by Emery, Lynn
“Don’t forget the part about attracting attention,” MiMi put in. “Lorraine or that gang member whets-his-face have eyes on you.”
“Another solid point,” Byron rumbled, his voice solemn as he glanced around.
Jazz hissed in frustration. “Fine let’s get moving.”
Byron started the engine, and they drove on for twenty minutes in silence. Red Stick Storage was in the southern part of East Baton Rouge Parish. The remote location was part of the reason the rates were so reasonable. After stop and go traffic, they hit Airline Highway. A billboard advertising the storage facility told them they were five minutes away.
“My buddy manages this one and two others. They bought that billboard,” Byron said. “We’re taking management classes together. He was my cellmate back in the day.”
“That’s wonderful. I don’t mean that you two were in jail,” MiMi added. She gazed out of the window at passing businesses.
“Humph.” Jazz cast a hot glance at MiMi over her shoulder before facing front again.
“I know what you meant.” Byron smiled at MiMi in the rearview mirror. He gave Jazz an amused side look. “I put labels on boxes, but just general like ‘Receipts’. I didn’t search through it all. Didn’t seem necessary at the time.”
“I’m just glad you ignored my orders, but don’t make it a habit,” Jazz added and pointed at him. “Unless you know better.”
Byron chuckled softly. “Yes ma’am. I got it.”
“And you, follow orders and keep quiet,” Jazz said to MiMi without looking at her.
“Yes ma’am. I got it, too,” MiMi chirped and gave a sharp salute.
Jazz started to say more, but decided not to waste her breath. MiMi on a mission didn’t listen to anyone. Byron turned onto a side street. A variety of businesses lined both sides of a wide four lane street. Other streets branched off with more. Interline Boulevard was one of several light industrial sections of the city. A big red and white sign to their left announced they’d arrived at Red Stick Storage. A driveway led down the center of one long row of connected metal buildings on either side. More rows stretched behind these. Street signs were posted at intersecting driveways.
“Just up here. We’re on Sesame Street,” Byron said.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jazz replied, gaping at him.
“Cool. Cookie Monster is my fave.” MiMi laughed when Jazz threw another angry glare her way.
“If you start singing that song, I’ll strangle you and stuff your body in one of these storage units,” Jazz grumbled.
MiMi giggled. “You’re the grouchy monster.”
“You owe Baby Sage a lot. If I didn’t want to orphan that child…”
Byron stopped the Tahoe. “Here we go. Unit number thirty-six, that’s yours.”
Jazz got out of the SUV and stopped MiMi from exiting. “Let’s get one thing straight, MiMi. Don’t get your hopes up you’ll find a treasure map leading to money Jack hid. Lorraine didn’t even know Jack that well. He just hung out at Candy Girls a minute.”
“Okay, okay.” MiMi looked around.
“You need to listen to me,” Jazz warned as she shook a forefinger at MiMi.
“I heard you for goodness sakes. But finders’ keepers,” MiMi replied in a sing-song voice as she pushed the door open.
Jazz jumped back to get out of the way. “Girl, you gonna earn a butt kicking’ yet.”
“Here we go. I knew oiling this lock and these hinges was a good idea.” Byron had ignored their dramatic play and opened the storage unit.
“We love you Byron,” MiMi breathed as she scurried past him into the open unit. “Now what?” her voice echoed back.
“Now, I turn on the lights and you wait for me to tell you where to search.” Byron found the switch. A florescent bulb spread white light over the contents.
“Whoa, there’s a big pile of stuff up in here.” MiMi picked up a lamp with an orange and pink shade. “Ugly stuff.”
Jazz squinted as her eyes adjusted from the sunlight. She took off her sunglasses. “Lorraine is not known for her sense of style. Damn, Byron. You could have thrown that away for sure.”
“We could have a garage sale. Bet somebody would buy it,” Byron replied matter-of-factly.
“One woman’s junk is another woman’s treasure. I’m sure there are more than enough people with tacky taste buy this mess.” MiMi sniffed at a purple stuffed chair.
“We’re looking for files or old papers,” Jazz said as she stared at a stack of boxes.
Byron pointed to the right. “Then look along that wall. Six boxes.”
