The Cakes of Monte Cristo (24 page)

Sullivan woke me around ten the next morning. Or maybe I should say the aroma of fresh coffee woke me and brought Sullivan into the bedroom with it. He'd also put a couple of bagels on a plate and added a tub of whipped cream cheese, but the coffee made everything else unimportant.

Sighing gratefully, I took the mug he offered me and scooched up against the headboard to make room for him. He left the tray at the foot of the bed and brought his broad shoulders and impressive physique into the bed with me. My heart flipped around for a moment and heat raced through me when his thigh brushed mine. He kissed me thoroughly and then settled back with a satisfied smile.

“Nice way to start the morning,” he said. “We should do this more often.”

“Agreed, but I vote we try it under better circumstances.”

Sullivan kissed me again. “Deal. I thought I'd go back over to your place this morning and check it out in the
daylight,” he said. “Want to come along, or would you rather stay here and catch up on your sleep?”

I laughed and sipped coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in quickly. “I'm awake now,” I pointed out. “And you should know me better than to think I'm going to stay behind.”

His clear blue eyes twinkled. “You never know. You might've been willing to let me check it out on my own. Pigs might be flying around outside, too.”

I grinned. “I suppose there's even a chance that hell is frozen over. You let me know if it is and then I'll think about staying behind.”

“Pretty much what I thought you'd say.” He crossed one foot over the other, making himself comfortable. “Now that you've had some sleep, why don't you tell me what happened when you got home last night.”

The smile slipped from my face. “There's not much to tell,” I said. “Everything from the time I finally left the Monte Cristo is pretty foggy. I don't even remember actually driving home.”

“That might not be something you want to tell a cop.”

“I wouldn't tell just
any
cop,” I said. “And for the record, I might be awake but I'm not coherent.” I took another bracing sip of caffeine and tried to remember the details. “I parked the car on the street and started toward the door just like always. I was exhausted, so I'm not sure what I noticed first. But I could tell that something wasn't right. It was dark, so it took a few seconds to realize that the door was open. I knew I hadn't left it that way, so I tried to call you on my cell but my battery was dead so I went to the restaurant next door.”

Sullivan nodded as I talked. “So you didn't actually go look at the door?”

“Nope. I behaved myself.”

“Who says you aren't teachable?” He winked as he said it and something warm and pleasurable scampered up my spine.

“Nobody, I hope.” I put my mug on the nightstand and wrapped my arms around my knees. “Until last night, I was convinced that whoever was after the necklace was involved with the Vintage Clothing Society. But all of the suspects were at the ball last night so it couldn't have been one of them.”

“Not necessarily,” Sullivan pointed out. “You were working. I'm sure you stayed later than most of the guests.”

He was right, of course. My thinking was still foggy. “No, of course not. I know Natalie Archer was there almost until the end, but I had to go collect my car at the shop, so I guess any one of them could've still gotten to my house, broken in, and searched it, all before I got home.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “Could they have still been inside when I got home?” And my nerves gave way to anger. “I almost wish I'd walked in. I'm really getting tired of this.”

“I'm sure you are, but don't start taking chances. This guy hasn't been violent yet, but it's not worth taking a chance.”

I looked away, hoping he wouldn't see guilt on my face. I hadn't told him about the attempted mugging at the Dizzy Duke, and I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him now. If he thought the wannabe thief was a real danger, I'd have a harder time convincing him to let me tag along when he went back to the house.

“Why don't you tell me about these suspects of yours?”

“Well, there's Orra Trussell's assistant, Dominique,” I said. “She knew that Orra had the necklace in her possession, and I get the feeling that she's ambitious. I think she'd be happy to inherit the Vintage Vault now that Orra is dead. Maybe she saw the necklace as her chance to get ahead. Maybe she went back to the Vintage Vault to steal the necklace and startled Orra. I mean, she has no alibi—unless the police can prove that she really was home when Orra called her that night.”

“I wouldn't hold my breath,” Sullivan said. “But Dominique wouldn't have needed to break in, would she?”

“No, but if she wanted to make it look like someone else
stole the necklace, she couldn't very well just unlock the door and take it.”

“True. Okay, so Dominique. Who else?”

“Sol Lehmann and his wife, Miriam. Sol was at the Vintage Vault the night I dropped off the necklace. He's offered to buy it from me, and so has his wife. They don't seem to be working together, but who knows? I don't trust either one of them. And then there's Natalie Archer. She claims to be Gustave Toussaint's descendant, and insists that the necklace belongs to her. But she
was
at the Monte Cristo almost as long as I was. I don't think she could have made it to my house before I got there.”

“Has she offered to buy the necklace?”

I shook my head. “No, and I don't think she will. She seems to believe that the necklace is rightfully hers. She's not going to pay to get it back.”

“But would she steal it?”

“I wouldn't put it past her,” I said. “But if she's behind all of this, she must have an accomplice.”

Sullivan filed that away and asked, “Anyone else?”

“I don't think so.”

Sullivan polished off his coffee and set his cup aside. “Well, we won't figure out who broke in from here. Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

“Make it fifteen,” I said as I scampered off the bed and headed toward the shower. Usually I take pride in my independence. I don't need a big, tough man to protect me. But I'm not a fool either. Whoever wanted the Toussaint necklace was becoming more aggressive all the time, and I liked knowing I wasn't alone.

*   *   *

Sullivan and I spent more than an hour checking my house for clues that might tell us who had broken in while I was working, but we came up empty. We talked to a few of my
nearest neighbors, hoping to find someone who'd seen or heard something unusual. Most of the shops had been closed, and the neighbors who lived on my street had either been sleeping or away from home at the time of the burglary.

