The Cakes of Monte Cristo (20 page)

The compliment warmed me from the inside out. I smiled and said, “I just think it's so sad. I'd like to be furious with Armand for the way he treated those women, but he was just as much a product of his times as they were. Delphine had to sell herself to get by. Beatriz had to pretend she didn't mind that her husband had another family, and I guess Armand was just living up to what was expected of him. It's not fair to judge him by modern standards, but still . . .”

Mambo Odessa didn't say anything for a while. She just kept fingering the beads on her necklace and staring at the center of the table. Just when I was starting to wonder if she was performing some voodoo ritual, she shifted her gaze to meet mine. “The necklace must go back where it belongs. You know that.”

“But where
does
it belong? Gustave Toussaint's last direct descendant—if that's really who she is—says the necklace belongs to her. Or does it belong to Miss Frankie, since she
owns the building where we found it? Or is there some long-lost descendant of Delphine's who ought to get it? I wish I knew the right thing to do.”

Mambo Odessa pulled her hand away from her beads and touched the back of my hand. “I can't tell you what to do, child. To end the curse, you must decide.”

Was she kidding? “But how am I supposed to know what to do?”

“Stay open to the whispers of the ancestors. They'll tell you what you should do.”

“That's not exactly helpful,” I said. “I told you that I don't believe in the curse and I'm not in the habit of communing with the dead. But I do believe that somebody is trying to steal it from me. Someone was sneaking around outside my house a few nights ago and I was the victim of an attempted mugging earlier this week. So far, nobody's been seriously hurt, but I'm afraid that might change.”

Mambo Odessa's lips curved slightly downward and I realized I'd said more than I wanted to. I hoped she wouldn't tell Ox about my troubles.

Her eyes got a faraway look in them. “Much harm was done in the past,” she said again. “You have been chosen to undo the damage.”

“Chosen?” A sharp laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Who do you think chose me?”

Her eyes cleared suddenly. “Who else? Delphine Mercier.”

A shudder ran through my body. I tried to laugh it off. “Why would she choose me? I'm not even related to her.”

Mambo Odessa's lips curved slightly. “You'd have to ask her that question. Would you like to?”

“Ummm. No. Thanks, though.” It was definitely time to change the subject. “Speaking of the necklace, I just found out that Ox's family used to own the house where Zydeco
is located now. That's really why I came. Do you know anything about that?”

“About the house? You would have to ask Ox.”

“Fat lot of good that will do me,” I grumbled. “Ox is supposed to be a friend, but it gets harder and harder to think of him as one when he continually keeps things from me. He could have told me about the house a long time ago.”

“Nobody is perfect,” Mambo Odessa said. “Not even my nephew.”

“I'm not asking for perfection,” I said to make sure I didn't sound unreasonable. “I'm just asking for some consideration. Common courtesy. A little thing called trust.”

“Ah, but trust is a two-way street, is it not?”

What is it with aunts? Why was Mambo Odessa going all Aunt Yolanda on me? “Don't try to blame me for Ox's faults.” I got to my feet and fumbled to hoist the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “Thanks for your time.”

“Don't be too angry with him,” she called after me as I walked to the door. “You need each other.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I waved a hand over my head and stepped outside. Let her make of that whatever she wanted to. I
was
angry, not only with Ox, but with Mambo Odessa, too. All of her cryptic talk about undoing damage and Delphine choosing me to right past wrongs felt like nothing but an attempt to manipulate me.

I couldn't blame her for defending her nephew. I was pretty sure Aunt Yolanda would bend over backward for me. But she wouldn't pretend that she had some mystic connection to the afterlife to do it. I didn't know anything more about the necklace than I had when I left home that morning. I had a good mind to sell the stupid thing and pocket the money for myself. It would serve them all right.

Still fuming, I went back to work and spent the evening caught up in the flurry of activity. Part of me wanted to back Ox into a corner and demand answers from him, but the wiser, more logical part of me was grateful that we were too busy for drama. If I confronted Ox now, it would impact everyone on staff. My hurt feelings were going to have to wait until after the ball.

Putting the needs of the bakery first was the right thing to do, but it wasn't easy. The sound of Ox's voice rankled. His laughter made my insides clench with anger. When he had the nerve to bark an order at one of
my
employees, my blood boiled. As the day wore on, I became increasingly short-tempered with him. The rest of the staff pretended not to notice for a while, but by the time we were ready to lock up and go home, they'd given up the pretense. Everybody was walking on eggshells because of the tension in the room, and the worst part was that it was all coming from me.

Obviously, I couldn't let the situation continue for long, but
I hoped we could at least get through Saturday and the Belle Lune Ball without imploding. Ox and Isabeau left around eleven, with Calvin in tow. Estelle and Zoey headed out shortly afterward, and Sparkle said good night ten minutes later.

