The guitar player delivered two plastic baskets filled with our sandwiches and overflowing with fries so hot they were still sizzling.
Calvin popped a couple into his mouth and swallowed them as if they were lukewarm before answering my question. “You’re asking if Ox has confided in me?”
“Something like that,” I admitted. “Ox is a great friend, but I can’t help feeling as if something got a little broken between us.”
Calvin unwrapped his sandwich and shook hot sauce over his crawfish. “Ox and I were close when we were kids, but we aren’t like that now. I left town to do my thing. He went off to learn about food. I hadn’t even seen him in at least ten years.” He smiled. “Even back then, our deepest conversations were about women and the Saints.” He ate more fries and ran an assessing glance across my face while he chewed. “You want me to talk to him or something?”
I shook my head quickly. “No. No!” I shuddered at the thought and grimaced with embarrassment. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that I consider Ox a good friend, and if there’s anything wrong between us that I could fix, I’d like to know how to do it. But if you said anything to him, it would probably just make things worse.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The po’boy was incredibly good, the bread crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, the remoulade sauce just spicy enough to tingle gently on my tongue, the crawfish fried to perfection.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Calvin said after he’d polished off half his sandwich. “Ox is big on family. We both are. He knows your mother-in-law made the only decision she could have. So even if he was disappointed, he’d be okay with it.”
I smiled, grateful for the effort. “And how do you know that?”
“He’s still there, isn’t he?”
My smile grew a bit wider. “Yeah. He is.”
“So there you have it.” Calvin picked up the second half of his sandwich but paused before biting. “You wouldn’t happen to have any job openings, would you?”
I hadn’t been expecting that. “At Zydeco?”
“Unless you’ve got another business I don’t know about.”
“Nope. Zydeco’s it. I just didn’t realize you knew anything about cake.”
“I know it’s delicious,” Calvin said with a grin. “What else is there to know?”
I laughed and shook my head. “I guess that means you have no formal training.”
“Naw, but I can do other stuff. Lift. Tote. Wash dishes. Clean.”
I might have expected that from him the day we met, but tonight, wearing that suit and looking as if he should be running his own business, the offer surprised me. “What happened to Mambo Odessa’s?”
“I’m still there, but she only needs me a couple of days a week. I’ve gotta find more work than that if I’m going to make ends meet. Do you think you could hook me up? Ox said you were shorthanded.”
“We were,” I said, “but only because our office manager is out on maternity leave. I just hired someone to fill in for her.”
He looked so disappointed, I felt like a jerk. I liked Calvin, and wanted to help if I could.
“That isn’t a ‘no,’” I assured him. “We have a huge job coming up in a couple of weeks, and it will be Mardi Gras season right after that. I might be able to find something temporary for the next few weeks, but I can’t promise.”
The disappointment on his face morphed into a grin. “Hey, that’s cool. Whatever you can do. I’ve done a little construction in my day, if you need help. It looks like your place is pretty torn up.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, but I can’t worry about that until things slow down again.” I tried a fry and realized they were seasoned with chili powder and garlic—along with a few other spices I couldn’t immediately identify.
“Okay. Well, keep me in mind,” he said and then changed the subject. “What are you doing in this part of town? Do you live around here?”
I shook my head. “No, I just had to drop something off at a shop down the street. I’m glad I ran into you. I might never have found Mama June’s otherwise.”
“Glad to help,” Calvin said. “It’s just as good as it used to be. It’s nice to see that some things don’t change.”
He looked so wistful, I felt a slight tug on my heart. Like Calvin, I’d left home to make my way in the world and there were times when I missed it so much it hurt. I’d gone home for Thanksgiving and I’d been blown away by the changes to the city and comforted by the familiar. Remembering that made me want to do what I could to help. I’d talk to Ox in the morning, I decided. Together we’d figure out a way to put Calvin to work.
* * *
After my dinner with Calvin, I drove home, took a hot shower, and climbed into bed with an Elizabeth Peters mystery and a contented sigh. I’d just spent the evening with good food and good conversation, and I had a great house to come home to at the end of every day. What more could a woman ask for?
I didn’t get a chance to answer that question because the doorbell rang, startling a surprised squeak out of me. I tossed my book aside and jumped out of bed, peeking out my window, which gave me a truncated view of the front porch.
There was a shadow standing in front of the door, but to my relief it was a familiar one. He must have known I’d be looking because he glanced up at my window and sketched a salute.
My heart jumped and a silly grin crept across my face. Liam Sullivan and I were as close to a “thing” as I’d been in a long time, but between my schedule at Zydeco and his as a homicide detective with the New Orleans Police Department, we sometimes went weeks without seeing each other. Not to mention where Gabriel fit in; he was a complication I hadn’t quite worked out yet.
I thundered down the stairs in my most ladylike imitation of a herd of buffalo, flipped the deadbolt, and threw open the door. I only hoped he was as excited to see me as I was to see him.
