The Cakes of Monte Cristo (19 page)

“What was that about?”

Startled by the unexpected voice behind me, I let out a little squeal of alarm. Apparently I'd been so busy watching Natalie Archer bulldoze her way across the room I hadn't heard Simone come up behind me. I shrugged lightly. “Nothing, really. Except . . . What do you know about her?”

“About Natalie?” Simone looked a little surprised by the question. “Don't let her get to you. Her bark is far worse than her bite. Just don't let her think that she's made you nervous. I swear the woman can smell fear. She's been a member of the Vintage Clothing Society for as long as I can remember, though, and she's got money and influence, but she can be a real pain in various body parts. Why?”

“She just told me that she's a direct descendant of Gustave Toussaint. She wants me to turn over the necklace to her at the Belle Lune Ball in front of witnesses and reporters. She tried to convince me it would be good for business.”

Simone's brows knit. “Are you going to do it?”

I shook my head. “Even if she's who she says she is, I couldn't agree. I'm not handing over a small fortune just because she
thinks
it belongs to her. Do you think her claim is legit?”

Simone held up both hands as if to ward off my question. “Oh no you don't. I'm not offering an opinion.”

I laughed at the mock horror on her face. “Why not? It would be just that—an opinion. I'm not asking you to make a decision for me. But maybe you can help in another way. I don't know anything about tracing a family tree. How would I go about verifying her relationship to Gustave Toussaint?”

The clouds in Simone's lovely dark eyes cleared. “That's the beauty of having money, Rita. You hire someone to figure it out for you. Talk to Miss Frankie's attorney. I'm sure he'll know what to do.”

“I certainly hope so,” I said, trying to shake off the negative feelings Natalie had left in her wake. “I think I've just found my way onto Mrs. Archer's bad side. She warned me not to play favorites. What does she think I'm going to do, take her side over Miss Frankie's? She should know better than that.”

Simone looked surprised. “Does Miss Frankie even want it?”

“Well, no, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have a claim.”

“Maybe, but I'm sure Natalie wouldn't consider Miss Frankie's claim legitimate. In her mind, it's her family against the Merciers. She's probably far more concerned that you'll side with Ox against her.”

Wait a minute. What? “What does Ox have to do with anything?”

Worry flashed through Simone's eyes. She'd known Philippe years before I did—was once nearly engaged to him—and had also been close to Ox, something Ox had neglected to mention in all the discussions I'd had with him about taking the Belle Lune Ball contract. I'd felt hurt and
betrayed, but I thought we'd gotten past all that. “The house . . .” Simone said. “The building Philippe bought for Zydeco used to belong to Ox's family.”

I think my jaw hit the floor. “But I heard it belonged to an old woman named Miss Carrie. I thought Philippe bought it from her estate after she died.”

Simone nodded. “He did, but Miss Carrie was a distant relative of Ox's. That's how Philippe found out about it. The house was in disrepair and the whole neighborhood had been rezoned for commercial use. The family didn't want to go to all the expense of restoring and repairing and all that, so they sold it to Philippe.”

My heart beat hard against my chest and I felt as if the floor had opened up beneath my feet. “Why didn't Ox ever tell me?”

Simone lifted one thin shoulder. “I don't know.”

I tried desperately to process what she'd just told me, but I couldn't seem to make sense of it. This wasn't the first time Ox had tried to “protect” me from an unpleasant truth. But what kind of friend holds back a piece of information like that? Why hadn't he told me about Zydeco?

“No wonder he was so upset when Miss Frankie asked me to be her partner instead of him,” I murmured, more to myself than to Simone. “He'd been there from the beginning. He'd even helped Philippe find the building. Ox must hate me.”

“I'm sure he doesn't,” Simone said gently.

“I'm glad you're sure,” I said acidly. “I'm not sure of anything anymore. So now you think Ox might also have a claim to the necklace?”

Simone's gaze flickered away. “I wouldn't know. But he might.”

“Well, even if he does,” I said, “it's no more legitimate than any claim Miss Frankie or I might have. His family doesn't even own the house anymore.”

Her gaze flickered back, skimming across my face but not
really landing there. “Well, then, there's nothing to worry about.” She put a hand on my arm and finally managed to make eye contact. “Why don't we just forget about all of that?”

I wasn't convinced that Simone was telling me everything she knew, but I didn't think she'd say anything more right then. I'd have to talk to Ox about it later. Not that
he'd
be any more forthcoming, but at least I could try.

I worked up a weak smile and said, “You're right. It's pointless to stew over it. I was just picking up the key cards for the rooms Zydeco will be using on Saturday. Do you want to go with me to check them out?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

We took the ancient elevator to the second floor and checked the spaces I'd been assigned. It wasn't that I'd expected them to magically double in size since the last time I'd looked, but I was disheartened to see that they were as small as I'd remembered. We spent a little while checking and double-checking measurements, reconfiguring the layout in our imaginations, and suggesting and discarding different ideas. By four, we were right back where we'd started. The only possible workable solution was the one we'd already agreed upon.

But I was still thinking about what Natalie had said when I drove away from the hotel, and Simone's information had left me feeling edgy. Ox and I had been friends for a long time. Maybe I owed him a chance to tell me his story first. Though he'd had more than two years to do it already. Two years working side by side in the very building, and he hadn't said a word.

I decided on another approach—I'd talk to Calvin instead. If Miss Cassie had been a mutual relative, maybe he'd be more forthcoming with some information. I was pretty sure Ox wouldn't like me going behind his back, but I was upset enough not to care. What did it say about our friendship that I felt more comfortable talking to Calvin after just a week than I did with Ox after a decade or more?

