What Happened on Beale Street Page 23

  Nicki met Hunter the next morning for breakfast a mere ten minutes late. She had to make sure her outfit and hair looked perfect. With Nate practically working alone, Hunter had been begged her to come back to New Orleans. She missed him too, but she wasn’t ready to leave, not when she was so close to solving the case of the missing Carlton diamonds. She chuckled at how ridiculous that sounded, even to her. Yet, until she ran out of leads, she planned to stick with it.

  “Good morning, handsome man,” she greeted, kissing him on the cheek before sitting across from him in the booth. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “It was worth it. You look beautiful. Why don’t you wear your hair like that more often?”

  “Too much trouble when I’m working. This coiffure took me twenty minutes with the blow dryer and curling iron. How did women manage in the previous century with rollers and bobby pins and hairnets?”

  “Still dabbling in the fifties, I gather.” Hunter peered over his menu. “I’m here to drag you kicking and screaming back into the current millennium.”

  Nicki picked up her menu as well, more to hide her expression than peruse the selections.

  “What looks good to you, O’lette? I heard from a reliable source that the bananas Foster is worth every fat gram.”

  “You already talked to Mr. Prescott?”

  “I did, and he supplied us with these.” Hunter spread a bevy of brochures in the space between them. “We are seeing the sights today, missy. Prepare to wear your shoe leather paper thin.”

  A cheery waitress arrived at their table. “Coffee, Miss Price? And are we ready to order?” She turned her dazzling smile on Hunter.

  “I believe we are.” He laid down his menu. “I’ll have the bananas Foster, an order of country ham, and wheat toast. How does that sound, dear heart?”

  Nicki shook her head. “Nope. Coffee, tomato juice, oatmeal, and fruit. Thank you,” she said to the waitress.

  Once the woman left, she leaned across the table. “After what we ate for dinner last night? Do you really want me to weigh four hundred pounds by the wedding?”

  Hunter laced his fingers over his flat stomach. “That was some fine barbecue, wasn’t it? Anyway, a few more pounds just means more of you to love.” He reached for her hand.

  She slapped at his fingers. “That dress is already costing a fortune for tulle and silk. I intend to avoid expensive alterations by controlling myself.”

  “Suit yourself, but don’t even think about stealing my whipped cream.” He winked as he glanced through the pamphlets. “Why don’t we hit the Civil Rights Museum today and Graceland tomorrow? I know you love history, and who doesn’t love Elvis?”

  Nicki sipped some coffee. “Both worthy attractions, I’m sure, but not today.”

  “How about the zoo? They have giant pandas.” Hunter wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Maybe tomorrow, but today let’s pay a social call.”

  “Oh, no. Does this involve showing up on someone’s doorstep unannounced and asking nosy questions?” Hunter leaned back as the waitress delivered his toast and her bowl of fruit.

  “Goodness, no, but as long as you’re willing, I’d love to visit a delightful gentlemen who gets so lonely in his senior center.” She opted for a pitiful expression.

  “Would this be the senior Mr. Prescott, who has dozens of children and grandchildren doting on him?”

  “Well… yes, but they’re usually busy with their own lives. Please, Hunter? I’m dying to tell Henry what I learned out in Tipton County and show him the pictures I took. He’ll be so happy to hear Mrs. Fitzhugh is still alive.”

  His face turned tender. “Have I ever denied you a single wish? Of course we can visit Mr. Prescott. As long as you assure me you’re not falling in love with an older man.”

  “Thank you! And although Henry is cute as a bug, your patience with me keeps your boat floating even at low tide.”

  Hunter fluffed his napkin across his lap as the chef arrived to flambé his breakfast. “All right. Your high praise merits one taste of my bananas, Nicki, but not a bite more.”

  Nicki picked up her fork. “How did you know what I planned to ask next?”

  Two hours later, Nicki and Hunter arrived at Oakbrook Assisted-Living Center laden with magazines, DVDs of remastered old movies, and a huge box of candy. Henry was in the barber shop getting a haircut, so Nicki and Hunter waited for him in the courtyard in the shade.

