All Hats on Deck

by Sandra Bretting

  Here a decorator had framed old labels from produce crates and hung them on the walls. The Factory produced hot sauce back in its heyday, so many of the labels featured fat red peppers with curly green stems. One showed an artfully shaded burlap bag that overflowed with pepper seeds, while the last one in the bunch showcased an apple-cheeked sun smiling above a rolling field.

  The cheeky sun blurred in my periphery as I walked. Two separate studios anchored the far end of the hall: Pink Cake Boxes, the bakery owned by Bettina LeBlanc, and one that used to belong to Happily Ever After, a special events company. I’d always loved the name of that company, even if the sentiment didn’t exactly describe what happened to one of the businesses’ owners.

  No, that person died tragically young, and the other, a cousin, sold the business soon afterward. Now, a shiny new brass nameplate announced the offices of Zephirin A. Turcott, Mayor and Attorney at Law.

  A sliver of light pooled under the door, so I cautiously knocked. I didn’t really expect a response, though, since I doubted a receptionist would work on the weekend. After a moment, I nudged the door open and stepped inside.

  The change was dramatic. Where before, the offices of Happily Ever After featured whitewashed furniture and pastel scenes from famous fairy tales on the walls, the remodeled office held heavy, dark antiques and staid pictures of English hunting parties. A massive mahogany bookcase lorded over a far wall, and some decidedly uncomfortable-looking straight-back chairs had been placed in front of it.

  I eyed the bookcase first. It contained the usual knickknacks for an office like this, a Waterford clock balanced on a foot-high stack of leather-bound books, a fake fern potted in a blue-and-white Chinese porcelain bowl, and a row of textbooks, probably for show, since the spines hadn’t been cracked.

  I stepped closer to the books, which turned out to be a full set of the Classics of International Law. Once I determined that, I bypassed the rest of the books and moved to a door on the other side of the bookcase. Unlike the other one, this door was ajar, so I cautiously pushed it open and squeezed through the entrance.

  Nothing stirred back here either. At one time, Charlotte Deveraux, a popular wedding planner, had worked in the office on the right, but now it looked dark and shuttered. The other office, on the left, used to house her cousin, Paxton Haney, and that door stood wide open.

  I moved closer to the open office and peeked around the door frame. Sure enough, this space looked completely different too. Gone were the overflowing file cabinets and birch furniture, replaced by an ornately carved mahogany desk, an equally somber bookcase, and a Tiffany lamp with a multicolored shade.

  I expected to find the mayor somewhere inside, since the kaleidoscope lampshade glowed, but he wasn’t. Dagnabbit! Just when I was about to leave, the faint whoosh of running water sounded through the wall.

  Aha! The men’s room. I knew from past experience this office shared a wall with the bathroom, and that must be where the mayor had gone.

  I set my sights on a richly padded armchair tucked under the lip of the mahogany desk. I pulled the chair away from the desk, but it bumped into a trash can and knocked the thing over. The brass trash can spilled a river of detritus—wadded-up legal papers, a few used tissues, and an amber canister—out into the open.

  I quickly bent to clean up my mess. Once I grabbed the papers, I reached for the canister, but it rolled away. A little more stretching, though, and I managed to grasp the bottle between my thumb and forefinger, before I straightened.

  It was a prescription bottle, of all things. When I shook it, a few pills clacked together. It also bore a label on its front, but someone had x-ed through the patient’s name with a thick, black Sharpie. The rest of the label was intact, and it gave the name of the medicine—Xanax—along with the prescribed dosage, which was pegged at two milligrams.

  Sweet mother of pearl! I nearly dropped it to the floor. Didn’t Xanax mirror lorazepam, which was the drug the ME assumed had been given to Ruby before she died? Apparently, the prescription came from the Shoprite Deluxe here in Bleu Bayou, and it’d been filled only a few days ago.

  How could someone blow through that many tablets in only three days? Not only that, but why was the patient’s name removed, as if it held some deep, dark secret that even the trash hauler wasn’t supposed to see?

  I slowly retrieved my cell phone, since every instinct told me to call Lance. He’d been the one to let me know about the medical examiner’s findings, and he’d know what to do next.

  Thank goodness I kept the number for the Louisiana State Police Department on my speed dial. Before I could punch the button, though, something squeaked nearby, and it sounded suspiciously like the handle of a paper towel dispenser on the other side of the wall.

  Hell’s bells! I yelped and quickly shoved the bottle back in the trash can. Then I kicked the can under the chair and dove for the seat cushion.

  I landed on it just as the mayor appeared behind me.

  “What the—”

  “Hello, Mayor Turcott.” I quickly rose from the chair and whirled around. “I saw your car in the parking lot, so I knew you’d be here today.”

  I offered him my hand, which he shook after first wiping his palm on the leg of his trousers. Even on a Saturday, the mayor was dressed to the nines, with a navy Lacoste polo tucked into dressy gray slacks.

  He recovered amazingly fast. “What a pleasant surprise. How very nice to see you today.” He was obviously lying, and we both knew it. “And what can I do for you, Miss DuBois?”

