The Cakes of Monte Cristo

by Jacklyn Brady

  Most of the party goers had left the hotel by that time. A few lingered, clustered in small friendly-looking groups around the now-empty space. Natalie marched past all of them, leaving me no choice but to follow. She passed several conversation nooks that apparently didn’t meet with her approval, and finally settled on two chairs near the stairs.

  Since the stairs were still blocked due to the broken pipe, nobody would be able to come up behind us and we could see anyone who approached from the front. I got the feeling she didn’t want anyone to overhear what she had to say.

  She took one chair and I took the other. I spoke before she could, hoping to find out what I wanted to know before she took control of the conversation. “I thought your tribute to Orra was lovely,” I said. “You must have cared about her a great deal.”

  Natalie smiled—I think. Her lips moved, anyway. “Orra was a colleague, and that’s what one does in circumstances like these. Anything less would have been inappropriate.”

  How touching.

  “But that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you,” she said.

  Surprise, surprise. I never thought it was. I smiled all friendly-like. “Of course not. What can I do for you, Mrs. Archer?”

  “You can tell me where you stand on the necklace. I’ve spoken with my attorney, and he assures me that my claim will stand up in any court of law.”

  Considering how formidable she could be, I wasn’t surprised. Her attorney was probably afraid to give her bad news. Or maybe she was making it all up. Either way . . .

  “My position hasn’t changed,” I told her. “As I said before, I haven’t had a chance to talk to my attorney. Now that the ball is over, I’ll try to contact him early next week.”

  “That seems completely unnecessary,” Natalie said. “You can speak with my attorney. He has promised to be available night and day.”

  I almost laughed, but managed to contain it. “That’s kind of you. I’m sure your attorney will present your case in the best possible light, but I would prefer to discuss it with someone more . . .” How to say “not under your thumb or being paid by your dollar”? I decided on, “. . . impartial.”

  Natalie’s eyes grew cold. I swear, I could almost hear her bulldozer engine revving up. “I assure you, my attorney is fair and honest. Everything he does is aboveboard.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” I said. “But I still want to talk to my guy. You’d feel the same way if our positions were reversed.”

  She shook her head as if I’d saddened her terribly. “I suppose I might,” she said in a tone that clearly suggested otherwise. “Will you at least tell me if you’ve had other offers?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” I said. “Several, in fact.”

  “May I ask who the other parties are?”

  Sol, Miriam, and maybe Dominique. I wondered if I could count the attempts to steal the necklace as offers. The jewel thief made four. “I prefer not to divulge that information just yet.”

  “I see.” Natalie smoothed her hands over the fabric of her skirt. “I’m disappointed, Miss Lucero, but I suppose there’s no rushing whatever your process is.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t.” And now that we’d settled that, I tried to steer the conversation back to what I wanted to know. “I spoke with Miriam Lehmann earlier. She painted a very different picture of Orra than you did in your comments.”

  Natalie looked supremely uninterested. “That doesn’t surprise me. Miriam means well, but she would say anything if it got her what she wanted. I suppose she’s one of the parties who offered to buy the necklace from you.”

  “We discussed it for a moment,” I admitted, then pivoted the topic. “I’m curious to know how many people knew that the necklace was in Orra’s possession the night she died. I’m told that news travels fast in vintage clothing circles. How did you hear?”

  Natalie actually smiled. “Why should I answer your question when you refuse to answer mine? If you tell me who else has offered to buy the necklace, I will consider telling you what you want to know.”

  Wow. How generous. “So you did know that Orra had the necklace at the Vintage Vault that night?”

  “I didn’t say that. But let’s not play games with one another. I do hope you’re not considering an offer from the Merciers.”

  Strangely enough, I hadn’t received a single offer from the Merciers, but I didn’t think Natalie needed to know that. “Again, Mrs. Archer, I prefer not to discuss that.”

  “The necklace is not theirs, you know. Armand gave it to his wife, which is what he should have done. I don’t know how Delphine managed to kill them both, but I am quite sure she did. Her kin shouldn’t benefit from her crime. I’m certain there are laws against that.”

  Okay, that was a new angle I hadn’t previously considered. “You think Delphine actually murdered Armand and Beatriz?” I knew that there were current laws on the books that prevented a criminal from profiting from a crime, but I didn’t know how those laws might apply to this situation.

  “Whether she poisoned them herself or caused them to die by the curse, she was guilty,” Natalie insisted.

  Guilt by curse? Hmmm.

  I stood to indicate that I considered the conversation over. “I’ll contact you after I’ve spoken with my lawyer,” I said again. “That’s really the best I can do.”

  Natalie got to her feet slowly. “Aren’t you at all curious how Beatriz Toussaint’s necklace came to be hidden in your place of business?”

  The question hit me like a two-by-four upside the head. I like to think that I’m pretty quick on the uptake, but as it happened, I hadn’t even considered that question. Why was the necklace in the stairs at Zydeco? If the Toussaints were in possession of the necklace for the first fifty years or so, who had hidden it in Miss Cassie’s old home?