“Six isn’t too bad.” MiMi started for them, but Jazz yanked her back.
“You’re taking orders, remember?” Jazz frowned at her.
“Sheesh, I get it. You don’t have to pull my arm out of its socket.” MiMi rubbed her shoulder.
Jazz walked over to the stack of boxes. They were made of sturdy cardboard She grunted with the effort to pick one up. “This thing weighs a ton.”
“Lorraine might have been messy, but she kept records. Sure you want to dig through it? All of them boxes are stuffed like that one.” Byron scratched his head as he looked around. “
“Let’s get started. We’ll each take a box. Look for anything that doesn’t look routine,” Jazz said.
“Routine like what?” MiMi asked.
Byron cleared a space by stacking smaller items on others. He talked as he worked. “Old receipts for food or liquor, or invoices for stuff they bought like tables. I’m guessing you want to look for bookkeeping ledgers.”
“Yeah, or anything that looks out of place. Names of people, anything odd.” Jazz fanned her face.
“Don’t worry, the air will kick on soon. This place is high tech, too. Forty percent of the cooling is with a heat pump system. That cuts cost. I’m considering a franchise myself,” Byron said.
“If I had money, I’d invest,” MiMi complained. She glanced at Jazz.
“Don’t start with the whining.” Jazz tugged open the box with effort.
Byron put two more boxes on the floor. “You can sit on that chair. Boss, here’s a small stool. I’ll sit on this old trunk.”
MiMi’s eyes lit up as she circled the old fashioned box. “A trunk! Now talk about possibilities.”
“Don’t bother cause there ain’t much in it. Nothing but old fake jewelry, clothes from the fifties and sixties. I think it must have belonged to Lorraine’s mother,” Byron said. He opened the other two boxes.
“Sit your ass down and start looking through these papers,” Jazz barked.
“Fine.” MiMi huffed, but she followed orders as promised. “I can’t believe Lorraine left her family keepsakes behind.”
“The Taylors ain’t sentimental,” Jazz retorted. She gazed at the boxes. “Might as well get started.”
For the next three hours they burrowed into the mounds of paper. Jazz kept glancing at MiMi. She expected the diva to lose her enthusiasm for the hunt. Instead MiMi seemed to have endless hope that some intriguing clue would be discovered. Jazz began to think they were wasting time. By almost five o’clock they’d stacked up a pile of papers Jazz decided she needed to keep.
“Byron, you’re a true packrat like you said. I think we can trash most of this stuff.” Jazz slapped dust from her hands and the front of her shirt. A coughing fit was her reward.
“Okay boss lady. I was hoping it wasn’t a bunch of worthless paper. Nothing in those old notebooks either, huh?” Byron started packing one of the empty boxes he’d brought along with.
“What notebooks?” MiMi spoke up before Jazz could draw a breath to ask.
“Hmm, I musta forgot a box or something. Let me see.” Byron started rooting around another corner with more boxes.
“At this point, I don’t care. I want a shower, a hot meal, and my bunny slippers,” Jazz mumbled. She cursed as a tiny spider crawled up the leg of her jeans. “Damn bugs.”
“Don’t kill it,” MiMi squealed
. “They’re good luck!”
“You must be out of your ever lovin’ mind,” Jazz shot back, but MiMi caught her hand to stop her from squashing it.
MiMi brushed the spider to the floor like it was a beloved pet. “There you go little guy. Just hide in another corner. Jazzy is scared of the itty bitty spider.”
“When his three feet wide mama shows up, I want to hear you sweet talk then,” Jazz said. “C’mon Byron. The creepy crawlies are comin’ out. Time to leave for damn sure.”
“Nah, this place has pest control. Nothin’ big gets in here or lives long.” Byron’s voice came from behind a pile of furniture. “Ha, I must not have been paying attention. The box is next to some old Christmas decorations.”
“First thing, you do an inventory and dump a bunch of this crap,” Jazz mumbled.
“I stored it all in case Lorraine might show up claiming we stole her belongings. I guess the law can consider it abandoned after so long.” Byron breathed heavily as he climbed over a small table with the last box. He dropped it at Jazz’s feet.
