The Cakes of Monte Cristo (17 page)

Dominique nodded and folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah. It has been. I had to go through everything here by myself for the police. It's been hell and I've barely slept since Orra—since it happened.”

My heart went out to her. I'd thought a lot about Orra since the break-in, but I hadn't really considered how the burglary and Orra's death would've affected Dominique. “Do you have friends or family that could help you with any of the work here?”

Dominique shook her head. “No, but the worst is over, I think.” She glanced around the store, taking in the crowded shelves and racks of vintage clothing. “With Orra gone, all
of this will be sold or given away. I suppose I'll have to help with that. They
should
ask me to help anyway. There's nobody else who knows this shop the way I do.”

“I guess that means you won't be able to keep the store open?”

Bitterness flashed across Dominique's face. “Not unless Orra suffered a pang of conscience and gave it to me in a will, but nobody has found a will yet so I'm not counting on that.”

“You won't be at the Belle Lune Ball?”

“Oh, I'll go,” Dominique said. “My ticket is paid for and I have a great dress, but the lawyers won't let me do the exhibit. I can't remove anything from the premises. The store and everything in it have to go through probate. That probably means that Sol Lehmann will finally get his greedy little hands on Orra's stuff.”

In the rush of cake making and Miss Frankie's disappearance, I'd almost forgotten about Sol. Just how greedy was he? He'd certainly seemed eager to buy my one and only piece of real jewelry, and it seemed that the Toussaint necklace wasn't the only item he wanted. “He was here the day I dropped off the necklace, wasn't he?”

“Sure was.” Dominique's mouth twisted and a hard gleam filled her brown eyes. “He was always sniffing around, trying to see what Orra had acquired and then trying to gyp her out of it. I swear, the man has some kind of radar when it comes to valuable objects. Or should I say his wife does. She's the real boss in that family. Be warned, Sol will probably be coming after you, offering to take the necklace off your hands.”

“As a matter of fact—”

Dominique's eyes narrowed slightly. “Don't tell me. He's already come knocking on your door.”

“Not quite,” I said. “But he did see me having lunch with a friend. He cornered me there and offered to buy the necklace.”

“Well, that figures. Whatever he tells you, don't believe him. I swear, that man would cheat his own mother.”

Harsh. I wondered if that were true. “Orra said something similar to me when I was here. I take it she and Sol knew each other quite well.”

Dominique picked up a silk scarf from a nearby table and folded it neatly. “The vintage business is a small one. Everybody knows everybody, whether you want to or not. How much did he offer for it?”

The question sounded innocent enough, but for the first time I wondered if Dominique had an interest in the necklace for herself. Was that why she hadn't told me that Orra had finished her appraisal? “He said something about wanting to display the necklace at the Belle Lune Ball.”

Dominique let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah? Why doesn't that surprise me?” She folded another scarf, her movements sharp and jerky. “Look, I can't tell you what to do, but if you want my advice, I'd be careful around him and his wife.” She picked up another scarf and eyed me curiously. “But you didn't come here to talk about Sol Lehmann, did you?”

“No, I didn't,” I admitted. “I met a reporter the other night. He said you told him that Orra had completed her appraisal of the necklace before she died. Is that true?”

Dominique smoothed her hands over the scarf and nodded. “Yes. I'm sorry, I know I should have told you, but everything was so crazy that night, and then later—” She smiled almost sheepishly. “By then the police had the necklace and it didn't seem to matter so much anymore.”

I wasn't sure if I believed her, but I didn't argue. “So it's true that Orra believed the necklace I brought in was the genuine Toussaint necklace?”

“Yes,” Dominique said. “She called me about eight, I think. I was home watching TV and I thought she'd gone home, too, but I guess she'd stayed here. She said that she'd had a look at the necklace and she was convinced it was the real thing.”

I'd been having dinner with Calvin at that time. I realized
with a jolt that if we'd lingered an hour longer, I might have seen the burglar on my way to my car.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda. I hadn't been in the neighborhood when Orra died. I hadn't had a chance to save her life. And I couldn't turn back the clock and get a different outcome. I needed to focus on the things I could affect now. “I wonder why she didn't call me?”

Dominique looked away for a moment then slowly brought her gaze back to my face. “I know it sounds bad, but she wanted to buy the piece from you. When she called, she asked me to make a list of high-ticket items I thought we could sell quickly. We didn't have enough money in the store's account to offer you anywhere near what that necklace is worth, but Orra desperately wanted to own it.”

