Rebel Without a Cake (11 page)

“That's okay,” she said. “I can get a list from the family and maybe you can look it over at some point to see if you notice anyone they left off.”

“I'd be happy to, though I'm not sure how much help I'll be.”

Georgie smiled and stood. “Whatever help you can give me will be just fine. Folks out here aren't real obliging in cases like this. They like to protect their friends and neighbors.”

I got out of my chair and nudged it up to the table. “Even if one of them is a killer?”

“That depends on who did the killing and who they took out,” Georgie said. “If there's anybody more hated in these parts than Silas Laroche, I couldn't tell you who it is. But he's also a native of the area, and I expect the locals will circle the wagons. So be careful, okay? This little town didn't get its name by accident. People around here are friendly enough, but they're not known for welcoming strangers or following the rules.”

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. But I don't plan to stick around any longer than I have to. As soon as you say it's okay for us to leave, we'll be out of here.”

Georgie gave me a weary smile. “You can go whenever you want. I've got your contact info so I can find you again if I need to.”

Even though the interview had gone well, hearing that made my knees weak with relief. I followed her back to the porch and sat down in the cane rocking chair next to Miss Frankie's.

She ran her eyes over me and spoke softly. “How did it go, sugar?”

“Fine. We're free to leave so once Bernice is ready, let's get out of here.”

Frowning lightly, Miss Frankie glanced at her watch. “It's nearly ten now. We won't get home until almost midnight.”

“That's not so late,” I said. “You and Bernice can sleep in the car if you want.”

“Of course.” She glanced at Bernice, who sat between Bitty and Aunt Margaret. “This looks bad for her family, doesn't it?”

“How so? The family was here with us all evening.”

“Except for Eskil.”

Okay, so there might be something to worry about there, but I had a free pass to get out of Baie Rebelle and I wanted to use it before Deputy Georgie changed her mind. “I wouldn't worry about Eskil. He was lost out on the water, remember?”

Miss Frankie glanced toward the family. “Yes, but Tallulah told us that he's had trouble with that Silas person. I'm sure you remember that.”

I sighed. “I do.”

Miss Frankie leaned her head back against the rocking chair. “So this Silas is dead and Eskil has several hours he can't account for. And I'm sure you've noticed his resemblance to Bernice's ghost.”

“Yes, but if he was in New Orleans, wouldn't that give him an alibi?”

“Maybe. But he had plenty of time to get back here before Silas died. I expect Bernice will want to stay until this whole mess is cleared up. Margaret already gave us a blanket invitation, and I think we should accept it.”

“But I can't stay here, Miss Frankie,” I said. “I've got work to do.”

“Tomorrow's Sunday,” she reminded me. “Zydeco is closed.”

“That's true, but I have a lot to do for the Belle Lune Ball,” I countered. I didn't mention the current hostility among staff members. Hopefully, it would blow over before Miss Frankie had to hear about it. “I need access to the Internet and my cell phone, and I doubt very much Baie Rebelle has reliable Internet service.”

To my surprise, Miss Frankie didn't argue with me. In fact, she patted my knee and smiled. “Well, whatever you think is best. I do think I'll stay here with Bernice, though. Maybe, if it's not too much trouble, you could stop by after work tomorrow and pack a bag for each of us. Just enough for a few days. Or would that be asking too much?”

She knew I couldn't say no when she put it that way, even though another trip to Baie Rebelle and back would eat half a day. But I didn't care. I'd actually won an argument with her. It wouldn't hurt me to compromise a little. I collected both of their house keys and set off for home. I wasn't all that worried about them being safe at Aunt Margaret's. Everybody in that house was probably carrying at least one gun. And if that was what Miss Frankie wanted, who was I to argue?

Really, I should've known better by now.

By some miracle I got myself out of bed on Sunday morning after hitting the snooze button only three times. I drove to work, arriving just before eight, and headed straight for the break room, where I made a pot of coffee, laced a cup of it with sugar and creamer, and then stifling a yawn, carried it to my office.

Morning sun bathed the front of the building, and I opened the blinds to enjoy it while I worked. Like the rest of the city, this neighborhood was all decked out for Halloween, some shops opting for a festive look and others trying for a more ghoulish atmosphere. At Zydeco we'd gone the festive route, tying bundles of hay with wide orange and black ribbons and arranging pots of mums and colorful gourds around them. I filled a dish on my desk with an assortment of Halloween candy—a guilty pleasure from childhood—and settled in to check my voice mail.

I had a couple of hang-ups, several inconsequential business calls, and a message from Uncle Nestor. Actually the last one wasn't really a message for me. It had probably been a pocket dial, and I could only understand about one-quarter of what my uncle was yelling at someone in his kitchen since most of it was in Spanish, which I'd never learned as well as I should've. My parents hadn't spoken Spanish at home so I didn't learn the language when I was young. When I moved in with my aunt and uncle, I'd been hurt and angry with the world, and for a while I'd viewed the differences between my dad and his older brother as some kind of betrayal. I'd stubbornly refused to respond to anything but English, and to my continued amazement, Uncle Nestor had given in to placate me. I hadn't recognized it at the time, but now I saw it as a measure of how much he loved me.