  “I wanted to tell you more about the new hat shop. You know…Goode Hat-i-tudes. There’s…um…something wrong with the wiring in that place.”

  His smile slipped a bit. “Hmmm. I see. Is that what you’re really concerned about, or does this have something to do with another competitor coming to town? If that’s the case, you don’t have to worry. Antonella’s a good sport, and I’m sure there’s plenty of business to go around.”

  I couldn’t help but notice he’d used her first name. This was going to be even harder than I thought. Not only that, but the cell phone was burning a hole in my pocket, since I longed to call Lance and tell him about the prescription bottle.

  “I never gave a thought to the competition from her,” I lied. In all fairness, he started it by saying he was happy to see me, when he wasn’t. “While I’m not crazy about the thought of another hat store opening up around here, I’m more worried about what’s going to happen to her customers.”

  “Really? It sounds like sour grapes to me.” By now his smile had completely vanished. “Unless you have hard evidence to show something’s wrong with Antonella’s store, it’s only gossip. And I don’t trade in gossip.”

  I hesitated, but only for an instant. If I didn’t speak now, I never would. “I know it sounds like sour grapes, sir. But I was in the building yesterday with a repairman. He told me the air-conditioning unit there needs to come out, because it’s that unstable.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re in the month of October. She probably won’t have to use it at all. Now, if you don’t mind, I really do have to get back to work.”

  Apparently, he was willing to forgive Antonella for any and all trespasses, even if it meant putting her customers at risk. His ties to the Goode family must run even deeper than I thought.

  “You’re not even going to send an inspector over there?” I asked.

  “Not on a Saturday, I’m not. And we have the grand opening in two days. I think we all could use a little celebration around here. Especially after everything that’s happened lately.”

  He must be talking about the murders. Over the past two years, Bleu Bayou had faced more than its fair share of crime. At last count, four people had been murdered in the antebellum homes around here, which was an ungodly amount for such a small town.

  “I’m not against us having a celebratio
n, but I think it’s premature.”

  “What do you want me to do, Miss DuBois? Postpone the party? Is that it?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just long enough for her to fix some things in her shop. That’s all. Something every business owner should do anyway.”

  The more I spoke, the more convinced I became. No shop owner should be allowed to skirt the rules, no matter how influential or “generous”—his word, not mine—the girl’s family was.

  “Let me think about it.” His offhand manner told me he never would. “Now, if you don’t mind…I have work to do. What with the party on Monday, I have a thousand details to manage and no assistant today.”

  He nodded to the open door, just in case I didn’t catch his drift the first time.

  Yep…he’s dismissing me, all right. I could either waste my time and breath trying to convince him otherwise, or I could take what was left of my dignity and leave. Which would give me just enough time to call Lance before Sabine arrived at my hat studio.

  Given the rough day, and the horrible week, I’d had, it wasn’t a hard choice to make.

  Chapter 21

  I slowly rose from the chair. After offering the mayor a perfunctory handshake, I numbly retreated to the outer office.

  My head was spinning from our encounter. First came the unexpected discovery of the pill bottle in his trash can, followed by his confirmation that money meant more to him than the law, which was something I already suspected.

  I mulled over our conversation as I passed the framed artwork and rode the elevator down one floor, where the car’s doors swooshed open on the quiet lobby.

  It took me a lot longer to leave the glass pyramid than it had to enter it. By the time I made my way to Crowning Glory, my gaze still lowered, I felt more confused than ever. I barely noticed someone was waiting for me outside my studio, until I suddenly heard my name.

  “Hi, Missy.”

  I glanced up to see Sabine d’Aulnay, who wore black Lululemon leggings today and a simple pink Rag & Bone sweater. Gone was the over-the-top St. John suit, or the enormous Louis Vuitton handbag that nearly upended Beatrice’s coffee cup yesterday.

  “Hello, Sabine.”

  The girl automatically checked her Rolex, which sparkled in the noon sun. “You’re a little bit late again, but that’s okay.”

  “Sorry about that. I had business on the other end of the building.”

  I quickly thrust my key into the shop’s front door, and then I waited for Sabine to walk into the room ahead of me.

  In place of the Vuitton, she carried a burlap bookbag, which she swung over her shoulder as she made her way through the shop. “Thanks for meeting me today,” she called over her shoulder.

  “No problem. What can I do for you?” I still had a sour taste in my mouth from the conversation with the mayor, and I didn’t relish the thought of hearing Sabine’s backhanded compliments again, if she chose to lob them my way.

  “Do you remember this?” She’d taken one of the bar stools by the counter, and she carefully withdrew the Tiffany ad from her bookbag.

  “Is that the same ad I saw yesterday?” I moved to the other bar stool and pretended to study it. “You told me you wanted to show it to your dad. What happened?”

  “Here’s the thing.” She dropped her gaze, while she pretended to study the picture too. “I never meant to show it to my father.”

  “You didn’t?” At least she’s not lying anymore. “But you said you wanted to get his opinion.”

  “Look, I haven’t been very honest with you.”

  “Really?” I finally gave in to the urge to repay all her backhanded compliments. I couldn’t help myself, to be honest. “Bless your heart.” Boy, does that feel good. “But why would you lie to me?”

