by Tina DeSalvo
“Who is representing the defendant today?” Judge Brunello asked as he looked over the top of his black-framed reading glasses.
Jewell stood, her chair scraping against the white marble floor. She cleared her throat.
The doors to the courtroom burst open. “I am, your honor,” a familiar voice shouted from the back of the courtroom. Heavy footsteps sounded as they rushed forward to the table where Jewell stood alone. “I’m Beauregard Bienvenu, your honor. I represent Jewell Orleans Duet.”
Jewell looked at Beau. He gave her a sideways glance and a slight nod. She felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She hadn't asked him to come. Didn’t want him to be there. But she knew she needed him.
She stared at him as he handed the prosecution and the clerk some legal papers having to do with who he was and his ability to be there in this court to represent her. In his dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and polished shoes, he looked so virile, competent and confident. He moved easily in the courtroom before returning to stand next to her table. Another man, who had come in with Beau, remained standing near her desk as Beau delivered the papers. He looked so much like him, same height, same dark hair, and same smooth, good looks that she knew who he was immediately. This was his brother, Jackson, whom Ruby had told her had recently retired as a Navy attorney. Jackson also possessed an air of confidence that defied their childhood.
Beau looked at Jewell and smiled. “Have room for me and my brother at your table, Boots?”
She scooted to the middle seat. Jackson had taken the seat on her other side. For the first time in days, sandwiched between these two adept men, and especially being next to Beau, she felt that maybe things were looking up.
“You honor, may we approach the bench,” Beau asked.
The judged granted them their request and he, Jackson and the prosecuting attorneys approached the bench. They stood there for about six minutes, with Beau doing most of the talking. Finally, the judge slammed down his gavel, his face red and angry. “Everyone in my chambers, now.”
Beau came back to the table. “Let’s go.”
“What’s going on?” she asked as she started to grab her binder and law books. Beau put his hand on top of the pile.
“No need for that,” he said, taking a file Jackson handed him. “And no time to discuss what’s going on, now.” He leaned in closer to her. “Do you trust me?”
She looked deep into his clear green eyes. Of course she did. He’d been fair with her and her investigation to see if Twinnie existed. And she’d seen just how loyal he was when he committed to help someone. He was fierce in protecting them. She’d seen it with his family and even his awful client, Stanley Boudreaux. “Yes, Beau. I trust you.”
“Let’s go.”
Tante Izzy started to follow them into the back, but the tall, heavyset bailiff stopped her. “Mais da judge said everybody.”
“Not you, ma’am.” A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Harrumph. Youz lucky I don’t know you momma.” She went back to her seat.
***
The judge had taken off his robe and sat behind his desk in a white dress shirt and solid red tie. The court reporter sat off to the side of him, hands on the keys ready to transcribe what they said. The prosecuting attorney and his two assistants were seated in brown leather chairs in front of the judge’s desk to the right. Jewell, Beau and Jackson were in the same type of chairs on the left.
Judge Brunello steepled his hands on his desk. “So, your counsel has thrown a bit of a monkey wrench into the proceedings, Dr. Duet,” he began, his voice even and commanding. “He said that you didn’t steal the items listed in the indictment, but you did confess to taking some personal papers belonging to Genevieve Monroe. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“He also said that once produced, these papers will have me wanting to immediately dismiss this case.” He grunted. “That’s a big claim. Hence, why I decided to bring it to my chambers. I want to hear what you have to say outside the formality of the courtroom, Dr. Duet. Would you like to explain what papers you took?”
“I’d rather not say,” she said, clasping her shaking hands on her lap. God help me, she prayed; she was a nervous wreck. She wasn’t conditioned for this kind of interrogation or focus on her from someone in authority. She’d never been in trouble in her life before this. This had to be like a trip to the principal’s office…on steroids. She saw the judge glance at her hands, which she held so tightly together that her fingers had turned white. He nodded. “Then I will hold your counsel in contempt of court for bringing us back here on a wild goose chase, and we will get on with the trial.” He looked at Beau. “You also said that even if your client had taken the jewelry, she had every right to do so. Do you intend to prove that, or would you rather not talk about that, too?”
