What Happened on Beale Street Page 18
The raucous buzz of the intercom jarred her attention. “Miss Andre?” asked the receptionist.
“Yes, Janice. Do we have a walk-in client?”
“No, but there’s a Craig on line two. He won’t say what this is about, but he insists on speaking to you.”
“It’s fine. Please put the call through.” Isabelle cringed. Her ex-husband. What did he want?
“Hi, Craig, what’s up?” She struggled to keep her tone neutral.
“Hey there, Izzy. How are things going?”
An innocent enough question, but it set her teeth on edge. Should she tell him about her brother? As far as she knew, Craig still lived in Nashville. Most likely he hadn’t heard about Danny’s passing. But he had paid little attention to her brother the few times they met. He called him flakey and ill-equipped to deal with the real world. As fate would have it, Craig had been the ill-equipped one, considering his expensive habits. So after a moment’s hesitation, Isabelle chose to let the opportunity pass.
“I’m fine but very busy this afternoon. I trust you have something on your mind?”
“Yes, I called you for a reason.” He breathed heavily into the mouthpiece. “I’m getting my license to practice law reinstated. Part of the process is to prove I’ve made restitution to everyone I owed money to—back income taxes, overdue rent, and every credit card that still had a balance at the time of our divorce.”
Isabelle knew she shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “If you’ve been unable to practice law, how on earth could you pay back all that money?”
“I put in sixteen-hour days as a law clerk at two different firms. I’ve slept less than four hours a night for the last two years and worked Saturdays too. Cassie has been paying all the bills from her paycheck so I can comply with the bar association’s requirements.”
Oh, yeah, Cassie. Isabelle had almost forgotten about the red-haired paralegal Craig hooked up with before the ink had dried on their divorce decree. Not that she had a grudge against the woman. Cassie had nothing to do with their breakup. Perhaps someday Cassie would realize she was enabling a dishonest manipulator with a weakness for horseracing and the blackjack tables.
“That’s very nice of her.” Isabelle spoke before the silence grew uncomfortable.
“She’s a wonderful girl. You would like her if you got to know her.”
Refusing to state the obvious, she said, “Sounds like you’re getting your life together. I’m happy for you, but why call me today?”
“Because I have a favor to ask. One of the bar association referees may contact you at some point.”
“What on earth for? We’ve been divorced for four years.” His gall left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“To see if I made financial restitution to you.”
“And you expect me to lie?” Isabelle didn’t hide her annoyance.
“You were able to manage the debt you walked away with.”
“You didn’t give me much choice. You implied your life was at stake from some bookie.”
“Look, Izzy. Can you cut me some slack here? I’ve been struggling to get my life together. If I had extra money, I would send it your way. But Cassie wants us to buy a house as soon as we’re married.”
“You’re engaged?” Isabelle had no clue why that news irritated her. She certainly didn’t want the man back.
“Yes. We’ll marry as soon as my license is restored. I don’t want her to be saddled for life with a man who can’t provide… a loser.”
It was a good thing he couldn’t see her face. “That’s probably a wise choice, but I won’t lie for you, Craig.”
“I understand, but you don’t have to stab me in the back either. Can’t you tell the referee we both left the marriage with an agreed-upon amount of debt? That’s pretty much the truth.”
Isabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to talk to him another minute longer, but her Christian upbringing mitigated any need for revenge. “Fine. If they call I’ll tell them that.”
“I’m grateful, Izzy. And I really hope you find a special person someday too.”
How does he know I already haven’t? “Thanks. I wish you and Cassie lots of luck. But, Craig? If you ever have reason to call again, don’t call me Izzy anymore. I prefer Isabelle.” She hung up the phone with satisfaction.
For a long while Isabelle stared at her computer monitor, scrolling through properties on the market. Yet she couldn’t remember what any of her clients were looking for even though she reviewed her notes less than an hour ago. On a lark she punched Nicki’s number. She needed a female shoulder to cry on after her depressing conversation with Craig.
