The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(100)
Author: Karen White
“No. It’s not.” Dropping the hatbox on the desk, I grabbed his hand and began leading him to the door. “How fast can you drive?”
“As fast as you need me to.”
I grabbed my house key to be tucked into my bra next to the lipstick and led us down the stairs, ignoring the muffled ring of the phone until I’d locked the door behind us.
CHAPTER 36
I was already texting Beau before Cooper had shut my car door. I used the one word “URGENT” to get his attention, followed by a text to let him know that I was on my way and needed to speak with him ASAP. I stared at my phone, waiting for a response, but the screen remained blank. After a minute I called him, and hung up when the call went to voice mail.
I considered texting Sam, to tell her that I needed to speak with Beau, but having no idea what had transpired between them, I didn’t. Instead, I sent Beau another text with “CALL ME” in all caps.
“You might want to leave a voice mail,” Cooper suggested as we waited for the light at Broadway and St. Charles.
“I know you’re older than me,” I said, “but nobody leaves voice mail anymore.”
“Exactly. Which makes voice mails stand out.”
“I disagree. I mean, I can’t tell you the last time I checked my voice mail. Because I guarantee there’s not a single one. Even spammers don’t leave them anymore, because they know it’s a waste of time.” To prove my point, I opened my phone app. A red circle hovered over the voice mail icon, a number 3 inside it. I clicked on the icon and saw three voice mail messages waiting to be listened to. They were all from Uncle Bernie, and the date stamps told me they had all been sent four days before.
With a sidelong glance at Cooper to see if he was giving me the “I told you so” look—he wasn’t—I pressed the arrow button to play the first message, then held the phone to my ear.
Hello, dear. This is Uncle Bernie. I’m afraid that I don’t have any exciting news for you about the two ribbons you gave me to test for DNA. We were able to extract DNA from the roots of some of the hair found in the yellow ribbon, and it matched the previous samples on file from Sunny Ryan. No surprise there. And the purple ribbon you gave me to use as a representative sample didn’t match the DNA from the yellow ribbon, which means they didn’t come from the same person. Not quite sure what to make of it, but me and my buddies have plenty of theories. Call me so we can discuss over a nice brunch.
And, because Bernie was of a certain generation, he recited his phone number, which was clearly printed on my screen. Not that there was anything else I needed to know. Because I was pretty sure I already knew everything.
“Can you go any faster? I’ll fill you in while you drive, but the sooner we get there, the better.”
I held on tightly to the door handle as Cooper sped over potholes on our way to the house on Prytania.
* * *
• • •
The house was lit from every window, the luminaries set along the walkway, front steps, and porch like runway lights leading the saintly partygoers to heaven. A valet service had been hired for the evening, and an attendant dressed like Saint Peter stood guard at the hourglass gate—Jolene’s idea.
After checking off our names on the guest list, Saint Peter handed Cooper’s car key to a valet and let us pass.
The front doors and the tall windows in the front parlor had been flung wide open to the mild night air, with guests milling about the foyer and onto the porch, where black-tie servers brought out food and beverages on silver trays.
We’d made it only up the front steps before Christopher appeared, dressed as the famed Saints coach. Despite the urgency, I had to laugh. Cooper grinned as he shook Christopher’s hand. “How many of us Coach Paytons are here?”
“Only four or so right now. But there’s about twelve Virgin Marys, and even more Mother Teresas. There’s a couple of Pope John Paul IIs, but they had to take off their miters because they were afraid of hitting the Baccarat chandeliers.” He looked over at me. “And we have more than enough Drew Breeses to fill an entire roster.”
“I’ll try to be more creative next time.” I looked past him into the throng of people in the double parlors where the raffle items were on display. “Have you seen Beau or Sam?”
“No. And Mimi’s upset that Beau wasn’t here to greet their guests. We’re assuming they’re together, but neither one of them is answering their phone.”
I tried very hard not to think about the implications. “It’s really important that I talk to him as soon as possible.”
I thanked him, and then Cooper and I moved inside through the parlors and toward the dining room. My eyes scanned the crowd, but I didn’t see anybody I recognized except for Sunny and Michael, who stood in a corner chatting with Angelina and Robert Sabatier. And Mimi. Like the majority of guests, the Sabatiers wore vague costumes that could have been any number of saints. Angelina turned first and smiled, followed by Robert and Mimi. I smiled back but allowed the smile to fade as I faced Sunny. She still wore the pinched expression I’d seen back at the apartment, but her eyes now had a wary look, like that of a mouse sensing the presence of a cat.
We didn’t join them, but instead moved through to the adjoining parlor, where I spotted Jolene and Connor chatting with another Mary and yet another Sean Payton and two older women dressed as Saints cheerleaders, with noticeably longer skirts than the actual cheerleaders. It took me a moment to recognize Mrs. Wenzel and her sister, Honey. We waved but kept moving toward the dining room, where platters of food overflowed onto the two matching English mahogany and satinwood buffets. The extravagant excess made me look up at Bacchus and his orgy in the mural on the ceiling.
“Do you think anyone here has noticed this?” Cooper asked, his head tilted back.
“Kind of hard to miss. Most everybody knows it’s here, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.” Lowering my voice, I said, “If you see Sunny approaching, let me know. I need to talk with Beau before I know what to say to her.”
“Got it.” He selected two plates from the end of the table and handed one to me. “Put some food on your plate so you don’t look like you’re on a mission.”
I had put only a spoonful of shrimp and grits on my plate when I heard my name being called. “Nola!”