A Sheetcake Named Desire (11 page)

She nodded and pulled her half-empty strawberry daiquiri closer. “We came here every night after work. Our home away from home, I guess you could say. Oh! Look! There they are!” She waved one hand over her head, and I craned to see past Sparkle.

Burt and Dwight were squeezing between chairs on their way to our table. Dwight had changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans without holes. He paused now and then to shake someone’s hand or touch a shoulder. Burt swaggered from female to female, offering comfort to teary-eyed women of all ages, shapes, and sizes. As I watched him, I felt a little foolish for having let that smile get to me, even momentarily.

We shifted seats to make room, and Burt dragged an empty table over to extend our claim. He sat next to me and scooted his chair close enough to make himself heard over the music. Dwight acknowledged me with a nod and leaned his chair back against the wall on two legs.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Burt said. “If I’d known you were interested, I’d have told you about this myself.”

“No problem,” I assured him. “Edie told me. She thought I should be here.” I scoured the room again, taking a mental inventory of the Zydeco family. “Where is she anyway? Have you seen her?”

Burt shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Probably still at the bakery. You know how she is.”

“Not really, not anymore.” I smiled, hoping I looked curious, not suspicious. “How is she?”

Burt slid a look at me, and his charm slipped a bit. “She’s dedicated, okay? Is that a problem?”

I shook my head quickly. “Not at all. I’m just trying to get a feel for people, that’s all. Have you seen Estelle?”

Burt nodded toward a table on the far side of the room where a tearful Estelle was hugging a woman about half her size. “She’s over there.”

That left Abe and Ox unaccounted for, but under the circumstances, I didn’t really expect to see either of them. Abe was notoriously people-shy, and Ox was probably still steaming.

Burt caught a woman’s eye and moved onto the dance floor. I watched him go, imagining Philippe in this bar, picturing him moving through the crowd with the same ease that Burt possessed. I wondered if Philippe had seen something of himself in Burt. I certainly did. My throat constricted, and a heavy sadness settled over me. I missed him. I couldn’t deny it.

As I turned back to the table, I spotted a tall man with a shaved head walking toward the bar, and my plans changed abruptly. Apparently, I’d been wrong to think that Ox wouldn’t show up tonight. I shot out of my seat and began the tortuous process of moving through the crowd again. I could check out the rest of the staff later. I might not get another chance to talk with Ox.

Fourteen

Ox bellied up to the bar and exchanged greetings with a bartender, a good-looking guy with a lazy shank of dark hair falling onto his forehead, a lopsided smile, and—I noticed when he called a comment to a passing cocktail waitress—a sexy Cajun accent.

Two seconds later, guilt hit me like a rogue wave. What kind of person was I, scoping out the hot bartender while at a memorial for my ex-husband? Really!

I shook myself and focused on getting to Ox. The bar was lined with people ordering drinks the waitresses didn’t have time to deliver, which kept the bartenders racing to make everyone happy. On one side of Ox, a woman in shorts and a tank top flirted outrageously with the bartenders. On the other, a sour-faced man of about forty sucked down one beer and belched as he ordered another. The woman moved away first, and I slid onto the stool she’d been blocking.

Ox didn’t look up, but I could tell he knew I was there. I decided to give him some space, which he used to ignore me for a few minutes. Rude and very un-Ox-like, but I didn’t let that deter me.

While I waited for a bartender, I breathed in the intoxicating scent of homemade jambalaya and tapped my fingers on the bar in time to the music. I’ve never been a fan of the accordion, but the energetic beat and lilting melodies brought back fond memories of Philippe and wore down my resistance.

After a while, Ox cut a glance at me and growled, “What do you want?”

The bitter anger in his voice put my bravado to the test. I scanned the surrounding area for sharp knives and hated myself for doing it at the same time. I told myself not to let him intimidate me. This was Ox. My friend. “What do you think I want?” I snapped. “You were a jerk to me today. You walked out on the bakery. What’s going on with you?”

The belcher leaned up to look at me. I put him at around forty. Shaggy haired with a leathery face he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Probably wrestled alligators in his spare time. “Hey, little lady,” he snarled. “Why don’t you leave the guy alone?”

Little lady? Was he serious? I leaned up to glare back at him. “Hey, jerk,” I said, matching his tone exactly. “Why don’t you butt out? This doesn’t concern you.”

The band switched to another fast-paced song, and in the lull I heard Ox say, “It’s all right. She’s a friend.”

The jerk took a long pull on the bottle he held and reluctantly removed his bulbous nose from our conversation.

