Wednesday night was an open evening so everyone could explore the city on their own. We agreed we would find somewhere fabulous to eat and then probably do more drinking and listening to good music.
My parents would be flying in early on Thursday morning. We penciled in all five of us for brunch at Commander’s Palace, and then I nearly squealed when I saw the afternoon activities. Darby started laughing, and Nate just shook his head. We could sign up for a cooking class! We would be taught the secrets of New Orleans cuisine, and then we would cook a complete dinner.
“Put the three of us down and Mom, too,” I told Darby. “Add Dad’s name under the Harrah’s Casino jaunt. He’ll be happy there while we’re cooking.”
We signed all of us up to participate in the Bourbon Street night walking tour for Thursday evening. Darby wrote the four of us down for the bridal tea on Friday morning and an afternoon of shopping in the French Market. He slotted Dad in for golf on Friday. The bachelor and bachelorette parties would both be held on Bourbon Street Friday evening.
The events list completed, Darby and Nate started to walk toward the gardens.
“You guys go ahead,” I told them. “I want to stay in the shade, so I’ll be right here when you get back.” I watched them walk away as I started to look around the property.
LeBlond Plantation belonged to Ferguson “Ferg” O’Brien. Dell was the star right wing player for Ohio’s Blue Ball Blades professional hockey team, and Scotty O’Brien, the best man, was the team’s star center. Ferg was Scotty’s cousin and had generously offered the use of the plantation for the week. Ferg ran a printing shop, Pica Printing, out of the carriage house behind the main house, and his work was exquisite. The wedding invitations had been beautiful and elaborate.
Lisa’s family was from Shreveport, and she was ecstatic to not only have the use of the plantation for the wedding, but also to hire Ferg for all of their printing. She said his reputation as being one of New Orleans’ premiere printers preceded him, and she was delighted he was able to work their wedding into his busy schedule.
In addition to the guests who had gathered, there was quite a bit of activity around the plantation today. The wedding would be held in the large, formal flower garden, and gardeners and designers were present making preparations amongst the flowers. Catering trucks were already on the premises, and the kitchens were being stocked with food for the reception which would be held in the ballroom. Lisa mentioned the French doors of the ballroom would be open with the reception spilling out into the eastern rose garden.
There was a security detail on the grounds and those guys were easy to spot. They were all wearing black from head to toe. How they could dress in black in this heat was beyond me. Lisa said Dell hired the security team from somewhere near his hometown in Colorado.
I stood there and smiled. It was all so beautiful and amazing, and I was happy for Dell and Lisa. I thought of my own small wedding and didn’t even have a twinge of regret for not waiting to have a large wedding and reception. Our wedding had been absolutely perfect, and I wouldn’t trade the memories of that day for anything.
A dog barking brought me back from my wedding memories. I looked toward the carriage house and saw a large bloodhound was bounding my way. I wasn’t afraid, and a big smile broke across my face. I even leaned down and held my hands out in front of me for a greeting as he came closer. I wasn’t prepared for the dog to lunge at me and plant both front paws on my shoulders. He knocked me back on my rump, then flat on my back, and proceeded to hold me down and lick my face.
I could hear a guy yelling, “Bogart! Bogart! What are you doing? Get off of her!”
I was pretty sure I heard some choice swear words in the mix, but I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t be sure.
Before the guy could reach the dog, I managed to roll him off of me and sit up. I started to rub his head and around his large, droopy ears. “So, your name is Bogart, is it?” I asked the dog. He looked at me with bright eyes, his tongue hanging out, and a healthy round of panting bathed my face. I stood up, and he sat obediently beside me.
An attractive guy dressed in blue/gray jeans and a tight, white t-shirt was looking horrified as he reached me and the dog. He looked like Ryan Reynolds, and it took a moment for me to stop staring at his hunkiness. I shook my head, and couldn’t understand why my emotions were toying with me down here. I had admired Darby and Nate as they washed up at Aunt Sony’s, and now I found myself staring at this man. It had to be a spell, because no one was as gorgeous to me as Mick was.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “He’s never done that before. If I thought he would do anything other than lie down out here, I would have never let him out.” He extended his hand to me and said, “I’m Ferg, by the way. I own this place.”
