Chapter 22
Nate was out and Augusta had left work early on Monday so she’d be home in time to let her exterminator into the house. With all of the craziness going on, I decided to call Antoine to find out what time they planned to arrive at the Petroglyph Plaza. But instead of Antoine, I got a hysterical Rochelle.
“Antoine had a major meltdown. A MAJOR MELTDOWN. Honestly, I have no idea what this is about and Julien won’t be back until much later.”
As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with my aunt’s stupid pastry birds, I’ll be okay.
“It’s all right, Rochelle. I can call back later. It was only a quick question to find out what time your crew would be at the Petroglyph Plaza. It takes about ten minutes to drive from the White Tank Mountains entrance to the ruins.”
“Oh, I’m no help. No help whatsoever. Julien has been walking around with his head up his you-know-what ever since he found out the moola came in so he could open another patisserie, and Antoine has been really pissed lately. At what? Who the heck knows? I can’t deal with these temperamental people. Everything was going fine and then Antoine got this phone call and all of sudden it’s like he’s the Hulk. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be spouting off like this. Oh my gosh. You didn’t say anything to Antoine about my getting a job offer at Saveur de Evangeline, did you? He’d rush right over and tell Julien. Oh my gosh . . .”
“No! Of course not. Not a word to anyone.”
“Whew. I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been so rattled lately. Sebastian called and they still want me. I may have my own restaurant to manage.”
Uh-oh. Sebastian still doesn’t know Theodore Sizemore withdrew the funding for that restaurant. How could he? Roland threw out the letter.
“Yes . . . well . . . um . . . don’t get too worked up and quit your current position until it’s definite. In writing! Make sure you get it in writing.”
“Boy, Miss Kimball, you sound all fired up. Is there something I should know? Something about the investigation that would mean trouble for Saveur de Evangeline?”
“No. No. Not at all. I’m just speaking in general. It’s important to get things in writing these days.”
“Okay. Sure. Uh, about your aunt’s wedding . . . I’ll find out what time we’ll be setting up and I’ll give you a call or e-mail you. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine. Thanks, Rochelle.”
I prayed that whatever problems they were having at the patisserie wouldn’t translate to the wedding. At least working on my spreadsheets and billing gave me the sanity I needed. That was why I liked accounting. It’s organized, systematic, and straightforward. Unlike the tangled web of wedding preparations that was about to strangle me.
About an hour after I got off the phone with Rochelle, I got a disturbing call from Jake Felton. “Is this the Kimball lady?”
I must have said yes because he told me his name and kept going.
“Look. A tent’s a tent. And they’re all gonna keep out the rain and the wind and all that stuff.”
“Uh . . . what are you trying to tell me?”
“We had some screwup with the company that was supposed to get us the white wedding pavilion.”
“What??? What do you mean?”
“Hey, calm down. It ain’t the end of the world. They sent us a bhurj tent.”
“A what? What’s that?”
“It’s one of those Indian tents. Not like cowboys and Indians. The other Indians. From India. Anyway, it’s red with those swirly designs. Same size. Real nice.”
“NO! That’s totally unacceptable. Can’t you do something?”
“No way, lady. Wedding’s this coming Sunday. Look, we’ll knock some money off the price. Wanted to give you a heads-up before you saw it.”
“Mr. Felton . . . Jake . . . I . . . I . . .”
“You don’t have to thank me. Figured we’d knock off a few bucks. I’ll be there with the guys by three-thirty to start setting up. Got the lighting covered, too.”
“But . . . but . . .”
I sat at my desk too stunned to think. Images of elephants and circus people paraded around my mind for a good twenty seconds before I forced myself to take a deep breath. There was no way I could possibly explain this to my aunt without having her go berserk. For a second, I thought she could join Antoine and together they could go off somewhere and share a glorious meltdown together.
Rather than risk a scene I was unprepared to deal with, I decided to put it off for a day or so, hoping I’d find the right way to break the news to Aunt Ina. Meanwhile, the bigger concern I had was the fact her fiancé was now officially “a person of interest” regarding Roland LeDoux’s death. If that wasn’t bad enough, her precious Louis was about to face charges for “grand theft,” even though there was a logical explanation regarding how the motorcycle got into his garage.
The worst twist in all of this was the note Nate and I uncovered in Louis’s fire safe box. It was pretty clear. Julien Rossier borrowed over a million dollars from Theodore Sizemore, presumably to open the new patisserie. The caveat was that if anything was to happen to Theodore, the loan would be in Louis’s hands, thus making my future uncle the perfect suspect in the Sizemore murder as well. Oh yeah, and don’t let me forget that Louis drives a Lexus with an angry grill. The same car Louise saw barreling down her block shortly after the time of the murder.