  “The residents turned this into a bird sanctuary.” Hunter pointed at several different styles of feeders and a variety of seed types scattered across the flagstones. “There must be a dozen nesting boxes for wrens and even a purple martin house.” He pointed at the apartment-style birdhouse on a tall pole.

  “Look at all those.” Nicki pointed at several hummingbird feeders mounted on brackets next to windows. “Folks can refill the feeders from inside their apartments, sit back, and enjoy the show.”

  Hunter tilted his head back, the glare deepening the creases around his eyes. “I could see myself living in a place like this in old age. Three squares a day, big-screen TV, bingo on Saturdays. Do you think we’ll finally be married by then?”

  Nicki grabbed him by his jacket lapels. “We haven’t even been engaged a year. You must learn patience, Galen. You’ll be on my short leash before you know it.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek as an aide opened the door to the courtyard.

  “Mr. Prescott is back in his room, Mr. and Mrs. Galen.”

  Nicki smirked but didn’t bother to correct her. She loved hearing the sound of that despite Hunter’s insistence she was dragging her feet.

  When they entered his room, Henry was in his usual spot by the window. She made a mental note to bring a hummingbird feeder and bottle of nectar during her next visit. “Hi, Mr. Prescott. It’s Nicki Price. I have an update for you on the Carlton scavenger hunt, and I brought someone for you to meet. This fortunate man is my fiancé, Hunter Galen.”

  “Hello, Miss Price.” Henry offered a toothy smile. “But I believe you’re supposed to let the gentleman decide how lucky he is.” Henry extended his hand to Hunter.

  Hunter shook heartily. “Nicki is not one to stand on convention, as you’ve probably noticed. How do you do, sir?”

  “Fine and dandy, young man. Now sit down and tell me your news.”

  “Guess who I had lunch with?” Nicki pulled her chair closer to him. “Violet Fitzhugh! She’s alive and well, and she’s living about an hour from here. Your grandson helped me track her down, and I went to see her.” Scanning through the photos on her phone, she found the one taken on the terrace at lunch.

  He studied the picture for a long moment. “Would you look at that? Barely changed a’tal. That woman is still a beauty.”

  “She is, and she sends her best regards to you.” Nicki explained the details about the fifty-eight and fifty-nine scavenger hunts to bring Henry and Hunter up to date.

  “I’m surprised Bobby is helping you. He can be straight-laced when it comes to his job. He has rules about this and rules about that.”

  Nicki laughed. “I had to coerce some of his help, but I really do like your grandson. Thanks to him, the newspaper archives, and Mrs. Fitzhugh, I pieced together the details for every year except the last. According to Mrs. Fitzhugh, Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield won in 1959. So they would have arrived a day early in 1960 to plan the game and hide the prizes—diamonds.”

  Henry’s eyes focused on something no one else could see. “Diamonds,” he said. “It’s only fitting the game would come full circle. That’s what the first prizes were. So the Smithfields went out and bought another set of diamonds.”

  “The Smithfields were very generous to their friends,” said Hunter. He perched on the arm of Nicki’s chair. “Do you remember what business Mr. Smithfield was in?”

  “Let me think a moment.” Henry tugged on his earlobe. “Yep, I do. He owned one of them fancy designer companies.”

  “Like a group of interior decorators?” ask
ed Nicki.

  “Oh, no. I mean he had architects, engineers, and construction folks working for him. If somebody got a notion how they wanted a building to look, they went to Mr. Smithfield and he could make it happen. ’Course, that all came with a big price tag. That’s how he got so rich.”

  Nicki and Hunter exchanged a look. “Did the Carlton ever hire Mr. Smithfield for work on the hotel?”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “Sure did. Smithfield handled a big renovation ’bout the time all this was going on.”

  “Do you think it was in 1960, the last year for the scavenger hunts?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure. What you got in mind, missy? I see those little wheels turning in your head.”

  Hunter grinned and slapped Henry on the back. “You’re a very observant man. I should take lessons from you.”

  While they guffawed, Nicki wrinkled her nose at Hunter. “I think I may know why no one ever found the last prizes—at least, no one we know of. What was changed during the renovation?”

