The Cakes of Monte Cristo (9 page)

He came into the room, six feet of muscle and Southern charm, but the somber look on his face made my giddiness evaporate just like
that
. I knew his cop face only too well.

“What's wrong?” I asked as I closed the door behind him.

He stopped just inside the foyer, his blue eyes dark with something that made my breath catch. “I just came from the scene of a robbery,” he said. “I'm here because we found your name on a receipt there. You were at the Vintage Vault this afternoon?”

I could only stare at him while I tried to understand what he'd just asked me. “Orra was robbed?”

He nodded slowly. “Someone broke into her store a couple of hours ago. We got a 911 call asking for an ambulance from a woman who identified herself as Orra Trussell. She
told the operator that someone was trying to rob her and said she thought she was having a heart attack.”

“Poor Orra. Is she all right? Was it really a heart attack?”

Sullivan nodded. “That's what it looks like right now, but we won't know for sure until we get the autopsy results.”

I inhaled sharply. “Orra's
dead
?” My voice sounded high and childish, and I was having a hard time taking a deep breath. I envisioned Orra's big smile and her garden gnome cheeks, and my heart skipped a beat or two. “Are you sure?”

Sullivan put a steadying arm around my shoulders and led me into the living room, making sure I was breathing in and out before he left me to grab a throw from the basket in the corner. I curled up on the couch, tucking my feet beneath me while he covered me.

When he was satisfied that I wasn't about to pass out, he sat beside me. “Orra Trussell was a friend of yours?”

I shook my head slowly. “No, I just met her this evening, but it's still a shock. What happened?”

“Near as we can figure, she was working late and somebody broke in through the front door. The storefront was dark. Whoever it was probably thought the store was empty. Orra must have gone up front to see what was going on and ran into the burglar. She placed the 911 call, but by the time paramedics arrived, she was dead on the scene.”

My eyes misted with tears and a lump the size of Texas filled my throat. “Why would somebody break in to her store? She didn't have anything really valuable there.”

“She must have had something,” Sullivan said. “The 911 operator thought she mentioned a necklace, but Mrs. Trussell was having trouble talking. The operator isn't sure what she was trying to say.”

My head shot up and my shock took on an almost eerie shape. “What necklace?”

“We don't know yet. We don't even know for sure that
she was talking about a necklace. Although—” He broke off and shook his head.

“Although what?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, but he didn't meet my eyes so I didn't believe him.

“
I
left a necklace with her,” I said, “but you already know that, don't you? Was she talking about
my
necklace?”
The one with the curse on it? Was her death a result of the curse?
I pulled the throw up to my chin, but I still felt chilled to the bone.

“I don't know if it was yours,” Sullivan said. “And even if I did, I can't discuss details of the case with you.”

“Then why are you here?” I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “And if Orra's death wasn't a homicide, why were
you
there at all?”

He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his face with both hands. “A friend of mine caught the case. He called me because he recognized your name. I stopped by to see what was happening and then came straight here. I wanted to let you know and make sure you were all right.”

“Well, as you can see, I'm fine.” I tried to relax against the sofa cushion but I couldn't stop thinking about Orra the way she'd been that afternoon. I didn't want to imagine her so frightened that her heart had stopped, but that possibility was better than thinking that the curse had gotten her. “Does your friend have any idea who broke into her store?”

“Not yet,” Sullivan admitted. “She had in-store security, but apparently she hadn't yet armed it for the night, and it doesn't include video surveillance anyway. I don't know if there's video from any other businesses nearby.”

I hoped there was. Whoever broke in deserved to be caught. “What did the thief take?”

Another shrug. “We won't know that until her assistant has a chance to take a complete inventory. My friend said
it wasn't clear whether or not anything was taken, but the store is apparently pretty cluttered so it's hard to tell.”

“I wonder if the Toussaint necklace was taken during the robbery,” I mused aloud.

“Is that the piece you left at the Vintage Vault?”

I nodded. “Orra was going to appraise it and tell me whether it was genuine or a fake.”

“What is it? A family piece?”

