14. Sinclair

Madeline Deville was a well-preserved eighty-one years old. Her silver hair was swept up into a sophisticated twist that complimented her lean, ramrod-straight frame. "I was a dancer, once upon a time. But there are only so many years one's body can take that sort of punishment. I retired at thirty-eight and came to work with my father. This was his shop, you see."

Jayne smiled. "Which is why the sign says Deville and Daughter."

"Exactly," Madeline replied. "It wasn't what I'd wanted to do with my life, but I've come to love it. There's something humbling about being surrounded by such delicate, ancient things. She gestured around the small shop with its glass display cases and glass-enclosed shelves behind them, making the pearl drops at her ears sway. "And thanks to Matthew, my shop is not only secured from damage and theft, but I'm doing a brisk business online."

She leaned in with a sly smile. "That's where the money is these days."

"I have no doubt," I said. Her bright, citrusy perfume mixed with the dusty scent of old paper. "It's very kind of you to let us use your VSC."

She waved my words away with a swish of her hand. "Matthew helped me set it up and taught me how to use it. The machine is in the office. Have at it. Matthew, you know where it is."

"Yes, I do," he said.

"Take your time. I have a few orders in the back to deal with."

Matt looked pleased. "Thanks again, Madeline. This means a lot."

She touched his arm. "Happy to help, young man."

She headed into the back room, leaving us.

Matt pointed. "The office is that other door." He had his laptop under his arm. Using the VSC the way we wanted to required a particular software program. He'd already downloaded it and was ready to go.

We'd all agreed that using his computer was the best solution. Using Madeline's would not only be asking a lot of her, but it would mean Matt's photo and the blackmail note would pass through her system. Then he'd have to either email them to himself from her computer or save them onto a memory stick.

Either way, it meant leaving traces of them on her machine. He didn't want that, and I completely understood.

We went into her office. It was neat and orderly, just like the shop. Matt took the desk chair and got his laptop plugged in with the cable he'd brought. I let Jayne have the other, smaller chair, and I remained standing.

He opened his laptop, got logged in, then turned the VSC on and fired up the software on his computer. The VSC looked a bit like a large toaster oven.

Matt looked around, then stood and took a pair of nitrile gloves from a box on a shelf. He put them on and held out his hand to Jayne. "Ready."

She took the envelope out of the plastic grocery bag she was carrying, carefully touching it only by the edges. She'd put it in there using a kitchen towel at Matt's.

He put the envelope into the machine first, then, using the software on his computer, got the VSC going. An image appeared on his screen, the envelope in the machine. He fiddled with the controls, switching between the different lighting and camera options.

"There are fingerprints," he said.

I nodded. "I see them."

Jayne inched closer. "That's great."

"Except there aren't many, which makes me think they might be mine." Matt did something else with the software, isolating the prints into a file. He flipped the envelope over and repeated the process.

He took the envelope out and slipped the note from it. He unfolded the paper and placed it into the machine. Once again, there were prints. Not many. "I bet these are mine, too."

"Do you remember where you touched the note?" Jayne asked.

"I think on the corners, where those prints are showing up."

He seemed dejected and frustrated, emotions I was starting to feel, as well. I knew the likelihood of finding prints was slim, but we'd gotten hyped up about it. Having access to a VSC had only added to our hope.

He did the photo next. "This one I didn't touch except on the edge. I dumped the contents of the envelope onto the counter and the photo fell out face up, so there was no need to touch it. I put it back into the envelope by pushing it in with my fingers."

As the image appeared on his screen, we saw the photo but nothing more. He reached into the machine and turned it over.

Almost immediately, a smudge appeared on the top edge.

I stared at it. It had to be a print. "Is that yours?"

Matt was silent a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know. Might be." He tapped away at his keyboard, magnifying the image.

"Oh," Jayne said. "That is definitely a fingerprint."

Matt tipped his head. "Only part of one, though."

"Might still be useful," Jayne said. "You never know."

I loved that she was still optimistic. Matt needed that. I chimed in. "She's right. It might be enough."

Matt gave a short, resigned nod. "Give me a minute and I'll add it to the file." He isolated the image and saved it in a file, making sure to give it a detailed name.

"What about your prints?" Jayne asked. "Birdie will need them to compare these against."

He swiveled in the chair to face us. "My prints are on file. Everyone in my company gets fingerprinted, and I didn't exclude myself from that. I can send them to her, along with these. In fact, I can do it right now, if you want to tell me her email. Or would you rather do it yourself?"

"No, let's get them sent." Jayne tapped on her phone screen, going into her email app, then held up the screen for Matt to see. "Here you go. And once you send it, I'll text her and let her know."

A handful of minutes later, we said goodbye to the lovely Madeline. She walked us to the door, locking it behind us.

Matt shifted his laptop to his other hand to pull his keys from his pocket. "Do you guys still feel like eating?"

Jayne gave him a big smile. "Do you really need to ask me that?"

