The Casket on Canal Street

The Casket on Canal Street – Part 2: A Widow’s Story

A Mimi Delboise Mystery

A grieving widow brings Mimi a case of fraud—but as the scope of the deception grows, Mimi must decide how far she’ll go to uncover the truth.

***

Not entirely empty—there were canvas bags arranged roughly in the shape of a human form, clearly weighted with sand to provide the illusion of a body. But of Marcus Trevino himself, there was no trace.

The silence lasted perhaps three seconds before it exploded into chaos. Women shrieked, men shouted, and somewhere in the crowd a voice cried, "Fraud! It's a fraud!" The careful dignity of the funeral procession dissolved into a melee of pushing bodies and raised voices, while Beauregard stood beside the empty casket like a man who had watched his entire world collapse.

Mimi withdrew from the crowd before the police arrived, making her way back to her office on Royal Street with her mind already turning over the implications of what she had witnessed. An empty casket was more than a macabre prank—it suggested deliberate deception on a substantial scale. Someone had gone to considerable trouble and expense to stage Marcus Trevino's death, which meant someone had compelling reasons to want Marcus Trevino gone.

She was still pondering these questions three hours later when her office door opened to admit a woman whose black mourning dress was elegantly cut but whose face bore the haggard expression of genuine grief.

"Miss Delboise? I am Adelaide Fortier. I need your help."

Mimi gestured to the chair across from her desk, studying her visitor with the careful attention that had made her reputation as New Orleans' most successful private detective. Mrs. Fortier was perhaps forty years old, with the kind of refined features that spoke of good breeding and comfortable circumstances. Her mourning dress was silk, not cotton, and the jet beads at her throat were genuine rather than glass. But beneath the surface prosperity, Mimi detected signs of strain—the slight tremor in her hands, the careful way she held herself as if afraid of breaking.

"How may I assist you, Mrs. Fortier?"

"It's about my husband. About his insurance policy." The woman's voice was steady, but Mimi caught the effort it took to maintain that control. "Theodore died six weeks ago of lung fever. We had purchased a substantial life insurance policy from the Crescent City Mutual Insurance Company—five thousand dollars. Yesterday, I went to file my claim and was told that no such company exists."

Mimi set down her pen carefully. "And this company was represented by...?"

"Marcus Trevino." Mrs. Fortier's mouth twisted bitterly. "The same Marcus Trevino whose funeral procession was interrupted this afternoon when they discovered his casket was empty. I was there, Miss Delboise. I saw the whole shameful spectacle."

"I see." Mimi opened her notebook to a fresh page. "Tell me about your dealings with Trevino. When did you first meet him?"

"About two years ago. Theodore was concerned about providing for me should anything happen to him—his work at the cotton exchange involved considerable risk, and we had no children to help support me in widowhood." Mrs. Fortier paused, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes. "Trevino came highly recommended. He had an office on Camp Street, very respectable, with certificates on the walls and a secretary who kept meticulous records."

"And the policy itself?"

"Beautifully printed, with an official seal and signatures. Trevino explained that Crescent City Mutual was a new company offering better rates than the established firms because they had lower overhead costs." Mrs. Fortier's voice grew bitter. "It seemed too good to be true, but Theodore was convinced. We paid premiums for two years—nearly four hundred dollars in total."

Mimi calculated quickly. Four hundred dollars was a substantial sum, representing several months' income for most working families. If Trevino had been selling similar policies to other clients...

"Mrs. Fortier, do you still have your policy documents?"

"Of course." The woman reached into her reticule and produced a folder containing several papers. "Everything Trevino gave us."

Mimi examined the documents carefully. The insurance policy was indeed beautifully printed, with elaborate scrollwork and an impressive corporate seal. But as she studied it more closely, she noticed telltale signs of deception. The paper was too new, without the slight yellowing that would indicate a document two years old. The typography was slightly irregular, suggesting a small printing shop rather than a major commercial concern. Most damning, the corporate address listed for Crescent City Mutual was a building that Mimi knew housed only a tobacco warehouse.

"These are forgeries," she said gently. "Very good ones, but forgeries nonetheless."

