The Cakes of Monte Cristo

by Jacklyn Brady

  I hugged Bernice good-bye and extracted a promise that she’d call me the minute she heard a peep out of Miss Frankie. Feeling confident that I’d done everything I could reasonably do, I hurried back to Miss Frankie’s, where my Range Rover lounged in the driveway waiting for me to come back. There was still no sign of her, but talking to Bernice had helped calm my nerves. Miss Frankie had survived without me before. I had to trust that she could get along without me now.

  Thirteen

  I spent the rest of the afternoon at Zydeco with my nose to the grindstone and ignoring the unusually high number of incoming calls. I wanted to believe they were all business calls, but I’m not naïve. I had to trust Zoey to take messages where necessary and transfer any calls that were actually about cake to the appropriate person. I fielded a couple of calls about the Belle Lune Ball and checked in with Simone to make sure all was well at her end. As far as I could tell, Zoey was doing a good job deflecting calls about the necklace, and that let me focus on the work I was supposed to be doing.

  By six, I had two hundred fondant peacock feathers stored in airtight containers, which was a major accomplishment. My neck ached from hours spent hunched over my worktable and the muscles in my fingers were stiff, but I gave myself a mental high-five and drove home in a reasonably good mood.

  Sullivan called while I was on the road, which lifted my spirits even further. His schedule makes it hard to plan in advance, so in spite of the advice Aunt Yolanda had given me as a girl to keep the guys guessing, most of my dates with Sullivan were arranged on the spur of the moment.

  He suggested dinner out; I countered with an offer of an evening in. I thought staying in might be more relaxing, but that wasn’t my real motive for wanting to stay home. I wanted to stay close to my home phone in case Miss Frankie called. She has my cell number, of course, but she prefers using a landline whenever she can.

  Luckily, Sullivan liked the idea of staying in and offered to grab takeout on his way. I hurried home, gave everything in the house a quick once-over, stuffing junk mail into a decorative box that was already overflowing with stuff I’d been ignoring, and running my sleeve over the end tables to remove the dust.

  I hopped into the shower just long enough to wash the day away and back out in time to change into black pants and a sheer black shirt paired with a teal tank top. I hooked matching earrings into my ears, piled my hair on top of my head, and gave my face a quick swipe with eye shadow and blush before the doorbell rang.

  Sullivan looked great when I opened the door. Either he’d showered at work or stopped at home for a few minutes. I could smell his soap and aftershave, both pleasant and manly. The scents of garlic and oregano told me he’d brought Italian. My stomach growled in appreciation. “Well, hello,” he said with a seductive eyebrow waggle.

  My insides forgot about food and flipped around for a few seconds before his eyebrows did a quirky thing that helped me remember to invite him in. “Sorry to keep you standing there. It’s been a long day.”

  “Trouble at work?”

  “Sort of,” I said with a sigh. “But nothing work-related. I spent half of the afternoon looking for Miss Frankie and I still haven’t heard from her. I have no idea where she is.”

  Sullivan closed the door behind him, put the food down, and pulled me in for a hug. “She’s probably just out shopping with Bernice.”

  “That’s the one thing I know she’s not doing,” I said as I took a deep breath and let the scents that had come inside with him wipe away the remaining knots of tension in my shoulders. “Bernice doesn’t know where she is either.”

  Sullivan slid a curious glance at me. “You sound worried.”

  “I am a little, I guess. I keep telling myself she’s fine, but it’s that stupid necklace. We got inundated with calls at work today from people wanting to talk about it. After the first couple of calls came in, every time the phone rang, I felt a little more edgy.” I stepped away from him and he grabbed the food. We moved together toward the kitchen. “It seems like everybody wants to talk about the Toussaint necklace and I have to assume that if they’re calling me at Zydeco, they’re also calling Miss Frankie. It’s no secret that she’s part owner of the bakery.”

  “I’m sure she can handle it,” Sullivan said. “She’s tougher than you think.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to stay in. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Sullivan grinned. “I get to be here alone with you. What’s to mind?” While I pulled plates from the cupboard, he made himself at home, finding a bottle of wine and holding it up for my approval before getting to work on the cork. He handed me a glass and I savored the warmth as it spread through my body. “You worry too much. Miss Frankie is just out on the town. She’ll call. You’ll see.”

  I grabbed utensils and carried everything to the table. “I want to believe you,” I said, “but you didn’t see her the night I showed her the necklace. I’ve never seen her so upset, except when Philippe died. I even checked with Bernice this afternoon. She hadn’t seen Miss Frankie either, but she did suggest that Miss Frankie might be visiting some of Armand Toussaint’s living relatives. Which is either a comforting thought or an even bigger reason to worry. She’s been out of touch for such a long time now, all I can think about is the trouble she could be getting into.”

  Sullivan laughed softly. “She’s a character, all right. But she’s also all grown up. She doesn’t need a babysitter.”

