Page 56 of The Shop on Royal Street
He looked at her through slitted eyes, as if opening them further would allow in too much light. “I will. I just wanted to ask you one question while Nola is here.”
What little appetite I’d had when I’d first sat down fled. He must have seen me leaving the room. Or heard me drop the hairbrush. Or he could just tell I’d been up to no good by looking in my trespassing face.
Mimi raised her eyebrows in a mildly interested expression. “And what might that be?”
“The Maison Blanche door from Nola’s house. Was it worth getting Christopher so upset that he almost quit?”
My single bite of rice and beans stuck in my throat. I quickly swallowed a gulp of water. “That was my fault. I was the one who asked him to store it for me. I didn’t realize...”
“It wasn’t for you to realize,” Mimi said calmly. “Christopher understands that I have strict rules about my storage spaces. They each hold specific and meticulously researched objects and it’s important to me to keep them separate.”
“He told me he was going to move it to an off-site storage area before you returned from your buying trip to Savannah, so he knew it was temporary.” I was trying to make sense of her anger at Christopher. Even Melanie, whose adherence to order and organization bordered on OCD, could always be reasoned with when her plans were thwarted.
“I realize that,” Mimi said, her gaze locked on mine. “And it was my fault because I returned home early without warning. But it never should have been in there in the first place. Christopher has worked with me long enough to understand my rules.”
Beau had his elbows on the table, his hands on either side of his head as if holding it in place. “Just so you know, Mimi, I stand with Christopher on this one. Please don’t ever make me choose sides again.”
Mimi’s bosom rose and fell, her eyes soft as she regarded her grandson. “You just need to understand, Beau, that there are some things onwhich I cannot compromise. And that is one of them.” Her eyes slid to me, and I wondered if I was imagining the accusatory look in them. “No matter. We had a customer today in the shop, a young man, who asked us if we had anything from the former Maison Blanche building on Canal Street. Since the door doesn’t belong to me, I wrote down his name, address, and phone number and told him I’d be in touch if I came across anything.” She smiled at me, which worried me more than anything else. “He said he would pay anything to get a relic from the old department store. His address is on Audubon Place, so I imagine he has the funds if you were interested in selling your office door.”
“Audubon Place?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s off of St. Charles Avenue, opposite Audubon Park,” Mimi explained.
“I know. I...” I started to mention the man from the park I thought I’d seen on the bicycle, turning into the street. “Never mind. But whether he can afford it or not, it’s not for sale. I already have a spot for it, and I love the sense of history it will bring to my house.”
“I knew that’s what you’d say. He insisted on giving me his information anyway. Just in case you change your mind, I’ve written it down. Remind me to give it to you before you leave.”
Beau slid back his chair and stood, leaning heavily on the table. “I’m going to go upstairs and lie down.”
I stood, too. “Do you need help?”
He waved me away. “I’ll be fine. Just need the Tylenol to kick in, that’s all.” He headed back toward the kitchen, his steps slow, then headed toward the front of the house.
When I sat down again, I found Mimi looking at me with a strange expression. “Why do I suddenly smell pine trees and cinnamon? It’s like Christmas in here. Were you in a holiday shop or something?”
I sniffed the air, smelling only the smoky andouille and spicy red beans. “No. I haven’t been anywhere today except to stop by my house to see what was behind that sealed door at the top of the stairs. It was a bit disappointing, because it was just stuff you normally find in a closet. Well, and an old Mr.Bingle doll.”
Her eyebrows rose with mild interest. “Really? A Mr.Bingle? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“Well, that was my first. Anyway, we sometimes smell roses inside our house in Charleston even in the middle of winter, but that’s...” I stopped, unsure if she’d want to hear about our resident spirit.
“But that’s what?” she prompted.
“Louisa. She used to live in our house back in the twenties.”
“Ah.” Mimi nodded, a small smile on her lips. “A ghost.”
“I’ve never seen her, but I’ve definitely smelled the roses more than once. I can’t communicate with her, but...” Once again I stopped midsentence. These were topics I never talked about with other people. But somehow as I sat with Mimi in an old house and with the vivid memory of the room upstairs, they didn’t seem out of place.
“But your stepmother can,” Mimi finished. She picked up the bread basket full of corn bread and offered it to me.
I took one piece to be polite, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite. “Yes. Melanie can. I didn’t realize you knew her.”
“I don’t. But I knowofher, of course. Her reputation carries in the same societies I travel in—the world of antiques and old houses. Both areas are very ripe for hauntings. Assuming you believe in that sort of thing.” She delicately buttered a piece of corn bread before taking a bite.
“I wasn’t really given a choice. I’ve known Melanie since I was fourteen, so it’s not like I could remain oblivious.” I plucked out another piece of sausage and placed it on my soup plate to give me something to focus on besides reasons my hairbrush would be in the room upstairs.
“I understand Melanie and the rest of your family will be visiting in October.”
