by G A Chase
The woman’s eyes were so dark he couldn’t differentiate the pupils from the irises. “I won’t be answering them.”
Kendell took the woman’s hands and turned to Myles. “It’s okay. Let’s just let her do her thing.”
Madam de Galpion took one of Kendell’s hands and rubbed it between her own. She then lifted it to her nose and took a deep breath. The ritual was repeated three more times before she spoke again in her smoky lounge-singer voice. “Let me see the pipe tool.”
Kendell pulled the golden cylinder from her coat pocket and set it on the desk. The woman barely looked at it. She pulled a small brown-glass jar from a drawer of the desk, drew some liquid from it with an eyedropper, and applied three drops to the tool. Then, as with Kendell’s hand, she rubbed the tool between her hands and sniffed at the results.
“Can you at least tell us what you’re doing?” As near as Myles could tell, the whole show should have been put on in Jackson Square where the tourists could chip in some money. The woman had a remarkable way of building emotional tension.
She placed the pipe tool into a burn depression on the table and rubbed her fingers together. “Smell is the least studied of our senses. Eyesight can be measured and compensated for with glasses or augmented with magnifying lenses. The same can be said for hearing. Even taste is better understood than smell. And yet, for some people, a simple whiff of wildflowers can unlock their earliest childhood memories. No other sense has the power to reveal like smell.”
“That’s not really an answer.” Myles didn’t want to make the woman cross, but so far, neither she nor the professor had been very forthcoming.
She looked at him and frowned. “You are an impatient person, mon cher. I’m only just beginning my olfactory investigation. Like my friend Cornelius and his investigation on people’s energy, I find odor can be a defining characteristic. The fragrances I create mix with a person’s body chemistry to form a unique scent. My investigation tonight will help me identify how Miss Summer and this odd little tool share a unique historical bond. Now if you don’t mind, I have a number of tests to perform, and talking distracts my nose from its mission.”
Myles stood silently in the doorframe as the small room filled with a cornucopia of fragrances. Just when he felt sure he was about to pass out from the overload of smells, Madam de Galpion activated a ventilation fan to cleanse the air. His relief lasted only until she began again with a new series of scents. By the end of the hour, his sinuses were burning from the odorous potions.
She lit an incense stick and placed it in a hole in the desk. Holding the pipe tool in her long slender fingers, she turned it above the rising veil of smoke. “Have you identified the inscription?”
Kendell relayed what they’d learned of the tool’s history but stuck to the facts relayed by Mr. Boudreaux and the antique store, leaving out any mention of the deaths or suspected curse.
Madam de Galpion returned the pipe tool to Kendell. “This item is safe in your possession. The same is not true for all descendants of the Malveaux family. It’s tasted of their blood recently. I’d recommend keeping it away from anyone of that lineage. You will know who they are.”
“How will I know?”
The mysterious woman tapped her blouse. “You will feel their presence like a weight on your heart.”
Kendell stared at the pipe tool. “What is my connection?”
“In a magnet, the positive is attracted to the negative. Energy moves between the two poles. No object or person is fully good or evil. We’re all a mixture of both. Your being is the complement to the pipe tool’s energy, ma chère. That is why Cornelius’s equipment read the two of you as a smooth wave. From the scents I generated, I can confirm a shared past, but what that means, I cannot say.”
Professor Yates, who had remained quietly in the corner for the entire procedure, spoke up. “It isn’t for us to define your destinies. I wouldn’t even presume to make a recommendation. But know that there is help available should you wish it. For now, that’s the best we can offer.”
Myles escorted Kendell out of the shop and into the cool night air. The sounds of Bourbon Street and the competing live bands that occupied every establishment beckoned them away from the mysterious and back toward the nightlife he knew so well. “Do you get the impression every person we meet knows more than they’re saying?”
She snuggled close to his side. He suspected she was looking more for support than warmth. “I think they don’t know. If I were to guess, I’d say Cornelius Yates and Madam de Galpion are busy comparing notes as we speak. Research takes time.”
