The Cakes of Monte Cristo

by Jacklyn Brady

  “I understand you found the famous Toussaint necklace,” Mancini said. “I’d like to get a sound bite for our viewers.”

  “Sorry,” I said with a thin smile. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Mancini gave me a sickeningly friendly smile. “Oh, come on, Ms. Lucero. It’s a great story. Old world feud. A cursed necklace. I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”

  Ox half stood, ready to leap to my defense. I waved him back into his chair, determined to prove that I didn’t need to be protected. “Look, Mr. Mancini, I understand that this is the kind of story some people want to hear about, but there’s really nothing to tell. In order to make the story exciting enough for TV, you’d have to fabricate most of it and I’m not going to help you do that.”

  “So it’s not true? You didn’t find the necklace?”

  “Oh, we found it all right,” Zoey said from the other end of the table. “Rita and me. We found it together.”

  I shot her a “shut up” look, which she pointedly ignored. “I’m the one you’ve talked to when you call the bakery,” she said. “And I think it’s exciting. I’ve got a picture of it and everything.”

  I groaned aloud—I think. The sound was smothered by the music on the jukebox. “Zoey—”

  “What? Why can’t I tell him about it? It’s not going to hurt anything.”

  Estelle gave me a round-eyed look. “You can’t really forbid her to talk to this guy, Rita. It’s a free country.”

  I swore under my breath and stood. “Fine. You want an interview? Let’s go.” I jerked my head toward the door. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

  Mancini flashed a triumphant smile and got to his feet. “Terrific. What say we have your friend come along?”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to rob Zoey of her moment in the sun, but I had no idea what she might say and I wanted to contain the damage as much as humanly possible. “Just me,” I said. “Otherwise, it’s no deal.”

  Zoey crumpled under the weight of holding her spine straight and slumped back in her chair looking mutinous. I hated putting that look on her face, but I had to consider Miss Frankie and Zydeco. My decision was for the Greater Good.

  I could see Mancini weighing his options for a moment. On the one hand, Zoey was almost certain to give him a more interesting interview than I would, but as Zydeco’s owner, my version would probably carry more weight. It was a crap shoot, and I wasn’t sure I’d win, but eventually he dipped his head and turned away from the table.

  He motioned for me to go ahead, and I did, clutching my bag close to my side. First thing tomorrow I was taking the necklace to the bank and locking it in a safe-deposit box. I checked over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t doubled back to get a one-on-one with Zoey. When we finally stepped outside, I saw that a thick fog had settled in, shrouding the neighborhood in mist.

  Now that we were alone, I started to get a little nervous. I’d seen Carlo Mancini on TV, but what did I really know about him? I glanced around to see if anybody else was out and about, but my visibility was down to almost nothing.

  I did my best not to look nervous. “You got a camera crew hiding out somewhere?”

  Mancini nodded. “They’re here. I’ll bring them over in a minute. But first, tell me the story. How did you find the necklace?”

  “Before we get to that,” I said, “I also want your word that you’ll leave my mother-in-law alone.”

  “Mrs. Renier? I don’t know if I can agree to that. She’s pretty well known. A lot of people will want to hear what she has to say.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I need your word that you’ll stop bothering her.”

  Mancini stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You’re awfully demanding. I don’t need to agree to any of your terms, you know.”

  “Maybe not. But you will. Miss Frankie will not be giving you an interview, no matter how many times you call. You might as well back off and save both of you some grief.”

  He conceded that point with a dip of his head. “What about your friend inside the bar?”

  “She was involved for all of five minutes,” I said. “She doesn’t have much of a story to tell. I’m the one you want to talk to.”

  “Okay then. Talk. How did you find the necklace?”

  “It was an accident,” I said. “We were moving some boxes and a couple of them fell down the stairs. In the process they opened up a hole in the wall and ripped up some of the floorboards on the steps. That’s where we found the necklace.”

  He scribbled something on a notepad and grinned at me. “What did you do then?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Then how did the necklace end up at the Vintage Vault the night Mrs. Trussell died?”

  “I took it to her for an appraisal.”

  “So . . . not exactly ‘nothing’ then.”

  “Not exactly ‘something’ either. I dropped the necklace off with her and went home. End of story.”

  “What do you say to people who think the necklace is cursed?”

  “There’s no such thing as a curse,” I said. “And there certainly isn’t one on the Toussaint necklace—if that’s the necklace we found at Zydeco. We don’t even know for sure that’s what we found, or even whether our necklace is genuine.”

  “According to Dominique Kincaid, it is.”

  That caught me by surprise and I could tell Mancini knew it had. “How would she know?”

  “Apparently Mrs. Trussell called her the night she died, and told Ms. Kincaid that the necklace was the real deal.”

  “Dominique told you and not me?” I tried to look amused. “You expect me to believe that?”

  Mancini did a better job of looking amused than I had. “You can believe whatever you like, Ms. Lucero. So what do you plan to do with the necklace now that you have it back?”