“Hey, girl, you got plans for tonight? I’m going stir-crazy in the office and hoped we could catch an early dinner.”
“You must have read my mind. I planned to call you after I got off the phone with Hunter. I’ve been pacing the floors of paradise with no place to go all day.”
“Nate wouldn’t take you with him to talk to the musicians?”
“Nope. He thought the neighborhood was too rough. So I’ve been confined to my ivory tower. Maybe he’s forgotten where we both grew up.”
Isabelle felt her shoulders relax just hearing Nicki’s voice. “I, too, heard from an endless source of irritation this afternoon. Why don’t I come rescue you, Rapunzel? I can finish up and be there in an hour.”
“I’ll be tapping my toe in the lobby since nobody’s climbing up my golden tresses. Too many split ends.”
Isabelle couldn’t wait to get to the Carlton. Nicki had really grown on her. And if Nicki had any news to share about her handsome cousin, she wouldn’t change the subject.
True to her word, Nicki bounded through the doors as soon as Isabelle arrived at the front entrance. “I thought you never would get here,” she said, jumping into the passenger seat. “Drive around the block to the parking garage. The place I picked out is within walking distance.” Nicki unfolded a brochure from the information rack. “Shrimp, oysters, snapper, catfish… Just reading the menu makes me homesick.”
“Sounds delightful, especially because I like seafood. And since you just got off the phone with Hunter, you can give me an update on your wedding plans.”
Isabelle looked for the ramp into the garage while Nicki launched into a delightful tale of bridesmaids, honeymoon destinations, her mother insisting on the church in Red Haw, Mississippi, and her future mother-in-law pressuring for a reception on a yacht in Lake Ponchartrain. Nicki talked while they were seated inside the restaurant and only took a breath to place her order. She didn’t seem the least bit discouraged. If anything, she was enjoying the challenge.
“Are you pretty sure this Hunter Galen is the one?” Isabelle teased when she able to get a word in edgewise.
Nicki blushed to her hairline. “Sorry, Izzy. I’ve monopolized the entire conversation with Mr. Perfect. I’ll probably discover something mediocre about him once we’re married. He’s sure in for a shock the first time he sees my hair in the morning. But I’m so happy at this point that I’ll do everything I can to make this marriage work.”
“You strike me as Miss Independence, yet Hunter manages to keep you practically confined to your hotel room and you don’t seem to mind. Now that I think about it, he should seem super controlling, but oddly he doesn’t.”
Nicki reflected before answering. “I guess a man’s motivation makes the difference. I know Hunter loves me. He gives me space and shows me love on a daily basis, so I know he fears for my safety in Memphis. I do have a bad habit of blundering into danger. But that’s enough about us.”
“I enjoy hearing about happy couples. Gives me hope I’ll find my own happy-ever-after someday.” Isabelle looked down as she fluffed a huge napkin across her lap.
“No doubt in my mind that you will. What was the irritating news you heard?” Nicki moved her iced tea to the side as a spread arrived that would be enough for four people. Salads, sweet corn, fried okra, and mashed potatoes
with gravy accompanied their entrees of smoked salmon and fried catfish.
Isabelle sighed and repeated the conversation with Craig almost verbatim. “I don’t hear from him for years and now this?”
Nicki pondered for a moment. “What bothers you more, his asking you to cover for him with the referee or his getting married again?”
“Am I that transparent?” Isabelle set down her fork. “Good thing I don’t play cards.”
“We’re all transparent when someone hurts us.”
“The truth is that any hard feelings toward Craig are long gone. I hope he’s kicked his addictions and will make Cassie a good husband.” Isabelle looked everywhere but at Nicki.
“Go on,” Nicki prodded. “Get it all out.”
