The Chimney Sweep's Tale

The Chimney Sweep's Tale

A Mimi Delboise Mystery

New Orleans, Louisiana - October 1891

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PART FIVE: "The Hunt"

Marie Trosclair's dress shop on Chartres Street had become an informal sanctuary for Mimi during difficult cases, its elegant front room providing both friendship and Marie's seemingly endless knowledge of everyone's affairs in New Orleans society. Marie herself possessed the rare gift of making every customer feel like her dearest confidante, which meant she learned more secrets in an afternoon of fittings than most people heard in a lifetime.

"Émile Gautreaux," Marie said thoughtfully, looking up from the hem she was adjusting on a blue silk gown. "Oh my, yes, that name has certainly made the rounds. Quite the charmer, from what I hear."

"What sort of charmer?" Mimi asked, settling into the comfortable chair Marie kept for visiting friends.

"The kind that leaves wealthy ladies feeling both impressed and slightly uneasy." Marie set down her needle and turned to face Mimi fully, clearly settling in for a proper gossip session. "Mrs. Treme was positively effusive about him when I was fitting her new evening dress last month, though she let slip more than she probably intended."

"What did she say?"

"Oh, she went on about how knowledgeable he was, how he'd identified problems with her house security that other consultants had missed entirely. But you know how ladies get when they're nervous about something: they talk more than they mean to." Marie's eyes sparkled with the particular pleasure she took in sharing intriguing details. "She mentioned he kept asking about the original owners of her house, whether they'd left anything behind when it changed hands. Said it made her uncomfortable, but she didn't want to seem ungrateful since he was helping with her jewelry security."

"Did she mention anything specific about his methods?"

"Well, she was worried enough to ask me if I'd heard stories about break-ins in the district. And she wanted to know about the strongest fabric for new curtains: said she wanted more privacy than she used to." Marie picked up her needle again, but her attention remained focused on Mimi. "Between you and me, I think he left her feeling more anxious about her safety, not less."

"Where is Mrs. Treme's house?"

"Magazine Street, one of those grand old places that's been in the family forever. Though I suspect she's regretting hiring that man, from the way she's been acting lately."

Before Mimi could respond, the shop's front door opened with its gentle chime, and an elegantly dressed woman entered, clearly expecting her appointment. Marie rose gracefully, transforming instantly from gossiping friend to professional dressmaker.

"Mrs. Broussard! Right on time. Your gown is ready for the final fitting."

Mimi took this as her cue to leave, but Marie caught her hand briefly. "Be careful with this one, chère. If he's been making ladies nervous while supposedly helping them, he's probably more dangerous than he appears."

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The next evening, Detective Thibodaux's grumbling about "waste of time chasing shadows" was interrupted when one of his officers brought news that changed everything.

"Detective, we found him," Officer Rousseau reported, clearly pleased with himself. "Man with a scar on his left cheek, just like the boy described. Goes by the name of Claude Boudwin. Was drinking at Murphy's Tavern in the Irish Channel, bragging about some big score coming up."

Thibodaux's expression shifted from skeptical annoyance to sharp interest. "You brought him in?"

"Yes, sir. He's in the holding cell, but he's not talking much. Keeps asking for his 'business partner' to come bail him out."

Mimi, who had been waiting at the station for updates, felt her pulse quicken. "His business partner?"

"That's what he said. Claims he was just following orders, that the real planning was done by someone else." Rousseau consulted his notes. "He did let slip something about meeting this partner tonight at the old Treme warehouse on Esplanade. Said he was supposed to report that 'the problem had been handled.'"

Thibodaux and Mimi exchanged glances. "He thinks Tommy is dead," she realized.

An hour later, Thibodaux stormed back into the station. "Boudwin's gone," he announced grimly. "Managed to slip his handcuffs while being transferred to the holding cell. But not before we got the warehouse location out of him."

"He'll warn Gautreaux," Mimi said.

"Maybe. But he might also be too scared to face his boss empty-handed. If they both show up at that warehouse..."

"We get them both."

"Detective," Mimi said carefully, "I'd like to be there when you make the arrest."

Thibodaux's bushy eyebrows rose. "Absolutely not. This is police business, Miss Delboise. You've done your part by identifying the suspects."

"I'm the only one who's been investigating this systematically. I know the details of the case better than anyone." Mimi stood up, matching his stubborn expression with one of her own. "Besides, you might need someone who can recognize the pattern of evidence if we find the stolen goods."

"Miss Delboise..."

"I won't interfere with the arrest itself. But I should be there to help identify what you find."

