“You haven’t even tried a biscuit yet.” She pushed one of hers toward me in a vain attempt to get me to eat. “We can’t let all this good food go to waste.”
“I’m just not that hungry.” I tossed the half-eaten chicken on my plate, next to the roll. “Remember what you said about today being weird? You don’t know the half of it. Hollis just told us he got a crank phone call from someone who threatened him. The caller told him not to go back to Ruby’s house…or else.”
“Or else what?”
“That’s a great question. Lance can’t even trace the call because the person used an app to block it. This isn’t a small-time crook we’re talking about here. The person who killed Ruby really knew what they were doing.”
“That’s creepy.” Beatrice wiped her lips with a napkin before she rose. “Well, you’re not gonna eat lunch, and I’m as stuffed as a tick. I might as well go back to work.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She paused to study me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You look kinda pale, to be honest.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“I’m serious. You can’t keep going on like this. Maybe you should take some time off this afternoon. Get some rest, or at least some fresh air.”
I waved away her concern. “Sorry, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I have too many things to do. Thanks for worrying about me, though.”
“You know you could just as easily work out of your house, don’t you? You’d probably get a lot more done too.” She was like a dog with a chew toy once she got a notion.
“But everything I need is here.”
“Then I’ll help you pack up some supplies. There’s no reason for you to stay. Plus, you know how quiet it gets here Friday afternoons.”
I contemplated her offer. “That’s true. It’s like a ghost town this close to the weekend. Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I am. I’ll watch the store, and I promise to call if anything comes up. Scout’s honor.” She held up two fingers in a Boy Scout salute.
“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll take a long walk too. It’s such a nice day outside, and my muscles are wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.” It was something my grandpa used to say, but I could tell it meant nothing to Beatrice, because she didn’t respond. “My grandpa used to tell me that all the time. It means someone’s muscles are too stiff.”
“Whatever. You can haul out whatever old-timey saying you want, as long as you take some time off.”
“Alright. You convinced me.” I rose from the counter and grabbed a folder labeled Accounts Receivable from under the cash register, where I also found my car keys. “Guess there’s no use in me staying here and driving myself crazy. Maybe a change of scenery will do me good.”
“Atta girl. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
My mind made up, I headed for the front door. “Thanks, Beatrice!” I traipsed across the welcome mat.
A gentle breeze brushed my face the moment I stepped outside. A few cars passed me on their way to the exit, but traffic had noticeably thinned since this morning. By four on a Friday, not a single car would remain in the lot. Except for Beatrice’s pink Ford pickup, of course.
It used to bother me whenever the other shopkeepers skipped out of work early while I stayed behind to mind the store, like Beatrice was doing for me now.
Ever since I opened Crowning Glory, I’d walked past one locked shop after another whenever I closed the studio late at night. Most days, I worked until six, seven, or eight—Fridays included—while everyone else bolted out of the Factory.
Maybe that was why the thought of Antonella opening another hat store in town bothered me so much. I liked to think I’d earned my success the old-fashioned way, with a lot of sweat, a few hundred tears, and oodles of sleepless nights.
To think someone could watch a few videos on YouTube and proclaim herself a milliner was an insult not only to me, but to everyone in my industry.
Lost in thought, I started down the sidewalk, but before I got very far, someone rushed past me. “Whoa!”
The offender immediately stopped. “Didn’t see ya there. Sorry ’bout dat.” It was an old man in a chartreuse camp shirt that covered his lanky frame like a construction worker’s caution vest. He stood at least six five, and a dark suntan colored his scalp and cheeks.
“Mr. Gaudet?”
The swamp boat captain didn’t seem to remember me, though, because he stared straight ahead.
“It’s me…Melissa DuBois. We met the other day on Ruby Oubre’s dock.”
He finally looked at me after he’d fiddled with something behind his left ear. “Wat’s dat ya say?”
“It’s Melissa DuBois. M-I-S-S-Y.”
“Gah-lee. Ya don’t have ta shout, for goodness’ sakes. I can hear ya jus’ fine now.”
Chastised, I lowered my voice again. “I’m a little surprised to see you here.” The captain didn’t strike me as the type who’d shop at the bridal stores in the Factory.
“Gots ta drop off sumptin’ inside. What’cha doin’ here?”
“I work here. I own a hat studio called Crowning Glory.” I motioned over my shoulder to the shop. When I finished, my gaze traveled to something he held by his side. It was a plastic bag, and he’d scrawled Suite 221 on a Post-it Note taped to the front. “I see you know our mayor.”
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Your package. You must know the mayor.”
He drew his hand away from me. “Not really.”
“I thought you must know him by the address on your package. I only met him this morning.”
While all this chitchat was good and well, the clear sky and gentle breeze called out to me. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you around.”
Before I could move, though, the captain reached out for my arm. “One more ting.” His gaze bore into mine. “You tell dat Hollis he needs to watch hisself. Shouldn’t be talkin’ to his elders like dat.”
I started, surprised by the tone of his voice. “Maybe so, but we all have to remember he’s had a horrible week. He lost his grandmother, for goodness’ sakes.”
