The Cakes of Monte Cristo (16 page)

“Excuse me, Simone, but Natalie Archer is here and she's demanding to see you. I've tried reasoning with her, but she just won't listen to me.”

Simone's expression didn't change, but a flash of irritation appeared in her dark eyes. “Tell her I'm in a meeting, please. I'll be happy to call her when I'm through here.”

“I don't think—” Corinne began, but a commotion in the hallway cut her off.

A moment later Natalie Archer burst into the room. I'd met Natalie once or twice and I can't say that she's my favorite member of the Vintage Clothing Society. She's probably mid-sixties, solidly built with a perpetually sour expression on her face. From what I'd seen of her, she bulldozed her way through life and she was in fine form that morning.

“You
have
to do something, Simone. And no, this can't wait. The ball is in a week. This space issue needs to be resolved now.”

“I'm in a meeting, Natalie. We can talk about your concerns later.”

Natalie dragged a chair away from the table and sat, resting her purse on her lap and clutching it tightly with both hands. “This can't wait,” she said again. “I've tried to talk with Colleen, but she won't listen to reason.”

“Corinne,” Simone corrected her.

Natalie's frown deepened and the grip she had on her purse tightened. “I don't care what her name is. I care that she has taken away so much space we won't have room to display anything at the ball. I've tried to narrow down my selection, but it's simply not possible.”

“I realize that space is an issue,” Simone said with a lot more patience than I would have shown. “But I'm sure Corinne has explained about the flood at the hotel.”

Natalie dipped her head slightly. “She told me about that, yes. But that's certainly not my fault. It's no excuse—”

Simone didn't wait for her to finish. “Then I'm sure you are aware that we've had to change the location of the ball for this year. And that means that everyone is having to make adjustments.” Interrupting someone in the middle of a sentence might not seem like a big deal, but Simone is always perfectly polite. The stress of the ball must be getting to her.

“Not
everyone
is being affected adversely,” Natalie
insisted. “You know how small some of these shops are. They can get by with less space. I can't.”

“The space is allocated equally,” Simone said. “Everyone pays the same amount and everyone's footage is being cut equally.”

“I'm willing to pay more,” Natalie said.

“That's not the issue,” Simone said firmly. “I'm sure you wouldn't want me to cut your space if someone else made the same offer. Now if there's nothing else—”

“There most certainly
is
something else,” Natalie said. She gave me a look clearly intended to send me packing. “But perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

Seriously? She'd barged into my meeting with Simone, not the other way around. The lady had some serious entitlement issues. Still, I reached for my purse, intending to leave, but Simone stopped me. “Rita and I are in the middle of a meeting,” she reminded Natalie. “If you absolutely must talk to me right now, you'll have to do it in front of her.”

Natalie let out a heavy put-upon sigh, I guess to make sure we both knew how unreasonable we were being. “Fine. Then here it is: You have to do something about that girl. She's rude.”

A muscle in Simone's jaw twitched. “Which girl would that be?”

“The receptionist or whatever she is. The one who was just in here. Colleen.”

“Corinne.” Simone's correction was a bit crisp this time.

“You know who I mean,” Natalie said with a flick of her wrist. “Now, really, Simone, you know I'm usually extremely forgiving and tolerant of other people, but that girl's attitude leaves a lot to be desired.”

I would have laughed at Natalie's list of her admirable traits, but I was pretty sure that would offend her. And it's not a good idea to bite the hand that feeds you. Offending
someone like Natalie Archer might not be in Zydeco's best interests.

Somehow, Simone managed to keep a straight face. “Corinne is a valuable employee,” she said. “She's doing exactly what I instructed her to do. I realize that you're unhappy with the changes we're having to make, but that's not Corinne's fault.”

Natalie leaned forward slightly. “You're not saying we should blame Orra, are you? Poor thing! She didn't mean to die the way she did, and she certainly didn't intend to cause trouble for the rest of us.”

“Of course not,” Simone said. “Orra's heart attack has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Except that it frees up her share of the space. And that space should go to someone who needs it. That's all I'm saying.”

Simone looked horrified, and I had to admit I was pretty shocked myself but Natalie's real motive for barging in was becoming clear. “Won't Dominique use the space?” I asked. “If the Vintage Vault paid for the opportunity to display, they may still want to use it.”

“I doubt that,” Natalie said. “What would be the point? Surely the store will go out of business now. Dominique has her hands full dealing with all the legal issues.”

“Oh?” Simone said. “You've spoken to her?”

“Only for a moment. She called to tell me there will be a small, private memorial for Orra on Monday. I suppose I should attend, but frankly, it's at the most inopportune time.”

Simone and I exchanged another incredulous look.

