Page 35 of The Shop on Royal Street
My bedroom door, to the left of the bathroom, was intentionally closed, since without Melanie’s eagle eye I might slip from her military-like requirements for bed making and laundry disposal. Jolene’s door was open, and her bed—of course—was made and artfully arranged with about a dozen throw pillows, including a large monogrammed one in the middle. Despite having lived in the apartment for a very short time, she’d hung curtains and framed artwork, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the antique dressing table she’d told me came from her childhood bedroom. A beautiful needlepoint rug sat under the tester bed—another piece from home—and the ancient ceiling fan had been replaced with a small chandelier and a floor fan that was discreetly hidden in her closet and pulled out each night. Framed photos of Jolene with her family and friends dotted every surface that wasn’t already taken up by books or makeup orWizard of Ozparaphernalia.
I’d made it into the back room, which, although not nearly as nicely decorated or put together as Jolene’s room, still made me happy. Tall casement windows covered two of the walls, allowing in light that shifted throughout the day, and I’d set up a corner with my guitar and music stand to encourage a renewal of my music-writing passion. I kept telling myself that it would return when I’d finished the renovation and had more time.
“I learned the hard way to make sure to close these windows before dusk. I accidentally left them open to let in some fresh air and left a light on. I had lots of unwanted guests that night. I think I went through an entire can of Raid.” I turned around to see that I was talking to myself. I walked back into Jolene’s room, where Jaxson had picked up a photo of Jolene blowing out candles on a cake and surrounded by a group of smiling people.
He replaced the photo, pausing only a moment to look above thebed at the large poster of Dorothy’s ruby slippers and the words “There’s No Place Like Home” emblazoned on the bottom, then stopping for a moment longer to examine the fairy wand dangling from the chandelier.
“She’s a big fan ofThe Wizard of Oz,” I said.
“I can tell. And apparently has a lot of friends.”
“And just as many family members. I need to start keeping a list, because it’s a long one and I can’t remember them all. Especially because most of them are known by nicknames. How many women named Honey can there be in a single family?”
“In the South? I don’t think I can count that high.” He took a sip from his beer. “But no boyfriend?”
“Not right now. She’s single.”
“That’s surprising. She’s, like, the whole package, you know? Beauty and brains. Just like Carly.”
My smile faded a bit. “Jolene also knows how to change a tire and is a fabulous cook,” I added.
Jaxson nodded and walked past me into the back room. “This is great. I love all the windows.”
“Yeah. Me, too. It’s why I chose it as the perfect work space. I haven’t had the chance to really decorate it yet, so it’s just a work in progress. Jolene keeps threatening to make curtains but I don’t want to block the light.”
He picked up the one framed photo in the room, a picture of me; my dad and Melanie; my aunt Jayne and her husband, Thomas; both sets of grandparents; and JJ and Sarah on the day I graduated from grad school. I kept it there to remind me of what I’d accomplished after a very long and difficult road, and of the people who’d help get me there. “Nice family. You look just like your dad. I probably should have seen the resemblance, since I own every single one of his books in hardcover and his face is on the back of each one.”
“I’ve been told that more than once. I’ve also been told that I inherited his bullheadedness and love of solving puzzles. Can’t have one without the other, I guess.
“And speaking of works in progress, I was wondering if I could ask another favor.”
“Sure. As long as Jolene will let me take another plate of cookies home. I’ll have to run an extra two miles tomorrow, but it’s worth it.”
“I’m sure she’s already got a plate prepared with your name on it, so it’s a deal. Do you remember the big guy you passed on your way into the house today?”
“The gentleman who looks like Mr.Clean.”
“Exactly. His name is Thibaut Kobylt, and he spent ten years in prison for manslaughter.”
Jaxson raised an eyebrow. “Really? And he’s working for you?”
“Not yet. We’re both thinking about it.” At his questioning look, I said, “Thibaut hasn’t decided he wants to work for me. But he’s the most qualified person we’ve met, and Beau’s background check on him didn’t turn up anything negative.”
“Except for the manslaughter part.”
“Yeah, that. I’m desperate enough and want to extend him an offer. We agreed to come to a decision by tomorrow morning. Still, I was hoping that you might be able to access the case files—or know someone who can. If I had more time, I’d want to wait until I heard back from you, but I don’t have endless reserves of time and money, and, well, my instincts tell me to hire him. The whole time we were together, I didn’t get a single creepy vibe. And it’s the only blemish—albeit a huge one—on his record. It’s like he had this one uncharacteristic manic moment and then returned to normal. It just...” I shrugged. “Anyway, I want to know everything I can.”
“I get it. I’ll see what I can do. Just text me the correct spelling of his name and the year of the crime. Since Beau has already done some digging, he should know. And please ask him to send over any of his notes to give me a head start.”
I took a deep breath. “Thank you. If my parents ever find out I hired a convicted felon, I can at least show them I did my due diligence.”
“Got it.” He turned his attention to my guitar. “You play?” he asked.
“I do. And I write music, too—I’ve actually had a bit of success selling it. I’ve just been on a hiatus for a while. With school and the move and now the renovation—it’s a bit time-consuming.”
“I bet.” He bent to read the half-finished first line of a song I’d been working on for months. Turning to me, he said, “Have you had a chance to explore Frenchmen Street in the Marigny yet? The nighttime music scene there is really incredible. Lots of known and new talent—and a lot of places have open mic nights that might interest you.”
“Beau told me about it, but I haven’t been yet.” I didn’t mention that although I was far enough along in my recovery to be with people in a private setting where people were drinking, I hadn’t yet taken the step of being in a bar where music was played and lots of people were imbibing.
