by Tina DeSalvo
Jewell just had to hold out hope that even if they had heard of her underperformance, she could reason with Elli about realistic expectations for the Sugar Mill Plantation project. If not, Jewell would simply lower her fees and appeal to the fact that Elli was on a tight deadline. She knew Elli needed to have everything cleared out of the barn before the set crew arrived in a week to prepare for the movie being filmed there in two weeks. Even if she wasn’t able to sell what Elli didn’t want to keep, at least she could get the stuff out of the way for the movie crew.
“She’s going to hire us, Mimi.” Jewell blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I know it.”
“It doesn’t sound like you know it.” Mimi said, her tone a little rough. Jewell glanced at her. She was having a bit of a mood swing. She often did that when she got tired, hungry or bored. Sometimes it happened for no reason other than that she had mood swings. Mimi’s doctors had told Jewell that was all part of life with dementia. Mimi unsnapped her safety belt and sighed. “Just your optimism talking about knowing this and that. Always been your problem.”
Jewell laughed. “I don’t see why optimism is a problem. I’m an optimist, but I’m a pragmatic, logical, methodical researcher, too. Nothing wrong with me wanting to go through Elli’s old stuff, either.”
Jewell’s heart raced, and an excitement danced in her soul as it always did when she thought of being able to explore places where people had tucked away things from long ago. Things too precious to throw away yet, too old or odd to fit into their modern lives. She looked at her grand-mère. The same had been true for Mimi before she came to live with Jewell. She grabbed Mimi’s arthritic hand, and squeezed it gently. Her skin felt as dry and fragile as parchment. Sensing her grand-mère’s mortality scared Jewell. Mimi was everything to her. Everything. She was the only real family she had.
“We'll have fun, Mimi. We're on a grand adventure together. It’ll be a treasure hunt.”
“Or a trip to the dump,” she said, still sounding irritated. She shook her head, making the tight curls in her white hair bob. Jewell didn’t let her grand-mère’s attitude bother her. She knew her mood would improve. It always did.
Jewell glanced at her cell phone. They were thirty minutes early. The ten-mile drive from the Simoneauxs’ home had been a lot faster than the GPS directions indicated. It would be okay for her to arrive fifteen minutes early to meet a client, but thirty would make her seem too desperate…which, of course, she was.
“Do you hear it?” Mimi asked, her voice laughing lightly. This was the fastest Jewell had seen her grand-mère’s mood improve, ever. “It’s me and Twinnie giggling as we run through those cane fields.” She leaned her head back and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and a tear slipped onto her cheek. “I miss Twinnie. Do you think she remembers me?”
A lump formed in Jewell’s throat. Her body ached with wanting to say yes to her grand-mère but her heart broke with not being able to do it. She just couldn’t say something she wasn’t sure she believed was true.
Twinnie might not exist. If she did, she might be dead or in a nursing home in New York City or right here in Cane. How had Mimi lost touch with this person that was so important to her? Was she her sister? A cousin? A twin?
Or had she never existed?
“I’m old. My brain is mushy, but…” Mimi paused and her cloudy blue-green eyes locked onto Jewell’s with such sadness and hope, and some other emotion that Jewell couldn’t identify—for she’d never seen it before. “I do remember things. I also know things, ma sucrée. I know you took that garage sale job because you wanted to come to this area to see if the stories I told you were true. I heard you asking questions about Twinnie.” She sighed. “I might not remember yesterday or today well, but I remember this,” she waved her hand out her window toward the tall cane fields shimmying like a living, breathing thing. Jewell didn’t know if it was the way the sun shone on the dark green blades of cane, the fertile sable soil or the white puffy clouds in the cornflower sky, but it looked like a picture that was colored with new crayons.
The sunlight also shone on the four rings of imitation semiprecious stones on Mimi’s hand like Mardi Gras beads tossed from a Fat Tuesday float—a reminder that Mimi may appear normal, but dementia had changed her. It had even turned her churchgoing, God-fearing grand-mère into a bit of a kleptomaniac. Jewell had learned through research and discussions with Mimi’s medical team that dementia could distort her grand-mère’s ability to reason. It could cause her to make up stories to fill in the gaps of her memory. As sad as it made Jewell to identify the changes, she had to remind herself that Mimi did not act as she had just a few years before.