Though he knew she was right, being in the middle of a murder mystery didn’t inspire patience.
13
The sight of Cheesecake basking on the sunlit wood floor warmed Kendell’s heart. She hated rousing her dog from her favorite hangout. The only two things that always made her spring to her feet were the offering of a snack or the prospect of a walk. Even so, as Kendell connected the leather leash to the dog’s collar, Cheesecake only lifted her head as if to ask, “Do we have to?”
Kendell jiggled the leash to shake her dog’s tags. “Come on, girl. We’re going to go have lunch with Myles.”
Cheesecake stood and performed a couple of her dog imitations of yoga stretches. Kendell had never been much into yoga, but then, she’d yet to find a studio that catered to both dogs and their human companions. One final shake, and the elderly Lhasa was good to go.
Kendell smiled down at her dog as they walked along Decatur Street. She considered dogs to be universal ambassadors of goodwill, and Cheesecake was a credit to her species. Even the gruffest business owner would brighten and give a playful salutation on seeing the small, shaggy dog with attitude. Each greeting made the old dog walk with just a touch more swagger. This was her street. The gutter punks might take shelter in the entrances of closed establishments, but even their scraggly mutts acknowledged the regal grande dame. Not one of the young pups would be so impertinent as to yip or bark as she passed.
By the time Kendell and Cheesecake made it to the small outdoor café, the dog was back to her commanding self. On seeing Myles, she even gave a lurch of the leash to move Kendell along a bit faster.
Myles, like any intelligent man with good taste when it came to women and their dogs, gave Cheesecake a warm greeting and pat on the head before turning to Kendell. “How’s your girl doing today?”
Kendell playfully ruffled the dog’s ears. “She’s doing better. Now that I’m convinced that pipe tool really is cursed, I’ve been more concerned about its effects on her. As bad as that night hunting down her abductors was, it would have been far worse if I’d known what she was experiencing. Swallowing a cursed item can’t be healthy.”
“From the noises she made, I’d guess the perpetrators were the ones most in danger.”
Once they’d taken their seats, Cheesecake curled up against Kendell’s leg. “Marching in the Krewe of Barkus helped, but it’s been an exhausting two months for her. I still can’t fall asleep until I’ve triple checked the doors and windows. It helps knowing you’re only a tap of my phone away.” She wanted to thank him again for all he’d done, but after the first dozen attempts, she realized the correct words just didn’t exist.
“You’re more than a friend, Kendell. And that goes for your dog too. Now what’s our next move? Until we figure out who stole the tool from us in the first place and murdered Marilyn, neither one of us is going to get any peace. I assume you’re still committed to conducting our own investigation without help.”
She pulled out the pipe tool and laid it on the table as if it too should be a part of the conversation. “The police won’t help. Lieutenant Cazenave seemed very reputable. He could have bullshitted us with some story about looking into our suspicion then put the tool in a box never to be seen again. Even if we do find evidence of wrongdoing, it’ll have to be pretty convincing for him to risk further ridicule from his department. And though what Professor Yates and Madam de Galpion to
ld us was comforting in a confirmation kind of way, I’m not sure I trust either of them when it comes to an actual investigation.”
Myles gave the waitress their orders. He included an appetizer of cheese sticks for Cheesecake. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a change of heart. No one would blame you. So we need to figure out why Marilyn was murdered and who did it. I feel like we’re a little short on suspects.”
Kendell leaned back in the outdoor metal chair and sipped at her sweet iced tea. “Whoever’s behind it knows more about the curse than we do. That’s saying something as the only person who knew anything is Samantha. And I don’t think she had anything to do with it or she wouldn’t have been on the float. I wish we could get a look at that diary she mentioned. You don’t suppose Anthony, or Antoine, kept writing after the war?”
“I’m not that up on my Civil War history. I seem to recall some documentary saying soldiers often kept journals, but I’m not sure about the general population.”
