Cake on a Hot Tin Roof (15 page)

I felt a little tingle of anticipation. “Do you remember what time that was?”

“Maybe eleven? It was a while before we served the King Cake. That’s all I remember.” She delivered the last line with a pointed look that said the dance was over.

I wanted to keep digging, but I knew she wouldn’t give me more right now. Getting to my feet, I hugged her quickly. “Thanks, Estelle. At least that gives me a place to start.”

“You’re welcome.” Her cheeks turned pink with pleasure. “Anything I can do to help.”

I pondered what I’d just heard as I carried my coffee cup back to my office. I’d had a few questions before, but my conversation with Estelle had brought it up to a full baker’s dozen. I tried to sift through them by remembering what I already knew. I thought about Mellie’s claim that she’d been looking for Judd by the pool and realized I’d never asked whether she found him. I thought about Big Daddy’s connections in Musterion and wondered if someone in the krewe had been responsible for his death. And what about his business empire? After meeting Big Daddy just once, I could easily believe he had a few disgruntled employees in his past, or business deals gone sour, and Mellie had certainly backed up those suspicions.

I knew he had an issue with Percy Ponter, but I had no idea what it was. And now it appeared that the current Mrs. Boudreaux had been unhappy with her husband shortly before he died.

A loud crash sounded from the kitchen, jerking me out of my thoughts. I turned toward it just as someone behind me called my name. “Rita? Thank goodness you’re here! Got a minute? We have a problem with the sheeter.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Isabeau hurrying toward me, her blond ponytail bouncing with every step.

“Sure,” I said, trying not to sigh. There were far too many questions and not nearly enough time to find the answers.

Twenty

I called and left a message for my cousin Santos, asking him to get back to me as soon as he had a minute. Then I began sorting through the top layer of paperwork on my desk—all stuff that hadn’t been here last time I looked.

I found a few pieces of mail, some important, the rest junk. An updated calendar for the week and an article clipped from the newspaper about the Hedge-Montgomery wedding. Two e-mails from Edie informing me about consults she’d added to my already crowded schedule and a memo from Ox reminding me that I still hadn’t approved the content for the web page he was so up in arms about.

The light on my desk phone flashed on and off, alerting me that I also had voice mail.

Groaning aloud, I buried my head in my arms on top of the paperwork. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

I indulged in my pity party for about three seconds, then lifted my head, vowing to press on. During those three seconds, Ox materialized in the doorway. Dark stubble had sprung up on his usually clean-shaven head, and his chef’s jacket was so wrinkled it looked like origami gone wrong.

I gave a little yelp of surprise and sat up quickly. “You startled me,” I said. “I didn’t hear you there.”

“Napping?” he asked with a sardonic quirk of an eyebrow.

“Hardly,” I said, doing my best to quirk back. “Wishing for the world to open up and swallow me whole.” I motioned him into the office and waved him toward one of the chairs in front of my desk. “What’s up?”

“You have to ask?”

“If it’s about the web page—” I began.

He cut me off before I could finish. “It’s about the murder last night.”

I’m pretty sure the fact that I actually felt a ripple of relief says something strange about me. “What about it?”

Ox cocked an ankle on his knee and rested both burly forearms on the chair’s arms. “Your connection to it, however coincidental, it’s not good for business.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When it did, I laughed in disbelief. “Surely you’re not implying that this is somehow my fault.”

“No, but your uncle…”

I put the cup down carefully so I wouldn’t accidentally fling the coffee in his face. “
What
about my uncle?”

“Oh, come on, Rita. He belted the dead guy in the face last night. He’s a person of interest in the murder.”

My ears began to buzz. “And? Is that it? Come on, Ox. You know better than that. You were in the same position just a few months ago.”

Ox held up both hands in surrender. “I never said I thought he was guilty. I’m just saying that I don’t think having you front-and-center is the best thing for Zydeco right now.”

I scowled so hard my forehead hurt. “I’ve already had this conversation with Edie. It’s not your call.”

“It’s nothing personal,” he assured me. “Frankly, this couldn’t come at a worse time. So if you’re thinking that I’m trying to nudge you out of the way, stop. That’s not it at all.”

I stared at him for a long time, surprised to find that I believed him. “I’m thinking about Zydeco, too,” I said. “The staff has already been through enough. If I run and hide right now, it’s going to make things worse than if I just take it on the chin.”

