What Happened on Beale Street Page 13

  “Thank you for coming today. Did you know my brother well?” Isabelle reached for the woman’s hand.

  She clasped Isabelle’s fingers briefly. “I considered Danny… one of my closest friends. His death came as a shock to me.”

  “Would you like to get out of the rain? Join us, and we’ll drive you to the luncheon.”

  “I’m sorry, but I must get home. I just wanted to tell you he was the sweetest man I’ve ever met.” Then, as quickly as she appeared, the woman vanished into the downpour.

  “With that I’ll take my leave too. See ya at the church.” Detective Marino climbed out on the opposite side.

  Isabelle released a whoosh of breath when he exited the vehicle. Despite her appreciation for his work, the detective made her skin crawl. Although plenty of people used weddings and funerals as occasions to catch up with friends and relatives, it seemed tacky to say so to the bereaved. She shook away her criticism. Maybe that’s why her likelihood of ever marrying again was zero—she over-analyzed and judged every thought, word, and deed from everyone. Except for Craig. During their marriage she had kept her head buried in the sand until he walked out on her.

  Isabelle leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Part of her couldn’t wait for this day to be over. Yet when it was, her brother would no longer be part of her life. She would shut the door on her family forever. She and Danny had been close when they were young. When she moved to Memphis, he’d been so excited to look for an apartment together. “Since I sleep late and I’m gone most evenings, we won’t get in each other’s way. Plus, splitting the bills and chores will lighten the burden on both of us.” Danny’s hopeful declarations returned to haunt her.

  Yet he had started to annoy her within days. Why couldn’t men put something away when they were finished with it? Then housecleaning wouldn’t be an all-day affair. And did the TV volume have to be so loud when she was trying to sleep? Even though she nagged endlessly about the toothpaste cap, shoes in the middle of the room, and taking out the trash, Danny had never complained. He stoically put up with her idiosyncrasies until the day she declared the experiment a failure and asked him to move out.

  Isabelle’s eyes flew open as the car door squeaked.

  “Sorry if I startled you.” Nate dropped into the spot recently occupied by Detective Marino. “Hunter and Nicki arranged for sandwiches and buckets of Kentucky Fried to be delivered to the church social hall. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  “I’m sure the food would have been sufficient,” she murmured, although she wasn’t at all certain.

  “My guess is Nicki feels sorry for those men.”

  “I do too, so let’s have any leftovers delivered to New Horizons afterward.” Isabelle tried to speak normally, but suddenly she couldn’t control her tears.

  “Consider it done, but I shouldn’t be bothering you with inconsequential details.”

  She shook her head. “I was just thinking about the tributes those men paid my brother. I had no idea how valued Danny was at the center, how revered. They knew him better than I did.”

  “Danny wasn’t one to toot his own horn. That’s probably why he never talked about his work there. That and because he didn’t want you to worry.” Nate turned toward her on the seat. “Mind if I ask what Chip wanted? If it’s not my business, just say so,” he said, his face earnest.

  “I’m not really sure. He said he enjoyed arresting Danny’s roommate. And that if I ever need someone to talk to when this was over with, I should call him. Then he gave me his business card… again.”

  “At the risk of upsetting you, I’m no longer sure Sullivan’s our man. He could be, but I’m not as certain as Marino.”

  “What changed your mind?” Isabelle tamped down her surprise.

  “Everybody at New Horizons swears Tito would never hurt Danny. And when I talked to him in county lockup, I pretty much got the same feeling. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay on this longer and keep digging.”

  “Why would you need my permission?”

  “This is Memphis Homicide’s murder investigation, so Detective Marino has the final word. If he’s ready to close the case, then I don’t want to make things harder for you.” Nate splayed his fingers on his knees.

  Instead of Nate’s bombshell upsetting her, Isabelle felt the knot between her shoulders begin to dissipate. “I don’t want the wrong man to go to jail, Mr. Price, so please continue until you’re certain one way or the other.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence. For now, let’s not tell Nicki until I check out the director’s alibi. Carl Fuentes could be every bit as standup as he appears. And if that’s the case, he offered a possible alternative to Tito Sullivan.”

