Page 100 of The Shop on Royal Street
Mimi closed her eyes, her gaze turned inward. “I saw Charles. And Jeanne. In his office. They were fighting. Or she was fighting, and he was trying to calm her. She was in trouble—what we used to call unwanted pregnancies in those days—and she was begging Charles to get rid of the baby, and he was telling her no. That he would go talk to the baby’s father and sort it all out. And she hit him. He was bleeding from the nose and his mouth and she was laughing and laughing and I could hear it, but there was no joy. It was... fear.” Mimi paused to take a long drink of water. “And then she said”—she took another deep breath—“that the baby was her own uncle’s, and that’s why she needed to get rid of it. And if Charles didn’t help her, she’d tell her father that the baby was his.”
My stomach churned and Beau’s breathing became harsh, like that of a man being held back from a fight.
“What did he do?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Mimi began to shake and Beau moved to the chaise to put his arm around her.
“I don’t know. He must have told her no. Because then I saw Jeanne again, and she was showing me this... this horrible scene. She was on the stairs of your house, with her father. Antoine. And she was telling him that she was pregnant. That Charles was the baby’s father. And then, and then...” She let out a choking sob and pressed her face against Beau’s arm.
“No, no, no.” I shook my head, wondering if I might get sick. I pressed my fingers to my temples to make the urge to vomit go away. “So her father killed her, believing that Charles had made her pregnant.”
“Yes. But we had no proof—not that anyone would believe me—but we knew from that moment on that our lives would never be the same. Because everyone knew that Antoine Broussard always demanded payback and that sooner or later he would exact his revenge on us.”
“But he killed his own daughter,” Beau said. “And her uncle sexually abused her. Even if Charleshadgotten her pregnant, surely that’s the lesser crime?”
Mimi’s face softened as she looked at her grandson. “To us, of course. But to men like Antoine Broussard, it’s not. He believed Charles had defiled his daughter, and that was all he cared about. He lived by his own warped code, and we had inadvertently offended his sense of honor.” She took Beau’s hand.
“After that, we found a way to live with the fear of the unknown. Then Beau came along, which helped us a great deal. And then sweet Sunny was born. As she grew from babyhood into a little girl, it became harder for Adele to find peace with what had happened to Jeanne, and how Antoine had gotten away with murder. Adele was always concerned about fairness, and right and wrong. It bothered all of us, of course, but especially her.
“Then one day Paulette Broussard—Jeanne’s mother—walked into the shop while Adele was working. Adele knew who she was, of course.She’d become obsessed with the Broussards, reading everything about them in the papers—which wasn’t hard, because they were at every society event and were involved in every community organization. But that’s all it took. Adele told Paulette what her husband had done to Jeanne all those years ago. To a mother, of course, there is no time limit to the grief of losing a child.”
“Was Antoine arrested?”
Mimi laughed, a dry choking sound. “Of course not. We will never know what he said to his wife to extricate himself from the guilt, but nothing happened. Not right away, at least. He was like a cat playing with his prey. We spent sleepless nights wondering when we would get the knock on our door. Or the bullet through a car window.” She reached over and squeezed Beau’s hand. “We never blamed your mother. She had done the one thing we had not been brave enough to do. Yet the days went on, and nothing happened, and we began to relax. Maybe Paulette hadn’t believed Adele. Or maybe Antoine had told his own lie and Paulette believed him.
“Finally, Charles couldn’t take it anymore and paid a call to Antoine at his office. He was finally ready to confront him, to tell him that he had never laid a finger on Jeanne. And then, despite me begging him not to, he told Antoine that he knew he’d killed his own daughter—that I had seen it in a vision when I touched that door.
“Antoine laughed in his face and had him escorted out of his office, and then we waited, knowing there would be no reprieve that time. And there wasn’t. A week later, Sunny was gone.”
I stood and began walking around the room, just like my dad did when he was figuring out plot points in his books. So many answers were easily clicking into their slots, but there were others still floating around without any indication of where they went. I felt like we were working an all-white double-sided puzzle where everything and nothing looked like it went together. I caught sight of my backpack and hurried over to it with excitement, then retrieved the hair bow and negative. “But we have proof. I think this was taken by the neighbor who saw the Mercedes pull up and a woman step out and take Sunny.”I slid the negative over to her along with the hair ribbon. “Look at these—touch them! This might be the evidence you need to go to the police. Maybe it’s not too late to get justice. Or to find Sunny, if she’s still out there.”
Mimi opened the top of the jewelry box, the music silenced and the ballerina frozen in position. She reached inside and pulled out a matching yellow ribbon. “I retrieved this from the street. I suppose that’s where yours came from, too. I’ve had this for years. I held the ribbon and saw them take her. And Christopher showed me the negative years ago. But we already knew who was responsible, and my evidence wouldn’t really count in a court of law anyway, so none of it mattered. All I could do was be at police headquarters every day asking for updates, trying to find out what the police were doing to find my sweet grandbaby. Buddy and Adele were beside themselves with grief. We were all walking ghosts, unable to eat or sleep. But the Broussards weren’t done with us yet.”
Mimi’s chest rose and fell, her breathing more labored. “Antoine was the one who made sure Sunny’s case was closed much sooner than it should have been. He made sure that the police files indicated that they were pressured by Charles. And then he told Charles that if we didn’t stop with the private investigation, then...” She stopped, grabbed hold of Beau’s hand. “Then Beau would disappear, too. I’d already lost one grandchild; we couldn’t stand to lose another.” She brought Beau’s hand to her lips. “Saving you became our priority. That was our choice. Sunny was gone, but we still had you.”
Beau continued to hold her hand, his face now expressing as much devastation as hers. “That’s why so many doors were shut in my face when I tried to investigate, isn’t it? Dear God. If she’s alive, then she’s out there somewhere. And she has no idea who she is.”
Mimi nodded, wet tears soaking her cheeks. “But you can’t look for her, do you understand? Promise me, please. Antoine is dead, but that doesn’t matter. His reach continues beyond the grave.”
The incessant sound of clicking pendulums echoing throughout the large house interrupted the heavy silence. I felt as if I’d run ten miles,my limbs rubbery with exhaustion. “That’s why they wanted the door, and anything else that might allow you to connect Antoine to the murder. He’s long dead, but he’s still family.”
“Then we need to get rid of the door, and make sure they know it,” Beau said. “Because I wouldn’t be the only one in danger.”
I sat up. “So, who put all of the evidence in the closet in my house?”
“I told Buddy to get rid of it all,” Mimi said. “I wanted nothing left behind that might be used later to hurt Beau. He must have locked it all inside, knowing I’d never go in there to look—but knowing it was the only connection to his missing daughter.”
“Except for the music box and the ribbon,” I said.
She nodded. “Adele kept the music box. I found it years later on the top shelf of her closet.” Smiling softly, she said, “It’s as if we’ve all been busy trying to save each other, and look where we are.”
My phone vibrated in my hands, startling all three of us. I looked at it, the caller’s name shooting a feeling of foreboding through me. “It’s Ernest from across the street,” I explained as I stood and slid my thumb across the screen to read his text.
Someone with a flashlight is in your house. Should I call the police?
The text was followed with about twenty emojis that I didn’t have the time to figure out. To Beau, I said, “There’s someone at my house with a flashlight. I need to go find out who it is.” I quickly texted back that I would take care of it.
Beau’s eyes met mine. “Michael?”
