Page 78 of The Shop on Royal Street
“No. She didn’t say anything.”
I rolled my eyes again just because I could. And because it was clear I was speaking with a man, because “didn’t say anything” could have a thousand meanings if being translated by a female. “So I’m guessing you didn’t call to ask me about Jolene.”
He cleared his throat. “No, actually. I’m calling for Uncle Bernie. We’re finishing up our breakfast at the Camellia Grill and were hoping you might be willing to meet us in about half an hour. I can drop you off at work afterwards so you won’t be late.”
“Uh, sure. I can do that.” I was disappointed that they hadn’t invited me for breakfast, too, since I suddenly had a craving for the iconic Camellia Grill’s chili cheese omelet. But it did explain the noises in thebackground. “I just need to throw on some clothes, and if I jog, I can be there in time.”
“Actually, we were hoping you could meet us on campus, which is a lot closer to you. That way we can talk in privacy.” The word “privacy” piqued my interest. The Camellia Grill had all communal counter seating, which could have been why they decided it wasn’t a good meeting spot.
“Sure. Any specific spot in mind?”
“Are you familiar with the paved terrace on the academic quad behind Gibson? There are lots of benches where we can sit and talk.”
“I know it well,” I said. During my freshman year, I’d often fallen asleep on one of the benches nestled beneath the sweeping oak trees, as it was an obvious spot to stop between classes, especially if I had a hangover. And sometimes it was a good spot to unobtrusively take a sip from whatever I carried in my backpack that day. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“Just one thing, Nola. If you talk to Beau, don’t mention our meeting.”
He’d hung up before I could ask why.
•••
The campus bustled with students on foot and on bike, reminding me of the excitement and anticipation that I’d felt as a student here. And all that I’d missed. I quickly pushed away that last thought, reminding myself that my missteps had led me to where I was in my life now, which wasn’t such a bad place to be at all.
By the time I’d made it to Gibson Hall, the in-between-classes crowd had thinned, making it easy to spot Uncle Bernie and Jaxson on one of the pretty metal benches placed in front of a bed of red and purple flowering plants. I remembered my eighteen-year-old self reading the plaque about the student to whom the terrace and gardens were dedicated, a beloved daughter whose favorite colors were red and purple and whose name was Leigh.
Jaxson stood, and I quickly approached Uncle Bernie so he wouldn’t have to pull himself up with his cane. Instead, I kissed him on hischeek in greeting and sat down on the adjacent bench while Jaxson reseated himself next to his uncle. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” I asked. The two banana nut muffins had been delicious but probably not as filling as an omelet would have been.
“We certainly did, young lady. I should have brought you some coffee to go, because you look tired.”
I wondered if he might have been referring to the smeared mascara under my eyes. Just as I’d feared, I’d passed out on my bed wearing full makeup that by morning was equally distributed between my pillowcase and my face, but not in its original locations. Not having the time to search through Jolene’s arsenal of skin-care bottles for makeup remover, I’d simply used a washcloth and soap to scrub my face, but with minimal results. I’m sure there was some sort of beauty-school-dropout purgatory Jolene would send me to when she found out. Despite my best efforts, I knew I resembled a cross between an Andy Warhol painting of a clown and Edvard Munch’sThe Scream.
“I’m fine. I had a cup before I left. So,” I said, putting my hands on my knees and leaning forward. “What’s this James Bond secrecy all about?” I said it lightly, but from the expressions on their faces it was clear that whatever they had to tell me was serious stuff.
Bernie flexed his thick fingers on top of his cane. “When we saw each other last, I mentioned that every Wednesday is poker night with my buddies I knew when we were on the force.”
“Yes. And you were going to find out if any of them remembered Jeanne’s case. And Sunny’s.”
He and Jaxson exchanged a glance before he turned back to me. “One thing at a time. Regarding Jeanne’s case, we were able to locate Angelo Benedetti—her boyfriend at the time of her death. He moved to Biloxi within a year following the murder, and has owned and operated a popular Italian restaurant since the sixties. He married and had three sons and they all work at the restaurant.”
“Did he have anything to say about Jeanne?”
“Yes, he did. Said he was still pretty heartbroken even though he’s been married to his wife for about fifty years now.”
“Did you ask him about the pregnancy?”
“I did. He called me a liar. If we’d both been younger men, I think he might have given me a face-planter.”
“I’m guessing that means he and Jeanne...” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it with someone from his generation.
“Never had sex,” he finished for me. “He swore that the two of them were saving themselves for marriage and that he was a virgin on his own wedding night.”
“And you believed him?”
“I did. And what could possibly be the reason for him to lie now? We already know that he had a rock-solid alibi for that night, and now we know that his murdered girlfriend had a pregnancy that he apparently had nothing to do with.”
“Which leads us to unknown person number three.”
“Have you gone through the hatboxes from the closet yet?” Jaxson asked. “It’s probably a long shot, but who knows?”