“But dat’s not ma fault. No need for him to cuss me out on a-count a dat.”
“I seem to recall you had some choice words for him too. He’s a teenager.” I couldn’t imagine why the captain couldn’t let bygones be bygones in light of everything that had happened.
“Dat’s not da first time we done tussled. Don’ let dat boy fool you. He ain’t no saint. He knows it, an’ I know it.”
We’d obviously reached a stalemate. If I didn’t leave now, Ambrose would have to dash out of his studio and referee another fight. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it’s really none of my business. Just give Hollis some space. He’s suffered a big loss.”
“Here’s da thing.” Finally, the captain released my arm. “I went over ta Ruby’s place to help dat boy out. Ain’t no way he can take care ’a dat property by hisself. He’s gonna need to sell it sometime. Might as well face facts and get on wit’ it.”
“But Ruby only died a day ago. There’s no need to rush Hollis into making a decision about anything right now.”
“Dat’s what you tink. Folks be talkin’ ’bout me back in town now. Dey know I sent Ruby dat letter.”
“Letter?” I quickly rifled through my memory bank but came up empty. “What letter?”
“Jus’ a little sumptin’ Mr. Dupre done wrote up for me.”
At the mention of Hank, the door to my memory vault flew wide open. Of course. The letter of intent I’d spied on Ruby’s coffee table, back there in her mobile home. Hank had mentioned it to me the other day.
“That’s right. You’re the one who offered to buy her land.”
“Shoulda mailed out dat letter a long time ago. Wou
lda stopped folks from talkin’ ’bout me now. It jus’ don’ look good.”
Neither does fighting with her grandson, I wanted to remind him. But I refrained, since the captain didn’t seem interested in my opinion.
Sure enough, he turned to leave before I could respond. I watched him limp away, his bright green camp shirt growing smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared when he ducked into the glass atrium that divided the Factory in two.
It took me two laps around the Factory’s parking lot to put the episode behind me. Once I’d finally cleared my head, I decided to drive downtown and visit Homestyle Hardware, which was a local do-it-yourself shop and garden store.
While I didn’t find any new household decorations during my shopping trip, like I’d hoped, I did spy an adorable bubblegum-pink birdhouse that matched the paint on the outside of my rent house. Maybe Ambrose would help me hang it on one of the pin oaks in our backyard when he got home.
After shopping a bit more, I drove back to the cottage with my treasure tucked beside me on the passenger seat, ready to show it off. My excitement waned the minute I pulled into the driveway, though, because Ambrose’s Audi was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to work from home this afternoon, to make up for all the extra hours he’d been logging at Ambrose’s Allure Couture. Something must have happened to change that plan.
I parked Ringo on the empty driveway and glumly headed inside. Silence enveloped me as I trekked through the empty house and stepped into the kitchen.
I immediately spied a piece of paper on top of the Black and Decker toaster. It was a note, with two sentences in that slanted handwriting of Ambrose’s. “Back at work until who knows when. Don’t wait up.”
Oh, sugar. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Although the stream of wedding clients had trickled to a drizzle for most of us at the Factory, the same couldn’t be said for Ambrose. Once the brides went away, he took calls from fashion catalogs, which worked six months in advance and always asked him to create candy-colored ballgowns for their spring covers.
Too bad he wouldn’t be home until late. I had a thousand and one things to discuss with him, including my conversation with the mayor, Lance’s latest plan for Hollis, and the strange run-in with Captain Gaudet.
It seemed our conversation would have to wait for now. While my spirit was willing, my body had a mind of its own, and I headed for the bedroom, where I flopped onto the mattress facedown.
Chapter 15
I awoke the next morning to the squeal of a kiskadee outside my bedroom window. The bird sounded exactly like a squeaky toy Hank Dupre sometimes threw to his schnauzer in their yard next door. Squee. Squee. Squee.
My head lolled against the pillow as the noise urged me awake. I couldn’t help but think about everything that’d happened over the past few days as I slowly came to. The memories brought up so many questions I couldn’t answer, but ones I also couldn’t forget.
What did happen to Ruby, out there on the bayou? A strong, confident woman, she grew up swimming in the Atchafalaya River, for heaven’s sake, and she knew those waters better than anyone else. How could she have drowned only yards from her home?
And what about Hollis’s mystery caller? Why would anyone care whether Hollis returned to his grandmother’s land or not? It didn’t change anything, as far as I knew, and it wouldn’t benefit anyone else if he stayed away. Or would it?
And finally…what should I do about my newfound competition? Although Antonella Goode wasn’t a real milliner, her clients wouldn’t know that. She’d leave behind a trail of broken hearts, and, in my experience, nothing was worse than a distraught bride.
The questions needled me until I finally rolled off the mattress and trudged down the hall. When I reached the kitchen, I leaned against the doorjamb to let my eyes adjust to the brightness.
Unlike my dim bedroom down the hall, here every light blazed, including the expensive incandescent bulbs screwed into the pendant lights over the kitchen counter.
Ambrose normally double-checked the lights at night to make sure they were off before he went to bed. Only one thing could explain the oversight. My fiancé must’ve been dead to the world by the time he finally got home from work.