Natalie tilted her head to one side, seemingly oblivious to our reactions. “You've heard the rumors, I assume. About Orra and the Toussaint necklace?”

Simone's gaze flicked toward me. “I've heard some talk, but I hardly think—”

“They say some cook found it. One of the caterers for the Belle Lune Ball, I heard.”

Simone glanced at me again, but I gave my head what I hoped was an imperceptible shake. If Natalie didn't know about my connection to the necklace, I didn't want to tell her. And I certainly didn't want her to know that the necklace was in the room with us. It would be just like her to keel over and die just to get attention.

“I suppose,” Natalie went on, unaware of my silent exchange with Simone, “there will be a big hassle now over ownership. Nothing is ever as easy as it should be.”

“I don't think anyone has come forward to claim it,” I said cautiously. “So maybe it won't be a problem.”

Natalie cut an irritated look at me. “If you think that, my girl, you're living in a fantasy world. The ownership of that necklace has been hotly debated for a hundred and fifty years or more. The question won't go away now that the rubies have resurfaced.”

I offered a tiny smile. “Well, maybe the current family will be more reasonable than their ancestors were.”

“One can hope,” Natalie said. “But I doubt it. The Merciers and their kin aren't what you'd call reasonable. Never have been.”

I was about to ask what she meant by that when Simone took charge again. “We're getting off topic,” she said. “I'm afraid Rita and I are both so busy we can't afford to get off track.”

Natalie took the reprimand in stride and picked up where she'd left off. “My concern isn't solely about the changes Colleen is making to the hotel space. I'm deeply concerned about the way she treats a charter member of the society like myself. I don't think anyone can discount the contributions I've made.”

“No one wants to do that,” Simone assured her.

Natalie acknowledged that with a thin smile. “That's good to know, but it doesn't change the facts.”

“As I said, Corinne is just doing her job.”

Natalie's smile evaporated. “Simone, dear, I don't think you understand how . . . rude Colleen is. If you
must
keep her, perhaps someone should have a talk with her. Explain to her how things work around here. Teach her a few things about how to get along.”

“With you.”

“With everyone.” Natalie rearranged the death grip she had on her purse. “Really, Simone, if you won't see to the matter yourself, you'll leave me no choice but to go over your head and discuss this with Evangeline. That girl is not the best face for the society. Even you must be able to see that.”

Simone stood abruptly. “I think we're finished here,” she said. “Feel free to talk to my mother if that's what you want to do, but I must ask you to leave now.”

Natalie's expression hardened with disapproval and, I thought, some embarrassment. Still clutching her purse in both hands, she stood and lifted her chin. “You disappoint me, Simone. I expected better.” And with that, she strode out of the room.

Simone remained standing until Natalie disappeared, then sank into her chair and laughed uneasily. “I shouldn't have lost my temper, but she's such an awful woman I couldn't help myself.”

“You were a lot nicer to her than I would have been,” I said. “What has she got against Corinne anyway?”

“Who knows? That woman is so full of herself, she thinks everyone should do her bidding.” She rubbed her forehead and sighed. “I'm sorry for the interruption.”

“That's not a problem,” I assured her, and we got back down to business. But all through the meeting, my mind kept drifting back to what Natalie had said about the necklace. So far nobody had approached me about ownership, but I wondered if that was about to change.

After my meeting with Simone, I walked through the French Quarter toward the parking garage. Even though it was nearly noon, only a few tourists were evident. The sky was clear and a cool breeze made the walk pleasant. At least it would have been pleasant if I weren't so uncomfortably aware of the necklace in my bag. I had to find a safe place to keep it, and fast. I certainly couldn't keep lugging it all over town with me until Monday when the bank reopened.

I'd almost reached my destination when I remembered that the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum was somewhere nearby, which meant I might be able to get a look at the portrait of Beatriz Toussaint wearing the necklace. I googled the museum's address on my phone, saw that it was open until six, and decided to make a detour before going back to work.

I found the museum in the middle of the block, on the first floor of an old building with wrought iron balconies
and flower boxes filled with pansies blooming on the upper floors. I stepped inside, paid my entrance fee, and looked around curiously. It seemed that every inch of space was filled with something, from statues and bottles of potions to postcards, books, and dolls in every shape and size. Dozens of pictures were hung on the walls, and I wandered slowly until I came to the painting I'd been looking for.

The portrait was smaller than I'd been expecting, but every bit as opulent as I'd anticipated. An ornately carved frame accented with gold-leaf surrounded the image of a very young woman with dark hair piled artfully on her head and huge almost-black eyes. Whatever doubts I still harbored about whether or not the necklace was genuine vanished as I looked up at the lovely woman in the portrait, and she stared soberly out. I fancied that I could see the sadness she must have felt knowing that her husband routinely slept with another woman.

