The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(66)
Author: Karen White

 

I returned to the table to see Uncle Bernie grinning up at me. “You have to get up pretty early to get one step ahead of me. I may be old, but my mind’s still nimble. Just don’t tell the wife, but I think it’s the bourbon. It worked for Winston Churchill.” He raised his glass and drained it.

 

“Well, next time it’s my treat, okay? You’re doing all of this work for me, and I’d like a way to repay you.”

 

“No repayment necessary. I appreciate the chance to be in an active investigation again—although unofficially. I should be thanking you.” He slid a wrapped piece of Dove chocolate across the table. “I always carry something sweet with me for emergencies. I thought you could use one since you’re not getting a beignet.”

 

I didn’t hesitate and picked it up. “Aw, that is so nice. Thank you.” I stood to put it in my back pocket for later, and my fingers quickly discovered the pocket wasn’t empty. I pulled out two crumpled ribbons, one yellow and the other purple. Uncle Bernie’s detective eyes looked at them with interest.

 

“The purple one fell out of Sunny’s ponytail a few days ago. The yellow one . . . well, I’m pretty sure this is one of the ribbons Sunny wore when she was kidnapped. Mimi has one, and I thought I had the other hidden in my apartment. And I know it was there, because my sister found it and I made sure I put it back. But when I checked after I found this one, it wasn’t there.”

 

“So you think it was stolen?” he asked, no doubt recalling the previous break-in, thwarted by Jolene and Barbie.

 

“Um, sort of.”

 

“Sort of?” I imagined he was probably going over his ABC checklist. Believe nothing. I took a deep breath, deciding to test his ingrained training. “I think there may have been something paranormal at work.”

 

“I see.” He held out his hand and I gave him the ribbons. Challenge and check everything. He placed both ribbons on the table, then pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and leaned closer. Examining the knotted parts closely, he said, “There’s blond hair stuck in both of them.”

 

“I know. The purple one I know for sure is Sunny’s, since I saw it in her ponytail right before I picked it up, and the yellow one would have her hair, too, assuming it was one of the ones that fell out onto the street when she was kidnapped.”

 

He looked at me over the rims of his glasses. “Assume nothing.”

 

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Do you want me to compare it to the one Mimi has?”

 

“Not yet. Right now, would you mind if I borrowed them? Given how much the yellow one has been handled, we probably won’t find anything, but there might be some latent prints or DNA not belonging to Sunny or any of her family members. I can pull some strings with the crime lab. New Orleans keeps them pretty busy, but there’s always a favor to be called in. I hold on to them like gold coins—only to be used for special occasions.”

 

“That would be great,” I said, reaching for the purple one.

 

Bernie stopped me. “Let me take that one, too. Since you and Sunny handled them both, I can exclude your DNA from the yellow one so that any additional ones will be easier to pinpoint.”

 

“That makes sense,” I said.

 

He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and carefully wrapped up the two ribbons without touching them. “Don’t get your hopes up, Nola. It’s a long shot to begin with, and New Orleans crime keeps the lab hopping as it is, and they might not be able to squeeze it in. Not only is this a very old case, but it’s no longer considered cold since the missing child has been found.”

 

“I know. But justice hasn’t been served. Even if the people who were responsible are dead and won’t see any jail time, it just seems right that their names be written down somewhere to show they were bad people.”

 

He carefully replaced his glasses in his shirt pocket. “And I’d agree—if we were dealing with any other family. I long ago realized that sometimes just knowing the truth has to be enough.”

 

“But that’s not really fair.”

 

Bernie leaned forward and patted my hand. “Life is rarely fair, Nola. Take the advice of an old man who’s seen a lot. Sometimes we have to choose what’s worth the fight.”

 

“Then what do we do with the rest?” I asked.

 

“We let it go.”

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Jaxson stood next to the table. “I know I was supposed to wait outside, Nola, but Frank is already here. Should I tell him you need a few more minutes, Uncle Bernie?”

 

The old man squeezed my hand before sitting back. He picked the wrapped ribbons up from the table and put them in an inside jacket pocket. “Nola and I were just finishing up. She’s sending me off on a new assignment now, so I’ll let you know when we need to meet again.”

 

Jaxson and I helped Bernie stand, then walked with him to the door. I waved to Frank in the driver’s seat of a car that looked to be about the same vintage and size as Bubba while Jaxson assisted Bernie into the passenger seat. I stepped back as the car pulled away smoothly, without hitting anything, allowing myself to let out a sigh of relief. As it rumbled slowly down the street, I thought about what Uncle Bernie had said about the unfairness of life, making choices, and letting go. It was a lot to unpack, and the only thing I knew for sure was that making choices was usually about deciding between a rock and a hard place and moving forward with a sledgehammer while hoping for the best.

 

Jaxson and I met up with Jolene and Sarah outside Café du Monde, Sarah clutching a bag of beignets she’d ordered for me. Jaxson and Jolene waited until our Uber arrived to take us uptown. I resisted the impulse to tear open the beignet bag and get powdered sugar all over the inside of the car. There were lots of ways to receive a bad rating from your Uber driver, and I was pretty sure that was one.

 

“Would it be all right if I looked at the book?” Sarah asked.

 

“The clientele book? Sure—if you think you could help. We’ve pretty much exhausted our resources, so maybe a new perspective is what we need.” I turned to look at her. “What made you ask?”

 

She didn’t meet my eyes. “There was an old lady—well, not old old, but like Gigi and Grandpa. Like that. She had curly gray hair and wore an apron. She was standing behind Bernie the whole time, with her hand on his shoulder. She said I should take a look, that there was something there that nobody else could see.”

 

“Did she tell you her name? I know the restaurant is haunted, but she doesn’t sound like any of the ghosts I read about.”