Tattered & Torn

by Carol Dean Jones

  Once they reached the French Market, they were ready to rest, so they found a place to sit and enjoy the music while watching local shoppers and out of town visitors perusing the open market. On their way out, Sarah spotted a vendor selling bracelets, and she told Charles she’d like to have one as a remembrance. “How about this one?” she asked, holding up a simple silver chain with a charm in the shape of a shrimp. Charles chuckled and said that would be fine as he pulled out his credit card.

  “Tomorrow I’d like to do this,” Charles said pointing to a poster near the river. Sarah moved closer and read that the Steamboat Natchez, a classic Mississippi riverboat, featured New Orleans jazz and dinner on their evening cruises. “What do you think,” he asked after she had a chance to read it.

  “It sounds like the perfect way to end our short get-away. Let’s make reservations for tomorrow night.”

  Exhausted by the end of the day, they both decided they’d skip the fancy dinner and just eat in the hotel dining room where Charles was finally able to order his catfish sandwich. They had collected reams of materials on things to do and had decided to choose one or two activities for the next day and then come back to the hotel to rest up for their evening cruise.

  They both fell asleep not long after dinner and slept until early morning. Sarah woke up first and called down for coffee and bagels. Charles was just waking up when the food arrived, and Sarah was coming out of the shower. “Good Morning, Sleepy Head,” she said as she wrapped her wet hair in a towel.

  “What’s this?” Charles asked, eyeing the pastry.

  “It’s called a beignet. The woman at the desk told me about it when I called down for coffee and bagels. She said this is a traditional New Orleans pastry, sort of like an English fritter. It’s fried and coated with confectioners’ sugar.”

  “It tastes like a donut, only much better,” Charles remarked as he savored his first bite. “But they put cream in my coffee…”

  “She also recommended we have café au lait with the beignets.”

  “Whatever the desk lady says,” he commented. “She obviously knows what she’s talking about.”

  After they had eaten, Charles pulled out their tourist materials, and after much deliberation, they finally settled on a couple of ideas. Sarah was interested in the New Orleans Museum of Art, and Charles’ vote was for the National World War II Museum, although he knew his wife wasn’t going to be interested in his choice. Before she had a chance to object, he quickly suggested that they take the street car all the way up to City Park where the art museum was located, and he’d take a cab back to the WW2 museum. “Then we’ll meet at City Park for lunch. In fact, if I see a deli, I’ll bring lunch, and we’ll picnic in the park.”

  Their plans almost changed when they arrived at the park and were overwhelmed by its beauty. Branches of centuries old oaks intertwined and hung to the ground, providing a shady shelter for visitors. There were lakes with waterfowl, row boats, and footbridges; and gardens with expanses of green grass and gazebos. “A perfect place for a wedding,” Sarah said. “I think I could easily spend the entire day right here.”

  But, after a peaceful stroll, they decided to stick with their original plans. Charles walked Sarah to the gallery entrance and headed for the main street to hail a cab. Once he entered the war museum, he completely lost track of time. Exhibits included letters, diaries, and photograph; weapons, and oral histories. There were three buildings focused on different aspects of the war. Charles was a history buff but was particularly intrigued by the details of World War II which occurred during his early childhood, but he was old enough to sense the concern among his family and friends.

  As Charles viewed and interacted with the displays, he found himself transported to another time and place. He found it difficult to pull himself out of it when he realized he’d been there three hours and it was past time to meet his wife. After experiencing the emotions triggered by the displays, he looked forward to the serenity he would feel in the park and in the presence of his wife. As it wasn’t far, Charles walked back to the park, totally forgetting to watch for a delicatessen.

  Approaching the museum entrance, he was pleased to see Sarah just coming down the marble steps. She too had become lost in the exhibits. They decided to take the streetcar back across town and hop off when they spotted an interesting area for lunch.

  “Let’s get off here,” Charles announced suddenly, pulling the cord. “I see a grill that looks inviting, and it has outside seating.” As they approached the restaurant, they saw a large sign that said they feature Muffulettas. “We have to get that,” Charles said excitedly. “It’s tradition.”

  “What is it exactly?”

  “It’s some kind of sandwich, but I don’t know what’s on it. I just know that two of our patrolmen came to us from Louisiana, and they bragged that it was the best sandwich you can get anywhere.”

  Although comfortable earlier in the day, the city was heating up as the day went on and Sarah suggested they eat inside where it would be cool. Once they were seated, Charles ordered them each a mug of Abita Amber, which the waitress assured him was a staple in New Orleans, “Although it’s brewed across the river from us,” she had said, “we claim it as our own.”

  “Could you tell me about the muffuletta?” Sarah asked, feeling embarrassed that she had to ask. “We’re from out of town…” she started to explain, but the waitress just nodded and said that most of their customers were.

  “It’s a large round sandwich on muffuletta bread. It’s filled with olive salad, mortadella, salami, ham, mozzarella, and provolone. The bread is sesame-crusted and soft on the inside. It’s quite big and many customers split it, or you can order just a half if you prefer. Actually,” she added just above a whisper, “There’s one being served now at the table next to you.”

