The Cakes of Wrath (12 page)

For the twentieth time in an hour, I felt a sharp jab in my side followed by Pearl Lee's rapid-fire prattle as she nudged me, then made an off-color comment about the petunia parts I had her sorting for me. I spent most of the morning dusting the petunias I'd made earlier in the week with blue pearl dust so they'd be ready for the addition of stems and stamens. I say “dusting” but what I really mean is “
trying
to dust.” I was failing miserably.

Doing anything with Pearl Lee underfoot turned out to be a job slightly more difficult than herding feral cats. No wonder Miss Frankie had handed her off to me. Pearl Lee's mind flitted from topic to topic without warning, usually landing on something involving men or sex. Or men
and
sex. She had a throaty laugh and probably would have had an infectious smile under all that dark red lipstick if not for the Botox. If I hadn't been responsible for her, I might even have found her amusing and eccentric. But I was responsible and she was, literally, a pain in the ribs.

I'd told the staff that Pearl Lee was here to learn some new skills, which was technically true. And anyway, it seemed kinder than telling the absolute truth. Not surprisingly, she bounced from task to task without finishing a single one as evidenced by the teetering stack of half-finished boxes, a roll of stickers with the Zydeco alligator and cake logo that had rolled under a table an hour ago and was still there, and a sink full of bowls that she claimed needed to soak. She'd interrupted me with so many questions I could barely form a thought, and I could tell that she was having the same effect on the rest of the staff. Isabeau had stopped chattering and plugged into a set of headphones so she could tune Pearl Lee out. Sparkle had disappeared with her cell phone twenty minutes earlier, and Estelle had scraped off the leaves she was piping onto the petunia cake three times already. Only Dwight seemed unaffected by Pearl Lee's constant interruptions.

We had far too much work to do to let her continue distracting us, so I gave up trying to finish the petunias and suggested that Pearl Lee help me pick up supplies. Ox gave my idea an enthusiastic thumbs-up and took over the petunias so I could leave with a clear conscience. Edie pulled together a list of items we needed, and a little after noon Pearl Lee and I set off on foot. Edie's list included items from both the market and the office supply store. Noting a few perishable items on the market list, I decided to stop there last.

The horrible humidity we'd experienced earlier in the week had faded a bit, so the summer heat was almost bearable. We strolled slowly along the sidewalk, partly because of the temperature and partly because Pearl Lee's shoes weren't actually made for walking. I took advantage of the pace to get her version of the events that had landed her in my shop. Maybe if I understood what made her tick, I'd have a better chance of making her time at Zydeco work for everyone.

I decided to start with the basics. “Is this your first visit to New Orleans?” I asked. “Or did you grow up here?”

Pearl Lee had linked her hands behind her back and walked with her face tilted toward the sky. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye and said, “I grew up here, just a hop, skip, and a jump from Frances Mae.”

“Where was that, exactly? I know she grew up in the area, and I know her family owned a lot of land, but that's about it.”

Pearl Lee tucked one hand under my arm and smiled—I think. It was hard to tell since her face didn't move. “Uncle Leroy and Aunt Caroline—that's Frances Mae's mama and daddy—lived in the old family place out in Vacherie. You ever been out that way?”

I shook my head in answer to her question. “I've only lived in New Orleans for a year and Zydeco keeps me pretty busy. I haven't done much looking around.”

Her dark eyes flashed and I thought she must have been stunning when she was younger. She still would be if her face hadn't had that plastic quality. “Oh, baby, you should try to get out there. It's a lovely place. The best part of the whole week was going over to Aunt Caroline's to play. She had trunks of old clothes up in the attic, and us girls used to dress up and pretend we were belles of the ball.”

Her eyes grew dreamy with memory. “Aunt Caroline Thibodeaux was Mama's older sister. She married well.” Another facial tick that might have been a smile. “She married
real
well. The Thibodeauxes had scads more money than us Dumonds. Don't get me wrong. We had money. But Caroline certainly elevated herself.”

Did I detect a note of bitterness? Envy? Miss Frankie was tight-lipped when it came to her family history. Pearl Lee seemed more willing to share, so why not let her? “Were Caroline and your mother close?”

“Close as sisters can be, I guess. They had their good moments and their bad ones, like any of us. When I was a girl—oh, maybe four or five—the two of them had a falling-out. Didn't speak for nearly ten years. They patched things up eventually, but it was rough going for a while.”

I was so interested in her story I wasn't watching where I was going. I hit an uneven patch of sidewalk and nearly lost my balance, but I didn't let that distract me. “They didn't speak for ten years?”

“Didn't speak. Refused even to be in the same room.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Of course, that meant that the rest of us had to tiptoe around to see each other, and Lord help us if Mama found out we'd talked to one of Caroline's brood. But we did it anyway.” She slipped me a sly look. “The Dumonds are known for doing whatever they want.”

“I've noticed,” I said with a grin. I wondered if the rift between her mother and her aunt might explain why Miss Frankie was so concerned about Edie and her mother. “How old was Miss Frankie when they had their disagreement?”

“Well, let's see. She's ten years older than me, so she was probably fourteen or thereabouts.”

“Do you know what came between them?”

Pearl Lee shook her head. “No, baby, my parents' generation didn't talk about things like that. None of us kids had the foggiest idea. It was something my mama did to upset Aunt Caroline, though. I do know that. The only communication they had in all those years was when Aunt Caroline sent a letter demanding an apology before some big family event. Mama never gave one, but that didn't stop Aunt Caroline from demanding it.”