“Not exactly,” I said, “but I do have some claim to it.” I explained about the accident with Zoey and the boxes, and about finding the necklace hidden inside the stairs. “I showed it to Miss Frankie,” I said as I wrapped up. “She wigged out when she saw it. Said it was cursed. I couldn't get her to tell me anything more, but I've done a little research since then. It seems that everyone who has owned the necklace since the time of the Civil War has died. It disappeared for a century or so and then we found it. And now this.”

Sullivan listened intently as I talked, but laughed when I got to the end. “Don't tell me you believe the necklace is dangerous.”

“Not really,” I said sheepishly. “But you have to admit it's a little spooky to hear about the curse and then be told that Orra Trussell died while she had the thing in her possession.”

“Coincidence.”

An involuntary shudder racked my body. I wrote it off as another chill and got to my feet. “If you say so. I'm going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

“I wouldn't say no,” Sullivan said with a grin. “You have any of those shortbread cookies?”

“I might.” I wouldn't have admitted it for the world, but after learning that pecan shortbread cookies were Sullivan's favorite, I made a point of always having a few on hand—just in case. He followed me into the kitchen and we chatted
about inconsequential things while I got the coffee started and arranged cookies on a plate. I didn't return to the subject of the robbery and Orra's death until I put creamer and sugar on the table and sat across from Sullivan.

“The 911 call is on tape, right? Can they listen to it again and find out what Orra said?”

“I'm sure they will,” Sullivan said as he reached for a cookie. As his gaze raked across my face, I caught a look in his eye that set off a buzz in the back of my head. I'd seen that expression on his face before—usually when he was trying to keep something from me.

“What?” I asked.

The look disappeared and one of supreme innocence replaced it. “The cookies,” he said. “They're good, as always.”

“Nice try, Sullivan. What aren't you telling me?”

He popped the cookie into his mouth and shook his head, pantomiming his inability to answer with his mouth full.

I laughed but I wasn't amused. “You know something, don't you? You might as well come clean. I won't give up until you tell me. You should know that by now.” He reached for another cookie but I snatched the plate away before he could take one. “Talk or the cookies go back into the jar.”

He grimaced good-naturedly. “You drive a hard bargain, Lucero.”

“Yeah. I've been taking lessons. What are you trying to hide?”

He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “Your necklace wasn't stolen.”

I felt a rush of relief followed closely by a cloud of confusion. “Well, that's great, but why didn't you just tell me that to begin with?”

“Because the investigating officers found it in Orra Trussell's hand. She was holding it when she died.”

That unsettled feeling in my stomach grew stronger. “So you think that's what she was talking about when she placed her 911 call?”

“I think it's a good possibility.”

“But the thief didn't take it.”

“No, but that doesn't mean he—or she—wasn't after it. It looks like Orra collapsed on top of it.”

“To protect it?”

“It's possible.”

“So you think the thief broke in and tried to steal my necklace, but Orra died before he could get it?”

Sullivan shrugged. “I think it's a possibility. The police have taken it into evidence and it could be a while before you see it again, but I think you should be alert for the next little while. We have no way of knowing what the thief was really after, or whether he'll try again to get it. I really don't think you're in danger, but I do think you should be cautious until we're sure what caused Mrs. Trussell's death.”

I sighed unhappily. “Thanks for the warning. What about her family? How are they taking the news?”

Sullivan shook his head. “She didn't have any that we can find. According to her assistant, Mrs. Trussell was a widow. No children. We're still looking for next of kin.”

“She was all alone? That's horrible! I hate thinking there's nobody waiting for her to come home. It makes me feel even worse about her death. Are the police going to follow up on the burglary? Find out who frightened her so badly? Because it seems to me that whoever broke into her store is responsible for her death.”

Sullivan's mouth curved downward at the edges. “Look, Rita, I know you care about people. I like the fact that you care. But don't get yourself all worked up over this. In all likelihood, the woman had a heart attack. At first glance, it
doesn't appear that anything was actually taken from the store, and in reality the cops who caught the case probably aren't going to have time to track down someone who
didn't
rob the place.”

“You're saying the police aren't going to do anything?”

“That's not exactly what I said,” he said with a weary smile. “I just want you to be prepared for reality, and the reality is that this case probably isn't going to be a high priority.”

“So whoever broke in and frightened Orra to death is going to get away with it?”

