“What can I do to help?” he asked her.
“Stack cookies in the display case.” She showed him what to do, handed him a pair of rubber gloves, a tray of cookies she’d baked the night before, and set him to work.
In the cabinet, Maurice arranged chocolate-chip and oatmeal-raisin cookies. Alongside those, he lined up pralines and peanut brittle.
In between batches, he sipped on the best coffee he’d ever tasted, the caffeine reviving him.
Maurice was wide awake by the time the bakery opened bright and early at six o’clock.
Customers streamed in for their morning cup of coffee or a shot of espresso and one of Amelie’s pastries that melted in their mouths as soon as it touched their tongues.
Maurice had known the draw well before he’d gotten to know the woman behind the magic. Now, he loved the pastries even more.
Amelie had a gift she chose to share with the people of Bayou Mambaloa, and they were grateful, expressing their gratitude in moans of delight.
After the first rush of the morning, Amelie came to stand beside Maurice, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. “Are you surviving?” she asked.
He nodded. “We’re practically sold out of eclairs. Do you have more in the oven?”
Amelie nodded. “They’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Everyone who has come in this morning expressed their concern over yesterday’s closure.” Maurice gave a crooked smile. “Apparently, news travels fast in the community.”
Amelie nodded and sighed. “It does. I imagine the news about the break-in went out even before law enforcement arrived.”
Maurice’s lips twisted. “It’s hard to believe the sheriff’s department hasn’t found a single suspect.”
Amelie leaned against the display case, her gaze on the window overlooking Main Street. “Apparently, whoever broke into my shop and apartment had the foresight to wear gloves, thus hampering law enforcement’s investigations into their nefarious activities.” She shook her head. “What would the vandal be looking for in my bakery?”
“Great eclairs?”
“He didn’t take any of the baked goods,” Amelie said.
“Hopefully, Swede will come up with something soon.” Maurice straightened the row of chocolate chip cookies. “In the meantime, how about taking a break? You’ve been on your feet for hours.”
“I could do that.” Amelie sank onto a chair at one of the bistro tables and took a sip of her coffee.
Maurice poured another cup and joined her.
As soon as he sat, the chirping of a cell phone sounded behind the counter.
When Amelie started to rise, Maurice held up a hand. “I’ll get it.” He retrieved her cell phone and brought it to her.
“It’s a text from Luis.” Amelie glanced down at the text. “He says he’s sorry he got busy last night and forgot to take pictures of the photographs he’d kept. He just sent them.” Amelie brought up the first black-and-white photo of Armand’s young parents, standing in front of the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.
Maurice recognized the location, having been there a number of times.
Armand’s mother had her arm hooked through his father’s. She was smiling. He stood with his shoulders back, his expression unreadable, holding a pocket watch in his hand.
“Is that—” Amelie pointed at the photo.
“The watch Luis showed us?” Maurice pulled out his cell phone and brought up the images he’d taken when they’d been with Luis. “It’s the same one.”
“So, we know Armand’s father had the watch when he lived in New Orleans and have proof it belonged to him.” Amelie shrugged. “What does it mean?”
“Maybe nothing,” Maurice said. “Or something. We don’t have enough information to even speculate.”
Amelie flipped the screen to the next photo.