  “Are you suggesting that someone stole the necklace from Gustave’s family?”

  “I think that’s fairly obvious, don’t you?”

  “You don’t think Gustave might have given it away after his wife and daughter died?”

  “He wouldn’t have done that,” Natalie said firmly.

  I tried to do some mental calculations, but no matter how I diced or sliced the numbers, I couldn’t make Natalie old enough and Gustave young enough to have been alive at the same time. “What makes you so certain?”

  “Gustave lost his uncle, his aunt, his wife, and his daughter, all because of Delphine’s curse. He would have died before he willingly gave the necklace away.”

  “You might be right,” I said. “Or maybe he decided he’d lost enough. Maybe he hid it himself.”

  “Impossible.”

  Improbable maybe. Certainly not impossible. But before I could respond, I saw Miss Frankie making her way toward us. Frankly, I didn’t know whether to cheer or groan. I supposed that would depend on which personality she’d brought with her.

  “Rita, dear,” she said when she drew closer. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I wanted to tell you again what a wonderful job you did tonight.”

  She sounded like the sane version, but I couldn’t be sure. I stood up to greet her and Natalie did the same. “Yes,” Natalie said. “It was lovely.”

  Miss Frankie beamed and put an arm around my waist. “Isn’t Rita somethin’? I love her like she’s my own flesh and blood.” She kissed my cheek and moved to stand by Natalie, still all smiles. “You know how it is, don’t you, Natalie? I’m sure you feel the same way about your girls. Now . . . I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” She slipped her hand under Natalie’s elbow and led her away. “It’s about my garden . . .” Her voice trailed away as they walked toward the elevator.

  I grinned and said a quick prayer of thanks that the real Miss Frankie had returned.

  Natalie said something, but they were too far away for me to hear it. But I thought
that she looked less like a bulldozer and more like a sad, aging woman. I even felt a twinge of sympathy for her. But just a twinge. I still had no idea who was responsible for the attacks on me and I couldn’t risk feeling sorry for anyone.

  Any one of these ordinary-looking people might have frightened Orra so badly she’d keeled over on the spot. Any one of them might have tried to hurt me. I couldn’t lose sight of that.

  Twenty-three

  By the time we finished up at the Monte Cristo, the Range Rover’s window had been replaced and my credit card payment processed. I caught a ride to the repair shop with Ox and Isabeau, where the Range Rover and its shiny new window waited for me.

  I cruised home, cranking the stereo to keep me awake. Even so, I was so tired I barely remembered how I got from one side of town to the other.

  Finding a parking space on the same block as my house is always cause for celebration. Finding one directly in front of my house almost never happens. Someone must have been watching out for me, because the spot right in front of my house was open when I pulled up. I did a little victory dance as I gathered up my things and trotted up the front walk, happy to be home and thrilled to have the successful Belle Lune Ball behind me. I was so caught up in my internal celebration, I was halfway up the walk before I realized that the front of the house looked different. It was another moment before I comprehended that my front door wasn’t completely closed.

  I stopped walking abruptly and stared at the door dumbly while I tried to process what I was seeing. Had I left the door open when I left that morning? I didn’t think so. True, I’d been in a hurry and distracted by all the work in front of us, but finding the broken window on the Range Rover had spooked me. I was confident that I’d paid enough attention to shut and lock the door when I left for work.

  I dropped the bags I’d been carrying and pulled my cell phone from my pocket to dial Sullivan’s number, realizing belatedly that my battery had died sometime during the evening.

  Terrific.

  Now what? I briefly considered checking the house to see if the intruder was still there, but at the last minute common sense prevailed. I could have gone back to the Range Rover, but without a cell phone, I’d be sitting there all night. I wasn’t going to just drive away and leave the burglar alone in my house. Abandoning the idea of charging into a potentially dangerous situation, I walked next door to the Thai restaurant instead.

  Its walls were covered with dark wood paneling and a collection of ornamental carvings. Wooden wind chimes played as the door swooshed shut behind me. The restaurant was empty of customers, but a small woman with a serious face scurried toward me, waving both hands in front of her. “Sorry. Too late. We’re closed. You go away now. Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m not here to eat,” I said. “I live next door. I think somebody broke into my house and I need to use your phone to call the police.”

  She glared at me suspiciously. “You live where?”

  I hooked a thumb in the right direction. “Next door. My name’s Rita Lucero,” I said, suddenly remembering my manners. “I’ve been working all day and just got home. I found my front door open.”

  “Open?”

  “I think somebody broke in. May I use your phone? And maybe wait here until the police arrive?”

  “You can call,” she said, motioning me toward an old-fashioned black phone on the counter. “But I don’t think you can wait here. We’re closed.”

  “I don’t want to eat,” I said again. “I just need to wait until the police arrive. It shouldn’t be too long.” I could have waited in the car, but suddenly the idea of being alone wasn’t sitting well. This time I planned to call Sullivan directly. I try not to take advantage of our relationship, but since my previous calls to the police had met with unsatisfactory results, this time I was going for the big guns.

