What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  The first room on the left had to be a guest room. Half a dozen pillows were arranged on the bed, a comfortable chair sat by the window, and there wasn’t an ounce of clutter. When he looked into Isabelle’s room on the right, he felt a frisson of shame, as though he was no different than Tony Markham. But his mind had already registered the details: wall-mounted flat screen TV, bright area rugs, and dark wooden shutters instead of drapes. She had a stuffed bear on her blanket chest and enough jars and bottles on her vanity table for a movie diva.

  Inside her sunny bathroom, Nate washed his face and hands, shaved, and brushed his teeth, but he avoided inventorying her medicine cabinet and linen closet. He had never snooped like this in his life except while on a case, but suddenly he wanted to know everything about her.

  “You’re a perfect hostess,” he said after joining her in the kitchen. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

  She turned to face him. “You can’t be serious. I’m in your debt, not the other way around. I haven’t slept so soundly since this ordeal started. Something about a man with a gun gives a person a sense of security.” With a deft hand, Isabelle flipped pancakes on the griddle and pushed bread down in the toaster. “Not that I would want you to shoot Markham. I prefer that he just go away and forget about me.”

  Nate settled into a kitchen chair. “The offer of stuffing removal is still on the table.”

  She smiled on her way over to him. “Coffee? It’s regular, but I can make instant decaf.”

  He held up his mug. “Fully caffeinated, please, and keep it coming. What time do you have to be at work?”

  “Not until ten, so we have plenty of time. I’m manning the office today.” She flipped pancakes onto a platter next to the toast and a pile of bacon and carried it to the table.

  “That is a lot of food, but I doubt we’ll need two hours to eat.” He speared two pancakes along with several strips of bacon.

  “True, but I want you to tell me everything that’s happened since high school. And which do you prefer—dogs or cats, the Saints or the Titans, paper or plastic? How did you like Mississippi State?” Her voice softened. “Any ex-wives in your past? What about kids?”

  “I will be happy to reveal my secrets as long as you’re willing to do the same.” Nate stirred sugar into his coffee far longer than necessary.

  Isabelle studied him over her mug. “Absolutely. I’ll even go first. I went to college at Vanderbilt and got married right after graduation. We stayed in Nashville for four years while my husband went to law school and I worked. Nashville is a great town with plenty to do. Unfortunately, I haven’t done much with my business management major because you don’t need a degree to sell houses.” When she paused to refill her mug, she seemed reluctant to continue.

  “We don’t have to stir up bad memories if you don’t want to. You have enough annoyances to contend with.”

  “I want you to know everything, Nate. Besides, any bitterness I once had is long gone. Craig called a couple days ago to say he was getting married. After the initial shock, I was happy for him.”

  “How long did your marriage last?” Nate took another strip of bacon.

  “We were married for four years and have been divorced for four. No kids. We decided to wait on them until he passed the bar.” She nibbled a piece of toast. “I hate the idea of divorce, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. I know it was in our case.”

  “What brought you to Memphis if you were fond of Nashville?” At the risk of being nosy, Nate loved hearing the details of her past.

  “Danny. Right around the time my marriage disintegrated, my brother decided to leave Natchez and move to the blues capital of the world. He loved playing his sax. He was never a fan of the bar scene, but he would put up with almost any environment to play the blues. Sometimes he got hired to play at country clubs or weddings, or one of the festivals such as the International Blues Challenge or the Delta Jubilee in Clarksdale. That was a thrill for him.” Her voice faltered, betraying her grief.

  But Nate didn’t interrupt. She needed to talk to heal.

  “Our parents were both gone by then. Other than a few aunts, uncles, and cousins in Mississippi, Danny and I had only each other. So I decided to move to the area and found a broker in Germantown who happened to be hiring.” She met his gaze with a wry grin. “Danny and I shared an apartment for a while, but as much as I loved my brother I couldn’t live with him. He played his sax while I tried to sleep, and he slept at odd hours. He was allergic to Mr. Chester, and he wasn’t the tidiest man on earth.”

