What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  “You called the cops?”

  “Yes. I don’t think this is child’s play, Miss Andre. If Tony Markham is a threat, we’ll need documentation. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Several seconds spun out before she replied. “Not if he’s the one behind this. I just don’t want to make trouble if he’s not.” Her gaze darted around the room nervously.

  “Neither do I, so maybe you should tell me about anybody else with a grudge against you if you’re uncertain this is Markham’s handiwork.” Nate hooked a thumb toward the balcony.

  Isabelle shifted from foot to foot, like a child getting scolded, but she remained silent.

  “Look, if you want my help, I need to know about people you’ve alienated since moving to Memphis—clients unhappy with houses you’ve sold, mail carriers disappointed with their Christmas tip, other former suitors spurned after some unforgivable faux pas.”

  “Suitors? This isn’t the Victorian era.” She set her purse on the counter between the kitchen and living area with a thud.

  “Dates, beaus, potential mates—pick a noun, Miss Andre, and start talking or I’m out of here.” Nate stuck his hands in his pockets. “The Germantown police will soon be here to take your statement.”

  Isabelle’s eyes darted between the door, the balcony, and his face. “I’m surprised they’re not here already.”

  “This isn’t an emergency. They have to respond to 9-1-1 calls first.”

  “Of course. I should have thought of that myself. Please have a seat, Mr. Price. My list of unhappy acquaintances won’t take long.”

  When he settled on the couch, she lowered herself to a chair. “I moved to Memphis four years ago after my divorce to be close to Danny. He’s all the family I have left except for a couple of aunts and cousins in Natchez. We shared an apartment until I found a position in the Germantown office. My brother had no desire to move to suburbia.” She attempted a smile that didn’t quite work.

  “What about your ex-husband? Maybe he’s tired of paying alimony payments or still mad about the divorce settlement.”

  Isabelle laughter sounded hollow. “I never received a penny of alimony. My share of the property settlement amounted to half the debts he accrued during our marriage, even though I worked two jobs to put him through law school.”

  “A lawyer should make a decent living, even if he’s a court-appointed defense attorney.”

  “I’m sure he does, but Craig has a new girlfriend to spend his money on. Around the time a major Nashville corporation hired him for their legal team, Craig decided the vow of fidelity was far too restrictive.” Isabelle tucked a lock of shiny hair behind her ears, revealing a bit more of her flawless complexion. “I hope I don’t sound bitter, because I’m not. After some counseling, I was able to let go of my anger and resentment. The only reason I bring up my ex-husband is because at the time of our divorce, Craig owed a lot of people money. And I’m not talking about student loans. He acquired a gambling habit during college, betting on sports. I helped him pay off as much of it as I could, but I had half the credit card debt to deal with and a car constantly breaking down. So one day I pulled up stakes and moved away, absolving myself of any further responsibility for his debts.” Her green eyes turned luminous as they caught the lamplight. “You don’t think some bookie found me here and took his revenge out on Danny, do you?” Her lower lip trembled either from fear or sorrow.

  “That’s not very likely.” Nate stood. “Put that out of your head. Most likely it was Tito Sullivan, who’s already in custody. If not him, then Tony Markham would be my next guess. Nashville bookies wouldn’t come after a penniless ex-wife in Memphis four years later.” He felt his face redden and grimaced. “Sorry about the penniless comment. I meant no offense.”

  This time her smile looked genuine. “None taken. I am barely surviving here in the land of upwardly mobile, two-earner families. I leased this condo to be close to my office, but I should have stayed in the city with Danny. Then he wouldn’t have taken in a dangerous roommate and maybe he would still be alive.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Hold on a minute. None of this was your fault. Danny chose to volunteer with former addicts at the outreach center. That kind of work comes with a measure of risk. Maybe he wasn’t given a long life, but it’s what we do with our number of days that counts.”

  “Thank you for saying that. Does your philosophical attitude come from a strong spiritual base?”

