Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (4 page)

"I don't like it," Bree mutters, stabbing a pile of black-eyed peas on her plate. "He's a liar."

"Oh come on," Jeff butts in. Bree's cheeks turn ruby red. "You know I had no choice but to help Mr. Harris smuggle those black truffles last year. I was being blackmailed."

"Yes, why don't you tell us more about that," Bree says through her teeth. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, but Jeff keeps a grin on his face. He downs the food on his plate like it's the first thing he's eaten in weeks. I glance across the table at Cole. He mouths the word
sorry
.

"Um, Jeff," I attempt to change the subject. "Why don't you tell us all about your plans to open that offbeat bagel shop you talked about our first semester?"

"Oh that." He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at Bree's cupcakes again. I don't know if it's the sugar he's after or the bourbon in the frosting. "I've moved on to something bigger and better."

"Really?" I reply.

"Uh-huh." Jeff pushes his plate aside, having finished his meal first. I'm still savoring the fried bits of Cole's catfish. Another new food I'd never eaten until I met him. "Picture this, okay." He glances up at the ceiling, his face glowing as if he's seeing his name in lights on the kitchen wall. "A sweet and savory taco shop."

My eyes stay focused on Cole. The two of us choke back laughter. I lean back in my seat, pretending to watch Susu lounging near the front door. She only begged for scraps once and then promptly left the kitchen after I said no.

Bree pauses, tilting her head and placing her fork lightly on her plate.

"
Sweet
tacos, you say?" She clasps her hands together with her elbows on the table. "Tell me more about that."

Jeff looks to me.

"Translation, please?" he mutters. "Is she being serious?"

"What?" Bree responds. "I can't be interested in sweet tacos?"

"You hated me two seconds ago," Jeff points out.

Franken-sweets.

"Have you ever tried baking cake batter in a taco?" Bree suggests. Jeff jerks his head back.

"Not yet," Jeff answers, leaning toward her.

I quietly stand up, retreating back to the living room as Bree and Jeff go on having a discussion about the taste of buttercream paired with hard tacos versus soft. Cole slowly pushes his chair back too, handing Jeff another cupcake before he becomes suspicious.

"Those two are an explosive combo," I whisper. Cole and I stand next to each other in the living room with Susu at our feet.

"Poppy, why didn't you tell me about the knife?"

The answer is simple. I don't want Cole to worry or worse. I don't want him to see me as a ditzy ballerina who is careless enough to let a killer steal her personal property.

The answer is simple, but saying it isn't simple at all.

"I was going to," I admit.

"You know this means we're back to walking on eggshells around here," he responds.

"I'll figure it out." I cross my arms, staring down at my sandals. I already have tan lines across my toes. "I've done it before."

"Barely," he adds. "Need I remind you what happened in Paris?"

I gulp. Bree and Cole are the only ones who know
all
the details of my time spent in France. Cole hated Lord Dovington the moment I told him about the diamond pendant he sent me. The story of my travels got easier after I came to the part where Lord Dovington was murdered.

"I don't need any reminding about that," I mutter.

Bree and Jeff are still debating the menu of Jeff's imaginary taco shop. Bree throws her hands in the air when Jeff bluntly states that corn tortillas taste better than flour ones. Her miniature temper tantrum—consisting of her yanking back her plate of cupcakes so Jeff can't have thirds—lightens the mood.

"Let's go," Cole says quietly. "We won't get anything done with those two bickering back and forth."

"It just so happens that I know exactly who Jeff wants to go see." I quickly retrieve my purse and grab Susu's leash.

"I'm game." Cole looks toward the kitchen. Bree and Jeff are so deep into their sweet taco debate that they've barely noticed they're alone at the table.

"Come on. It's time you met Nicky."

*   *   *

We pass a small town square close to campus, and I keep driving toward a gas station and convenience store. Nicky's Bar is right next to it. It's lit up with neon beer signs, and the tiny parking lot is filled with motorcycles. Cole hesitates to step out of the car.