“I figured as much,” I told him with a big smile. “And it’s ok about the dog. I don’t mind. I love dogs, and he must have figured that out somehow. Actually, I only know one dog, but I love him, so Bogart must have figured that out.”
“You’re Susan Hunter, right?” he asked.
“Yes. Susan Raines,” I told him. “Dell and Lisa were at our wedding in Las Vegas in January.”
“Right. I knew that,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to LeBlond Plantation, and I hope you have a good time while you’re here. I’m heading some of the events, so we’ll probably see more of each other during the week.” He looked down at Bogart and said, “Come on, you bad dog. You have to go back into the shop.”
“He can stay out here with me for a while,” I told Ferg. “He seems to have settled down, and I’ll bring him back to the shop when everyone is ready for the tour of the house.”
He looked a little uncertain but said, “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “He can walk with me to the garden so I can find my friends. Would that be ok?”
“I guess it would. Just send him off to the carriage house when you get back,” he said with a smile before turning to walk away.
Bogart looked up at me as if to say, “What do you want to do now?”
“Come on, Bogart,” I said. “Let’s go down to the garden.” I picked up my purse, brushed off my rump, hoping there would be no grass stains on my shorts, and headed in the direction Darby and Nate had taken.
Before leaving the yard and entering the garden, Bogart ran around a section of bushes which made a hedgerow following the length of the yard from the garden back up to the carriage house. They were easily ten feet tall or more and appeared to be much thicker and deeper down here.
I waited for the dog to come back to me, but all he did was run from behind the hedgerow, look at me, and run around behind the hedges again. When he did it a second time, I knew he wanted me to follow him. I walked around the bushes, but he was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared. A few seconds later, I saw his head sticking out from between two of the bushes. I pushed them apart and saw I could easily walk into a small open space where it appeared several of the bushes were missing.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darker spot. Bogart stood still beside me and then moved slowly toward the farthest end of the open space. There, hiding just under the next bush in the row was a nest of baby bunnies.
“Bogart,” I whispered excitedly. “Are you babysitting bunnies?”
The nest was an unexpected treat. I thought rabbits only had litters in the spring. The mother would most likely be nearby, and it would probably be a good idea for me and the dog to leave.
“Come on, Bogart,” I told him while patting the top of his head. “Good boy. You showed me the bunnies. Let’s go.”
I turned in the small space, and Bogart moved past me to rummage in a bush near the opening where we had entered the hedgerow. He came up with a slobbery tennis ball in his mouth and handed it to me. He stuck his head back in the bush and pulled out a spatula.
“Bogart, are you hiding things you find in the house?” I asked chuckling as the dog came up with a plastic cup, a sock, a
washcloth, and a slightly chewed and soggy fifty-dollar bill. The fifty was followed by half of a twenty-dollar bill, and then another soggy fifty-dollar bill. I was somewhat amused to see the money.
“Bogart, where did you get this?” I asked the dog as if he could understand me. “Are you taking money from your master? Huh?”
I was aware we had been in the bushes for a while, and I needed to find Darby and Nate. I shoved the money into the pocket of my shorts and pushed the bushes apart to leave the hedgerow. A quick glance toward the garden showed only workers. I didn’t know if I should explore the garden to see if the guys were farther down on the property, or if I should go back to the house.
When I saw there were no longer any guests on the lawn, I realized the tour must have started, and I needed to go inside, but I wasn’t sure where everyone was or where to go. I stood still for a few seconds, and I saw Ferg and another man come out of the carriage house and walk into the main house by way of a side door. Bogart and I both took off running after the men.
