Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (14 page)

"Detective Reid," he answers his phone.

"Derek," I reply. "It's me." He stays silent for a few seconds. "It's Poppy."

"Yes, I know it's you, Poppy."

"Let me guess," I respond. "I'm one of the only people with enough gall to call you by your first name?"

"Something like that." He chuckles. "What can I do for you, Poppy? Please, don't tell me you've discovered another body. I'm in deep water as it is with this case."

"No." I take a deep breath, hoping that my new findings won't stir up another argument. "I have some new information for you."

"I hope you're staying out of trouble like we discussed."

"Actually, I'm in New Orleans." I brace myself for shouting, yelling, or a lecture on cooperating with the police.

"Why am I not surprised?" he says quietly.

"I'm here because of Karl," I add. "Because he figured something out that I
never
would have. He was truly brilliant."

"Poppy, I can't help you if you keep nosing around like this," Detective Reid replies.

"Before you say anymore," I cut him off. "Let me finish. I came to New Orleans to follow a lead that Karl left behind. He lost his life because of it."

"Yes." Derek exhales loudly and waits for me to continue.

"I think Gino Milani was in town on a special assignment," I continue. "He came to fulfill the dying wish of his boss, Vito Bianco. But in the process he was murdered, of course. I don't know who murdered him, but I do know what he was doing at the farmers' market that morning."

"And what was that?"

"He was following a family member—Vito Bianco's long-lost son." Saying it out loud again sends chills down my spine. I glance around my bedroom, making sure I'm still alone before I continue. "You see, Karl located the adoption agency, and I'm willing to bet that if you do some digging into Chef Otto's background you'll find that he isn't a real Chimenti. He's a Bianco."

"But I looked into his background, and nothing seemed unusual," Derek argues. The butterflies in my stomach drop to the floor.

"Then check again," I insist. "Whoever gave him up probably buried the trail for good reason. Otto would never be what he is today if the world knew he was a Bianco."

"Okay, I'll check again," he agrees. "Give me the address of this agency, and I'll investigate further."

"Thank you."

"And Poppy," Detective Reid adds.

"Yeah?"

"Get the hell out of New Orleans." He clears his throat.

"You got it."

I'm so close to the killer I can almost taste it.

"What did Jeff say?"

I've waited all Sunday morning to hear the verdict. Bree had an entire night, including a crawfish boil and a good night's sleep, to think about her moment with Jeff. Now that we're back in Georgia in our little apartment it's time for her to dish the details the way she'd make me do if the situation was reversed.

"I was wondering when the questions would come," she responds. "I'm surprised you didn't scrape the info from me last night."

"I was hoping you would tell me on your own time," I answer. "But I can't wait anymore."

"Sorry to get your hopes up, but we're not eloping or anything." Bree gently touches her cake pan and searches through our cupboards for ingredients.

"Are you sure nothing happened?" I study her as she pulls out sugar and vanilla extract. She's in the mood for baking—her way of dealing with life. "I'm pretty sure we both ate enough last night to last the week." Bree glances down at her mixer and shrugs.

"Fine." She visits the fridge next and grabs a stick of butter. "He wasn't going to bring it up, so I did. It was horrible."

"Oh, Bree." I place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry."

"He asked me out." She shakes her head.

"What?" I cover my mouth to hold back a giggle.

"Yeah." Bree brushes a strand of strawberry blonde hair from her forehead. "Can you believe that?"

"The nerve," I joke. But Bree frantically hunts for desserts. Her hands start to shake before she finds a few leftover pecans from her prior praline kick and pops one in her mouth.

"I said yes, Poppy. I don't know why I did that."

"You think it's possible that you might actually
like
him?"

"It's Jeff," she responds. "Do I need to remind you what he did our first semester? He's completely unpredictable. His workspace is always messy, and he likes death metal."

"So?" I grin, realizing that his unpredictability might be a good thing for Bree. I guess opposites do attract. But is that a good thing?

"
Death metal
," she reiterates. "He'd never be allowed in my parent's house if they knew that."

"Don't tell them." I smile, claiming a palmful of pecans for myself.

"Poppy, I know I sound hysterical, but I don't want to be responsible for my mother's sudden untimely death, okay?"

"Point taken." I settle on a kitchen chair, happy to be talking about her problems instead of mine. "But you have to admit it would be nice to show up with a date this year around Christmas time. I mean, what with Todd getting married and everything." Todd again. Bree's longtime crush, and the man responsible for all her late night sugar escapades. Bree should send him an invoice.

"Oh." Bree's expression changes. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Don't knock what you haven't tried, right?" My eyes wander across the surface of the counter and the many ingredients she's pulled out to start a new baking venture.