A perfect example of that was how she had cased the costume jewelry table at the Simoneauxs’ estate sale for forty-five minutes. She acted like a seasoned thief before executing the heist for the four rings that were jammed on her arthritic right hand and the three rings resting above the thick, bent knuckles of her left hand. Even if Jewel had wanted to deny she had done it, her two workers and about six customers all witnessed and pointed out her poorly executed pilfering.
“If I’m to find Twinnie,” Jewell began, carefully picking her words, “I need more to go on than ‘I lived on a plantation near a bayou with Twinnie.’ I need a surname or something less ambiguous. I need one solid detail. The name of the bayou would help.”
So, what was the truth with Twinnie and Mimi being raised on a plantation? Those things may or may not have been true, Jewell realized with the logical aptitude that made her a good researcher. The emotional capacity that made her a loving granddaughter had her wanting to gift Mimi with her dear Twinnie while she could still know who she was. It was logic and emotion that Jewell had struggled with over the last two weeks as Mimi spoke with increasing frequency of Twinnie and the plantation they played on. So her logical side said it was time to expand her business outside of New Orleans where she might get a fresh start, and her emotional side said she should expand it in an area where she could research if grand-mère’s stories were fantasy or truth.
Jewell glanced at her grand-mère who was rubbing her forehead. In an abrupt movement, Mimi rolled down her window and took in a deep breath. “Smells like home.”
Jewell’s mouth went dry. The plantation her grand-mère had claimed was hers when she saw it in the movie they had watched wasn’t visible a mile down the road on the other side of the locked gate. Mimi had never called the plantation she said was hers by name. The sign for the Sugar Mill Dog Training Facility and Kennel would mean nothing to her. So, why would Mimi say this land smelled like home, when they had been near, or on, other homesteads with sugarcane nearby?
It was strange. As an American and Louisiana historian and an antiques explorer, it was her job to chase the possible trail to uncover old stories. The research she’d done on the Sugar Mill Plantation to prepare for the meeting today had not turned up any connection to Mimi’s paternal Duet family or her maternal Tassé family. Jewell had paid particular attention to that.
“Mimi,” she whispered, trying to level her emotions. She wanted logic to calm the buzz she felt from the possibilities Mimi’s long-term memory had triggered in her romantic treasure hunter’s head. She continued speaking French both as a comfort to Mimi and herself. “Is it possible you’re remembering the scents of a childhood visit to the country or here in Vacherie Parish? Or, maybe, it smells the same as you remember when the harvested cane was carried into the New Orleans French Market.”
Mimi shook her head and rolled her eyes but didn’t defend her statement any further. “This cane looks ready for harvest,” she said. “Ripe. Sweet.”
“When did my urban grand-mère turn into Farmer Brown?”
What does she smell? Maybe it would be familiar to her, too. She rolled her window down. All was quiet except for the shushing sound of the cane waving in the light breeze. She inhaled deeply. The humid, warm fall air eased into her lungs, filling it with the organic scents of
earth, cane and open sky.
Wouldn’t these scents be the same on any sugarcane farm? Or did each farm have its own particular nuance? Would a person’s brain store all of the impacts on their senses from a casual visit? Did the mind of a person with dementia tap into places in the brain that others without it did not? Jewell had more questions than she’d had when she started this day and she really wasn’t sure how to get the answers she sought since her dear Mimi was not a reliable source.
Jewell started to consider her options for investigating this mystery but decided it was best to stay focused on the meeting with her client first. She could get lost in the hunt. “We’re twenty-three minutes early,” she said, glancing at the time. “I don’t care.”
“You’ll look desperate if you go too early,” Mimi grumbled. “Well, a spool of thread is a spool of thread and not a bolt of silk cloth.”
Jewell got out of the car and walked to the speaker and keypad. She pressed the call button. A smooth male voice immediately responded.