He wagged his head again. “I don’t know—”

“Listen,” I said, cutting off his argument before he got started. “I’m still trying to establish myself here with the staff. How I deal with this will either make me or break me. They need to see that I’m willing to stand up and fight for this place—and for them if that’s ever necessary.”
The way I did for you
, I added silently.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw a spark of respect in Ox’s dark eyes. “And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Show up. Come inside and do the work.” I sounded tougher and more together than I felt, but Aunt Yolanda had been telling me for years to fake it until I could feel it and that’s exactly what I was going to do now.

Ox regarded me for a long moment and then changed the subject. “How’s your uncle holding up?”

Genuine concern tugged at the corners of his mouth and poked big holes in the anger I’d been feeling. I was worried, and the draw of confiding in a friend was impossible to resist. I told Ox about the heart attack and what I knew about his doctor’s orders. “He’s supposed to be resting and avoiding stress. Some joke, huh?”

“All the more reason for taking a couple of days off,” Ox said. “Stay home. Keep an eye on him. Show both of them the city and party a little. It’s your first Mardi Gras, so go enjoy it with your family. It will do you all good.”

I laughed. “You don’t know my uncle. He’s not one for crowds. Really, the best thing for him would be to get him off the police department’s radar screen. If I could find a witness who could place him somewhere besides the pool at the time of the murder, I’m sure that would clear him of any suspicion.”

Ox shook his head. “To do that, you’d have to interview all two hundred guests and the country club’s staff.”

“All I need is one reliable witness. What time did
you
leave the party?”

“I don’t know. One? Maybe a little after. I don’t remember. Why?”

“Were there still guests by the pool? Do you remember? Or had they cleared out by then?”

He gave that some thought before he answered. “There were a lot of people around the pool earlier, but they all started migrating back to the clubhouse around midnight for the captain’s speech and the King Cake.”

That’s how I remembered it, too. “Did you see Uncle Nestor?”

“Not that I recall.”

“How about Big Daddy? Do you remember seeing him?”

Ox gave me a look. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“What? Asking questions?”

He dipped his head once, a silent affirmation.

“We’re talking about my uncle,” I reminded him. “The man who raised me. I’m not going to let the police and everyone else treat him like a criminal. So: Did you see Big Daddy before you left the party?”

He gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah.”

“Where was he? What was he doing?”

“Upstairs. At the far end of the hall by one of the trophy cases. Big Daddy and his brother were up there together. I got the impression they didn’t want anyone to know they were there.”

So Big Daddy and Judd had connected during the evening. I wondered how that had gone. “Did they say anything to you?”

Ox shook his head. “No, and I didn’t say anything to them. I hit the head and went back to the party. Isabeau and I left about fifteen minutes later.” He shifted in his chair, leaning forward to hold my gaze. “Just let the police do their job, okay?”

“Is that what you’d do if
your
uncle was in trouble?”

Ox sighed heavily and looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Yeah. It is.”

Sure. And seven-layer double-fudge cake with buttercream icing is low in calories. “I’m not trying to figure out who killed Big Daddy,” I argued. “I’m just trying to provide Uncle Nestor with an alibi.”

“If he had one, don’t you think he’d have told you?”

I shook my head. “He hasn’t told anybody anything,” I said. “And besides, he doesn’t know anyone around here. Even if he was standing somewhere in full view of a dozen guests, he can’t exactly name names.”

The look in Ox’s eyes turned skeptical, which threw cold water on the warm fuzzies of friendship I’d felt only moments before. “He’s my uncle,” I said again. “I owe him everything. And I’m going to
do
everything I can to clear him.”

“I don’t like it,” Ox said. He stood and crossed to the door, but stopped on the threshold and looked back at me. “Just be careful.” His voice was surprisingly gentle.

“Of course.” I had no intention of putting myself in danger. I’d just ask a few questions. That’s all.

Goes to show how wrong a person can be.

Twenty-one

I spent the rest of the afternoon working alongside the staff in the production line, trying to prove that I was one of them. As it always does, working with my hands relaxed me, and after a while I felt the knots in my shoulders loosen. Even the headache I’d been blaming on exhaustion began to fade.