  Sarah and Charles discreetly glanced over, and their eyes grew big at the sight. It stood at least six inches high with layer after layer of meats, cheeses, and what was obviously the olive salad.

  “That looks fantastic,” Sarah responded. “Do you want a whole one,” she asked turning to Charles, “or shall we split one.”

  “Let’s split it and maybe we’ll have room for dessert,” he added giving Sarah a mischievous look.

  It arrived cut in quarters along with two plates. “It’s as big as a cake,” Sarah exclaimed. As it turned out, Sarah could barely finish one of the quarters, and by the time Charles finished the other three-quarters and a second mug of Abita Amber, he couldn’t even think about dessert.

  Fortunately, by the time they got home, they still had three hours until the steamboat left the dock. They had reservations for eight o’clock which left them time to relax before their next and final adventure. Charles sat down and thumbed through the local telephone directory while Sarah stretched out on the bed and was asleep within moments. Charles quietly stood up and tore a piece of paper out of his notebook. He quickly wrote, “Back soon. Charles.”

  Chapter 18

  “What time is your flight?” Sophie asked when Sarah called her the next morning from the airport.

  “We don’t leave for another hour, but Charles wanted us to be all checked in well in advance. He’s eager to get home, and I can see that Maud is tired. She said she had a fantastic time with her cousin, but it wore them both out.”

  “I’m glad you called me,” Sophie said. “I haven’t wanted to call and interrupt your vacation, but Timmy told me that you know about his job at the fire station.”

  “Yes, Martha called and was very excited.”

  “So is Timmy, but I thought it was too much of a coincidence that this offer came right when it did. I’m wondering if Charles had anything to do with it.”

  “I’m sure he got the job on his own. Your son will be a tremendous asset to the department and will give the fire chief a chance to be with his wife. She’s very sick, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. What’s wrong with her?”

  Sarah smiled, kn
owing that she had skillfully moved her friend off of the original question. She didn’t want to lie to her, yet she didn’t want to betray Charles’ confidence. She went on to tell Sophie about the fire chief’s wife, and they discussed talking to the members of the quilt club about making her a quilt as a thank you for their years of community service. Chief Deegan’s wife had continued her community volunteer work long after she had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

  Before Sophie could get back to the fire station issue, Sarah said, “I can’t wait to tell you about the dinner cruise we took last night.”

  “Well, you can tell me about that when you get home. Right now I want to ask you about Tim’s job…”

  “And there’s something else,” Sarah whispered, looking around to be sure Charles wasn’t near. “Yesterday while I was napping, Charles snuck out of the hotel room and was gone for at least an hour, maybe longer.”

  “That’s strange,” Sophie replied. “Maybe he was buying you a present.”

  “No, it wasn’t that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he was very distracted the rest of the evening. All evening it was as if his mind was somewhere else, the way he acts when he’s on a case.”

  “Did you ask him where he went?”

  “Yes, but he just said…” Sarah stopped talking abruptly, then added, “Here he comes. I don’t want him to hear me talking about this. I’ll be home soon and will come see you in the morning.”

  “Who’s on the phone?” Charles asked cheerfully as he walked up.

  “Sophie, just saying hello.”

  Within another twenty minutes, their flight was announced. They were eligible for early boarding since Maud was in a wheelchair. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed. “I’m bone tired,” she had said, “and I suppose I can do it this once.”

  Once they were settled in their seats, Maud asked what Sarah and Charles did while they were there, and together they told her about their sight-seeing and the extraordinary food. Sarah told her that the very best part of the whole experience was the riverboat cruise. “They served dinner in five separate courses,” she said, “and I tried everything, whether I recognized it or not.”

  “And it was wonderful, wasn’t it?” Maud exclaimed.

  “It was. Had you been there before?” Sarah asked, realizing it had never occurred to her that she might be familiar with the area since she had family living there.”

  “When I was much younger, I visited Cousin Bessie a couple of times after she married Bertram and moved down there. I mostly remember the food, and I sure got some while I was there this time. Her grandson, Gilbert, is a chef at a restaurant down by the river, and he brought home food from his kitchen. I love New Orleans cookin’. Did you folks get any Jambalaya?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. It was one of our courses on the riverboat. Oh, and the music. I never knew I liked jazz, but I learned to love it in one night!”

  “You just hadn’t heard the real thing,” Maud responded with a chuckle.

  Sarah noticed how relaxed Maud seemed now that the trip was winding down. “Are you glad you came?” Sarah asked her.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, no matter how it comes out.”

  * * *

  They arrived home late that night, and Sarah considered ignoring the flashing lights on the house phone but decided that wondering about the calls might keep her awake. “You go ahead and pick up Barney,” she said to Charles, “and I’ll at least see who these calls are from.”

  When he arrived back with an excited Barney in tow, Charles knew right away that Sarah was upset. “What is it?”

  “You have three calls from that detective in New Orleans and one from your old lieutenant here in Middletown, and both men sounded upset. They both want you to call right away, and both said you weren’t answering your cell phone.”

