CHAPTER TEN
On my way home, I call Sean. He answers on the first ring. I love him for that. It’s a simple thing, and maybe a somewhat silly thing, but it means a lot to me to know that he’s always available for me.
“Hello, my love. No doubt you’re calling to tell me you miss me very much and can’t wait to come home.”
I smile softly. “I do miss you. And I do look forward to the day when my travels will be over, and I can enjoy a peaceful retirement with you.”
“But you need something from me.”
I frown. “Don’t be so catty about it.”
“I’m not being catty. I just like reminding you every now and then that I know you well enough to read your mind.”
I roll my eyes. “How proud of yourself you must be.”
“I am quite proud,” he agrees, “but before I push you too far and make you actually angry with me, tell me what you need.”
“I need you to research a gentleman named Jacques Poitier, a jazz pianist. Find me whatever you can on a rivalry between him and Marcel Lacroix.”
"Ooh. Drama in the Gem of the South. What is this Poitier alleged to have done?"
“He cursed one of Marcel’s compositions.”
Sean is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Mary… you don’t actually believe that there could be a curse, do you?”
Now, I am irritated. “No, Sean, I don’t actually think there’s some sort of witch’s curse. But I do suspect that Marcel’s death as well as that of Claude Durand could involve some foul play.”
“Claude Durand? Who’s he?”
“He’s the manager of the Midnight Melody, the jazz club Josephine Lacroix owns. He died a few nights ago after Gabriel —that’s Marcel’s grandson—played the piece Poitier is alleged to have cursed. I want you to look up that piece too. It’s called Vie Apres a la Mort. I’ll send you a picture.”
There is another silence. Then Sean says with a touch of concern in his voice. “Oh, Mary. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“I’m not in the mood for patronization, Sean. Can you help me?”
"Obviously, I can help you, Mary. But I don't think it's evil of me to express concern for you. You said you were going to New Orleans to look for signs of your sister. Instead, you're in the middle of another scandal that isn't properly your business, and—"
“Must we have this conversation again, Sean? You know I can’t just allow innocents’ deaths to go unavenged.”
He sighs. “We don’t need to have this conversation again yet. But there’s an entire other side to the conversation that you’re glossing over, and we will have that part of the conversation again. Not now, though. Send me what you have, and I’ll see what I can learn. But for God’s sake, Mary, remember you have a man who loves you at home and will be very sad if you’re dead. Please don’t make me come save your life again.”
I feel a touch of guilt when he says that. In several of my past mysteries, Sean has arrived in the nick of time to do exactly that. I confess I don’t think often enough about how much worry he must feel for me.
“I will. I won’t put myself in danger. To be honest, this is probably nothing, but…”
“But you have to know.”
“I’m sorry.”
"No, you're not."
His voice is playful now, and the tension leaves my shoulders. “Well, I love you.”
“Yes, I suppose you do. I love you too. Talk to you soon.”
He hangs up, and I send him pictures of the front page of Vie Apres a la Mort. I feel a little better with his help. The truth is that I was starting to worry about the danger I was putting myself in. The high society of the New Orleans jazz scene is a lot more cutthroat than I imagined, and they don’t like having their secrets exposed. With Sean on the case, I don’t need to put myself in the middle as much.
And I really should focus my attention on Annie. I’ve once more traveled somewhere to find answers about her only to become embroiled in a scandal that isn’t any of my business.
My brow furrows in annoyance as I realize that Sean is right. He does know me very well.
When I arrive home, I see the car in the driveway. I freeze, my mouth open in shock. I thought I would have more time, but the Lacroix’s are home now.
And I’m carrying the cursed music in my purse.
I quickly zip the bag up so the music isn’t visible and pray that they haven’t noticed it missing from the parlor yet. My heart pounds as I walk up the steps, and when I walk inside and find the family in a state of near frenzy, my fear increases.
Etienne is arguing with his mother. The children are nowhere to be seen.
“This foolish rivalry will bankrupt us!” He shouts. “No, I misspoke. It will bankrupt you . I’m going to make sure that your stubbornness doesn’t impact my children.”
