I glanced over at Ida Belle and from the way her jaw was set, I didn’t envy Carter that conversation. He’d made a big mistake not warning her and an even bigger one pulling the cop card with me. Ida Belle was seriously pissed.
Mannie nodded as we pulled up to the security gate and handed me a business card. “The code for the gate is on the back of the card. It will let you in any time.”
“Thanks,” I said, and stuck the card in my pocket. “And thanks for cleaning all that up. It looked like the truck had never been apart.”
“We figured things would go better for everyone if the situation looked as, uh, clean as possible,” Mannie said.
“Well, we appreciate the forethought,” I said. “Carter is going over the vehicle. I gave him the key to lock up and told him to give it to you on his way out. He can have all the time he wants or as much as you want to give him. Whatever.”
Mannie’s eyebrows went up. “Problems in paradise?”
I stared at him. “Men are never a problem for me.”
Mannie grinned. “I kinda had a feeling about that. Go ahead and get going. I’ll keep an eye on things here and make sure the SUV is secure when Carter’s done. If you run into anything I can help with, give me a call.”
I gave him a nod and we headed back to the highway. I knew exactly the sort of help Mannie provided. He was the illegal version of me—a hired gun. And while I appreciated the backup, I was really hoping we didn’t need it.
Not this time.
An hour later, I parked the Jeep in front of an antiques shop in the French Quarter and hopped out. Gertie and Ida Belle followed me into the store, both of them looking slightly confused.
“You don’t want Ida Belle to buy an antique couch, do you?” Gertie asked. “Because that’s just icky.”
“Are you afraid it might be haunted?” Ida Belle asked drily.
“No,” Gertie said. “I’m afraid of the germs from all the people who sat naked on it before you.”
“Okay,” I said, “that’s an image I just didn’t need. And no, I’m not suggesting Ida Belle buy an antique couch. They’re all straight-backed and have no padding, and I’m pretty sure nothing in here has an electric recliner.”
“Then why are we here?” Gertie asked.
“We’re working,” I said, and waved at a salesperson back in a storeroom.
He put down the packing tape he was holding and headed our way.
Seventy if he was a day. Five feet eleven. A hundred seventy pounds. White hair. Nearsighted. Intellectual. Only a danger as a college professor.
“I’m Errol Jones,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
“Sarah Wilson,” I said, and shook his hand. “I’m wondering if you can help me with something. I inherited my great-aunt’s house and I’ve been going through her things. I found a key that looks like something that would open antique furniture, but it doesn’t fit anything in her house. I thought maybe you could tell me if I’m off base.”
“I can surely try,” he said.
“Great,” I said, and pulled the key out of my pocket.
Errol took the key and studied it, turning it around to see it from all angles. “I can see where you thought it might fit furniture. It does have the general look of a key that might unlock a wardrobe or a desk, but I think it’s bigger than any furniture key I’ve seen.”
He frowned and drew the key closer to his face, then lowered it and headed for a desk toward the back of the store. “Come with me, please.”
He pulled a magnifying glass from behind the counter and used it to take a closer look at the top of the key. “Ah,” he said. “I couldn’t be sure because it’s been eroded over time, but if you look through the magnifier, you can see the remnants of letters on the top of the key.”
I looked through the magnifying glass and saw what he was referring to. “I see it. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It might,” he said. “I thought I’d seen a key similar to this before but couldn’t place it at first. It belonged to an old client whose family went back over two hundred years in the city. It was a key to a door.”
“Like a door to a house?” I asked.
He shook his head. “A door to a crypt.”
“Oh,” I said. “Wow. I didn’t see that one coming.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “It was just unexpected. My family doesn’t have a crypt, so I can’t imagine where my aunt would have gotten a key to one. Or why she had it.”
“Perhaps it belonged to a friend who had no one else to oversee things,” Errol said. “So many families move away or simply die out, and the crypts crumble because there’s no one left to tend to them.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “Still, if there’s someone left in the family this belongs to, I’d like for them to have it. Is there any way to figure out whose crypt the key opens?”
“Not by the key alone,” Errol said. “Perhaps if the lettering were still legible…maybe you’ll find something in your aunt’s paperwork.”
“I hope so,” I said, and stuck the key back in my pocket. “I appreciate your time.”
“Of course,” Errol said, and smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, and good luck with your search.”
We headed back outside and Gertie was practically bouncing.
“That’s awesome,” Gertie said. “You figured out what the key opens. I would have never thought to bring it to an antiques shop.”
“It was a great idea,” Ida Belle said, “but we still don’t know what it opens. It’s not like there’s a shortage on crypts in this area, and for all we know, it might not even fit a crypt around here.”
I nodded. “We need to know who owned that SUV before you. That might help with the crypt identification, because there’s a lot of things I’ll do, but traipsing through every cemetery in New Orleans and trying to unlock a room full of dead people is not one of them.”
“Big said he was going to get that information,” Gertie said. “Maybe you could follow up?”
I pulled out my cell phone and sent Little a text.
Working on the key. Did you find out anything about SUV owner?
I sent the text and pointed to a café across the street. “While we’re here, might as well have beignets.”
“Now you’re talking!” Gertie hurried across the street, her desire for beignets apparently overriding her bad knees.
“Sooner or later,” Ida Belle said, “you’re going to have to address things with Carter.”
“I will, but not until I’m certain you’re safe.”
Ida Belle nodded, and we headed across the street and into the café. Gertie had already acquired a table underneath a ceiling fan. I shot her a grateful look as I sat. It was so hot, and the old building in the French Quarter didn’t hold air very well. Added to that, no one wanted AC eating up all their profits, so owners were probably using only enough air to keep customers from melting. If you wanted to actually be cool, you’d have to do it at home and on your own dime.
I would have loved a latte, but no way was I adding to the heat factor, so we placed orders for iced tea and beignets. As soon as the waitress headed off, my phone signaled an incoming call from Little. I jumped up from my chair.