The one question none of us could answer, not even my aunt, was why Louis had disappeared. Was he running from the police? Trying to find evidence to exonerate himself? Or was he giving himself a “cooling-off period” in the hope the police pointed the finger at someone else? No one dared say it out loud, but we all thought it—Louis had hit the road because he had no intention of marrying Aunt Ina.
That thought hung in the air like stale perfume until Wednesday night when my cousin Kirk blurted it out at my mother’s house. He and his wife, Judy, had just arrived from Boston. They planned to spend the first few nights across the street from Sun City West at the Hampton Inn before checking in to the Cactus Wren for the wedding. As Kirk put it, “No sense killing my back right away. In case you haven’t figured it out, quaint means lousy mattresses.”
My mother gave me a “see I told you” look, but I ignored it. We were munching on a bizarre assortment of snacks, including Danish that had been in the freezer since Labor Day, along with some jelly rolls and sesame crackers. At least the pepperoni was a recent purchase. My mother offered everyone cottage cheese, but there were no takers. Not even Streetman, who had positioned himself against our feet.
“Maybe your mother will have some of the cottage cheese when she gets here,” my mom said to Kirk. “It was on sale at Safeway.”
Kirk and Judy seemed more interested in what was going on with Louis Melinsky than which store was holding a sale on dairy products. I spoke up as I handed Judy some bottled water. She looked as if she could use it. Her short curly brown hair was starting to frizz, and she kept flicking off small beads of sweat from her forehead.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “Between the heat and this mess of a situation, I’m afraid I’m not much help.”
“Don’t worry. My boss, Nate Williams, is trying to track down Louis. I’m sure if anyone can locate him, it’ll be Nate. He’s been on this case nonstop.”
Judy brushed some curls from her forehead and took a swallow of water. Her voice was softer than usual, almost as if she was afraid someone other than the three of us would hear her. “Maybe it’s just as well. Him not showing up. I mean, what kind of man does a thing like that?”
Kirk spoke matter-of-factly, as if he was ordering a hamburger. “One who might be a bigamist. Hell, for all we know, he could be associated with that polygamist colony in northern Arizona. The one that’s always on the news.”
My mother gave Kirk “the family eye.” We’d all been privy to it growing up. As children, we knew exactly what it meant. As adults, we tossed it off. To be sure he understood, my mother spelled it out. “He’s not a polygamist. And he’s not marrying your mother so she can become part of a harem. Is that what they call it these days? A harem? Anyway, I don’t want to hear another word about polygamists, bigamists, or mattresses, for that matter. Ina’s going to be here any minute, and I want this to be a nice, pleasant evening. Even if all of us will be made to suffer at that Cactus Wren in a few days. Tonight will be nice and pleasant.”
Wow. “Nice” and “pleasant.” She was really making her point. It came as no surprise that my mother suddenly switched the subject of our conversation to decorative lawn gravel. “I’m thinking of getting the same kind of reflective glass gravel my neighbors, Wanda and Dolores, put in their yard. Their landscaper did a wonderful job. Gorgeous glass underneath those perennials. Unfortunately, everything got trampled and he had to come back and fix it. Anyway, Phee’s seen their yard and it’s perfectly lovely. ”
Kirk and Judy looked at each other, probably unsure of what to say or how to even make sense of the sudden shift in the conversation. Decorative lawn gravel wasn’t a subject, I imagined, that came up often for people who lived in Boston.
“That’s interesting, Mom.” I rolled my eyes at my cousins.
“Yes. The gravel reflects different colors under solar lighting. It can transform an entire garden path.”
“Is that so?” Kirk tried to remove a stale cracker from his mouth.
My mother went on as if this was the most pertinent topic of information she had come across in decades. “The only trouble is—and that’s why Wanda and Dolores had to have the landscaper come back—those reflective glass pebbles are so tiny they get caught in the soles of your shoes. Especially sneakers. Or running shoes. Makes a real mess. Of course, no one’s supposed to go walking through that kind of path. It’s only decorative. And I certainly wouldn’t let Streetman walk over there.”
The dog looked up as if expecting a treat. My mother offered him the cottage cheese again, but he turned away.
“And this is something you really want, Aunt Harriet?” Judy asked. “Messy yard pebbles?”
“You’d have to see them under the solar lights to understand.”
Kirk got up and threw out the stale cracker. “Or vacuum them up from your floor every time you walk inside.”
Vacuum them up from the floor. Where did I hear that before? I heard someone say that recently.... Then, I remembered!
“Phee! Phee! Are you all right?” my mother was yelling. “You’re staring right into space and not paying attention to any of us.”
“What? Huh?”
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Streetman hightailed it under the couch and my aunt Ina announced herself from the other side of the door.