I'd picked up a few words along the way, of course. Uncle Nestor hadn't given up Spanish entirely. But most of the words I'd learned were the ones Aunt Yolanda would have washed out my mouth with soap for repeating.

Uncle Nestor seemed oblivious to the fact that he was being recorded. Not that he would have behaved all that differently if he'd been aware. He's fiery and hot-tempered, but under that rough façade he has a heart as big as the Grand Canyon. I always find his tirades more amusing when they're directed at someone else. Hearing him now made me homesick. Grinning, I hung up and made a mental note to call him later. And by later, I mean that I would call after I'd locked down the Vintage Clothing Society contract and told Miss Frankie about my Christmas plans.

The last message was from a woman who identified herself as Simone O'Neil, a member of the Belle Lune planning committee. She left two phone numbers and said she was eager to hear back from me. I had no idea what her office hours were, but I thought eight thirty on a Sunday morning might be a bad time to return her call.

I added another mental reminder to call her later as well then spent a few minutes sorting the mail that had piled up on my desk when I wasn't looking. After that, I wandered into the design room to check on the cakes in progress.

When I opened the door, I found Isabeau at her workstation rolling out some pale blue fondant. She was wearing pale pink sweats and a white T-shirt, and her summer blond hair was piled on her head in a messy bun.

I glanced around for Ox, figuring he must be around somewhere. He and Isabeau had been pretty much joined at the hip since they started seeing each other last year. It's not unusual for staff members to work on Sunday, especially when we have a large contract or we're running behind. As far as I knew, we were right on schedule, so I was surprised to find anyone other than me working that morning. Seeing Isabeau made me wonder if something had gone wrong after I left yesterday.

“Hey there,” I said to Isabeau. “Is there something on the schedule I don't know about?”

She gave me a low-wattage smile and shook her head. “No. I'm just playing around. I had some nervous energy and needed to burn it off.”

I tried to imagine a world in which I had energy to spare, but it wore me out just thinking about it. “I just made coffee. If I'd known you and Ox would be here, I'd have stopped for doughnuts.”

Isabeau picked up her knife, and then immediately put it down again. “You didn't say anything to Ox about what happened yesterday, did you?”

Uh-oh. I glanced around again to make sure he wasn't lurking somewhere. “No, I didn't.”

She sighed with relief. “Thank you! And don't worry, he's not here.”

I didn't know if that made me more confused or curious. “Is everything okay between the two of you?”

Isabeau nodded. “Sure. It's just that he gets so mad when I consult Mambo Odessa, and I don't know why. She's wonderful! A few months ago he told me not to go to her anymore, but I can't just stop consulting her, so now I have to sneak around behind his back.”

I'd known Ox for a while, and I knew that sneaking around on him, for any reason, was a bad idea. Isabeau hadn't asked for my advice, but I felt compelled to say something. “Do you think that's wise? If he finds out—”

Isabeau sat on her stool. “He's not going to find out. I'm way too careful.”

Famous last words of sneaks the world over.

“Anyway,” she went on, “he was acting weird last night and I thought maybe you'd said something.”

“I take it he's not a believer.”

“No, he's not. But that's what confuses me. Mambo Odessa is great at what she does. She's one of the best around, and she's perfectly normal.”

“If you don't count the bones she carries around on that string.”

“Sure, but she doesn't do a lot of weird, hinky things,” Isabeau protested. “You saw that for yourself.”

“She seemed pretty normal,” I agreed, privately thinking,
Except for the bones
.
On a string.
Followed by predictions of trouble for both Bernice and me.
Which were completely bogus as long as you didn't count Cousin Eskil getting lost on the swamp and the dead body I'd found in the ditch.

“And she's his aunt. His own aunt!”

I laughed and moved a little closer to her table. “I'm sure he loves her. You can love somebody and not agree with all their choices, you know. Sometimes you have to love people in
spite
of the things they do.”

Isabeau cut a straight line down a long piece of pale blue fondant. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me as long as there's no repeat performance of yesterday's house call. You said Ox was acting weird last night. How did things go after I left? Did you finish the Howard reunion cake or did you run into a problem?”

“No problems,” she said with a shrug. “We finished the cake last night and delivered it with time to spare. But since you asked, could you talk to Edie? She's being a real pain in the neck.”

I didn't tell her that I'd already tried talking to Edie. I didn't want to make things worse. “She's eight months pregnant,” I said, channeling my inner Captain Obvious. Isabeau didn't even blink so I caved in and asked, “What has she done now?”

“It's not what she does, it's the way she does it.” Isabeau blew her bangs out of her eyes and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “She's just being . . . Edie, only worse.”

