As Ida Belle drove, Gertie poked around in the box that was on the seat next to her. “This stuff isn’t worth fifty cents,” she said. “Fifty dollars was highway robbery.”
“He could have held out for more,” I said. “He knew we wanted it. The why doesn’t matter to him. He just figured it was a way to make up some lost revenue, but in this case, in his pocket and not the apartment’s.”
“He definitely didn’t like Dexter,” Ida Belle said. “I’m sure he got a kick out of selling his things.”
“So what’s in there?” I asked.
“Some crappy clothes,” Gertie said. “I mean really crappy and worn. A toothbrush and a bar of soap. No toothpaste, mind you. A pair of ratty tennis shoes and some books.”
I frowned. “Did Dexter look like the kind of guy who reads books?”
“Not even remotely,” Ida Belle said.
“What kind of books?” I asked.
“Old hardbacks,” Gertie said. “I mean really old. The kind that didn’t come with a paper jacket.”
“Collectibles?” I asked, wondering if maybe the books were worth something and that’s why Dexter wanted them back.
“No way,” Gertie said. “I don’t recognize the names of any of the authors. Heck, one of them is a book on human anatomy from the early 1900s.”
“Flip through the books.”
Ida Belle and I both spoke at the same time.
“Okay, okay,” Gertie said. “You don’t both have to bark orders at the same time.”
I looked back as she took one of the books and thumbed through the pages.
“There’s paper in here,” Gertie said. “Stuffed between the pages.”
“Bingo,” I said. “We just found Dexter’s hiding place and the most likely reason he wanted his stuff.”
“This looks like a financial statement,” Gertie said as she unfolded one of the papers. “For Molly’s catering company.”
She handed me the sheet and I scanned it. “This is from two years ago, but wow! Molly was making a serious profit. Twenty grand in one month.”
“What month?” Ida Belle asked.
“June,” I said.
“Weddings.”
Ida Belle and Gertie both replied.
“Still,” Ida Belle said. “That’s a good net. But then Molly didn’t have employees. I think she was mostly a one-woman show.”
“You forgot about her partner Dexter,” Gertie said.
“Molly might have let him haul containers of food around,” Ida Belle said, “but I guarantee you she wouldn’t trust anyone else to prepare it. When I talked to her before she went to jail, she told me she was going to have to find an employee or two who was good enough or she’d never be able to scale up the business.”
“Here’s a couple more months,” Gertie said. “If Dexter has these, do you think that might mean he wasn’t lying about Molly claiming she’d cut him in?”
“If he was legitimately in line to partner with her, why would he be hiding those financials in books?” I asked. “More likely he managed to access computer files or lifted copies from Molly’s office and hid them here, figuring no one would ever check.”
“But if he wasn’t going to be a partner, why take financial statements?” Gertie asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe just to try to figure out how much money Molly had. Maybe that was his end game—hit her up for funds.”
“I wish we knew more about their relationship,” Gertie said. “I can’t help but think knowing the bigger picture where they were concerned would bring some things into focus.”
I nodded. “And that’s what I’m hoping Angel can provide. Along with filling in some details about Silas.”
“We’ve got about an hour until we meet with Angel,” Ida Belle said. “You guys want to stop for a bite of lunch?”
“Heck yeah!” Gertie said. “I’m starving and there’s no better place to fill an empty belly than New Orleans.”
“I know a great place for po’boys close to Angel’s apartment,” Ida Belle said.
“The one with fried crawfish?” Gertie asked.
“That’s the one,” Ida Belle said and Gertie clapped.
“Do they have beignets?” I asked. Ever since my first introduction to the squares of powdery yumminess, I tried to have some every time I came to NOLA.
“Everyone has beignets,” Gertie said. “The Catholic church probably uses them for communion.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Then we’ll have some lunch and thumb through those books to see what else Dexter was hiding.”
I smiled as Ida Belle drove. So far, it was a good day. We had picked up some information on Silas and Dexter and even though it was only pieces right now, I had a feeling we were moving in the right direction. And we were about to partake of po’boys and beignets. The only pallor over the day was the reason for our investigation, but I’d made a deal with Nickel and I was going to see it through.
Molly’s killer would pay.
Chapter Twelve
The po’boys exceeded expectation. I usually went for the fried shrimp but this time, Gertie talked me into the fried crawfish po’boy and it was excellent. A little bit spicier than the shrimp but after eating Gertie’s cooking, I was used to worse. I only put down six glasses of iced tea to get through the sandwich, which was better than usual.
Gertie nodded toward my glass of tea that had just been refilled. “You’re improving. I told you your taste buds would eventually adjust.”
“To the food, maybe,” I said. “But not that atomic, fireball, nuclear explosion version of your cough syrup. I don’t know how people drink that and still breathe.”
“You can’t right away,” Ida Belle said. “That’s the fun of it.”
“That one taste left my lips numb for a week,” I said. “I’ll stick to the mild version from here forward and I’ll be giving you the side-eye every time you ask me to test something. I’m smelling everything first. If my eyes water, it’s a no.”
Ida Belle grinned. “Give it forty years or so. Everything on you gets a little numb and you’ll welcome that additional kick.”
“Well, that means I’ve got forty years to prepare,” I said. “Get my affairs in order, prepare a will, find someone to take the cat.”
“Merlin isn’t a real magician,” Gertie said. “I don’t think he’ll be around in forty years.”
“No, but I’ll probably always have one,” I said. “I kinda like them. They’re ornery and independent and don’t listen to a thing I say.”
“So they remind you of yourself?” Gertie asked.
“A little bit,” I said. “You have to respect a ten-pound animal that has convinced humans to wait on them for no apparent payoff.”
“The payoff is no retribution,” Ida Belle said.
The waitress came back with our large order of beignets, and silence ensued until we polished off the last bite of greatness. Then we spent the required five minutes popping our shirts to rid ourselves of powdered sugar remnants and once the table was cleared, Gertie pulled the books out of her handbag and we all took a copy to inspect.