Chapter 2 - The Door That Wouldn't Open
Nell stared at Benny Romano as though he had spoken in another language.
“Eighty thousand dollars?”
Benny remained in the doorway.
“Three deposits. Different amounts. Same week.”
Carmine watched Nell carefully.
Her face showed confusion before fear.
That mattered.
If she had known about the money, she would have reacted differently.
“Who made the deposits?” Carmine asked.
“Shell company.”
“Which one?”
“Pelican Restoration Holdings.”
Nell's eyes snapped toward him.
Carmine caught it.
“You know that name.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Nell.”
She looked away.
Carmine stepped around the desk.
“You came in here asking me to forget what happened. That's no longer possible.”
“It is possible.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
Nell gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You think explanations protect people?”
“I think information does.”
“Maybe in your world.”
Carmine's gaze sharpened.
“You've been living in my house for three years. Whether you intended to or not, you're already inside my world.”
That frightened her more than anything else he had said.
She moved toward the door.
“I need to get back to work.”
Carmine did not stop her physically.
He simply spoke.
“Pelican Restoration Holdings.”
Nell froze.
After several seconds, she turned.
“They bought our building.”
“When?”
“After the fire.”
“For how much?”
“Almost nothing.”
Benny and Carmine exchanged a glance.
Nell continued.
“My father owed money after the insurance company refused to pay. Medical bills. Suppliers. Taxes. Legal fees. We couldn't keep fighting.”
“Who represented Pelican?”
“I don't know.”
“Who signed the paperwork?”
“A lawyer.”
“Name?”
Nell closed her eyes.
“Julian Mercer.”
Benny muttered something under his breath.
Carmine heard it.
“So you know him.”
Benny stepped fully into the office.
“Everybody in property development knows Mercer. He works quietly behind about fifteen holding companies.”
“For whom?”
“That depends on the year.”
Carmine looked at Nell.
“What did Mercer want with your bakery?”
“I don't know.”
“But you have a theory.”
She hesitated.
“Our building wasn't important by itself.”
“Then what was?”
“The block.”
Benny immediately understood.
“So somebody wanted multiple properties.”
Nell nodded.
“Six months before the fire, developers began buying buildings along that section of Magazine Street. My father refused to sell.”
Carmine leaned against his desk.
“How many times did they ask?”
“Four.”
“Same company?”
“Different companies.”
“But same lawyer?”
Nell looked surprised.
“I never thought about it.”
Benny pulled out his phone.
“I'll check.”
Carmine remained focused on Nell.
“What happened after your father refused?”
“Nothing.”
“Nell.”
She folded the cleaning cloth between her hands.
“Someone broke a front window.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before the fire.”
“Police report?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Deliveries started arriving late. Our supplier claimed someone had canceled orders using my father's name. Then the health department received anonymous complaints.”
“And you still thought the fire was an accident?”
“I didn't.”
The words came quietly.
“My father didn't either.”
“Then why accept the official report?”
Nell's expression hardened.
“Because we had no money.”
Carmine said nothing.
She continued.
“People love telling you to fight when they aren't the ones paying lawyers. My father couldn't walk without help after the fire. Some days he couldn't remember my name. I was twenty-four. The bakery was gone. Insurance blamed me. The city blamed me. Customers stopped calling.”
Her voice shook for the first time.
“And every attorney wanted money we didn't have.”
Carmine's jaw tightened.
“What happened to your father?”
“He lives in a long-term care facility outside Baton Rouge.”
“You changed your name.”
“Yes.”
“Why Brisco?”
“My mother's maiden name.”
“Why disappear?”
Nell looked directly at him.
“Because somebody came to the hospital.”
Silence settled across the office.
“Who?” Carmine asked.
“I never saw his face clearly.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn't threaten me.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
Nell swallowed.
“He said accidents happen twice when people don't learn from the first one.”
Benny's expression changed.
Carmine became very still.
“When?”
“Five days after the fire.”
“Did you tell police?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They said grief makes people misunderstand things.”
“Did you tell the fire investigator?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That he would look into it.”
