Page 58 of The Shop on Royal Street
“No. I was mostly just friends with Jeanne. We were friends, but only because of Jeanne. After Jeanne died, we didn’t keep in touch. I do know that Louise got married and moved to Metairie but I believe she’s now in a care home. Dementia, I think. Her daughter apparently found her asleep in her bedroom after having left a grilled cheese on a burner on a lit stove, and that was a few years ago, so I can only imagine her mental state now.”
“That’s very sad. Bernie might still want to try and talk with her. He’s very gung ho about digging into cold cases. I guess it’s something to keep him busy and his mind active in retirement.”
“Most likely.” She placed her empty cup on the tray and smoothed her pristine skirt, signaling that our conversation was over. Except I had one more question.
“Bernie also told me something about another cold case.” I bit my lip, then blurted it out before I could change my mind. “It involves the disappearance of your granddaughter, Sunny.”
Mimi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please don’t. For over two decades we have tried to find answers. I still think I see her on the street, and try to imagine what she might look like now. I have only been able to continue with my life by recognizing that she is truly gone. And I don’t appreciate you bringing this up now.”
Mimi stood, her hands clasped in front of her. “It’s late...” she began.
I stood, too. “Bernie told me that he found something new, something that wasn’t with the rest of the case file.”
She bent to lift the tray and began walking with it toward the kitchen, almost as if she knew what I was about to say. I followed her, my inherited bullishness making me unwilling to let it go. She set the tray on the counter and, with her back to me, began placing the cups in the sink.
“Bernie said that the reason why Sunny’s case file was closed quickly was because your husband, Charles, asked that it be closed. He was friends with some of the higher-ups on the force and had some clout. But that doesn’t tell me why.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she reached over to the faucet and calmly turned on the water. “That’s because it isn’t true. Charles had friends in the police force, but he also had enemies who would be all too happy to smear his name. He loved his grandchildren. He never would have done such a thing.” She began soaping up a sponge and cleaning the dishes as if we were talking about nothing more important than china patterns or dog breeds.
I waited for her to rinse the cups and put them in the dish rack. Then she turned around to face me. “I don’t know what Bernie is up to, but I have a strong suspicion that he has a lot of time on his hands. For years he hinted around about writing a book about various unsolved cases. I can’t help but wonder if his renewed interest is because of that. I’m just sorry he dragged you into it.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My curiosity has led me to overstep, and I can’t apologize enough. I won’t bring it up again.”
Her shoulders softened and she gave me a genuine smile. “Thank you, Nola. I knew you’d understand. And I’d hate something like this to get between us. I rather like you, you know. And I know that Beau does, too. He would be as disappointed as I would if you were no longer a part of our lives.”
She walked to the window and peered out. “I imagine Beau is still sleeping and I don’t want to wake him. It’s too dark and wet for me todrive, so I think it best that you stay here tonight. I’ve got plenty of room and clean sheets in the guest room.”
I hoped I succeeded in hiding my look of horror at the thought of sleeping anywhere near the creepy room. I would have rather swum home. “That’s so kind of you, but I need to get back. I’ve still got some work to do before I head into the office tomorrow, and my notes and computer are all at home. I’ll call an Uber—I’ll request a large SUV to get over the potholes.”
“Only if you’re sure, Nola. It’s no trouble.”
I was already opening the app and requesting my ride. “See—there’s one just five minutes away, so all’s good.” I headed to the front of the house, Mimi correcting me only once as I tried to go the wrong way. I quickly picked up my backpack and stepped out onto the porch. I held up Beau’s umbrella. “Tell Beau I’ve got his umbrella and I’ll have it with me the next time I see him to give it back.”
A large black SUV slowed to a stop at the front gate, its headlights refracting through the thousands of raindrops falling from the sky. “Thank you so much for dinner, Mimi. And I hope Beau is feeling better tomorrow.”
“Anytime, Nola. I love to cook for guests, so I’m always looking for an excuse to have people over.” She shoved her hands inside deep pockets in the skirt of her dress. “Before I forget—here’s the name and contact info of the man who was interested in buying any Maison Blanche artifacts. Just in case you change your mind.”
I took the piece of notepaper and read the name—Michael Hebert—before sticking it in the back pocket of my jeans. “I won’t, but thanks.”
I took a step, then quickly turned back. “One more thing. Did Jeanne’s boyfriend or anyone else that hung around her or the house smoke a pipe?”
She thought for a moment. “Not that I can recall. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. Sometimes I think I can smell pipe tobacco.”
“How curious. Could be someone walking or driving by the house.”
There was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite read. “Probably,”I said. “Thanks again.” I opened Beau’s umbrella and stepped off the porch before running toward the SUV.
It wasn’t until I was climbing the steps of my apartment that I realized I didn’t have the bag with Mr.Bingle inside. I knew I hadn’t forgotten it. I had placed my backpack over it when I arrived, but when I picked up my backpack before leaving, it wasn’t there. It was inexplicably gone.
Before I had time to think about the implications, I heard the landline phone ringing upstairs. I ran up the steps to pick it up before Jolene could, which would have left me to explain one more thing I couldn’t understand.
CHAPTER 19
The following morning, I stumbled from my bedroom in search of coffee. I was still relatively new to the concept of needing caffeine first thing, but it was a habit I was happy to form. Mostly because it meant pairing it with freshly baked muffins or whatever concoction Jolene whipped up each morning.
Although it wasn’t yet seven o’clock, Jolene was already sitting at the dining table with her laptop open, a plate of lemon poppy-seed muffins sitting next to two steaming mugs of coffee. I had no idea what time she woke up, but no matter how early I emerged from my bedroom, she was up and fully dressed—including shoes and jewelry and makeup—with perfect hair. And her bed was made. I was beginning to think she actually never slept, which would explain so much.