  “We’ll say nothing to Nicki. Let her take comfort from Hunter this weekend.” As Isabelle watched Nicki and Hunter approach the car, huddled together under an umbrella, the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head once more.

  Nicki ducked into the front seat while Hunter held the umbrella for her, and then he walked around the car to get in behind the wheel. “Weren’t you touched by what those men said about Danny?” she asked, pivoting around to face them.

  “I was,” Isabelle murmured. “My brother’s mentoring gave them a real chance to stay clean.”

  “When Hunter gets back to New Orleans, he’s going to instruct the Galen Charitable Foundation to cut New Horizons a check in memory of Danny.” She smiled warmly at her fiancé.

  “In both of our names, dear heart.” Hunter kissed the back of Nicki’s fingers before pulling onto the main road from the cemetery.

  “That’s very kind of you both,” Isabelle said. “Thank you.”

  With Nicki’s attention no longer on the backseat, Isabelle glanced at Nate. Worry lines across his forehead had deepened since their first meeting. Her brother’s death had affected him even though they hadn’t known each other well in high school. Nate Price was a good man… a decent man. Maybe it would be nice having a friend for a change. Like Nicki had in Danny. And Danny had with her.

  Maybe Isabelle wasn’t destined to find one great love. Considering her romantic past history, one good friend sounded infinitely more appealing.

  FOURTEEN

  The next morning Nicki awoke to the sound of impatient knocking on her door. Glancing at the clock, she scowled. Only one person would have the salt to bother her at this hour. And that would be the man she planned to spend her life with. Slipping on her robe and knotting the belt, Nicki swept open the door. “What do you want, Galen?”

  Fully dressed, Hunter stepped around her into the suite. “I merely seek asylum from your cousin’s snoring. He would keep Rip Van Winkle awake.”

  Nicki’s sigh was deep and full of resignation. “I’ll call down for a pot of coffee. Let’s sit at the table and talk.” Nicki pointed at a bistro chair as she dialed room service.

  “Coffee with a Mississippi belle with a view of the Mississippi River. What could be finer?”

  After making the call and then hanging up the phone, Nicki sat in the other chair. “That was a lovely dinner last night. Thank you.”

  “You and Isabelle barely ate a bite at the funeral luncheon. Were you saving your portions for the men at New Horizons?” He patted her hand affectionately.

  “I suppose, subconsciously. Nate mentioned mealtime is a challenge since only Carl knows how to cook.”

  “They will be okay, my love. Those men are survivors.”

  “Maybe not all of them. Danny sure wasn’t one.” Nicki stared out the bay window, trying to forget how he looked that horrible morning.

  Hunter tactfully changed the subject. “I’ve picked out a church if we can both be ready in an hour. Calvary Episcopal. According to the website, it’s Memphis’s oldest public building in continuous use and one of the city’s most beautiful churches.”

  “Because you attended St. Louis Cathedral since your First Communion, you should feel right at home in a fancy church. You sure you’re okay with our wedding at Grac
e Baptist? It’s very small and plain.”

  “I would marry you in a broom closet. The bride picks the church, remember?”

  “What about your mother’s guest list? What if they all show up in Red Haw for the ceremony?”

  “We’ll rent a circus tent with loud speakers. Then we can throw a luncheon for all the locals who refuse to drive to New Orleans for the reception.”

  “You are the world’s smartest person,” she teased before taking a bite of an apple.

  “I believe love has clouded your judgment. What would you like to do this afternoon—sightseeing? The art museum? How about the zoo?”

  “There is a place in the country I’d like to visit if you don’t mind. Do you remember when you recommended the tour of the hotel? On it I learned something curious about the Carlton’s illustrious past. Then last night when I couldn’t sleep after the funeral, I searched the Internet and discovered a clue.”

  “Hold that thought,” said Hunter. He jumped up to retrieve their coffee at the door.