I knew that Calvin was working at Mambo Odessa's shop in the French Quarter that afternoon so I aimed the Range Rover in that direction. I didn't want to wait for him to come to Zydeco. Besides, I wanted to talk to him somewhere Ox wouldn't overhear the conversation.

Mambo Odessa's tiny shop is located on Dauphine Street. It's an old wooden building with peeling white paint and bright blue shutters huddled between two tightly closed neighbors. Only a few people were out and about in the French Quarter that afternoon. Here and there a delivery truck blocked the narrow streets, slowing my progress once I turned off Canal Street.

Rather than circle around looking for a parking space, I pulled into a nearby parking structure and turned my keys over to the valet on duty. I pocketed the claim ticket and headed down the uneven sidewalk toward Mambo Odessa's.

I passed a family with a couple of small children meandering toward Jackson Square. On the next block, two old men argued good-naturedly. Only a few gift shops and restaurants were open for business, and in the heat of the day, the whole neighborhood felt sleepy and innocent. Come nightfall, the now quiet streets would fill with music, alcohol, and wide-eyed tourists. All those tightly closed shutters would fly open to reveal bars and nightclubs and strip joints. The Quarter would shake off its sleepy family atmosphere and roar triumphantly to life. The Quarter at night is energetic and interesting, but I like it best in the daytime.

Now that I was here, though, I wasn't sure this was such a great idea. I don't believe in voodoo, but there's something about Mambo Odessa that makes me tread carefully. She's . . . different. Not necessarily in a bad way.

I'd been to her shop once before. Instead of the dim lighting and displays of shrunken heads I'd expected, Mambo Odessa's shop had a light, airy feel. Sunlight poured into the shop,
illuminating the very normal-looking collection of soaps, oils, and candles that were designed to enhance fortune, health, good luck, or love. Along with those, displays of jewelry and jujus and several shelves filled with educational books and DVDs invited visitors to browse for a while. Of course, she also carried the requisite gris-gris bags filled with herbs and roots, and one wall was covered with dolls dressed in brightly colored costumes and feathers. (I didn't know what the dolls were for and I wasn't going to ask.)

Mambo Odessa, wearing a caftan in shades of red, yellow, and orange, stood behind the counter. A matching turban covered her head, and she wore several strings of beads around her neck. Or maybe they were bones. I didn't want to look too closely. As always, she also wore a pair of small round sunglasses.

She came out from behind the counter, smiling as if she was expecting me. “Ah. Rita. You are here. You have questions for me, no?”

Maybe it's the way she knows things she can't possibly know that leaves me feeling off-balance. It's a struggle not to look like a deer in the headlights when I'm around her. “Actually, I was hoping to talk with Calvin. Is he in?”

“Not at the moment. I sent him to pick up a few things. Why don't you come in and sit down? We can talk.”

She motioned me toward a small wrought iron table and matching chairs. I hesitated for a moment, but she floated across the room, apparently convinced I'd do what she wanted.

I could have resisted, but who was I kidding? Besides, Mambo Odessa probably knew more about the house Ox's family had once owned than Calvin did. Or maybe neither of them knew anything. I was assuming that it was their branch of the family tree we were talking about, but maybe I was wrong.

Still, I followed her to the table and took a seat.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked. “I have water ready.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I'm not much of a tea drinker. And I really don't have a lot of time.”

She smiled serenely and sat across from me. “Then by all means, child. Ask what you want to know.”

I wasn't sure where to begin. “I'm sure by now you've heard that I found the Toussaint necklace.”

Madame Odessa dipped her head once. “Of course. You're worried about what will happen to you?”

“Not exactly.” I laughed nervously. “I know you make your living based on people who believe in the supernatural, but I'm not one of them. I don't believe the necklace is cursed.”

“Oh, but it is, child. That much I know for sure.”

Aunt Yolanda had always told me to pick my battles. This wasn't a battle I wanted to have with someone who may or may not think she was capable of putting a curse on me. I skipped to the next question. “What do you know about the curse, then?”

“I know that it's powerful,” Mambo Odessa said. “And I know that it's full of anger and hatred. That curse won't go away until the damage is undone.”

That wasn't good news, especially since I didn't know what it meant. “What damage are you talking about? How would somebody undo it?”

Mambo Odessa sat back and regarded me with interest. “Tell me what you know about the necklace's history.”

I gave her the Cliff Notes version, touching on all the important points. Armand and his two women. The betrayal Delphine felt when he gave “her” necklace to his wife. The death of Beatriz's unborn child when its mother died. The deaths of Gustave's wife and daughter. Had I left anything out? Nope, I think that covered it.

Mambo Odessa nodded as I talked and let out a sigh when I finished. “You know enough. Delphine suffered mightily after that. She'd lost her patron, and she had no way to care for her children.”

“She had three children, right?”

“Yes.”

“And they were all Armand Toussaint's?”

“Yes.”

I thought about what that meant. “But the baby Beatriz was carrying was her first?”

“That's right.”

I wondered if Beatriz had known about Armand's children. Had it hurt her to know that he'd fathered three children by his mistress before she got pregnant? I knew the pain that would have caused me. If Philippe had been producing children with another woman when we were married, it would have killed me.

“Beatriz didn't need to be cursed,” I said. “She probably died of a broken heart.”

Mambo Odessa touched the beads around her neck. “You have a good heart, child.”