  “Because I was worried you might overcharge me. I asked someone else to give an estimate on what it’d cost to make my veil. Someone I thought would be cheaper.”

  “You don’t say. You know, you could’ve told me you wanted a second opinion. I would’ve been happy to give you some references.”

  “But I didn’t know that’s how this stuff works.” Instead of looking at me now, she began to worry the ad with her thumb, and before long, she’d rolled one of the corners into a tiny wave. “I thought you wouldn’t work with me if you knew I went behind your back.”

  “It would’ve been nice if you would’ve told me.”

  “To be honest, people always overcharge me when I order something.” Finally, she looked up from the paper wave, her forehead creased with worry. “People hear my last name, and the next thing you know, the price doubles.”

  Wait a minute, I wanted to say. What about the expensive sunbonnets you picked out for your bridesmaids? That was your choice, not theirs. No wonder people overcharge you, when you say things like “money’s no object.” But this time, I kept my tongue in check.

  “I thought maybe you’d do the same thing to me. You know, take advantage of my name. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Why? What did your second source say?”

  “She told me she’d give me a big discount, on account of how she’s new and all.” Sabine chuckled, but it was bitter. “Some discount! She wanted five thousand dollars, and that didn’t include the fittings. Those cost a hundred dollars a pop, and she said I’d need at least four of them.”

  “Holy-schmoly!” I quickly calculated the sum. “She wanted fifty-four hundred dollars for a simple veil, when she didn’t even have to make the headpiece?” While I didn’t want to gloat—okay, maybe a little—Antonella’s store would never survive if she charged people that much.

  Who knew what she based her prices on? Maybe she looked at my rates and thought she could charge the same. Little did she know I only charged half as much when I first started out.

  “I guess I blew it.” Sabine had gone back to studying the ad.

  “Look…there’s no harm done. Why don’t we pretend like it never happened. Hello. I’m Melissa DuBois.”

  Finally, she gave a real chuckle. “That sounds good. But there’s one more thing I need to tell you. Only, you’ve got to swear you won’t repeat it.”

  “Cross my heart,” I said.

  “Okay, then.” She took a deep breath. “My father’s not paying for my wedding anymore. He can’t. He said his business is going bankrupt.”

  Shut my mouth and call me Shirley! Could it be that one of the richest families in Bleu Bayou had gone belly-up? “Come again?”

  “It’s true. My dad said he can’t afford to pay for the wedding. I have to pay for everything myself. All of it.”

  “You poor thing.” I racked my brain for an appropriate response. When none came, I settled on the one thing we Southerners always said when words fail us. “Can I get you a cold drink?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m not thirsty. I can’t even have the wedding on the Riverboat Queen, because it’s already booked that day.” She looked miserable now. Or, about as miserable as a housecat in a rainstorm, as my grandfather used to say.

  “I…I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  Finally, she glanced up again. “Me too. It’s not anyone’s fault. Dad said it’s just the way things are right now. He can’t expand his business because he doesn’t have anywhere else to put more boats.”

  “But he’s got the airboat doing tours. And what about the Riverboat Queen? That thing’s huge.”

  “That’s the problem. It’s too big to make it through the small waterways. And one airboat out there isn’t gonna cut it. He said he needs at least three more boats and another dock.”

  “Hmmm.” I dropped my gaze to the Tiffany ad. She’d definitely worried the corner to a nubbin, and it hung from the page by a thread. “You know, you’ve got your heart set on a very expensive tiara. Maybe we should look at some other options.”

  “I already tho
ught of that. I know I can’t afford this one anymore. At least, not a real one.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea. Why don’t you ask your jeweler to make a fake one? Those Swarovski crystals sparkle just like the real thing.”

  “They do?” she asked.

  “Yep. They shine like nobody’s business when you use enough of them.”

  “I don’t suppose…” She left the question unasked. She seemed to want my help again, only she didn’t know how to ask for it.

  “And I’d love to work on your project again.” I saved her the trouble. “I could even set up a payment plan, so you don’t have to pay for the whole deposit up front.”

  “That’d be great! Dad said it’s only a temporary setback. He’s trying to buy some land around here, only he’s had a hard time with the seller.”

  “Why? Where’s he looking?”

  “He told me he found an old, abandoned dock. It sounded like a creepy one, to be honest. It’s already got a raggedy mobile home by it and some weird Catholic shrine, of all things. He said he’s going to tear that stuff down and build an office for his business instead.”

  “A shrine?” My mind instantly flew to the baby-blue grotto Ruby kept next to her mobile home. How many of those things could there be out there on the bayou? “He’s not talking about Ruby Oubre’s land, is he?”

  “I have no idea. He said he’s already taken care of one problem, though.” Sabine leaned forward, ready to give me more gossip. “Now he has to convince the next one in the family. I feel sorry for that person, whoever it is. You do not want to mess with my dad.”

  A shudder pinballed down my spine, and it had nothing to do with the air conditioner that had just clicked on. I’d seen Christophe d’Aulnay in the dining room at Miss Odilia’s restaurant, when everyone parted to let him pass. He had the ability to silence an entire crowd without ever saying a word.