Marisa Carroll - Hotel Marchand 09 (19 page)

“After all the money I spent on you at Disney World, you still want your daddy to tuck you in?” she said in a teasing voice.

Dana wasn’t buying it. “Yes,” she said, and slithered out of Casey Jo’s arms to march up the steps on her own.

“Ungrateful brat,” Casey Jo said, but her laugh was brittle.

“I’ll be right up.” Alain stayed where he was, his eyes holding Sophie’s.

“Go to her, Alain. We can talk later.” It was hard to read her expression or the neutral tone of her voice.

“I’ll help Casey Jo get her ready for bed,” Guy said, coming up beside them with suitcases in both hands. “Where’s Grandma? I figured her and Grandma Marie would both be here waiting by the curb.”

“I don’t know where Marie is. Grandma Cecily is at
Mamère
Yvonne’s. I expected them both back here a good forty minutes ago.”

“I’ll give them a call when I get inside.” Guy looked from Alain to Sophie and back again.

“Thanks for all your help today, Miss Sophie.”

“You’re most welcome, Guy.” Her voice warmed. “And I think it’s time you called me Sophie. I don’t know about you, but after today I would like to think we’ve become good enough friends to dispense with the formalities.”

Guy glanced at Alain, gauging his reaction. Alain gave his son a slight nod.

“Thanks, Sophie. And I really do appreciate what you did for me. I…I have some money from my job helping at the B&B.” He blushed slightly. “And Past Perfect. I’d like to pay for the gas we used today.”

Alain could see Sophie debating how to answer. If she brushed aside his son’s offer with a polite refusal, it would make him feel beholden to her. If she agreed to the payment, it would probably wipe out Guy’s small savings account. But he had asked a very big favor of her and Alain wanted him to be aware of what a trip like that cost in time and money.

“Thank you for offering, Guy,” she said, giving the boy one of her wonderful smiles. “Perhaps we can work something out. I’m going back to Houston, you know, and Ms. Prejean will be running Past Perfect. I’d like to think she could call on you for any help she might need. That would mean so much more to me than money.”

Alain clamped his back teeth together to keep from smiling at the ill-concealed look of profound relief on Guy’s face as he digested her suggestion. “I’d be glad to help out at the shop. I’ll stop by tomorrow after school and introduce myself and leave Ms. Prejean my cell-phone number.”

“That will be a real load off my mind.”

“I’d better go help Casey Jo with Dana or she’ll have her so worked up she’ll start puking again.” He caught Alain’s eye as he walked by lugging Casey Jo’s big suitcase and Dana’s little one. “She’s taking off for Vegas again, did you know that?”

“No,” Alain said. “That’s news to me.”

“Yeah, it was to me, too. Like it worked out so good the last time, right? She’s got a boyfriend and she says he’s going to get her a job singing there.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, what we talked about the other night? She didn’t pass the test.”

Alain watched him climb the steps to the house, then turned and walked toward Sophie. She was still standing behind her car door, almost as if she was using it as a shield.

“Did you catch the bad guys?” she asked, curling her hands over the door frame and resting her chin atop them.

“They never got out of New Orleans,” he said, not even trying to hide his disgust at the wasted effort. “I’m for sure running for sheriff the next election after today’s fiasco.”

“You’ll probably win,” she said, and smiled.

“I’d like to add my thanks to Guy’s for what you did today.”

“You’re welcome. I hoped you wouldn’t think I was taking too much on myself doing it.”

“Why
did
you do it?” He moved in a little closer, maneuvering around the car door so that she had to turn to face him. “Do you have a Good Samaritan complex?”

“I wanted to help Guy, yes…” She looked down at his chin. “But that wasn’t the only reason.” After a moment she lifted her gaze to his again, and his heart almost stopped beating in his chest. Her gray-blue eyes were luminous with an emotion he was afraid to put a name to. He reached out to take her in his arms, the neighbors be damned.

His cell phone rang. Alain wanted to ignore it, to throw it down on the ground and stomp on it, but he reached for it instead. Only his mother, Guy and the dispatcher at the station had the number. Duty demanded he take the call.

“Boudreaux here,” he growled, his eyes locked with Sophie’s, unwilling to let her look away.