Mrs. Fortier's carefully maintained composure cracked. "I was afraid of that. When they told me the company didn't exist, I hoped there might be some mistake, some confusion that could be resolved. But seeing that empty casket today..." She shook her head. "How many other families has he cheated?"

"I intend to find out. But first, I need to understand why Trevino chose to disappear now. Something must have forced his hand." Mimi studied Mrs. Fortier's face carefully. "Has anything unusual happened recently? Any investigation into his business, any threats or pressure?"

Mrs. Fortier hesitated, and Mimi caught the slight tell-tale pause of someone weighing how much truth to reveal. "Not that I'm aware of. Though..."

"Yes?"

"There was something strange about a week before Theodore died. A man came to our house asking questions about our insurance policy. He said he was conducting a survey for a financial newspaper, wanted to know about our satisfaction with different insurance companies."

"Can you describe this man?"

"Tall, well-dressed, with a northern accent. He seemed very interested in the details of our policy with Crescent City Mutual—when we had purchased it, how much we were paying, whether we had filed any claims."

Mimi made careful notes. A financial journalist investigating insurance companies would certainly explain Trevino's sudden need to disappear. But something about Mrs. Fortier's manner suggested there was more to the story.

"Mrs. Fortier, I must ask directly—is there anything else about your circumstances that might be relevant to this case? Any other business dealings with Trevino, any personal connections, anything that might explain why you were targeted for this fraud?"

The woman's face went pale, and for a moment Mimi thought she might refuse to answer. Then, with visible effort, she straightened in her chair.

"There is something, but I don't see how it could be connected. Theodore wasn't... he wasn't my first husband. I was previously married to a man named Charles Dupuis, who died in a riverboat accident five years ago. There was some question about the circumstances of his death—Charles was an excellent swimmer, and the night was calm—but nothing was ever proven."

"Insurance money?"

"A substantial amount, yes. Enough to live comfortably for several years." Mrs. Fortier met Mimi's eyes directly. "I know how that must sound, Miss Delboise. Two dead husbands, both with insurance policies. But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with either death. Charles's accident was investigated thoroughly, and Theodore died in the charity hospital with doctors attending him."

Mimi nodded noncommittally, but she filed the information away for later consideration. Two substantial insurance payouts would certainly make Mrs. Fortier an attractive target for a confidence man like Trevino—someone who might assume she had both money and experience with insurance claims.

"My fee is three dollars per day plus expenses," Mimi said. "I'll need two days' payment in advance."

Mrs. Fortier counted out six dollars from her reticule without hesitation. "Find him, Miss Delboise. Not for revenge, but for justice. There must be other families like mine, people who paid their premiums faithfully and now find themselves with nothing but worthless paper."

After Mrs. Fortier left, Mimi sat at her desk considering the case. The empty casket suggested that Trevino's disappearance was carefully planned rather than a panicked flight. Someone who went to the trouble of staging his own death was likely to have escape routes prepared well in advance. But the very audacity of the scheme also suggested arrogance—and arrogant men often made careless mistakes.

She decided to start with the obvious question: if Marcus Trevino wasn't dead, where was he?

The next morning found Mimi at the offices of the Times-Picayune, where her friendship with reporter James Gallier had proved useful in previous investigations. Gallier was a thin, intense man whose dedication to his profession had made him privy to more of New Orleans' secrets than most politicians or police officers.

"Marcus Trevino," he said when she mentioned the name. "Now there's a story I've been trying to write for months. The man was running one of the most sophisticated insurance frauds I've ever encountered."

"You knew he was selling fake policies?"

"Suspected, but couldn't prove it. Trevino was careful—he only targeted people who were unlikely to file claims immediately, and he made sure his victims were scattered across different parishes so no pattern would emerge." Gallier pulled out a thick folder from his desk drawer. "I've been documenting cases for six months. At least forty families that I can confirm, probably twice that many in reality."

Mimi whistled softly. If Trevino had collected four hundred dollars from forty families, he had stolen sixteen thousand dollars—a fortune by any measure. "What prompted your investigation?"

