Page 54 of The Shop on Royal Street
I held up the bag. “It looks like it’s never been used.”
“It hasn’t. I just drive around with it in my truck so I can forget it every time I shop. Just like everyone else.”
“I actually use mine. Melanie taught me a trick of setting a reminder on my phone when I schedule my grocery trips on my calendar each week. Works every time.”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Just put him in the bag and shove him under the seat. We’re late and I’m not in the mood for one of Mimi’s lectures on punctuality.”
I leaned over to see the space beneath my seat but stopped when I spotted a piece of scarlet lace protruding onto the floorboard. Acting first instead of thinking, I pulled it out of its hiding place before I realized it was a handful of red lacy items. I held up the scanty double-D bra for less than a second before I dropped it back on the floorboard. Unwilling to put Mr.Bingle next to it, I swung the bag over my shoulder with my backpack and waited for Beau to open the door. As Beau held an umbrella over us, we raced to the front doors.
After leaving the umbrella to drip on the porch, he let us in with a key. We were greeted with the spicy aroma of cooking food, making my stomach rumble despite the certainty I’d had after seeing the apparition that I would never want to eat again. Not wanting to drip on the floor, I placed the Mr.Bingle bag on the entry mat, covering it with my backpack.
“We’re here!” Beau called out, poking his head into the empty dining room. When he returned, he said, “We must be eating in the breakfast room, since there’s only the three of us.”
“The three of us? I thought Mimi only invited me.”
“True, but I live here.” He grinned. “Follow me.”
We started walking across the black-and-white-checked marble foyer, but I paused, feeling again as if the eyes of Beau’s grandfather Charles were following me from his portrait on the wall. I began walking toward it, but Beau called me back. “It’s unnerving, but you get used to it after a while. You can look at it later—Mimi’s waiting.”
His fingers were icy cold against my bare arm, and when I looked at him closely, his flushed face was dotted with sweat. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been working a lot, so I’m pretty exhausted. I think it’s just catching up with me.”
We continued walking toward the back of the house. I tried to keep up while also admiring the architecture and restraining myself from walking into interesting rooms with elegant furniture and with antique converted gasoliers hanging from intricate plaster medallions. As much as I regretted not getting another chance to study the Bacchus mural in the dining room, just walking through the house was as much of a treat.
I slowed my steps as we passed the window-lined room that jutted off the right side of the house. The walls not filled with windows were paneled in rich mahogany and hung with fishing trophies. An old medical bag sat next to an antique tobacco chest atop an olive-wood Italian chest, a framed Audubon print above it. This was undoubtedly Charles’s domain, hardly touched in the twenty-one years since his passing. The room seemed like a shrine to a man who might or might not have called a halt to the investigation into his granddaughter’s disappearance. I must have lingered too long, because Beau tugged on my elbow, pulling me away and into the kitchen at the back of the house.
“You’re late.” Mimi wasn’t smiling as she turned, holding a covered soup tureen in mitted hands, from a large stainless steel six-burner stove. “I know it’s not Monday, but I was in the mood for red beans and rice. Nola, you can just pluck out the andouille, although I don’t know why, since that’s the best part. Collards and corn bread are already on the table, although I’m sure everything’s cold by now.”
“I’m so sorry...” I began.
Mimi walked past me to a rear sunroom next to the kitchen; it was filled with knickknacks and wildlife prints and the floor was covered with a sisal rug. A round antique table sat in the middle, with four mismatched chairs wearing the same leafy linen print seat cushions. The table was fully set with a more casual but no less elegant china pattern than we’d used in the dining room. Fresh flowers matching the flowers in the china pattern spilled over a silver epergne in the center of the table.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, placing the tureen on a black iron trivet on the table. “Beau knows better and should have picked you up earlier.”
“But we had an incident at the house—”
She cut me off. “No need to say any more about it.”
She turned back to the kitchen, and I followed, determined to be of use, but I was distracted by the view of the brick-paved sitting area tucked beneath towering fuchsia crepe myrtles and a giant old oak outside. The empty areas between chairs and loungers were populated with two large potted citrus trees and random pots filled with succulents and bougainvillea. It was as charming as it was eclectic, and I wanted to snap a picture to show Melanie’s dad, a master gardener who had redesigned the garden at her house on Tradd Street more than once. If the differences between the two cities could ever be explained, it would be in pictures of their respective gardens.
I felt a small pang as I looked at it, imagining finally getting to the point in my own home restoration to put in a garden to replace the old coffin and banana tree.IfI ever got to the point—I was learning it wasn’t a simple matter of fixing the plumbing and stripping wood.
“Where’s Lorda?” Beau asked.
“The streets are already flooding,” Mimi explained, “so she left early. It’s supposed to rain all night and it’s going to get even worse. I’m surprised you didn’t have any problems. Even in your truck, I worry.” She held the back of her hand against Beau’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Have you taken anything?”
“I’m just tired. Really. As soon as I eat something, I’ll feel better.”
“You need to at least take something. I’ve got a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs-hall bathroom.” She frowned. “I’d go get it myself, but my knees are aching because of all this rain. Can you manage the stairs, Beau?”
He sat down heavily, his eyes looking glassy. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”
“If you tell me where to go, I’ll go get it,” I offered.
“Thank you, Nola. That might be best. Just head up the stairs to the next floor and follow the hallway to the right. It will be the second door past the alcove with the stained glass window.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back.” I headed out of the kitchen the way that I’d come—mostly. I ended up mistakenly taking a detour that meant I missed seeing Charles’s study, which was probably a good thing since I wouldn’t have resisted going in. I eventually found my way to the front foyer and the elegant staircase, deliberately ignoring Charles’s portrait. I climbed the stairs slowly so I could feel the smooth mahogany banister beneath my hand and enjoy the view of the foyer below, the close-up examination of the cornices and center medallion above. But somewhere in the middle of my ascent, I felt the pull of the portrait again, and found myself turning around to face it.