I didn't want to be left by myself, but I was torn between leaving with the others and wanting to run through my to-do list one more time before I went home. Cowering had a lot more appeal than toughing it out, but I had responsibilities. I pulled up my big girl panties and told myself to do my job.

My false bravado didn't stop me from being enormously grateful when I realized that Dwight was still here, too. I wasn't sure if he had legitimate work to do or if he was sticking close for some other reason, but it didn't really matter. I wasn't alone. That was the important thing.

I hurried through the list of tasks we needed to accomplish in the morning and added several last-minute items to the list of supplies we needed to take with us to the Monte Cristo. As I started toward the kitchen for a final check of the work we'd done that night, Dwight trailed after me.

He always looks rumpled, but that night he looked as if he'd been sleeping in his clothes for several days. I wasn't entirely sure he hadn't been. His T-shirt was dusted with flour and splattered with unidentifiable globs of food. His hair stuck out all over, stray whiskers ranged out from his beard onto his cheeks and chin, and his jeans were threadbare in places.

I waited for him to say something, but he just lurked in the doorway and watched me work. I finished my mental inventory of the dishes in the fridge, shut the door with a little more force than necessary, and whipped around to glare at him. After holding my tongue (mostly) with Ox, my nerves were already frayed, so it didn't take long to lose my patience. “What?”

I must have surprised him. He jolted upright from his usual slouch and blinked rapidly. “What what?”

“You've been staring at me for half an hour,” I said. That
might have been a
slight
exaggeration, but it made my point. “Obviously something's on your mind, so tell me what it is.”

Dwight reslouched and scratched lazily at his whiskers. “Just want to make sure you're okay, that's all.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know. You seem upset. Is everything okay?”

I knew he meant well and I could have given him an earful about Ox and his secrets, but it seemed wrong to unleash on Dwight instead of going directly to Ox. I shrugged and moved to the stack of boxes near the pantry. “Everything's fine. I'm just making sure we haven't forgotten something important.”

Dwight moved a few feet into the kitchen and leaned his elbows on the island. “I already checked and double-checked everything.”

“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” I said. “Maybe I'll see something you missed.”

“Maybe.” He scratched the other side of his chin. “Something going on I should know about?”

I was pretty sure I knew where he was going with that question and I didn't want to talk about it. “No. Nothing.”

“You upset with Ox or something?”

I shifted a couple of items in the box so I could see better. “Or something,” I said. I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff and the result was more of a grimace. I stopped working and leaned against the counter. “I'm fine,” I said. “Ox is fine. In fact, everything is fine.”

“You don't seem fine.”

Everybody's a critic. I tried the smile thing again. “If I were upset with Ox, I'd talk to him about it. Really, there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“If you say so. So when are you bringing Edie back?”

The abrupt change of subject caught me off guard. “I haven't decided,” I said. “When she's ready.”

“You don't think she's ready yet?”

“No, do you?”

Dwight shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. I think she'd come back if you asked her.”

Dwight's sudden interest in Edie's state of mind seemed out of character. “What makes you think that? Has she been talking to you?”

“Edie hasn't,” Dwight said. “But I had a beer with River the other night and he was talking about it. He thinks she's ready to come back.”

If that was true, why hadn't River said something to me? He had my phone number. He could have mentioned his concerns at any time. But just like Ox, he'd clammed up and kept his thoughts to himself.

Maybe it wasn't them, I thought with a pang.
Maybe it was me!

Worry and irritation rolled around together in my stomach. I wasn't sure which had the upper hand. “Am I hard to talk to or something?” I asked Dwight.

He gave his hand a so-so waggle. “I wouldn't say you're
hard
to talk to.”

Not exactly a feel-good answer. “What
would
you say then?”

Dwight shrugged with his mouth. “It doesn't really matter, does it?”

“Yeah,” I snapped. “It does. First Ox, then apparently River, and now you. What is it about me that makes everybody clam up? Just
tell
me.”

“I don't know if you've noticed,” Dwight said, “but you're wound up pretty tightly. You should relax more.”

“Seriously? That's your advice?” Even as I scoffed, I recognized that I'd heard people say the same things about my uncle Nestor. Uncle Nestor is a champion worrier, and it's not easy finding the right approach when it comes to discussing touchy subjects with him. But I am
so
not my uncle Nestor.

“How am I supposed to relax when there's so much work
to be done?” I demanded. “And it doesn't help to find out you're all talking behind my back.”

“You're the boss,” Dwight said. “It sort of comes with the territory.”

“I don't
want
it to come with the territory. I want you to like me. I want to be your friend . . . like Philippe was.” My voice grew higher and tighter with every word, and when tears pooled in my eyes, I was horrified. I swiped them away impatiently. “What am I doing wrong?”

Apparently disturbed by my mounting hysteria, Dwight straightened his posture again. “Wrong? Nothing. You're great. We all like you.”

