Authors: Maddie Cochere
“Where have you been?” Darby asked with a definite edge of frustration. “We’re missing the tour.”
“I’ve been with Bogart, and we were in the bushes,” I told him.
Eyebrows went up on both of the guys. Their facial expressions mirrored each other.
“No, it’s not like that,” I giggled. “Bogart is a dog, and he showed me the baby bunnies he’s been baby-sitting. I lost track of time.”
“I thought rabbits only had babies in the spring,” said Nate.
“They have babies all year long,” said Darby. “Why do you think there are so many of them? Come on, let’s catch up with everyone.”
We dashed through the front doors and made our way to the parlor where we found the last group of guests. Dell wasn’t in this group, but Lisa was walking alongside the tour guide.
The exterior of the house was everything I had hoped for. It was majestic with six large white columns in front. From a distance, the house appeared to be painted a light yellow, but it was actually constructed of blonde-colored bricks giving it the name of LeBlond Plantation. The grounds were expansive with nearly 40 acres of gorgeous gardens, ponds, and numerous large trees throughout the property.
Now, standing in the parlor, I was equally impressed with the furnishings. The property had been in the same family since before the Civil War and the majority of the furniture was original to the house. Room after room yielded new delights. I couldn’t help envisioning myself living in the period and wearing a southern belle dress. When we reached the second floor, I was amazed at the long, wide hallway running from one end of the house to the other. Windows were open at each end, and there was a wonderful, refreshing breeze gliding down the hallway. The tour guide informed us the house had been situated specifically to bring in the moving air on even the hottest of days to create a natural air conditioning.
By the end of the tour, my arms were tired from shifting my purse from one side to the other. The printing plate seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, and so was my guilt. What possessed me to take it? Did it belong to Ferg? There was no way I was going to the police. I needed to find a way to alert someone to the plates without bringing myself into the picture. Mick would lock me in a closet for the rest of my life and never let me out if I became involved in something nefarious yet again. I giggled out loud thinking about him slipping food to me under the closet door. Darby shot a look my way as if to ask what was so funny, but I ignored him.
All of the wedding guests were on the lawn again, and the tour guides were directing everyone to shuttles which would take the large group to Brennan’s for lunch.
Ferg walked by on his way to the carriage house and called out to me, “Thanks for sending Bogart back. I’ll see you at the restaurant.” I nodded and watched him climb into a black Hummer and drive off. A plan was coming into focus in my mind.
“Listen, guys,” I said turning to Darby and Nate, “Brennan’s is a block away from our hotel. You guys go ahead and take the shuttle with everyone, and I’ll drive the car. Then we won’t have to come back up here after lunch, and besides, I want to stop at a post office and mail something home.”
“We can all go to the restaurant in the car,” said Darby.
“No,” I insisted. “You guys go ahead and save me a seat. That way all three of us won’t be late getting there. I won’t be long behind you. Order a gin fizz for me.” Darby hesitantly handed the car keys to me, and I quickly started walking away from them before he could change his mind.
My plan was brilliant, and I was smiling to myself. I would find a post office and mail the plate home to Detective Bentley. It would be out of my hands, and I would be home before he could talk to me about it. Then it would be up to him to notify the Louisiana authorities about the plate.
In the car, I turned the air conditioning on high, and asked the GPS to find post offices. I chose one five blocks from the restaurant, and I was pulling out of the LeBlond Plantation driveway before the first shuttle left.
I was able to easily take Interstate 10 into the city and exit to St. Bernard Avenue. I had been daydreaming for most of the drive, but now paid close attention to the stilted voice coming from the GPS, so I wouldn’t make a wrong turn. One-way streets always made me nervous after I once turned into four lanes of oncoming traffic in Akron, Ohio. I didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t the first time I had an encounter with a one-way street, and the narrow streets here in New Orleans seemed like alleys at times.
I didn’t turn the wrong way onto a one-way street, but of course, I made a wrong turn before turning onto Bourbon Street, and I had an irritated GPS whining because it had to recalculate. I turned it off. I was sure the post office would be just around the next corner. I passed it a second time before I realized it was in a building that looked like someone’s home rather than a postal institution. I went around the block again.
Now there were no parking spaces. I told myself I would try once more before giving up. This time, I gave myself two blocks to find parking, rather than the one directly in front of the post office. The extra block paid off, and a spot was available as I turned the corner.
Checking my mirrors to be sure I could safely open the car door into the narrow street, I spotted a black Hummer parked directly behind me in the next block. It was parked outside a private residence and across the street from a bar. I had only seen one Hummer today, and that one belonged to Ferg, but he should be at the restaurant already. I decided to watch for a few minutes to see if someone approached the vehicle.
Five long minutes ticked by. I knew I was going to be later than I could explain if I didn’t hurry, and I was probably watching a vehicle which had been parked for hours on the street anyway. I opened my door to step out, but immediately ducked back in. Ferg came out of the bar and walked to the back of the Hummer. I saw the rear hatch go up. Another man stepped out of the bar and crossed over to the vehicle. He was wearing black slacks with white suspenders, but no shirt. His hair was jet black and long. His features weren’t clear to me, but the impression was a brooding one. A thin cigar hung from his mouth. I instantly had the impression he was a foreigner, and my mind thought Spanish. A little smile crossed my face as the thought of a Flamenco dancer flashed through my mind.
Ferg handed a large box to the man. As he turned to walk away with the box, I let out a small gasp. The man had a revolver tucked into the waistband at the back of his pants. Ferg closed the hatch, and with a large box in his own arms, he followed the man. Was he delivering counterfeit money in broad daylight?
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Oh my gosh! My heart flopped, and I think I jumped about a foot in my seat. Someone was rapping on the passenger window of the car.