  While he poured, Nicki talked about meeting Henry, finding the photo with Robert, and her subsequent visit to Oakbrook.

  Hunter took a long swallow and smacked his lips. “Now I’m ready for anything. Tell me more about these scavenger hunts. Are you thinking about organizing one for our friends some day? The French Quarter has several historic hotels that would be perfect. One or two are even reputed to be haunted.”

  “Maybe, but with less extravagant prizes. More on the order of restaurant gift cards. In the meantime, I want to learn everything I can about the Carlton jewels.”

  Hunter set down his cup. “But Nate said Danny’s killer has been arrested. Aren’t you coming home with me? The Quarter isn’t the same without you.” He winked as he refilled their cups.

  “I miss you too, but I would like to stay a little longer. I have a gut feeling Nate isn’t convinced Tito Sullivan did it. And the detective in charge of Danny’s case didn’t strike me as the most thorough of investigators.”

  “Surely the DA wouldn’t indict without sufficient evidence.”

  “I know, but if you can afford it, I would like to be here in case Nate needs background help.”

  “My desire for you to come home has nothing to do with my bank account.” Hunter leaned across the table for a kiss.

  “Give us a few more days. Danny deserves no stone unturned. And I also want to look more into the scavenger hunts.”

  Stretching, Hunter rose to his feet. “It’s settled then, but right now you should jump in the shower. The clock is ticking. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  After church, Nicki and Hunter ate waffles with strawberries and whipped cream at a restaurant instead of brunch at the hotel. Decent PIs worth their paycheck couldn’t intuit on an overly full belly. Halfway through his second waffle, Hunter asked, “I believe it’s time to tell me about the clue you discovered last night when you couldn’t sleep.”

  Nicki set down her fork and dabbed her lips with the napkin. “Henry the bellman told me the winners of the 1955 Carlton jewels were a Mr. and Mrs. Whitley. He didn’t mention their given names, but he distinctly recalled the prizes—a diamond-studded cigarette case for the husband, and a diamond tiara for the Mrs. Did women really wear such affectations back then?”

  “What is amazing is so many people smoked that a cigarette case was a common accessory.”

  “Good point. At any rate, I looked online for Memphis businesses during the era, those owned by a sole proprietor or a family. There weren’t that many prominent Whitleys, but one stood out with potential. Marcus Whitley owned several car dealerships. He and his wife, Diana, lived on an estate north of Memphis. And get this, Mr. Galen. The house still stands. According to county records, Tabitha and Jon Grant now own the property. Tabitha Whitley Grant.” Nicki grinned so broadly her face started to hurt.

  “Well done, Agatha! Did you call them and set up an interview?”

  “No, it was too late last night. Then I didn’t wish to interrupt their Sunday morning. So I thought we could crash the gate or scale the walls and then sneak through the bushes.”

  Hunter laid money down on the check. “Great plan! Since my lawyer works on retainer, count me in.”

  One hour later, the Lincoln’s GPS navigated them up a long, tree-lined driveway well off the beaten path. The home of Tabitha and Jon Grant had neither a twelve-foot wall to scale nor a gate to crash. There was only a discreet sign in the bushes identifying their security system. Hunter parked under an ancient live oak, but before they could climb the stone steps to the columned front entrance, Nicki spotted someone in the garden pruning rosebushes. The middle-aged woman did not look like a gardener.

  “This might be easier than I thought,” she murmured.

  “Should we put on the fake mustaches I bought?” he whispered.

  On their way up the driveway, Nicki delivered a sharp elbow to his gut. “Mrs. Grant?” she called. “May we have word with you, please?”

  The woman peered up at them from under her hat brim. “If you’re collecting for a charity, leave the literature on the steps for me to look at later.” She resumed deadheading the flowers.

  “No, ma’am. That’s not why we’re here. I’m Nicolette Price, and this is my fiancé, Hunter Galen. We’re from New Orleans. Could we have just a minute of your time?”

  Mrs. Grant tossed a handful of spent blooms into her basket. “Oh, no. Not another pushy bride-to-be! This is a private residence, and we never rent it out for weddings, young lady.”

