The Attic on Queen Street (Tradd Street #7)

Her fingers played with the pearls around her neck as she contemplated her answer. “He didn’t really talk about it. He’d answer my questions but would never elaborate.” She paused. “I’ll admit that I was curious, so I Googled their names.” Meghan glanced at Sophie. “I mean, that’s pretty much what everyone does these days, right?”

I wanted to deny it, to pretend I was above that sort of thing, but I remembered Googling Jack when we’d first met. I nodded absently, then scolded myself for not thinking of Googling Beau’s parents before.

“Did you find anything informative?”

Meghan chewed on her bottom lip. “Not so much informative. Just . . . strange.”

“How so?”

“I found an article about Jolie—Beau’s baby sister. She was apparently abducted a week or so before Katrina. It’s why Beau’s mom didn’t want to evacuate when the hurricane was coming. She didn’t want to leave in case Jolie was brought back or there were any clues that might be erased. Beau was sent with his grandparents to the mountains in Alabama, where they had a house to ride out the storm and the aftermath. No one knows what happened to his parents or Jolie. None of them has been seen or heard from since.”

I recalled again the wet footprints that seemed to follow Beau, and the middle-aged woman I’d seen on King Street. “How much younger was Jolie than Beau?”

“Less than two years, I think.”

“So she’d be about eighteen years old now.”

Meghan looked up in surprise at the sound of relief in my voice. “Yeah. She went missing when she was three.”

“How tragic.” Sophie pressed her hands against her heart, no doubt thinking of our own toddlers.

“It is,” I agreed. “Jolie might be alive somewhere and not even know who she is or that she has a family in New Orleans. And it’s even worse that her mother died without knowing what happened to her.”

“Why do you think Mrs. Ryan is dead?” Meghan asked, her attention fully focused on me.

I shrugged, realizing my mistake. “Just a guess, I suppose. Maybe because I’m a mother. If I were separated from any of my children, I would do everything in my power to be with them. To be a part of their lives.” And maybe she already is. “Since she’s not, I’m assuming she’s deceased. Possibly her husband as well, for the same reason.”

Meghan nodded. “I think that’s why Beau has his podcast. He tried for a long time to communicate with his parents using mediums and psychics—even self-proclaimed witches and fortune-tellers. He spent a lot of money and had nothing to show for it. He started his podcast to debunk all of it. I guess he wanted to save other people from throwing away their hard-earned cash.”

“Yeah.” I nodded emphatically. “Makes total sense. I wouldn’t blame him.” I smiled, a stray thought flitting around my head like a gnat that wouldn’t leave me alone. “My husband actually met Beau’s father when they were in the Army. His name was Beauregard Ryan, so I assume Beau’s named after him. I’m curious, though. When you Googled the family, did you find any mention of his mother’s name?”

“Actually, yes, and I remember it because I’m a huge fan of the singer. . . .”

“Adele,” I finished, recalling the name from what Nola had told us about the Ouija board game she’d played in the back room of Trenholm Antiques.

Meghan looked at me with surprise. “How did you know?”

“Beau must have mentioned it. Thanks for answering my questions. I appreciate it.” I turned back to Sophie. “And thank you for taking care of Charlotte and for letting me know about the exhibit at the Gibbes. I’ll let you know if I find anything. I’ll treat you to a fruit smoothie from Caviar and Bananas if I do. And you can get me a dozen doughnuts from Glazed if I don’t.”

I said good-bye and headed toward the door.

Sophie called after me, “Oh, you never responded to my e-mail, but I still need you to help pass out flyers this weekend about the community garden I’m starting. I have a corn husk costume and a tomato costume—I’ll let you pick which one you’d prefer and I’ll wear the other.”

“Oh, sorry. I have a call,” I said, holding my phone to my ear and pretending to listen. I waved at Sophie and left her office, closing the door behind me.



* * *



? ? ?

Jayne was waiting in the driveway when I drove down Tradd Street, and she was running toward the car by the time I stopped behind the red Ferrari. She was shouting something as she ran, so I put the passenger window down so I could hear.

“Keep going!” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what she was planning on doing—perhaps she had watched too many Jack Ryan episodes—but when I looked behind her, I saw Harvey and Marc racing toward me, followed by Jack at a much more leisurely pace.

I reached over and unlatched the car door as I hit the button to raise the window, and she’d barely made it in and locked the door when Harvey and Marc reached us. Harvey slammed his fist on the windshield and waved a copy of the newspaper so that I didn’t have to ask Jayne what they were so upset about.

We watched as Jack nonchalantly strolled up to the car. He gave me a thumbs-up and then gestured for me to leave, smiling as he casually draped an arm around Harvey’s shoulders. Harvey quickly brushed him off.

I cracked my window. “Are you sure?” I shouted to Jack.

He nodded, making a shooing gesture with his hand. “Have a nice lunch. I’ll probably take the twins to the park if it doesn’t rain.”

Both Jayne and I stared at his casual stance and his ability to ignore someone shouting in each ear.

Marc grabbed the paper from Harvey and pointed at Suzy’s article. “Two of my guys quit today. I’d better not find out you’re behind this!”

Jack again gave me the signal to leave, so with a quick wave in his direction, and a brief pause to make sure he wasn’t going to change his mind, I pulled away from the curb, nearly hitting Marc with the car. I’m glad I didn’t, because I liked my car.

“So, how has your day been?” Jayne asked.

“Very funny. You’ve been hanging around Jack too much.” I gestured behind the car at the shouting men. “When did that start?”