What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  “At least try to contain yourself until your fiancé arrives. Then you’re someone else’s responsibility.” Robert opened the door for her but blocked her path. “Truly, Miss Price. It’s been sixty years, and the hotel has undergone extensive renovations, not to mention normal cleaning, polishing, and maintenance. It’s inconceivable that something valuable wouldn’t have been found by now.”

  “Of course you’re right. As you say, I’m just overly enthusiastic.” She smiled sweetly at him.

  He wasn’t fooled. “Remember, guards patrol the premises twenty-four hours a day. Public areas are also monitored with security cameras. It isn’t like when my grandfather worked here and everyone went to bed at a decent hour.”

  “I understand, sir. Again, I’m sorry I caused you trouble.”

  After he let her go, Nicki practically skipped to the elevator. The mention of Hunter’s name reminded her she needed a quick shower and fresh outfit. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him all about her plans for the hotel’s oldest unsolved mystery.

  When Nate left Gus at the club, he didn’t waste time appreciating the sights and sounds of Beale Street as the area came to life. He hiked up Second Street back to the garage for his car and drove to the corner of Cooper and Central as fast as traffic and jaywalkers would allow. Only one apartment building sat on the corner, a ten-story edifice with a Laundromat on the first floor. Squeezing his car into the only spot at the curb, Nate entered the lobby and perused the eighty or ninety names printed next to the apartment numbers.

  Today was his day for catching a break. Only one “Jessup” lived at the Winston Arms. Nate pressed the button for 432 and waited.

  “Yeah, who’s there?” A voice crackled through the archaic system.

  “Nate Price. I’m here to speak with you about a job. Gus Crane supplied the recommendation.” He used his most dignified tone.

  After a few seconds, Jessup replied. “You’re too late. I already lined up a gig.”

  “Why not hear me out, Mr. Jessup? You might want to change your mind when you hear what I’m offering.”

  A buzzer sounded, unlocking the door. Nate stepped through the doorway and scanned his surroundings. A long hallway led to back units, while a staircase led to the upper floors. The sole elevator displayed an out-of-order sign, the tape yellow with age.

  Thank goodness the Jessups don’t live on the tenth floor.

  Nate climbed the steps to the fourth floor and knocked on 432 harder than necessary.

  “Hold your horses! I’m coming.” The door swung wide, and a man loomed large in front of him.

  “Are you Sam Jessup?” asked Nate, breathlessly. “Nate Price. May I come in?”

  The man opened the door wide. “Don’t make no difference to me. I tried saving you the steps. Like I said, I already accepted a job, but you can talk while I pack.” Sam headed down a dimly lit hallway.

  Nate followed him through an austere apartment. “How long has the elevator been broken?”

  When Sam entered a small bedroom, Nate stopped at the doorway. “That elevator’s been busted the entire time I’ve lived here. Two years, at least.

  “And people climb nine or ten stories every day?” Nate’s sense of justice couldn’t comprehend the legality of such an inconvenience.

  “Nah. If you live on the fifth floor or above, you can use the freight elevator through the back alley.” Sam resumed what had apparently been interrupted by the buzzer. Clothes were stacked in neat piles on the bed, along with shoes and toiletries. A battered instrument case, doubtlessly containing his saxophone, sat close to the door.

  Nate slipped a hand under his jacket to his weapon. “I see you’re packing. You in a big hurry to leave?”

  Sam pulled a duffel bag and a suitcase from the closet and began stuffing the duffel with clothes. “Like I said, I got offered work out of town. Tell me about the gig you have in mind.”

  Nate leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “I’m getting married soon. Some of my musician friends will play for the reception, but I’ve come up short a sax player.”

  “A wedding? You’re offering a one-night gig? Don’t waste my time.” He placed the rest of his belongings into the suitcase.

  “That one night pays four hundred a man for five hours of blues. I’ll even throw in a catered meal.” Because he was making up the story, Nate embellished as he went along.

