Mysterious Mister Part III, a Historical Mystery set in 19th century New Orleans

Mysterious Mister
Part III

After her meeting with Mr. Posey, or Edward as she was to now address him, she stopped at her residence and changed into a demure yet stylish muslin gown adorned in very delicate lace around the collar. For proprieties sake, she twirled her hair into a simple knot at the base of her neck and grabbed a straw bonnet with yellow ribbons and little cherries on the brim. With parasol and reticule in hand she glanced at herself and cringed slightly, she hated how she looked in women’s clothes. Although she knew she looked attractive, she somehow felt it weakened her to wear them, however while doing research for her cases it was better to blend with the masses.

She dug into the reticule and withdrew the address to Simon’s apartment. It was only a few blocks away in an area that was still for the most part Spanish. The apartment building definitely had Spanish influence from the shutters to the slatted roof. She walked up and down the street a few times until she saw an elderly couple exiting the building.
"Hola, perdone" she smiled her most non-threatening smile as they stopped to inspect her.
"I am sorry to interrupt, however I fear that I am lost." She said sorrowfully. "I am looking for my brother Simon’s apartment, however I must have written the address down wrong, because he is not there."
The couple appeared to believe her story. "Simon Etienne?" the older woman asked in a heavy accent.
"Yes, that is my brother. It is his birthday you see, and I came to surprise him. He didn’t know I was coming."
The older man leaned on his cane slightly. "We haven’t see Simon in months actually, he did live here, but he just disappeared. Nice boy, kept to himself."
The women raised an eyebrow, "Except when he came in all hours of the night stumbling down the hall, smelling strongly of spirits and slurring his words", she practically spat disapprovingly.
"Consuela, you know nothing of men, that is what we do. Sow our oats and such."
"Oh really Diego, so how many oats have you sown through the years?"
Marguerite was trying to stifle a laugh at watching the old couple bicker back and forth.
"I am sorry to bother you further, but is there a landlord that lives here? They may have some information"
"Yes", the old lady piped up while glaring at her husband "on the third floor, number five."
Marguerite nodded politely, thanked them for their help and left them arguing in the street.
Before entering the building she pulled a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from her reticule and slid them on, allowing them to slide slightly to the bridge of her nose. She walked the three flights and found number five and knocked lightly.

After a moment the door opened.
"May I help you?"
"Yes Madame, I was told that you were the landlord here so I wanted to inquire about a possible vacancy."
"Come in then" she said briskly, she was tall and very round. The thin fabric of her cotton dress was not flattering and revealed the outline of her stays that left rolls of flesh spilling from the top and bottom. Her hair was ornately piled on top of her head and she wore extremely light face make-up and a fake mole that was reminiscent of years past.
"Sit" the landlord instructed her and she obliged, opting for an ancient brocade settee.
"Thank you" Marguerite said, invoking her most matronly demeanor. "I had heard, through an acquaintance, of a possible opening in this building and as I am widowed as of a year now, God bless my Lawrence", she pulled a handkerchief from her bust and held it up to her mouth before dabbing invisible tears.

"My condolences" the landlord said a little half-heartedly.
"You are too kind."
"But to answer your question, I have had a vacancy for six months, well until about a week ago. So I am sorry you have wasted your time." The landlord began to rise.
"Oh how curious, and to think so long without that money coming in. It must have been terribly difficult" Marguerite said sympathetically.
"Humph," she rumbled "you have no idea. The bounder disappears for six months, that whole time no one shows any interest to rent, then he shows up out of the blue, gives me the rent for all the past months and pays me upfront for the next six."
"Sounds as if he came into a lot of money." Marguerite said innocently.
"That he did, says a relative died and left him the whole lot of it" the land lady said matter-of-factual.
"Well, even so that would probably be tied up in legal mess. How could he get so much cash?" Marguerite fished again.
"No, no. He paid me with a banknote. The only reason I accepted it was because it is from The Bank of New Orleans."
Marguerite smiled. She had found out all she need from the lady. She thanked her for her time and promised she would inquire frequently about future openings.
Once back on the street she thought over the newest information and mentally danced a jig. Of all the banks he chose the on run by her very, dearest friend Jean Paul Lazier…

**I would love to hear from you. Please leave feedback, negative or positive about parts I, II, or III. Also, always feel free to e-mail at amberholston@yahoo.com.

Thanks!!