Kevin had explained the rest of the story as we ate, saying that neither my dad nor Mr. Naquin had been able to turn up any information at all about the origin of the statuettes. Of course, they hadn’t exactly been experts at historical research, and there was no Internet back then to make it easier. Finally, Ruben had offered to do the research on their behalf, but at a price. If he was able to find proof that the treasure was free and clear, he wanted a share of the profits. His offer seemed fair, so the three men signed a contract to that effect. Because Ruben was just starting out in a law firm and didn’t have much spare time, progress was slow. Eventually, the whole thing turned into a hobby for him, one that he did on the side whenever he could.
Ruben kept at it, telling the others to be patient, but eventually my father reached the point where he wanted to melt down the rest of the treasure—or at least his half. There were fifty-five statuettes left, and gold was still hovering around forty dollars an ounce, so his share, melted down, would have given him a little more than a hundred thousand dollars. He was an accomplished chef by that point and eager to create a first-class restaurant, one that could compete with the likes of Antoine’s and Broussard’s and Galatoire’s and the rest. In the late sixties, that much money would have allowed him to buy the building he had in mind, renovate it, and cover all operating costs in those first crucial months until the restaurant began turning a profit. Most men in that position would have taken on partners, but my father wasn’t interested in giving anyone else a say in how he did things. This was to be Julian Ledet’s baby from start to finish. He needed the treasure to make that happen.
Ruben, on the other hand, was convinced that the treasure was worth at least three times that much intact, so he came up with a clever alternative. They could handpick several wealthy investors, ones who knew how to keep their mouths shut. Julian would tell them about the treasure, describe the conundrum they were still in about trying to find its true origins, and offer his share as collateral. If the restaurant was a success, they would get back their initial investment plus a healthy rate of interest. If the restaurant failed, they would get the value of their initial investment paid back in gold statuettes. At that point, it would be up to each investor whether he wanted to melt down his share and sell it for the going rate or hang onto it until the research was complete and the statuettes’ true value could be determined.
Except for the statuettes, that part of the story fit in with what I knew about how Ledet’s got started. My impression had always been that my father owned the restaurant free and clear but that a few well-heeled friends had helped him to get it going—and that he had done so well so fast that he had been able to pay them all back in full within three years. One of the investors, Conrad Zahn, was involved in local politics, and he had also been pivotal in helping my father navigate through the complicated red tape of renovating the historical structure that would house the restaurant.
“Okay, I think I have a pretty good understanding of what went on back then. What happened with the treasure?”
Kevin dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and then spoke.
“Ledet’s was a huge success, so the investors got their money back plus interest, and your dad’s share of the treasure remained intact. Unfortunately, in the meantime my father’s research turned up at least one tie between the statuettes and the French crown. It wasn’t enough to prove that the treasure belonged back in France, but it definitely gave them reason to keep it quiet a bit longer. Time passed, and your father’s restaurant did so well that he was no longer hurting for money. Naquin, on the other hand, was getting up in years and was tired of waiting for the treasure’s big payoff. He tried to convince your father that it was time to make a decision once and for all.”
“What was the problem?”
“They couldn’t agree on how to get that payoff. All along, your father maintained that the smartest move was to melt down the gold and sell it as ingots, saying a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. Naquin, however, couldn’t stand the thought of destroying what might be an important historical find, especially given that it would be worth far more money intact. He wanted to take the treasure public and try to sell it, even with the risk that a foreign government might swoop in and take it all away and leave them with nothing. Given how much time had already passed since they first found the treasure, it seemed to Naquin it was a chance worth taking.”
“I have to agree with him.”
“Yes, well, your father didn’t. The two men argued about it for years but never reached a solution. They finally had a parting of ways last year. Gold was selling at almost eight hundred and seventy dollars an ounce at that point, so the gold alone was now worth more than four and a half million dollars. I can’t even imagine the value of the treasure intact. Twice that much? Three times? Ten times? Regardless, your father wouldn’t budge. Naquin had had enough and cut all ties.”
“How sad, that such good friends would allow money to destroy a relationship.”
“I know. Adding fuel to the fire was the fact that your father was just about to buy Paradise from Naquin when they had their big blowup over the treasure. In retaliation Naquin canceled the sale on the land. Even though his family doesn’t even want Paradise anymore, Naquin stubbornly hangs onto it. To be honest, I think the only reason he still lets your father go down there is just to torment him by hanging it over his head like that. That land is Naquin’s biggest weapon in their fight over the treasure.”
“Sounds like two stubborn old men, both digging in their heels,” I said. I was still trying to wrap my head around all that I had learned. “So now that I understand the situation with the treasure, go back to what you were saying earlier. What was the deal clincher my father told you this morning, the one that would finally make Naquin willing to sell him the land?”
“Believe it or not, your dad decided to let Naquin win the battle over the treasure. He wants Paradise so badly that he’s giving in. If Naquin will sell him the land, in return your father will allow Naquin to have his way with the treasure and take it public.”
