Page 83 of The Shop on Royal Street
I turned to where I’d thumbtacked the “potty and snack break” spreadsheet to the wall, and when I looked behind me to address why nothing had been marked down, Thibaut and Jorge were jogging up the stairs.
“Guys!” I said. “We need to talk about this.”
Thibaut had already disappeared upstairs as Jorge peered over the banister. He spoke in a barrage of Portuguese that might have been simply telling me that he didn’t speak English before shrugging and following Thibaut out of sight.
Michael laughed, taking my hand. “Come show me the house. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done.”
I led him into the dismantled kitchen. “Not a lot, as you can see. We’re trying to get some structural, plumbing, and electrical issues taken care of before we can do any actual renovation or reconstruction. It’s very frustrating, but I want to do this right.”
“I somehow knew that’s what you would say. I admire your patience. As much as I can love a building’s historic charm, when it comes to making a structure livable, I find myself sometimes leaning toward the quickest and least expensive.”
I paused to look up at him. “But you consider that a flaw, right?”
He hesitated only a moment. “Absolutely. One of my very few.” He grinned and opened the back door into the yard, where the bits and pieces of woodwork had been straightened since the intrusion the previous night.
“We think we might have had a break-in last night, but luckily nothing was stolen. I think they were looking for something in particular—maybe a spindle or something that might be a match for one in their own house. Who knows? I hate leaving all of this outside,but with all the work going on inside, I don’t want it lying around where it can get damaged.”
“A break-in, huh? But nothing was taken? Could have just been more curiosity than anything else. Did you file a police report?”
“No, since nothing was missing. I figure the police have better things to do.”
He leaned down to look at one of the mantelpieces that had been stripped of years of paint and lay naked under the tarp. He rubbed his hand over the smooth top, stroking it like a lover and doing funny things to my nerve endings. “This is beautiful. Really beautiful.” He straightened. “If you ever change your mind about keeping this house, let me know. I’ve got lots of buyers who’d love this kind of stuff in their new houses.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Sorry, but never.”
We went back inside, and as I locked the door I said, “We think someone has a key to this door, too, but since nothing’s been taken, we don’t know for sure. The lock is original to the house, so I guess it wouldn’t be unheard-of that someone who once lived here might have hung on to a key and wanted to take a look to see what was going on.”
Michael nodded, then headed toward the stairs. “Can I go up?”
“Sure. Just more naked rooms and unfinished cypress floors—and no, I’m not selling those, either. There’s one huge room I’m going to divide into two bedrooms, and a bathroom that has been completely gutted. Just count your blessings that you didn’t see it in its original state.”
He’d already climbed the stairs, stopping at the top. “What’s this?”
After throwing a furtive look in the corner where I’d seen Jeanne’s ghost, I stared ahead into the dark chasm of the doorless room. “It’s just a closet that was locked and nailed shut for some reason. We found a bunch of old clothes that Jolene has taken to a vintage clothing boutique to try to sell. We also found a bunch of hatboxes and a Mr.Bingle doll.”
“Wow—I remember Mr.Bingle! It’s probably a collector’s item if it’s old. What about the hatboxes?”
“Don’t know yet. I’m waiting to go through them when Jolene returns. I want to do it now, but she asked me to wait. We just stacked them in the front room at the apartment with the Maison Blanche doorso they’re not in the way. Which is good, because it allows me to forget about them and not peek.”
Michael stepped inside the closet and flipped on his phone light. “Any idea who would have sealed it up?”
“None. Neither Mimi nor Beau knew anything about it. Beau didn’t have a key and Mimi didn’t have any knowledge of its existence.”
Facing him, I said, “There was a murder here, you know. Back in the sixties. Mimi’s best friend, Jeanne Broussard, was strangled to death on the stairs. They never found out who did it. But it traumatized Mimi enough that even though she and her husband owned the property as a rental, she never set foot inside it.”
“Really? Do you remember the year?” He stood in the closet, his face in shadow, so I couldn’t read his expression. Or know if I’d only imagined the change in his voice.
“Nineteen sixty-four. Why?”
He flicked off his light and stepped back into the hallway. “I’m a fan of true crime. Can’t get enough of those shows and podcasts. I thought I might Google it later. Strange that it was sealed up like that if it only held old clothes and Mr.Bingle.”
“Agreed. We’ll just have to wait until Jolene gets back to see if there’s anything in the hatboxes, although judging by what we already found, I’m guessing nothing more than old hats.” I tugged on his arm. “Come on. I’m hungry. We can talk about our favorite true-crime shows, and I can tell you what I know about Jeanne.”
We said our good-byes and made our way down to the front steps. “Hang on,” I said. “I need to ask Thibaut something. Could you see if my bike will fit in your trunk? If not, I can leave it inside.”
I headed toward the stairs, aware suddenly of the change in temperature, of my breath condensing and rising toward the ceiling like expelled spirits. I could hear Jorge and Thibaut talking in Portuguese in the upstairs room, but they sounded very far away. I placed my foot on the bottom step but found my way blocked by an unseen force, an invisible wall that opposed any forward motion.
The scent of pipe tobacco filled my nostrils and my lungs, making me choke and cough. I tried one more time to move forward, but it was like pressing against a concrete wall.