“No. We are prepared to prove that, your honor,” Beau said.
The judged waved at him to be quiet and looked at Jewell. “Is he correct about you having a right to take the Monroe property?”
“Um.” She hesitated, looked at Beau.
“Go ahead and answer him.”
“I didn’t steal the jewelry.”
The judge’s voice grew impatient. “Do you have the right to take possession of it if you choose, Dr. Duet?”
“Your honor,” the prosecutor interrupted. “Can’t we argue this during the trial?”
“We could, but humor me right now. I want to know what the hell is going on. We might be able save ourselves a hell of a lot of time, which this court and I are in very short supply of.” He frowned. “Let’s see if we actually have a case. Sometimes circumventing miles of paper work is the best course.” He looked at Jewell. “Answer my question. Do you have the right to take possession of the jewelry if you choose, as your counsel said?”
“Um.” She shrugged. She didn’t want to contradict Beau. “Beau?”
“This is ridiculous, your honor,” the assistant DA prosecuting the case said. “She obviously doesn’t agree that she is the legal heir to the jewelry as her counsel contends.”
Her eyebrows shot up. She looked at Beau. Legal heir. “Oh…my…God.” Yes. She hadn’t considered that. But could she prove it? Could Beau? She swallowed past the nerves. Do you trust me he’d asked her. Yes, she totally trusted him.
“Your honor,” she began, her voice firm and full of confidence. “Yes. I am the legal heir.”
Beau smiled. “Good girl. Smart girl.”
“Explain,” Judge Brunello huffed.
Beau started to tell him about the papers she’d taken and the judge stopped him.
“You tell me, Professor. One Tulane graduate to another.” He sat back in his seat.
She told him the story of the papers she’d found, of the contract between her mother and Genevieve Monroe. And how Thomas Monroe was her legal father.
“Do you have proof of this contract?” he looked at Beau and the Assistant DA. “Does anyone here have those papers ready to be filed as evidence?”
“I do,” Jewell and Beau said at the same time. They looked at each other. “I brought them with me, Beau.”
“Good.” His eyes crinkled in the corner. He asked her to tell Jackson where she had the documents and then sent him to get them. Beau faced the judge. “If the gag order is still in effect, your honor, yes, we are ready to file it as evidence,” he told him.
The assistant DA shook his head. “This is ridiculous. These papers could’ve been manufactured. I need time to authenticate them.”
“I’ve done that,” Beau said, evenly. “I have an original notarized copy of them, your honor.” Beau handed him the documents he had and the one Jackson had just returned to the chambers with. “I obtained the top document just an hour ago from Dr. Duet’s mother, Miss Praline.”
The judge raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “The Miss Praline?”
Jewell nodded.
“Let the record show that she said her mother is the famous�
�er…entertainer, Miss Praline of Bourbon Street.” He looked up from the papers Beau had handed him. “Is that her legal name?”
Jewell nodded. “Yes, it is.” She looked at Beau.
“At the time of the contract, she hadn’t yet legally changed it to that, though. She was Pauline Martine Duet.”
“Martine?” What? Jewell hadn’t known that.
“The second copy you have is one Dr. Duet took from Genevieve Monroe’s office. Her grandmother’s office. It can be compared to this copy.” He handed the contract to the judge.
The judge looked at Beau. “Do you have a birth certificate, counselor?”
Beau handed it to him. “There are two here. The last one that was created and the original. That one was issued by the state of Louisiana before Genevieve Monroe used her court contacts to have Jewell Orleans Monroe’s birth certificate changed to Jewell Orleans Duet. Miss Praline thought it wise to obtain a second copy from the state before she signed the contract, just in case she needed it later.”
