Rebel Without a Cake Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE PIECE OF CAKE MYSTERIES

  The Cakes of Wrath

  “Skillful writing in this lighthearted mystery featuring over-the-top characters and fun dialogue . . . Readers should expect the zaniness that seems prevalent in the beautiful, historical, absurd New Orleans.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “Another great addition to the Piece of Cake [Mysteries]. The author’s good plotting keeps you turning those pages. Love the characters and always look forward to stopping by and seeing what is going on at Zydeco Cakes.”

  —MyShelf.com

  “A joy to read from start to finish. The descriptions are vivid. The prose is smart, snarky, and possesses as much character and charm as New Orleans itself.”

  —The Season

  Arsenic and Old Cake

  “[It] wrapped me up in a delectable mystery right from the first page. With a cast of unsavory characters at the B and B, I was having a hard time trying to figure out who the murderer was. Jacklyn Brady kept me on my toes, and I didn’t manage to solve the mystery before Rita.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “This is my favorite book in this series! The quirky characters, residents of the B and B, are fantastic and funny, and full of secrets, some deadly secrets . . . The romantic tension jumped up a notch in the edition as well . . . I highly recommend this story and this series. They are full of mystery, mayhem, and way too many delectable treats.”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  Cake on a Hot Tin Roof

  “A fast-paced delightful amateur-sleuth tale starring a feisty independent pastry chef . . . Cake on a Hot Tin Roof is an interesting whodunit.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “The setting and atmosphere in Cake on a Hot Tin Roof are very appealing . . . Rita is a very appealing character with loads of energy and a lot to deal with . . . All done with aplomb.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “The New Orleans setting keeps the book lively, and I loved the rich details and ambiance the author conveys . . . Jacklyn Brady has mixed up the perfect concoction of suspects, motives, means, and opportunity. True-to-real-life characters and situations that could be ripped from the headlines of any major city news outlet make Cake on a Hot Tin Roof a sequel that fans of this series will not want to miss!”

  —MyShelf.com

  “A truly excellent read. While one doesn’t regularly connect the fun and frivolity of Mardi Gras with the darkness of murder, this is something the author balanced well.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  A Sheetcake Named Desire

  “A tasty treat for mystery lovers, combining all the right ingredients in a perfectly prepared story that’s sure to satisfy.”

  —B. B. Haywood, national bestselling author of Town in a Strawberry Swirl

  “A decadent new series with a Big Easy attitude.”

  —Paige Shelton, national bestselling author of If Catfish Had Nine Lives

  “A mouthwatering new series! Brady’s writing is smooth as fondant, rich as buttercream—the pastry shop’s delectable confections are just icing on the cake for the appealing characters and intriguing mystery.”

  —Sheila Connolly, New York Times bestselling author of Razing the Dead

  “Jacklyn Brady whips up a delectable mystery layered with great characters and sprinkled with clever plot twists.”

  —Hannah Reed, author of the Queen Bee Mysteries

  “[An] enticing debut.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A light-as-angel-food debut mystery.”

  —The Times-Picayune

  “Delicious from start to finish. . . . A yummy series.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “A combination amateur-sleuth tale inside of a family drama . . . Readers will relish Jacklyn Brady, who bakes an engaging first entry starring a heroine who takes the cake.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Brady writes . . . like an accomplished mystery maven penning her umpteenth installment instead of a debut outing . . . and earns . . . an A+ for knowing her stuff when it comes to the intricate and artistic mastery of cake design.”

  —Examiner.com

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jacklyn Brady

  A SHEETCAKE NAMED DESIRE

  CAKE ON A HOT TIN ROOF

  ARSENIC AND OLD CAKE

  THE CAKES OF WRATH

  REBEL WITHOUT A CAKE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  REBEL WITHOUT A CAKE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Penguin Group (USA).

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62509-5

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2014

  Cover illustration by Chris Lyons.

  Cover design by Diana Kolsky.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  To the women of the amazing weekend in Pigeon Forge. Linda, LJ, Connie, Gayle, Alison, Jill, Nic, and Geralyn. You filled me up with friendship, laughter, and writing talk right when I needed it most.

  Contents

  Praise for The Piece of Cake Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jacklyn Brady

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

 
Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Recipes

  One

  “You need to tell her,” the voice inside my head whispered. It’s an annoying voice, so despite the fact that my aunt had raised me to listen when my conscience voiced an opinion, I did my best to ignore it. It isn’t always right, and besides, I was pretty sure Aunt Yolanda hadn’t counted on me having to deliver bad news to Frances Mae Renier when she gave me that advice.