He gave a short laugh. "All right, let's go eat. Maybe a nice meal will help take my mind off this mess."

The ma?tre d' at Urbano welcomed Matt like a long-lost son. "Matteo! How good to see you! Welcome, my friend. It's been a while. You have been busy, eh?"

Matt nodded, smiling. "It's good to see you, too, Lonny. I have been busy. These are my friends, Sinclair and his wife, Jayne."

Lonny shook my hand but gave Jayne a kiss, then clasped his hands together and beamed at her bump. "You have a little one on the way. What a blessing. We will take special care of you."

"You're going to like her," Matt said. "She's got an appetite."

I laughed, but Lonny took it seriously. He held Jayne's hand. "Are you hungry, signora ? I will get you a table right away and something to eat, don't you worry. Come with me."

He ushered us to a plush corner booth where he gestured toward a server, who quickly brought us water and menus. Another one soon appeared with basket of focaccia laden with bits of garlic, rosemary, and sundried tomatoes.

Jayne's eyes lit up. "That looks good."

"You need anything ," Lonny said, "you call me." He touched his chest as he said that, his eyes on Jayne alone.

She nodded. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Hoo boy," Matt said laughingly. "I think Lonny has a crush."

"He's sweet," Jayne said, helping herself to a square of bread.

I glanced at my menu. It all looked good. "You must come here a lot, Matt. They certainly know who you are."

"I do. Or I did. Isla and I used to come here almost every Friday night. It was a standing thing." He shrugged like that was no longer important. "It's good to be back and to make some new memories here."

"What do you recommend?" Jayne asked.

"You can't make a bad choice. I mean it," Matt said. "It's all homemade and all really good. If it sounds like something you'd like, you probably will."

Lonny returned with a small plate bearing a single meatball the size of a tennis ball wearing a hat of freshly grated parmesan. He put the plate in front of Jayne and gestured at her stomach. "For the bambinone . Please, eat, to keep your strength up."

"Thank you." Jayne picked up her fork.

With a nod of fatherly approval, Lonny left us again.

Matt chuckled. "Oh, he's smitten."

Smiling widely, Jayne speared the meatball, preparing to cut it in half. "I like this place."

Matt ordered the carbonara, I got the pappardelle with short rib ragu, and Jayne got the pea and shrimp risotto. The food was delivered in short order, and it was outstanding.

I wound another piece of the wide, flat pasta around my fork. "I can see why you like this place. The food is amazing." I looked at Jayne. "How's yours?"

Her mouth was full, but she nodded. When she swallowed, she answered me. "It's so good. I could eat this every day."

"Save some room for dessert," Matt said. "The tiramisu is great, but they also do a couple of cakes that I've never seen anywhere else."

Jayne was instantly interested. "Like what?"

"One is a cannoli pound cake, which is lighter than a regular pound cake, and it's got a ton of those tiny chocolate chips in it. The other is an orange cream cake that is kind of like an orange-flavored cloud. It's so good."

Jayne's mouth rounded into an O of astonishment. "They both sound delicious. How am I supposed to decide?"

"By ordering one of each?" Matt grinned. "You know you want to."

She laughed. "I like you. You really understand me."

We were just finishing up when Jayne looked down and pulled her phone out of her purse. "Birdie," she said. She read the screen. "Here's what she says. She matched up all of the prints Matt sent her as Matt's except for the partial labeled Back of Photo . That one is not Matt's, and it's currently being run through the database to see if anything comes up."

She sent a quick message back, then looked up from her phone. "Now we just wait. For those results, I mean. While she's trying to figure that out, we still have work to do. And by we, I mean Sin and I. Matt, you just take care of your business and whatever else you need to do."

"I think," Matt said as he pushed his empty plate away, "that I should probably start getting the money together."

I wanted to tell him that wasn't necessary, but the truth was, it might be. Him getting proactive about it wasn't a bad idea.

A woman walked by our table, then stopped and backtracked. She had wavy auburn hair and big brown eyes. She was pretty and well-dressed. "Matt?"

Matt stared at her for a moment. "Isla."

"I-I didn't know you were going to be here. I was just craving some risotto. You look well."

"Thanks," Matt said, but there was no sincerity in his voice.

She nodded at me, her smile faltering as she looked at Jayne. "I see you're here with company. I didn't mean to intrude."

"Old school friend and his wife," Matt answered. He did not introduce her.

She gave a little nod. "Anyway, it was nice to see you." She glanced at me again. "Have a good night."

"You, too," I said.

"Sorry," Matt muttered as she left. "I should have known that would happen sooner or later. New Orleans is a small town. We were bound to cross paths eventually."

"That wasn't accidental," Jayne said.

Matt looked at her. "You don't think so?"

She smirked. "Who just goes out for risotto in a little black dress, spike heels, and that much cleavage? She knew you were here. This was planned." She slanted her eyes at Matt. "She's not over you."