Slowly, Ox turned to me, giving me a look that was far from friendly in my opinion. “I’m surprised, Rita. Do you really have to ask what’s bothering me?”

I tried to act as if a giant bubble of animosity wasn’t sucking the oxygen from the space between us. “I kind of picked up on the fact that you think you should be running Zydeco. You were pretty subtle about it, though. I’m not sure anybody else got it.”

My effort to inject a little humor into the conversation fell flat. Ox scowled at me from beneath his thick black eyebrows. “You think this is funny?”

The half smile I’d been wearing slid from my face. “No. I don’t.”

The alligator wrestler muttered something I couldn’t make out. Before I could politely offer another suggestion that he mind his own business, he turned his attention to the harried cocktail waitress I’d noticed earlier. Fine with me. Maybe she could keep him occupied.

“I’m just confused,” I said to Ox. “This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

“What’s not like me? Being pissed that Philippe sold me out? That Miss Frankie is handing you the keys to Zydeco when they should be mine?”

“She’s handing me the keys temporarily,” I reminded him. “I’ll be here a few days at most. But while we’re on that subject, what the hell was that crack you made about the business imploding if I’m running things?”

He looked away. “This isn’t your deal, Rita. Zydeco was mine and Philippe’s. I was on the fast-track to partnership. Then, all of a sudden, I’m lower than dirt on a snake’s belly.”

“I can’t believe that,” I said. “Philippe wouldn’t turn on you like that. Maybe you misunderstood what he was doing.”

He lifted the bottle to his lips, but stopped short of drinking. “There was no misunderstanding. Believe me.”

“Good grief, Ox! No wonder the police are calling you a person of interest in the murder. You’re making yourself sound guilty as hell.”

He reared back as if I’d sucker punched him. “You think I killed Philippe?”

I shook my head and scooted my stool closer so we wouldn’t have to yell at each other. “No, I don’t. But I’m definitely one of a very small minority. Look, this thing with me and Zydeco? It’s not permanent. If that’s what your arrangement with Philippe was, I’m sure Miss Frankie will honor it. She’s just freaked out right now, you know? Give her a few days. I think I can manage to keep Zydeco afloat that long.”

He snorted a laugh and finally took a drink, but he didn’t say anything.

I took the laugh as a hopeful sign. “So what’s going on at Zydeco? What
were
you and Philippe fighting over yesterday?”

Ox lowered the bottle to the bar and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

I was losing patience with his evasive answers. “So tell me about it. What did he do to make you that angry?”

He picked at the bottle’s label for a moment. “What makes you think I’m the one who started it?”

I stared at him, shocked by the implication. “Philippe started the fight?”

With the cocktail waitress gone again, the alligator wrestler turned toward me and muttered something that sounded like “couldn’t put the fish dime.”

I ignored that helpful remark and silently willed him to find someone else to annoy. “Why?” I asked Ox. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, but he wouldn’t believe that.”

“Okay, then, what did he think you did? Come on, Ox,
talk
to me.”

He gave me a long look out of the corner of his eye. “Why, Rita? What would be the point?”

“The point,” I said, “would be to convince the police you’re innocent and then help me convince Miss Frankie that you should be in charge at Zydeco. Isn’t that what you want?”

He shifted in his chair so he could look at me straight on. “You really think you can do that?”

“I think I have a shot at it, but only if you’ll quit acting like such a jerk.”

“Jerk,” the alligator wrestler agreed. He leaned up and caught my eye so he could wink at me. “Total jerk.”

Yeah. Thanks. “So what did you and Philippe fight about?” I asked for what felt like the millionth time.

“What else?” Ox said. “Zydeco.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation and looked around for one of the bartenders so I could take the edge off my increasingly irritated mood. No such luck. They were all helping other customers. “Come on, Ox.”

He shook his head and took a long pull on his beer. “It was no big deal.”

“You guys fought. Philippe was found dead just a few minutes later,” I reminded him as gently as I could. “A lot of people might think it was a big deal, including the police.”

Ox smirked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. The police can’t prove I did. As for them?” He gestured toward the staff’s table. “What do I care what they think? They’ve already shown me their true colors.” He slid from his bar stool, as if he intended to walk away.

I wasn’t finished with him yet, so I grabbed his arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Miss Frankie has asked me to figure out what’s going on at Zydeco, and I intend to do that. So what do you know about the accidents that have been happening around the bakery?”

The smirk on his lips evaporated. “I know that somebody’s been causing trouble. Why?”

“Who do you think is behind it?”