  Frances Mae, known by most as Miss Frankie, is my mother-in-law (which explains why Aunt Yolanda didn’t know about her when I was a kid). She’s also my business partner. Together we run Zydeco Cakes, a high-end bakery near New Orleans’s Garden District. Actually, I do much of the running. Miss Frankie is my mostly silent partner who does behind-the-scenes stuff like writing checks and nudging high-profile clients our way.

  My name is Rita Lucero, and I want to say up front that, despite my hesitation to come clean with Miss Frankie, I am not a coward. I am a trained pastry chef who moved from Albuquerque to New Orleans just like that last summer when Miss Frankie offered me the chance to take over the day-to-day operations at Zydeco after the death of her son, Philippe, my almost-ex-husband. I’d had to stand up to Uncle Nestor to do it, too. Believe me, that took courage.

  My complicated relationship with Miss Frankie is why I was parking the Mercedes I’d inherited from Philippe’s estate in her driveway on a Friday night. I should have been joining the rest of Zydeco’s staff for a birthday party at the Dizzy Duke, our favorite after-hours hangout. But Miss Frankie had summoned me, so here I was. I didn’t know what she wanted, but that wasn’t unusual. Still, I was feeling a little resentful as I climbed the front steps and rang her doorbell.

  A stiff wind tossed the branches of the massive trees that lined the street. Their shadows did a macabre dance suitable for the Halloween season on Miss Frankie’s sweeping front lawn, and I smiled as I watched them shift and bend.

  Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Not because I’m overly fond of ghosts and goblins, but because I have sweet memories of trick-or-treating with my parents when I was young. They died in a car accident the year I turned twelve. I’ve lost too many memories of them over the years so I cling to the ones I’ve managed to keep. Losing them flipped my world upside down for a while, so I knew how much losing her only child had rocked Miss Frankie’s. I do my best to be gentle with her, which is why I was hesitating over telling her that I’d be going to Albuquerque for Christmas. We’d limped through the holidays last year, mostly ignoring the festivities and staying home rather than joining others. She tries hard not to be clingy where I’m concerned, and some days she succeeds. Others, she hangs on to me like a good-quality plastic wrap.

  Miss Frankie was well aware that I had missed home since I’d moved to New Orleans. She knew that, with the exception of one brief visit from Aunt Yolanda and Uncle Nestor, I hadn’t seen my family in over a year. I’d left my familiar Hispanic culture behind and stepped into the very different world of New Orleans, and sometimes homesickness hit hard. Surely Miss Frankie would understand why I wanted to go back for Christmas. At least she’d try to.

  I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and an instant later it flew open. Miss Frankie greeted me with a warm hug and a glimmer of excitement in her golden brown eyes. In spite of the late hour, she looked ready to begin her day. Her auburn hair was teased and sprayed, a whiff of Shalimar noticeable as she wrapped her arms around me. She wore a pair of wide-legged pants and a loose-fitting tunic made of silky rust-colored fabric. A pair of off-white sandals revealed toenails painted a deep pumpkin color to match her fingernails.

  “Thanks for coming, sugar. Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’ve got everything in there.”

  I wondered what “everything” was, but I knew there was only one way to find out. After closing the door behind me, I followed her to the back of the house. “I can’t stay long,” I warned as we walked. “I’m meeting the rest of the staff at the Duke in half an hour to celebrate Dwight’s birthday.”

  Dwight is one of Zydeco’s best cake artists and an old friend from pastry school. He’d come to New Orleans to work for Philippe, but he’d been supportive of me since Philippe died and I took over at Zydeco. I wanted to show him that I could be a good friend, too.

  I was even looking forward to the party, which I considered progress since I’m not much of a partier. When Philippe and I were married, I was much more likely to be found balancing the books while he entertained our friends. Since stepping into his shoes at Zydeco, I’d been making an effort to loosen up.

  Miss Frankie glanced back at me. “Is that tonight? I guess I plumb forgot about it. But don’t worry. This won’t take but a minute.” She stopped just inside the kitchen and motioned me toward the table, which was piled with magazines, recipe books, newspaper clippings, and a large three-ring binder—the kind she used whenever she coordinated a social event. It’s her favorite thing to do.