  Sam glanced over at him. “That’s good pay. If I didn’t have to leave soon, I’d take you up on it. But I landed a permanent position at the Hyatt Regency in St. Louis. They need me there tomorrow. Tell Gus to line up choice number two for you.” He zipped shut the duffel and hefted it to his shoulder. “I finally won’t have to scramble around week after week to pay the bills.”

  “Actually, Mr. Jessup, you were choice number two. Danny Andre was number one.” Nate opened his jacket to reveal his shoulder holster and nine millimeter. “I’m real upset that someone killed a friend of mine.”

  Jessup’s gaze rotated between Nate’s face and the gun. “You think I had something to do with Andre’s murder?”

  “You seem to be leaving town in a hurry.”

  “Like I told you, I got hired by the Hyatt. Their fancy restaurant wants a blues band—lead and bass guitars, drums, keyboard, sax, and trumpet. We gotta wear tuxedos five nights a week. Fortunately for me, they’re providing those. You can check if you don’t believe me.”

  “I plan to.” Nate let his jacket fall back in place, covering his weapon. “Maybe you got the job because Danny was no longer around. Maybe he was the one they wanted.”

  Jessup dropped the bag on the floor. “You got this backwards, Price. Danny ran into an entertainment director from St. Louis. The guy said he already hired the other musicians, but he still needed a sax player. ‘The old-time sound,’ he called it. Danny set me up with the audition because he didn’t want to leave Memphis. He said he needed to stay because of his sister. The guy liked me and offered me the job.”

  Nate studied Jessup’s face. If he was lying, he was very good at it.

  “Danny said he would bring his sister to St. Louis sometime to hear us play, but he would give us six months to figure out what we were doing first.”

  “That sounds like something he would say,” Nate murmured.

  “I’m sorry about your friend. Danny was an okay guy and not bad on the sax. Just not as good as me.” Jessup picked up his suitcase, duffel bag, and instrument case. “The hotel guy who hired me was named Cramer. Give him a call, but please don’t mess things up for me. This is the best work I’ve ever been offered.”

  Jessup stepped around Nate on his way to the front door. “Hey, if you see anything you can use, grab it. Since I’m taking the bus to St. Louis, this is all I can carry. The stuff might be other folks’ discards, but most of it is still good. Once I’m gone, the other tenants will pick through it before the landlord rents out the place.”

  Nate gazed around at a hodgepodge of secondhand furnishings Sam had probably acquired in the same fashion. Not wishing to insult his generosity, Nate walked over to a large clay pot on an end table. “Is this some type of cactus?”

  A grin filled Jessup’s face. “It’s a Christmas cactus. My ma brought me that when I moved in. She said a cactus is a good plant for a man since he’ll usually forget to water it.”

  Nate clutched it in the crook of his arm. “Then it will be perfect for me. Thanks.”

  “Man, I hated to leave that behind, but how do you deal with a cactus on a bus?”

  “I’ll take good care of it.”

  “It never bloomed ’cause I forgot what my mom told me to do.”

  “I’ll look it up online. Good luck in St. Louis, Sam.”

  “Good luck with the weddin’, and I’m sorry about your friend.” He disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door open behind him.

  Nate walked down four flights of steps encumbered with a prickly plant. He hoped Isabelle would agree to plant-sit for a while, because carryin
g it aboard an airplane would be even trickier than onto a bus.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Isabelle left the office feeling more relaxed than she had in a long while. Nate couldn’t prevent bad things from happening, and he certainly couldn’t stay with her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but just his friendship relieved much of her anxiety. He cared about her. And not just for her safety, like a bodyguard.

  She had plenty to be happy about at work too. Considering the hours she had logged in at the office and her open house tonight, she could take tomorrow off. Real estate agents almost never had a free Saturday. Many potential buyers worked long hours during the week, and their only time to house hunt was on the weekends.

  If Nate could spare some time from the investigation, maybe they could spend the day together. Unfortunately, cowardice had kept her from extending an invitation when she had the opportunity. She was rusty at dating, but with any luck she would get another chance tonight.