  “I don’t want to babysit her,” I said with a roll of my eyes. He was probably right, but on previous occasions, he’d been just as concerned about Miss Frankie as I was. I didn’t know what had brought about this change in him.

  Sullivan studied me for a long moment before putting his hand on top of mine. “Really, Rita. She’s fine.”

  The feel of his hand on mine made me feel marginally better. I turned my hand over and wove my fingers through his. “Thanks. That helps. I’d just feel better if I heard from her. I’m sure she’s heard about the break-in at the Vintage Vault and Orra Trussell’s death. She canceled her lunch plans with Bernice right after the morning news. And since it’s no secret that the Toussaint necklace was there—thanks to my newest employee and social media—she’s probably convinced the necklace killed poor Orra.”

  I sighed and rolled my head on my neck. “At least tell me there’s good news about the investigation. Have the police found any leads? Do they have a suspect?”

  Sullivan’s expression didn’t change, but his hand went utterly still for a moment and I suspected that I’d asked a question he didn’t want to answer. “It’s not my case,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Really. Hmmm. You haven’t talked to your friend who caught the case? You expect me to believe that?”

  Sullivan shrugged and rubbed his thumb gently over the back of my hand—as if he thought I’d lose interest in his obvious white lie if he upped the sexual tension. “We’re in two different departments,” he said at last. “We don’t see that much of each other.”

  “Hmmm,” I said again, as if I were giving that serious consideration. “Interesting. So you don’t know whether there was anything missing from the store? You don’t know the thief actually took something from the Vintage Vault after he frightened poor Orra into a heart attack?”

  Sullivan expelled a heavy breath and gave me an exasperated look. “Nothing was missing,” he said firmly. “At least not according to Ms. Trussell’s assistant.”

  “So you’ve talked to Dominique then?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. I see. Well, however you got wind of her statement, it doesn’t sound as if you believe her.”

  Sullivan’s thumb stopped moving. “I don’t have any reason not to believe her. I didn’t talk to her myself, and I won’t, so get that gleam out of your eye.”

  “My eyes aren’
t gleaming,” I said. “I’m interested, that’s all. And before you say anything else, I happen to know there’s no law against curiosity—especially since it was my necklace the thief was after.”

  “You don’t know that,” Sullivan reminded me.

  I waved his reminder away with an impatient flick of the wrist that wasn’t currently under his control. “No, I don’t know that, but we both recognize the truth. Under the circumstances, I think I have a right to know what’s happening with the investigation.”

  I could feel tension radiating down Sullivan’s arm. “Nothing’s happening,” he said. “It’s a nothing case, Rita. Nothing was actually stolen. Robbery Division isn’t going to spend any more time on it.”

  “But a woman is dead,” I protested. “Surely that’s worth somebody’s attention.”

  “People die every day in this city.” I would have pulled my hand away from his, but he anticipated the move and tightened his grip. “I know that sounds callous, but it’s not. Orra Trussell died of a heart attack.”

  “Even if that’s true, the heart attack was caused by the thief. He scared her to death.”

  “It would take a whole lot more evidence than the department has to prove that in a court of law. Robbery Division has bigger cases on its docket and new ones coming in all the time. I’m sorry, Rita, but since all we really have is broken glass in the front door, this one’s just not going to get any more attention.”

  I gaped at him. “The case is closed?”

  “It will be tomorrow.”

  “But that’s horrible.” I managed to extricate my hand from his and reached for my wineglass to keep him from grabbing it again. “How can they just close the book on poor Orra?”

  “There isn’t a book,” Sullivan said. “That’s the whole point.”

  “So what does that mean? What happens to the necklace?”

  “It will be released from evidence. You’ll probably get a call in a day or two telling you to pick it up at the station.”

  Assuming, of course, I wanted it back. It had been nothing but trouble since Zoey and I found it. “And that will be that, I suppose. I wonder if things would be different if Orra had a family to make some noise about this. Or money. The police would probably pay more attention if she was rich, wouldn’t they?”

  Sullivan scowled and sat back in his chair. “Don’t start, Rita. Bad things happen to good people. It’s a fact of life. We do our best, but we can’t fix everything. And you—” He shook his finger at me. “You can’t fix this.”

  “Well, somebody should,” I said. “Oh, don’t worry,” I said in response to his frown. “I’m not going to rush out and look for the would-be thief on my own. I just hate thinking of that poor woman dying without anyone to care what happened to her. Simply because it happens every day doesn’t make it right.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” Sullivan conceded. He looked into my eyes and I saw the worry and frustration in his morph into something warm and suggestive. “And now how about changing the subject. I didn’t ask to see you so we could talk about heart attacks and burglaries. I don’t even want to talk about curses or family.”

  My insides flipped again. With a silent apology to Orra, I held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. What would you like to talk about?”

  Sullivan half stood and leaned across the table, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Who said anything about talking?” he asked and planted one doozy of a kiss on my lips.

  It would have taken a stronger woman than me to resist the pull of that kiss, and I didn’t even try. What can I say? It was the first time all day something had been able to drive Orra Trussell and the Toussaint necklace out of my mind.