  Nate knew this was one question he needed to be absolutely truthful about. “Yes, I guess it does. That’s how I was raised, and that’s what I believe, although I don’t talk about it much. ”

  Isabelle nodded with understanding. “Death makes us consider our own mortality and what comes next. I’m glad you and Nicki will be with me during the funeral.”

  The way she stared at him turned his legs to jelly. “Ten o’clock on Saturday? Nicki and I will meet you at the United Methodist Church at nine. You’ll get through this, Miss Andre. We’ll make sure of it.”

  A knock on the door signaled the arrival of Germantown’s finest. Nate was never happier to see the police in his life. Every time he was alone with Isabelle Andre his confidence and composure plummeted to zilch. Why this tiny, hundred-and-fifteen-pound woman would have such an effect on him, he had no idea.

  TWELVE

  Nicki jumped out of bed Friday morning with the energy of three women. She would be spending the day with not one but two handsome men. Now that Hunter had arranged for a rental car to be delivered to the hotel at nine o’clock, she planned to visit Henry Prescott, the Carlton’s former bellman. Later Hunter would arrive by taxi in time for dinner. Her heart had definitely grown fonder during their week apart.

  She dressed in a pair of chino slacks and a cotton twinset. After coffee and an in-suite breakfast of crackers, cheese, grapes, and a pear from her bottomless fruit basket, Nicki went to the lobby to await her rental car. The concierge was already at his desk, concentrating on his computer screen.

  “Good morning, Mr. Prescott. Isn’t this a lovely morning?”

  He glanced up at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. “It is indeed, Miss Price. I just got off the phone with your fiancé. Mr. Galen requested the best table in the house at Chez Francois this evening. I was more than happy to oblige.”

  Nicki checked the drop-off zone for the Buick she’d requested from the window. “I can’t wait to try that place. My tightwad cousin refuses to eat there.” Noticing Mr. Prescott’s reaction she added, “Sorry. I have a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind. I just meant five-star dining isn’t in our budget this week.”

  “I consider frankness an asset, not a detriment. Won’t you have a seat? The rental car courier knows to bring me the keys.”

  Nicki perched on the edge of a chair in front of his desk. “I’m visiting your grandfather today unless you think that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  Mr. Prescott grinned. “Unfortunately, Granddad’s days are far too routine and predictable. He’ll welcome your company. I’ll call ahead to make sure he wears his favorite shirt.”

  Spotting a young woman with a car logo on her shirt, Nicki jumped up. “One more thing before I go. You may want to skip the second floor mezzanine as you stroll around the hotel today.”

  “Duly noted. And if you’re not back by the time Mr. Galen arrives, I’ll send out the cavalry. My grandfather has been known to hold an audience captive for hours.”

  When Nicki walked through the doors of the assisted-living center, she was pleasantly surprised. Her only experience with elder care facilities had been a visit to a great-aunt in a sad place reeking of disinfectant. Patients had lined the hallways in their wheelchairs or sat in their rooms looking forlorn. But at Oakbrook’s front desk, Nicki was greeted with a friendly smile.

  “I’m here to see Henry Prescott, ma’am.”

  “You must be Miss Price. I’ll show you to the sunroom. Mr. Prescott’s grandson requested some refreshment for your visit. Yo
u must be very special.” The woman led her down two hallways and through double doors into a high-ceilinged conservatory that brought to mind the elegance of British mansions.

  Henry Prescott sat in his wheelchair wearing an argyle cardigan and bright smile. Two glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies waited on a side table.

  “Hello, Mr. Prescott. Do you remember me? I’m Nicki Price.”

  He blinked several times, his face a craggy topography. “Have we met, young lady?”

  So much for her being a special guest. “Yes, sir. On Tuesday’s hotel tour you started telling us about the famous Carlton jewels.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You were pushing that tyke in a stroller. Little girl, right?”

  The desk clerk disappeared as Nicki pulled a chair close to him. “No, sir. I was alone during the tour.” She handed him a gift-wrapped box as her expectation for details about the scavenger hunts dimmed. “I brought you some chocolates. I hope that’s okay.”

