Page 13 of The Shop on Royal Street
Jaxson took a long drink of water. “He’s actually my great-uncle, but he was the baby of the family and he’s only sixteen years older than my dad. He never had any kids, so he was like an extra dad for my brothers and me. Anyway, Uncle Bernie was with the NOPD for almost forty years. Started as a beat cop and rose all the way to lieutenant before he retired. My family jokes that Uncle Bernie is the black sheep of the family. The whole family tree is overflowing with lawyers, judges, and politicians. I guess we needed a cop so that we couldn’t be accused of not knowing the difference between right and wrong.” He grinned and I could almost hear Jolene sigh.
Jaxson didn’t appear to notice. “Anyway, Uncle Bernie’s seen a lot over the years, so I figured he might know something about that old case. Unfortunately, a lot of evidence files for current and cold caseswere destroyed during Katrina. Luckily for us, Uncle Bernie has a steel trap for a memory. My brothers and I were on the wrong end of his memory many times when we were teenagers.” He grinned again, and this time Jolene’s sigh was audible.
“Uncle Bernie kept his own personal notes on every case he ever worked on. Drove my aunt Betty nuts. Almost got them divorced when she organized all of those pages of notes in filing cabinets as a surprise when Uncle Bernie and my dad were at their fishing camp for a week.
“Anyway, he remembers this case. He happened to be the neighborhood’s beat cop in 1964 and was the first officer on the scene. He says it shook him up, since the victim was so young—only twenty. He was about the same age at the time.”
“I texted you a photo of the article. Was he able to add anything?” Jolene asked.
“Quite a bit, actually. Jeanne’s parents called him regularly for a long time, up until he retired in the mid–two thousands.”
“That’s heartbreaking,” Jolene said.
Jaxson nodded. “It is. Anyway, his notes are a little sporadic. When Aunt Betty reorganized his files, she must have misfiled some things, because there’s some stuff missing, including his personal notes, which would have included his conversations with Jeanne’s parents. He said he’d keep looking, but he did have enough to fill in a bit of the information that was considered too gruesome for the newspapers back in the day. He said that the cause of death was manual strangulation—no ligature marks—and according to her cousin and roommate nothing was stolen, so burglary wasn’t a motive, and there were no obvious signs of rape. A clock was broken on the floor, apparently knocked off a table during the attack, but that’s it. And no sign of forced entry.”
“Sounds very personal,” Jolene said, reminding me she’d been a true-crime-television addict back when we were freshmen; apparently, she was still a fan.
“Exactly what he thought, too. His interview notes must be with the missing file, but he remembers canvassing the neighborhood. Hedoesn’t recall exactly—itwasa long time ago, despite what he says about his recall of events—but he said that he probably would have interviewed everyone she might have had any contact with, including customers at Maison Blanche. She worked in ladies’ lingerie and kept a clientele book—he’s positive about that. Uncle Bernie said that most of the sales associates did back in the day when department stores were known for their customer service. It made things easier for the investigation, but nothing came of that, either. And her boyfriend had a watertight alibi—he was in jail for being drunk and disorderly. Apparently, he went on a bender after he dropped Jeanne off at the house following their date—and there were a number of witnesses who saw that and watched him leave.”
“Her cousin, the roommate—Louise, I think. The one who found her. Did she also have an alibi?” I asked.
“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming so, since he didn’t mention her. Although...” He tapped his finger against his glass. “Uncle Bernie did mention that there was another girl, Jeanne’s best friend, who was planning on moving in to help with the rent. Her first name was Mary or Mignon or Margaret, he thinks, and there was something important about her, but he couldn’t recall—said he’d think on it some more. She never moved into the house, so that’s probably why she wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper accounts. He promised to let me know if it comes to him.”
Jaxson looked at his watch, a classic, old-fashioned type with a worn leather strap. I imagined it had been a gift from his grandfather or father. Or maybe his great-uncle. It said a lot about him and the importance he placed on family. I was sure Jolene had noticed it, too. “Ladies, this has been great, but I have to get back. I’ll let you know if Uncle Bernie finds out anything else. He’ll probably want to tell you in person. He loves meeting new people.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For all of this. Please keep me posted.”
“It was my pleasure. Nice meeting you. And great seeing you again, Jolene. Don’t be such a stranger. I miss seeing that flash of red hair at Carly’s parties.” He grinned again, and it was so attractive, evenIfeltlike sighing. “We gingers have to stick together, don’t we?” He patted her shoulder again and then, despite my protest, paid the tab and left.
As we walked back to the car Jolene was uncharacteristically silent, no doubt replaying Jaxson’s words over in her head and trying to read something into them that didn’t exist. As we climbed into the car, she said, “Did you know that less than two percent of the world’s population has natural red hair? And because it’s a recessive gene, they say that redheads will have been bred out of the population by 2060.”
It had been a long time since Jolene and I had spent any length of time together, so I was only beginning to remember her roundabout way of sharing what was on her mind. “Yes, you and Jaxson would make beautiful redheaded babies.”
“I know, right?” She sighed, pumping the gas pedal a couple of times with more force than necessary before turning the key in the ignition. I hoped she was remembering Jaxson’s platonic pats on her shoulder. “Maybe I should move to Ireland. Or Scotland.”
She pulled the car out, then forced me to suck in my breath as she drove down the narrow street, managing to get to the stop sign without removing any side-view mirrors.
Jolene’s phone erupted with what sounded like clacking from an old-fashioned typewriter. Without looking, she said, “Can you read that, please? It’s from Jaxson.”
“You have a separate sound for his texts?”
She blushed. “I do that for all of my important contacts. You have your own sound, too.”
“So what’s mine?”
“ ‘Summertime.’ Because your dogs are Porgy and Bess.”
I smiled as I picked up her phone and typed in the code she gave me. “It says...” My eyes skimmed the message, then went back over it to make sure I’d understood it correctly.
“What?”
I made the mistake of looking up as Jolene took a sharp turn, causing two pedestrians to jump off the sidewalk. I quickly glanced down again and read the message out loud this time.
Uncle Bernie called remembers Jeannes BFF was Mignon Guidry her married name is Ryan and she goes by Mimi you can ask her about it tonight at dinner LMK if you find out anything
Our stunned silence was interrupted by a large pothole that appeared through the heat shimmer of the asphalt in the middle of the road. The front right end of the car dipped as if swallowed by the street, and then it was spit back out with a thud and the familiarthump-thumpof a flat tire.
CHAPTER 6
