Page 95 of The Shop on Royal Street
“I wonder if Mimi knew,” I said.
I flipped through the rest of the pages, hoping to find something else that might explain why this book and its assortment of contents had been locked in the closet in my house. I held the covers open like a bird in flight and shook it. As if wishing could actually make things happen, a single strip of negative from a 35-millimeter camera fluttered to the ground like a feather along with a delicate hair ribbon, baby-fine blond hair still stuck in its knot.
“Hang on,” Jolene said, jumping up from the couch and racing to her room. She returned a second later with a small square machine with a screen on the top. “It’s one of those old slide viewers. My granddaddy used it for his stamp collection and I asked for it when he died. Not because I have a stamp collection, but I thought it would be helpful for showing me if something was navy or black.”
I handed her the negative and she placed it on the coffee table. She flipped on a little switch on the side to turn on the light, then held the machine over the strip. We both looked into the screen, the negative below it blown up to viewable proportions. The first two pictures showed different shots of someone’s garden, of a pretty stone fountain surrounded by gladiolas and coneflowers. The next picture was blurred, as if the camera had moved while taking the photo. But the last picture, steady and clear, showed a black Mercedes pulled up at the curb, the Ryans’ house visible behind it. A well-dressed woman was shown lifting a fair-haired little girl into the backseat of the car. It was almost as if the photographer had been distracted by what was happening across the street when they snapped the picture.
“Oh, my gosh,” I said. “Christopher told me that the only witness to Sunny’s disappearance was the neighbor. All she could remember was that Sunny was taken in a black car with Louisiana plates.” I met Jolene’s eyes. “She couldn’t recall anything else.”
“Then who took these photos, and how did they get in the closet with the rest of this stuff? It’s almost as if they’re all together here because someone is trying to show a connection between Jeanne’s death, Dr.Ryan, and Sunny’s disappearance.”
“Synchronicity,” I said, absently stroking the yellow hair ribbon.
We both jumped at the sound of the doorbell, which started Mardi barking, as if to make sure we’d heard it.
I looked at the ancient digital clock on top of a bookshelf—another remnant from previous occupants. “It’s after ten o’clock. Who would be coming by this late?”
We glanced at each other, quickly narrowing down the list to three people, then ran toward the now-empty—except for the Maison Blanche door—front room and peered out through the louvered window, immediately spotting a familiar truck parked behind Bubba.
“It’s Beau,” I said, feeling a stab of apprehension. “I’ll answer it.”
“But look what you’re wearing! And you need to go put some color on first.”
“I think that’s the least of my worries right now.” I grabbed my phone and backpack, shoving in the contents of the hatbox, including the negative and hair ribbon, and headed toward the stairs. “Please stay here with Mardi. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Beau and I have an errand to run.”
“Please text me to let me know what’s going on!”
I waved my hand in the air to let her know I’d heard her, then began to carefully descend the stairs, clutching tightly to the banister since I still wore the fuzzy socks. I flung open the door just as Beau was reaching a finger out to press the doorbell again. He held a familiar Rouses shopping bag as he scanned me from head to toe and then back again. His lips twitched as he tried not to smile. “Did you get dressed up just for me?”
An odd feeling of relief washed over me as I looked at his familiar face, at his almost-smile, and focused on the fact that he had come because I’d asked him to. Regardless of everything else in my life, he was like the stone to hold on to in the middle of a strong current. Not that I would ever admit to actually thinking that, but there it was.
I looked at the bag. “Is that Mr.Bingle?”
“Yes. You said you wanted it back. And Jolene’s shoes are in there, too. You left them at the sculpture garden last—”
I took the bag and put it inside the door before stepping outside and locking it. “Thank you.” I could almost feel Melanie and Jolene prodding me in the back. “I really appreciate you bringing them, and coming by tonight.”
He leaned close enough to sniff my breath. “Are you all right?”
I pulled back. “I’m fine. And the only thing you might smell on my breath is marshmallows and pizza.” I began walking toward his truck. “Come on—let’s go.”
He didn’t move. “Where are we going?”
At least he’d saidwe.
“To your house. We need to have a talk with Mimi.”
CHAPTER 30
Beau and I drove down St. Charles Avenue, the street mostly deserted due to the late hour. I avoided looking toward the entrance to Audubon Place as we passed it. I had no idea how Michael was connected to any of this, but his disappearance proved that he was.
I thought about how my dad wrote his books, how he’d place all the questions on pieces of paper and pin them on a bulletin board, moving them around like pieces of a puzzle until everything fit. That’s what I was doing now, gathering the pieces in an attempt to put them together. Except I had no idea where the missing pieces were or how they were supposed to fit. The only thing I knew for sure was that Mimi Ryan knew a lot more than she had been willing to tell me.
“So, what’s so urgent that we need to speak to Mimi now instead of waiting until tomorrow?” Beau asked.
“Did Mimi ever mention to you that your grandfather might have been having an affair with Jeanne?”
His head jerked toward me. “What?”