"It's cool," I say. "Jeff brought me here that one time we went out." Emphasis on the
one
. I hold on to Susu's leash.

"How nice." Cole chuckles, watching me pet Chef Otto's Italian pointer. "I don't think you can bring her in here."

"Show me the sign that says
no dogs allowed
," I challenge him.

The outside of the bar matches the inside. We open the door to laughter near the pool tables and clinking beer glasses. Music drowns out the rest of my thoughts. I let out a sigh of relief that it's classic rock instead of country western. Country music is still growing on me.

Behind the bar serving drinks is the man we came here to see. He looks as if he's wearing the same exact outfit as before—an orangey flannel shirt that is tucked in to show his bloated beer belly. Nicky's facial hair hasn't changed either. A thin strip of stubble outlines his jaw like a chinstrap. I approach the bar with a smile on my face, wondering just how good Nicky's memory is. I guess this'll be the test.

"Hi," I say. Susu studies the men around us, firmly picking her stance in between me and the rest of the customers.

"So, you decided to come back." Nicky smirks, peering over the counter at Susu's amber coat. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd scared you away. Two cold ones?" Cole spots the end of a baseball game on the tiny TV near the bathroom. His eyes are glued to it. I nod at Nicky, waiting for him to place a cool, frothy mug in front of me.

"Is it okay that Susu's here?" I ask. "The inside of my car is like sitting in a skillet."

"Hey," Nicky shouts, demanding everyone's attention. "Any of y'all have a problem with this furry fella being here?"

The bar falls silent for a few seconds before conversations and games of pool resume without any objections.

"There you go." Nicky chuckles, his belly jiggling slightly.

"Thanks." I tell Susu to sit at my feet, and she obeys. "Uh, Nicky?"

"Darlin'?" His Southern accent is thicker than most. Sometimes it just sounds like mumbling.

"You watch the news," I begin. "Did you hear about that incident yesterday—"

"Oh, the farmers' market," he finishes. "Yeah, I saw that. Poor Tallulah. Her ma says she's still shaken up about it." He grabs a damp rag and wipes a few droplets of spilled spirits. He leans in a little closer, his gut up against the counter. "I hear the guy was some kind of gang banger. He worked for a mob boss up north."

"Really?" I let out a fake gasp, pretending I'm hearing the information for the first time. It seems that Nicky hasn't heard yet whose knife the killer used. "A guy like that was staying in town all this time?"

"Just goes to show that some people aren't what they seem." Nicky shrugs, organizing a row of empty beer mugs. Cole glances at us for a few brief seconds and focuses back on the baseball game.

"Do you know where he was staying?" I ask. "One of the motels in town maybe?"

"No," he replies. "He rented the apartment above Ward's Hardware Store. He's been around for a few weeks."

"Did he ever come here?"

"Nah." Nicky chuckles. "He's the sort of man who takes his liquor home."

A tempting smell wafts through the room as Nicky retrieves a basket of crisp beer-battered fries from the kitchen window. He promptly delivers the order to a nearby table, leaving me to watch the steam rising from the fried potatoes slowly slip away. My first taste of those fries was last year, and they look like they're still just as good. Salty. Crunchy. And greasy.

"Want a basket?" Nicky asks. The talk of food pulls Cole away from his baseball game. "It's Pop's old recipe."

"I remember."

"We'll take some," Cole chimes in.

"We just ate," I mumble. Cole shrugs, and Nicky lets out a hoarse chuckle.

"Folks can never say no," Nicky comments, putting in another fry request.

Cole glances back at the TV.

"Cole." I touch his shoulder. "Have you been listening to anything we've been saying?" He turns to look at me but only for a brief second. "Honestly, is baseball really that important?"

"Poppy, look." He clears his throat and casually tilts his head toward the small screen at the edge of the pool hall. No baseball. Instead a newscaster is reporting the latest in national news including a very important
breaking
development. Notorious crime boss Vito Bianco, better known as "More Dough" Bianco, is officially on his deathbed having been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer only two years ago.

