The Cakes of Monte Cristo (13 page)

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 thinking.”

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.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Rita, don't you see? Philippe died there, right after he bought that place.”

The look on her face broke my heart but suddenly the fog began to lift. “Philippe died two years after he bought the building,” I reminded her gently. “And he didn't die because of the necklace.”

“You don't know that. The only reason Philippe was able to buy that house was because old Miss Cassie had just died and her family was eager to unload the property.” She snorted
softly. “I suppose we know why. And then Philippe died. And suddenly there you were holding that . . .
thing
in your hands and I knew what had happened.”

I chose my words carefully. “Was Miss Cassie's death suspicious?”

“No. She was old and she'd lived a long, full life. But her husband died in a traffic accident only a few years before her.”

“People die all the time, Miss Frankie. It's natural and it's inevitable. Miss Cassie might have died, but if she was old . . . well, it happens.” I sounded uncomfortably like Sullivan had the night before, but I tried not to think about that.

“Philippe's death wasn't natural,” Miss Frankie snapped. “Don't you dare try to claim that.”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, it wasn't. But his death had nothing at all to do with the necklace. You must know that's true.”

“What I know is that my son died at
that
house while
that
necklace was hidden there.”

“That's true, but—”

“But nothing, Rita. That necklace is cursed. It's not just Philippe's death either. Look how close the two of you came to getting divorced. And all the nasty business that's crossed your path since you took over? No, my family has suffered because of it and I
won't
have anything else happen because you're too stubborn to get rid of it. Promise me you'll destroy it.”

Her vehemence made more sense to me now, but that didn't mean I agreed with it. She was watching me expectantly, but I wasn't about to make a promise I couldn't—or wouldn't—keep, so I detoured around it. “I can't do anything with the necklace,” I said. “I don't have it. The police took it into evidence.”

Relief slowly washed across Miss Frankie's face as my words sank in. “You don't have it?”

“I don't.”

She sank back in her chair. “Well, thank the Lord for that.”

Okay, so I'd probably have it back in a day or two. That information was on a need-to-know basis, and I saw no reason that Miss Frankie needed to know anything about it. Besides, I hoped that by the time the necklace was in my possession again, I'd have thought of a way to dispel the rumors of a curse.

“Just try not to let your imagination run away with you,” I said. “Sure, we've had some bad luck, but we've had good things happen, too. What about Edie's baby? And Sparkle finding her brother? You can't count either of those things as bad luck.”

Miss Frankie tilted her head to one side. “I suppose you're right. I'm just so relieved that you're all safe.”

“And we are,” I assured her. “Absolutely.”

“You don't know how much better that makes me feel.”

Guilt stirred around inside and made me squirm, but I kept a smile on my face. “Good. I'm glad.”

“I can't wait to tell that reporter. Once he knows you don't have the necklace any longer, he'll have to leave us both alone.”

The guilt in my stomach turned sour. “You've been talking to a reporter?”

“No, but he's been calling since early yesterday morning. What's his name?” She tapped her chin with one finger. “Carlo, I think. Carlo Mancini.”

The same reporter Zoey had mentioned. Of all the nerve. “You haven't given him an interview, have you?”

“Of course not. I don't talk to the press. But he left a message saying that he would be calling you. Have you talked to him?”

“Not yet, but I will. He tried to reach me yesterday. So far I've managed to avoid him. What does he want?”

Miss Frankie got up and went back to the fridge, seeming more like her old self. She pulled out an egg and cracked it into a small bowl, adding a splash of milk. “I'm sure it's about the necklace,” she said as she whisked the egg and
milk into a froth. “And the feud, no doubt. That whole thing will be stirred up, too, I'm sure.”

I started to nod before her words had a chance to sink in. “Wait a minute. What? What feud?”

“Between the Toussaints and the Merciers, of course. There's been bad blood between the two families since Armand and Beatriz died. But that's silly, really, since the two families are actually one.” She pulled out a pan and put it on a burner. “Not that they have ever thought of themselves in that way.”

“Right. So the two families are feuding? Like the Hatfields and the McCoys?”

Miss Frankie poured her mixture into the pan and seasoned it with salt and pepper. “Not exactly. It's not as if the two families have been killing each other off. But there have certainly been disagreements and bad feelings. The Merciers feel that they were betrayed. The story is that Delphine attempted to get the necklace back from Gustave Toussaint more than once before she died.”

“Obviously she failed.”

Miss Frankie nodded. “Are you sure you aren't hungry?”

I shook my head. “I guess it makes sense. If the Toussaints believed that they'd been cursed, I guess they'd be upset.”

“Relations between the two branches of the family became more strained with every failure. Delphine had worked up quite a hatred for the Toussaints by the time she passed.”

“And from there the . . . misunderstanding escalated to talk of a curse. How do you think the necklace ended up in the staircase at Zydeco? How long has it been there, and who put it there?”

Miss Frankie stirred the eggs in the pan and lowered the heat. “I imagine it was someone who thought that hiding it could stop the curse.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But if that was the case, why hide it in
the house? Why not throw it into the river like you told me to do? Squirreling it away seems like an odd choice for someone who really believed the necklace was cursed. That should make you feel better about it.”

Miss Frankie frowned at me over her shoulder. “Why should it?”

“Because obviously whoever hid the necklace wasn't concerned about dropping dead. It sounds like he or she was more worried about the wrong person finding it.” My phone let out a soft chime, and instinctively I glanced at the screen. When I saw the time, I let out a little yelp and stood. “I didn't realize how late it was,” I said. “Sorry, but I need to get to work.”

Miss Frankie walked me to the front door, asking a few questions about the work and our progress, but I could tell she wasn't really interested. I hated seeing her so worried, but I had no idea how to set her mind at ease. I'd start by convincing Carlo Mancini to leave her alone. Somehow. I was almost certain a plan for doing that would occur to me at some point.