“And then?”
“Nothing.”
Carmine glanced at Benny.
Six months later the investigator disappeared.
The pieces were beginning to form a shape.
Not a complete picture.
But enough.
Carmine turned back to Nell.
“You should have told me.”
She stared at him.
“When?”
“The day you came here.”
“You hired me to clean floors.”
“I could have helped.”
“I didn't know you.”
“You knew my name.”
“That was exactly the problem.”
Carmine almost smiled.
Almost.
“You thought I was dangerous.”
“I still think you're dangerous.”
Benny coughed to cover something that might have been laughter.
Carmine looked at him.
Benny immediately became interested in his phone.
Nell continued.
“I needed a job where nobody asked questions. Odette hired me. I worked. I kept my head down. Nobody noticed me.”
“Until the pie.”
“Yes.”
Carmine looked toward the newspaper photograph.
“You were a baker.”
“I was.”
“You were good.”
“That person is gone.”
“No.”
Nell's eyes flashed.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Carmine nodded once.
Fair.
Then Benny's phone buzzed.
He read the screen.
“Well.”
Carmine turned.
“What?”
“Pelican Restoration Holdings purchased the Fontaine property for four hundred and twelve thousand dollars.”
Nell stared.
“That can't be right.”
“How much did your family receive?”
“Less than one hundred and sixty.”
“Debt purchase,” Benny said. “They acquired liens first. Forced liquidation. Then took title.”
Carmine's expression darkened.
“Who owns Pelican?”
“Officially? Another corporation.”
“Keep going.”
“I already did.”
Benny looked up.
“Pelican rolls into Gulf Arc Development.”
Nell frowned.
Carmine didn't.
He knew that name.
Gulf Arc was a regional property group that had competed with Orsini Construction for years.
Benny continued.
“Gulf Arc's controlling partner at the time was Vincent Salerno.”
The room changed.
Nell looked between them.
“Who is Vincent Salerno?”
Carmine's voice became quiet.
“A man my father hated.”
That was an understatement.
Vincent Salerno had spent twenty years trying to expand his influence along the Gulf Coast.
Carmine's father, Dante Orsini, had blocked him repeatedly.
Warehouses.
Shipping contracts.
Construction projects.
Land acquisitions.
The feud had never become an open war.
Men like Dante and Salerno understood that war was expensive.
Instead, they competed through money, leverage, favors and quiet pressure.
Carmine had believed the rivalry ended after his father's death.
Apparently not.
“Why would he care about a bakery?” Nell asked.
“He wouldn't.”
Carmine looked at Benny.
“What was planned for that block?”
Benny was already searching.
A minute later, he found it.
“Luxury hotel.”
Carmine nodded slowly.
“Gulf Arc announced it eighteen months after the fire.”
Nell's face went pale.
“Our bakery was where the hotel parking entrance is now.”
Nobody spoke.
For three years, Nell had carried guilt placed on her by an official report.
For three years, she had believed she ruined her father's life.
Now that guilt was beginning to look manufactured.
Carmine walked to the window.
December light filtered through the oak branches.
Behind him, Nell asked:
“Can you prove it?”
He turned.
“Not yet.”
“Then nothing has changed.”
“A great deal has changed.”
“No. We have theories. Companies. Names. That's what I had before.”
“You didn't have me.”
The sentence escaped before Carmine considered how it sounded.
Nell stared.
Benny slowly looked away.
Carmine clarified.
“You didn't have my resources.”
Something complicated crossed Nell's face.
Hope.
Then distrust.
Hope again.
She hated both.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“The truth.”
“And after that?”
“We decide.”
“No. You decide. Men like you always decide.”
Carmine stepped closer.
“Then this time you will.”
That surprised her.
He handed her the old fire report.
“Read it again tonight. Mark anything wrong. Anything missing. Anything that doesn't match what you remember.”
Nell accepted it reluctantly.
“And if I say I want this stopped?”
Carmine paused.
“I'll stop involving you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“No.”
“Will you stop investigating?”
Carmine held her gaze.
“No.”
Nell gave a tired smile.