  Fourteen

  Sullivan left around midnight and I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke up Friday morning feeling almost chipper, but my good mood lasted only as long as it took me to realize I still hadn’t heard from my missing mother-in-law. Even with Sullivan’s reassurances, I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if I didn’t check on her first. I dressed quickly and drove through town, stopping for coffee and a bagel on my way.

  Half an hour later, I held my breath as I pulled into Miss Frankie’s neighborhood. I let it out in a big fat sigh of relief when I saw her car in the driveway. Even her ravaged patch of pampas grass looked happier.

  For half a heartbeat, I considered driving past the house and heading straight to work but I wanted to reassure myself that Miss Frankie wasn’t having some kind of breakdown. And, of course, I wanted to know where she’d been the day before. She needed to know that it wasn’t okay to just disappear without a word.

  I parked behind her car and hurried up the walk, shivering slightly in the cool morning breeze.

  Miss Frankie answered the door looking relatively normal. No dark circles under her eyes, no wild expression on her face. She gave me a brief hug—also normal—and ushered me inside as if she hadn’t disappeared for an entire day.

  “You’re up and about early,” she said as I followed her into the kitchen. “I haven’t started breakfast yet, but it will only take a minute.”

  “It’s sweet of you to offer,” I said, “but I’ve already eaten. I just came by to make sure you’re okay.”

  She stopped with one hand on the refrigerator door and looked back at me in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “I called you several times yesterday,” I said. “You didn’t answer and you weren’t here when I stopped by.”

  She laughed and pulled open the fridge door. “Well, for goodness’ sakes, Rita. As you can see, I’m just fine.” She pulled out a pitcher of juice and put it on the counter. “Surely you didn’t worry because I had a day out.”

  “It wasn’t that,” I assured her. “It was why you went out that had me worried. Bernice said that you canceled your lunch plans with her, but she didn’t know why.”

  “Bernice is a dear friend, but she’s not my keeper and I certainly don’t have to explain every step I take—to her or to you. I couldn’t make lunch, it was as simple as that.”

  Nothing is ever that simple with my mother-in-law, but I know that with her I have to pick my battles. I decided to give that one a rest, at least for the time being. “Well, I’m glad you’re home safe and sound. Did you at least have a good day?”

  She shrugged as she poured juice into a glass. She spilled a little on the countertop, which was unlike her, and made me think she wasn’t as pulled together as she wanted me to believe. After wiping up the spill, she filled a second glass and carried both to the table. Only then did she finally get around to answering my question. “It was a productive day. And yours?”

  If I hadn’t known Miss Frankie so well, I might have been lulled into a false sense of security by her responses. I let her think that was the case. “Not as productive as I would have liked,” I said. “But a couple of good days will catch us up again.” I sipped juice and made some noises about how good it was, which seemed to please Miss Frankie. I thought maybe she’d relaxed enough for another question or two, so I tried my luck. “I understand that you don’t want to tell Bernice what you were doing yesterday, but are you going to tell me?”

  She wasn’t a bit fooled. “Is there some reason I should?”

  “I was worried about you,” I said. “Bernice said you called her right after the morning news and I worried that you’d heard something that upset you.”

  She widened her eyes and tried to look innocently confused. “Such as?”

  I was quickly running out of patience so I decided to take a direct approach. “Such as the story about the break-in at the Vintage Vault.”

  Miss Frankie patted the back of her hair with one hand. “Why would that upset me?”

  “Because Orra Trussell died of a heart attack that night, and I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thi
nking.”

  Her eyes narrowed and the innocence evaporated from her expression. “You couldn’t possibly know what I’m thinking. But since you brought it up, I heard that she was holding that horrid necklace when she died. After I told you to get rid of it. After I warned you it was dangerous. I can’t imagine how it ended up at the Vintage Vault.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. “I gave it to her.”

  Miss Frankie sighed heavily. “Oh, Rita, what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I should get the necklace appraised and find out whether it was even genuine. And I was thinking that the stupid thing couldn’t possibly be cursed because there’s no such thing as a curse.”

  Miss Frankie sighed dramatically. “Well, you know better now.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said firmly. “What I do know is that someone wants to get their hands on that necklace—probably because the story of the curse has made it extremely valuable. And whoever it was frightened Orra so badly her heart gave out. That’s tragic, but it’s not evidence of a curse.”

  “Deny it if you want,” Miss Frankie said with a sniff, “but the truth is evident.”

  I buried my head in my hands, too frustrated to speak for a moment. When I found my voice again, I asked, “What is it with you and this curse? Usually you’re the first person to laugh at any talk of the supernatural.”

  “I don’t laugh,” Miss Frankie said stiffly. “I just don’t believe all the superstitions.”

  “So what’s different about this one?”

  To my surprise, Miss Frankie’s eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and shook her head. “I didn’t believe in the curse until you showed up here with that necklace in your hand. You said you found it at Zydeco and I thought my heart had stopped.”