  It took less than three minutes for Sullivan to hear me out and start heading in my direction. Unfortunately, it would take him at least thirty minutes to get there without traffic. I wasn’t sure my hostess would be happy about that, but I wouldn’t be happy if I had to wait outside by myself in the middle of the night. We couldn’t both be happy.

  I parked myself on a bright red leather chair and folded my hands on my lap to show that I had no intention of stealing from her. “I don’t want to keep you,” I said in my friendliest voice. “If you have work to do, please go ahead.”

  She made a show of straightening a stack of menus, then bustled around doing . . . whatever. I watched in silence since she didn’t seem interested in conversation. After a little while, though, the silence began to get to me. That and a wall of exhaustion so strong I needed something to help me stay awake until Sullivan arrived. I decided to try chatting with her.

  “Have you had anything unusual happen here at the restaurant?” I asked. She stared at me in confusion so I tried to clarify. “The other night, I thought I saw someone prowling around by my house. You weren’t broken into, were you?”

  “Here? You saw somebody breaking in here?”

  “No, but I saw someone moving around late at night. I thought that he—or she—might be scoping out my house, but then he ran across your property and I wondered if he was trying to break in.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “I heard a noise after he disappeared around the back of the building,” I explained. “I thought he might have run into your trash cans, but it could have been something else. You didn’t find anything suspicious when you came to work, did you?”

  A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “When?”

  I thought back, trying to remember exactly which night I’d seen the prowler. The week had been so crazy, all the days had blended together. “Three or four nights ago,” I said.

  “And you think someone broke in here?”

  I must have been mumbling. “Not exactly. Just wondering if you remember finding anything unusual one night this week.”

  “No. Nothing suspicious. Nothing unusual. Animals knock over trash cans sometimes. Maybe that’s what you heard.”

  “It wasn’t an animal,” I said. “I definitely saw a person. Have you noticed anyone who doesn’t belong lurking around the neighborhood?”

  She reached beneath the counter for a feather duster and began working it over the ornate decorations on the wall. “Strange people come around all the time,” she said. “They’re called customers.”

  Had she just cracked a joke? I laughed in case that’s what she was expecting. “You haven’t noticed someone unusual watching my house or anything?”

  She stopped dusting and scowled at me. “I don’t have time to look at what’s going on outside. I work.”

  I decided to take that as a “no,” and gave up trying to engage her in friendly conversation. I spent the next twenty minutes trying to stay awake and watching her pretend to work while keeping an eye on me. By the time Sullivan pulled up in front of the restaurant, I was more than ready to get out of there.

  Breathing a silent sigh of relief, I hopped up and jerked my chin toward the door. “The detective is here.”

  She hustled out around the counter and flipped the lock. “You go. Next time come back to eat.”

  That sounded reasonable, so I promised that I would and hurried outside. She locked the door almost before I got all the way through it and turned out the lights. It didn’t matter so much now. One look at Sullivan’s six-foot-nothing of Southern boy charm and I knew I was going to be okay.

  He motioned for me to go back inside the restaurant. “Stay there. I’ll check out the house and then we’ll talk.”

  “Not an option,” I said. “She’s already locked me out and turned off the lights.”

  He cut an irritated glance at the darkened front door. “Well, you’re not coming inside with me. Not until I know it’s safe.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait out here. By myse
lf. In the dark. No problem.”

  Sullivan made a noise that sounded like a growl. “You’re not coming inside with me.”

  “I’m sure that whoever broke in is long gone,” I argued. “It’s been half an hour since I called you, and he was probably gone even before I got home.”

  “Maybe,” Sullivan said grudgingly, “but we won’t know for sure until I check it out.”

  I appreciated his concern and I understood his caution, but I really wanted to get inside and curl up on my sofa—assuming it was still there. “Just let me inside,” I bargained. “I promise you can search to your heart’s content and I won’t bother you.”

  “And if there’s someone waiting inside? No, you can wait in your car. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Come on. He’s probably not even in there. It’s been a long time since I got home. And if he is, I’ll let you take care of him. Please, Sullivan. I’ve been on my feet all day and I’m exhausted.”

  I could tell that he didn’t want to agree, but I gave him my best puppy eyes and he caved. “Fine,” he snarled, “but you wait outside until I make sure the main floor is clear.”

  “Deal,” I said to show that I could be reasonable.

  We moved cautiously up the walk and Sullivan gave the front door a quick once-over before disappearing inside. It felt like I’d been waiting a couple of hours when he reappeared at the door and waved at me to come in. He motioned me toward the living room, where cushions tossed onto the floor and signs that the furniture had been shifted convinced me that the intruder had been searching for something. I had a good idea what he’d been after.

  I replaced the couch cushions and settled myself on it with a weary frown. “How is the kitchen?” I asked around a jaw-cracking yawn.

  “It’s been tossed,” Sullivan said. “Our friend was definitely looking for something. Upstairs looks clear, too, but I’m going to make sure. Stay here. Do not move.”

  Ordinarily, I might have argued with him, but I was too tired to move. If the intruder was still in the house, I’d be tempted to promise him the necklace just to get rid of the thing.