On another day I might have laughed at that description, but Edie had been a walking time bomb for months now. The closer we got to her due date, the more emotional and irrational she seemed to get. “Hey, we were all upset by what happened the other night,” I said, “but the only real damage was that Dwight's birthday party ended too soon. Give it a day or two. Let's see if things blow over.”

Isabeau rolled her eyes dramatically. “I wouldn't hold my breath. Yesterday Edie told River she doesn't even want him around when the baby is born.”

I groaned inwardly. “I'm sorry to hear that, but their relationship is none of our business.”

“It was our business on Friday when she had us all race to the hospital. It was our business when she gave us ‘helpful hints' about how we could improve our performance. Sparkle and I were standing right by her desk when she told River that he's not reliable enough and she doesn't want him floating in and out of the baby's life. You can just imagine how Sparkle reacted.”

My least favorite part of supervising a staff is handling the personality conflicts and personal problems. Even though the staff at Zydeco is relatively small, they're all creative and sensitive and emotional. For the most part, I try not to get involved when they have problems with one another. I prefer to let them work out their issues on their own. Was I being cowardly or smart? I wasn't sure.

Isabeau seemed to read my mind. “You
have
to talk to her, Rita. You're her best friend and everybody is fed up with her. Sparkle's so afraid that her brother won't get to know his baby, she can hardly function. Plus, you're the baby's godmother. It's kind of your duty, isn't it?”

In all the excitement of the past two days, I'd almost forgotten that I'd made a lifetime commitment while under duress. I wasn't convinced that talking with Edie about her family issues fell under my jurisdiction as the baby's godmother, nor was I sure that I qualified as her best friend. Then again, maybe I did—but even that didn't make the prospect of having a chat with Edie about her personal life any more attractive.

To get involved, or not to get involved. That was the question. I promised Isabeau that I'd see what I could do and escaped to my office. I told myself not to even think about dead bodies, family feuds, or baby daddies. Channeling all my energy into staying focused on work, I checked e-mail and updated Zydeco's Facebook status. I wrote a couple of blog posts and scheduled them to automatically publish during the upcoming week.

But despite my best efforts, Silas Laroche's body kept flashing through my mind. I tried to remember how everyone had reacted to the news that he was dead, and struggled to recall where everyone had been throughout the evening. Unfortunately, the details escaped me. There had been too many people milling about, and too many faces with no names attached.

I was just shutting down my laptop when my cell phone began playing Inner Circle's “Bad Boys,” which meant it was Liam Sullivan calling. He'd been tied up with a case for the past few days so we hadn't spoken in a while. Hearing the theme from
Cops
chiming made my heart jump around in anticipation. Still, I tried not to sound like I was getting all jiggy inside when I answered.

My “hello” came out on a squeak, which killed the semisultry tone I'd been trying for.

“Hey there,” Sullivan said. “What are you up to?” He's got a great voice. I'm just saying.

“I'm at Zydeco catching up on some work. What about you?”

“Wondering if you're free for dinner tonight. Sorry about the short notice, but we just wrapped up a case and I'm suddenly at loose ends.”

Aunt Yolanda had always warned me not to appear too eager when it came to men. That's not always easy, especially when the man in question is as great as this one. And Sullivan with free time was one of my favorite things. “I'd love to,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Do you have someplace in mind?”

“I haven't even thought about it,” he admitted. “I just picked up the phone and dialed as soon as I knew I was free. What are you in the mood for? Chinese? Italian? Or would you prefer something homegrown? I know a great Cajun place in Houma. It's a bit of a drive, but the food is worth it.”

I'd been so glad to hear from him, I'd forgotten all about my promise to take Miss Frankie and Bernice their bags later on. I felt the drag of disappointment, but then I remembered how close Houma was to Baie Rebelle, and realized that I could kill two birds with one stone.

“I vote for the place in Houma. And while we're out that way, how would you like to take a drive to a little town called Baie Rebelle?”

He hesitated, but only for the space of a heartbeat. “Okay. Sure. What's in Baie Rebelle?”

“Miss Frankie and Bernice. They're staying with Bernice's aunt for a few days, and I promised to take them some clothes and things after work today.”

Sullivan chuckled. “I'm not even going to ask what they're doing there. You can fill me in on the way. It'll be good to see the two of them again.”

It was tempting to take him up on that offer not to tell him until later, but with Sullivan, honesty is always the best policy. Especially when I had nothing to hide. I told him about finding Silas Laroche in the ditch and filled him in on what little I knew about the man—which was almost nothing.

“He seems to have been universally disliked,” I said as I wrapped up the story. “Even the sheriff's deputy who responded to the call said as much. Miss Frankie is worried that they'll try to pin the murder on Bernice's cousin, but he was out on the water for most of the day. His boat ran out of gas and most of the town was searching for him. The thing is, I've been thinking about it all day and I'm sure the body wasn't in the ditch when we got there. Plenty of people would have seen it earlier. That means somebody put it there while we were inside having supper.”