  Nate glanced left and right. “You do run a tight ship, Miss Andre.”

  “What did our grannies used to say? ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ ” As they both laughed, her grief seemed to recede.

  “So that’s when Danny moved to the city?” Nate noticed his self-consciousness had receded as well.

  “Yes. He had a steady stream of roommates who couldn’t pay their half of the bills. But from what I learned from you and Nicki, I really didn’t know my brother during the last few years. I judged him to be immature or irresponsible, or that he had gone over to the dark side. I couldn’t have been more wrong.” Tears filled her eyes. “Now I find out he’d volunteered at a halfway house to help give ex-addicts a fresh start.”

  Nate considered how much to tell her and opted for full disclosure. “One of Danny’s fellow musicians told me he passed work on to guys with children to feed or rent past due.”

  Isabelle wiped her eyes with a paper napkin. “That doesn’t surprise me. Danny had a heart of gold when we were growing up. If all he had was a dollar, he would still give you fifty cents. All someone had to do was ask. Apparently, his heart glowed even brighter after moving to Memphis.” Her face turned wistful. “Someday I hope to tell him how proud I was.”

  “He knew you loved him, Isabelle.”

  “Yes, he did. And that helps me deal with a bagful of regrets.” She poured syrup over her cold pancakes and began to eat. “Now it’s your turn. Should I repeat my list of questions?”

  “Nope. My mind is like a steel trap. I prefer paper over plastic, but the best are cloth shopping bags. I root for the Saints, but I prefer college football to the pros. And because Chester is watching me from the doorway, I pick cats over dogs.”

  “Smart choice. Chester can turn vicious if given proper incentive.”

  “I loved attending Mississippi State, but unfortunately I took football more seriously than my studies. My degree was in sports management, but I also took classes in criminal justice and law enforcement. I planned to start as a cop and work my way up to commissioner of police.”

  She ate another piece of pancake. “And your personal status?”

  “Never married, therefore no children. Never even got close to the altar. My mom thinks I should hurry because I’m past my prime.”

  “From what I’ve seen, Mr. Price, I beg to differ with your mother. I feel very safe with you, and I’m glad we’ve become friends.”

  He pushed away his plate but didn’t take his focus off the cow-shaped cream pitcher. “Since we’re laying our cards on the table, I want to make sure I’m clear about something. If friendship is all you want, I can live with that. But I don’t feel toward you what I feel with my other friends.” Nate forced himself to look her in the eye. “Would you like to go out with me, Isabelle? I know you just lost your brother, and this Markham business has you—”

  “Yes, I would,” she interrupted. “Except right now I should pop into the shower and get ready for work.”

  “Work sounds good, because I’ll need at least eight hours to get my composure back.” Nate ran a finger along the inside his collar. “I seem to have broken out in a sweat.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  When her phone rang for the third time that morning, Nicki was tempted to let it go to voice mail. She’d already spoken with Hunter, who was eager to fly up that evening and spend the weekend with her. And she was just as excited to see him. A wee
k was too long for an engaged couple to be separated.

  The second phone call from Nate arrived on the heels of the first. Her cousin apologized for letting her spend another afternoon and evening alone watching TV in her suite. Then he summarized Izzy’s latest terror at the hands of Tony Markham and his night spent on her couch waiting for the lunatic to return. So far that morning there had been no lunatic sightings, but Izzy had apparently cooked him one fine breakfast.

  Nicki was good at reading between the lines or, in this case, gaps between Nate’s sentences. Izzy and Nate seemed to be getting along better, and for that she was grateful. Nate planned to follow Izzy to the office and watch surreptitiously to see if he could catch Markham in the act. Apparently, that’s what it would take to put him behind bars. His one request for her was to find out what she could about Jimmy Watts.

  So when the phone rang as she was about to step into the multi-jet shower, Nicki hesitated. Fortunately, her intuition kicked in and she picked up. “Nicki Price.”

  “Miss Price?” A scratchy voice sounded a thousand miles away. “I was informed yesterday that you wished to speak to me.”