Jazz heaved a deeply annoyed sigh, but pulled open the taped top. “I hope this is the last one.”
“Definitely. I checked since I was back there.” Byron mopped his face with the wad of paper towels he brought along. He sat down on a table with a grunt.
Jazz lifted out two ledgers. Another stack of spiral notebooks shifted and slid to the side. MiMi peered over her shoulder until Jazz scowled at her. “Back the hell off me.”
“Oh shush and hand me a stack,” MiMi replied without moving one inch.
Jazz shoved two old notebooks into MiMi’s hand. “Here. Sit. Shut up.”
“I’ll take two or three myself.” Byron accepted them from Jazz and flipped through the pages.
Shadows lengthened outside as the sun began to set. The only sound was the rustle of paper as each of them continued to read. Jazz tossed an old ledger book back into the box. She glanced outside to see some of the lights coming on as sunshine faded.
“Nothing. A waste of time.” Jazz stood and massaged the small of her back.
“There are about eight more of ‘em.” Byron picked up the notebook Jazz had thrown down. He took a marker and wrote on it. “I’m marking the ones we looked at already.”
“I say we all get cleaned up and get some dinner. My treat,” Jazz said. She tapped her on the shoulder when MiMi didn’t reply. “Hey, you must not have heard me. I’m paying for your meal at a nice restaurant.”
“Umm-hum,” MiMi answered, her eyes still on the page of a ledger.
“Something is wrong. She jumps up at the sound of somebody picking up the tab,” Jazz wisecracked to Byron. He chuckled in response.
“I know you said Lorraine isn’t very bright, but it’s strange she had so many records.” MiMi looked up at Jazz.
“Lorraine isn’t educated, but she’s definitely smart, streetwise at least.” Jazz squinted. “I was wrong to think she was dumb. Look how she set me up.”
“She musta stayed up nights plotting.” Byron reached for another notebook.
“Yeah.” Jazz felt gloom descending on her like the dark outside. “My lawyer seems to think he can fight the evidence, but lots of folks go to prison on less than what they have on me.”
“Hey, you gotta stay positive,” Byron replied.
“Hush, I’m concentrating.” MiMi waved a hand at him before he could go on.
“S’cuse us. You need to be nice cause he’s your ride outta here,” Jazz muttered.
Byron shrugged and whispered, “Maybe she’s on to something.”
He laughed when Jazz made a face. Byron got to work. He carried the box of loose papers Jazz wanted to keep to the Tahoe. Jazz scanned the last few notebooks without much interest. When Byron returned, he and Jazz whispered about what he could throw out. Byron marked items for a yard sale. He moved between the SUV and the storage area. Jazz almost fell when MiMi whooped.
“Lorraine or somebody came up with a code and a cipher. Look, these look like simple phrases about beer and stuff, but there’s a pattern. And, on the inside back cover is another code. It’s written in tiny letters so anybody glancing wouldn’t notice. But I did.” MiMi flashed a big grin of victory.
“What? Give me that.” Jazz took the grease stained notebook MiMi waved at her. “This is about frozen onion rings for happy hour. She used to have it on Wednesday to get more business.”
MiMi grabbed another notebook from the box. “No, no, no. There is a definite pattern. Each one has a list of numbers, then maybe three paragraphs after them.”
“What I see is a bunch of bad handwriting about appetizers or invoices she has to pay and who owes her money,” Jazz replied. Still she gazed at the pages intently. “Lorraine had the sense to create a code?”
“Wrong question, girl. Why did she use a code?” MiMi said.
Jazz was about to answer when they heard Byron talking loudly. He kept up a steady stream of banter. As his voice got closer, Jazz realized he wasn’t talking on his cell phone. She heard another voice. Byron came in and put a finger to his lips seconds before Tyretta followed. She jogged to keep up with his long-legged stride.
“Look who showed up to help us clean out the storage unit,” Byron boomed. His gaze shifted to MiMi. He gave her a slight nod.
“Hey, Rochelle said something about y’all coming over here to look around.” Tyretta scanned the inside of the unit. Then she looked at Byron. “I thought it was your day off. Damn, you racking up brownie points with the boss, huh?”
Chapter 18
“Well we…” MiMi started but blinked in surprise when Jazz stepped in front of her.