“It all looks in order,” the Judge said. “These are the original documents. Not copied ones.”
“But your honor,” the prosecutor protested. “I haven’t had a chance to examine these documents. I should’ve had them in discovery…”
Beau handed the prosecutor and the judge each a notarized paper, and the prosecutor took the paper, read it, and didn’t finish his argument. “This is a notarized statement signed by Miss Praline declaring that all of the documents I just presented were signed by her.”
“I want Miss Praline sworn in by the court to state for a matter of record that this is her signature and all that has been presented is true,” the prosecutor said. “And I want to ask for a delay to review...”
“She’s just outside the courtroom and available right now,” Beau said.
“She’s here?” Jewell murmured to him.
The prosecutor and judge started to discuss procedure and how this, too, could be used as a contention in trial. As they argued over that point, Beau turned to Jewell.
“I had to bring her here,” he said, his voice just a whisper. “I didn’t have time to file motions for dismissal. If you had a good lawyer, like I thought you did, he would have already done that.” When she started to respond, he put his finger to her lip. “Jackson and I did what we could in the little time we had this morning.” Beau returned his attention to the discussion between the judge and the prosecutor. Jewell wanted to respond to him, but she knew now was not the time.
“Karl,” the Judge said, speaking directly to the assistant DA. “If she swears that all that has been presented here in chambers is true, do you really want to continue with this trial and waste the taxpayers’ money?”
“You want me to drop the charges?” The prosecutor shook his head. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Judge Brunello huffed. “You can delay this trial and after a time bring it back to court, but the evidence won’t be anything more than you have right here.” He narrowed his eyes at the lead prosecutor. “Are you all really willing to risk moving forward and having the media get wind of what’s going on here? Claude Monroe and his attorney have made it clear that they don’t want the information of this case to become public knowledge. I think you all know the reasons.” He looked at Jewell. “And now, since you appear to be an heir, you should ask your half-brother why, besides family legacy, he wanted to keep the family matters out of the press.”
“Half-brother,” Jewell whispered. She supposed she’d fleetingly thought about Claude being her half-brother, but had blocked it out because it didn’t feel real to her. Her real family was Mimi. Now, in one stressful, complicated trial, she had a half-brother and was an heiress.
“I think when you discuss this with the Monroe counsel, they will want you to drop the charges. Just imagine what they’d make of the story of city philanthropist Genevieve Monroe paying off a Bourbon Street stripper that the now-deceased Thomas Monroe had gotten pregnant.” He looked at Jewell. “Sorry, Dr. Duet, to speak so disrespectfully of your mother.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to Beau. “I didn’t want to involve her.” He shrugged. She looked at Jackson. “Can we not have her involved in this, Jackson?”
“I’m not lead attorney, Jewell. Not my call.”
Beau turned in his seat and looked directly in her eyes. “You agreed to trust me. Now trust me.”
***
Jewell watched her mother take the witness stand, wearing a ridiculously low-cut, champagne-sequined halter top, wool champagne miniskirt and five-inch metallic silver stilettos. Her quarter-size diamond earrings caught the fluorescent lighting and shone like two suns on her earlobes. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled in a low-hanging side ponytail that fell into her cleavage. Her biceps self-portrait tattoo with long flowing hair in the colors of the rainbow caught the attention of Tante Izzy.
“Now dat’s the kind of tat I want,” she told Ruby. “Look at da colors.” Ruby shushed her.
Miss Praline was on the stand for all of five minutes, but every man in the room thought she’d been there an hour. Claude, Ralph and Henry had been informed what had transpired in the chambers by the prosecutors and their red-faced, dour expressions said they didn’t like it. When she stood to leave, she smiled flirtatiously at the judge, the assistant DA and Beau.
The judge called for a recess to allow counsel to attend to any necessary matters they needed to attend to related to the case.
Praline stopped at the defendant’s desk and leaned across it to speak to Jewell. “Good luck, honey.”