He came into the room, six feet of muscle and Southern charm, but the somber look on his face made my giddiness evaporate just like that. I knew his cop face only too well.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I closed the door behind him.
He stopped just inside the foyer, his blue eyes dark with something that made my breath catch. “I just came from the scene of a robbery,” he said. “I’m here because we found your name on a receipt there. You were at the Vintage Vault this afternoon?”
I could only stare at him while I tried to understand what he’d just asked me. “Orra was robbed?”
He nodded slowly. “Someone broke into her store a couple of hours ago. We got a 911 call asking for an ambulance from a woman who identified herself as Orra Trussell. She told the operator that someone was trying to rob her and said she thought she was having a heart attack.”
“Poor Orra. Is she all right? Was it really a heart attack?”
Sullivan nodded. “That’s what it looks like right now, but we won’t know for sure until we get the autopsy results.”
I inhaled sharply. “Orra’s dead?” My voice sounded high and childish, and I was having a hard time taking a deep breath. I envisioned Orra’s big smile and her garden gnome cheeks, and my heart skipped a beat or two. “Are you sure?”
Sullivan put a steadying arm around my shoulders and led me into the living room, making sure I was breathing in and out before he left me to grab a throw from the basket in the corner. I curled up on the couch, tucking my feet beneath me while he covered me.
When he was satisfied that I wasn’t about to pass out, he sat beside me. “Orra Trussell was a friend of yours?”
I shook my head slowly. “No, I just met her this evening, but it’s still a shock. What happened?”
“Near as we can figure, she was working late and somebody broke in through the front door. The storefront was dark. Whoever it was probably thought the store was empt
y. Orra must have gone up front to see what was going on and ran into the burglar. She placed the 911 call, but by the time paramedics arrived, she was dead on the scene.”
My eyes misted with tears and a lump the size of Texas filled my throat. “Why would somebody break in to her store? She didn’t have anything really valuable there.”
“She must have had something,” Sullivan said. “The 911 operator thought she mentioned a necklace, but Mrs. Trussell was having trouble talking. The operator isn’t sure what she was trying to say.”
My head shot up and my shock took on an almost eerie shape. “What necklace?”
“We don’t know yet. We don’t even know for sure that she was talking about a necklace. Although—” He broke off and shook his head.
“Although what?”
“Nothing, really,” he said, but he didn’t meet my eyes so I didn’t believe him.
“I left a necklace with her,” I said, “but you already know that, don’t you? Was she talking about my necklace?” The one with the curse on it? Was her death a result of the curse? I pulled the throw up to my chin, but I still felt chilled to the bone.
“I don’t know if it was yours,” Sullivan said. “And even if I did, I can’t discuss details of the case with you.”
“Then why are you here?” I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “And if Orra’s death wasn’t a homicide, why were you there at all?”
He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his face with both hands. “A friend of mine caught the case. He called me because he recognized your name. I stopped by to see what was happening and then came straight here. I wanted to let you know and make sure you were all right.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” I tried to relax against the sofa cushion but I couldn’t stop thinking about Orra the way she’d been that afternoon. I didn’t want to imagine her so frightened that her heart had stopped, but that possibility was better than thinking that the curse had gotten her. “Does your friend have any idea who broke into her store?”
“Not yet,” Sullivan admitted. “She had in-store security, but apparently she hadn’t yet armed it for the night, and it doesn’t include video surveillance anyway. I don’t know if there’s video from any other businesses nearby.”
I hoped there was. Whoever broke in deserved to be caught. “What did the thief take?”
Another shrug. “We won’t know that until her assistant has a chance to take a complete inventory. My friend said it wasn’t clear whether or not anything was taken, but the store is apparently pretty cluttered so it’s hard to tell.”
“I wonder if the Toussaint necklace was taken during the robbery,” I mused aloud.
“Is that the piece you left at the Vintage Vault?”
I nodded. “Orra was going to appraise it and tell me whether it was genuine or a fake.”
“What is it? A family piece?”
“Not exactly,” I said, “but I do have some claim to it.” I explained about the accident with Zoey and the boxes, and about finding the necklace hidden inside the stairs. “I showed it to Miss Frankie,” I said as I wrapped up. “She wigged out when she saw it. Said it was cursed. I couldn’t get her to tell me anything more, but I’ve done a little research since then. It seems that everyone who has owned the necklace since the time of the Civil War has died. It disappeared for a century or so and then we found it. And now this.”
Sullivan listened intently as I talked, but laughed when I got to the end. “Don’t tell me you believe the necklace is dangerous.”
“Not really,” I said sheepishly. “But you have to admit it’s a little spooky to hear about the curse and then be told that Orra Trussell died while she had the thing in her possession.”
“Coincidence.”
An involuntary shudder racked my body. I wrote it off as another chill and got to my feet. “If you say so. I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Sullivan said with a grin. “You have any of those shortbread cookies?”