Jazz put both hands on her hips. “That’s more than I can say about you. Hell, these days I’m surprised you show up when you’re supposed to.”
“There you go gettin’ all smart when I’m being nice. Hell it’s almost dark. Must be something important.” Tyretta started to go in the storage unit, but was blocked when Byron pushed a large rocker in front of her.
“Nothin’ but some fancy decorations we decided to keep. We’re gonna have a yard sale. You want this rocker and that table?” Byron said.
“Huh?” Tyretta wore a puzzled frown. She glanced around the interior.
“They’re just dusty is all. I got a cousin who could refinish ‘em for you cheap,” Byron said. He went on to point out other items.
“I’m gonna load these New Year’s Eve decorations. Some of this stuff is pretty nice. Right, MiMi? Come on; help me. This box isn’t heavy,” Jazz said as she gave MiMi the eye.
“Wha… I mean, yeah, for once Lorraine showed some taste,” MiMi replied, her voice almost too loud to be credible.
Jazz had taped up the box containing the notebooks. She motioned for MiMi to hide the one she held under an arm. Byron distracted Tyretta, though she kept trying to glance at Jazz and MiMi. Once Jazz and MiMi got to Byron’s SUV, MiMi seemed about to burst with questions.
“You’re suspicious of her? But she’s been your bestie for years,” MiMi whispered as she glanced over her shoulder.
“We’ll talk later,” Jazz whispered back. Tyretta’s voice got closer. She shoved the boxes back into the SUV so that they weren’t easily visible. Then she used an old blanket to cover them.
Byron walked ahead of Tyretta carrying a small round table. “I got plenty of room in the SUV. I’ll bring this to your house tomorrow if you want.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure you don’t need me to help unpack when you get to Candy Girls? I don’t have to hurry home.” Tyretta looked from Jazz to MiMi, then at Byron, then back to Jazz.
“ I’m too tired to look through dusty old knick-knacks tonight. But thanks anyway.” Jazz leaned against a stack of boxes.
“Maybe I’ll just hang with y’all a minute.” Tyretta wore a slight frown as she gazed at them.
“I’m going to drop them off and go home,” Byron replied.
“I have to run, too.” MiMi waved goodbye at Tyretta and got into the
Tahoe.
Jazz yawned as she got in the front passenger seat. “I’m gonna lay on my sofa and not move until morning. See you later, Ty.” Byron was already behind the wheel. “It’s dark out here and ain’t nobody around. We’ll wait ‘til you get in your car. Can’t be too careful.”
Tyretta blinked at them. “Yeah. Right. Okay.”
She glanced at them over her shoulder as she walked to her Ford Fusion. Tyretta got in, waved, and drove off. Jazz watched her nervously, sure Tyretta would follow them. Instead, the Ford eventually left the four lane street heading away from their direction. Byron and MiMi sighed at the same time Jazz did.
“How did she know to come here?” Jazz blurted out.
“There’s some cooking equipment in a couple of boxes Rochelle helped me sort through. She knows I rented the unit.” Byron hunched his shoulders. “Sorry, boss. I didn’t think it needed to be a secret back then.”
“Neither would I if I’d known.” Jazz chewed a fingernail.
“Stop messing up your manicure,” MiMi said absentmindedly. “I’m confused. Why are you suspicious of Tyretta again?”
“Byron thinks she’s acting funny. I was skeptical, but then she showed up.” Jazz rubbed her forehead. The thud of a stress headache took root.
MiMi reached across the seat and placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “You’ve got us.”
“Damn right,” Byron rumbled without taking his eyes from the road.
Jazz blinked back tears and lifted her head. “Thanks.”
*
At ten o’clock the next morning, Jazz sat in Willa’s office. Cedric would join them later because of a meeting across town with a client. Phillips joined them via video conference. His solemn expression on Willa’s twenty-five inch computer monitor did not reassure them. Jazz felt as if her body would fly into pieces from the tension building in her muscles. Her fingernails pressed into the leather on the chair’s arms.
“Is it good or bad that the judge insists on moving the hearing date up?” Willa asked. She gazed steadily at Jazz with concern reflected in her brown eyes.