  “It looks like you’ve been busy,” I said. “Are you planning a party?”

  She grinned and headed for the coffeemaker. “Not exactly.” She turned back to me and linked her hands together over her chest. “Oh, sugar, isn’t it exciting? I decided to take Pearl Lee’s advice.”

  I knew right then that we were in for trouble. Pearl Lee Gates is Miss Frankie’s cousin, five foot nothing of “Let’s see how much I can get away with.” She’s a few years younger than Miss Frankie, which puts her somewhere in her late fifties or early sixties, I think. Talking to her is dangerous enough. Taking her advice could be a disaster. You’d think Miss Frankie would know that by now.

  “What advice is that?” I asked. I thought I sounded remarkably calm, considering.

  “Well, about Christmas, of course. It’s only two months away.”

  Uh-oh. I got a squidgy feeling in my stomach, and my conscience gave me a sharp poke. This was the perfect time to tell Miss Frankie about my plans. And I probably would have if she hadn’t kept talking.

  “I was thinking about giving it a miss again this year. The thought of sitting around while people talk about Philippe—and you know they will—is just too much. It’s barely been more than a year since he died and people think I should be through grieving. But we both know it doesn’t ever really end.”

  We’d just stepped onto uneven ground so I thought about my response before I spoke. I didn’t have any experience with losing a child, but I did know how easy it was to get stuck in the moment of a loved one’s death. I didn’t want that for Miss Frankie, and I knew Philippe wouldn’t have wanted it either. “It doesn’t end,” I agreed cautiously, “but it does change with time. I still miss my parents, but the thought of them doesn’t hurt like it used to.”

  My conscience flicked me again, but Miss Frankie was staring at me with eyes that were too bright and a smile that looked too brittle. She tried so hard to cope with the death of her only child but I could tell that she was on the edge of tears, so I swallowed my news and smiled instead. “So does this mean you’re going to join your family this year?” I said. “I think that’s wonderful.”

  “It’s better than that,” she said, waving me toward a chair. “We’re hosting this year.”

  I think I gasped. I was all for Miss Frankie taking a step forward this year, but hosting? What was she thinking?

  “You’re doing what?” I squeaked.

  “Hosting the family. They’ll all come here this year.”

  If Pearl Lee had been in th
e room, I might have throttled her right then and there. In Miss Frankie–speak, family meant a dozen cousins from the Dumond family line along with their spouses and any children or grandchildren who had no other plans. Throw in a couple of ancient aunts and uncles and a Renier relative or two at loose ends, and she could be looking at fifty mouths or more to feed.

  “That’s a huge job,” I pointed out in case she’d failed to do the math. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “Well, of course, it’s far too big a job to do alone. That’s why I’m counting on your help. I’ll admit that when Pearl Lee first suggested it, I thought it would be too, too much, but then she pointed out that by inviting everyone here, we’ll be able to set the tone for the holiday week and maintain some kind of control over the events. It’s my turn anyway, so I really should just jump in and do it.”

  “But I—” I sank into the closest chair and tried not to sound angry. That wasn’t easy. Miss Frankie has a habit of volunteering me for things without talking to me first. It’s one of the few downsides of our relationship. “I’m sure everyone would understand if you wanted to wait another year.”

  “But I don’t want to wait. That’s the point.”

  I knew that Pearl Lee was responsible for Miss Frankie’s attitude, and that irritated me big-time. Pearl Lee has her fair share of problems, but Miss Frankie is fiercely loyal. I’d learned not to bad-mouth her cousin in front of her, so again I went with a careful answer. “Pearl Lee might have a point,” I said with caution. “But wouldn’t you rather put your heads together and do this with her?”

  Miss Frankie waved a dismissive hand. “Pearl Lee is useless when it comes to things like this. I need your head, sugar. I’ve been thinking that if you make some amazing cake for the family, they’ll see that the bakery is in good hands and we’ll be able to focus on the future instead of the past.”

  “Yes, but—” Hearing her talk about moving on was a good sign, even if her chosen method for doing it was questionable. I took another deep breath to steady my nerves. “You can’t keep making commitments for me without talking to me first. What if I had other plans?” Okay, so it wasn’t the direct approach, but it was the best I could do with the threat of my mother-in-law’s tears so close to the surface. When it comes to Miss Frankie, it’s more effective to steal a few bases at a time than to try for a home run right off.