Ox’s smile turned nasty, and he slapped a bill on the bar. “You haven’t figured it out yet? Ask any one of the crew. They’ll tell you that Philippe was convinced I did it. And if Philippe believed that, you can bet Miss Frankie does, too.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. “This was a mistake,” he growled. “I never should have come here.” And before I could stop him, he pushed through the crowd, leaving me gaping after him like a fish on land.

As Ox walked away, the alligator wrestler sent me a knowing look. “That guy was a real son of a bitch.”

“Ox is under a lot of pressure,” I said automatically. I watched him disappear through the front door and wondered if I’d made the right decision to let him go. As if I could have stopped him.

“I’m not talking about Ox,” my new friend said. “I’m talking about the other one.”

The air left my lungs in a whoosh. I could only stare as I tried to figure out if I’d understood him correctly. “What other one?”

He waved an arm to encompass the crowd and the bar, and the stench of body odor hit me in the face. Charming. “I’m talking about Pretty Boy. The one all this bullshit is for.”

“Philippe?” Of course that’s who he meant. Who else could it be? “You think
he
was a jerk?”

Alligator man lifted one shoulder. “Like I says, couldn’t push the fish dime that son of a bitch started trouble.”

This time, I tried translating his heavily accented mumble and finally realized he was saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time . . .” but Philippe had never been the type to start trouble.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, but a young man staggered between us and leaned heavily on the bar for support, diverting the alligator wrestler’s attention away from me.

The older man belched and elbowed the kid beside me. “You seen my old lady? I need some money.”

“Wait!” I tried to use my own elbow to get around the kid, but he wasn’t moving. “Mister! Wait! What did you mean by that?”

If he heard me, he pretended not to. I slid from my stool, determined to continue our conversation. Before I could move, Isabeau bounced into the space between us with a swish of blonde hair. Her big blue eyes were wide open and brimming with worry.

“Got a minute?” she asked me.

“Actually, no. I just need to talk to—” To my dismay, I spotted the alligator wrestler moving away from the bar. “Wait!” I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the noise all around us.

“Please, Rita? It’s important,” Isabeau continued.

The alligator wrestler stopped to say something to the cocktail waitress. She scowled but pulled a couple of bills from her pocket and passed them over.

In spite of Isabeau’s obvious impatience, I considered going after him, but what would I say? What if
he
was a knife-wielding murderer? Did I really want to follow him into a dark alley?

Letting the rational side of my brain take over, I sank back onto the stool and tried again to catch the attention of a bartender. No sense being
too
rational. Isabeau tapped me on the shoulder.

“Seriously, Rita? I need your help.”

With a sigh, I turned back to her. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I saw you talking to Ox. Did he tell you anything?”

The question wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I gave up on the bartenders and took a closer look at her. “About what?”

“
Anything
.” She inched closer and shouted in my ear. “I’m worried about him. I was hoping he’d talk to you. He sure isn’t talking to me.”

Her blue eyes were clouded and I saw something in them that sparked a realization. “Are you and Ox . . . a thing?”

Blushing like a schoolgirl, Isabeau swept that pale-blonde lock of hair from her shoulder and nodded miserably. “Yeah, but we haven’t said anything to the rest of the crew, so keep it under wraps for now, okay?”

I had news for her. Shouting it to me in a crowded bar was hardly the way to keep their relationship secret. At least now I understood why she was so eager to defend him. “Why don’t you want the others to know?”

Isabeau stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “It’s not that. It’s just that the age difference and everything . . . I mean, why rock the boat before we know whether it’s going to last?”

I wondered whose idea that was but decided not to ask. A woman holding two daiquiris turned away, and Isabeau claimed the bar stool Ox had been sitting on. “So did he? Talk to you, I mean?”

I hesitated over my answer. She seemed genuinely worried, and I hadn’t picked up any weird vibes from her. Ox hadn’t said anything useful, but she might be able to answer a few questions for me. No telling what she’d learned from pillow talk.

I shook my head. “He didn’t say much. He’s in a foul mood, that’s for sure. Do
you
know what went wrong between him and Philippe?”

“Me?” She squeaked a little and one hand flew to her chest.

“Did Ox confide in you?”

She glanced over both shoulders to make sure nobody was paying attention, then leaned in close. “Ox never said anything, but if you want my opinion, I think it’s her.”

“Her who?”

“You know . . . Quinn.”

My heart gave a little skip. “You think she was responsible for what happened between Philippe and Ox?”

Isabeau made a face. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t have any proof. But things didn’t start going bad between them until she came on the scene.”

She had my full attention now. “You think Quinn was intentionally stirring up trouble between them?”