  “I love candy. Thanks. If you live as long as me, people stop telling you what you can or can’t eat. Yesterday, I ate two pieces of sweet potato pie, and today I had bacon for breakfast. My arteries still feel fine.” He tucked the box into a cloth pouch attached to his wheelchair. “Yes, now I remember you. Funny thing about getting old. I can remember forty years ago clear as a bell, but sometimes I can’t recall what I wore yesterday to save my life.” He laughed heartily while holding his stomach with one hand.

  “Who cares about clothes anyway? I’d love to hear more about those scavenger hunts. How did they get started?”

  Henry offered her a cookie and took one himself. “Brainchild of Mrs. Smithfield, to be sure. She bought the first set of jewels and planned the whole shebang. She and the mister arrived two days early to figure out where to hide the prizes and decide what clues to give out.”

  “Do you remember what year that was?”

  “Sure do. It was 1955.” Henry leaned forward in his chair. “The Smithfields had the deepest pockets, if you know what I mean. They were the richest of the five rich couples. They bought some kind of diamond trinkets. Gimme a minute to recall exactly what.”

  “Diamonds,” Nicki murmured. “Pretty nice prizes for a scavenger hunt.”

  Henry’s dark eyes twinkled. “Don’t know what kind of people you come from, Miss Nicki, but these folks didn’t live like most. They dressed fancier every night for dinner than most folks do on their weddin’ day. They had maids and valets and chauffeurs, and they brought more luggage for three days than my wife took to Texas for a month.”

  “No, that’s not like my people. Mine can pretty much fit everything into two brown grocery store bags,” Nicki said, smiling at him as she finished her cookie.

  Laughing, Henry slapped his knees. “You’re a funny gal. Have more cookies.” He pushed the plate across the table.

  “What were the rules to this game? Surely the Smithfields set down specific guidelines.”

  Henry scratched his head as he thought. “Let’s see… prizes had to be hidden in plain sight. No rippin’ up carpeting or punching holes in walls, for obvious reasons. For a while the Carlton management knew nothing about them. None of the staff either, ’cept for me. Mrs. Smithfield took a liking to me ’cause I chased a thief seven blocks to get her purse back. She set it on the luggage cart for a minute and a scoundrel grabbed it and ran off.” He clucked his tongue with dismay. “After that, the Smithfields had me run their errands after my shift was done.”

  “If your work was finished for the day, didn’t you resent their demands?”

  “Nope. Back then, one of Mr. Smithfield’s tips was more than a day’s pay. ’Sides, I was single at the time and didn’t have much else to do.” Henry leaned back against the chair, his expression sly. “I thought up the first hiding place.”

  “Where was it?” Nicki sputtered around a mouthful of cookie crumbs.

  His smile bloomed with the memory. “After all the guests went to bed, I met Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield in the lobby. Hotel didn’t have no night staff in those days. Folks knew better than to check in after nine o’clock. Can’t understand why places stay open for twenty-four hours—even Walmart. Who needs to buy gardening gloves or paper towels in the middle of the night?”

  Nicki placed a hand on his arm. “Tell me more about the first year’s jewels,” she prodded.

  “Oh, yeah. Miz Smithfield showed me a diamond band for a lady to wear in her hair, like half a crown for a queen. I looked up at the lobby ceiling and saw the crystal chandelier, all sparkly, just like those diamonds. ‘There’s our hiding spot,’ I said.”

  Nicki swallowed a mouthful of lemonade. “How on earth did you get up to the chandelier? Surely you didn’t drag in an extension ladder inside the building.”

  “Didn’t have to. Back then, the chandeliers could be lowered on a chain for dusting. All we had to do was stay out of sight till the last maid went off duty. Then I lowered the chandelier and the missus attached the… the… ”

  “Tiara?”

  “That’s it, tiara, and a cigarette case studded with diamonds for the mister.” Henry beamed with the recollection. “That first year’s clues were easy. At dinner on the second night, one of the couples figured it out from the clue ‘Always ready to shed some light on a dark corner.’ Once folks went to bed that night, down the chandelier came again so the winner could claim the prize. Nobody else was the wiser.”