I’m sure the staff’s mood helped. Their excited chatter about their Mardi Gras plans helped me remember that the world hadn’t stopped spinning when Big Daddy left it.

Their enthusiasm was infectious, and soon I was caught up in the planning and laughter. As an outsider, I’d had some preconceived notions about Mardi Gras, but I was quickly learning that it wasn’t all alcohol and bared breasts. The people in New Orleans love to party, and since Katrina, they’ve approached life with a unity that’s sometimes surprising. As Estelle had pointed out to me a few weeks earlier, the people of New Orleans party for Jesus, for the devil, for any excuse they can find. The party is the important thing.

When Philippe opened Zydeco two years earlier, he’d decreed the Sunday before Mardi Gras an official bakery holiday. The entire staff and their families attended the Krewe of Musterion parade, followed by the Krewe of Bacchus parade, and everyone went in costume. I’d been warned that they took great pains to keep their costumes secret until the great reveal an hour before the parade started.

I’d been meaning to figure out what I’d wear, but somehow work always got in my way. Now, as I listened to the others talk, I realized it wouldn’t be a simple matter of stopping by a costume shop and handing the clerk my credit card. If I’d wanted to do that, I should have come up for air weeks ago.

I could feel tension crawling up my spine again, but I did my best to shake it off. I’d learned at Uncle Nestor’s knee, and look how that had turned out for him. I didn’t want to worry myself into the hospital.

Putting the murder and my ever-growing to-do list out of my mind for the time being, I concentrated on the music playing on the stereo in the corner and tuned out the conversations around me. I lost myself in the scents and sounds of the world I love best. I could hear the phone ringing almost nonstop in Edie’s corner, and I hoped that the calls coming in were orders for cakes, not reporters looking for a story. And then I put that worry out of my head, too.

After a while, Isabeau caught my attention and motioned to something behind me. I turned to find Detective Sullivan lounging against the door frame. He gave me a little chin jerk in greeting and pushed away from the wall with his shoulder.

I had a feeling he wasn’t here on a social visit, but I told myself not to assume the worst. Maybe he was here to tell me that Uncle Nestor was in the clear. Maybe they’d arrested someone—someone else. Maybe the nightmare was already over.

I motioned for him to come closer and greeted him with the best smile I could manage, considering the nervous tension skating in my belly and the exhaustion dragging at my mind.

Using the dough scraper, I hacked a large ball of risen dough into three pieces.
Whack! Whack!
“Fancy meeting you here.”

He sent back a lopsided grin. I noticed that his eyes were a clear blue today, which gave me hope that things were looking up. “Yeah,” he said. “Fancy that. That thing you’re wielding looks lethal. Should I be worried?”

I waggled it in front of him. “Plastic. The most damage I could inflict is a serious bruise or a broken finger. What’s up, Detective? Are you here on business or looking for the best King Cake in the city?”

“Business, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me you’re here to announce the arrest of Big Daddy’s killer.”

“’Fraid not. We’ve identified the murder weapon, though. Somebody smashed his skull with a small statue we found near the pool.”

I shuddered, realizing it must’ve been the one I’d stepped around on my way to help Big Daddy. “Fingerprints?”

“A couple of partials, but nothing we can use. Actually, I need to speak to a couple of your people. Is this a bad time?”

I was disappointed that the case was still open, but I channeled my frustration into rolling out one of the recently whacked balls of dough. “It’s as good as any. Which ones?”

“Sparkle Starr and Dwight Sonntag. Can you spare them for a few minutes?”

“You can take the whole staff if it helps solve the case. Just return them quickly. We’re buried.”

“Those two will be fine,” he said. “Mind if I use the room upstairs to speak with them?”

“If you don’t mind sharing it with a few supplies stored there for carnival season. It’s usable. We’re still having our weekly staff meetings up there, so make yourself at home.”

He didn’t need me to show him the way or point out the staff, so the fact that he didn’t walk off right away made me look up to see what was going on.

“How’s your uncle?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Okay the last time I saw him. Did he happen to mention that he had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and that he’s supposed to be avoiding stress?”

Something flickered in Sullivan’s eyes, but I couldn’t read it. He shook his head. “He didn’t mention anything to me. I’ll make a note in the file.”

Yeah. That would fix everything.

“Has he been any more forthcoming with you?”