I was beginning to think my family was the exception to some rule I'd never heard of. Uncle Nestor and my cousins might fly off the handle from time to time, but if they were angry, they'd make sure you and everyone else around knew why. Sometimes the way they aired everything in front of anyone who wanted to listen filled me with resentment, but I think I'd rather have that than the silent treatment.

“What about your grandparents? Didn't they step in?”

“I'm sure they tried,” Pearl Lee said. “But my mama was one stubborn woman. She never did listen to them, and Uncle Ellis—Mama and Aunt Caroline's big brother—just ignored the whole thing.”

“Then what finally brought them back together?”

“Why, Frances Mae, of course. She was married and a Renier by then, but she came home one day and sat down with each of them. She must have had a real come to Jesus with them. To this day, none of us has any idea what she said, but whatever it was, it worked. Mama wrote a note of apology and everything went back to normal.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, sure. Aunt Caroline had her apology. That's all she ever wanted.”

I bit back a smile and tried to imagine anyone in my family letting go just like that. Well, no wonder Miss Frankie was so determined to work on Edie and her mother. She'd successfully conducted peace talks before, so why not do it again? But now I worried that the promise I thought I'd extracted from her a few hours earlier had been nothing more than lip service.

In spite of her flighty personality, I found myself enjoying Pearl Lee's company. Which may or may not have lulled me into a false sense of security.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what happened next. We were nearly at the office supply store when the door to Paolo's Pizza opened and four or five people poured out onto the street. I barely had time to register Edgar Zappa's sunlit blond hair among them when Pearl Lee impaled me with a razor-sharp elbow and whispered, “Who is that?”

I followed the direction of her gaze and was surprised to realize she wasn't staring at Edgar but at a man wearing khakis and a Hawaiian print shirt. His hairy legs ended in a worn pair of Birkenstocks, and a ponytail held by half a dozen bands trailed down his back. Going out for pizza the day after Destiny died? That seemed odd to me, but I guess to each his own. If he'd been a woman, his friends would have flooded the house with food and comfort. Maybe guys went for pizza when things got rough.

“That's Scotty Justus,” I said. “His daughter died yesterday.”

Pearl Lee blinked at me. “Seriously? What happened? Was she in an accident?”

“Actually, they think she died of an overdose.”

Pearl Lee gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. “No!”

“Yeah. He's taking it all pretty hard.” At least yesterday I thought he was. Standing there on the curb with a cigar in one hand and a red plastic to-go cup in the other, he didn't give off the vibe I might have expected from a man who'd just lost his daughter.

“He's quite a looker, isn't he?” Pearl Lee whispered.

“I . . . suppose so,” I said. “But I think he's taken. I'm pretty sure he's been seeing the woman who owns the yoga studio we just passed.”

A calculating gleam danced in Pearl Lee's eyes. “Are they married?”

“No, but I think they're in a committed relationship.” I might have been exaggerating that part. I really had no idea how committed Scotty and Zora were. I just knew that she'd seemed mighty comfortable at the house last night.

“Well, if they're not married, that means he's still on the market, doesn't it?”

“No,” I said, scowling. “It means exactly the opposite.”

Pearl Lee tried to make a pouty face. I think. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud, Rita. Life's too short. It won't hurt to say hello, will it?”

“It might. The man just lost his daughter,” I reminded her. “I don't think he's interested in making new friends right now.”

“But his loss is all the more reason to offer a hand of friendship. Come on. Introduce me.” She grabbed my arm and started walking toward Scotty.

I sighed in frustration, but I went along. I knew I couldn't stop her, but maybe I could minimize the damage—or slip into the hardware store for some duct tape to put over her mouth. “Keep her busy,” Miss Frankie had said. “Keep her away from men.” So far, I'd failed on both counts.

• • •

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. That's what Aunt Yolanda used to tell me. Pearl Lee's interest in Scotty was definitely a lemon, but after my initial reluctance passed, I saw an opportunity to chat with Edgar again. I wondered if he had any new thoughts about what happened to Destiny, or if he'd picked up on any talk going around. Considering my suspicions about the nature of his relationship with Destiny, I thought it strange that Moose hadn't mentioned Edgar as someone with an axe to grind. Destiny had told me that she was with Edgar when the van sped away, but what if she'd been covering for him?

Still holding my arm, Pearl Lee sashayed toward Scotty to strike up a conversation. Since I had reasons of my own to approach the group, I didn't try very hard to stop her.

I can't say Scotty looked pleased to see me, but he didn't look displeased so I took that as a good sign. Maybe Detective Winslow hadn't turned him against me after I left yesterday, though I'm sure it wasn't for lack of trying.

Pearl Lee fluttered her eyelashes at Scotty while I performed the introductions then she released my arm as a signal that I was free to go. I hesitated for an instant, but it was broad daylight and there were people around. And besides, Scotty was an adult fully capable of telling Pearl Lee “no.” She might even listen to him.

Edgar had already moved away from the others and I wanted to catch him before he went back to work. I didn't have time to think of an excuse for chasing him down, so I had to just jump in with both feet. I set off after him, catching up a few feet from EZ Shipping. “Edgar?” I called before he could slip inside. “Do you have a minute?”

His pale blue eyes narrowed slightly. I figured he was surprised to see me standing there. “I guess so,” he said. “What's up?”

“I've been wondering how you're holding up. Are you doing okay?”

He nodded uncertainly. “Sure. I mean . . . you know.”

“Yeah. Um, I know this is probably a bad time, but the police don't seem to be making any progress finding the driver of the van that almost hit Moose and me the other night. Destiny told me that you were standing near the dollar store and you saw the van. Would you mind telling me what you saw?”