“Chief, it’s Homier,” came the uncertain voice of his rookie patrolman. “I need you down here at the station, ASAP.”

“What’s up?” Unless it involved murder or mayhem Alain had no intention of leaving the spot where he was standing until Sophie Clarkson agreed to be his wife.

“I don’t know quite how to tell you this.”

“Try just spitting it out.”

“Chief, I’ve got your mother and mother-in-law down here in the lock-up. I caught them red-handed breaking into the opera house.”

A
LAIN COULDN’T BELIEVE
his eyes as he stepped through the frosted-glass door that led from the main office space of Indigo’s police station to the small holding area. The surroundings themselves were familiar enough, consisting of a single room with green cinder-block walls and a darker green linoleum-tile floor. There were two cells and an open area furnished with a wooden desk and chair. Damien Homier sat behind the desk keeping watch over the two women in the farthest cell.

His mother and ex-mother-in-law locked up in his own jail. It was a sight Alain had never expected to see.

“Details, Homier,” Alain barked, fixing his gaze on his subordinate’s red face. “And unlock that cell. They’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s what we told him,” Cecily said, rising from the cot where she’d been sitting, her face flaming with embarrassment as she caught sight of Sophie following Alain into the holding area.

“He handcuffed us,” Marie huffed as the rookie surged to his feet and hurried to do his superior’s bidding.

“There were two of you,” the young man explained hastily. “I couldn’t take the chance on you escaping.”

“It’s standard procedure,” Alain said, cutting Marie off before she could launch into a tirade on his officer’s failings. “What the hell were you two doing breaking into the opera house?”

Cecily glanced at Marie, then her eyes strayed to the ordinary plastic grocery bag resting on the scratched and stained wooden table. “We were just retrieving some things that were left there by mistake.”

Alain went over and looked into the sack. He could feel Sophie peering over his shoulder. The sack was filled with the small overpriced stuffed animals from Past Perfect. “What the hell is it with these things?” Alain asked, picking up the lopsided frog, a price tag of eighty-two dollars tied to its leg, that he’d examined briefly a few days before.

“There’s over two thousand dollars’ worth of animals in that bag according to their tags,” Homier said a shade defensively. “I didn’t find anything else on their persons.”

“You patted down my mother?” Alain couldn’t quite get his mind around that image.

“Not a full pat-down,” the patrolman hurried to explain. “Just their coat pockets. In case, you know, they were carrying concealed.”

Homier was a good kid, an Iraq veteran, an MP just as Alain had been. But he bet the poor guy had never been involved in a collar like this one before. He waved off the stammered explanation his patrolman was attempting and transferred his attention to his mother. “Mom. Marie. I want the whole story, every detail. Now.” He emphasized the words with a little shake of the frog in their direction.

“They’re our property,” Marie said, tears filling her eyes. “We were only trying to get back what was ours.”

“But if they were yours, why didn’t you just ask me for them?” Sophie’s eyes widened as she glanced over at him. “I’m sorry. I should let you ask the questions.”

“Go ahead. It’s your place that was broken into.” He realized at that moment he was wearing his “cop face,” as Casey Jo had always termed it. She hated it. He imagined the other women in his life did, too, but it came with the territory. He bet Sophie would get used to it, though. She was that kind of woman. But this time he was interrogating his own mother, so he made a conscious effort to relax. First, though, he gave his subordinate one more long, hard look. “I think we can all agree this will be off the record.”

The young cop held up a hand as though he were taking an oath. “Sure thing, Chief.” He folded his hands at his middle, hooking his thumbs in his belt and stared off into space as though he had just become invisible.

“Mrs. Boudreaux,” Sophie began.

“Cecily, please.”

“Cecily.” Sophie returned the older woman’s smile. “Please explain to us what’s going on with these animals. They’re cute, but the workmanship doesn’t match the price tags. And, well, they simply aren’t the kind of merchandise my godmother carried at Past Perfect. If they belong to you, why didn’t you just ask for them the first time you came into the shop?” She picked the furry kitten out of the sack, turned it over in her hand and scanned the tag. “Sixty-seven dollars. I just don’t understand.”

“Squeeze it,” Cecily said. “Squeeze its stomach.”

Sophie did as Alain’s mother directed. “What’s in here?”