“I might.” I wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, but after learning that pecan shortbread cookies were Sullivan’s favorite, I made a point of always having a few on hand—just in case. He followed me into the kitchen and we chatted about inconsequential things while I got the coffee started and arranged cookies on a plate. I didn’t return to the subject of the robbery and Orra’s death until I put creamer and sugar on the table and sat across from Sullivan.
“The 911 call is on tape, right? Can they listen to it again and find out what Orra said?”
“I’m sure they will,” Sullivan said as he reached for a cookie. As his gaze raked across my face, I caught a look in his eye that set off a buzz in the back of my head. I’d seen that expression on his face before—usually when he was trying to keep something from me.
“What?” I asked.
The look disappeared and one of supreme innocence replaced it. “The cookies,” he said. “They’re good, as always.”
“Nice try, Sullivan. What aren’t you telling me?”
He popped the cookie into his mouth and shook his head, pantomiming his inability to answer with his mouth full.
I laughed but I wasn’t amused. “You know something, don’t you? You might as well come clean. I won’t give up until you tell me. You should know that by now.” He reached for another cookie but I snatched the plate away before he could take one. “Talk or the cookies go back into the jar.”
He grimaced good-naturedly. “You drive a hard bargain, Lucero.”
“Yeah. I’ve been taking lessons. What are you trying to hide?”
He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “Your necklace wasn’t stolen.”
I felt a rush of relief followed closely by a cloud of confusion. “Well, that’s great, but why didn’t you just tell me that to begin with?”
“Because the investigating officers found it in Orra Trussell’s hand. She was holding it when she died.”
That unsettled feeling in my stomach grew stronger. “So you think that’s what she was talking about when she placed her 911 call?”
“I think it’s a good possibility.”
“But the thief didn’t take it.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he—or she—wasn’t after it. It looks like Orra collapsed on top of it.”
“To protect it?”
“It’s possible.”
“So you think the thief broke in and tried to steal my necklace, but Orra died before he could get it?”
Sullivan shrugged. “I think it’s a possibility. The police have taken it into evidence and it could be a while before you see it again, but I think you should be alert for the next little while. We have no way of knowing what the thief was really after, or whether he’ll try again to get it. I really don’t think you’re in danger, but I do think you should be cautious until we’re sure what caused Mrs. Trussell’s death.”
I sighed unhappily. “Thanks for the warning. What about her family? How are they taking the news?”
Sullivan shook his head. “She didn’t have any that we can find. According to her assistant, Mrs. Trussell was a widow. No children. We’re still looking for next of kin.”
“She was all alone? That’s horrible! I hate thinking there’s nobody waiting for her to come home. It makes me feel even worse about her death. Are the police going to follow up on the burglary? Find out who frightened her so badly? Because it seems to me that whoever broke into her store is responsible for her death.”
Sullivan’s mouth curved downward at the edges. “Look, Rita, I know you care about people. I like the fact that you care. But don’t get yourself all worked up over this. In all likelihood, the woman had a heart attack. At first glance, it doesn’t appear that anything was actually taken from the store, and in reality the cops who caught the case prob
ably aren’t going to have time to track down someone who didn’t rob the place.”
“You’re saying the police aren’t going to do anything?”
“That’s not exactly what I said,” he said with a weary smile. “I just want you to be prepared for reality, and the reality is that this case probably isn’t going to be a high priority.”
“So whoever broke in and frightened Orra to death is going to get away with it?”
He leaned forward, holding my gaze steadily. “Come on, Rita. You know how it works. Cases go unsolved all the time. The police force is understaffed and overworked, and we can only give a case our full attention for so long. An attempted robbery is going to get bumped off the list within a day or two, tops.”
It sounded so cynical when he said it like that, but I knew it was true. I’d listened to him complain about this very thing in the past, watched him deal with his own frustrations when a case had to fall off his radar because another case suddenly took priority.
I understood, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I knew that the thief who broke into Orra’s store probably hadn’t murdered her, but I couldn’t help thinking that he—or she—was still responsible for bringing on the heart attack that killed that poor woman. Because if I didn’t think that, I might start thinking that the cursed necklace had something to do with Orra’s death, and I really didn’t want to go there.
Sullivan finished his coffee, kissed me good night, and left me to get some sleep before his next shift started. I understood that, too, but I didn’t like it either. I cleaned up in the kitchen, scrubbed my face, and crawled into bed an hour later, but I was still thinking about Orra’s heart attack and wondering if her death really would be written off as an unfortunate coincidence.
One thing I knew for sure, though. I wasn’t going to tell Miss Frankie about the burglary or Orra’s unfortunate demise. Most of all, I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d taken the necklace to Orra that evening. Because if I did, Miss Frankie would almost certainly blame the necklace for both.
Nine
I dozed off and on all night after Sullivan’s visit. I kept thinking about Orra and the necklace and wondering whether the thief had been after the Toussaint rubies when he broke into the Vintage Vault. Only a handful of people had even known that we’d found the necklace, so it seemed unlikely. It was an unfortunate coincidence, that’s all.
The Cakes of Monte Cristo Page 9