“It’s just that… well, because I was the wronged party in our divorce, I really thought I’d be the one to marry first. But here I am, still self-righteous and not even dating.” She covered her face with her hands. “I know how awful that sounds, Nicki, but you told me to get it off my chest.”
Nicki pulled her hands away. “That sounds perfectly normal to me. There’s no reason you can’t meet a nice guy, but you may have to let down your guard.” She dug into another piece of fried catfish.
“Can you blame me, considering what’s going on with Tony Markham?”
“Of course not, but you’ll scare away any potential diamonds in the rough along with the psychopaths.”
“Like your cousin? I sure scared him away with everything that came out of my mouth.”
“Stress doesn’t bring out the best in people, but Nate deserves another chance. I wouldn’t call him a diamond in the rough, but you never know what common ground you two may have.”
Isabelle opened her mouth but lost her nerve before she could ask about Nate’s romantic status. With her brother not even gone two weeks, this wasn’t the time to dive into a romance. Yet if her intuition was correct, the number of possible opportunities was dwindling fast.
NINETEEN
Nicki was anything but tired when she returned to the Carlton from the seafood restaurant. Over refills of sweet tea, she had filled Izzy in on the scavenger hunt mystery and received a surprising amount of encouragement from her. Nicki feared Izzy might prefer her to stay focused on Danny’s case, but apparently she had full faith and confidence in Nate.
Nate. He had been very much the elephant in the room during dinner. Nicki could tell Izzy liked him and knew for a fact he liked her, yet she didn’t know how to get those two together. Tonight she would say a prayer that two lost lambs could bridge the gap created by hurt feelings in high school and too many years gone by. As eager as Nicki was to return to New Orleans and the adorable Hunter Galen, she didn’t want to leave until Nate and Izzy were at least good friends. Both of them could use one.
Unfortunately, when Nicki wandered through the lobby, Robert Prescott had abandoned the concierge desk. Even the most dedicated employee had their own life to go home to. Anxious to share the latest developments with someone and wired by too much caffeine, Nicki tossed and turned for hours in bed. She had tried calling Nate, but the call went straight to voice mail, indicating her boss was probably on a stakeout. No point in leaving a message. When she finally dozed off, bizarre dreams of bejeweled phantoms chasing her down dim hallways peppered her sleep.
When she awoke the next morning tangled up in the sheets, Nicki couldn’t wait to jump in the shower to wash away the last of her nightmares. By the time she bought a bagel and coffee at the lobby deli, the hotel concierge had arrived at his desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Prescott. How about a coffee?”
“Good morning, Miss Price. Thank you, but I’ll pass. I’ve had my limit.” He tugged down his cuffs and opened his laptop computer. “What can I do for you? Dinner reservations? Tickets to the theatre? How about a sightseeing excursion down the Mississippi?”
“No, thank you. I wanted to bring you up to speed on the Carlton jewels mystery because I may need your help.”
Robert looked as though he’d bit into a lemon. “There is no mystery, Miss Price, only my grandfather’s unreliable memories of his youth. I appreciate the attention you’re paying to a lonely old man, but I think Memphis offers more interesting diversions while you’re in town. Have you seen our Cotton Museum or the National Civil Rights Museum? How about—”
“Thank you, sir, but I want to track down everyone who participated in the hunts and find out what happened to them. For Henry’s sake and because I’m interested too.” Nicki produced her most glorious smile.
“Have you tried the new equipment in our workout room?”
“I hate getting sweaty.”
“I could arrange a trip to Graceland. Are you a fan of Elvis?” Robert tugged on his tie.
“I’m not too familiar with his music, but I know my grandmother loves him. Perhaps I can take her there someday.”
He studied her over his reading glasses. Then he sighed. “Very well, Miss Price. Have a seat and fill me in on your progress. You’re a very persuasive young lady.”
