Chapter 4 #3
“Like most parents, he would’ve been glad his son found something he liked doing and went after it.”
Amelie stared out the windshield, her smile making Maurice smile.
Something Luis had mentioned tugged at Maurice’s thoughts. “I wonder what the German guy was looking for by calling on Luis?”
“I thought that was weird, too.” Amelie’s brow furrowed, wiping away her contented smile. “Seems odd that a German would be researching wealthy French families of WWII.”
“Luis said he specifically asked about antiquities and art.”
Amelie nodded. “As well as journals or diaries.”
“The Nazi’s confiscated a lot of famous artwork from all over Europe. Not all of it has been found and returned to the families or institutions where it belonged.”
“Armand did say that his folks packed up all their valuables and escaped into the night.” Amelie glanced toward Maurice. “Do you think they took their artwork and antiquities with them?”
Maurice shrugged. “Maybe. If they did, they might’ve sold them to pay for their passage on a ship. Or they could’ve sold them to keep a roof over their heads when they had to start over in New Orleans and then in Paris when they returned.”
“I spent enough time in Armand’s Paris apartment to know he didn’t have any artwork or antiques.” Amelie’s brow dipped further. “Other than with his work as a chef, he was very much a minimalist.”
“If his folks fled with their valuables, could those valuables still be missing?”
“Is there any way to find out what famous artwork or antiques a particular family might have owned before the beginning of WWII?”
Maurice shrugged. “I don’t know. But I know someone who might find out if Armand’s relatives owned anything of significance.
We have a computer guy at Brotherhood Protectors headquarters in Montana who can scan the web for any recorded history of Armand’s family.
Maybe Swede could find out if they owned anything others might want to find.
It could be the German has already done his homework and knows of something they had that hasn’t resurfaced, and he’s trying to chase it down. ”
“You think that’s possible?”
“If there’s any information on Armand’s family, Swede will find it.”
“What about the pocket watch?” Amelie glanced across at Maurice. “Do you think that’s one of the antiquities the German was looking for?”
“I’ll send the photo of the watch to Swede. If it’s worth anything, he’ll let us know.”
Amelie pulled out her cell phone and keyed a text message.
“I’m asking Luis to snap copies of the photos he kept.
The ones of his grandparents, before they had to abandon their home, were taken inside their house.
Maybe there’s a painting or antique in the background that could give us an idea of what they had. ”
“Good idea. That might help Swede.” Maurice followed the directions to the supply house and backed into the loading dock. As he shifted into park, Amelie’s phone chirped with an incoming message.
“Luis said he’d send the pictures when he gets back to his apartment,” Amelie said.
“What did he say about your reason for wanting them?”
Amelie grimaced. “I didn’t tell him exactly why I wanted them, other than to say I wanted copies to remember Armand by. Everything we’ve talked about is...”
“Conjecture.” Maurice nodded. “I get it. When we find out more, we can let him in on it.”
“Or, if we don’t find anything, he won’t be waiting around hoping we will and be disappointed.” Amelie drew in a breath and let it out. “Armand was always so particular about his cuisine and the presentation. I found it odd that his own home was sparse and unadorned.”
“Maybe because it wasn’t home to him,” Maurice suggested. “Not after his wife left anyway.”
Amelie nodded. “I got that feeling. The only time he seemed happy was when he was creating cuisine at the restaurant. Anywhere else, he appeared pensive, even sad. Once, we were walking along a boulevard in Paris on our way to purchase spices, when he slowed and stared at a store for so long, I asked what was wrong. He said the store used to be a bistro. It was a place he and Julia had shared stories about their lives over a cup of coffee or espresso.”
“He must’ve loved her very much,” Maurice said.
“In his way, he did.” Amelie pushed open her door. “Here comes the dock worker.”
Amelie went into full-on bakery-business-owner mode and supervised the loading of the supplies she’d ordered, going over the list, item by item, to ensure the entire order was satisfied.