  “Oops,” he responded pulling the phone out of his pocket. “I turned it off at the airport and forgot all about it.” He went into his computer room to listen to the messages on his cell phone and on the house phone. He looked at the clock and decided he should, at least, call his lieutenant. “Matt, sorry to call so late but we just got in.”

  Without acknowledging Charles, Lt. Stokely demanded to know what was going on. “Why am I getting calls from New Orleans charging that this department is interfering in a murder investigation, and why do they specifically name you as the Middletown detective doing the interfering.”

  “Matt, let me explain. I didn’t mean to bring the department into it, but I did leave my card with a couple of people. They must have reported it. I was just doing some snooping for a friend.”

  “Well, for one thing, you need to get rid of those department cards and get yourself some Private Snooper cards. I don’t want this to happen again. What were you doing anyway?”

  Charles explained about Jamal and why they were in New Orleans. “At the request of the New Orleans police department’s prosecutor, I might add.” He told Matt about Jamal’s second wife’s accidental death and that he was just doing some snooping around in the neighborhood. “I wanted to talk to a couple of neighbors to see what kind of marriage they had.”

  “Which is none of our business,” Lt. Stokely responded.

  “I know, Matt, but I just have a feeling that everyone is missing something here.”

  “And this is your concern, why?”

  “I guess it’s not, but you know how hard it is to leave something alone when it’s niggling at you.”

  Lt. Stokely was quiet for a few moments. “I know how hard it is for you, Charles, but I can’t keep reminding you that you’re retired, and you can’t represent yourself as a member of the department. Do you want to get yourself a PI license? If you do, I’ll back you.”

  “It’s something to think about, Matt. Thanks, and I’m sorry to cause you problems. I’ll get this straightened out with New Orleans.”

  “I hope you can. Goodnight, Charlie.” Although Charles didn’t like being called Charlie, he had to smile when Matt used it at the end of the conversation, knowing that it meant Matt had already forgiven him.

  “So that’s what this is all about.” Sarah’s voice behind him caused him to jump and almost drop the phone.

  “I was going to tell you.”

  Sarah signed and walked away. There’s no way I will ever get him to stop being a detective. I give up, she told herself firmly.

  Before she had reached the bedroom, she heard his cell phone ring again. “Mrs. Carlson, thank you for calling me. My name is Detective Parker. I’m a private investigator out of Illinois, and I’m looking into the death of Angela Davis. I understand you two were friends, and I was hoping you could tell me a little about the Davis’ relationship.” Sarah moved back up the hall and stood in the doorway. She wanted him to see her so he wouldn’t think she was snooping. She, in fact, wondered whether Jamal’s second wife had suffered the pain and humiliation that Clarissa had experienced.

  There was a long silence occasionally punctuated by comments from Charles like, “I see,” and “Please go on.” After ten or fifteen minutes, Sarah went up the hall to her bedroom and unpacked their bag. When Charles finally came into the room, he looked exhausted.

  “I take it she had a great deal to say,” Sarah commented in a neutral tone. Actually, she was very curious about what he had learned and hoped he would volunteer it.

  “Would you like to hear about it?” He wasn’t sure how upset she was, but from the look of curiosity on her face, he decided she must be over her initial reaction.

  “She didn’t say anything I expected her to say.”

  “How’s that?” Sarah sat down on the bed and patted the seat next to her indicating he should sit as well. They were both exhausted from their trip.

  “She never saw any indication that there could be problems in their marriage. She said they were very much in love and that he doted on her. She described him as a kind and caring man.”


  “Are we sure we’re talking about the same person?”

  “Yes, I’d already confirmed that. I asked about his drinking, and she laughed. She said she never saw him take a drink and that Angela had told her he had attended Alcoholics Anonymous twice a week since before they were married. They were next door neighbors, and she and Angela were friends for over ten years. She said her own husband and Jamal were in a bowling league together, and she and Angela did volunteer work at the local food bank. I got the feeling it would have been impossible to hide it from the Carlsons if anything was going on. The two couples were very close.”

  “This is strange, but I guess people change. If the alcohol was the main problem with Jamal, perhaps he got into treatment.”

  “Something sure happened,” Charles replied, “but getting his life together doesn’t excuse him from killing Clarissa. I feel like we owe it to Maud to pursue this. If what Mrs. Carlson says is true, chances are he’s not going to be charged with Angela’s death.”

  “Are you going to call that detective in New Orleans?”

  “Not tonight. He just wants to ream me out. He can do that tomorrow. Matt knows the story now. Let’s go to bed.”

  Chapter 19

  “So are you any closer to knowing who made the Memories quilt?” Sophie asked as she poured their coffee and pulled the freshly baked cinnamon rolls out of the oven.

  “Actually, we’ve become so sidetracked that I’m not even sure where we are with that project.”

  “Well, I can refresh your memory from my cards here.” Sophie pulled out her 3x5 cards and quickly rearranged them. “Okay, so you bought the quilt from Florence’s thrift shop.”

  She laid that card aside and picked up another one. “Florence got it from the wife of a construction worker who found it in the attic of a building they were tearing down.”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, amused with Sophie’s system. “Go on.”