Maybe I should spoil him a little this morning. I’d been so preoccupied with my own problems lately, I’d completely forgotten about his. He was the one who stayed up late last night to work on the spring ball gowns, the one who let me bring Hollis into our house with no questions asked, and the one who always took my calls at work—no matter how urgent or how silly—without a second thought. Maybe I should do something nice for him for a change.
For starters, he’d probably wake up hungry this morning, and our pantry was about as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Odds were good he couldn’t rustle a single bagel, an overdue egg, or a spongy granola bar if he tried.
The solution, of course, was for me to visit a certain donut store down the road. Dippin’ Donuts offered the best beignets in southern Louisiana, not to mention gourmet coffee to die for. But that would mean interacting with the bakery’s owner, Grady Sebastian.
But maybe I could swallow my pride—just this once—and snag some beignets and gourmet coffee for Ambrose.
My mind made up, I backtracked to the bedroom, where I quickly threw on a tattered Vanderbilt T-shirt and my Lululemon sweats. Then I tiptoed through the quiet house and made my way to the driveway.
Once I pulled onto the highway, I settled in for the short drive. Traffic was blessedly light, given the early hour, and soon the flaming neon arrow that shot from the roof of Dippin’ Donuts appeared on the horizon like a bright red checkmark.
I approached the parking lot, where I took a hard left and scanned the available spots. Unlike the roadway next to it, the parking lot had filled with sturdy pickups, dusty minivans, and a motorcycle or two. After circling the lot once, I snagged a sliver of asphalt between a Chevy Silverado and an equally large Ford F-150. From there it was only a hop, skip, and a jump to the front door, which Grady had propped open with an old Community Coffee can filled with pea gravel.
One foot inside the entrance and the heavenly aroma of choux paste, melted butter, and confectioners’ sugar washed over me. It pulled me into the shop and gave me an invisible nudge toward a line of customers. The line stretched from the front door to a trio of display cases filled with strawberry scones, blueberry coffee cakes, cherry hand pies, and more beignets than you could shake a stick at.
Grady manned the counter with one of his employees, only he didn’t notice me until it was my turn to place an order.
“I’d like a half-dozen beignets, please, and two large coffees.”
His head jerked up with a start. “Missy? I haven’ seen you in a dog’s age.”
I returned his gaze, which was a huge mistake. I’d forgotten about his gorgeous blue eyes, the color of a freshwater lake, the dimple that cleft his chin in two, and the whimsical tattoo of a chef’s whisk on his muscled biceps.
I allowed myself one last ogle before I cleared my throat. “I’ve been really busy lately. Guess I haven’t had time to do much of anything.”
“Well, I’ve missed seeing you around here. How’ve you been?”
The comment startled me. This was the guy who talked nonstop about himself during our one and only date, the man who never once asked about my life.
The evening had started out promisingly enough. He’d taken me to a lively restaurant and dance hall on the outskirts of town called Antoine’s Country Kitchen. The place offered everything for a night of fun—delicious crawfish étouffée, cold ale from Chappapeela Farms Brewery, and a real zydeco band, complete with rubboard and bass guitar.
Only one thing soured the evening, Grady’s monologue. He dissected every major football game he’d ever quarterbacked for the Bleu Bayou Fighting Tigers. He remembered them all, including a heartbreaking loss at
the state championship his senior year, when he threw a magnificent spiral pass that his wide receiver somehow fumbled.
Although ten years had come and gone since then, Grady still mourned the loss. To top it off, he ordered dinner for me afterward without even asking what I wanted. Was it any wonder I ignored his phone calls for weeks until he finally gave up?
But now, he suddenly wanted to know how I’d been.
“I guess I’ve been good. Until Thursday, that is.”
“Yeah, I heard about Ruby’s death. How’s Hollis holding up?”
“As well as can be expected. I wish people would stop badgering him. Asking him when he’s going to sell his grandmother’s property and move off the river. They act like he has to make a decision this very minute or they’ll explode with curiosity.”
He chuckled sadly. “You have to understand why people care so much. There wasn’t much land left for the regular folks once the lumber company moved in. Now it’s like a national treasure. People would sell their souls to get a little slice of that heaven.”
“So I’ve heard. But it’s not just about the land. Ruby raised Hollis. It’s like he lost his mom, but no one seems to realize that.”
“Give them time. Let the drama die down first.”
“You know there’s some question about how she died, right?” I glanced over my shoulder. “It’s an open investigation, so I can’t really talk about it, but the medical examiner is looking at homicide.”
“Lord knows I have some opinions about what could’ve happened. Why don’t I call you later, so we can discuss it in private?”
My jaw tensed. For all I knew, Grady was using the situation with Ruby to get closer to me. Just in case, I brought out my favorite maneuver for averting unwanted questions, misdirection. “Say…look at this place! I’ve never seen so many people in here. Is the rush a new thing?”
“Pretty much.” He seemed momentarily distracted. “It came after they finally opened the new off-ramp to the freeway. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
All Hats on Deck Page 12