Thibodaux grumbled under his breath about "meddling civilians" and "complications," but finally nodded with obvious reluctance. "Fine. But you stay well back from any confrontation, and if shooting starts, you get behind the nearest solid object and stay there."

As evening approached, Mimi found herself crouched behind a stack of cotton bales in the Treme warehouse, Detective Thibodaux and his three officers positioned at various points around the building. The warehouse was one of many that dotted the area near the river, used for storing goods awaiting shipment but often empty between loads.

"Remember," Thibodaux had instructed his men, "we wait for both parties to arrive and begin their conversation before we move. We need to hear what they're planning, not just catch them in an empty building."

The wait stretched on as darkness settled over the district. Then, finally, footsteps echoed through the warehouse as a well-dressed figure entered, carrying a small traveling bag and checking his pocket watch with obvious impatience.

Even in the dim light filtering through the warehouse windows, Mimi could see this was a man accustomed to better surroundings than abandoned storage buildings. His clothing was expensive, his bearing that of someone used to giving orders rather than taking them.

Minutes passed. The man grew increasingly agitated, pacing back and forth near the warehouse entrance. Then, more footsteps announced the arrival of a second figure: this one moving with the furtive caution of someone who knew he was in trouble.

"Claude!" the well-dressed man hissed. "Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

"Had some trouble with the police," came the rough reply. Mimi could see the distinctive scar across the second man's left cheek, even in the dim light. "They brought me in for questioning about the boy."

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! But they knew about the scar, about seeing me at different houses. The boy talked."

"Is he dead?"

"I don't know. Hit his head hard when he fell, broke his leg for certain. But alive or dead, he's already told them enough to cause problems."

At Thibodaux's signal, the officers moved from their concealed positions, surrounding both men before they realized what was happening.

"Police!" Thibodaux called out, his revolver drawn. "Don't move!"

Both men spun around, their faces showing shock and calculation in rapid succession. The well-dressed man spoke first, his voice carrying cultured authority despite his circumstances.

"Officers, there's been some mistake. We're simply here to discuss business matters."

"That would be the business of theft and attempted murder?" Mimi stepped out from behind the cotton bales, noting the man's expensive clothing and confident bearing. "You're Émile Gautreaux, and this is Claude Boudwin, the man who pushed an eleven-year-old boy off a ladder."

Gautreaux's expression hardened as he realized his situation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do," Thibodaux said, moving closer with his officers flanking him. "You've been using stolen butler positions and fraudulent consulting work to rob wealthy families throughout the Garden District."

"Prove it."

Thibodaux smiled grimly. "We will. Starting with whatever's in that bag you're carrying."

The bag yielded damning evidence: jewelry, coins, and small valuables that matched the descriptions from multiple theft reports, along with detailed notes about mansion layouts and hidden spaces. More importantly, they found architectural drawings of the Bordelon mansion with specific markings indicating the location of the hidden wine cellar cache.

"Well, Mr. Gautreaux," Thibodaux said with satisfaction, "it seems you've been quite busy. Theft, conspiracy, and let's not forget attempted murder of a child."

Gautreaux's expression hardened. "You can't prove I had anything to do with that boy's fall."

"Actually, we can," Mimi said. "Your accomplice here just admitted he was following your orders to eliminate a witness who could identify him."

The color drained from Gautreaux's face as he realized the full scope of his predicament. His carefully planned criminal enterprise had unraveled because of an eleven-year-old boy with sharp eyes and a good memory.

"The boy saw something he shouldn't have," Gautreaux said quietly, as if that justified attempted murder. "It was nothing personal."

"It was personal to Tommy," Mimi replied coldly. "And it will be personal to the jury when they hear how you ordered a child to be pushed off a roof to protect your theft ring."

As Thibodaux's officers led both men away in handcuffs, the detective turned to Mimi with grudging respect. "I'll admit, Miss Delboise, your investigation was thorough. Without the boy's testimony and your legwork, we never would have connected all these thefts."

"Without your police work, we never would have caught them both," Mimi replied. "Though I do hope you'll keep that officer watching Dr. Tran's clinic until after the trial. These men may have other associates we haven't identified yet."

"Already arranged," Thibodaux said, then added with his characteristic grumble, "And I suppose this means you'll be back with another complicated case that requires police assistance soon enough."

"Probably," Mimi admitted with a slight smile. "Crime doesn't seem to take holidays in New Orleans."

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Will justice prevail in court? Can Tommy face his attackers?

Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion of The Chimney Sweep's Tale as the most talked-about trial of the season unfolds, and Mimi reflects on what true justice means for New Orleans' most vulnerable children.

Follow all of Mimi Delboise's adventures over at The Elephant Island Chronicles and on Medium