I hadn't expected that. Maybe I should have. “You're saying that she was planning to drag out the appraisal process until she could get the money together?”

Dominique nodded. “Not entirely aboveboard, I guess, but not illegal. She knew there was a chance you'd turn her down, but she was hoping that if she offered you cash, you'd accept the offer.”

“And she'd be able to buy it before anyone else knew it was available.” And she'd seemed like such a sweet old lady.

“Yeah, but that didn't work so well. Sol spotted the necklace when he was here that day. He badgered Orra for a long time after you left, asking to see it, promising he wouldn't tell anyone that Orra had it if she'd just let him take a look.”

“And did she?”

“No. And believe me, he wasn't happy about that.”

No surprise there. “Do you think there's any chance that Sol was the person who broke in here that night?”

Dominique chewed her bottom lip while she considered that. “I guess he could have. It doesn't really seem like Sol's style, but I wouldn't put anything past him.”

I thought about mentioning the second, anonymous 911 call, but I decided to keep that piece of information to myself, at least until I knew whether or not I could trust Dominique. I wondered if Sol might have called for help after he realized that Orra was having a heart attack. Maybe—but if he was as greedy as Orra and Dominique claimed, would he have run off without the necklace?

“How did Orra seem when she called you? Was she feeling ill?”

“Not that I know of,” Dominique said. “She didn't say anything about that to me.” She stopped talking, gave her answer some thought, and bobbed her head firmly. “I'm sure she was feeling all right. She just sounded excited about the necklace.”

“So there was nothing unusual about her phone call? Nothing at all?”

“I wouldn't say that,” Dominique said with a halfhearted smile. “She wasn't in the habit of calling me at home, so that was a bit different, but it wasn't unheard of. What's this all about? Orra's gone and I don't have your necklace, so I really don't see how I can help you.”

“I'm not sure what it's about,” I admitted. “I just keep thinking that Orra's death was somehow brought on by the burglary, and I think the police are wrong to close the case without even trying to find out who broke in.”

Dominique laughed softly. “You really didn't expect them to waste their time, did you? Everybody knows that Orra died because of the curse.”

I was getting
so
tired of hearing about that stupid curse! “There's no curse,” I insisted. “Orra died because somebody wanted to steal something from her. Maybe it was the Toussaint necklace. Maybe it wasn't. I don't think we'll ever know for sure.”

Dominique frowned thoughtfully. “What else could it have been?”

“I don't know. I'm sure you have a few things of value around here. If the burglar was somebody looking for drug money, it probably wouldn't have mattered what he took.”

“We both know it wasn't that,” Dominique argued. “The thief didn't actually take anything. Whoever broke in was after one thing and Orra died trying to protect it.”

I shifted uncomfortably as a heavy weight of guilt settled on my shoulders. I told myself again that I wasn't responsible for Orra's death . . . but if I hadn't left the necklace with her, she might still be alive. “Do you have any idea who might have broken in? If it was someone looking for the necklace, I should know who to watch out for.”

Dominique glanced at the sheet of plywood covering the broken glass in the door and let out a deep sigh. “I don't know. I wish I did. It
could
have been Sol, but it could have been almost anybody.”

“But you and Sol and I were the only people who knew the Toussaint necklace was here. That whittles down the list of suspects pretty far.”

“Well, it wasn't
me
,” Dominique snapped. “Orra could have told somebody else. Or Sol might have. I'm sure he told his wife, and Orra may have called someone for a second opinion. I don't know why you're worried about that. I mean you
know
how the curse goes, right? Anybody who tries to own the necklace will come to harm—anybody but Delphine and her descendants, that is. Orra wasn't a Mercier so the necklace got her. Period.”

“The Merciers are safe?” I asked, surprised by the revelation. Why hadn't anyone mentioned that before?

With a shrug, Dominique adjusted the headband holding back her hair. “Sure. You don't think Delphine would curse her own family, do you?”

I guess that seemed logical. If I believed in curses at all, of course. “Did Orra say anything else when she called you that
night?” I asked. “Maybe she mentioned someone or said something unusual . . . Something that didn't seem odd at the time?”

“If she did, I don't remember,” Dominique said. “Believe me, I've tried and tried to remember. She called and told me about her appraisal of the necklace. She asked me to put together the list. I mean, the only thing that was out of the ordinary was the other call that came in while we were talking, but that wasn't anything.”