I frowned and shook my head. “I wish. He hardly spoke to me on the way home, and I’ve been here since I dropped him off. I don’t suppose you’ve managed to clear him of suspicion yet.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it. Don’t worry.”

Easier said than done. “Any suspects yet?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “One or two.”

“Any serious suspects?”

He leaned one hip against the table and watched me work. “C’mon, Rita. You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you. Especially not one where you’re related to a person of interest.”

I really hated that phrase. “There’s no law against me sharing information with
you
, though, is there?”

“Absolutely not. It’s your civic duty.” He dragged a stool closer and made himself comfortable. “What information?”

“I know why Uncle Nestor was so angry with Big Daddy last night.”

“He told you?”

I shook my head. “Someone overheard the conversation. I don’t know if he told you about this…”

“He didn’t tell me much of anything.”

I filled Sullivan in on what Mellie had told me in the ladies’ room, carefully leaving out how I’d come by the information and rushing on before he could ask me about it. “Uncle Nestor’s a traditional Latino, very protective of the women in his family. And Big Daddy was a traditional sexist pig. It wasn’t a good mix.”

“Obviously.”

“But Uncle Nestor wasn’t the only person who had an issue with Big Daddy. Do you know why he and his wife arrived at the party separately? Could there be something important in that? She was with some guy when I met her.”

“With? What were they doing?”

“It wasn’t what they did,” I said with a scowl. “It’s the way they looked when they did it. And why was Big Daddy there with his assistant? I’ll bet there was something going on between those two.”

Sullivan didn’t respond to that, which made me think I was right. “You know, don’t you, that Big Daddy was treating his wife pretty shabbily last night? You ought to talk to Estelle about what she heard before you leave here.”

“Estelle just happened to tell you about this?”

“No”—I gave him a
duh!
look—“I asked her.” I hesitated over how much to tell him about Judd. Sure, I’d liked him when I met him, but my loyalty belonged to Uncle Nestor. “Also, I met Judd Boudreaux when I went outside. I got the impression that he had a few issues with Big Daddy, and he didn’t seem to like Susannah much. Ox says that Big Daddy and Judd were having a secretive conversation upstairs right before the party ended. And have you talked with Percy Ponter yet? Like I told you that night, he seemed pretty upset with Big Daddy.”

Sullivan folded his arms and stared me down. “I’ve got it under control. Anything else?”

“Not yet,” I said, “but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Rita—”

I interrupted before he could get started. “If this is the part where you warn me to stay out of the investigation, save it. I won’t get in your way and I won’t interfere, but if I can find someone who can place Uncle Nestor away from the pool at the time of the murder, I’m going to do it.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of it?”

I planted my hands on the tabletop and met his gaze. “But will you? Or are you focused on finding witnesses who can place him at the scene of the crime? Because those aren’t the same thing at all.”

“I’m just tryin’ to get at the truth,” he assured me.

“Yeah. Well. You keep doing that, and if I find out anything that will help, I’ll let you know.”

He stood, sighing as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Right. Guess I’ll get on with my interviews if that’s all right with you.”

“Knock yourself out,” I said, adding a thin smile to show that we were still friends.

He smoothed the legs of his jeans so that the hems fell over his boots. “Just in case your uncle didn’t mention it, I’ve asked him not to leave town.”

The smile slipped off my face and landed on the floor somewhere near my heart. “You did what?”

“Just for a few days. Until we can clear up his involvement in the case.”

“There
is
no involvement,” I insisted. Not that my opinion counted for anything.

“As soon as we can prove that, he’s free to leave.”

“But—”

He arched a brow, waiting for me to offer some protest, but words failed me. Uncle Nestor stuck in New Orleans until the police cleared him? He’d go crazy.
I’d
go crazy.

“Is there a problem?” Sullivan asked.

I shook my head quickly. “No. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

My smile had turned brittle, but I flashed it again. “If I said no, would you let him leave town?”

Sullivan shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

“Then I’m sure.”

Sullivan looked at me through eyes narrowed with concern, but he kept his distance. My uncle was on the list of suspects in a homicide case, which I guess made all the friendly sort of stuff that usually fell between us off-limits. He ran those piercing blue eyes over my face and then twitched the corner of his mouth. “Chin up. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

And on that cheery note, he left to interview my employees.