She wore an elegant burgundy gown, no doubt chosen to match the magnificent ruby necklace at her throat. All three rows of rubies seemed to gleam on the canvas, capturing whatever light had been in the room at the time. The intricate setting matched that of the necklace in my bag, and for a moment I imagined “my” necklace almost vibrating in response.

Remembering that I'd saved a copy of Zoey's picture of the necklace onto my phone, I decided to compare the two. I'm not a jeweler, but to my untrained eye the two necklaces certainly appeared to be identical.

I walked out of the museum determined to make sure that justice was done—both for Beatriz and for Delphine. I just didn't know what that would turn out to be.

After collecting my car, I drove to a home improvement store and shelled out a few dollars for a lockbox, but it did little to make me feel better. If I could lift the mini safe, so could anyone else. Anyone who wanted to steal the necklace
could easily walk off with the whole lockbox. The most it would do was slow someone down for a few minutes. But at least it was something.

I had work to do, so I took the lockbox to Zydeco, where I found the whole staff hard at work, including Zoey. Seeing the cake-decorating crew there on a Saturday didn't surprise me. We put in whatever hours are needed to get the job done. But finding Zoey sorting through the paperwork on Edie's desk caught me off guard. I gave her another point on my mental scorecard and lugged the lockbox into my office.

She followed me, knocking on the door frame to get my attention. “Estelle said it would be okay if I came in with her today,” she said when I glanced up. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Not a bit,” I assured her. “Are you working on anything special?”

She shook her head and hooked a lock of hair behind an ear. “That reporter called again. I didn't talk to him, but he sure is pushy. He said you can't tell me not to talk to him.”

Frowning at that piece of news, I cleared a spot on my desk and put the lockbox there. “I guess he's probably right,” I admitted, “but I'd rather you didn't.”

“How come? I mean, I'm not going to say anything stupid.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't,” I said. “I'm still trying to figure out what's going on. Assuming the necklace is genuine, that means it's worth a lot of money. I'd rather not advertise the fact that I have it.” At least not until I could make sure the necklace was safe.

Zoey nodded thoughtfully, then jerked her chin toward the metal box on my desk. “What's that?”

“A lockbox,” I told her. “Someplace a little more secure than what I'm currently using.”

Zoey actually cracked a smile at that. “You mean your purse?”

“Yeah. Not the most secure location in the world.” I pulled the wooden box from my bag and checked to make sure it would fit into the lockbox, but I hesitated before actually putting it inside. “Did you ever hear from your friend's mother about the curse?”

“Jennifer's mom?” Zoey nodded and came into my office. “Yeah. She's totally into all that stuff. She says that it's, like, really well documented. There's even a portrait somewhere of Armand's wife wearing it.”

I nodded and opened the wooden box, gently setting aside the lid and removing the velvet-wrapped necklace. “I just went to see the portrait myself,” I told her. “I'm pretty sure the necklace is a match. But that doesn't solve anything. In fact, it raises more questions than it answers.”

Zoey craned to see the necklace and let out a soft sigh. “I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful. Have you?”

I motioned for her to sit down, then did the same, tucking the velvet out of the way so we could both see the rubies. “I can't say that I have,” I agreed. “It's stunning.”

Zoey sighed again. “I wonder what it would be like to wear something like that. I mean, how special would you feel with that around your neck?”

I thought about the look on Beatriz's face in the portrait. “I guess it would depend on how you got it,” I said. “It looks amazing on Beatriz in the painting, but she only had the necklace because she demanded it. I think that might take some of the shine off.”

“You're probably right,” Zoey said, her voice still hushed. She fell silent and we both stared at the necklace for a little while before she spoke again. “I know you'll probably say ‘no,' but do you think I could try it on?”

I didn't like knowing that I'd been such a Debbie Downer with Zoey. “I don't think it would hurt anything,” I said,
ignoring the soft whisper of warning that zipped through my head.
There was no curse. Trying on the necklace wouldn't hurt Zoey.
“Come on, let's go find a mirror.”

She trailed me to the bathroom and watched me eagerly as I lifted the necklace from its bed of velvet. At my direction, she lifted her hair and I fastened the necklace around her neck. Both our gazes shot to the mirror, where the three rows of rubies glittered back at us. Zoey's eyes were huge, but soft and almost doe-like as she looked at her reflection and I gave myself a mental high-five for letting her have this moment.

Zoey seemed transfixed by her own face, and I could certainly understand why. The rubies seemed to smooth out her complexion and give it a soft, golden glow it didn't usually have. The gentle curve of her lips and the gleam of appreciation in her eyes transfigured her right in front of my eyes. I could see the stunning young woman she would be if she would only spend a little more time taking care of herself.