Once my heart was back in place, and I could focus, I saw it was one of the security men from the plantation. Their black attire in this heat was hard to miss. I pushed the button to lower the window.
“Are you lost?” he asked smiling. “Brennan’s isn’t far from here, and I can show you the way if you’d like.”
I was surprised he recognized me from the wedding party. “No, thank you,” I said returning his smile. “I have to run into the post office, and then I’ll be able to get there on my own.” I stepped out of the car, gave him a little wave, and said, “Thanks again.”
In the post office, I stood for a moment waiting for my pounding heart to settle down. Seeing the security guy gave me a surge of guilt and fear as I was sure he was going to ask me why I had an illegal printing plate, which could send me to jail for the rest of my life, in my purse. It was starting to dawn on me the magnitude of what I had done. I couldn’t put the plate back, and I definitely needed to get it out of my possession.
After purchasing bubble wrap and grabbing a priority mail box, I moved to an empty counter in the corner and quickly shoved the plate onto the wrap, folding it over and over until you couldn’t see what the object was, and until it would fit snugly in the box. After scrounging around in my purse for a piece of paper, I wrote a quick note to include with the plate –
I’ll tell you about this when I get back. ~Susan.
I had to do a little guessing at the address, but as the police department was on Main Street in downtown Carbide City, I didn’t expect the postal workers would have any trouble. I wrote
Detective Bentley – Personal and Confidential
prominently in the lower corner of the label.
My package on its way, I rushed out to the car in time to see Ferg pulling away from the curb. He passed right by me but didn’t glance my way. I hopped into my car, pulled out, and headed for the restaurant. I was flabbergasted I was already half an hour late.
I parked and ran into the restaurant, only to realize I entered right behind Ferg. He gave me a smile and a wink as we walked into the banquet room together. He was flagged down by Dell and Lisa, while I was waved to from the other side of the room by Darby and Nate.
As I settled into my seat, Darby frowned and asked, “What in the world took you so long? I was getting worried. And what were you doing with Ferg?”
I noticed my gin fizz was watered down and my salad wilted. “I wasn’t with Ferg. He was just late, too,” I told him. “I made a wrong turn, and then I had trouble finding a parking spot, and it all took longer than I expected. Do we know what we’re having for lunch yet?” I tried to look innocent as I sipped my drink through the straw.
“We had a few choices, but since you weren’t here, I ordered for you,” he said. “You’re having fresh sautéed trout with pecans.”
“Ooh, good choice. Thank you,” I said giving him a sweet smile.
Nothing more was said about my tardiness. There were eight people at our table, and we all had a good time talking over lunch. The meal was topped off with Brennan’s world famous Bananas Foster for dessert. It was just as the menu described – scandalously delicious!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My head was pounding.
Darby and Nate were on their feet belting out the lyrics to Billy Joel’s Piano Man – along with one hundred of their new best friends. I was sitting quietly in my chair and feeling numb. It had been an incredibly long day, and the Hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s were threatening to knock me off my feet and put me to sleep right there in my chair.
After the late lunch at Brennan’s, we went back to the hotel for naps, but I spent my time on the room’s balcony watching people on Bourbon Street. I couldn’t help squealing a little bit when a wedding parade came by. A jazz band led the procession, followed by the bride and groom, and then the wedding guests. The bride and groom carried decorative parasols, and the guests all waved white handkerchiefs in celebration of the big event. I was delighted when the bride looked up and waved to me on the balcony. How Darby and Nate could nap with all of this noise was a mystery to me.
When I finally stepped back into my room, I called Mick. We hadn’t been apart for very long, but there was so much to tell. Of course, I didn’t tell him I had stolen a printing plate for counterfeiting money; but other than that, I gave him a blow-by-blow description of our trip so far. He let me know there was no news about the burglaries, and that he and Joe were doing just fine. Mick had agreed to take care of Joe so his time boarded at the kennel would only be a few days.
I smiled thinking about Mick and Joe. At least I tried to smile. My face felt frozen. I leaned forward and put my head on the table. Even with one hundred and two people singing Piano Man, I was going to be able to go to sleep with no problem.
“I think she’s done,” a faraway voice said.
“Dead … hotel … you go … Susan.” The voices were coming and going, but I couldn’t lift my head to find out what they were actually saying.
“Susan!” The voice was louder. I forced my head off the table and peered through slitted eyes to see Darby lean down and peer into my face. I was shnockered and exhausted.
“Get up. I’m going to take you back to the hotel,” he said.
I think I nodded my head. I’m not sure if it moved up and down or not. I stood up and started fumbling in my purse for my wallet. “Leaving a tip,” I told Darby as I pulled out the wallet. One of Ferg’s $50 bills flipped out onto the table. I forgot I had taken the counterfeit money out of my shorts pocket and shoved it into my purse. Darby reached for the bill, and I said, “Don’t use that. It’s fake money.”
Darby shoved my wallet and the $50 bill back into my purse and said, “Susan, we’ll take care of the bill and the tip. Come on, let me help you.” He slipped an arm around my waist and helped me walk out of the bar. I turned to give Nate a little wave good-bye. He was going to stay and sing some more with his new best friends.
When we first arrived at Pat O’Brien’s, I felt great. The atmosphere was fantastic, and I was delighted when both guys wanted to sit in the piano bar. The two copper pianos with dueling piano players was wonderfully entertaining, and we were all singing along and having a good time. Nate ordered alligator and catfish bites. They were delicious, but they were no match for the Hurricanes which definitely snuck up on me.
On the sidewalk, Darby hesitated for a moment. It was three blocks to the hotel, and I knew he was wondering if I could walk that far. “I can do it,” I told him with a crooked smile.