“At least you're honest.”
She left.
That evening, Carmine ate dinner alone with Palmira.
His grandmother watched him move food around his plate.
“You're not eating.”
“I'm eating.”
“You've moved the same potato seven times.”
Carmine put down his fork.
Palmira smiled.
“The maid?”
“The fire.”
“Of course.”
He told her what Benny had discovered.
Palmira's smile disappeared.
She remembered Vincent Salerno.
Everyone of her generation did.
“That man collected grudges the way other people collected watches,” she said.
“Did my father ever mention Gulf Arc's Magazine Street project?”
“No.”
“Anything about Fontaine Bakery?”
Palmira considered.
Then stopped.
Carmine noticed.
“What?”
“Your father brought home bread from there.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“So?”
“He didn't buy bread.”
“What does that mean?”
Palmira set down her wine.
“Dante thought buying bread was ridiculous when we had a kitchen.”
Carmine waited.
Palmira looked toward the dining room doors.
“The day he brought it home, he was angry.”
“At whom?”
“He wouldn't say.”
“Was it before the fire?”
Palmira thought.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Perhaps two months.”
Carmine leaned forward.
“Did he mention Fontaine?”
“No.”
“But he went there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Carmine stood.
Palmira sighed.
“You inherited his worst habit.”
“Which one?”
“Once you smell a secret, you stop sleeping.”
He kissed her cheek.
“I'll sleep later.”
In his office, he called Benny.
“Find out whether my father had any contact with Fontaine Bakery before the fire.”
“Already looking.”
“And Mercer?”
“I found him.”
Carmine's attention sharpened.
“Where?”
“Still in New Orleans.”
“Arrange a meeting.”
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“Mercer's hospitalized.”
“For what?”
“Car accident. Last night.”
Carmine said nothing.
Benny continued.
“His vehicle crossed the median on I-10.”
“Convenient.”
“Maybe.”
“Can he talk?”
“Unknown.”
“Find out.”
An hour later, another message arrived.
Nell knocked softly on Carmine's office door.
She had changed out of her uniform.
Simple dark sweater.
Jeans.
Hair loose for the first time.
Carmine barely recognized her.
She held the fire report.
“I found something.”
She opened to a diagram.
“The report says the fire began here.”
She pointed to the industrial oven.
“But that's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because this wall wasn't there.”
Carmine frowned.
“What?”
“The kitchen was renovated eight months before the fire. We moved the oven twelve feet east.”
He stared at the diagram.
“The investigator used an old floor plan.”
“Yes.”
“So he documented the ignition point in a location where the oven no longer existed.”
Nell nodded.
Carmine picked up his phone.
Then she touched his wrist.
“Wait.”
He looked at her hand.
She quickly removed it.
“There is something else.”
She turned the page.
“Look at the photo.”
A black-and-white image showed the rear service entrance.
Carmine studied it.
“What am I looking at?”
“The hinge.”
He leaned closer.
Nell pointed.
“Our rear door opened outward.”
“So?”
“If it was chained from outside, firefighters would have found the chain.”
“Unless someone removed it.”
“Yes.”
“Before investigators photographed the scene.”
“Yes.”
Carmine's phone rang.
Benny.
He answered.
“What?”
Benny's voice was unusually tense.
“I found something about your father.”
Carmine looked at Nell.
“Go ahead.”
“Dante visited Fontaine Bakery three times during the month before the fire.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Who did he meet?”
A pause.
Then Benny said:
“Emmett Fontaine.”
Nell's eyes widened.
She had heard.
Carmine asked the obvious question.
“How do you know?”
“Your father's old driver kept appointment notebooks.”
“And?”
Benny exhaled.
“The final entry is the interesting one.”
“What does it say?”
“December eighth. Fontaine Bakery. 9:30 p.m.”
Nell's face lost all color.
The bakery had burned on December ninth.
Carmine slowly lowered the phone.
May you like
His father had met Nell's father less than twelve hours before the fire.
And for the first time, Carmine wondered whether the fire had been connected to his own family long before Nell ever entered his home.