“Then why won't anybody talk to me?”

“I'm talking to you right now.”

I growled with frustration. “You know what I mean. Did you know that Ox's family used to own this building?”

“I knew this place used to belong to somebody in his family,” Dwight said cautiously.

“See? That's what I mean. I didn't know that. Not until Simone told me. I saw River just a few days ago. Did he tell me he was concerned about Edie? No!”

“Was Edie standing right there?”

Sort of. She'd been asleep but that was beside the point. I was too worked up for logic. “I'm not a hothead,” I said, crossing another of Uncle Nestor's less admirable attributes off the list. “I'm not unreasonable. I try to listen. I try to be helpful. And I certainly don't expect everything to be done my way.”

Dwight came
this close
to smiling. “Who said you did?”

“Then what is it about me? Why won't Ox talk to me? I have to pry everything out of him.”

“That has nothing to do with you,” Dwight said.

“Then how did you know about Ox's history with this house and I didn't?”

“I heard about it back when he and Philippe were setting up the business. You've gotta know it doesn't mean a whole lot to Ox. He's close to his family and all that, but you know he's not the kind of guy who holds on to the past.”

“But why wouldn't he say anything about this house once belonging to his family, after we found the necklace?”

“Because it's a nonissue in his mind. He barely even knew the lady who died here, so it's not as if he grew up here or spent summers playing in the garden.” Dwight came around the island and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you really going to tell me that you're tight with . . .” He waved a hand around as if he was trying to snag an idea out of the air. “With your fifth cousin three times removed? Because I don't think their relationship was anything more than that.”

I frowned sullenly, but not because Dwight wasn't making sense. “I suppose not,” I said reluctantly. “Then you don't think Ox is nursing a secret longing to claim the necklace for his family?”

It was a stretch, even to me, and Dwight's laugh confirmed how ridiculous the idea was.

“No, I don't think that at all. I doubt he's even given the necklace much thought at all. You know how he is.”

I nodded as if I did, but I still wasn't sure how well I knew Ox. It was too much to figure out right then, so I finished up and walked with Dwight to the parking lot. His small truck was on the other side of the lot from my Range Rover, but I refrained from asking him to walk me to my car. It would only take me a minute to get there. Nothing was going to happen to me in sixty seconds.

Despite that pep talk, I hurried toward the Range Rover and prayed I was right. Even with the distraction of being really pissed off, it didn't take me long to realize that something was wrong. My heart plummeted and I turned to run back toward Dwight. “Wait! I think I might have a problem.”

Dwight stopped just short of getting into his truck. “Another flat tire?”

It was meant to be a joke, referring to an incident the previous year when someone had flattened a tire on my Mercedes (may it rest in peace), but my sense of humor was out of commission. “I think somebody broke into my car,” I said, struggling to hold back a flood of angry tears. “Can you turn your truck this way and get some light on it?”

Dwight's smile faded. He cranked the engine and moved the truck around so that his headlights illuminated the side of the Range Rover. I was relieved to see that the doors and bumpers hadn't been crushed, but there was just a big empty space where the driver's side window used to be. Bits of glass glinted on the pavement, and a quick glance inside revealed a lot more glass on the seat and floor.

Dwight got out of the truck and assessed the damage, turning back to me with a dumbstruck look on his face. “Somebody broke in?”

“It sure looks that way,” I said. I tried not to let my mounting panic show, but I'm pretty sure I failed.

Dwight looked inside the truck again then back at me. Slowly, his expression changed from shock and awe to suspicion. “What's going on, Rita?”

“What do you mean? Somebody broke into the Range Rover.”

“But you don't seem all that surprised.”

He might not have been surprised either if I'd told him about the prowler and the mugging. Guilt sloshed around with the anger I was feeling and came out in a terse snarl. “Well, I am. It's not like this happens every day.”

“No, but again, you're not . . . surprised. Has this happened before?”

“This?” I shook my head quickly. “No.”

“Something else then?”

I tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in my throat. “It's no big deal,” I said when I realized that Dwight wasn't going to let the subject drop. “I mean, it's not as if I got hurt or anything. I'm just a little nervous, that's all.”

Dwight took my arm and led me back to his truck. He settled me in the passenger's seat, placed a call to the police, and then nailed me with a look that meant business. “What's been going on?”

“Nothing,” I said again. “Not really.” I wanted to keep a stiff upper lip. I wanted him to believe that everything was under control—especially me. But this wasn't the first time Dwight had been there for me during a crisis, and the look in his cocoa brown eyes was my undoing.

“You know what happened at the Vintage Vault, right?”

“Yeah. Somebody broke in and the owner died of a heart attack.”

“Right. Well, I think that whoever broke into Orra Trussell's shop is still after the necklace. Ever since I got it back from the police, things have been happening.”