“You look beautiful,” I whispered.

Zoey turned her head to look at me. “It's amazing, isn't it?” She turned back to her reflection and her smile faded slowly. “You'd better take it off now. I don't want to break it or anything.”

She was probably right. The setting was old and hadn't been used in so long, it could be extremely fragile. I unhooked the necklace and placed it carefully on the velvet then smiled at Zoey. “Maybe after all the excitement of the Belle Lune Ball dies down, we can get a picture of you wearing it.”

She grinned broadly. “Seriously? You'd do that?”

“Sure,” I said.
What could be the harm?

Zoey went back to work and I picked up the necklace, intending to go back to my office. But my inner Cinderella surfaced and whispered that I should try the necklace on myself. I didn't even argue with her. Instead, I carefully fastened the rubies around my own neck and took a good,
long look at myself in the mirror. Like it had with Zoey, the necklace improved my complexion and darkened the color of my eyes. It fit perfectly, and with the right gown (and on the right occasion), I thought I could be a knockout.

I still didn't believe in the curse, but for that moment I believed in magic.

*   *   *

I dropped by the bank first thing on Monday morning. I filled out some paperwork and shelled out a little cash, and finally locked the necklace away for safekeeping. Relieved to have it out of my hands, I spent the rest of the day at work, trying to finish all five cakes so we could get a jump on the food for the banquet. As I'd predicted, we were flooded with calls about the necklace. I ignored them all. It was bad enough listening to my friends discussing the story about it that had run on last night's news.

Predictably, Zoey had little to say on the subject, but Estelle more than made up for her, pointing out inaccuracies in Carlo Mancini's story that her niece no doubt could have corrected. Ox thought the reporter should have said less about the curse. Sparkle thought he should have said more. Dwight said that he'd seen a link to the video on Facebook and Isabeau said it was a shame I hadn't had time to fix my hair and makeup first.

A little after five that evening, I drove away from Zydeco. I had every intention of going home, slipping into my most comfortable pajamas, and spending some quality time with Ben and Jerry, but when a white SUV pulled out of a parking lot just ahead of me, my conversation with Carlo Mancini came rushing back again.

According to Carlo, Orra had finished her appraisal of the necklace before she died. Apparently she'd told Dominique, who had shared that bit of information with Carlo. That bothered me on several levels—the main one being,
why would Orra have told Dominique instead of me? Before I got too worked up over that, I thought it might be a good idea to find out if the story was even true. Carlo might have been playing me, looking for a bigger story.

And besides, I really ought to pay my respects since I hadn't gone to the memorial service. If I didn't go now, I might not get another chance to talk to Dominique until the Belle Lune Ball. And if Natalie Archer was right about the Vintage Vault's future, I might not be able to find Dominique at all after that.

I might not find her tonight either. I had no idea if the Vintage Vault was still open or if Orra's death had closed it down. But it was the only link I had to Dominique and curiosity was eating me alive, so I decided to take a chance.

The Vintage Vault was dark when I arrived and the front door—half of which was covered with plywood—was locked. I was just about to leave when I thought I saw someone moving around in the back of the store. Hoping I'd found Dominique and not a burglar, I knocked on the front door.

The figure stopped moving, stood still for a moment, and then came toward the door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I recognized Dominique. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face with a headband. Dark circles created deep shadows under her eyes, and her face was pale and drawn.

She stopped a few feet from the door and called out, “Sorry. We're closed until further notice.”

“It's Rita Lucero,” I shouted back. I moved a step backward into the fading sunlight so she could see me better. “I left a necklace here for an appraisal?”

Dominique nodded. “I know who you are, but I don't have your necklace. The police took it.”

“Yes, they told me,” I said. “I'd just like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Dominique hesitated for a moment, then closed the distance to the door and flipped the lock. “I guess you can come in,” she said as she opened the door for me. “The lawyers said I can't open for business, but I don't think there's any law against talking.” She offered me a brittle smile and motioned for me to come inside. As soon as I'd cleared the doorway, she locked the door again. “What is it you want?”

Now that I was closer, I could see that her eyes were bloodshot. Apparently, Orra's death had hit her hard.

Aunt Yolanda would have known the right thing to say. I felt myself floundering, but I decided to ease into the conversation gently. “First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss. I guess you and Orra were pretty close?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor briefly. “Yeah, we were. There was only the two of us here.”

“I understand she had no family.”

Dominique gave her head a brief shake. “No. Not anymore. Her husband passed about twenty years ago. She lived alone after that.”

“I'm sure she was grateful for your friendship,” I said, hoping that thought would give her some peace. “I'm sure it's been rough for you.”