She petted Cheesecake with her foot. “From what we know, Antoine Malveaux sounded like a sensitive young man who was close to his sister and held his father in contempt. To me, he sounds like the kind of person who would keep his thoughts and emotions to himself. We know he could write. Let’s say there is another journal out there. Who might own it?”
“I’d guess a family member. If he did write about the family being cursed, it’s not the kind of information his descendants would want to be made public. So I wouldn’t think someone would have bought the diary like we did the pipe tool. They would have inherited it.”
Kendell tried to keep her excitement in check. She felt the familiar rush she’d had in college when her brainstorming with other students started to gel into ideas. “Remember what Samantha said? The curse would be aimed at the direct legitimate descendants of the baron. From what we know, he only had the two children, and Serephine committed suicide. So Antoine and Anthony have to be the same person. And that would mean Marilyn’s killer was someone from her family.”
Myles picked up the tool and turned it in the afternoon light. “After over a hundred and fifty years, it could still be a distant cousin, aunt, or uncle. And that person would be in as much danger from the tool as she was.”
“So they hired someone to steal it and put it in with her costume. That’s the guy we need to find. We know he works for Float World.”
Myles broke off a piece of French bread and passed it down to Cheesecake. “Didn’t Mr. Boudreaux say his son-in-law drove a limousine?”
“Yeah, so?”
“He’d need a chauffeur’s license for that, wouldn’t he—the kind for driving tractors during Mardi Gras?”
Kendell didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the pieces seemed to be lining up. “Mr. Boudreaux also said his son-in-law showed an unusual interest in the business receipts. From his description, I got the impression the guy might take whatever work he could find even if it wasn’t legal.”
“I’m not crazy about confronting the thug who stole your dog. That gun isn’t something I’m going to forget anytime soon.”
Kendell’s eyes moistened at the memory. “You did a pretty amazing job of disarming him.”
His blushing never failed to give her butterflies. “I’m not sure showing up with a Frisbee is the way to go, but I don’t think he saw me. If I were to go to Float World during working hours and ask for him, his reactions might tell us a lot.”
She knew the person who abducted Cheesecake would recognize her immediately. And she hadn’t noticed anything that would be useful in identifying the thug. Myles was right—it made more sense for him to go alone. But that wasn’t the way they worked. “I’m going with you. Don’t even try to argue me out of it.”
* * *
A knot formed in Myles’s stomach at the idea of taking Kendell to Float World. He didn’t really even want to go himself. But avoiding places that made him uncomfortable could become a bad habit. To follow that path would inevitably make him a recluse. The more he learned to read energy, the more he had to face his fears of being overwhelmed by everything around him. And though each danger they faced together instilled a greater need to protect her, he had to respect her desire to also face her demons.
He kept his hand around her waist as they walked through the warehouse. Even in the light of day with people present, the memories of that night kept him on edge.
“We’re looking for one of your tractor drivers, Link Le Rouge.”
The overweight guard who manned the small office at the back could easily have been the model for the leading sculpture on the Bacchus float. He put down his sandwich and picked up one of the walkie-talkies that lined the back wall. “Someone’s looking for you.” He then pointed toward the open back gate, which was so large a small airplane would fit through it. “He’ll meet you out by the picnic tables.”
Kendell kept close to his side as they exited the warehouse. “You still think he’s just going to tell us everything he knows?”
“I’m counting on Mr. Boudreaux being a good judge of character. He might not respect his son-in-law, but nothing about what he said led me to believe Link was all that dangerous. He sounded more like an opportunist.”
She lifted her shoulders and rubbed her arms. “Maybe so, but this place gives me the creeps. At least one of those two guys had a gun that night.”
He had run through the events of Cheesecake’s abduction so many times he thought he could recount every word, every action, and every fear. The person who broke into Kendell’s apartment would have been the taller and thinner of the two men. He needed to be agile enough to sneak through the window and escape down the extendable metal ladder and strong enough to do so with a twenty-pound angry dog under his arm. He was also the one forced to pick up the dog poop. That left the second man as the one with the gun. But which of the two was Link?
