about the blaze. The insurance investigator went out there this morning and found something suspicious in the kitchen.”

  That sparked a memory. While I didn’t know Brandy d’Aulnay before this, I could almost hear her voice as she explained how the fire started.

  “I heard the kitchen was gutted. Brandy d’Aulnay—she’s one of the owner’s daughters—called me early this morning and told me it was an electrical fire. She also said something about her dad renovating the ship, and they thought that’s what caused it.”

  “That’s what they told their insurance agent, too. How well do you know the d’Aulnays?”

  I frowned. “Not very. I made a wedding veil for Sabine d’Aulnay once, but she was about as difficult as her dad.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she practically invented the backhanded compliment.”

  Lance threw me a curious look, which meant he had no idea what I was talking about. While most people offered true compliments, Sabine employed that staple of the South, the backhanded one. She seemed to have mastered the art of it, which involved lobbing thinly veiled insults at someone, only delivering the message in a sugary tone. While I’d used them a time or two, including my favorite one, “Bless your heart,” Sabine elevated the practice to a high-art form. She was especially fond of saying, “Isn’t that special?” and the ever-popular, “I’ll pray for you.”

  I shook my head to dislodge her voice from it. “They don’t think the d’Aulnays purposefully set the fire to the ship, do they?”

  Lance nodded. “It’s a possibility. The investigator found an accelerant near the scene. Motorboat fuel.”

  “But that could’ve come from anywhere. The boat was docked near several others, right?”

  He smiled at me. “See? Now you’re thinking like a detective. They’re not just looking at the accelerant, though, but at where the fire started.”

  “I get it. They want to see if it really originated with the electrical system or not.”

  “Bingo.” He chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Did the business seem to be thriving to you when you booked your wedding there?”

  “Now that you mention it…no.” A while ago, Christophe d’Aulnay, the patriarch of the family, complained about how few tourists seemed to be coming to the Mississippi. At first, I thought maybe he was only saying that because he wanted to purchase a dock from a local landowner and he thought the owner would sympathize with him if he claimed to be broke. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “We’ll know more this afternoon,” Lance said. “They’re analyzing the electrical components now, and they’re going to try to unravel where the fuel came from.”

  “I can’t believe someone would purposefully set fire to a historical landmark like the Riverboat Queen.” I frowned, although Lance had provided some compelling evidence. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it.

  “You’d be surprised. Look at those three churches that burned. One of them was a hundred years old.”

  The idea of arson left a sour taste in my mouth. With its ruby-red paint and forest-green accents, the boat offered a unique look at life on the Mississippi a century ago. Why would someone try to destroy that?

  “Anyway,” he said, “I have enough going on with this murder right now. I have some more calls to make, so I’ll catch you later.”

  He bid his goodbyes, and then he disappeared down t
he hall. Once he turned the corner, I resumed my trek to the sunroom, where the door stood open. Two people already sat on the wicker sofa, their backs to me, but neither one looked like Nelle.

  Lorelei was there, since her jet-black hair and messy ponytail were hard to miss, but a gentleman sat next to her. Tufts of wispy fur peeked over the top of the gentleman’s vest, so I guessed she sat with Jamie, the florist, on the sofa.

  “You poor baby,” he said.

  Sure enough, the moment he spoke, I realized I was right.

  He gently patted Lorelei’s shoulder afterward.

  “What am I going to do?’ Her voice was soft and anguished.

  I debated turning around right then and there and leaving the room, since I’d heard more than my share of private conversations that morning, but something about their posture gave me pause. They sat shoulder to shoulder, as if they were best friends or something, and not a bride and her wedding florist.

  “There’s nothing you can do. It’s all in the hands of the police now.”

  “But do you think he suffered? I would just die if I thought for one moment he was in a lot of pain at the end.”

  This time, he gently squeezed her shoulder. “Try not to think about it. It’ll only upset you more.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. It all feels so surreal.”

  “There, there.” Jamie moved his hand up and lightly tipped her head onto his shoulder.

  I craned my neck, hoping to gauge Lorelei’s reaction, when my toe caught on the edge of a throw rug and I tumbled forward. Before I knew what was happening, I landed smack-dab on the ground. The thwack of my kneecap hitting the hard floor rang out and both of them spun around.

  “Missy!” Lorelei jumped up and hurried over to me. “Are you okay?” She leaned down and offered her hand, which I gratefully accepted.

  “Thank you.” I pulled myself upright, and then I mentally scanned my body for injuries. “I think I’m okay. I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

  Jamie scowled at me. Unlike Lorelei, he didn’t seem concerned for my welfare. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was trying to find Nelle.”

  “She’s not here,” Lorelei said. “I haven’t been upstairs in a while, though. I ran into Jamie here”—she flung her hand out to indicate the florist—“so I never made it back to my room. Have you tried upstairs yet?”

  “Not yet.” I plastered on a smile to indicate my good intentions. “Again, I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

  “That’s okay. I should probably head upstairs anyway.” Lorelei turned around to face her friend. “Bye, Jamie. Thanks for everything.”

  She hurried from the room, and the man’s gaze trailed after her.

  “I honestly didn’t think I’d find anyone here,” I said.

  “Well, you did. I should go, too.” Ice coated his voice. “Maybe next time you can announce yourself when you enter a room. That’s the polite thing to do.”

  “You’re right.” Now that the shock had worn off, my knee throbbed. “Think I’ll get some ice from the kitchen. These floors are really hard.”

  Jamie brushed past me on his way from the room. “Don’t worry about the floors. They’re a hundred years old. They’ve gone through a lot worse.”