"Pure chance. My cousin bought a policy from Trevino last year, and when he tried to add a beneficiary, he couldn't find any record of the Crescent City Mutual Insurance Company in the state corporate registry." Gallier shook his head. "The more I dug, the worse it got. Trevino was a master at creating the appearance of legitimacy—fake office leases, forged correspondence with imaginary corporate headquarters, even staged meetings with actors playing company executives."

"And now he's disappeared."

"Has he? The official story is that he died of yellow fever, but given what we know about his other deceptions..." Gallier leaned forward. "I heard about the empty casket yesterday. Are you working the case?"

"Hired by one of his victims. Do you have any theories about where he might have gone?"

"If I were Trevino, I'd head upriver. New identity, new territory, same basic scheme. Insurance fraud works because people want to believe they're protected, and there are plenty of small towns between here and St. Louis where a smooth-talking confidence man could start fresh."

Mimi spent the rest of the morning visiting the addresses Gallier had provided, speaking with Trevino's other victims. The stories were depressingly similar—families struggling to make ends meet who had sacrificed to pay insurance premiums, believing they were securing their futures. Now they faced not only the loss of their loved ones but financial ruin as well.

By afternoon, she had confirmed Gallier's estimate of at least forty victims, with total losses approaching twenty thousand dollars. The scope of the fraud was staggering, but it also suggested something important—Trevino would need time to convert that much money into portable assets before fleeing. Even a clever confidence man couldn't disappear overnight with twenty thousand dollars in cash without attracting attention.

She was contemplating this problem when inspiration struck. If Trevino was planning to flee by riverboat, he would need to purchase passage under his new identity. And the best place to book discreet passage was not at the major steamboat companies, but at the smaller operations that catered to passengers who preferred not to answer too many questions.

Marie Trosclair's dress shop on Chartres Street served clients from across New Orleans society, including the wives and daughters of men who owned riverboats. If anyone would know about unusual passenger bookings, it would be Marie.

"Mimi, darling," Marie said when she entered the shop. "I heard about the commotion on Canal Street yesterday. What a scandal! Though I must say, it's exactly the sort of thing one might expect from someone who dealt in fake insurance policies."

"You knew about Trevino's business?"

"Suspected. Several of my clients mentioned buying policies from him, and something about their descriptions didn't sound quite right." Marie arranged a bolt of silk on her cutting table with practiced efficiency. "The premiums were too low, the terms too generous. In my experience, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

"I'm trying to track him down. Have you heard anything about unusual riverboat bookings? Someone purchasing passage under a new name, perhaps someone who seemed nervous or in a hurry?"

Marie paused in her work, considering. "Now that you mention it, yes. My friend Noémie works as a seamstress for several riverboat companies, helping maintain their cabin linens and passenger uniforms. She mentioned yesterday that the Belle Orleans hired a new passenger services clerk very suddenly—apparently their previous clerk quit without notice, and they needed someone immediately for a run to Natchez."

"When did this happen?"

"Three days ago. The same day as Trevino's supposed funeral." Marie met Mimi's eyes significantly. "The new clerk gave his name as Jean-Baptiste Moreau, said he had experience with passenger bookings from working on boats in Baton Rouge. But Noémie said something seemed off about him—he was too well-dressed for a clerk's position, and he seemed more interested in the cash handling procedures than the actual passenger services."

Mimi felt the familiar thrill of a successful hunt. "Is the Belle Orleans still in port?"

"Left this morning for Natchez, but they'll be back Friday. Unless..." Marie paused thoughtfully. "Unless you were thinking of taking a little trip upriver yourself."

The idea had indeed occurred to Mimi. If Trevino was aboard the Belle Orleans as Jean-Baptiste Moreau, confronting him while the boat was still in transit would prevent him from disappearing into the maze of river towns between New Orleans and St. Louis. But pursuing a dangerous confidence man onto a riverboat with no backup was exactly the sort of reckless decision that had gotten other investigators killed.

***

In Part 3 of The Casket on Canal Street, Mimi boards the Belle Orleans to confront a killer—and discovers she may not be the only one chasing justice. Follow for the next thrilling installment.