Bogart grabbed a knotted rope at the bottom of the door, pulled, and then ran through the open doorway. I laughed and followed him. We were on a landing with the option to go up the stairs to where there was no lighting, or go down the stairs to where there was light and voices. Bogart ran down the stairs, and I followed him.
“Ferg?” I called out. There was no answer, and it was suddenly quiet.
“Come on, Bogart,” I whispered to the dog. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be down here.”
He ignored me and nosed a door open which hadn’t been shut all the way. I walked in behind him and saw the room held several printing presses. I assumed they were either outdated, spares, or Ferg used them for overflow projects. Bogart started nosing around under a bench along the wall and came up with a few pieces of paper in his mouth. He gave them to me. It was more money.
“Where are you getting this money?” I asked him.
He stuck his head back under the bench and started rooting out more paper. He knocked over a wastebasket, and the crumpled papers rolled out onto the floor. I picked one up. The paper had a distinctive feel, like the cotton-and-linen-blended paper of money. I uncrumpled the paper and saw it had started to be printed with twenty-dollar markings, but the edge was off on the right side. Someone was obviously printing money. Was it for a joke? A gag for the wedding? I was pretty sure you couldn’t print money even for fun.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck, a shudder went down my spine, and I knew I should slip out as quietly and as quickly as possible. My heart started to race. I had planned to give Bogart’s money to Ferg and ask him where the dog got it, but now I was certain that wasn’t going to be a good idea.
“Come on, Bogart. Let’s go,” I told him as I moved toward the door.
He barked at me.
“Shhh!!” I hissed at him. Oh my gosh! I didn’t want him to bring anyone here. I couldn’t be caught in this room.
He stuck his head back under the table and whimpered. He tried to push something with his nose. He looked at me and whimpered again.
“What? What are you trying to show me?” I asked as I knelt down and peered under the table.
He nosed a case. It was a plain briefcase. It didn’t have a lock, and it opened with ease. My eyes went wide. Inside were printing plates – two for a fifty-dollar bill, two for a twenty-dollar bill, and two for a ten-dollar bill. I was shocked. Yeah, that was it. I must have been in shock because there was no other reason for me to grab the face plate of the fifty-dollar bill and shove it into my purse as quickly as I did. I closed the case, shoved it deep under the bench, and bolted for the door. Bogart was quiet and right behind me. I closed the door to the room, and we dashed up the stairs and outside onto the lawn. Bogart ran toward the carriage house, and I took off at a full run around to the front of the house. I put the brakes on when I saw Darby and Nate sitting alone on the front steps waiting for me.
Chapter Eight
“Where have you been?” Darby asked with a definite edge of frustration. “We’re missing the tour.”
“I’ve been with Bogart, and we were in the bushes,” I told him.
Eyebrows went up on both of the guys. Their facial expressions mirrored each other.
“No, it’s not like that,” I giggled. “Bogart is a dog, and he showed me the baby bunnies he’s been baby-sitting. I lost track of time.”
“I thought rabbits only had babies in the spring,” said Nate.
“They have babies all year long,” said Darby. “Why do you think there are so many of them? Come on, let’s catch up with everyone.”
We dashed through the front doors and made our way to the parlor where we found the last group of guests. Dell wasn’t in this group, but Lisa was walking alongside the tour guide.
The exterior of the house was everything I had hoped for. It was majestic with six large white columns in front. From a distance, the house appeared to be painted a light yellow, but it was actually constructed of blonde-colored bricks giving it the name of LeBlond Plantation. The grounds were expansive with nearly 40 acres of gorgeous gardens, ponds, and numerous large trees throughout the property.
Now, standing in the parlor, I was equally impressed with the furnishings. The property had been in the same family since before the Civil War and the majority of the furniture was original to the house. Room after room yielded new delights. I couldn’t help envisioning myself living in the period and wearing a southern belle dress. When we reached the second floor, I was amazed at the long, wide hallway running from one end of the house to the other. Windows were open at each end, and there was a wonderful, refreshing breeze gliding down the hallway. The tour guide informed us the house had been situated specifically to bring in the moving air on even the hottest of days to create a natural air conditioning.