"It's easier when it's food," she admits.

"What desserts are you meshing together this time?" I tilt my head waiting for a New Orleans inspired combo. Maybe a crawfish cake or a Cajun gator doughnut?

"Carrot Lane cake." She pulls a bunch of carrots from the fridge. "I'm so close to getting it right. The perfect mix of carrot and Alabama Lane cake all in convenient cupcake form. Our regulars back at the cupcake shop will fall all over themselves when they taste it."

My pocket buzzes, and I pull out my cell phone.

"Yes?" I answer my phone.

"Poppy," a familiar voice responds. "I'm glad you answered." Chef Otto sounds out of breath. "Listen to me carefully, okay? I don't have much time." He lowers his voice, and I press the phone into my ear so I can hear him better.

"Chef, is everything alright?" I glance up at Bree as she begins grating fresh carrot for her cupcake batter.

"Poppy, you know how to get into my house," he proceeds. "My codes are still the same. I want you to come and get Susu."

"Why?" I ask. "Otto, what's going on?"

Chef Otto exhales loudly into the phone.

"Wait a couple of hours, and then come and get Susu," he whispers. His heavy breathing sends my thoughts spiraling out of control. I think about Karl's clue, the murder at the farmers' market, and the capo who may or may not be in town investigating. What if Otto knew who he really was this whole time?

"Are you serious?"

"I don't have time for questions," he snaps. He takes another long breath. "Just take care of Susu." The line goes dead, and I'm left staring at my cell phone with a wrinkled forehead.

"What does he want now?" Bree asks. She pulls out the butter so it can start to soften.

"He wants me to pick up Susu."

"Another trip to Atlanta?" Bree guesses. "You know, I think it's wrong of him to ask his students for favors like that."

"I like Susu, and something's up. He sounded…not like his usual showy self." I stand up and head for the door.

"Do you want to wait for my first batch of cupcakes?"

"No," I reply. "I'll text you when I get there."

Bree pauses.

"Huh? I'm not your mother, Poppy. I'm your roommate. And you're a grown woman." She chuckles at her own comment.

"I'm not kidding," I assure her. "I might be wrong, but if you don't hear from me in the next twenty minutes, call the police."

*   *   *

Chef Otto's rental house looks the same as usual. The garage is shut, and there's no sign of movement inside. The street looks pretty empty as well. Like the entire neighborhood is spending their Sunday evening on a beach somewhere. I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I walk up to the front door.
Stupid air conditioner.

My car is almost officially dead, and I should make Georgina pay for a new one.

I knock on the front door and wait for the Susu's familiar howl. I hear her barking from the back of the house, but no footsteps accompany it. I knock again—this time calling Chef Otto's name.

"Hello? Chef, are you home?"

No answer.

Maybe he's gone already? Maybe he called me from Atlanta?

I sigh, walking toward the garage to punch in the code. The garage door slowly rises and reveals a cherry red Ferrari. I stare at it. Chef Otto must be inside. I clench my jaw as I approach the door leading into the house. I gulp as I turn the knob, expecting to be greeted by an excited Italian pointer. Susu barks, but she doesn't come to meet me.

"Hello?" I call out. "Chef Otto, are you home?"

The hallway is dark like I just missed him. I ball my fists and walk quietly toward the kitchen where Susu is probably waiting in her crate. The house is eerily silent, and my heart begins pounding so loud that I hear it. I inch forward, eyeing Susu first as she barks at me from inside the kennel—one which she can leave anytime she likes thanks to the broken latch on the gate.

"Susu." I walk toward her. "What are you doing in there?"

"Leave her," a voice echoes through the kitchen. It takes me by surprise. My entire torso freezes like I'm stuck in the giant freezer at the student bakery. My legs—like blocks of ice—cease to function properly.

The voice behind me is raspy. It's new. It's unfamiliar.

It's him. Leo Bianco.

I'm too horrified to turn around and face him. The barrel of a gun could be glaring back at me. I let my hands hang at my sides and stare at Susu before I carefully turn my back to her. The two of us are usually in sync, and I know that Susu knows I'm scared for my life. I hope we both make it through the next few minutes.
Come on, Bree. Twenty minutes. Don't let me down
.

"You must be Poppy," the man says. I face him, studying his gray suit and thin, frail hands. He's much older than I thought he'd be, but he definitely looks the part. He carries himself with the same confidence as Gino Milani—a smug look on his face like he knows what I'm thinking. And sure enough, he's holding a gun in his hand. "Do you know who I am?"