He leaned forward, holding my gaze steadily. “Come on, Rita. You know how it works. Cases go unsolved all the time. The police force is understaffed and overworked, and we can only give a case our full attention for so long. An attempted robbery is going to get bumped off the list within a day or two, tops.”

It sounded so cynical when he said it like that, but I knew it was true. I'd listened to him complain about this very thing in the past, watched him deal with his own frustrations when a case had to fall off his radar because another case suddenly took priority.

I understood, but that didn't mean I liked it. I knew that the thief who broke into Orra's store probably hadn't murdered her, but I couldn't help thinking that he—or she—was still responsible for bringing on the heart attack that killed that poor woman. Because if I didn't think that, I might start thinking that the cursed necklace had something to do with Orra's death, and I really didn't want to go there.

Sullivan finished his coffee, kissed me good night, and left me to get some sleep before his next shift started. I understood that, too, but I didn't like it either. I cleaned up in the kitchen, scrubbed my face, and crawled into bed an hour later, but I was still thinking about Orra's heart attack and wondering if
her death really would be written off as an unfortunate coincidence.

One thing I knew for sure, though. I wasn't going to tell Miss Frankie about the burglary or Orra's unfortunate demise. Most of all, I wasn't going to tell her that I'd taken the necklace to Orra that evening. Because if I did, Miss Frankie would almost certainly blame the necklace for both.

I dozed off and on all night after Sullivan's visit. I kept thinking about Orra and the necklace and wondering whether the thief had been after the Toussaint rubies when he broke into the Vintage Vault. Only a handful of people had even known that we'd found the necklace, so it seemed unlikely. It was an unfortunate coincidence, that's all.

At least that's what I told myself.

But that didn't stop me from trying to remember who might've seen the necklace while I had it in my possession. There was Zoey, of course. And Simone. Corinne Carver had spotted it briefly when she'd barged in on my lunch meeting with Simone. And, of course, I'd told Gabriel about it.

I couldn't seriously think of Zoey, Simone, or Gabriel as thief material, but I supposed Corinne might have been a possibility. She'd always seemed fairly quiet and somewhat mousy to me, but she'd been wound up pretty tightly when she interrupted our lunch at the Monte Cristo.

I had to assume that by now everyone at Zydeco knew about the necklace, but I wouldn't even consider one of my staff as the would-be thief.

Miss Frankie knew about the necklace, and she might have been capable of breaking into the Vintage Vault under the right (or wrong?) circumstances, but she'd been so upset by just the sight of the necklace that I could not truly believe there was any way she'd have gone after it. Though she might've mentioned it to someone else. Someone who wanted to get their hands on those rubies . . . But even if Miss Frankie had told everyone she knew about it, she couldn't have known that I'd taken the necklace to Orra.

Which brought me to the Vintage Vault itself. Orra certainly hadn't broken into her own shop, but what about Dominique? Although it seemed unlikely that she'd have needed to break in if she'd wanted to steal the necklace; she could have just waited for Orra to go home.

Sol Lehmann was a definite possibility. Orra had told me he was greedy. Maybe he'd returned to the Vintage Vault after Orra closed, determined to get his hands on pieces from the estate sale he'd been asking Orra about. Maybe the Toussaint necklace wasn't even a factor in the burglary. I wanted desperately to believe that. The alternative made me feel too guilty.

By the time a little gray began to creep into the night sky, I gave up trying to sleep and threw on a pair of comfy jeans and a favorite old T-shirt. I pulled my hair up so I wouldn't have to spend time doing anything else to it, brushed on a skiff of eye shadow and a little mascara, and I was good to go.

The streetlights were just starting to blink off as I pulled into the employee parking lot behind Zydeco. I dragged myself onto the loading dock and coerced myself into the break room with the promise of caffeine. By the time the coffee finished brewing, Ox and Isabeau had arrived, so I carried a cup with
me into the design room hoping they'd help distract me from thoughts about Orra.

Isabeau bounced around the room leaking cheerleader perkiness all over as she got her workstation ready for the day. Ox was a bit more subdued, eyeing my coffee as if I might hand it over if he looked pathetic enough.

It wasn't going to happen.

