Page 43 of The Shop on Royal Street
“I’ll have the same salad Jolene’s having.” She paused, glancing at her menu again before saying, “Actually, since I can afford the calories, I’m going to change that to the duck pâté to start, and then the shrimp and grits.” She smiled at the waiter before thrusting her menu at him like a challenge.
“And add a side of biscuits for the table, if you wouldn’t mind,” Bernie said as he handed the waiter his menu.
I eyed Jolene’s glass as she took her first sip from her cocktail, and for the first time since becoming sober I felt a strong need for a drink. If the restaurant’s drinks hadn’t been so expensive, I might have been even more tempted.
We continued our small talk after the plates of food were delivered and I discovered that what Patois considered a pancake appetizer with blueberry compote was actually a dinner-plate-sized piece of fluffy heaven with a dollop of whipped cream on top. When I raised my spoon to eat my gumbo, Jolene stopped me. “Did you ask them to make it vegan and take out the sausage?”
Carly let out an inelegant snort, which was at odds with her silk blouse and perfect hair, which looked like it had never met humidity. “Don’t you mean vegetarian? Because that’s no meat. Vegan is pretty much anything animal related, including dairy. And the way Nola attacked that pancake makes me think she couldn’t be vegan.”
Jolene speared a piece of lettuce with her fork, glancing at me with a glint in her eye that matched her grin. “I know. But I didn’t want to hurt Nola’s feelings by explaining the difference.”
I had made the mistake of taking a sip of my water, which nowcame out my nose as I laughed and choked at the same time, the sound accompanied by Jolene’s attempts to stifle her own snorts and giggles. We sounded like a two-sow band in a pig trough and the mental image made me choke/laugh even harder. Carly stared at us as if we’d gone a little crazy.
Carly’s phone, placed faceup on the table, rang with the old eighties anthem “Everybody Wants You” and she snatched it up before it had reached the second line. Her smile grew as she listened for a moment. Lowering her phone, she said, “It’s Jaxson. He just wanted to say hi to everyone, but I need to talk to him. Would you all excuse me? I might be a while, so I’ll take it outside.” She picked up her drink but left most of her food uneaten.
The waiter returned to clear our plates. “Will the young lady be returning?” he asked, indicating Carly’s mostly untouched food.
“No,” Jolene said at the same time I said, “She’s done. Please put it in a to-go bag.” I wasn’t going to let the food go to waste and it would fit easily into my backpack.
As soon as the plates were cleared, the waiter handed us more menus. “Dessert?” he asked with a hopeful smile.
Both Jolene and I shook our heads without even looking, but Uncle Bernie said, “I read that I need to try the Black Forest dessert. And give me a nice big portion and extra plates and forks so I can share.” He held up his empty glass and shook it. “And another one of these, please. Ladies?”
“We’re good,” Jolene and I said in unison. “Just water. With lemon,” I added.
The waiter hid any disappointment as he took away our menus, which, if I’d had the kind of money to be a big tipper, would have made me add extra to his tip.
“So,” Uncle Bernie said, brushing invisible crumbs off the white tablecloth. “Let’s talk cold cases. Jaxson said you needed me to do a little digging on a new employee.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m not gonna lie. I love this stuff. Keeps me mentally active in my retirement, ya know?” He tapped his head. “I’ve still got it, and I want to keep it.”
“Great,” I said. “Even though it’s not a cold case. Thibaut Kobylt admitted killing his wife. I just wanted to know if there might have been anything in his past that should make me reconsider hiring him.”
Bernie laced his thick fingers together, his blue eyes unblinking. I wondered if he’d perfected that stare over years of being in the police force. “Well, to answer your question, I don’t think you need to have any worries about Mr.Kobylt. Everything I’ve read, with the exception of the murder rap, points to a real stand-up guy. He coached basketball for developmentally delayed children for six years, along with being a class parent for Greg—his son—throughout elementary school. He also dressed up as Santa Claus each year for a big community Christmas party for disadvantaged kids.”
He held up his hand as I sucked in my breath to prepare for a rebuttal. “I know what you’re about to say. Sure, there are serial murderers who also did good deeds at some point in their lives, but I also read through the testimonies of neighbors and friends of the Kobylts who’d known the family for years. That’s usually where you’ll find the truth in cases like this. They were a loving family, always doing things together. Going to church every Sunday, that sort of thing. And every Saturday he and Greg would mow the lawns and take care of a little maintenance for several of their elderly neighbors without charge.”
“Yet he killed his wife,” I reminded him.
“But did he?” Bernie paused, bushy eyebrows held aloft.
“Well, he said he did, right?”
“He did plead guilty when he was asked by the judge. But there is nothing in the written record where he says independently that he killed his wife. Yeah, I know that doesn’t mean anything in a court of law. But the facts say that the family had lived in the neighborhood with the same neighbors for fifteen years, and they never saw him have an angry outburst. Not once. From looking through the interviews with the neighbors, I found there were lots of varied opinions about who might have killed Mrs.Thibaut, but not one of them thought it could have been her husband.”
Uncle Bernie’s wooden chair creaked beneath him as he leaned backand the waiter placed his dessert in front of him, along with a fresh drink. Two extra plates and forks were slid in front of us, along with fresh glasses of water and a bag containing Carly’s boxed-up meal. I casually opened my backpack and slid it inside, happy that Uncle Bernie was focused on this dessert.
“You’re forgetting one important thing, though,” I said. “The gun. When they found it inside a garbage can a few blocks away, his handprints were on it.”
Bernie nodded, chewing slowly. “That’s true. And I’m sure that’s why everyone thought this was a cut-and-dried case. But here’s a guy who by all accounts was a gentle giant and loved his family and the people in his community and they loved him. If a guy is going to snap once and only once in his life, why murder? And why his wife? Sure, we don’t know what goes on behind closed doors, but in fifteen years no one ever heard a harsh word between Thibaut and wife. And then one day—bam.” He accented the word with a thump of his fist on the table, making our plates rattle.
He put another bite of dessert into his mouth and chewed, then washed it down with a swallow of bourbon. “So, in answer to your question, I don’t expect you to have any problems with him working for you. Even his parole officer told me he was the nicest guy he’d ever met—in both his personal and professional life. I’d just be curious to know the whole story. Not that it matters, of course. He’s moved on. But to tell you the truth, I’d like to keep digging, just because I need something to keep me busy. And also because I don’t quite believe that he did it. And if he didn’t, then who did?”
“Well, that’s a story that will keep me up at night pondering,” Jolene said, adjusting herself in her chair so she wouldn’t have to look at the cake.
“Me, too. Beau said that Thibaut’s wife’s family won’t let him see his son, so it’s like he’s still being punished.” It unsettled me, like I’d just read a book where the last pages had been removed.
I took a sip of water and turned my attention to Bernie. “You mentioned cold cases—plural. Were you able to turn up anything new about the Jeanne Broussard case?”
“I do believe I did. Jaxson might have mentioned that there were some case notes missing from Jeanne’s file, but I found them. Can’t blame it on the wife, though. This file was sent by a friend in the records department after I retired, because it was related to one of my cases. She found it accidentally, because it had been misfiled. It contains a copy of the coroner’s autopsy report, and I guess when these notes arrived my wife filed them away according to her own system.”