  Mamaw? Mrs. Galen? Her old high school teacher who still kept in touch? Several names of elderly women came to mind, yet none sounded quite right. “Um… yes, ma’am. Who is this?”

  “Mrs. Violet Fitzhugh. I received a call from the Carlton Hotel that a young woman wished to speak with me.”

  The phone nearly slipped from Nicki’s fingers. Scrambling, she jammed the phone to her ear and shrugged into her bathrobe. “Yes, ma’am. I do. I just didn’t think you’d call back… so fast.” She clenched her teeth to stop rambling.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Mr. Prescott assured me you were a lovely young lady.”

  “That was kind of him. What I’m trying to do is locate folks who participated in the annual scavenger hunts at the Carlton.”

  “Who on earth would be interested in them after all these years?”

  “Mr. Henry Prescott, a retired bellman. He’s the grandfather of the current concierge. Henry and I are working on this project together.”

  Several seconds passed before she asked, “Henry is still alive?”

  “He sure is, and he’ll be happy to hear you are too.” Nicki uttered the words before she could stop herself. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

  But the woman only chuckled. “I’m amazed every morning when the good Lord allows me another day. I’ll be ninety-seven soon. Whoever thought I would live this long?”

  “Is your husband still… with you?”

  “Oh, no. Reginald passed years ago, and I’ve outlived two of my three children. That’s very difficult for a mother.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” Nicki’s mind raced to devise a reason to visit instead of chatting on the phone.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh solved the conundrum for her. “Would you like to come to my home, Miss Price? I don’t get many visitors, but I would prefer to meet the person I’m sharing my secrets with.” Her laughter sounded like tinkling wind chimes.

  Nicki did a little jig. “I would love to.”

  “Why don’t you come for tea? I live in Tipton County near the town of Gilt Edge. Do you have pen and paper for my address?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nicki flew into the bedroom to jot down the street name and number along with the town. “But isn’t teatime in the late afternoon? I might hyperventilate by then. Could I possibly come sooner?”

  “Mr. Prescott warned that you were persistent. Delightful but persistent. Very well, come have lunch on the terrace. The weather is supposed to be lovely.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t trouble you to cook for me and then fuss with dishes afterward. Why don’t I pick up sub sandwiches or a bucket of chicken?”

  “I don’t eat either sub sandwiches or fried chicken, my dear, but have no fear. My cook will prepare our luncheon and my maid will clean up. I’ll expect you at eleven, Miss Price.” Mrs. Fitzhugh hung up, preventing further discussion.

  Glancing at her watch, Nicki knew she should spend some time doing what Nate needed her for. The scavenger hunt shouldn’t distract her from their case. Twenty minutes later Nicki stepped under the shower stream barely able to breathe. Another living scavenger hunt participant, and this one seemed to be in complete possession of her faculties.

  After changing outfits three times, Nicki left the hotel in a Sunday dress with sheer stockings and sensible pumps, her hair in a long, single braid down her back. The drive north into the Tennessee countryside was stunning. At times industry encroached on the mighty Mississippi, destroying the expectation of scenery created by nineteenth-century novels. In other areas stately, columned mansions rose high on bluffs above the delta farmland—jewels unto themselves that had withstood floods and the War Between the States.

  Violet Fitzhugh resided in one of those mansions overlooking the river. After she had mentioned her cook and a maid, Nicki wasn’t surprised. What did surprise her was an armed guard at the gate. The guard requested her ID, which he ran through a database. After passing security clearance, Nicki drove up a half-mile driveway that was flanked on both sides by ancient live oaks.

  A butler opened the front door before Nicki was able to knock. “Miss Price?” he asked. “Mrs. Fitzhugh is waiting for you on the terrace.”

  Nicki fell in step behind him. Despite having dined several times in Hunter’s ancestral home in New Orleans’ Garden District, the trappings of the ultrarich still astonished her.