The lumbering blue tractor shook the cement pad as the gangly operator in overalls drove it unnervingly close to the wooden benches. “Looking for me?” His eyes darted from Kendell to Myles.
Myles didn’t see any reason to beat about the bush. “We know Mr. Boudreaux. And I can see by the way you just looked at Kendell that you recognize her. Before this gets ugly, we thought you might have something to say about what went on here a couple of months ago.”
To his relief, Link jumped down from the tractor instead of firing it back up for some demented chase through the busy warehouse. “I have to hand it to you. After a month, I thought you’d given up on finding me. The fact that it’s you two and not the cops means there’s some haggling to be done.”
Myles breathed a little easier. “No one was hurt that night. We didn’t see much need to include the police. We’d like to keep it that way. Mr. Boudreaux is a sweet old man. I’d hate for him to suffer the heartbreak of finding out his daughter married a thief. We’re just looking for information. What’s your connection to the Malveaux object?”
Link rested his sinewy forearms on the weathered table. “Being a limo driver doesn’t pay very well. I pick up as many odd jobs as I can find, but Magdalena has expensive tastes. I suppose I should have known marrying a jeweler’s daughter wouldn’t make for a frugal lifestyle. In desperation, I turned to the dark side of the Internet. There are forums where people list items they want stolen. Usually, these people are just looking to have their possessions returned from an ex-lover after a nasty breakup. On the forum, they’re expected to list the value of the piece so those of us taking the job will know what to expect. I keep to items below five hundred dollars so if I’m caught, it’s just considered petty theft. As you can imagine, those gigs don’t pay much.”
Kendell hugged her jacket close. “Someone put out a request to have my apartment broken into and the pipe tool stolen?”
The man smelled of diesel, which made Myles slightly nauseous. “No, this post had been up for a while. It was considered the holy grail of requests. The job offered to pay five thousand dollars for any object disp
laying a calligraphy M with skulls. The pieces weren’t described, but they were all assured to be small and inexpensive enough to qualify as petty theft. Every burglar in New Orleans has been keeping an eye out for such a piece for months. I usually work alone. But with this much money at stake, and having little time to break into your apartment before word got out about the piece, I enlisted the help of a friend. You don’t have to worry about him. I’m the brains. He was just the muscle.”
Myles’s opinion of the man wasn’t improving. Mr. Boudreaux seemed like a nice old man who was being used. “And you just happened to know that your father-in-law’s forefather had made those items?”
“They came from Henri’s shop? That’s news to me. I keep an eye on the old man because people often bring in antique jewelry in need of repairs. Henri is one of the few artisans willing to take on such work. He also appraises a lot of stuff. If a person is so vindictive they keep a former lover’s jewelry out of spite, they often end up wondering what it’s worth.”
Myles could see how such a contact would be useful for a petty thief, but that didn’t explain Link’s interest in the jeweler’s search through the old receipts. “If you didn’t know that the Malveaux items came from your father-in-law’s shop, why were you so curious about his activities?”
“The old fool drew the M on the piece of paper with your address, didn’t he? I knew I was onto something the instant I saw the scribble. I couldn’t believe my good luck. The holy grail just fell into my lap.”
Kendell put her hand on Myles’s leg under the picnic bench. Not that he needed the warning. The last thing she’d want was to relive this man’s kidnapping of her dog. “Once you had the pipe tool, why did you put it in with the Mardi Gras outfit?”
The man sneered in condescension. “You don’t know much about crime, do you? The person commissioning the job never wants to meet in person. There’s always some drop location or a middleman who doesn’t know what’s going on. I figured putting the tool in with the costume was just a means of transfer. When I heard about the accident, I could have screamed. I thought for sure that meant I’d never see a cent of that five grand. Boy, was I surprised when a bag of hundred-dollar bills showed up in my locker here at work. And it wasn’t just the five Gs. They threw in an additional thousand. Six grand—that’s a lot of driving drunk assholes around the tight streets of the Quarter in that damn stretch limo.”