"I don't get it," I say quietly. "If he's on his deathbed why would he be sending men
here
of all places?"

"Business as usual?" Cole guesses.

"With who?" I glance around the bar. "Guys like that don't bother with tiny little towns like this one."

"Maybe he has a score to settle?" Cole guesses again.

"You mean like…murder?" I lower my voice as Nicky pours refills for another group. I quickly touch my mug of beer. "Do you think Gino Milani was in town to
kill
someone?" I glance around, making sure no one is eavesdropping. "Who?"

"You know where he was staying, right?" Cole asks quietly.

"Above the hardware store down the street." I take a swig of my drink.

"Well then," he follows suit, chugging the foamy contents of his glass, "let's go find out, Lil' Mama."

Ward's Hardware Store looks empty, and that's what worries me. The store sits at the end of the tiny town square that includes a pharmacy, a grocery store, and a few offices. It's one of those pass-through streets you only stop at if you really, really need the toilet on your drive toward the city.

The hardware store is the last unit of a row of tall brick buildings that take up most of the block. We park around back where there is a wooden staircase leading up to a door on the second floor. I hang on tight to Susu's leash as dirt is blown into the scorching air by a gust of warm wind. I cover my mouth but start coughing anyway.

"Maybe this is a bad idea," I say.

"Wandering around campus at night," Cole responds, referring to our late-night debacles last year, "now
that
was a bad idea." He heads for the second floor apartment, and the wooden steps creak as we walk up them. There's a window next to the front door, but the deck stops just before it. Cole tries the doorknob first. Locked.

"How are we supposed to get in?"

"Maybe now is a good time to show off those lock-picking skills you bragged about last year," he jokes. I glare at him. "Or not."

Cole leans over the railing and tries the window. He grins when he's able to slide the glass high enough to stick his fingers underneath. I nod, impressed as he pulls the window up and pushes in the screen.

"How are you going to get in?"

As soon as I say it, he's standing on the railing. His eyes dart from his feet to the window and back again. Susu takes a few steps forward like she knows what Cole's about to do. I cringe.

"Don't jump!" I blurt out.

Cole narrows his eyes, leaning down and placing his feet on the other side of the railing. He hangs onto a bar with one hand and extends his other to the open window. His arm span barely reaches the windowsill. Cole leans back in order to get a good grip. I bite the inside of my cheeks, watching him make the transition from the railing. He pulls himself through the opening with ease, like a monkey hopping from tree to tree.

The inside of the front door clicks open, and Cole stands smiling on the other side. His blue-green irises sparkle in the sun. I step inside, forcing myself to concentrate on something other than his impressive physique.

But my heart won't stop fluttering.

The apartment is small, though not as small as the studio apartment I stayed in back in Paris. There's an unmade bed in the corner, a bathroom, a kitchen counter with a sink and a microwave, and an armchair next to a desk with a television on top of it. I wrinkle my nose. The whole place smells musty, like it hasn't been dusted in years, and there's a strange-looking water stain imprinted on the wall.

"Check this out." Cole digs through an open bag on the armchair. The faded red fabric, matching the throw pillows on the bed, is starting to rip at the seams. The curtains framing the window above the kitchen sink look like they used to be white lace.

"This place gives me the creeps," I respond.

"Look." Cole hands me a brand new set of binoculars. "And that's not all." He holds up a little black day planner. Cole wastes no time thumbing through it. He stops when he comes to a date with a few scribbles. "Looks like there's a
family
meeting in New Orleans in two weeks."

"He won't be making that."

"Nope." Cole flips pages until he gets to the very end of the date book. Tucked behind the back page is a newspaper clipping. He scratches the side of his smoothly shaven chin and carefully opens it. "Woman dies in house fire?" he says out loud.

"Where?"

He glances at the article again.

"Pascagoula, Mississippi," he answers. "I've been there. It's only a couple of hours from Louisiana." He looks at the paper again, studying the smears of ink and yellowing of the delicate page. "This is old. Look, there's even a picture of the woman. I don't know why he would keep this?"

