“We don’t even know his real name,” Mrs. Wenzel said as Honey dabbed again at the corners of her eyes. “We named him Zeus as a lark, seeing as how he’s just this little thing, and left all alone after . . .” She stopped.
“So you never saw the bird when you visited?” I asked. There was a story here. If not for a book, then maybe for a song.
“We and our brother were . . . estranged,” Honey added between sniffles.
Mrs. Wenzel nodded. “Not through our choosing, you understand. Mark was the son of our father’s second marriage and was a good deal younger. But we had a wonderful relationship with him until . . .”
“Until his marriage to Jessica,” Honey finished. “We were so happy for him, and then when little Lynda was born we were over the moon. We just don’t know what happened. That’s why we were here—”
Christopher opened the door wider. “I am sure you ladies need to get going. But thank you both again for coming. I will certainly speak with Mrs. Ryan, and I’ll be in touch.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Wenzel said, and gave me a closed smile. Then she turned toward her sister and, clutching the bird cage, gingerly stepped down onto the sidewalk.
Zeus twisted his head to stare at Beau while continuing his high-pitched chirping, which was still audible after the door was closed behind the bird and the two women. I turned to Christopher to apologize, but I stopped when I noticed that Beau’s pallor now blended with the white wall behind him.
“That bird . . .” Beau began.
“Seemed to have something to say to you,” I prompted.
He stared at me blankly before quickly shaking his head. “I forgot something from the storeroom. I’ll be right back.” Beau left us watching after him, his movement blowing the price tags of the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.
I waited for Christopher to say something about the women or the bird, but instead he said, “I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for introducing us to Trevor. He’s become a customer favorite and has earned a lot of money in tips. We have to empty out the tip jar Jolene decorated for him just about every day. I helped him open up his own checking account and showed him how to go online to see his balance. He’s really got a good head for numbers. And salesmanship. I really do think he could sell ice to polar bears.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Have you met his meemaw or brother yet? He talks about them a lot, but I’ve never met them.”
Christopher shook his head. “Not yet, but I did get a note from Meemaw thanking me. At least I think that’s what it was—the handwriting was pretty bad since she has arthritis.”
I looked past him toward the door to the secret back room from which I’d been forbidden but hadn’t given up trying to find an excuse to see inside. “Maybe I should go see if Beau needs my help,” I suggested.
When Christopher didn’t say anything, I looked at him, surprised to find a bemused smile on his face. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .”
A jolt of alarm ran through me. “Excuse me?”
He crossed his arms. “Mimi told me everything. And I’m going to tell you exactly what I told her. Lying to someone, even if you think it’s for their own good, never ends well. I haven’t figured out exactly what else you’re planning, but my advice is that you come clean to Beau now, before you’re buried so deep that you can’t climb your way out. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Beau holds on to a grudge like a dog with a bone. It could ruin your relationship forever.”
I felt the heat rise to my face, a sign of the familiar obstinance that reared its ugly head whenever someone tried to tell me what to do. “I don’t know what Mimi told you, but I’m just here to help Beau with a new project so he won’t have the time to stick his nose into the Broussard family and get it cut off. Or worse. That’s all. Besides, Beau and I don’t really have a ‘relationship.’ We’re just work partners.”
Christopher stood with his arms folded, like a parent patiently waiting for a guilty toddler to confess taking the last cookie from the jar. His amber eyes remained on mine, and I refused to be the first to look away. “Mimi hasn’t shared anything with me—I simply guessed. You just confirmed. And I’m coming from a position of friendship for you and Beau, and a genuine desire to help you both. Which is why I’m suggesting that you tell Beau everything. Now.”
“Tell me what?” Beau shouted across the empty shop from where he stood locking the outer storage room door.
“That we need to hurry. I think it’s going to start raining in a minute.” I felt Christopher’s odd eyes on me, but I kept my own averted.
“I got what I needed,” Beau said, holding up a small corrugated box before placing it in his backpack on the floor. “Let’s go.”
I felt Christopher watching me as I passed through the door he held open, but I didn’t look up.
“Webs can get sticky,” Christopher said.
“I don’t intend to find out.” I hustled across the street toward Beau’s truck, barely avoiding an oncoming car whose dead aim was thankfully derailed by a cave-sized pothole.
CHAPTER 9
It was a short drive over to Esplanade, an eclectic treasure trove of nineteenth-century architectural designs. The oak-lined avenue bisected by a neutral ground was decorated with multihued homes of all styles and sizes, the once iconic street still elegant despite the ravages of time, its houses like too-bright rouge on an aging madam.
Since its beginning, Esplanade had been home to a diverse community of residents. On both sides of the avenue, majestic mansions rubbed shoulders with modest shotguns and squat Creole cottages, all nestled close together along the grand boulevard. As we neared the odd chicken-wing intersection with Bayou Road, Beau indicated a bright blue shotgun house on my right. Without adequate warning, I swerved toward the curb in front of its tiny front yard, eliciting an angry honk from the pickup truck behind me.
Beau caught my hand before I had the chance to show the impatient driver a rude finger gesture. “I’m not sure what the speed limit is, Nola, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than fifteen miles per hour. I’m actually surprised it took him this long to honk at you.”
I sent Beau a withering glare. “I told you I wasn’t ready for public roads.”
He unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the truck. “You did great. You just need to practice going a little faster. I think you’re ready for I-10.”