“After all these years of fighting, my dad’s the one who surrendered? That’s not the Julian Ledet I know. He once gave Sam the silent treatment for an entire month just because he didn’t like the way Sam had the staff folding the napkins.”
“I was as shocked as you, but when we spoke this morning, your father sounded very happy about it, almost jubilant. He was ready to wave the white flag with glee.”
“Did he give you a reason for this uncharacteristic hundred-and-eighty-degree flip?”
“No. He just said that he loves Paradise so much he wants to own it for himself, even if it means risking the treasure. After we hung up, I thought about it some more and finally decided that maybe he’s ready to retire and wants to build a house down there or something. That was the only explanation I could think of.”
“Are you kidding? My mother would die before she’d let that happen. She’ll never live anywhere except New Orleans.”
“Well, whatever your father’s reason for the about-face, he was excited about it. He wasn’t resentful at all.”
“Knowing him, he probably found more buried treasure there or something and wants to buy the land so he won’t have to split this one fifty-fifty or fight over how to deal with it.”
“I doubt it, for two reasons. First, that land has been gone over with a fine-tooth comb many times since the treasure was found in the hopes of discovering more, all to no avail. Nothing else is out there. More important, the laws are designed to protect the seller in situations like this. Even if your dad bought the land and then found more treasure, for a certain number of years half would still revert back to Naquin even though he didn’t own the land anymore.”
“Okay, tell me about Naquin. What was his reaction when you told him my father’s offer?”
“Unfortunately, Alphonse Naquin is out of town on a fishing trip and can’t be reached. He doesn’t know yet.”
“Are you kidding? To my knowledge, no one has ever won a battle of wills against Julian Ledet. I’d say Naquin is going to be dumbfounded.”
It occurred to me that if Naquin was currently out of town, my father’s urgency in completing this transaction was moot. I said as much to Kevin.
“I know. But once I do find Naquin, having the signed contracts with me will definitely speed things along. Your dad wants me to hurry, and the best way I know how to do that is to handle this end of things first.”
I asked to see the contract I had come to sign. Reading it through, it seemed fairly standard to me. I was no lawyer, but I had been involved with enough business transactions to be familiar with the paperwork.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t sign this?” I asked, looking up at Kevin.
“Not really,” he replied. “Although, now that your father’s been shot, and he left your mother that strange message, I would understand if you feel you need more information first.”
“Maybe I can help with that,” a deep voice suddenly said from the doorway.
Kevin and I both looked up, startled. It was Sam, my father’s closest friend and one of the brightest spots in my whole life.
“Sam!”
As I rose from the table, I realized he looked older than when I’d seen him last. The hair at his temples was grayer, the line of his posture more stooped.
“Hi, baby,” Sam replied, the smooth brown skin of his face crinkling into a smile as he opened his arms. I moved around the table to rush into them, thinking that on this difficult day it was about time that someone somewhere gave me a big hug.
Sam was there, and he always made everything all right.
“Sam,” I whispered now, still sitting on the couch in the empty hotel room, my long fingernails shorn, my heart suddenly aching with fear.
If Sam had been there last night, where was he now? Was he okay? If so, could he explain what was going on? My cell phone was in my purse in the room next door, so I grabbed the telephone on the table next to me and, without asking for permission from my guard, dialed nine and then the number of Sam’s apartment. There was no answer, so when it went to the machine I simply left a message saying it was Chloe and that I was at the Maison Chartres hotel and needed him to come right away if he could. I wasn’t sure where on Chartres Street we were, but given that Sam’s apartment was between Royal and Bourbon, it shouldn’t take him long to get here once he got the message. If he got the message.
Hanging up, I knew Sam also had a cell phone, but I had never committed that number to memory. I had programmed it into my cell a few years ago, but it wouldn’t have mattered now anyway, I realized, as the cop was glaring at me sternly and telling me to stay off of the phone.
“I need to call my mother,” I protested. “I need to find out about my father.”
“Not right now. Maybe later.”
What was I going to do? Where was Sam? Had I really killed Kevin?
Before I had a chance to go back again to the events of last night, Detective Walters suddenly entered the room, sat across from me again, and apologized for taking so long.
“Have you been able to remember anything else about last night, Ms. Ledet?” he asked, pulling out his pen and holding it poised above his notepad. The expression on his face was one of benign interest. Though he obviously thought I was a murderer, he was doing a good job of making it look as though he was giving me the benefit of the doubt for now.
“Yes, I have remembered some,” I said slowly, wondering how much to tell him. If I started spouting off about buried treasure, he would surely think I was crazy. On the other hand, my only defense was the truth. Crazy or not, I had no choice but to tell him all that I had been able to recall thus far. My father and Mr. Naquin might not appreciate my giving away the information about their secret treasure, but the more fully I could explain, the better chance I had that Detective Walters might actually believe me—no matter how incredible my story sounded.