  Isabelle arrived at the four-bedroom, three-bathroom colonial an hour early. This allowed time to make sure toys were put away and no damp towels littered the bathroom floor. The tidiest homes could get out of hand with people’s busy lifestyles. Even kids had active calendars between sports, clubs, hobbies, and part-time jobs. She placed a bouquet of flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter, spread utility bills across the dining room table for monthly estimates, and opened the drapes to the waning sunshine. Then she turned on some lights so the house would appear warm and cheery. And the crowning touch to guarantee a sale? Isabelle rolled refrigerated cookie dough onto baking sheets she’d brought from home and cut out three dozen gingerbread men. Not only would visitors receive a sweet treat, but the cinnamon and sugar would scent the air.

  With everything ready, Isabelle glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to spare. Ten minutes to daydream about Nate, something she’d been doing a lot of lately. What would her life have been like if she hadn’t focused on marrying a lawyer? Had she only been concerned with potential earning power? Or with the prestige that accompanied certain vocations? Honestly, she couldn’t remember why she’d set her sights on Craig, but she hadn’t done either of them a favor.

  Before she fell into hopeless melancholia that accomplished nothing, the first carload of customers pulled into the driveway. Out of the van tumbled three energetic youngsters. This would be the perfect home for a big family—spacious kitchen, fenced yard, expansion potential above the attached garage for a playroom… or another bedroom. The woman lumbering up the walkway was obviously expecting her fourth child soon.

  “Welcome,” greeted Isabelle as she opened the door. “Come in and have a look at what could be your new home.”

  So began one of the most productive open houses of her career. Potential buyers maintained a steady stream through the front door. Women opened closets, peeked in cupboards, and measured bedrooms with retractable measuring tapes. One diligent man even stuck his head inside the fireplace to assess the chimney. Buyers who arrived with other brokers appeared eager to return to the office to draw up purchase offers.

  Isabelle felt confident about selling the house even before the last gingerbread man was consumed.

  Suddenly her cell phone rang, cutting short her praises of the local school system. “Isabelle Andre, Realty World.”

  “Miss Andre? This is Justine Thoreson from Jackson. Bob and I seem to be lost, and unfortunately we don’t own a GPS. Can you help us find you?”

  She glanced at her watch. “The open house has only another thirty minutes left. Perhaps we can reschedule a viewing for another time?”

  “Please don’t give up on us.” The woman’s voice sounded near tears. “We drove more than an hour to get here, and we have been driving around Germantown for another hour. We won’t have another chance until next weekend.”

  The house will surely be sold by then, Isabelle thought. “All right. I’ll wait for you. Tell me exactly where you are.” Isabelle pulled up MapQuest on her laptop and supplied the grateful Thoresons with directions. Once she returned to the other attendees, it was another forty minutes before she shooed the last family out the door. Yet the Thoresons still hadn’t shown up.

  Isabelle packed her baking supplies into her tote bag, closed the bedroom closets, and locked all the doors. As she dimmed the living room lights, she noticed a sedan creeping down the street. With Tony Markham never far from her thoughts she froze, paralyzed in a strange house on a deserted street. A frisson of fear spiked up her spine as she watched the taillights turn the corner. A minute later the car returned from the opposite direction. It stopped at the curb directly in front of where she peeked through the curtains.

  Pull yourself together and do your job. Isabelle flashed the porch light off and on to flag down the confused couple. However, it wasn’t a lost pair of house hunters who responded to her signal.

  The sedan turned into the driveway and screeched to a halt behind her Prius. Two uniformed policemen jumped from the vehicle with their weapons drawn. One ran up the front walk in a low crouch, while the other disappeared around the side of the garage. Isabelle flattened against the wall and dropped to the floor. Like an insect, she scuttled behind the hall tree, uncertain what to do.

  “Germantown Police!” The cop shouted as he pounded on the door. “Open up.”

  Isabelle reached the front entrance on shaky legs, turned the lock, and shrank back. “Come in,” she called. She lifted her hands into the air.

