The Cakes of Monte Cristo

by Jacklyn Brady

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Edie warned. “If that guy’s any indication, I think you’ll have your hands full of treasure hunters.”

  I groaned softly. “Maybe it’s a good thing the police took it as evidence. At least it gives me a good excuse to just send everybody away.”

  “For the time being. But sooner or later you’re going to have to do something with it. You realize that, of course.”

  “I vote for later. And let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still don’t know if the necklace we found is the Toussaint necklace. It might be something else entirely.”

  Edie cut a glance at me. “Seriously? You still think there’s a chance it’s just a piece of junk someone took the trouble to hide in your staircase?”

  I made a face at her. “It’s possible.”

  “You’re probably the only person on the planet who thinks that,” Edie scoffed. “But at least you can always tell people you can’t make a decision without Miss Frankie. That will buy you some time.”

  My head snapped up so fast I heard my neck pop. “Oh my goodness,” I said. “I’ve been so focused on the break-in and Orra’s heart attack, it didn’t even occur to me that people might be calling Miss Frankie!”

  “You don’t have to worry about her,” Edie said. “She’s tough as nails.”

  “Not this time.” I removed the bottle from JD’s mouth and moved him to my shoulder for a mid-meal burp. “Miss Frankie was really upset about this whole cursed necklace thing. I probably should check on her.”

  Edie’s confusion was evident, but she took JD and his bottle from me. “Then call her.”

  I dialed Miss Frankie’s number twice before we finished eating but didn’t get an answer either time. In itself that wasn’t unusual. Miss Frankie doesn’t own a cell phone and rarely even checks her answering machine. I tried talking myself down by listing all the places she could have been. Like at a charity luncheon, or visiting her neighbor and best friend, Bernice. She could be shopping in town. Or she could be barricaded inside her house, curled up in the fetal position. It was impossible to tell from where I was.

  By the time Edie and I finished lunch, I was trying not to worry.

  Edie shooed me out the door, knowing I wouldn’t relax until I could touch base with my mother-in-law. “Call me,” she called after me. “I want to know what’s happening.”

  I waved a hand over my head to show that I’d heard her and headed back to Zydeco for my car. I felt guilty about leaving work to check on Miss Frankie. I’d made less than half the peacock feathers we needed for the ball gown cake and I couldn’t afford to lose several hours of work that afternoon. But the thought that Miss Frankie might be as upset as she’d been the night I showed her the Toussaint necklace spurred me on.

  Twelve

  Back at Zydeco, I waved distractedly at Zoey as I let myself inside and headed straight for my office to retrieve my car keys. Before I could get there, she stepped in front of me and wagged a handful of message slips in my face.

  “These are for you. Sorry, but your voice mail is full. I had to start writing them down.”

  Gulp! This was bad. This was really bad. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to dodge past her. “I’m in a hurry. Hang on to those for now. I’ll get them from you later.”

  “But everybody wants to talk to you,” she said, jerking her head toward the phone. “They all want to ask about the necklace we found.”

  We? Hmmm.

  She glanced through the messages in her hand and held one up. “This guy is offering a whole lot of money for it. I mean serious money.” She plucked another note from the stack. “And this guy, Carlo Mancini, wants to interview us for TV.”

  “Us?”

  “We found it together,” Zoey said with a subtle straightening of her shoulders. “And when I told him that, he said he wanted to talk to us together.”

  She looked so pleased, I almost hated to throw cold water on the idea. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said cautiously.

  Zoey’s smile drooped. “Why not?”

  “We don’t even know if the necklace is the real thing yet,” I reminded her.

  “It has to be. And anyway, we could be famous!”

  Seriously? My worry about Miss Frankie reacted badly with Zoey’s desire for fifteen minutes of fame. I rounded on her, taking out my frustrations with the rest of the world. “Has everyone gone insane? A woman is dead. She’s not even cold yet and people are trying to get rich?” I snatched the message slips out of her hand and reeled them off one by one. “No! No, no, no and no.” I tossed the rest at her. “Tell them all no. That’s my final answer.”

  Clearly hurt and confused, Zoey scrambled to pick up the messages from the floor. She looked up at me and tucked a strand of limp hair behind her ear. “If you don’t want to do it, I could talk to him myself.”

  The prospect of Zoey giving an interview about a supposedly cursed piece of jewelry, speaking on Zydeco’s behalf, made me feel queasy. “I don’t think either of us should be giving interviews just now,” I said. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t talk to anyone about the necklace, at least not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “But why not? I mean, it’s so exciting. The necklace is worth a whole lot of money, Rita. And what if it actually is cursed?”

  “It’s not cursed,” I said automatically.

  “You don’t know that,” Zoey argued. “It could be. I know you don’t like to think so, but that stuff is real. My friend? Jennifer? Her mom knows all about the supernatural. That’s why I showed her the picture.”

  The feeling of queasiness grew stronger. I held up a hand to stop the flow of words. Zoey sputtered a bit and finally stopped talking completely. “What picture?” I asked.