  Surprise number two. The guy was a jerk, but a jerk who was good at his job. Maybe some people would admire that, but I was stuck on the part where he was a first-class jerk. “What makes you think I have it back?”

  “You went to the police station today. I assume you picked up the evidence.”

  Lights went on inside my head and that itchy feeling I’d had earlier came back, stronger than before. The white SUV. “You followed me?”

  Mancini shrugged. “A reporter’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. So what are your plans?”

  “I don’t have any,” I snapped. Maybe not the best response, considering I was talking to a man who had access to microphones and cameras, but he was seriously beginning to tick me off. “You wanted to know how I found the necklace and I’ve told you. Your five minutes are up.”

  I thought Mancini would try to stop me from leaving, but he just stood there with his arms folded across his chest and a smile playing across his lips as I strode back into the Dizzy Duke. I stopped just inside the door and watched as a couple of guys moved out of the fog to join him. One had a video camera on his shoulder and the other held a clipboard filled with papers. He laughed as if they’d just scored the coup of the century, and I tried desperately to convince myself I hadn’t said anything I wouldn’t want broadcast to the world.

  Carlo Mancini had just earned himself a spot on my list of least favorite people. The trouble was, I didn’t think he’d care.

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Snippets of my interview with Carlo Mancini kept playing through my head and I kept seeing Zoey’s sullen face and Estelle’s disapproving glances when I went back into the Dizzy Duke. Carlo Mancini’s interruption had put a damper on the group’s mood—or maybe it was me. In any case, I wasn’t in the mood to party so I’d excused myself and hurried home.

  By the time morning broke, I was no longer sure what I’d actually said to anybody. Part of me wanted to stay home and watch whatever station Carlo
Mancini worked for until I saw what he’d done with our conversation. The other part wanted to pretend that last night had never happened. That’s the part that won.

  I brewed a travel mug of coffee and hopped into the Range Rover a few minutes before eight. Instead of driving to Zydeco, I aimed myself at the bank . . . until I remembered that it was Saturday and the bank would be closed. I didn’t want to lug the necklace around with me, but there weren’t many options available. I couldn’t ask Miss Frankie to hold it. Bernice might say yes, but she’d almost certainly tell Miss Frankie and I’d have to dredge the river to find it again. Not that I believed in the curse, but I didn’t want to ask one of my staff to hold on to it either.

  My phone chimed a reminder so I checked it at the next stoplight. Meet Simone. In all the recent hullabaloo, I’d almost forgotten that Simone had asked me to stop by so we could touch base. Finding a safe place for the necklace would have to wait.

  Touching base isn’t my favorite part of the job, but it’s a necessary one. When the client is as gracious as Simone, it’s almost pleasant. She greeted me with a broad smile and led me into her office, where I found an array of fresh fruit and pastries. The room was redolent with the aroma of good-quality strong coffee.

  I filled a plate and a cup and we settled down to business. We chatted amiably about space and decorations, about progress on the cakes and last-minute alterations to the menu. I don’t know how long we’d been at it when Corinne Carver poked her head into the room. She looked better than the last time I’d seen her at the Monte Cristo. Her hair was done, her makeup flawless, but an unhappy expression dragged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Excuse me, Simone, but Natalie Archer is here and she’s demanding to see you. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but she just won’t listen to me.”

  Simone’s expression didn’t change, but a flash of irritation appeared in her dark eyes. “Tell her I’m in a meeting, please. I’ll be happy to call her when I’m through here.”

  “I don’t think—” Corinne began, but a commotion in the hallway cut her off.

  A moment later Natalie Archer burst into the room. I’d met Natalie once or twice and I can’t say that she’s my favorite member of the Vintage Clothing Society. She’s probably mid-sixties, solidly built with a perpetually sour expression on her face. From what I’d seen of her, she bulldozed her way through life and she was in fine form that morning.

  “You have to do something, Simone. And no, this can’t wait. The ball is in a week. This space issue needs to be resolved now.”

  “I’m in a meeting, Natalie. We can talk about your concerns later.”

  Natalie dragged a chair away from the table and sat, resting her purse on her lap and clutching it tightly with both hands. “This can’t wait,” she said again. “I’ve tried to talk with Colleen, but she won’t listen to reason.”

  “Corinne,” Simone corrected her.

  Natalie’s frown deepened and the grip she had on her purse tightened. “I don’t care what her name is. I care that she has taken away so much space we won’t have room to display anything at the ball. I’ve tried to narrow down my selection, but it’s simply not possible.”

  “I realize that space is an issue,” Simone said with a lot more patience than I would have shown. “But I’m sure Corinne has explained about the flood at the hotel.”

  Natalie dipped her head slightly. “She told me about that, yes. But that’s certainly not my fault. It’s no excuse—”

  Simone didn’t wait for her to finish. “Then I’m sure you are aware that we’ve had to change the location of the ball for this year. And that means that everyone is having to make adjustments.” Interrupting someone in the middle of a sentence might not seem like a big deal, but Simone is always perfectly polite. The stress of the ball must be getting to her.