  The stroll through the house seemed almost as long as the driveway. Then the butler opened French doors onto a flagstone terrace straight from the movies. Potted plants. Tiny lights strung through the trees, which had been landscaped around instead of cut down. Comfortable chaises, several wrought iron dining tables, and, of course, a lily pond with a gushing fountain.

  A tiny woman wearing a peach-colored dress and a string of pearls sat in a wheelchair next to the pond. “Miss Price,” she murmured and extended a hand no bigger than a child’s.

  At five feet eight, Nicki seemed twice the woman’s size. She often wondered if people truly shrank as they aged or if those born before a certain generation were genetically smaller. Will I end up to be a petite five four before I die?

  Nicki crossed the terrace and gently clasped the woman’s delicate fingers. “Mrs. Fitzhugh, I can’t thank you enough for inviting me to your magnificent home.”

  The woman cocked her head to one side. “It is a pretty house. I often take my grandfather’s legacy for granted. Please have a seat. Tea, lemonade, coffee?” She gestured toward a cart being wheeled in by a maid.

  “Tea, please.”

  After frosty glasses of sweetened iced tea were set before them, Mrs. Fitzhugh leaned in her direction. “Why don’t you get started with your questions while they serve? I hope you like chicken salad.”

  “I love it.” Nicki took a sip of tea before pulling out her notebook. “I understand you won the scavenger hunt in fifty-eight and therefore would have planned the following year’s event.”

  “Ah, we certainly did! What fun we had during those getaways.” Years seemed to slip away as she spoke. “Rubies were the prize that year—earrings for me and a ruby-studded money clip for Reginald. Money clips… who even uses those things anymore?”

  “Maybe in Las Vegas,” offered Nicki, amazed how animated the woman had become.

  “Perhaps.” She tucked her silver hair behind her ears, revealing stunning ruby earrings on her lobes. “I usually keep these locked in the safe because I have little use for them anymore. But I wore them for you, Miss Price. I hope you won’t tell the etiquette mavens about my faux pas. You’re never supposed to wear jewels before six.”

  “You have my word.” Nicki was mesmerized by their sparkle. “I never appreciated rubies before today.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh paused as a plate of chicken salad on a croissant with fresh fruit was placed before her. “Yes, these are no ordinary rubies. The couple who purchased them—th
e Bennetts—must have searched high and low for such quality.” She leaned toward Nicki and winked. “The Bennetts were always competing with the Smithfields.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Bennett have passed on.” Nicki fluffed out her napkin.

  “I know, dear. I attended their funerals.” She patted Nicki’s hand. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you outlast practically everyone.”

  “Well, you haven’t outlived Henry, and he would love to see you. Unfortunately, he’s in an assistant living center.”

  She produced a sad smile. “I would like to visit Henry because I remember the bellman fondly, but alas.” She tapped the arms of her wheelchair. “I rarely leave the house anymore.”

  Nicki took a bite of her sandwich, her mind whirring a mile a minute. Then she noticed Mrs. Fitzhugh cutting her food with a knife and fork. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m lacking in social graces.” She set down the sandwich.

  “Nonsense. Picking up a croissant is perfectly acceptable. I would do it too if not for my dentures.”

  Nicki resumed her interview. “Because you won the rubies in fifty-eight, you would have planned the fifty-nine scavenger hunt. Do you remember the prizes you purchased?”

  “Of course. They were gold watches—Rolexes, to be exact. The Bennetts weren’t the only ones in competition with the Smithfields.”

  Rolexes—for a getaway weekend game with your friends? Nicki reached for her iced tea.

  “I can anticipate your next question, Miss Price. It was the Smithfields who found the watches on the very first night, but I can’t say we hid them very well. They were on the newel posts of the grand staircase. After Reginald read the clue, it turned into a footrace in tuxedoes and high heels.” She chuckled at the memory. “The Smithfields, who came up with the scavenger hunt idea, were first to get to the stairs. Once they had their prizes in hand, they announced we would be looking for diamonds again next year. Unfortunately, they were killed during the scavenger hunt in 1960. After that we abandoned the silly game.”