While he waited, Maurice stepped away from the loading dock and called Swede.
“Swede here,” he answered on the second ring.
“Swede, Maurice Boucher, out of the Bayou branch.”
“Maurice, good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
“I’m working with Amelie Aubert in Bayou Mambaloa.”
“I heard that you were. She had a break-in last night.”
“That’s right.”
“Have they caught the guy?”
“No,” Maurice said. “We met with Luis Beno?t, the son of Amelie’s former mentor, a French chef by the name of Armand Beno?t.
Luis had a man with a German accent, who identified himself as Fredrick Schulz, asking him about his father’s family, supposedly researching wealthy French families during WWII and where they are now. ”
“Interesting that a German was asking about French families,” Swede commented. “But go on.”
“I need you to do your magic and find out anything you can about Schulz. Who is he? Who does he work for? Basically, is he legit?”
“Fredrick Schulz,” Swede repeated. “Got it.”
“Also, look up French chef Armand Beno?t’s parents. Who were they, and did they own any valuable artwork or antiquities that might’ve been lost or disappeared during WWII?”
“On it,” Swede responded.
“One more thing…” Maurice put the phone on speaker, pulled up the photo of the pocket watch and forwarded it to Swede’s number. “I just sent you a photograph of a pocket watch Armand gave to his son the day before he died.”
“I have it,” Swede acknowledged.
“Check it out. Is it worth anything? And if you have any idea what the numbers are on the inside of the cover, we’d like to know. It’s got us stumped.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks, Swede,” Maurice said. “Out here.”
“Out here,” Swede said and ended the call.
Once he’d finished the call, Maurice helped load the items after Amelie checked them off the list. He admired her professionalism and kindness when working with the dock laborer. When the items were loaded, she shook the man’s hand and thanked him before closing the back door of the van.
Maurice opened the passenger door for her. “You don’t mind if I drive?”
She shook her head. “Not if you don’t mind driving.”
“I’d be honored.” He handed her up into the van and closed the door.
Maurice shifted into gear and drove out of the loading dock. “Do we need to stop anywhere else before heading back to Bayou Mambaloa?”
Amelie leaned her head back against the seat. “No. They were able to hook me up with everything I needed. I’m ready to get back, unload and get set up for tomorrow.”
“Are you going to open tomorrow?”
She drew in a deep breath. If I can get some sleep tonight so that I’m not the walking dead at three-thirty in the morning, I’ll open on time. I can’t guarantee a full list of what I usually prepare, but I’ll have what most people order. And coffee.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll help however I can.”
She leaned her head to the side to look his way. “You really don’t have to, you know. If they’ve caught the vandal, there will be no need for you to stay.”
Maurice shot her a pointed look. “Have they caught the vandal?”
Amelie glanced down at her phone.
“Wouldn’t Shelby have called you if they had?”
Her lips twisted. “Yes.”
“You could call and ask her if they’ve found them to make certain,” Maurice offered softly.
Amelie lifted her cell phone, paused and lowered it. “No. Shelby would call if they’d caught him.”
“So, until we know more about the guy who trashed your place, I’m not leaving you or these supplies without protection.
You’ve spent too much time cleaning and too much money on new supplies, along with worrying about your business, for me to feel right walking away.
I’ll be at the bakery tonight. If that means sleeping on the floor to guard the goods, or staying awake all night, I’m there.
Unless it’s me you don’t want to protect you. I can send someone else from my team.”
Amelie’s gaze met his. “No. No, it’s not you. I just...” She sighed, “I don’t like being a bother to you.”
He reached across and took her hand in his. “You’re not a bother. I’m fascinated by how wonderfully you’ve rebounded after having your building violated. You’re a true professional. And you’re cute with flour on your nose.”
Amelie reached up automatically to touch her fingers to her nose.
Maurice chuckled. “Not now, but earlier this morning.”
Her smile returned, brightening Maurice’s day. His own smile joined hers as he drove out of New Orleans and back home. To Bayou Mambaloa.