I wanted to tell them about Orra's death and the break-in at the Vintage Vault, but I didn't want them to get the wrong idea. A few months earlier, the entire staff had staged an intervention of sorts, hoping to convince me not to get involved when odd situations crossed my path. I wasn't in the mood for another lecture, so I decided to keep last night's news to myself.

I gathered the things I'd need to make fondant peacock feathers and set up my workstation while Ox got his own caffeine infusion. I waited until he'd had half a cup, which usually made him almost approachable, then decided to see how he felt about hiring his cousin.

“Guess who I had dinner with last night,” I said as I dusted my table top with cornstarch.

Ox glanced at me over the rim of his cup and made a noise in his throat, which I interpreted as a request for the answer.

“Calvin. I ran into him as I was leaving the Vintage Vault. He told me that your aunt lives nearby there. I guess he's staying with her?”

Ox lowered his cup slowly. “She does. And I guess he probably is. I don't really know.” His eyebrows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “You two had dinner together?”

“Yeah. He was going to a place called Mama June's and I didn't have plans so he invited me to join him. The food was delicious, by the way. I can't believe you haven't told me about it before.”

Ox's eyebrows beetled even closer to one another. “I haven't been there in a while. What did he want?”

I pulled a ball of green fondant from its container and began to knead it so it would be the right consistency when I rolled it out. “What makes you think he wanted something?”

“Are you saying he didn't?”

“He asked me about a job,” I admitted reluctantly. “But that's not all we talked about.”

Ox snorted a laugh and swallowed the rest of his coffee. “What did you tell him?”

“I said that I'd see if we could find something for him, but I wanted to talk to you before I made any promises.” I stopped kneading and reached for my rolling pin. “And I warned him that even if we could find him a job during our busy season, it would only be temporary.”

Ox didn't say anything to that, but one eyebrow arched suspiciously.

“Is there some reason I
shouldn't
give him a job?”

Ox shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Hardly a glowing recommendation, but Ox never had been one to gush about people, “Good. Because I thought that with the Belle Lune Ball coming up and Mardi Gras right after that, we could really use some help. We always hire temps at this time of year, and I don't know why your cousin couldn't be one of them.”

Ox buttoned his chef's jacket before he responded. “Fine with me. He's all right.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Did he say anything about how long he's planning to stick around?”

“No, he just said he needs the work if he's going to make ends meet.” I began to roll the fondant, aiming for a thickness of about one-eighth of an inch. “Is that something I should be worried about?”

Ox shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He expelled a heavy breath and sat on a metal stool. “I have no reason not to trust the guy, if that's what you're asking. I just haven't seen him in a while, that's all.”

Clearly, something was bothering Ox, but I didn't want to push for an explanation—Ox tends to clam up under pressure. “That works for me,” I said with a grin. “And it's not as if I'm relying on him to stay around. We're just talking about a matter of a few weeks.”

Ox grunted his agreement, but didn't say anything more.

Maybe I should have let the subject drop, but my curiosity had been stirred so I asked, “What kind of work does he usually do?”

Ox gave me another shrug. “I have no idea. He's been in Baltimore for a while. That's really all I know.”

“The two of you aren't close?”

“Not anymore.” Ox went to one of the metal supply shelves and rummaged around for a moment. “We played together as kids, but we lost touch when we got older.” He found a revolving cake stand and turned to face me. “What's with the twenty questions? If you want to hire him, do it.”

I turned the fondant and rolled it in the other direction. “You really wouldn't mind?”

“I said I didn't, and I don't. But if you're asking for a recommendation, I don't know him well enough to give you one.”

“Well, great. I'm sure we can find enough to keep him busy two or three days a week. I'll let him know—unless you'd like to be the one to tell him.”

“Go ahead.”

Sparkle arrived for work and Ox went into the kitchen, returning with a cart bearing half a dozen white cakes, which he would stack and secure before carving them into the shape of a female dress form. He spent a few minutes squaring himself away and situating the tools he needed
before he asked, “What were you doing at the Vintage Vault last night?”

With the fondant rolled out to the perfect thickness, I reached for a large leaf-shaped cookie cutter and pressed it into the fondant. Hoping I looked nonchalant, I said, “I'm assuming you've heard about the necklace I found.”

