Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jesse

L ater, after dropping off the motorcycle, we pick up the truck and return to Pigs in a Blanket.

"That was a lot of fun," Tallula says.

"Want to do it again?" I ask, my smile undeniable.

"Anytime. All the time," she whispers the last part, and her fingers find mine. They twine together.

Chatting a while longer, we remain in the truck like we don't want this evening to end.

Shifting so I'm facing Tallula, I ask, "I've been wondering, why were you in detention that day, anyway?"

She bites her lip and then says, "Why were you?"

"Hmm. Hard to remember. That day it could've been any number of things like rolling through the halls in Mr. Fahrney's desk chair—that thing was like a sofa with wheels. I also stapled a few people's clothes together. Played guitar in class... "

"I forgot you played guitar. You were a bad boy in a band. You should've gotten your own yearbook page."

"You were on the committee, you should've given me one," I tease.

"How'd you know that?"

"I noticed things. Like you, I wanted to be seen. But instead of doing good deeds and contributing, I did the opposite. But I wasn't all chaos and calamity. Do you remember Bella?"

"The girl with special needs?"

"Some kids were picking on her. I was trying to cheer her up. I found one of Mrs. Sutter's old cat calendars, cut out the pictures of the cute little kittens, and passed them to her during class. The teacher caught me. Predictably, I got the dreaded yellow slip."

"That's so sweet—not the detention part. You weren't as bad as everyone thought."

"No, I was worse." Which makes me good at my job. "You still haven't answered why you were in detention."

Tallula taps the air. "Ah, forgot I was talking to a police officer. Have you ever interrogated anyone?"

"Only Denny Alton after Mrs. Halfpenny accused him of stealing Frodo."

"Frodo is still around?"

"Um, battery operated and kicking."

She laughs. I love that sound and could really get used to it.

"I was caught cheating. Kind of. I'd been busy with all the end-of-senior-year events—I thought if I was on every committee, participated in all the fundraisers, and did all the things, I'd finally get some attention from my parents. I'd been cramming for exams and forgot to write an essay for Mrs. Poulin's English Lit class."

"She was the only teacher at Cameron that terrified me."

"Rightly so. I was in a bind though. I found some obscure book in my parent's library that had one of those author analysis sections in the back. I copied it for the most part. She thought my messy handwriting was unusual and questioned me—asked whether I'd borrowed some of the content. Of course, I denied it but offered to do a detention and write another essay. In my defense, I knew the original material that she wanted for the essay, but I just didn't have the time to write it all down, edit it, and everything."

I laugh and slap my leg. "That is?—"

Jaw set, Tallula cuts me an affronted look.

"Okay, not funny, but you have to admit...it fit your character."

"That's just it. I was always playing a role. And I have been for?—"

I lace my fingers through Tallula's because I'm afraid of the answer. Worried I'll have to let her go. "How about now? With me?"

Her eyes brighten and her lips lift with a smile. "No, not at all."

Relief washes through me but doesn't last long. More than likely, she'll go back to Hollywood soon. That means I'm going to hold on to what we've got for as long as I can.

Once in the B&B and after saying a lingering goodnight, I walk past the Swan's Syrups advertisement on the wall, still feeling like there's something close, practically under my nose, and I'm missing it.

With my hand on the doorknob to my room, I pause as my grandmother's painting fills my mind along with what my father said as he was being arrested.

He'd have looked at that painting every day while he was growing up. Likely, he longed for the kind of wealth the Swans possessed and wished for a way to bring his mom back so his father hadn't gone off the rails.

The money he allegedly stole would've helped for sure, but that's not what he took.

Like a ghost from the past, the pieces float together in my mind. It was what my grandmother captured in all its glittering glory on the canvas.

Mrs. Swan's ring.

Not wanting to disturb anyone because it's late, and this is a lark, I slip back downstairs. When I get to the door, Tallula appears. "I'd ask if you're down here for a midnight beignet bun snack, but you look like you're up to something."

My chest lifts and lowers on a breath. I won't lie and tell her a convoluted story to make the hunch I have sound somewhat sane or claim that I have to go into the station.

"It's about my family...and yours."

With Moink in her arms, frantically trying to get to me, Tallula comes to my side and winks. "It sounds like you're trying to do something good. Meanwhile, I'm up for breaking some rules. "

I chuckle and we get in the truck because there's no real harm in her coming along. At least I hope not.

On the drive over to the brick house, I recap everything I know so far. Usually, it's an old black-and-white movie in my head, but this time I bring it to life for Tallula.

"As I told you before, my father worked for Swan's Syrups, and his boss, your grandfather, accused him of stealing money—petty cash. Of course, he denied it. Thinking about it some more, had he come into money, at the very least, he'd have burned it all on something. That tells me he was innocent. That I made a mistake turning him in. But where did the money I found in the can come from? And the missing money from your family's company went somewhere. If your grandfather simply wanted to fire my dad, he wouldn't have come up with such an incriminating story. It's been puzzling me for a good while now."

"The old man had no problem firing people. But why would he have gone through so much trouble to accuse your dad?"

"Could've been the wrong place at the wrong time or any number of other possibilities."

"But you have a different theory," Tallula says, perceptive.

"You're not going to like it." I'm worried about what she's going to think about all of this. I consider turning around. Bringing her was probably a bad idea. I could slowly peel off the bandage or tear it all in one go.

She leans in, waiting.

"I think my father was framed. He was the perfect scapegoat because he'd already gotten into plenty of trouble and was known for petty crimes."

"Framed? Why?"

"Still trying to figure that out. Any ideas?" I do my best to keep my tone mild. Not to suggest her family did anything nefarious while doubt pricks me like shards of glass. All this time, I believed I was guilty by association with my father, but I was the one who potentially wrongfully turned him in.

Tallula seems to shrink in the seat beside me. "There is one possibility. I've never told anyone." She swallows. "My father always said what a good man my grandfather was—the kind of good I wanted to be, you know?"

"If it means anything to you, I'm not trying to make your family look bad. Just trying to make mine look less bad and more importantly get to the truth."

"Once, when I was about six or seven, my parents left me with my grandparents because they had to bring Mara to a specialty eye doctor appointment in Baton Rouge. My grandmother had an arthritis flare-up, leaving me in my grandfather's care for the day. He took me on his errands and got me an ice cream. Then a coloring book and crayons. He told me to wait in the car while he went into a store. I don't remember where it was, but I'd nearly colored half the pages and it was getting dark. Eventually, I had to go to the bathroom."

I pull into the driveway and the headlights sweep the brick Acadian.

Tallula's voice is small as she continues. "I went inside and it was a bar—cigar smoke filled the air. Knowing I wasn't supposed to be in there, all I wanted to do was find my grandfather. He was at a back table, playing cards. Gambling. He was cross—at me for going inside and I gathered that he'd lost a lot of money. We never talked about it. I told no one. Then my grandmother's engagement ring went missing. And I always wondered... She hadn't worn it in years because of her arthritis, but it was her most treasured possession. My grandfather never heard the end of it."

"You think he sold it to pay back his debt?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. Legend has it the stone was a fragment of the Dubois Diamond."

"From the Boot Boys' treasure haul?"

"My grandfather's mother was a Dubois."

I gasp, recalling the old tales of treasure split between Jeb Dubois, Roger Cahoot, and our very own Hogan Tickle.

"What if I told you that I believe your grandmother's ring is buried in my backyard?"

She hoots a laugh before I can explain.

When I don't join in, Tallula asks, "You're not joking are you?"

I get out of the truck, open the garage door, and find a shovel.