“What phone call?”

“The phone rang while we were talking,” Dominique said. “By the time she clicked over to answer it, the person had hung up. It was nothing, no big deal.”

I wasn't so sure. Dominique might be right, but I had an uneasy feeling that I couldn't explain away. “Did you tell the police about that call?”

Dominique shrugged. “I think so. I'm not sure.”

“Did Orra call you from her cell phone? Maybe we could check her incoming call log to see if it recorded the number.”

“No, I know she called from the landline here at the shop because it showed up on my caller ID. And that's why I knew she got the call. I heard the second line ringing. You can't always hear if a call comes through on call waiting.”

“You heard the phone ring?”

“Yeah. We've got a couple of lines, so when one is busy, the next incoming call cycles to the second line. That's what happened that night, I guess.” She straightened a plastic tray filled with vintage handbags and gave me an impatient look. “I'm sorry I can't be more help, but there's really nothing to tell. Orra didn't have any family, and she really didn't have any friends. I don't know who broke in here, and frankly the sooner I'm done with this place, the better. It gives me the creeps now, especially after dark.”

She shot a meaningful look at the windows and I realized
that the sun had set. “Of course,” I said. “I'll let you get back to what you were doing.” I thanked her for her time and she let me out, locking the door behind me. She might think that my visit had been a waste of time, but I didn't agree. I'd learned that Orra wasn't as sweet as I'd first thought and that she'd planned to string me along until she could gather enough money to buy the necklace. And I'd learned that Dominique had known how valuable the necklace was before Orra died.

Both Orra and Dominique had warned me about Sol Lehmann and his wife. Had one of them come back after the Vintage Vault closed for the day, intent upon taking the necklace for himself? Or was Dominique just trying to shift the focus from herself?

I wondered about that other phone call Orra had received that night. Dominique had dismissed it as nothing, but my gut was telling me it was significant. There had to be some way to find out who called the shop that night. The police could have tracked it easily enough, but they weren't investigating. The phone company would certainly have a record of calls, but it's not like I could just pop in and ask to see the list.

I'd learned a lot, but it was just enough to make me run into another brick wall. I should be smart and put the whole thing out of my mind, but that was easier said than done.

After my stop at the Vintage Vault I still had time for my rendezvous with Ben and Jerry, so I drove home, determined to relax and stop thinking about the necklace, at least for one night. Comfy PJs? Check. Cherry Garcia? Check. The TV remote and a good book? Check, check. I settled in and called up the oldest episode of
The Blacklist
on my DVR list. I was breathless with anticipation by the time that episode ended, but too tired to watch another one.

I tossed the empty ice cream container into the trash and carried my book upstairs to my bedroom, where I made a pretense of reading for a while. The book was good, but between sheer physical and mental exhaustion, my ability to focus was shot.

I must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the page because when I woke up sometime later, the book was open on my chest and my bedside lamp was still on. I blinked a few times to clear my eyes and checked my phone
to see what time it was. One in the morning. Wouldn't you know it? I had a chance for a good night's sleep, and here I was, wide awake.

I felt around for my bookmark, finally gave up, and stuffed a clean tissue in the book to mark my place. Just as I reached for the lamp, a noise outside caught my ear. I live in an eclectic neighborhood filled with a few homes like mine and a variety of mom-and-pop stores. Noises late at night weren't uncommon and I'd grown used to most of them, but there was something about this one that seemed out of place.

I set my book aside and listened more closely. Was it the wind, or something else? The Thai restaurant next door had been closed for at least two hours, but someone might have been working over there. Then again, maybe not. My heart beat a little faster and my hands grew clammy. Miss Frankie's claims that I was headed for trouble and Dominique's warning that only the Merciers were safe from the curse rang in my ears.

Annoyed with myself for letting all of the woo-woo talk get to me, I climbed out of bed and turned out the light. I waited for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness then moved closer to the window. I wasn't going to let myself become paranoid over the necklace, but I didn't want to be foolish either. If someone was out there, I wanted to know who it was.

Bad things happen to good people all the time. A smart woman wouldn't stick her head in the sand and pretend that all was well. Better to be safe than sorry and all that.

I slid my fingers between slats on the blind and wedged open a space large enough to see out of. Shadows danced across the lawn as the winter breeze fluttered through the trees, but I couldn't see anything to cause alarm. I sighed with relief and nearly stepped away from the window when a different kind of movement caught my attention.