  Henry’s head started to bob, the room’s warmth apparently making him drowsy.

  “May I ask one more question, Mr. Prescott?” Nicki pulled the framed photograph from her tote bag. “Do you know who these people are?”

  His eyes snapped open. “Let me see that.” He held the picture two inches from his nose. “Sure I do. That’s Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield.” A crooked finger tapped the left-hand couple. “And that’s who won the prize in ’55, Mr. and Mrs. Whitley.” He tilted the frame to catch more light. “She got that tiara already in her hair.”

  Nicki took the photo from him just as it slipped through his fingers. With his eyes shut, she thought Henry had fallen asleep. But before she reached the door to the main hall, his scratchy voice called to her. “You keep diggin’, missy. Maybe you’ll be the one to find the lost jewels.”

  That stopped her dead in her tracks. Returning to the elderly man, she shook him awake. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Not all them prizes were found. Not that there’s much either of us can do about it.”

  Nicki stared at the photo, growing more excited by the moment. “But I’m a trained private investigator.”

  “Then I’d say you now got something to ’vestigate.” Henry closed his eyes with a smile.

  Nate finished the last of his taco from a street vendor just as his phone rang. Nicki, according to the face on the screen. “It’s about time you returned my call. You’re still on the job until five o’clock.” After spending the morning on the phone with his New Orlean’s secretary tying up loose ends in old cases, he wasn’t in the best of moods.

  “Didn’t you get my message, boss? I had a date with a sweet old man.”

  “Who you see behind Hunter’s back isn’t my concern. Tell me what you found out about Carl Fuentes, the director of New Horizons.”

  “I found out plenty. Carl Fuentes, Americanized from Carlos, did prison time for drug possession on three different occasions. His rap sheet goes back to his juvenile days, all drug related. Cultivation of marijuana, possession with intent to distribute, and sale of controlled substances. He never moved significant quantities, so his sentences weren’t too long in minimum security at Turney Prison. Then he got clean ten years ago during his last incarceration. Most likely some judge threatened to throw away the key.”

  Nate wiped salsa off his chin and pitched his empty wrappers into a trash barrel. “Anything violent on his rap sheet? Assault, domestic violence?”

  “Nothing like that. And here’s the best part. Fuentes studied theolo
gy while behind bars and is now some kind of preacher. He’s one of the pastors at First Baptist, which might have helped him open the outreach center in the basement.”

  “Any recent complaints against Fuentes from parishioners or disgruntled rehabbers?” Nate was having trouble picturing a former junkie as a preacher.

  “Nada. Mr. Fuentes has been straight as an arrow. Not even a parking ticket in recent years.” Nicki slurped something in the background.

  “Any complaints from neighbors or police reports for unruliness at the center?”

  “Nothing. I’m telling you, Nate, New Horizons appears to be a model organization in the community. Several Baptist churches hold yearly fund-raisers for them, and Fuentes accounts for every dime he spends. If you were hoping to tie him to Tito Sullivan in a bad way, sorry I couldn’t help.”

  Nate climbed into his car and started the engine. “I don’t have a personal agenda, Nic. Where are you heading now?”

  “Back to the hotel for a bubble bath and to have my hair fixed into something sophisticated. I’m dining at Chez Francois with a handsome man tonight. Care to join us as a third wheel?”

  “Thanks, but I just ate Mexican. Enjoy yourself but get plenty of sleep. We need to be at Miss Andre’s church by eight thirty tomorrow morning.”

  Nicki was a silent a moment. “Hunter and I will meet you in the lobby by eight. Bye, Nate.”

  He felt like a heel. It was the probably the first time all week Nicki wasn’t thinking about Danny, and he’d just cast a shadow on her fun evening. What was wrong with him? Was he jealous because his cousin had found someone to spend her life with? Being single had never bothered him in New Orleans, but on the road, out of his element, he felt more than just alone. He was lonely.

  Shifting the car into gear, Nate drove to county lockup. It was time to meet Titus Sullivan. You could tell a lot about a person face-to-face, and Danny’s former roommate turned out to be no exception.