“I have been described that way a time or two.” Smiling, Nicki pulled up a chair and told him about her conversation with Nicholas Bennett and his grandparents, Horace and Betsy. “They won the sapphires in 1957, but unfortunately they have both passed away. Their grandson doesn’t remember what kind of jewels his grandparents purchased the following year or who the lucky winners were.”
“Congratulations on tracking down another piece of the puzzle, but this sounds like a dead end to me.” He plucked a brochure of culinary delights in the Memphis area from his drawer and handed it to her.
“Thanks. This looks fabulous.” Nicki accepted the brochure graciously. “It’s not really a dead end because I have an idea how to proceed.”
“And this is where you need my help?”
“Yes, sir. I thought I was at the end of the road until I had a flash of brilliance in the middle of the night. Because the Bennetts won in fifty-seven, they would have planned the fifty-eight hunt. Then whoever won in fifty-eight would have planned the fifty-nine hunt. All we have to do is find out who arrived a day or two early for the fifty-nine hunt, and we’ll know our fifty-eight winners.”
Mr. Prescott sighed again with disappointment, feigned or otherwise. “A brilliant deduction, but I’m afraid our computer archives don’t go that far back.”
“Yes, but hotels kept register books in those days. Leather bound, no? I’ve seen guests sign them in old movies.” Nicki tried not to look smug. “I would bet the Carlton has them stored somewhere.”
He blinked several times. “You really are clever besides persuasive. We do have those old registers in a basement storage area, but that area of the hotel is off-limits to guests.”
“Oh, I completely understand. But perhaps you could accompany me to the basement? Most likely no one will notice us peeking inside some dusty old books.”
Mr. Prescott checked his watch. “Why don’t we go now while I’m not busy? You’re the only guest who gets up this early.”
Nicki clapped her hands. “Thanks so much.”
He turned his nameplate around to read, “The concierge will return shortly.” Then he smiled at her, extended a hand, and said, “Let’s be off, Miss Price, before I come to my senses.”
They took a staircase labeled “Employees Only” to the basement. Mr. Prescott unlocked a metal door labeled “Private” and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Nicki felt a surge of adrenaline seeing old furniture, shrouded paintings, and decorative pieces past their prime. “Now this is what I call sightseeing.”
“The register books would be stored in here.” Mr. Prescott unlocked a wire cage of a room containing rows of filing cabinets.
“I thought security like this would only be found in the Pentagon,” said Nicki, awestruck. She read aloud the tags marking each cabinet until she came to the right one. Opening the drawer, she said, “Goodness. Shouldn’t these be in the Smithsonian? They’re so old!”
“Thank you, sir.” Nicki carried the heavy registers to the spot he had indicated, giddy with excitement.
Because the five couples usually selected a weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas for their annual getaway, she pored over the registered guests in late November through December 25, 1959. It didn’t take her long to locate the weekend when Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, Mr. and Mrs. Koehler, Mr. and Mrs. Whitley, and Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield all stayed at the hotel. All she had to do was cross reference the names of guests who arrived one day early with the names of guests who stayed at the hotel during the 1958 scavenger hunt to discover one common name: Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Fitzhugh.
Nicki stared at the name as though apparitions might suddenly float from the page.
“Mr. Prescott, I found the winners in 1958!” Nicki shouted so loud, anyone in the basement would have heard.
The concierge returned to her side within seconds. “Well done, Miss Price. Now I can get back to my post.” He replaced the volumes in the correct filing cabinet and switched off the overhead light.
Once they reached his desk, at Nicki’s urging Mr. Prescott typed “Reginald Fitzhugh” on his laptop’s keyboard. Within moments his mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe it.”
“What is it? Did the name Fitzhugh pop up as belonging to influential scions of Memphis society?” Nicki circled his desk to read over his shoulder.
“No, this is even better.” He stared at the screen as though fearful the information might change. “I searched the hotel’s database instead of googling the name. Mrs. Reginald Fitzhugh is still an occasional guest at the Carlton. She checked in a couple of years ago and stayed for two nights.”