By the end of the tour, my arms were tired from shifting my purse from one side to the other. The printing plate seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, and so was my guilt. What possessed me to take it? Did it belong to Ferg? There was no way I was going to the police. I needed to find a way to alert someone to the plates without bringing myself into the picture. Mick would lock me in a closet for the rest of my life and never let me out if I became involved in something nefarious yet again. I giggled out loud thinking about him slipping food to me under the closet door. Darby shot a look my way as if to ask what was so funny, but I ignored him.
All of the wedding guests were on the lawn again, and the tour guides were directing everyone to shuttles which would take the large group to Brennan’s for lunch.
Ferg walked by on his way to the carriage house and called out to me, “Thanks for sending Bogart back. I’ll see you at the restaurant.” I nodded and watched him climb into a black Hummer and drive off. A plan was coming into focus in my mind.
“Listen, guys,” I said turning to Darby and Nate, “Brennan’s is a block away from our hotel. You guys go ahead and take the shuttle with everyone, and I’ll drive the car. Then we won’t have to come back up here after lunch, and besides, I want to stop at a post office and mail something home.”
“We can all go to the restaurant in the car,” said Darby.
“No,” I insisted. “You guys go ahead and save me a seat. That way all three of us won’t be late getting there. I won’t be long behind you. Order a gin fizz for me.” Darby hesitantly handed the car keys to me, and I quickly started walking away from them before he could change his mind.
My plan was brilliant, and I was smiling to myself. I would find a post office and mail the plate home to Detective Bentley. It would be out of my hands, and I would be home before he could talk to me about it. Then it would be up to him to notify the Louisiana authorities about the plate.
In the car, I turned the air conditioning on high, and asked the GPS to find post offices. I chose one five blocks from the restaurant, and I was pulling out of the LeBlond Plantation driveway before the first shuttle left.
I was able to
easily take Interstate 10 into the city and exit to St. Bernard Avenue. I had been daydreaming for most of the drive, but now paid close attention to the stilted voice coming from the GPS, so I wouldn’t make a wrong turn. One-way streets always made me nervous after I once turned into four lanes of oncoming traffic in Akron, Ohio. I didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t the first time I had an encounter with a one-way street, and the narrow streets here in New Orleans seemed like alleys at times.
I didn’t turn the wrong way onto a one-way street, but of course, I made a wrong turn before turning onto Bourbon Street, and I had an irritated GPS whining because it had to recalculate. I turned it off. I was sure the post office would be just around the next corner. I passed it a second time before I realized it was in a building that looked like someone’s home rather than a postal institution. I went around the block again.
Now there were no parking spaces. I told myself I would try once more before giving up. This time, I gave myself two blocks to find parking, rather than the one directly in front of the post office. The extra block paid off, and a spot was available as I turned the corner.
Checking my mirrors to be sure I could safely open the car door into the narrow street, I spotted a black Hummer parked directly behind me in the next block. It was parked outside a private residence and across the street from a bar. I had only seen one Hummer today, and that one belonged to Ferg, but he should be at the restaurant already. I decided to watch for a few minutes to see if someone approached the vehicle.
Five long minutes ticked by. I knew I was going to be later than I could explain if I didn’t hurry, and I was probably watching a vehicle which had been parked for hours on the street anyway. I opened my door to step out, but immediately ducked back in. Ferg came out of the bar and walked to the back of the Hummer. I saw the rear hatch go up. Another man stepped out of the bar and crossed over to the vehicle. He was wearing black slacks with white suspenders, but no shirt. His hair was jet black and long. His features weren’t clear to me, but the impression was a brooding one. A thin cigar hung from his mouth. I instantly had the impression he was a foreigner, and my mind thought Spanish. A little smile crossed my face as the thought of a Flamenco dancer flashed through my mind.
4 Big Easy Hunter Page 7