Page 26 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Just for tonight. I’ll move it tomorrow to our remote storage facility so it won’t be in the way here. Mimi’s... particular about what’s stored here. About how long do you think it might be?”
I didn’t want to lie outright, but if we had one more time-sucking disaster like corroding pipes or hidden wood-eating fungi, Christopher and Mimi might need to find a place to hang it permanently. “Hopefully just a few months.” I smiled. “If you like, I can help you make room for it in the storage room. I’ve built up my biceps in the last few weeks and can do a lot of heavy lifting.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve got the perfect spot in mind, right in the front so it’s convenient to move it again. Is Jorge at the house now?”
I nodded, trying not to show my disappointment at not being allowed to see what was behind the door. There had been something so furtive about the couple whom Mimi had escorted to the back room. And something about her smile as she’d closed the door behind them. “Yes. He’ll be there for another hour. I can ride my bike back and help him get it downstairs and into his truck....”
Christopher was already standing and had begun flipping off the lights. “Don’t you worry about it. It’s just about closing time, so I’ll drive down there myself and Jorge and I will get it done.”
“Really, I don’t mind....”
“You’re tired. Go on home. I’ll call Jorge now and let him know I’m coming.”
“You know Jorge?”
“We go way back. He was part of the crew that helped me renovate my house after Katrina. I was the one who discovered he wasn’t deaf.”
“Wait—what?”
“He’s not. But he doesn’t speak Spanish because he’s Portuguese. He can understand English if it’s spoken slowly. He couldn’t make people understand that shouting at him in English or Spanish wasn’t going to help, so he just pretends to be deaf. But I speak Portuguese.” Christopher grinned.
I stood. “Great. Now I feel like an idiot. He could have just told me.”
“Or you could have asked.”
I met his eyes but felt no judgment. “That, too.”
At the door I turned to him. “You told me that Mimi calls you the king of lost things. Did she ever ask you to search for Sunny?”
He was silent for so long, I thought he might not answer. But his gaze held mine and I couldn’t look away, his eyes measuring to see how much he could tell me. Or maybe how much I could bear to hear. “No. Katrina had done its job erasing pretty much everything to do with the case, which was very little to begin with. The only evidence that Sunny didn’t disappear into thin air was from an eyewitness who lived across the street who’d seen a dark car drive up when Adele went inside the house—apparently when she went to answer the phone. The back passenger-side door opened and a woman got out and put Sunny in the car and it drove away. She couldn’t give a good description of the woman or the car besides that it was black, but it did have Louisiana plates.”
“So the police never found out anything more?”
Christopher shook his head. “They might have, except that Katrinahit right afterward. And when Mimi and Charles returned weeks later, when they were allowed back into the city, and found both of Beau’s parents missing and presumably lost in the storm, I think they gave up hope. And then Dr.Ryan died the following year, and it was all Mimi could do to just keep it all together, raise Beau, and keep the shop open. I only struck out on my own because I thought someone out there had to knowsomething.”
“Did Mimi at least hire a private investigator to see if they could build on that? It seems like that would be enough of a lead.”
He surprised me by opening the door, indicating that the conversation was over. “She didn’t. The police had closed the case right before her husband died, and Mimi said it was time to bury the past. It had been too long, and for Beau’s sake she needed to stop grieving and move on.”
Our eyes met briefly, as if we were both wondering why the owner of a store called the Past Is Never Past could ever think that the past was something to bury.
“Didn’t you think that strange?” I wanted to addand uncaring, but I was already nosing into territory that was none of my business.
“It isn’t my job to judge others. I’m sure she had her reasons, and it wasn’t my place to question them.” Christopher opened the door wider, making it clear that it was time for me to leave. Glancing at his watch, he said, “If we’re going to get that door in the storage room, I’ve got to leave now. I’ve got plans tonight.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. Thanks for doing that.”
While he set the alarm and locked the front door, I busied myself unwrapping the chains on my bike, a laborious process that took enough energy to make me start dripping sweat again. At the sound of the sole of his shoe scraping against concrete I turned my head, curious as to what he might have stepped in—not an unfamiliar event in the French Quarter.
A small smear of moisture, already evaporating in the sun, could have been any spilled liquid, or rainwater dripping from an awning. Except it hadn’t been raining, and the telltale dots of two toes of afootprint were still visible. And his movements seemed almost furtive. I looked away as Christopher wiped those away, too, and pretended I hadn’t seen them. I waved good-bye and took off on my bike, nearly colliding with a garbage can.
I met Trevor at the previously agreed-upon spot at the corner of Royal and Canal and handed over my bike. Ever the businessman, he’d suggested the arrangement of watching my bike overnight for the price of one dollar so I didn’t have to take my life in my own hands by riding the bike all the way uptown. I’d started throwing in an extra fifty cents if he promised me he’d do his homework. It was all on the honor system, and I chose to believe him. His grin was too hard to resist.
I sat on the hard bench seat next to an open window inside the streetcar, the humid breeze doing little to cool me off, and thought about the wet footprints and why Christopher hadn’t wanted me to see them.
•••
The smell of something delicious baking wafted down the stairs toward me as I opened the front door, giving me the stamina needed to climb the steps to my apartment after the walk down Broadway from the streetcar stop on St. Charles. I was huffing and puffing as I made my way into the living room, pausing in front of the window AC unit, then continued to the kitchen.