  Henry shook his head. “You give my memory too much credit. Maybe Bobby can look that up for you.”

  “That’s a good idea, but in the meantime let me read you something. This is what Mrs. Fitzhugh remembers about the first clue given them at dinner on Friday evening.” Nicki pulled the notes from her purse and said, “ ‘Some places soar to great heights, some command a view of the world, some soothe the soul with tranquil waters, while others warm both body and soul. This location does all this and more.’ ”

  Nicki sat back to watch Henry’s and Hunter’s wheels spin as they tried to knit the clues together.

  After a few moments of dumbfounded silence, she said, “Most of the guests thought it meant the rooftop—highest level, best views, the serene waters of the Mississippi River, and warmth from the sun.”

  Henry slapped his knees. “It gets real hot up there. That’s why they put up a shade pavilion.”

  “But the participants combed every inch of that rooftop and found nothing. What do you think the clue meant?”

  “Don’t know. That’s why I put you in charge, missy. Those Smithfields were too clever for their own good.” Henry yawned, an involuntary reflex, but also a signal they were intruding on his afternoon nap. “Good to see you, Miss Price. Thanks for bringing me that sack of goodies.” His eyes closed and his chin bobbed.

  Nicki and Hunter rose to their feet to leave, assuming Henry had already fallen asleep. She laid the photocopy of the well-attended Smithfield funeral on his dresser, along with a print she had made of Mrs. Fitzhugh. But before they reached the door, he called to them.

  “Nice meeting you, Hunter. You come back anytime, and we’ll get started on those lessons. Best to understand women before walking down the aisle.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Isabelle inventoried her backpack for the third time. Sandwiches—check. Chips, fruit, bottled water—check. Sun-block and insect repellent—check. She’d better stop or she would resemble a pack mule instead of a fun-loving, energetic woman out to woo a former jock. She was so out of practice, both in having fun and impressing a member of the opposite sex.

  All work and no play had made Isabelle a dull girl. Long hours, coupled with bitterness after her divorce, had sapped her carefree spirit, even without the Tony Markham factor. But all that was behind her. Even with the madman still roaming free, just knowing she was no longer alone changed her perspective.

  Isabelle braided her hair and let it hang down her back. Then she dusted her cheeks with blush, applied dark eyeliner, and dabbed on taupe eye shadow. But somehow the makeup looked silly with shorts and a T-shirt. After wiping most of it off, she used only pink lip gloss and tinted sunblock. Unfortunately, her sneakers looked exactly what they were—brand new. Thanks to late hours and open houses almost every weekend, her plan to take up power walking had never been realized.

  The raucous sound of the buzzer curtailed further consideration of her outfit. Isabelle spoke into the intercom. “Good morning, Nate. I’ll just lock up and be right down.” She met him in the doorway to her building.

  “Are these duds okay? I didn’t know what we were doing.”

  The first words out of his mouth made her smile. Apparently men worried about their appearance too. “You’re perfect for what I have in mind.”

  Nate reached for her backpack. “Let’s see… you don’t have that giant tote bag, so that rules out the mall. You’re wearing long shorts and a T-shirt, so that eliminates a matinee at the Orpheum Theatre. And you’re not wearing a helmet, so no motorcycle racing, steeplechase, or dirt bikes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I give up. Where are we going?”

  “Sounds like you’ve been studying tourist brochures.” Isabelle walked around to the passenger side of his car. “We’re riding bicycles in the park. No motors, no electric starters. Just the power of feet on pedals, but don’t worry. They’ll have helmets as well.”

  Nate opened her door for her. “Fresh air, sunshine, and blue skies. I’m happy as a clam. Is this park far away?”

  “No. Shelby Farms is one of the biggest urban parks in America, and it’s right here in Memphis. Forty-five-hundred acres of fishing, paddleboats, hiking, and horseback riding.”

  “Sounds great.” Nate smiled down at her as she settled herself in, and then he went around the car to get in on his side. He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, pausing at the first stop sign. “By the way, how long do you plan to keep me? These are the only clothes I brought.”