“Thanks.” Jewell answered, but she knew the pause at the table and the low, sexy bend was meant for Jackson and Beau. Jewell leaned closer to her. “I was going to call you, Praline. I have a couple of questions about our family’s history that Mimi can no longer answer. It might be a long shot…”
She looked at Beau and batted her long fake eyelashes. “Ask away.”
“Martine. Do you know why Mimi gave you that middle name?”
Beau stopped looking through his papers and leaned against the desk to listen to Praline’s answer. Jackson discreetly walked away.
“Well, how about that?” She laughed. “I thought you and Mignon were as close as two people could be. Didn’t she tell you her little secret?”
“What secret, Praline?” Jewell asked her mother, not pleased with her smug tone.
“You asked about my middle name.” Praline looked at Beau and pointed a long crimson-tipped finger at him and cocked a brow.
“You can speak in front of Beau. He knows everything.”
“Apparently not everything,” she smiled. “Your great-grandmother was a kidnapper, my pretty daughter. Only, Mignon told me she was never sure if she was actually her biological mother. The woman was the only mother Mignon had known, though.” She shrugged.
“Please go on. Tell us what you know,” Jewell said, folding her arms across her chest.
“When she was dying, Mignon’s mother told her that she’d been paid by the plantation owner’s wife to take her stepdaughter from their Louisiana plantation. She moved to New Orleans and pretended the kidnapped girl was her three-year-old twin daughter. Mignon said she and Twinnie had looked so much alike that everyone believed the story. They even believed it.”
Jewell’s heart was pounding having the story confirmed. “One of the girls died when she was five years old. Do you know if it was the kidnapped child?”
Praline laughed. “That’s the crazy part of the story. Mignon didn’t know. She said that the two girls had called each other Twinnie as far back as she could remember. Since her mother was the plantation seamstress, she created the same dresses for the girls even on the plantation. It was tolerated because the girls were so close, Mignon figured.” She patted her bright blonde hair. “In fact, your dear Mimi said, she really believed the other child was her twin. She’d been too young at the time to know any differently. When she dis
covered the truth, her mother convinced her that if she told anyone the story, they both would go to jail for kidnapping. Mignon said her mother believed if the sole surviving child didn’t know her identity, she would never tell for fear she was the actual criminal and not the victim.”
“So, Praline, no one knows if Mignon is Martine or if Martine died?” Beau asked, his voice even.
“You mean Rosary Martine, right?”
Beau and Jewell looked at each other.
“Oh, that’s right.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Mignon said Rosary was the made-up name. One of them was Mignon. The other, Martine.” Praline shook her head. “Honey, I am really shocked she never told you about this.”
Jewell was too. She was hurt by it, too. Why hadn’t Mimi confided in her? Her instincts told her that it was because of her chosen profession as a Louisiana historian and researcher. She wouldn’t have wanted her to dig any further into the crime with the fears her mother had instilled into her. Not that those fears were logical. The fears of children, and even adults, when attached with strong emotions like dealing with the death of a loved one or fear of losing a mother had to create lasting scars. The dementia may have released her of those fears.
“And your middle name…?” Jewell asked.
“Oh, that. Mignon loved that child she thought was her sister so much she gave me her name as my middle name.” Praline shrugged. “She said she was afraid to make that my first name because her mother had warned her that uttering the name could get them arrested.”
Beau looked at Jewell, then Praline. “Thank you for the information.” He smiled and extended his hand.
“Darlin’, I don’t shake hands with men,” Praline threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “You have my number. Give me a call sometime.”
She stepped back, patted her hair again, then waved to Jewell as she walked around the desk.
“Oh, Miss Praline,” Tante Izzy called to her. “I want to talk to you about some pole-dancin’ lessons.”
“Sure thing, honey,” she replied. She waved to Izzy and left the courtroom without giving her a way to contact her. She hadn’t greeted or acknowledged her own mother.