“It’s a pill bottle,” Marie said. “We’re smuggling drugs in them.”

Alain felt his mouth drop open and shut it so hard his teeth knocked together. Homier coughed as though something had caught in his throat.

“You what?” Alain thundered. “You mean this frog is a mule?” He looked down at the toy he was still holding. He gave the frog a squeeze and felt something hard and cylindrical beneath his fingers.

“What?” Cecily looked confused.

“A mule is someone or something drug dealers use to smuggle drugs,” Marie hissed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you ever watch the news?”

Alain pulled a penknife from his pocket and slit the frog open. A brown pill bottle popped out of the stuffing. He read the label, blinked and then read it again. “Yvonne Valois! Bisophl—?” How in the hell did you pronounce a word like that? It must have at least half a dozen syllables.

“It’s your grandmother’s blood pressure medicine, Alain,” Cecily stated defiantly. “We’re not smuggling
illegal
drugs. We’re smuggling
medicine
. From Canada.”

“Why in hell?”

“Because it’s too expensive to buy them here,” she said. “Or the government won’t okay its use, like what was in the teddy bear. I…I took it that day Dana and I came into the shop, Sophie. It was cancer medicine for W—”

“Don’t rat him out, Cecily,” Marie warned.

“Okay.” Cecily looked as if she wanted to cry but pride wouldn’t allow herself to. “Most of the people who have drugs in those toys don’t have health insurance, or plans with drug coverage, or they’re too young for Medicare to help. We all used to order our drugs separately, but a couple of years ago the feds started sending nasty letters warning us it was against the law.”

“And why that is, I’ll never know,” Marie broke in. “I thought buying stuff at the best possible price was the American way.” She folded her arms under her breasts and glared at Alain. “It’s none of the government’s business where I buy my cholesterol medicine. Or at least it shouldn’t be,” she added a bit less passionately.

“Oh, Alain. Sophie. I’m so sorry. We never thought this would happen. If Maude had lived one more day…” Cecily spread her hands in an apologetic gesture to Sophie, who nodded her understanding. “The animals would have been out of the store and into the hands of the people who have already paid for the medications inside them.”

“I still don’t see where we did anything wrong, just collecting what’s our own,” Marie said mulishly.

“You illegally entered private property and removed articles from that property without the permission of the owner.” Some of the tightness had left Alain’s shoulders and back, though he didn’t allow himself to smile. “Property valued at a substantial sum. Without verifiable proof of ownership, we’re looking at a felony charge, I’m afraid.”

“There’s an inventory list somewhere. My cousin always sent them separately. But you know how Maude—” Cecily bit her lip. “Felony?” She sounded as though her brain had only just registered the word. “Do you really mean to send us to jail?”

“We actually did Sophie a favor,” Marie insisted. “What if someone else had found that broken window latch? That fancy alarm system is only wired up to the ground-floor windows. Real crooks could have broken in and stolen everything. Set the place on fire. And wouldn’t that have caused a hell of an uproar?”

“What if I refuse to press charges,” Sophie said. “Then what happens?”

“I suppose we could lower the charges to criminal trespass.”

“Alain!”

“Homier, have you filed your report on this incident?” Alain turned his head to regard the younger man.

“Umm…” Damien’s face grew red once more. “Well, as a matter of fact, sir, I have not. I…I wasn’t quite certain how to…um, proceed,” he finished in a rush.

“Was there property damage?”

“Like they said, the latch was broken on the window, but it would be hard to prove they did it. There wasn’t any damage to the window frame from the outside. That I can say for sure.”

“I should check for wants and warrants,” Alain said.

“I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket and you know it,” Cecily said, sensing the crisis had passed.

“Me, neither,” Marie seconded. “Well…maybe a few speeding tickets.”

“Since it’s a first offense for both of you, and neither of you have prior criminal records, if Sophie agrees I think we can consider the case closed.”

“I’m certainly willing,” Sophie said quickly. “Nothing was damaged, and you did me a favor finding the broken window latch. Let’s all go home.” She handed Cecily the bag of stuffed animals. “I believe these are yours.”

“Thank you.” Cecily’s eyes filled with relief.

“From me, too,” Marie said, peering into the bag as though to make sure all the animals were there. She took the bag from Cecily and held it out to Alain. “The frog, please. Your grandmother is waiting for her blood pressure medicine.”

