Page 8 of The Lady on Esplanade
“It could be the woman who was murdered in the house.I think I read that her name was Sybil.She was in her sixties.That was over eight years ago, so it could be her.Her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter disappeared and have never been found, but I don’t think it would be any of them, since there’s no evidence that any of them are dead.”
Cooper nodded as he slowly walked around the perimeter of the room, studying his surroundings.“So there weren’t any witnesses to Sybil’s murder?”
“Just a bird.Zeus.But Zeus hasn’t spoken a word since.”
Cooper looked at me with raised eyebrows.“Interesting.”
“Very,” I said.Turning to face the room, I imagined I was Melanie showing a house to a client.“So, it’s a small house with a quirky yet iconic floor plan.It’s what’s called a camelback shotgun because an upstairs room was added to the back of the house, with stairs leading from the kitchen.The only bathroom is at the end of the house, on this floor, only accessible through the kitchen and bedrooms.”
“Not really made for today’s living, but it’s your job to convince me, right?”
Before I could reply, my phone buzzed.“It’s Jolene,” I said to Cooper.“Is it okay if I answer?It’s probably just to ask me what I want for dinner.”
“Sure.I’ll just keep exploring the house if that’s all right.”
I gave him a thumbs-up and answered the call.
“Good news!”Jolene’s cheerful voice sounded normal, making me hopeful that she’d recovered from her earlier funk.
“Yeah?Did we get that new sponsor—the bug control people?”Having bug control was as important as, if not more than, having a roof if you owned a house in New Orleans.
“I’m working on it, and I’m very close.”
As Jolene spoke, I walked toward the back of the house, to the larger bedroom, where I remembered seeing a few pieces of furniture that might be salvageable.The room appeared to have been emptiedof all personal items, presumably by the last owners, Honey Meggison and Joan Wenzel, widowed sisters in their mid-to-late sixties, and stepdaughters of the murdered woman found with the parrotlet Zeus in the house.They had hung on to the house for eight years, never giving up hope that their half brother, Mark, along with his wife and child, would one day return—or be found.
A dark walnut bed with knobby spindles and a curved headboard but missing a mattress and bedding had been shoved against one wall, possibly to remove the rug whose shadow remained on the sun-bleached wooden floor.I tried not to think of why the rug might be missing, my imagination going straight to the infamous unsolved murder.
Opposite the bed sat a marble-topped dressing table, its oval mirror speckled with age.A narrow drawer sat above the kneehole, while two larger ones were located on each side of the opening, drawing my attention.One by one, I slid them open to see what might have been left behind.If everything hadn’t already been cleared out by either the police or the family, it was unlikely that anything left would have any value.Still, I had to look—if only to tell the junk-collection company what to expect.
Jolene continued.“When I mentioned your address, they hung up on me.I called back until they finally answered, and they swore up and down that the call was accidentally dropped.Whatever.They’re working up a proposal and will e-mail it to me.Apparently, none of the salespeople or technicians want to come out to give me a proper quote.That just grinds my grits.”
To be fair, my house did have a well-deserved reputation for being haunted.But, thanks to Beau, all the spirits were gone now.The UPS guy still did only drive-by deliveries, during which he slid packages out of the truck without coming to a complete stop, but at least the birds and insects had returned to my yard to sing their daily choruses.
“But in the meantime,” Jolene continued, “I’ve got something even better!I’ve found you a car!”
“A car?”My enthusiasm was several levels below hers.I pulled open the final drawer, empty except for a single pair of men’s white boxer shorts.I didn’t examine them closely enough to determine whether they were clean before slamming the drawer shut.
“You should be excited, Nola.You’ll have your own car, so you won’t have to beg people for rides.Don’t get me wrong.I enjoy your company and I don’t mind driving you.It’s just, well…” She paused.“It’s Bubba.”
“Bubba?Has he finally gone to the junkyard in the sky?”I turned toward a chest of drawers and began opening each one.Except for an impressive collection of mismatched socks, the drawers were stuffed with an odd assortment of household junk.I’d make sure to mark the furniture “as is” when the estate sale happened so that deciding what to keep and what to give away wouldn’t be up to me.My precarious early childhood had included living in a car for three months, so discarding anything that might be useful later was harder for me than for most.
“I won’t tell him you said that.Hopefully he’ll last another fifty years or so—assuming you’re not a frequent passenger.”
I approached a freestanding armoire, its sparse style and small size narrowing its approximate vintage down to the 1920s or ’30s.An empty keyhole was set conspicuously in one of the two doors.“What’s that supposed to mean?”I pulled on the door’s teardrop-shaped knob, to no effect.Frowning at the object, I then dug my fingertips into the edge of the door and tugged, my efforts rewarded by what sounded like the clinking of colliding wooden hangers and the thunk of a small, hard object falling to the bottom of the armoire.
Peering into the narrow opening between the doors, I didn’t see the brass bar that should have been there if the doors were locked.This meant that the doors were merely stuck—not an unusual thing, considering that the doors were wooden and the house was in a humid climate that could rival that of the Amazon.
I turned to the single nightstand, which stood on its side next tothe bed, and slid open its top drawer in search of anything I could use to pry the doors open.It wasn’t that opening the armoire would be instrumental to assuring Cooper’s interest in the home, but it would be for my peace of mind.I had inherited my father’s need to solve problems.I was like a cat waiting at a baseboard for a mouse that had disappeared.There was a solution for every problem—although, as I’d learned from working with Melanie and Beau, it wasn’t always a logical one.
I raked my hand through a pile of paper clips in the top drawer.“You do know that cars are inanimate objects, right?”Examining the back of the drawer, I found a collection of rubber bands and a roll of postage stamps, as well as a receipt from the now-defunct K&B pharmacy; it was for a prescription refill for the same arthritis medication my grandmother Amelia took.I shoved everything back into place before closing it.
“Says the girl who has never owned a car,” Jolene continued.“Bubba and I have gone through a lot together.And he survived decades with pristine armrests until you became a frequent passenger.Now there are fingernail marks etched into the vinyl all over the armrests and side door.It’s like some rabid raccoon has been living in my car.And believe me, I know what kind of damage a rabid raccoon can do.My cousin Gwen—you know, the one in Greenwood?She went away to Ocean Springs for the weekend to visit a friend who was feeling poorly, and while she was gone a raccoon and its four babies chewed through the screen of a window she used to leave open for ventilation in the attic, and the raccoons took up residence.Lordy, it was like someone had tried to dress an angry cat and put curlers in its tail.”
“Thanks for the visual, Jolene.Very helpful.So, what you’re telling me is that you are no longer willing to drive me when I need a ride?”Hearing myself, I winced, realizing how selfish I sounded.
“I’m not saying that,” she said without sounding offended, which only made me feel worse.“You know I love you, which is why I’mbeing a mama bird and pushing you out of the nest because you refuse to fly.It’s for your own good.You’ll thank me later.Promise.”
I sighed into the phone.“So, what is this car and how much is it?”I opened the crossbody bag, wishing I’d brought my backpack, which contained the small toolbox that had been a gift from Melanie.As different as we were, I’d begun to appreciate some of my stepmother’s idiosyncrasies, like using a labeling gun and having an organized underwear drawer but carrying random items in my bag—which had paid off more than once.Like now.At the last minute before heading out the door, I’d grabbed a screwdriver and thrown it into the purse, next to the roll of breath mints Jolene insisted I always carry.
