Page 7 of The Shop on Royal Street
Melanie shifted in her chair, but managed to remain silent.
“Yes to the first question. And definitely no to the second. Jaxson is a public defender, not a miracle worker. I haven’t known Beau for a long time, but he’s as stubborn as a mule. You only have to listen to a single episode of his podcast to know that. Maybe if we had a reason why he’s suddenly changed his mind, we would be able to work around it. But there have been dozens of people looking at the house since I’ve started working for JR Properties, and this is the first time I’ve heard him voice an objection.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s just you.” She blinked her eyes a few times as if waiting for me to tell her more.
Melanie cleared her throat and sent me a sidelong glance. “I think Beau is concerned about Nola’s safety.” She squeezed my hand in warning. “We’ve known Beau for years and really consider him one of the family.”
I stared at her. “Seriously? Because...” Melanie squeezed my hand harder, forcing me to close my mouth.
Melanie continued. “Nola has always been a bit... accident-prone, and Beau has been in the position more than once to help out before any harm could come to her. He probably sees the house as a hazard zone for Nola. And I’m not completely disagreeing. Maybe it would be best if we call the real estate agent back—was it Ali?—to show us more houses.”
I stood, my chair scraping the floor as it slid backward. “No. I’ve been searching for the perfect house, and I’ve found it. I’m a grown woman with renovation skills and my own tool belt. Whatever dangers you and Beau are imagining”—I gave Melanie a warning look—“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter that someone was murdered in the house. I’m curious, sure, but that was a long time ago, and has nothing to do with me. Whoever committed the crime back in 1964 is more than likely dead or too old to cause me any harm anyway.”
“Even though the house could hold bad memories?” Jolene’s flawless forehead creased with worry.
“Whether there are bad memories, lost spirits, or a voodoo spell, I’m not sensitive to any of it. I love that house and I need to find a way to make it mine. I feel like I’ve been offered a box of doughnuts and then had the lid slammed shut on my hand right before I could take one.” At Melanie’s confused look, I amended: “I meant a box of tofu bars. Or vegan cupcakes. Either way, the feeling’s the same.”
“Not really,” Melanie muttered.
Jolene carefully closed her laptop. “It’s a shame the house isn’t more move-in ready. I was going to beg you to rent me one of the upstairs bedrooms. My lease on the house I share with three friends on Willow Street is up at the end of the month and I need to find someplace new. You and I were roommates for a full year and I thought we made a good team. And if we can convince Beau to change his mind, we would be working together, which could be really convenient if we also lived together. I have a car,” she added, as if she needed to sweeten the deal.“Not that it matters. Nobody’s going to be living there for some time. Unless they’re a termite.”
I’d sat back down at the table, my chin in my hands as my fingers tapped a rhythm on my cheeks as I thought. I stared at the old-fashioned pink princess telephone that had been left in the apartment despite the fact that there was no landline anymore. The cord lay coiled behind the desk, the empty wall jack staring out at the room with one-eyed wonder at this strange new world that had rendered it obsolete.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve got three bedrooms here. Besides mine, I’m using the back one as an office and music room, but the middle one is empty. We’re on fraternity row, so it can get noisy; the fuses blow if more than one hair dryer is turned on at the same time; and the three bedrooms downstairs are rented to three undergrads, so the parking situation with the single driveway can get dicey. But the rent’s pretty low and it’s an easy commute to pretty much anywhere, which kind of makes up for all of that. I’ve been looking for a roommate, but if you’d like it...”
“Yippee!” Jolene said, clapping her hands with perfectly straight fingers, just like the cheerleader she’d once been. “I had a feeling when I woke up this morning that it was going to be a great day, and it felt like fate when I bumped into you at the house. Beau would have something to say about how everything can be explained, but I for one would like to think that there is a wizard behind the curtain.”
I grinned at herWizard of Ozcomment, recalling her fascination with the movie and remembering that she’d owned a pair of red sparkly pumps and had hung over her dorm bed a poster showing the yellow brick road with the words “There’s no place like home.”
Melanie stood and glanced at her Apple Watch and then at her phone. My dad and I had explained dozens of times that they would always be in sync, but—being Melanie—she always had to double-check that she had the right time. “I have to leave for the airport in about fifteen minutes, and I still need to finish packing and call an Uber.” She gave me a worried smile. “I’m glad that at least the roommate situation is settled. I just wish...” Melanie stopped, as ifremembering her promise, but then barreled on anyway. “I think you should look at more houses, Nola. I’d stay if I could, but I can’t miss JJ and Sarah’s piano recital, especially without Jack being there. I’d hoped we’d have found the right place by now—”
“I have,” I interrupted her. “I know you have reservations. And I understand why. But I don’t. I see so much of myself in that house. We need each other.”
Melanie’s eyes moistened, and I blinked rapidly because she was going to make me cry. She hugged me tightly. “You are so strong, Nola. Your father and I are prouder of you than we can ever say.” She pulled away and held me at arm’s length. “I’m going to trust you to make your own decisions, because you’ve earned it. Even if it kills me. I’m reassured that you use spreadsheets, because that’s sort of like me leaning over your shoulder.” She dropped her hands, tugging at the two charm bracelets I wore. They each had a four-leaf clover, and had been given to me by Melanie and Jack when I was in high school. I never took them off. “Keep wearing these, okay?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Well, then, I’d better finish packing.” Melanie hesitated, her worried eyes searching mine, before turning and heading toward her room.
“Hmm.”
I turned toward the sound. Jolene still sat at the table, her hands folded neatly on top of her laptop, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted. Even though it had been almost ten years since we’d spent any time together, I still knew what she was about to say. “Chickens pecking at your brain again?”
“You remembered.” Jolene sounded surprised.
“It’s pretty memorable. I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone else who uses that expression.”
She smiled as if I’d just given her a giant compliment. “Well, those chickens have been busy, because I think I’ve figured out how we can work around Beau.”
I liked the way she said “we,” and I especially liked how she believed that Beau wasn’t an unsurmountable brick wall.
I joined Jolene at the table. “And?”
“There’s only one person you need to speak with who can change Beau’s mind. His grandmother Mimi.”
I recalled what little I’d heard about her, from both Beau and one of his ex-girlfriends whom I knew in Charleston. Assuming nothing had changed in the intervening years, Mimi Ryan lived in an old house in the Garden District, where she’d raised Beau after his parents disappeared during Hurricane Katrina. There was something odd about the house, but I couldn’t remember what. But all old houses were odd in some way. They were stuffed with too many years of accumulated stories of the people who’d once lived in them to appear normal. Like a scuffed and cracked, well-worn pair of shoes that was more beautiful than when it was new, if only because the shoes showed where they’d been.
I remembered, too, that Beau’s grandmother owned an antiques shop in the French Quarter. A wedge of unease lodged in the back of my brain. Something to do with a locked door in her Garden District home and with her unusual collections. And a story of a missing sister. Not that any of that mattered. If I had to put on heels and play nice to get Mimi Ryan to like me and side against her grandson in this ridiculous fight, I would. Mimi was a grandmother. I had two grandmothers who adored me. How hard could it be?
Melanie reappeared, rolling her oversized suitcase across the hardwood floor. I cringed, hoping she wasn’t making grooves with the wheels. I’d never seen her pack lightly, even for an overnight trip. I never asked, but I’d always assumed she needed the extra space for her spreadsheets and shoes. I stood. “Ready?”