Slowly, I explained everything I had managed to remember thus far. As I did, it almost looked as if the detective was starting to believe the incredible tale of how I had come to town to see my father, stopped first at the restaurant to meet with his lawyer and sign some papers, and ended up learning about a secret family treasure.
He listened intently, making notes and interrupting me frequently for clarification. I ended what there was of my story by saying I felt sure at some point last night I had been given a drug that had rendered me unconscious—and I had remained that way until the police banged on my door this morning. I said I had no idea how Kevin had ended up here as well, dead no less, or why I might have scratched his face. But I suggested that they draw some of my blood so that we could find out what drug I had been given. For that matter, they should test Kevin’s too, I said. Perhaps both of us had been under the influence of some substance—one that had rendered me unconscious and killed Kevin. That wouldn’t explain why I had scratched his face, but it might help us start piecing this puzzle together.
The detective called in a technician, who donned a pair of rubber gloves, pulled out the necessary supplies, and promptly took a vial of blood from my veins. As he finished and walked away, I wondered if it might be time for me to get myself a lawyer.
“Let me get this straight,” the detective said, using the phrase he had already uttered about fifteen times since I started my story. “You don’t remember when or where it happened, but you believe that last night you were administered a twilight drug?”
“Yes…a twilight drug. Isn’t that what they call the stuff that knocks you out and erases your memory?”
He nodded.
“That’s it. I feel sure of it. I was given a twilight drug.”
There was still more of the memory to recover, of course, and I couldn’t know what lurked in the fog at the back of my brain, but at least I had been able to recall some of what had happened. Now I just needed to think more about Sam, about what had happened after he arrived. I said as much to the detective.
“Okay, well, why don’t you think on that while I go check a few more things,” he replied. Without another word, he got up and left the room, tucking pen and paper back into his pocket.
Closing my eyes, I again leaned back against the couch and rested my head. Sam. What had happened last night with Sam?
At the restaurant, I remembered embracing him and thinking how thin he felt. He had always been a wiry sort, but now he felt positively skeletal. We pulled apart, and for some reason, just the sight of my old friend caused my eyes to fill with tears. Blinking them away, I invited him to sit down with us and asked him how he was holding up. He and Kevin shook hands and exchanged greetings as I returned to my seat.
“I’m hanging in there,” Sam had said as he pulled out a chair, “but I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last couple of hours. I’ve been running around like crazy ever since your mother called me and told me your father had been shot.”
“Do you have the details of what happened?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, please tell us what you know,” I said.
Sam nodded, placing the tips of his fingers together and bouncing them against his chin in a familiar gesture of contemplation. He began to explain, but most of what he told us we already knew, that my father had been down at Paradise when he had been shot earlier today, probably around noon. As soon as it happened, my injured father had called my mother, but she was at the spa and had her cell phone turned off. Unable to reach her, he had hung up and tried the house, finally leaving a message for her there, telling her what happened and for her to rush this whole contract through as quickly as possible. Apparently, once he left that message, he hung up and dialed 911 for help. He was still alive but unconscious by the time the paramedics found him.
“Excuse me, would you folks like something else to drink?” Graze had suddenly interrupted from the doorway. “Hey, Sam. I’m sorry, but
I didn’t see you come in. Would you like a brandy or something?”
Sam turned around toward the bartender, who was holding a tray of small glasses filled with a bright red liquid.
“What have you got there, Sazeracs?”
“Yeah, these are for the party outside. You want one?”
“Gimme three and then give us some privacy, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Graze placed three of the red drinks in front of Sam, who grunted in frustration and said, “Not three for me, Graze. One for me and one for each of them.”
At times like that, Sam always reminded me of my father. Between the two of them, they managed to keep the staff on their toes. The big difference between them was that my father corrected with the intent to humiliate, while Sam corrected so the person would get it right the next time.
Not wanting a Sazerac, I ordered a cup of decaf coffee instead. After Graze was gone, I reached out and placed my pale hand on top of Sam’s dark one.
“Why don’t you take a deep breath? You’re scaring me. I’m afraid you’ll have a heart attack or something.”
Sam did as I suggested, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Next to me, Kevin finished his meal and then started on his Sazerac, sipping it contentedly. To me, though the drink may have been the signature cocktail of New Orleans, I always thought it most closely resembled cough syrup.
“Okay,” Sam said reaching for his glass and taking a long sip. “I’m okay.”
Considering his current state, I didn’t want to rush him. On the other hand, I really needed him to keep going with what he was saying.
“Your poor mama,” he finally continued. “She didn’t even know anything had happened to Julian until she got home from the spa about 1:00 p.m. and checked her messages. By then, your daddy had already been airlifted to Oschner’s.”
The timing made sense, given that my television show appearance had been from 1:00 to 2:00 p.m. While I was being grilled on live TV by Tony, my mother had arrived at home, heard my father’s message, and started trying to reach me soon after.
Under the Cajun Moon Page 6