Instinctively, I shrank back and held my breath. Whatever
it was, it had more substance than the shadows I had been watching. Was it a neighborhood animal on the prowl, or had it been more sinister than that? I stood there for a while, scarcely daring to breathe. My senses were on high alert and I alternated between thinking I should go for my cell phone to call for help and telling myself that Miss Frankie and the others who believed in the curse had finally gotten inside my head.

After what felt like forever, the shadow moved again. This time I was able to make out more of its shape. Definitely human. Definitely skulking around and obviously up to no good, but I couldn't tell anything more than that. It could have been a small man or a large woman, or maybe the other way around. I didn't exactly wish the intruder on the owners of the Thai restaurant. They seemed like nice enough people. But if the shadowy figure wasn't out to harm them, it was probably after me—or at least after the necklace.

That thought frightened me, but realizing that I could be looking at the person who had sent Orra Trussell into heart failure made me furious. Anger won out over fear. Maybe I should call Carlo Mancini and ask him to let the viewing public know that the necklace wasn't here for the taking. I grabbed my cell phone, rammed my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and dashed down the stairs. I dialed 911 as I ran, gasping out the answers to questions from the emergency operator.

She warned me to stay in the house, but I was too furious to listen. I disconnected and threw open my door, lurching outside in a burst of anger. Not my brightest move, but all I could think was that by the time the police arrived, my unwanted visitor would probably be miles away. I didn't have any idea what I'd do once I got outside with the prowler. I just knew that I couldn't let that shadowy figure get away.

The operator called back after I hung up, which I would have anticipated if I'd been thinking clearly. I'd already
blown the element of surprise, but the annoyingly cheerful ringtone made sure the intruder knew I was there.

I paused on the front step just long enough to answer and heard someone moving quickly through the bushes and then a couple of crashes that sounded like metal containers falling over. I actually considered racing after the intruder, but the cool night air and the reality of how foolish that would be, along with very stern warnings from the operator not to engage the prowler, finally caught up with me. Disappointed by my failure, I sank down on the step. I was still there a few minutes later when a shadow emerged from between buildings half a block down. It raced away and disappeared around the corner, and I still hadn't been able to get a good look at whoever it was.

A few minutes later, the police rolled up. Two uniformed officers took my statement and looked around a bit, but since there was no evidence of a break-in or other crime, they didn't seem all that interested. In fact, they tried to convince me that I'd just spotted someone who'd been out drinking and then gotten mixed up on their way home.

Even telling them about the necklace that was now at the bank and its possible link to the break-in at the Vintage Vault didn't stir their interest. Whether the police believed me or not, I was convinced that my late-night visitor was the same person who had spooked Orra Trussell the week before. But again, I had no way of proving it.

*   *   *

I didn't sleep well after my late-night visitors left. Frustration mixed with a bad case of nerves makes it hard to relax. At some point I finally fell into a dreamless sleep broken all too soon by the blare of my alarm. I would have happily slept longer, but we had so much work to do for the Belle Lune Ball I couldn't indulge.

Carrying the largest cup of coffee I could find on my way to work, I dragged myself through the door a few minutes after seven. The rest of the staff was already hard at work, so I grabbed my chef's jacket and joined the fray.

We worked nose-to-the-grindstone all day, barely pausing long enough to order lunch delivery and wolf down sandwiches. I'd already finished the peacock dress and accessories, which left me free to hand-paint fondant that Isabeau had used to cover another dress form cake. She had draped and folded it artistically to give the illusion of a free-flowing cotton. I spent hours painting tiny flowers onto the fabric, matching the pattern to the shapes Isabeau had created.

Ox and Dwight took on the tasks of shoes and a handbag to match while Sparkle and Estelle put the finishing touches on a third dress form cake, this one resembling a tailored suit with matching pumps and hat, topped off with a string of pearls.

By the time we went home on Wednesday, all five dress form cakes had been finished, photographed, and moved into the cooler. We'd made some stellar cakes in the past, but I thought these were our best work yet. I printed copies of the photos for Miss Frankie and dropped them off on my way home.

She made all the right noises over the work we'd done, and I did the same when she showed me the gown she planned to wear to the ball. I watched her closely for signs of an emotional breakdown, but she never mentioned the Toussaint necklace and neither did I, so my visit passed uneventfully. Which was fine with me. Frankly, I didn't have the energy.