Since it was Sunday and we had no big jobs coming up, Zydeco was closed. I expected everyone on staff would take the day off to recuperate, and that left me free to spend the morning with Sullivan. We stopped at a local bistro for soup and sandwiches and ate in my kitchen while a friend of Sullivan's repaired the splintered wood and installed a new lock. By two that afternoon, the house was livable again, though Sullivan suggested that I continue to stay at with him, at least until we figured out who was responsible for the damage.

I won't even try to deny that the idea of hiding at Sullivan's house was tempting. The break-in had left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. Every pop, crack, and creak in the house made me jump. But if I ran, then whoever was responsible for all of this would win, and that wasn't okay.

Sullivan and I argued mildly until he was called out on a case. He left reluctantly, and only after making me promise that I'd check in with him every hour. I agreed, mainly because I knew that if he was working, he'd be too busy to lecture me, and also because I was a little nervous about staying alone in the house. But that was exactly why I had to stay. I lived on my own, which meant that I didn't have the luxury of curling up in a fetal position every time something made me nervous.

Determined to keep my chin up, I puttered around the house for a while after Sullivan left. I washed a load of towels, stripped my bed, and put the bedding through the wash as well. I straightened the kitchen, dusted the living room, and ran the vacuum over the floors.

With the housework finished—at least as finished as it was going to get—I found myself getting restless. What was I doing? Letting the jewel thief turn me into a victim? It
wasn't like me to just sit around, waiting for him or her to strike again. There had to be something I could
do
.

But what?

First thing tomorrow, I'd contact Thaddeus Montgomery and get his legal opinion about Natalie's claim, but I was too edgy to wait until then. I wondered if someone from the Mercier family was behind the break-ins. I could try to track down the Lehmanns or Dominique or even Natalie Archer, but I had no idea where to begin looking for any of them on a Sunday afternoon.

I had a feeling that talking to Ox about the issues between us would get me about as far as talking to a brick wall, but at least I knew how to find him, so he seemed like the most logical place to start. I shot off a text asking if he was at home. A volley of texts later, I'd arranged to stop by for coffee.

Ox and Isabeau live in a third-floor apartment facing a pool that's shared by everyone in the complex. The building itself is made of brick that is slowly giving way to the elements. It's sheltered by a canopy of massive tree branches, but tiny bits of crumbled brick always seemed to litter the sidewalk, convincing me that the building was on its last legs.

I climbed a set of metal stairs and knocked on the door. Ox answered almost immediately, looking more curious than annoyed by my visit. I took that as a good sign.

He wore a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt. The shadow of whiskers darkened his cheeks and chin, and a fine layer of stubble covered his head. He saw me glance at it and followed my gaze with a hand. “Haven't bothered to shave yet.”

“Sorry to cut into your day off,” I said as I trailed him into the kitchen.

He shrugged and motioned me toward the table then set to work filling two mugs with coffee. “It's okay. Isabeau's out shopping and I'm just kicking around the house.”

I shrugged my bag from my shoulder and settled it on an empty chair. “Thanks for letting me stop by. I wouldn't bother you on your day off if it weren't important.”

Ox sat heavily and put his feet up. “What's up?”

Sitting there with him brought all those feelings of betrayal rushing back, but I wanted to start the conversation on a good note so I said how pleased I was with the work we'd done for the Belle Lune Ball. We chatted for a while, sharing comments we'd heard from guests, but inevitably that conversational well ran dry and Ox called me out. “Yeah, it was a good night, but you didn't come here to talk about that. Why are you really here?”

I gave up on the small talk. “Why didn't you tell me that your family once owned the Zydeco building?”

Ox shrugged. “It never came up. You think I should have said something?”

If there was a more frustrating man on the planet, I'd never met him. “You don't?”

“What difference would it have made? Philippe bought the house and turned it into a bakery. My family didn't have anything to do with it when he died.”

“Maybe not, but it would have been nice to know.”

“Why?” Ox sat up straight and rested his arms on the table. “Seriously, Rita, what difference would it have made? So some second cousin of mine's great-aunt owned that building. So what? You think Miss Frankie would've made a different decision if she'd known that? For that matter, do you really think she didn't know?” He was scowling, but his tone wasn't hard or cold. That was a plus.

“I have no idea what Miss Frankie did or didn't know,” I admitted. “But what about when Zoey and I found the necklace? Why didn't you say something then?”

“Why would I?”

“Because apparently that necklace is a very big deal.
Everybody wants to get their hands on it. Somebody wants it badly enough to go to a lot of trouble for it.”

One of Ox's eyebrows quirked upward. “What kind of trouble?”

Yeah. Okay, so I hadn't exactly been completely honest with Ox either. I took a fortifying breath and let it all out in a rush. “Someone's tried at least three times to get the necklace from me. I think it's the same person who broke into the Vintage Vault.”

“What do you mean? Tried how?”

“Somebody was prowling around my house a few nights ago,” I confessed. “Then somebody attempted to mug me outside the Dizzy Duke. Then there was the busted window on the Range Rover, and last night somebody broke into my house.”

Ox's quirky eyebrow took a nosedive. “You never said a word.”

“I didn't want the lectures,” I admitted. “But trying to steal my purse is one thing. Breaking into my house is something else entirely. Although to be fair, whoever it was did leave a fifty-dollar bill to help pay for the damage. And before you start lecturing me, I didn't do anything reckless. I called Sullivan last night before I went into the house.”