“About time. I thought you’d never get here. Come straight in. We’ve been waiting since half time and the game is almost over.” The buzzer sounded and the gate swung open.
Jewell looked at the speaker for a moment, pretty certain that the man, probably Elli’s husband Ben, thought he was talking to someone other than her. But, then, maybe he did know who was speaking to. “He said to come straight in, Mimi,” she said, climbing into the truck. “I’m not sure he really knows who he let onto his property.”
“Oh, that’s not good.” Mimi looked at her granddaughter. “I bet he’s a mass murderer.” She whispered as if the man she was talking about was listening. “He had a real appealing voice on that radio. I heard him. I bet he’s handsome, too. Mass murderers are always handsome. It’s how they trick their victims into their snares.” She shifted in her seat to look at Jewell. “You have your gun, right?”
“Yes. Under my seat.” Well out of Mimi’s reach, she thought with relief.
Mimi lifted her red nylon handbag. “Mine is in my purse.”
“Mimi, no! No gun,” Jewell said, still speaking French and using a firmer tone. She drove through the open gate onto the Sugar Mill Plantation property. Once the gate closed behind the camper, she slammed on the brakes. Her truck and camper slid on the well-maintained shell driveway.
“We’ve got to protect ourselves against mass murderers. You know that.” Mimi folded her arms over her chest and hugged her purse with the gun.
Jewell turned to face her grand-mère, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart was hammering in her chest. God, she hoped she didn’t really have a gun with her. “We retired your gun when you turned eighty-five, Mimi.” Jewell knew she was speaking louder and faster then she should. She couldn’t help it. “I want the gun.”
Mimi rolled her eyes and pulled the gun from her purse.
Jewell gasped. She did have one. It was a long barrel .22 revolver. “Where did you get this gun?”
She was grateful Mimi at least handled it safely, pointing it away from both of them. How she’d managed to carry the thing around without Jewell knowing was unbelievable. The barrel had to be six inches long!
“Oh, mon Dieu,” Jewell cried. “Mimi, that’s dangerous.” God, she hoped she had the safety on.
“Don’t get your thong panty in a twist.” Mimi rolled her eyes and looked at the dull gray gun that seemed old and poorly maintained. “It’s not like I have bullets.”
“Thank God.” At least she wasn’t fully armed.
“I took them out of my purse to get to my lipstick when I went to the Simoneauxs’ bathroom.” She frowned. “I think I forgot them there. Maybe on the counter next to the sink. Maybe.”
How would she ever explain the bullets to the Simoneauxs? “Mimi, I’m officially retiring this gun and all of your ammunition—again. Give me the gun.” She looked at her grand-mère to make sure she’d heard her. She extended her hand. Mimi handed the gun to her properly with a harrumph. “I mean it. If you can’t drive a car, you can’t operate a firearm. No more guns.” Jewell checked to make sure it wasn’t loaded. It wasn’t.
“No law in the state of Louisiana says that.”
“Better than that, the law of your twisted-thong-panty granddaughter says it.” She stuck out her hand again. “May I have your purse, please, Mimi?” She wanted to see if there were any other dangerous items inside of it, or any items she may have stolen from the Simoneauxs’ house. She usually checked Mimi’s purse for items she’d picked up because she liked them, without regard to the fact that they didn’t belong to her.
“I gave you my gun. I’ll keep my purse.”
“Mimi,” Jewell said firmly.
“I’ll need my lipstick when we get to the big house.” She opened her purse, took her lipstick out of it, then handed her the purse. Jewell looked through it and didn’t see anything else that shouldn’t be in it. She gave it back to her grand-mère.
Jewell placed the gun under her seat and resumed driving down the road. They passed the Sugar Mill Plantation Kennel first, which didn’t sit well with Mimi.
“Mon Dieu. I thought we were going to the pretty plantation house I saw in the movie. My plantation. This is a dog pound.” Mimi shook her head. “I’m confused.”