  For someone who spoke so tenderly to Lorelei only a minute ago, the change in his tone was striking. I had seen two sides of the same coin, only one side said “friend” and the other said “foe.” Somehow, I’d managed to land on the “foe” side, and there was no telling if that would ever change.

  * * * *

  The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. I returned to the kitchen and looked around for Nelle, but I was unsuccessful. I did manage to locate some ice cubes for my throbbing knee, however, along with a baggie to put them in.

  The moment I applied the makeshift ice bag to the sore spot, the bridesmaid from breakfast, who let me sit at her table, entered the room. She didn’t seem to notice me, though, since she studied a sheaf of papers she held.

  “Hello.”

  “Oh, hi.” She glanced up. “Can you believe all this? It’s the guest list for the wedding. How am I ever going to call all these people and tell them the wedding’s been cancelled?”

  “Good point. By the way, I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Melissa DuBois, but my friends call me Missy.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Between the papers in her hand and the bag of ice in mine, we both nodded in lieu of shaking hands.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” I said.

  “Sheridan. Sheridan English. Only, everyone calls me Sherry.”

  “You’ve got a great last name.” I tried to lighten the mood by smiling. “Say…would you like me to help you with the guest list?”

  “Would I?” She sounded pleasantly surprised. “I’d love it! Do you think you could take half the list?”

  “Sure.” Although I wanted to find Nelle and quiz her about the antiques in Buck’s suitcase, it couldn’t take that long to call a few people, could it?

  “Great! I’ll give you a hundred names, and I’ll take the rest. Thank you so much!” She happily divided the paperwork before she thrust half of it at me. “You don’t know what a relief this is!”

  I gulped as I accepted the assignment. I had no idea we were talking about that many names. I thought she’d ask me to contact maybe twenty people. Thirty, tops. Now that I’d offered, though, I couldn’t exactly take it back. “Okay, then. I think I’ll make my calls in the hall. See you soon.”

  I limped away from the kitchen, since she seemed to want to make her calls there, and I decided to make mine in the hall. After a while, I ended up sliding to the floor, since it was too hard to juggle a soggy bag of ice in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  The hours dragged by. Finally, I hung up from the last call and straightened, the pain in my knee nothing compared to the way my ear ached.

  I headed for the kitchen, relieved to finally be done with the chore. “I’m finished.” I hurriedly stepped into the kitchen.

  Sheridan didn’t seem to hear me. Instead, she still clutched the pages to her chest, only now she angled her body to avoid being interrupted. I skidded to a stop just as she said something into the telephone.

  “That’s right,” she whispered. “It’s over. The wedding’s off.”

  At first, I didn’t understand what she was talking about. Maybe because of the way she whispered, or because she sounded more relieved about the news than upset.

  When I called wedding guests, I tried to break the news as gently as possible, while still giving them the pertinent details. It took a fine mix of sympathy and straightforwardness to get the job done, but I think I’d managed to walk the tightrope fairly well.

  Sheridan obviously wasn’t concerned about doing that. In fact, she actually giggled after a moment.

  “Can you believe it?” she said into the receiver. “It’s like a dream come true!”

  A dream? I squinted at the back of her neck. Every other person I spoke to this weekend considered the news more a nightmare than a dream. And the chuckle was a little over the top.

  I pointedly cleared my throat. “Ahem.”

  She flinched at the noise, and then she slowly turned around, the cell falling to her side. “Oh. Hello there.”

  I nodded at the phone in her hand, since she obviously forgot to say goodbye. “I think you forgot something.”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Right.” She quickly mumbled goodbye and clicked off the call. “That was, um, my sister. That’s it. It was my younger sister. She knew Wesley, too.”

  “Really.” For some reason, the explanation didn’t hold water. Maybe it was the way she wouldn’t look at me or the way she conveniently “forgot” who she was talking to.

  “Did you finish the names I ga
ve you?” She had changed the subject rather awkwardly, and we both knew it.

  “I did. What about you?”

  “Same. Almost. I have a few more to go.”

  By now, she seemed to have pulled herself back together. She gestured for my notes, which I gladly handed over.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve got seven more people to call, and then I’ll be done, too. By the way…someone told me Mrs. Honeycutt wants us to stay for dinner tonight. Something about the caterer and how she couldn’t stop the order. Everyone’s eating in the dining room.”

  “That would be great. To be honest, I haven’t eaten a thing all day.” Given everything that had happened, I completely forgot about the rumble in my stomach…until now. “I’m starving.”

  “Like I said, she’s going to serve it in the dining room. Save me a seat?”

  I waffled. “Sure…I guess.” It was hard for me to forget the joy in her voice when she told her “sister” about Wesley’s death. What else was she hiding? “Um, good luck with the rest of the calls.”

  I quickly moved away, but I cast a final glance over my shoulder before I reached the hall. Like I expected, Sheridan stared at my retreating back, and she had yet to return the phone to her ear. She seemed to be waiting for me to leave.

  Well, that’s odd. And totally unexpected, considering how friendly the girl had been to me earlier.

  I momentarily forgot about Sheridan, though, when a rumble worked its way through my empty stomach. I continued to walk toward the dining room, and, after a few feet, I heard the welcome sound of serving utensils clattering against chaffing dishes and flatware pinging the sides of dinner plates.

  Unlike the kitchen, which was bright and airy, with stainless-steel appliances, recessed lights, and cool white paint, the dining room looked gloriously dark and moody. Very Victorian. Rich wood panels covered the walls, and an enormous crystal chandelier dripped clear orbs of glass.

  While most dining room tables seated six or eight, this one could easily accommodate twenty-four. Maybe twenty-six if someone added extra chairs at the ends. The caterers had removed the chairs from the table, though, and pushed them up against the wall.