Out of the Easy(25)

I turned onto Royal Street and saw Cokie standing next to his car, parked at the curb.

“Hi, Coke.”

“Willie sent me to pick you up,” he said.

A ripple of fear pulsed through me. Willie knew about the watch.

“She wasn’t back when I left this morning,” I told him. “She had an appointment.”

“I know. But she back, and she got Mariah packed. She ready to go.”

“Go where?”

“She told me to come and get you, says you two are going out to Shady Grove for a couple days.”

“But what about the house?” I asked.

“She say Dora and Sadie take care of the house.”

Shady Grove was Willie’s cottage in the country, three hours outside of New Orleans just past Yellow Bayou.

“Well, I don’t know, Coke,” I told him. “I have to work at the shop.”

“She told me come and get you, that she ready to leave in an hour. I was happy to come find you. I got somethin’ I think you want.” Cokie reached in the window of his cab and then handed me a newspaper. It was a copy of the Commercial Appeal.

“Cornbread, he still drivin’ the truck route between here and Tennessee. He picked this newspaper up when he was in Memphis.”

A large headline blazed across the front page:


F. L. HEARNE, JR., ARCHITECT, DIES. STRICKEN ON TRIP TO NEW ORLEANS.

“There’s all sort of information on your rich Memphis man in that article,” said Cokie.

“Thank you! Thanks so much, Coke.”

Cokie smiled wide. “Sure. But don’t be tellin’ Willie I gave it to you. Hurry up, now, she’s waitin’.”

I ran down to the shop, wondering what to tell Patrick. I saw him through the window, at the counter with a customer. I folded the newspaper and put it under my arm.

“Hey, Jo,” Patrick called out as soon as I walked through the door. The man at the counter turned around—tall, dark, and gorgeous.

“Hi there, Josie,” he said.

I looked at the handsome man.

“Ah, you don’t recognize me? Well, it was dark, and you were in your nightgown.”

I felt a rush of heat beneath my cheeks. “Oh, yes, you work at Doubleday’s shop.”

“That’s right,” he said, extending his arm for a handshake. “James Marshall.”

I shook his hand, wishing I looked better, cringing at the thought of this gorgeous man seeing me in my nightgown.

“Cokie came by for you,” said Patrick.

“I know. Willie is insisting I go to Shady Grove with her for a few days. I could argue, but you know how she is when she wants to go to Shady Grove.”

“That’s fine,” said Patrick quickly. He smiled an odd smile.

“It is? Are you sure you can manage?”

“C’mon, Jo, I think I can handle it. I’ll be fine.”

I hadn’t expected such an easy acceptance. “And what about Charlie? Will you two be all right?”

“Who’s Charlie?” asked James.

“My father,” said Patrick. “We’ll be fine, Jo. Just go.”

“Shady Grove—sounds nice,” said James.

“It’s out in the country, quiet,” said Patrick. “Hey, Jo, have you finished the December bookkeeping yet? I want to wrap up the year-end accounting.”

“And the inventory,” added James.

“Oh, right. And when did you last take inventory?” asked Patrick.

I looked from James to Patrick. “Yes, December’s done. Why do you need an inventory?”

“Just trying to stay on top of things for the New Year. Is that Cokie I see waiting for you out there?” asked Patrick.

I nodded and made my way to the back staircase, stopping quietly to peek at E. M. Forster, ticking behind the locked glass.





SEVENTEEN


Willie would be steaming. She had been waiting nearly two hours. But I hadn’t planned to leave town and had things to prepare. I also spent time reading the newspaper article about Forrest Hearne. The story said that Mr. Hearne was a former Vanderbilt player, had come to New Orleans with three other men, that all three planned to attend the Sugar Bowl, but none of his friends were with him when he died. He was a member of the Lakeview Country Club and on the board of several charitable organizations. It also reported that Forrest Hearne’s wife was in shock over her husband’s death. He had called her earlier that evening from New Orleans and was in perfectly fine form. Marion. I remembered him mentioning her name when he purchased the book of Keats. I hid the newspaper article beneath the floorboard near the cigar box of money.

Cokie’s cab slowed to a stop. “I got to find a parking spot. Willie don’t like me takin’ up the driveway. I’ll put your bag in the Cadillac.” I got out of the car. “You need help with that stacka books?” asked Cokie.

“No, I’ve got them.”

“Jo, you really gonna read all those out at Shady Grove?” asked Cokie.

“Every one of them.” I smiled and closed the door of the cab. I walked down the narrow drive toward the garage at the back of Willie’s house. As I approached, I heard Evangeline’s giggle at the back door.