  “I’ll show you.” Zoey strode back to her desk, tapped a couple of keys on the keyboard, and turned her computer screen so I could see it. An image of the necklace on its bed of velvet filled the screen. Even in a snapshot, the necklace was breathtaking. “I took it the day we found it. When you went to get the sodas? I put it up on Instagram and shared it on Facebook. Then I remembered Jennifer’s mom, so I tagged Jen and asked her to show it to her mom.”

  I groaned and dropped into one of the chairs facing Zoey’s desk. It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might take a picture and post it online during those few minutes I was out of the room. I’m aware that most phones have cameras in them. I haven’t been living under a rock. But I don’t use mine very often, and Instagram hasn’t made its way into my radar yet.

  “I really wish you had asked me first,” I said.

  Zoey’s dark eyes clouded. “Did I do something wrong? Again?”

  Seeing the look on her face made me regret my sharp tone. I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. “No. Not really. It’s just . . .” I broke off, unsure how to explain what I was thinking. “It’s not your fault. I should have asked you not to say anything to anyone.”

  “I didn’t think it would cause trouble,” Zoey whined.

  “Obviously, neither did I.” I slumped down in the chair and leaned my head back so that I was staring at the chandelier overhead. “Is there any way to get rid of the picture on your Instagram?”

  “Sure,” Zoey said. I couldn’t see her, but she sounded tentative. “But, I mean, what would be the point? It’s out there now. People have shared it and probably saved it to their own computers.”

  Of course. I knew that, too. Once something’s online, it’s there forever. Asking Zoey to delete her original picture wouldn’t do any good. Better to focus on things I could do something about. I made a mental note to save the picture to my own computer in case I needed it for any reason and changed the subject. “I know you’ve had a lot of calls,” I said, “but do you know if my mother-in-law was one of them? Miss Frankie?”

  Zoey shook her head. “I don’t think s
o, but I don’t really remember.”

  I didn’t know if that was good news or bad. It might mean that Miss Frankie was still blissfully unaware of the latest developments, but I had a hard time making myself believe that. “Tell Ox I’ve gone to see Miss Frankie,” I said, standing up. “And tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  I wasn’t really sure at all, but I didn’t see any other option. I couldn’t just blithely make peacock feathers out of fondant while Miss Frankie was dealing with a subject she desperately wanted to avoid. If someone pushed too hard and she wigged out again, I’d never forgive myself.

  * * *

  Miss Frankie didn’t answer her door when I rang the bell, but I hadn’t really expected her to. I rang twice more, then hurried around the house and peeked inside the garage window to see if her car was there.

  It wasn’t.

  Okay. Still not time to panic. Maybe there was a perfectly innocent explanation for why she wasn’t home. Usually when something upset her, she called me. She hadn’t tried my cell and Zoey was almost certain she hadn’t called Zydeco. That was a good sign, right? But since I clearly hadn’t taken her advice to toss the necklace into the Mississippi, she might have decided to bypass me this time.

  Thinking about her on the loose in the city, hysterical, ramped up my worry another notch. I went back to the front door and knocked, in case her doorbell wasn’t working. Making a mental note to insist on getting a key to Miss Frankie’s house, I hurried down the driveway and across the lawn to Bernice’s house. There was a chance I’d find Miss Frankie quietly sipping coffee or iced tea in Bernice’s kitchen, but I thought it unlikely.

  I rang the bell, expecting to discover Bernice gone as well. To my surprise, she answered almost immediately and a wave of relief almost knocked my knees out from under me.

  Bernice is a sweet woman with a round face and a puff of white hair. She smiled broadly when she saw me. “Rita! What a nice surprise. I was just fixing coffee. Would you like some?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m looking for Miss Frankie. Is she here?”

  “Here?” Bernice seemed surprised. “No. I haven’t seen her. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said again. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  Bernice’s smile faded. She stepped aside and motioned for me through the door. “I’m afraid I don’t. I think you’d better come in. You look fit to be tied.”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. Racing off with no clear direction wouldn’t do any good. It might be more productive to find out what—if anything—Bernice knew.

  She led me into her kitchen and set about making the coffee. “What’s this all about, Rita?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “Have you talked to Miss Frankie today?”

  “Earlier this morning,” Bernice said. “But it was only for a minute. We were supposed to have lunch, but she called to cancel.”

  My heart sank. “Did she say why?”

  “No, she didn’t. She was in a hurry, I think.” With the coffee started, she sat at the table across from me. “Now tell me what’s going on, Rita. You seem upset.”

  “I am, a little,” I admitted. “But I’m not sure if there’s any reason to be. Has Miss Frankie said anything to you about . . . anything?”

  “She’s said a lot to me about a lot of things,” Bernice replied with a laugh. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

  I didn’t want to upset Bernice like I had Miss Frankie, but my current line of questioning was getting me nowhere, fast. I took a deep breath and blurted, “Has she said anything to you about me finding the Toussaint necklace?”

  Bernice nodded firmly. “Oh, that? Yes. She said you’d found it, and honey, she wasn’t happy.”

  “Yeah. So I gathered. She told me to get rid of it.”

  “And you should,” Bernice chided. “That thing is bad news, mark my words.”

