Page 48 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Anyway,” I continued, “when I’m done in the field, I’ll need to head to the state archives to study maps, deeds, newspapers, and other records connected to the site. A lot of stuff I can find online, but there’s always buried treasure to be found in the archives—one of the most important things I learned in grad school. Then I write my report and submit my recommendations. And then I step away. I’m usually not involved in the project after that point. Which can be a good thing.”
He signaled to exit onto Interstate 10 toward Baton Rouge. “You seem the type to take it personally.”
I looked at him, my mouth half-open to speak, but unable to forma single word, as angry that he’d assumed something that was startlingly accurate as I was curious how he would know.
As if reading my mind, Beau said, “You’re a musician. So am I. We feel things a little harder than most. It’s the price we pay.”
I looked away. Outside my car window, the city of New Orleans passed by beneath the interstate’s overpasses, the massive spaceship-shaped Superdome looming over Poydras Street and the abbreviated cluster of high-rises of the Central Business District. The CBD abruptly ended at Canal Street, the city then spreading out into the French Quarter and toward the river and the roof peaks of St. Louis Cathedral. Even in its skyline, the Crescent City showed its partiality for fun and frivolity, happy to leave the business side of life tucked back in a far corner, yet always reminding itself of its spiritual side.
“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t like to talk about myself, especially on any topic that might wind its way to my sad, lost mother. Turning back to Beau, I said, “How well did you know your grandfather Charles?”
Leaning one arm on the window frame and steering with the other, he said, “Not too well. I was seven years old when he died. Why do you ask?”
“I had lunch yesterday with Jaxson’s uncle Bernie.”
“I know him well. Growing up, I got my hide tanned by him more than once and for good reason. Jaxson and I were like hell on wheels. It’s a good thing Bernie never had kids of his own, because we wouldn’t have survived without his focused attention.”
I thought of the mild-mannered Jaxson, with his red hair and freckles. “I can’t believe Jaxson could have been that bad. You, I’m not so sure.”
“I guess it might surprise you, then, that Jaxson was the instigator. It’s his fault I broke my leg when we were in fifth grade. He dared me to jump off a moving streetcar, so I did.”
I turned to him. “You do know that wasn’t his fault, right? You were the one stupid enough to take a dare like that. Why did you do it?”
His face became serious, his hands gripping the wheel a little bit tighter, and I knew that we had accidentally made a turn into a darkcorner where the light wasn’t allowed. I opened my book again, ready to pretend to read.
“Because he told me he knew my parents were both dead. He’d overheard his grandmother talking to Mimi. I knew that, of course, even though nobody wanted to say it out loud, as if that would make it true. But nobody wanted to tell me because they knew that hoping was what got me out of bed in the morning. I mean, what kid wants to believe both his parents are dead? I used to make up all sorts of scenarios in my head—like they were spies and the government had to give them new identities and they couldn’t tell me; or they’d been taken to Texas with a lot of the Katrina evacuees but had amnesia and couldn’t remember who they were, so they stayed there.”
He shrugged as if retelling another story of a childhood escapade, but I’d seen the tightening in his jaw, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. In all the years I’d known Beau Ryan, I’d never seen him vulnerable. He was always so in charge, the one who knew all the answers. The one in control. Which was why I’d decided long ago that we were incompatible as friends or anything else. I was still wrestling with whether I should mention the set of wet footprints I’d seen more than once that seemed to be following him, but I was saved from making the decision by his phone ringing.
“Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.” He pushed a button on his steering wheel, and his conversation faded into the background as I studied the passing views of Old Metairie and Greenwood cemeteries on both sides of the car. Tall monuments and sculptures on the aboveground tombs sat time stained in white and gray, watching the passage of years from their lofty perches. I was a self-proclaimed taphophile—a cemetery enthusiast—and loved exploring old cemeteries and reading the epitaphs, imagining the lives lived between the two dates. I knew that Melanie hated cemeteries because she didn’t have to do any imagining, as too many of the dead volunteered to tell her their stories.
I looked over at Beau, his conversation having ended, the steady thrum of tires against concrete once again filling the silence. As ifsensing my gaze on him, he turned and met my eyes for a moment. “But that’s not why I jumped.”
We traveled down the interstate for what seemed like miles before he spoke again. “I jumped because Jaxson said he knew where Sunny was, but he’d only tell me if I jumped.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “And did he know?”
Beau shook his head. “No. He was just being a stupid kid who was mad because I wouldn’t let him ride my new bike. He’s still apologizing, and I’m not going to let him forget it. He was grounded for a month and had to mow our yard all summer. Got the worst sunburn of his life, which Uncle Bernie said would be a good reminder each day of why we should never dare our friends to do stupid things.”
“That’s pretty harsh. But he seems like he learned his lesson. I mean, he grew up to be a public defender.”
“True. Not that he had much of a choice about whether to do something good with his life. His brother is a priest. His mother starts every other sentence with ‘My son the priest.’ Hard to compete with that.”
“I bet.”
“So, what were you saying about my grandfather Charles?”
I opened my mouth to tell him what Uncle Bernie had said about his grandfather being responsible for the premature closing of Sunny’s case, but stopped. What if he didn’t know? If he didn’t, I was certainly the last person in the world he’d want to hear it from.
“Just that he was good friends with the higher-ups at the NOPD.” I watched Beau’s face to see if that meant anything.
“From what Mimi has told me, my grandfather knew pretty much everyone in New Orleans. He was even good friends with Governor Edwin Edwards—before he was sent to jail, of course. But my grandfather was the doctor that everyone who was anyone went to.”
“Well, then, it would make sense that he’d know the head brass in the police department.”
“The mayor, too,” Beau said. “According to Lorda, they all sat beneath the Roman orgy in the dining room at least once. It seemed to be a bucket-list item for lots of people in my grandparents’ circle.”
The mental image made me grin. “He also mentioned something about Jeanne. The coroner’s report was filed separately from the rest of her case files, so this is the first time he’s seen it. Apparently, she was pregnant when she was killed.”
