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

Mysterious Mister
Part IV

As Marguerite made her way down Chartres Street to the Bank of New Orleans she cursed out loud, damning the silly, satin slippers she was wearing to Hades, wishing she had opted for her strong leather boots instead.
She entered the bank which was only minimally populated and walked to Jean Paul’s office. His secretary Fred Ballard was mopping his big red face and bald head with a handkerchief. He had a terrible perspiration problem, regardless of the season, a fact which Marguerite and Jean Paul had many a good laugh over.
"Fred, you are looking top notch today" Marguerite smiled giving him a chance to glance over her with his beady little eyes. He had made it known over the years that he wanted to court her badly and her refusals only added to his fervor.
"Oh Ms. Marguerite, how kind of you to notice." He dabbed his thick mustache. "And you are looking quite the picture. I do believe this is the first time I have seen you dressed so," he stuttered, " so femininely…" the last word was said almost in a whisper.
"Oh this," she looked down and rolled her eyes "I am doing research. Is Jean Paul here?"
"He is. You can go in. I am sure he doesn’t mind…I know I wouldn’t."

Marguerite nodded, trying not to wretch in disgust. She swung open the door causing Jean Paul to jump in surprise.
"What the hell," He looked her way and erupted into a fit of laughter.
"Jean Paul, you shut your mouth this second of I shall make you." She sounded childish but she didn’t care.
"Oh Marguerite, you look so…quaint. He ran a hand through his blonde hair that he wore combed backward except for one stubborn piece that would always curl onto his forehead. He had a neatly trimmed beard and mischievous green eyes. He wasn’t extremely tall but he was solidly built and was one of the best swordsmen she’d ever seen.
"So what are you doing here, dressed like that. I am dying to know." All of his comments fell somewhere between serious and sarcastic which usually amused her.
"Jean Paul, I need a favor."
"I’m listening." He leaned back in his chair and propped his legs up on the corner of his desk.
"Well, I am investigating a case which surrounds someone who uses this bank and I need to know as much information as you can tell me about them and his account. I have found that he is using bank notes and I know those are kept on record."
He gave her half of a grin. "I see, so you simply want me to divulge confidential client information to you, so you can solve a case. Oh yes, let me go find that for your right now."

She gave him a pitiful look. "You owe me, I am still recovering from last night’s party and you were the one who instigated my inebriation…"
"Ha! So now you are to tell me that you are so impressionable that I can get you to bend to my will. Wonderful news, so let us see, how about you accompany me to my home because I’d like to see how much of an impression I could make in my bedroom."
"Jean Paul, you are positively addlebrained. I am going to be the mature one by ignoring your preposterous comment."
"Ignore it if you wish Marguerite, your loss."
She rolled her eyes, he had never made such statements to her and that was reason enough to go home as soon as possible and change out of the ridiculous dress.
"Jean Paul, please help me out here. Just give me something, a mere tidbit."
He leaned against the window sill, looking out to the park across the street.
"A tidbit aye? I will give you the information on the last bank note we received for redemption on his account. That is it." He looked perfectly serious so she thought it best to let the matter go for now.
"Well, I will take what I can."

He sat back at his desk. He pulled a chain from his pocket that had several keys hanging from it and unlocked his top drawer, withdrawing a stack of papers tied with a bit of string.
"What is this poor souls name?" he began untying the stack.
"Last known alias is Simon Etienne."
He leafed through the papers quickly until he pulled one thin sheet from the bunch.
"Yes, Simon Etienne. This note was written out 2 days ago to the…" He let out a chuckle "to The Pink Rose."
"The Pink Rose, you have to be jesting. He wrote a bank note to a brothel?" she asked in disbelief.
"That’s what is says here, so now you have all you will get from me, be on your way."
"Yes Sir." She got up and began walking to the door.
"And Marguerite" he said in a soft voice.
"Yes." She turned toward him.
"Don’t forget what I said."
"About what?"
"You know what I mean. Close the door behind you." He opened up a ledger and began writing again without another glance to her.
She walked out of the bank and toward her house thinking how strange men were and that she would never quite understand their proclivities.
Once home, she dressed in a simple dove gray jacket with black pantaloons. She grabbed a handful of gold coins from her bedroom chest and headed to the Pink Rose.