Josephine’s eyes are red and puffy. She’s not crying right now, but the tracks in her makeup show clearly that she has recently. I don’t hear her response to Etienne’s attack because she sees me and hisses, “Etienne, hush!”
Etienne turns to me and presses his lips together. He lowers his eyes and says in a calmer voice. “I apologize, Mary. You weren’t meant to hear that.”
I don’t have the presence of mind to say anything but a rather flimsy, “That’s all right.”
“I’ll be leaving on business for the next four days. I entrust the children to your care, Mary.”
“Of course. Travel safely, Mr. Lacroix.”
He gives me a brief smile, then heads upstairs. Josephine doesn’t meet my eyes. I hesitate, unsure if I should offer her some tea or coffee or if I should just leave her alone.
The spell is broken when the grandfather clock chimes the hour. Josephine stirs and lifts her eyes to mine. She smiles sadly and says, “Tragedies ripple across lives like water, don’t they?”
I understand exactly what she means. “Yes. Across time too.”
Her eyes widen slightly at that. She opens her mouth as though to say something else, but then her eyes shift to the right, and she closes her mouth. She nods and says, “You should go tend to the children. I’m afraid they likely heard that argument.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about them, ma’am. They’re in good hands.”
She nods, but her eyes have moved from me and lost their focus. I don’t impose on her energy anymore.
Etienne and I pass each other on the stairs. He’s carrying his own luggage, and a disconcerted Henri is following him. Henri gives me a longsuffering look, one I’ve seen on the faces of many household staff when their employers are in the middle of a temper tantrum. Etienne says nothing to me.
The children are in Amelia’s room. It occurs to me that I’ve never seen them in Gabriel’s room. I’ve never actually seen Gabriel’s room. I wonder why that is, but my curiosity is not important right now.
The children have clearly heard the argument. They sit on the edge of the bed, slumping forward with their eyes downcast. The TV is playing a cartoon I don't recognize, something about a young boy whose wristwatch allows him to shapeshift into aliens.
In my twenty-five years as a teacher, I dealt with many cases of children upset because of family conflict. I know from experience that approaching the subject directly will cause children to close off more often than not.
So I start with what truly matters. “How are you feeling, children?”
Rather than answer me, Amelia stands and takes Gabriel’s hand, leading him from the room. I assume they’re going to Gabriel’s room, and I don’t intend to force them to talk, but I do need to make sure they’re not trying to leave the house. Running away is another all too common response to this kind of conflict, especially after a tragedy like the one this family has suffered.
They don’t enter Gabriel’s room. Instead, they enter their grandmother’s room. I frown and call, “Children, let’s leave your grandmother alone for now. Why don’t we—”
“Grandma,” Amelia interrupts. “Can Mary take us to Mardi Gras?”
“That’s enough, Amelia,” I say firmly. “Come on out of your grandmother’s room.
“Sure,” Josephine says. She’s sitting on her bed and looking at a picture of Marcel. She seems distracted.
Amelia turns to me and says triumphantly, “Come on, Mary. Let’s go.”
“Absolutely not. Your grandmother needs time to rest, and Mardi Gras is not appropriate for—”
“It’s fine, Mary,” Josephine interrupts. “Just… it’s fine. Please, no more fighting.”
My brow furrows. “Perhaps it would be better to keep the children home, ma’am.”
“No!” Amelia shouts. “I want to go! I’m twelve years old! I’m not a baby!”
“When you’re older, you’ll—”
“For God’s sake , Mary!” Josephine interrupts. “Just take them! Enough!”
I press my lips together, and very much against my better judgment, I nod.
Amelia pumps her fist and kisses Gabriel on the cheek. “You’ll see, Gabriel. This will be fun.”
Gabriel offers a wan smile. I look hard at Amelia, and she tosses her hair saucily. “We’ll be dressed in twenty minutes, Mary.”
She leads Gabriel from the room. I look at Josephine, but she’s back to staring at the picture of her husband. It’s not worth my energy to argue with her now.
I leave the room and steel myself for what I imagine will be the most nerve-wracking night of my life.