  “I suppose she heard about Orra Trussell . . .”

  “The woman who died last night?” Bernice glanced at the TV on the wall as if it might magically turn itself on and spew forth information. “She said something about her, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand what she was talking about.” Bernice’s eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed. “Are you saying that awful necklace had something to do with her death?”

  “No! That’s not what I’m saying. But I’m afraid Miss Frankie may think it did. I’ve been getting phone calls all day from people who want to buy the necklace or see the necklace or interview me about the necklace, and it just occurred to me that they might have been calling Miss Frankie, too.”

  Bernice stood slowly, carefully working the stiffness out of her knees before going back to the coffeemaker. “I don’t know about that. I talked to Frances early this morning, right after the early news report. That’s when she told me she was canceling our lunch.”

  I wanted to believe the two things weren’t related, but I couldn’t stretch my connection to reality that thin. “And she didn’t say where she was going?”

  Bernice shook her head. “No, she only said she had to see someone.”

  “She didn’t say who?”

  “No and she hung up before I could ask.”

  Bernice didn’t seem especially worried. I tried to find comfort in that. “You know her better than anyone else,” I said. “What do you think she’s doing?”

  Bernice gave a surprised laugh as she poured coffee into two mugs and brought them both to the table. “Oh, my dear, I couldn’t even begin to guess. You know how Frances is.”

  Yeah. I did. That was the problem. Since running out on that cup of coffee would have been rude, I decided to bring up the thing that had been troubling me the most. “When I showed Miss Frankie the necklace, she got really upset. She kept saying it was cursed, which is so unlike her. You know Miss Frankie is usually the first person to say that spirits and so forth are all nonsense. What’s so different about this?”

  “You know the story behind the necklace?” Bernice asked.

  “I know about Armand Toussaint and his wife and his mistress,” I said. “Armand commissioned the necklace for his mistress, Delphine, but gave it to his wife, Beatriz, instead and all hell broke loose. Is there more?”

  “Did you know Delphine was with child at the time?”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “But how does that factor in?”

  Bernice stirred sugar into her cup and sipped. “The story goes that Delphine thought the necklace would provide some security for her children. When Armand gave the rubies to Beatriz instead, Delphine was furious. It wasn’t the necklace that was so important to her; it was the future of her children. Even though Armand had already given her the deed to her house, his decision about the necklace was the ultimate betrayal.”

  I gave that some thought. “I guess she felt that Armand was turning his back on her and their children. They were his, I assume?”

  “All three were his,” Bernice confirmed. “She had been under his protection for years when all of the necklace business happened. You see, Delphine was a free woman of color, but that didn’t guarantee her descendants a good life. A necklace like that, she could’ve sold if push came to shove,” Bernice said. “That’s the story I’ve heard, though God only knows whether it’s true or not. Facts can get twisted around in a hundred years.”

  I laughed at her understatement. “They can get twisted around in ten minutes. Why do you think Armand changed his mind?”

  Bernice gave me a knowing look. “Can’t you guess?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No. I mean he must have known about Delphine’s baby—” I cut myself off as an idea occurred to me. “You think Beatriz was pregnant, too?”

  Bernice touched the end of her nose with a finger. “Bingo! It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

 
“It does,” I agreed, “but that doesn’t mean it’s true. I wish there were somewhere I could learn about all of this in Delphine’s own words. And Beatriz’s. Both of them were victims of an awful system. Men allowed to cheat and wives not allowed to say anything about it. Women like Delphine forced to hand themselves over to some rich jerk just to survive. Either way, I’m not sure I could have survived back then without calling up a few curses of my own.”

  Bernice laughed. “That makes two of us. That’s one of the reasons my daddy taught me how to shoot straight.”

  “Armand should count himself lucky that he didn’t end up with us in his stable.” I took a jolt of really terrific coffee and sighed. “I’m worried about Miss Frankie. I don’t want her to do something reckless.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Bernice assured me. She studied her cup for a long moment and said, “Now that I think about it, she could be paying calls on some of Armand’s descendants. She’ll want to make sure they know the necklace has been found.”

  “You mean there are some of his descendants still living around here?”

  Bernice nodded. “Well, of course, they’d be descendants of Armand’s nephew, Gustave, but the family is very much in evidence.”

  “But I thought Gustave’s daughter died six months after her wedding.”

  “She did, but Gustave married again later and had other children,” Bernice said. “Two sons and another daughter, if I remember right.”

  “Do you know where I could find them?”

  Bernice laughed softly. “Me? No. But I’m sure there are records. You could check with the Daughters of the Confederacy. I’m sure they’d have some genealogy you could look through. Or maybe talk to someone at the voodoo museum. They have Beatriz’s portrait. They may have other information.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. But secretly I hoped Miss Frankie would turn up before I had to take that step. I’d love to see the portrait everyone kept talking about, but searching for Gustave Toussaint’s descendants in a hundred years’ of genealogical records would be like searching for a needle . . . in a stack of needles. Not only did the thought of it make my eyes glaze, but I had other things I should be doing. Things like working so I could keep my employees happy with a paycheck.