They drove past a group of old slave houses. It appeared they’d been converted into offices. Jewell figured that they must’ve been used for the kennel. Across the street were a large wooden building and a huge fenced yard with agility apparatuses.
“I’m really confused now. It doesn’t seem like a mass murderer would have time to make such a fine-looking dog pound,” Mimi conceded, staring out the window.
“Not a mass murderer. Elli and Ben Bienvenu. They own the plantation and the kennel.”
The road continued past the kennel, slicing through a thick, healthy crop of sugarcane fields with a narrow bayou bordering it on one side and acres of sugarcane on the other. She drove around a sharp bend and turned to face the magnificent Sugar Mill Plantation home. Jewell’s heart fluttered in her chest just like it did when she found a special heirloom in a dusty old attic. Yes, this building was a treasure. A prized antique.
“Yep, that’s it!” Mimi laughed and clapped her hands. “But it isn’t pink anymore. I liked it pink best.”
“It was probably only painted pink for the movie you saw it in,” Jewell replied absently. Her attention was on the beautiful plantation that had her heart racing.
Jewell immediately spotted the back door that Elli had instructed her to use in their earlier conversation. She wanted to walk around to the front, to see the main entrance, but that hadn’t been her instructions. She’d have time to explore later if she got the job.
Dear God, I want to get this job. I need it.
After Jewell made sure Mimi’s gun remained tucked under the seat next to hers, they exited the truck. She didn’t know who stumbled more in the race to get to the door, her or Mimi. “Holy cow, Mimi,” she said, speaking French. “I think I need your cane more than you. I can hardly stand with the way my knees are shaking.” She knew her voice sounded like a high school girl talking to her crush, but, my goodness, how could it not when she got to touch and smell and walk through such an amazing piece of history. On top of that, she was getting to take Mimi to this amazing place that might or might not be relevant to her childhood. Even if it wasn’t, Mimi thought it was and that made her grand-mère happy.
Jewell hesitated pressing the doorbell. She was still studying the one-hundred-forty-five-year-old hand-forged nailheads in the doorframe. She thought of the slaves or free men of color who would have forged these nails right here on the plantation. They probably would’ve worked near the bayou, needing a water source.
Jewell squatted and pressed her hand to the gray wooden planks beneath her feet. It felt thick with years of paint buildup but she could tell by the length of the planks and the way they were laid that the wood was cypress. “Mimi, can you imagine how tall
the cypress tree must’ve been that formed these boards? It must’ve been from one of the ancient cypresses that were as tall and wide as the sequoias in Yellowstone National Park.”
“Huh,” Mimi grunted as she expertly applied her lipstick. When she finished, she pressed the doorbell, which didn’t ding but sounded more like heavy wind chimes.
Jewell stood, touched her nervous stomach, then dropped her hands at her sides. “Remember, we don’t have the job, yet.”
“Then you better be on your best behavior and stop that excited breathing. You sound like you’re having sex with an athletic man.”
“Mimi!” Jewell felt her face blush. Her grand-mère had never spoken of sex with her until the dementia advanced.
“Oh, don’t be so virtuous.” The door opened, but Mimi continued. “Sex is good and fun. Don’t you know that? Haven’t you had it before?”
Jewell placed a finger to her own lips and made a shhh sound to her grand-mère. Mimi placed her index finger on her freshly painted red lips looking innocent and childlike. She wanted to hug her precious, precocious grand-mère, but turned toward the opened door instead.
“Shame. Now, everybody’s stopped talking just when the conversation was getting interesting,” the man who answered the door said. Jewell dropped her hands to her side, blushing again.
This man with the deep, easy voice was tall, lean and impossibly handsome with eyes as light green as a barn cat’s. He was wearing an untucked New Orleans Saints jersey and faded jeans. He looked down at Jewell and smiled. Her stomach did an odd little flip.
“You’re not holding two extra-large meat-lovers’ thin crust pizzas and cheesy breadsticks.” He looked at Mimi and grinned a good-humored grin. “Neither are you.” He leaned against the doorframe and looked at Jewell’s bright green rubber boots with the red ladybugs imprinted on them. "Cute boots."