"Leo Bianco," I reply. My eyes dart to the chair next to Leo. Chef Otto is shaking his head, and his hands are tied behind his back. Not an impossible hold to escape from, but then there's the matter of the lethal steel pointed at his head.

"Clever girl," Leo responds. He speaks distinctly, reminding me of a seasoned, older college professor. Leo has no fear in his eyes. Nothing about his demeanor seems anxious. He's here to fulfill his purpose, and any opinions from either party are irrelevant. In a way, his grace under pressure is almost admirable, but then I remind myself that he killed Karl. My lip quivers, and I can't stop it.

"I said a couple of hours, Poppy," Chef Otto mutters. His cinnamon brown hair is messy like he's been pulling at strands. His cheeks are scarlet, and his forehead glistens when he moves it. He glances down at Susu and then back up to me.

"Nonsense," Leo says casually, shifting the aim of his gun toward me. "Poppy is a curious one, just like you. She can join us. We were just having a little chat." He tilts his head toward Otto, and I take small steps toward him. "Grab a chair." I take a kitchen chair and set it next to Chef Otto. Leo waits for me to sit down. "Very good."

Chef Otto takes a deep breath and glares at Susu's kennel in front of him. I eye the kennel too and the broken latch on the door. Susu is standing on the other side. She watches her master intently, waiting for her next command. I've thwarted what might have been Chef Otto's exit strategy—a dog bite from behind.

"We are discussing business, Poppy," Leo continues, keeping his handgun pointed at me. My chest feels uncomfortably tight, and my palms feel sweaty. I try to focus on something other than my face being Leo's next target. Cakes. Classes. Cole.
This isn't working
.

"This is an interesting way to conduct business," I reply.

Leo chuckles.

"I appreciate your humor," he responds. "It really is too bad you stuck your nose where it didn't belong. Some people are unlucky in life, Poppy. Just like your friend at the old factory."

"Karl," I mumble.

"Was that his name?" Leo shrugs, as if killing Karl was as easy as getting up for breakfast. I squeeze my fists tight. "All I know is that he knew things and heard things that he shouldn't have. I'm afraid you've wandered into the same fate, Poppy."

Leo raises his gun slightly and takes a step toward me. I notice him flex the muscles in his neck as if he's about to hold his breath. His gun is aimed at my head, and there's no chance of him missing. He's going to shoot me.

Out of the corner of my eye, Chef Otto swiftly nods his head. Susu bursts free from her cage, letting out a startling bark that is so loud Leo loses his concentration. He instinctively lowers his gun to the floor as he turns around to face
his
fate. A growling, pissed-off Italian pointer with very sharp teeth.

Susu lunges at Leo before he has the chance to react. She leaps forward with everything she has, and the weight of her body is enough to knock Leo over. He lies on his back in shock.

Leo lets out a raspy scream when Susu takes her first bite. She instantly breaks skin, and the rage in her eyes and blood stained on her fur is a sight I never thought I'd see. This isn't the sweet, smart, lovable Susu I dog sit. This is a wild animal.

"Poppy," Otto shouts. I force myself to look away and help Chef Otto untie himself. My hands are shaky, but I manage to loosen the knots around his wrists. Leo screams again, attempting to aim his gun at Susu. I yank at the bonds holding Chef Otto prisoner and hope that we have enough time to get away unharmed and with Susu still breathing.

More barking and screaming pierce my eardrums. Chef Otto jumps to his feet and grabs my hand. He pulls me past the terrifying scene taking place on the kitchen floor. Leo screams out in pain, writhing under the weight of the beast on top of him. He clutches the bloodstained shoulder of his fancy suit, finally dropping his gun in the process.

There's no time to do anything but run. Otto stays fixated on the door leading back into the garage. He pulls out his car keys—his breathing so heavy that he's wheezing. Otto throws the door open and runs toward his bright red Ferrari.

"Get in!" he instructs. I waste no time listening to his orders. Otto whistles loudly, leaving the driver's door open as he revs the engine. He takes a couple of deep breaths and waits. Susu comes running at us—the fur around her mouth and neck tainted with Leo's blood. At first I feel like screaming at him to shut the door, but Susu's expression changes. She's back to being man's best friend and the sweet little Susu that lays her head in my lap, hoping for a scratch. She climbs onto my lap, and Chef Otto immediately slams his door shut.

I let out a scream as Susu barks.

Leo is standing at the garage door. One hand is planted on his shoulder, and the other is holding his gun. A bullet escapes from the barrel, making a loud pop that forces all the muscles in my body to stiffen. Otto speeds backward down the driveway. His car is just as loud as the gunfire. He whirls his Ferrari around, shifting gears automatically. My head hits the headrest as he punches the gas.