  “Are you Isabelle Andre?” Stepping across the threshold, the officer glanced around the room, his weapon pointed at the floor. “I’m Jeff Anderson of the Germantown Police Department.”

  “Yes, and I have permission to be here. I’m a licensed real estate agent with identification in my bag.” She gestured toward the hall table.

  “Who else is in the house, Miss Andre?”

  “No one. Everyone has left. Tonight was an open house, but I was just locking up now. The owners should be home soon.”

  “You can lower your hands, ma’am. We’re here to protect you, not arrest you. We saw the porch light flash and thought it was a distress signal.”

  Isabelle dropped her hands to her side. “Did the owners of the house ask you to stop by?”

  “No, we got a call from Nate Price. He requested we check on you as a professional courtesy. In light of the restraining order and your recent troubles, we were happy to comply.”

  “Everything’s locked up tight out back,” a voice barked through Anderson’s radio.

  “We’re good here too. Call it in.” To Isabelle, he said, “Would you like me to do a walk-through?” He crossed the foyer and craned his neck to look up the stairs.

  “It’s not necessary, Officer. I was ready to leave when I saw your car slow down. I thought you were expected late arrivals. One couple got lost on the way here.”

  Davis pulled back the drapes to check the street. “Any sign of Tony Markham tonight?”

  “None whatsoever.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and picked up her tote bag.

  “Why don’t I walk you to your car, ma’am?” Just as Anderson opened the front door, they saw the other cop, along with a frightened-looking man and woman.

  “These folks say they are the Thoresons from Jackson,” said the officer. “They said you were expecting them. Is that true, Miss Andre?”

  Isabelle peered from one face to the other and nodded.

  “I take it we’re too late,” said the wife in a tiny voice.

  “Yes. Mrs. Thoreson, I’m afraid so.” But Isabelle relented when she saw the disappointment in Mrs. Thoreson’s face. “However, since you came all the way out here, I can give you a few minutes to take a quick look.”

  The grateful couple hastily went through the house, and then once Isabelle felt confident they were safely on their way back to Jackson, she headed home, exhausted but happy. Her joy stemmed from several potential buyers clamoring over her listing and from knowing Nate Price had been thinking about her. That made
her even happier than a fat commission check.

  She pulled into the lot behind her building and punched in his number before her courage flagged. When he answered, she said, “Thanks for sending out the cavalry, Nate.”

  “You’re welcome. Realtors at open houses could be sitting ducks if no one shows up.”

  “True, but tonight I was overrun with moms, dads, and rambunctious children. Markham would have been trampled by the throng.”

  “Good to hear, but I’ll wait until you’re inside and flash your balcony light. Give me the same signal you used for the Thoresons.” He chuckled good-naturedly.

  Isabelle froze halfway to her building. “Where are you?”

  On the street one of the parked cars blinked its headlights.

  “Goodness, Nate. You seem to be everywhere at once.” She lifted her hand in a wave.

  “I’m hoping your next restraining order won’t be against me.” His laugh didn’t sound quite so self-assured.

  “Not this month it won’t be. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

  “You’re probably worn out. We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, Isabelle.”

  “Wait, tomorrow… that reminds me. I don’t have to work, so I thought we could spend the day together—see the sights, have a picnic, maybe float down the river on a raft like Huck Finn. And if you’re short on time, at least let me buy you coffee and a donut.”

  “I’ll clear my calendar. When should I pick you up?”

  “Let’s say ten o’clock. Wear sensible shoes and come hungry. And just so we’re clear, tomorrow everything is my treat. I’m hanging up now so you can’t put up any argument.” Isabelle disconnected just as she entered her condo. After sliding the deadbolt in place, she ran to her balcony doors and flashed the light, hoping the gesture wouldn’t draw another batch of Germantown’s finest.

  Nate signaled back and drove away. Isabelle waited until his car disappeared around the corner before she fed her cat and chose a frozen dinner to microwave. However, even if a million dollars was at stake, she couldn’t have described what she ate or the shows she watched on TV. Her mind was already planning her date with Nate down to the smallest detail.