It was Alain’s turn to feel the color creep up his neck. He dropped the gutted frog and the medicine bottle in the sack as though they were suddenly red-hot.

“I’ll drive you home, Mom.”

“My car’s at your grandmother’s. She…was supposed to be my alibi.”

Once more Officer Homier made a choking sound in the back of his throat and looked as if he wished he were anywhere else on earth but where he was.

“Mother, that’s enough—don’t say another word,” Alain cautioned in an exasperated tone. “You have the right to remain silent, remember. I’ll drive you over to
Mamère’s
to pick up your car. Marie, do you want to come with us? Casey Jo is at my house with Dana.”

“Thanks, Alain. I’ll walk. My car’s just behind the diner. I’ll meet you at the house, if that’s okay. I do want to see our little Snickerdoodle and make sure she’s all right.”

“I’ll ride with Marie,” his mother said hurriedly. “It’ll save you a trip. Are we free to go?”

“Promise me this will be your last shipment of smuggled drugs,” he said. “If the others want to keep ordering their medications from Canada, I can’t stop them. But I can’t have a smuggling ring working under my nose. Understand?”

“But…”

“Look, I don’t make the laws. You guys have a good network set up here. Put it to use. Start lobbying Baton Rouge and Washington to change the law. That way everyone will benefit and I won’t have to bail my mother out of jail anymore.”

S
OPHIE MEANT
to go straight to the B&B when she left the police department, but instead she found herself pulling up in front of Past Perfect. The moon was out, the clouds having been swept away by a cool breeze while she and Alain were dealing with his mother and Marie.

She leaned her hands on the steering wheel and smiled. What an extraordinary day it had been. She hadn’t been so tired in a long time. But it was a good tired, the kind that came from accomplishing things. She was good at accomplishing things. She could juggle a dozen balls in the air at a time if she had to. She could make this work. In a few minutes she would drive out to the River Road and La Petite Maison, finish packing and then soak in a hot tub, but first she wanted to talk to Alain. She had no doubt he would be along in a minute or two, and this seemed the place to do it.

She looked up at the opera house as she got out of the car. The weather vane on top of the cupola glinted with hints of copper in the moonlight. The building needed work, a lot of it, but it still had life within its walls. She pulled the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the doors. She stepped inside to the now-familiar smell of potpourri and times past. The streetlight outside gave her enough light to see her way through the crowded displays, but she would have to make sure Amelia Prejean left a lamp or two on when she closed up in the evenings.

She was certain now that she wouldn’t close Past Perfect. But she had begun to wonder if it should continue in this location. Maude had opened her business here when the opera house was in danger of being neglected to the point of ruin. Her lease money had kept it going. But now it was time to change, time to stop talking and planning and start to act. Perhaps the absentee Canadian landlord would be more inclined to sell the building to the development committee if it didn’t have a tenant? After all, it seemed that he had little interest in the opera house as long as Maude’s lease money paid for the very minimal upkeep he was willing to perform. She glanced out at the darkened stores that lined the main square. Surely one of those vacant businesses could house Past Perfect and give her the space to spread out her inventory, showcase it so people could fully appreciate it.

She would ask Alain what he thought.

She continued into the auditorium, leaving one of the big carved doors open to the soft light of a Gone-with-the-Wind lamp that she switched on as she passed. Here, too, moonlight softened the darkness just enough to make out the rows of seats and the midnight folds of the stage curtains framing the black rectangle of the stage. Around her she sensed the inventory Guy and his friends had so carefully arranged for her. She would still send the fainting couch and one or two other items to the New Orleans dealer the appraiser had recommended, seed money for new merchandise and for Maude’s pickers to head back out onto the estate-sale circuit, but the rest would stay here.

Including the Delacroix fiddle that she hoped Alain would play for her.

She heard him then, walking up the steps of the opera house, opening the door. She turned, wondering if he could see her in the deeper shadows of the auditorium, watching as he came unerringly toward her, a darker, more substantial outline in the myriad of shadows surrounding her.

“Sophie?” His voice was low and rough. Goose-bumps rose on her arms and she rubbed the skin to soothe the tingle. They had waited so long to be together. Circumstances dictated they wait longer still, but only a short while.