“Isn't Zoey the one who found it?” Isabeau piped up.

“She spotted the bundle inside the stair,” I admitted, wondering if Simone had been right to wonder if Zoey would claim a finder's fee. I channeled my inner Scarlett O'Hara and decided to think about that later. “We opened it together.”

“Well, whoever did what, I'm dying to see it,” Isabeau said.

Sparkle, decked out in a filmy black tunic and slacks, perched on a stool and applied a fresh layer of black lipstick. “You don't want to see it,” she warned. “It's cursed.”

“It's not cursed,” I said firmly. “But I can't show it to you. I don't have it. Anyway,” I said, returning to Ox's question, “Simone suggested that I take it to the Vintage Vault and have Orra Trussell appraise it for me.”

Isabeau left her workstation and moved closer. “What's that about a curse?”

“It's just a rumor,” I said.

“There's no curse,” Ox said, backing me.

Isabeau's blue eyes darkened with concern. “And you took it to the Vintage Vault? I think something bad happened there last night. I heard something on the news this morning but I'll admit I wasn't really paying attention.”

“I heard it, too,” Sparkle said from her shadowy corner. “Didn't somebody die?”

So much for keeping my mouth shut. “Yes, unfortunately,” I admitted. “Somebody broke into the shop last night. Orra called for help, but Sullivan says it looks like she had a heart attack before anyone could get there.”

Isabeau gasped. “Do they know who frightened that poor woman to death?”

“No,” I said, “but she said something about a necklace to the 911 operator, and I can't help wondering, what if she was talking about
my
necklace—the one we found, I mean? And what if the burglar was after it?”

“Don't get any big ideas,” Ox warned.

“I'm not getting
any
ideas,” I assured him. “Big or small. I'm just feeling guilty, I guess. If I hadn't taken the necklace to Orra, she might still be alive.”

“Or she might be just as dead as she is right now.” Ox gently picked up a cake and prepared to stack it on top of the others. “It sounds like the woman had a bad heart, which means that she would probably have had a heart attack even without the robbery.”

Sparkle rotated back and forth on her stool. “I don't know. Maybe it was the curse.”

“It was
not
the curse,” I insisted. “But maybe somebody was after the necklace I left with her, and maybe that frightened her so badly her heart gave out.”

“I'll bet that's what happened,” Isabeau said in hushed tones. “No wonder you're upset, Rita. I would be, too.”

I sent her a grateful smile. “And I just know that Miss Frankie is going to blame the curse for it anyway. I don't intend to tell her, but you know how she is. She knows everybody in this city. Somebody's bound to tell her.”

Ox stopped working and locked eyes with me. “There's no curse. And as for Orra's death, maybe she would have had a heart attack anyway. Maybe she wouldn't. But we're never going to know, are we? Racking yourself with guilt isn't going to make one bit of difference to Orra or her family.”

“She doesn't have a family,” I said, “which somehow makes it all worse.”

Isabeau gave a little mew of sympathy. Even Sparkle seemed disturbed by that piece of news.

Ox shot a warning look at both of them. “It doesn't change anything.”

“Whatever.” I turned back to the fondant and cut out a few more leaves. “Technically, I suppose you're right, Ox, but that doesn't mean I can just flip a switch and change how I feel. And I do feel responsible for the necklace. After all, I'm the one who found it.”

“Put the blame on Zoey,” Ox said with a grin. “Then it's not your responsibility at all and we can stop talking about it.”

His flippant attitude annoyed me, but Isabeau stepped in before I could respond. “Quit being such a grouch, Ox. I know exactly where Rita is coming from. And yes, Zoey might have been the one to find the necklace, but it was hidden here in this house, which means it belongs to Rita and Miss Frankie.”

Exactly my point. It was nice to know that someone understood. And since Miss Frankie had washed her hands of it, the necklace was my responsibility.

Isabeau moved a little closer to me and lowered her voice. “You know who you need to talk to, don't you? Mambo Odessa could probably tell you everything you need to know. Zoey was trying to find out more about the necklace online yesterday, but there's practically nothing on the Internet except something about an old painting. But Mambo Odessa knows all about local history, especially anything supernatural. I'll bet she'd know all about the curse.”