  “No, ma’am. Our wedding will be in my hometown outside of Natchez.” While Hunter hid his laughter behind a cough, Nicki produced the expression that usually got her an extra cookie from Mamaw.

  Mrs. Grant studied her curiously, and then she peeled off her gardening gloves. “All right. Suppose you tell me what this is about.”

  “I’m a private investigator who came to Memphis on a personal matter. While I’ve been staying at the Carlton Hotel, I found out about the scavenger hunts that took place in the 1950s.” Nicki took a few steps forward.

  “That has to be the last thing I expected. How old do you think I am? I wasn’t even born until 1960.” Her chuckle was a good sign as she closed the distance between them.

  “Of course, but I believe your grandparents were the Whitleys who participated years ago. Did your grandmother ever mention this?”

  “Wait a minute. Are you writing a story? My husband and I don’t like publicity. It will only bring more donation seekers, salespeople, and brides-to-be.” Her friendliness slipped a notch.

  “Absolutely not. I’m merely looking into the mystery to help an elderly gentleman who was there but whose memory is faulty.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, you have the correct Whitleys, but there’s no mystery, Miss Price. It was just some fun between friends. The scavenger hunt lasted five years, until the deaths of the Smithfields. My understanding is that after that the remaining couples lost interest in the game.” Mrs. Grant lifted her basket to her hip. “Both my grandparents are dead, as I suspect most of the participants are.”

  Nicki pulled the framed photograph from her tote. “Have you seen this?”

  Mrs. Grant gazed down at the image. “Not for a long while. Goodness, Granny was beautiful. That’s my grandfather next to her, and that’s Paul and Agnes Smithfield. The tiara and cigarette case were sold long ago to help settle estate taxes after their deaths. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  “As winners of the ’55 game, they would have planned the ’56 hunt. Do you remember what your grandmother bought for the prizes?” Nicki took the framed photo back.

  Mrs. Grant’s eyes grew round. “I do, come to think of it. Emeralds. According to my mother, Granny got in trouble for going overboard when she bought the jewelry. It was an emerald bracelet and cuff links that set my grandfather back quite a bit. But I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. I don’t know who won those emeralds, but they must have been gorgeous. Grandfather c
urtailed Granny’s spending for months after that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Grant. You’ve been very helpful.” Nicki followed her down the garden path toward their car. “We’ll be off now.”

  “Best wishes to you, Miss Price, Mr. Galen. Thank you for not asking to turn my front yard into the set for Gone with the Wind.”

  Nate glanced at his watch for the third time as Nicki walked into the coffee shop Monday morning. “It’s not like you to be late for breakfast. Still have provisions left in your larger-than-mine fruit basket?”

  Nicki sat on the opposite side of the booth. “Nope, it’s finally empty. But I had to drop off Hunter at the airport first. No way would I let him take a taxi when I have a Lincoln at my disposal.” She grinned as she picked up a menu to scan.

  “Hunter left town? Then why are you still here, Nic? I told you after the funeral you could go back with him.”

  “Key word could, but I don’t want to. Something is fishy with Danny’s case, Nate, and I want to know what it is.” Nicki leaned back as the waitress filled her coffee cup. “I’m not leaving until we can leave together.”

  “Eggs, over easy, rye toast, hash browns, sausage links. Thank you,” he said to the waitress. To his cousin he released a sigh. “You should sit on Jackson Square with a crystal ball, the way you read minds.”

  “Mamaw would take a broom to me,” she said after telling the server she would have the same. “How did you spend your Sunday? We called you last night to join us for dinner, but you didn’t pick up.”

  “I found a church with an 11:00 service and then drove out to Starkville, home of my alma mater. Walked every block of the campus and then stopped in Oxford to see how our old rival has changed, Ole Miss.”

  “Sounds lovely. Now tell me what you found out.”

  “While you were having dinner with Hunter, I did my own Internet search and made a few phone calls. Carl Fuentes was telling the truth about being in Biloxi the day Danny was killed.”