Susu trots toward the front door and growls. Cole and I look at each other as the sounds of footsteps trudge toward us. My chest tightens, and I tug at Susu's leash. Cole grabs my hand and pulls me into a tight closet opposite the bathroom door. He closes it gently, leaving the two of us crouching next to each other in the dark with Susu sitting at my side.

I place a hand on my pounding heart. The front door creaks, and a figure enters the apartment. Light spills in from underneath the closet door, but pieces of it are blocked by feet. Someone is in the room, pacing between the bed and the kitchen counter. I take deep breaths.

Cole's hand squeezes mine, and I look at him. Our eyes lock in the dim light. It's the first time in a long time we've spent this much time alone. He leans in close enough that I can smell his minty breath. It calms me down a little. I think back to the first time we met outside of the student bakery and all the secrets we've shared since. Cole was the first man to introduce me to sweet tea. He was also the first man to smile at me when I took extra helpings of Bree's double chocolate fudge cake.

As Cole moves closer, I imagine the two of us doing what I never thought we'd do. My heart races, and my cheeks feel fiery. My palms begin to sweat, and the sound of our mystery guest walking through the apartment blurs out around me.

I want to know what Cole's thinking. If he's picturing the two of us together like I am. My first kisses with the men I end up dating never go the way I expect them to. They're either a letdown or a welcome surprise.

Whatever connection exists between us draws us in closer and closer. I can't stop it. Cole's arm flexes as he softly caresses the side of my face. His lips move toward mine until they finally touch. The warmth of his skin travels through my body, extending to the tips of my toes.

I'm yanked back to reality when Susu lets out a low bark.

Cole and I snap back into our regular positions.

Footsteps run toward us, and I squint as sunshine fills the closet. Susu barks again. This time it's at the end of a metal barrel that is pointed right at me. I clench my fists, transported back to the Parisian opera house where this happened to me once before. I barely made it out alive.

"Poppy?" Detective Reid lowers his gun. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Cole and I recite in unison. I blush like a teenage girl caught playing seven minutes in heaven with her science lab partner.

"Get out of there," he scolds the two of us.

I quickly jump to my feet and head for the door.

"Sorry," I mutter. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Stop," Detective Reid instructs. "Turn around and
explain
."

"Explain what?" I nervously glance at Cole.

"Explain what you're doing here," Detective Reid continues. "How did you find this place?"

"I asked around," I answer, gripping Susu's leash tighter.

"You shouldn't be here." Derek looks from me to Cole. "My sources say that Bianco has mobilized a capo to come and take Gino's place. He might even be in town already. Poppy, this guy's even more dangerous. You should stay on campus. We have officers on patrol there."

"Of course," Cole agrees with him. "Our apologies, Detective." He tilts his head toward the way out.

"Hang on." I fail to follow Cole back outside. "What are
you
doing here?"

Derek raises his eyebrows. He paces around the room, gathering the rest of Gino's things into a pile on the bed.

"Clearing up the last of his stuff," he responds. "It's my job…and
yours
is to bake cakes, not trap criminals." He tosses Gino's shiny new binoculars into the pile and does a sweep through the bathroom. He sighs, picking up a half-used bar of soap and a shaving razor.

"Poppy, let's go." Cole calls to me from the deck outside.

My eyes fixate on the familiar peach color of the bar in Detective Reid's hand. I waltz right up to him and snatch it—my eyes as wide as puffy beignets. Derek makes a sour face when I smell it and nod.

"The soap sisters," I mumble.

"Come again?"

"I know this soap," I say. "It's a Peach Tea Bar from Sweet T Soaps. Gino must have bought it at the farmers' market the morning before he died."

"So?" the detective replies.

"
So
…" I laugh, staring at the lightly colored bar speckled with tea grains in my hand. "…That means Karl was right. The soap sisters
did
talk to him."

"Interesting." Despite his criticisms about my rightful place in this investigation, Derek takes back the soap and studies it. I lead Susu back outside and roll my eyes.

Those little liars.