  “Not everyone is being affected adversely,” Natalie insisted. “You know how small some of these shops are. They can get by with less space. I can’t.”

  “The space is allocated equally,” Simone said. “Everyone pays the same amount and everyone’s footage is being cut equally.”

  “I’m willing to pay more,” Natalie said.

  “That’s not the issue,” Simone said firmly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to cut your space if someone else made the same offer. Now if there’s nothing else—”

  “There most certainly is something else,” Natalie said. She gave me a look clearly intended to send me packing. “But perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

  Seriously? She’d barged into my meeting with Simone, not the other way around. The lady had some serious entitlement issues. Still, I reached for my purse, intending to leave, but Simone stopped me. “Rita and I are in the middle of a meeting,” she reminded Natalie. “If you absolutely must talk to me right now, you’ll have to do it in front of her.”

  Natalie let out a heavy put-upon sigh, I guess to make sure we both knew how unreasonable we were being. “Fine. Then here it is: You have to do something about that girl. She’s rude.”

  A muscle in Simone’s jaw twitched. “Which girl would that be?”

  “The receptionist or whatever she is. The one who was just in here. Colleen.”

  “Corinne.” Simone’s correction was a bit crisp this time.

  “You know who I mean,” Natalie said with a flick of her wrist. “Now, really, Simone, you know I’m usually extremely forgiving and tolerant of other people, but that girl’s attitude leaves a lot to be desired.”

  I would have laughed at Natalie’s list of her admirable traits, but I was pretty sure that would offend her. And it’s not a good idea to bite the hand that feeds you. Offending someone like Natalie Archer might not be in Zydeco’s best interests.

  Somehow, Simone managed to keep a straight face. “Corinne is a valuable employee,” she said. “She’s doing exactly what I instructed her to do. I realize that you’re unhappy with the changes we’re having to make, but that’s not Corinne’s fault.”

  Natalie leaned forward slightly. “You’re not saying we should blame Orra, are you? Poor thing! She didn’t mean to die the way she did, and she certainly didn’t intend to cause trouble for the rest of us.”

  “Of course not,” Simone said. “Orra’s heart attack has nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Except that it frees up her share of the space. And that space should go to someone who needs it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Simone looked horrified, and I had to admit I was pretty shocked myself but Natalie’s real motive for barging in was becoming clear. “Won’t Dominique use the space?” I asked. “If the Vintage Vault paid for the opportunity to display, they may still want to use it.”

  “I doubt that,” Natalie said. “What would be the point? Surely the store will go out of business now. Dominique has her hands full dealing with all the legal issues.”

  “Oh?” Simone said. “You’ve spoken to her?”

  “Only for a moment. She called to tell me there will be a small, private memorial for Orra on Monday. I suppose I should attend, but frankly, it’s at the most inopportune time.”

  Simone and I exchanged another incredulous look.

  Natalie tilted her head to one side, seemingly oblivious to our reactions. “You’ve heard the rumors, I assume. About Orra and the Toussaint necklace?”

  Simone’s gaze flicked toward me. “I’ve heard some talk, but I hardly think—”

  “They say some cook found it. One of the caterers for the Belle Lune Ball, I heard.”

  Simone glanced at me again, but I gave my head what I hoped was an imperceptible shake. If Natalie didn’t know about my connection to the necklace, I didn’t want to tell her. And I certainly didn’t want her to know that the necklace was in the room with us. It would be just like her to keel over and die just to get attention.

  “I suppose,” Natalie went
on, unaware of my silent exchange with Simone, “there will be a big hassle now over ownership. Nothing is ever as easy as it should be.”

  “I don’t think anyone has come forward to claim it,” I said cautiously. “So maybe it won’t be a problem.”

  Natalie cut an irritated look at me. “If you think that, my girl, you’re living in a fantasy world. The ownership of that necklace has been hotly debated for a hundred and fifty years or more. The question won’t go away now that the rubies have resurfaced.”

  I offered a tiny smile. “Well, maybe the current family will be more reasonable than their ancestors were.”

  “One can hope,” Natalie said. “But I doubt it. The Merciers and their kin aren’t what you’d call reasonable. Never have been.”

  I was about to ask what she meant by that when Simone took charge again. “We’re getting off topic,” she said. “I’m afraid Rita and I are both so busy we can’t afford to get off track.”

  Natalie took the reprimand in stride and picked up where she’d left off. “My concern isn’t solely about the changes Colleen is making to the hotel space. I’m deeply concerned about the way she treats a charter member of the society like myself. I don’t think anyone can discount the contributions I’ve made.”

  “No one wants to do that,” Simone assured her.

  Natalie acknowledged that with a thin smile. “That’s good to know, but it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “As I said, Corinne is just doing her job.”

  Natalie’s smile evaporated. “Simone, dear, I don’t think you understand how . . . rude Colleen is. If you must keep her, perhaps someone should have a talk with her. Explain to her how things work around here. Teach her a few things about how to get along.”