  “Only one day, but it will be a long one.” She gave him directions to the park before saying, “We can rent bikes at the trailhead. And step up the pace. We have miles to cover before lunch.” Isabelle tried to tamp down her excitement, to no avail. “Oh, did I mention the buffalos?”

  “Buffalos? You’re sure we’re not riding to Yellowstone? What do you have planned for the afternoon—sailing around Cape Horn?”

  “Wait and see. I want today to unfold spontaneously.”

  “Translation—you’re waiting to see if someone falls off his bike and breaks an arm.”

  She laughed but otherwise ignored that. “According to my map, there are four lakes. We’re bound to find one of them eventually.”

  For the next ten minutes Nate talked about riding around Red Haw with his younger brother and Nicki. “Once we rode all the way to Natchez, but our bikes didn’t have headlights, so my dad had to come pick us up. All three of us were grounded for the rest of summer.”

  “For that reason, let’s make our selections very carefully. Turn right, and we’re here.” Isabelle jumped out the moment he parked and ran to the bike racks. Nate picked out a twelve-speed with knobby tires and a battery-powered headlight. Isabelle’s had five speeds, a bell, and a basket. “We’ll rent for four hours please,” she said, stepping up to the counter.

  “Let me get this.” Nate pulled out his credit card. “You packed the lunch.”

  Isabelle elbowed him to the side. “Oh, no you don’t. You agreed to my terms on the phone.” Isabelle held out her own credit card. “Besides, having a private bodyguard would cost me a fortune.”

  The middle-aged clerk looked from one to the other and took Isabelle’s card. “This lady apparently means business, sir, so I suggest you mind your p’s and q’s.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nate said with a tip of his ball cap.

  With the map in her pocket and their lunch strapped to the basket, Isabelle was soon flying down the trail. She forgot how much she enjoyed bike riding, especially with no traffic to contend with. They rode for miles through wooded glens and across grassy fields, passing joggers, hikers, and parents pushing baby strollers along the way.

  Nate matched his pace with hers, slowing down on ascents and letting her decide the speed on the downhill runs. With the warm sun on her arms and shoulders, Isabelle allowed herself to relax completely. So much so that she recklessly failed to brake on a curve. Her front tire ran off the hard-packed surface into the soft grass. Before
she realized what was happening, she flew from the bike, landing in an inglorious heap on the ground.

  “Isabelle! Are you all right?” Nate was off his bike and at her side in an instant. He hauled her to her feet as if she were a small child.

  His hands on her arms unhinged her worse than the embarrassment of falling off the bike. “Let go of me! I’m fine.” She shrugged away from him.

  Nate stepped back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to get fresh. I just overreacted to your fall.”

  Brushing off the back of her shorts, she saw disappointment in his face before he turned away. “Sorry. I’m the one who overreacted. I’m not used to a lot of physical contact. That must sound silly coming from someone who has been married, but my parents weren’t the touchy-feely type, and neither was Craig.”

  “Duly noted. I won’t make that mistake again.” Nate inspected the spokes and wheel rims on her bike. “I don’t think anything’s bent, so we’re good to go.” He rolled her bike to the trail and then picked up his from the grass without looking at her.

  “Nate, please don’t be offended.” Isabelle followed close behind. “I told you how things were, not how I want them to be. Truth is, I’ve always been jealous of women like Nicki who can show affection easily… and accept it in return. I don’t want to be like this.”

  Nate studied her for a moment. “All right. We’ll start slow by hooking our little fingers. Then we’ll graduate to holding hands for fifteen-minute intervals.” He wiggled his pinkie at her.

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  He shrugged. “Only because I don’t know what else to say or do. You threw me for a loop.”

  “I have a talent for that. Can we forget about this? Trust me, I’m getting better. You should have seen me a year ago. I wouldn’t even shake hands with clients.” She lifted the kickstand and grabbed the handlebars. But instead of climbing on, she walked her bike down the hill toward the water. “That’s Beaver Lake, a good spot to eat lunch. Have you worked up an appetite yet?”