On Thursday, we spent the day chopping and dicing and chiffonading everything we could prep in advance without compromising quality. Friday we'd stir and mix and cook everything except those items we had to prepare on Saturday.

By eight that night, we had bowls filled with golden cubes
of sweet potato, mounds of chopped cilantro and chiffonaded sage leaves, hills of ginger sliced into coins, containers filled with diced and sliced onions of several varieties, mountains of cauliflower florets, along with chopped carrots, celery, kale, and cashews. I'd spent days collecting recipes from various sources, and I was proud of the menu I'd put together. By the end of the day tomorrow, all that chopping and chiffonading would be turned into Roasted Parmesan Potatoes, Pork Chops with Pear Chutney, Pasta with Pumpkin and Sausage, Creamy Cauliflower Soup, and Classic Meatloaf. We had half a dozen other dishes on the menu as well, including several that I hoped would appeal to vegan and vegetarian palates.

Once we were satisfied that we'd covered all our bases, we made sure everything was covered and stored before dragging out into the parking lot. Then somebody suggested a stop at the Dizzy Duke, and miraculously we all found a second wind.

We made our ways there separately, some on foot and others in our cars. I fired up the Range Rover and drove the two blocks so I could make a quick getaway later. And yes, I'll admit that after spotting the prowler on Monday night, I wasn't eager to walk the dark streets of New Orleans.

I was alert and slightly on edge even just walking the few feet into the bar. I said hello to Gabriel and spent a few minutes flirting (a pick-me-up I highly recommend) before joining the others at our usual table. Calvin offered to go to the bar with our orders and the rest of us spent a few minutes getting settled. I grabbed a chair at our regular table and hooked my bag over my knee so that it hung between my legs. Which is why I felt my phone vibrate a few minutes after we'd arrived. I snagged the phone and saw Edie's name and a picture of JD on the screen. I groaned softly, hoping Edie wasn't having another mommy crisis. I wasn't sure I could survive a breakdown just then.

I answered, but the music, conversation, and laughter
made it impossible to hear. I could tell that Edie was talking but I couldn't hear what she was saying. “Hold on a minute,” I shouted. “I'm going outside.” I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, then pushed through the crowded barroom and out onto the sidewalk.

“There,” I said as the door muffled the noise behind me. “I can hear you now. Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine,” Edie assured me. “Actually, I called to ask you a favor. I should have known you'd be at the Duke. It could have waited until tomorrow.”

“You've got me now,” I said. “Go ahead and ask.”

“I need a babysitter for tomorrow night. I know this is bad timing. Really, I do. I know you're completely swamped getting ready for the vintage clothing thing on Saturday, but River has this work dinner and he really wants me to go with him. I don't know . . . maybe he's not so bad. I told him I'd go with him if I could find a sitter. If you can't do it, I'll
completely
understand.”

She was right, it was terrible timing. I'd been wanting her to soften up where River was concerned, and I didn't want to throw up a roadblock, but with only two days until the ball, I couldn't see any way I could say yes.

“I wish I could,” I told her. “You know I would if there was any way, but the Belle Lune Ball—”

“You're right,” she said. “I shouldn't have asked. It's just that all my friends are at Zydeco and you're always my first choice.”

A cheer went up from the crowd inside the Duke and I moved a little farther from the doors. I think she said something else, but I didn't hear it. Something hit me from behind, hard enough to make me stagger forward. “Hey!” I started to turn, wanting to see who'd run into me but I didn't get very far. Whoever it was shoved me forward again, harder this time.

I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Pain shot through
my knees, but I was far more aware that my assailant was trying to wrench my bag from my shoulder. I wrapped both arms around the bag and rolled onto my side, hoping the strap wouldn't break and praying that I was strong enough to win the tug of war. Not that I had much in there, but it was the principle of the thing. And I really liked that bag.

Instinctively hoping to minimize any physical damage coming my way, I curled into a fetal position, head down, legs drawn up, arms curled inward. In that position I couldn't see much, but I thought my assailant was tall, or at least taller than me. And strong. It was all I could do to hang on while he—or she—shoved and tugged and jerked on my bag.

On the plus side, my attacker seemed much more interested in the bag than in me. On the negative, I was convinced my attacker was after the necklace.

I heard someone shouting from a little distance away and footsteps pounding toward me. I almost wept at the prospect of help, but most importantly, my attacker let go of my purse strap and hotfooted it away. I sat up gingerly just as Carlo Mancini drew up beside me.