Rebel Without a Cake Read online

  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 Bernic
e’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.”

  “Maybe you just didn’t notice.”

  “No, it wasn’t there when we arrived, Liam. I’d swear to it.”

  “Okay. I believe you. You said that you called the local sheriff?”

  “Right.”

  “And they seemed competent?”

  “I only met one deputy, but she seemed to be on the ball. Don’t worry, though. I’m not trying to get involved. I don’t have time to get involved. I just don’t want you to find out about this when we get there and think I was trying to hide it from you. Call this a preemptive strike.”

  He laughed. It’s a good, honest sound that always puts a smile on my face. “Okay. So what time should I pick you up, and where will you be?”

  “How about three, at my place? I’ll leave here in a few minutes and head over to Miss Frankie’s. Packing their bags shouldn’t take long. I should still have plenty of time to get ready.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Sullivan’s voice grew low and suggestive, but I also detected a teasing note. “What are you going to wear?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . Something that looks like I just threw it on without giving it much thought. I should be able to accomplish that in a couple of hours.”

  “Well, don’t hurt yourself,” he said with another laugh. “I’m not all that interested in what you’re wearing anyway. I’d just like to spend some time with you. And for what it’s worth, I’ll probably spend about two minutes brushing my teeth. I may even put on fresh deodorant. I’m going to go all out, so try not to show me up too badly.”

  There wasn’t a chance of that happening. Sullivan’s a tough act to top.

  Twelve

  Sullivan showed up at my place a few minutes before three wearing tight-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt under a lightweight blazer. As always, he looked great. And he smelled like soap and aftershave. And toothpaste. His light brown hair was cropped close to his head, and his killer blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

  I smiled, and ran my eyes all over his six feet something of finely toned muscle, which he maintains thanks to a personal fitness regime and probably some police department regulations. I admire him for being so committed to staying physically fit. I consider it a public service.

  He gave me a hug and a quick kiss, and made all the right noises about how nice I looked. I’d settled on a comfortable pair of jeans and a white cotton blouse over a yellow tank top, pulled up my hair in a vain attempt to reduce the frizz that is the bane of my existence, and added a pair of dangly earrings that had been an impulse buy a couple of weeks earlier. I was pleased with the effect, and the look in Sullivan’s eye when he leaned in for that kiss told me I’d done well.

  After loading the bags into the trunk of his Impala, we were on our way. It was a good thing he didn’t work undercover. That car’s red paint and chrome thingamajigs would never let him go anywhere under the radar.

  As he drove, we made small talk about everything and anything except his work, my work, or Silas Laroche’s murder. The most pressing question on our agenda was the best order of events for the evening. After a brief debate, we decided that, since it was still early, we’d drive to Baie Rebelle first then stop for dinner in Houma on the way back.

  You’d think that since both of us were adults with some experience under our belts, we’d’ve known what happens to good intentions, and opted to eat first.

  By the time we pulled into Baie Rebelle and turned toward Aunt Margaret’s house, long shadows stretched across the road. We caught glimpses of the sun on the western horizon, a deep yellow ball sitting on the water and reflecting brilliant oranges and blues onto the clouds overhead. After surviving my first visit to this remote location, with Sullivan now at the wheel, I could relax enough to appreciate its raw beauty.

  It wasn’t until Sullivan had parked in the clearing and opened my door that he brought up the subject we’d so carefully avoided for the past couple of hours. He jerked his chin toward the sagging crime scene tape on the driveway behind us and said, “Let me guess. That’s where you found the body?”

  “There’s a reason you’re on the fast track in the Homicide Department,” I said with a grin. “You’re quick. What gave it away?”

  “Sorry. I can’t give away my professional secrets.” Sullivan put his hand on the small of my back, and we set off toward the crime scene tape. I’d anticipated his interest in looking at the scene, so I’d opted to pair running shoes rather than heels with my outfit. His smile faded slowly and he fell silent as he studied the ditch and the ground around it. “Well, you’re right about one thing. The folks around here did a good job of messing up the crime scene.”

  “I did my best to keep them away, but it was impossible.”

  Sullivan nodded slowly. “One of you against all of them? You were smart not to try taking them all on.”

  “Hey!” someone shouted from somewhere behind us.

  We both turned and saw Tallulah standing on the porch aiming a shotgun at us. I gave her my friendliest wave and shouted, “It’s me, Tallulah. Rita. Bernice’s friend? I brought some clothes for her and Miss Frankie.”

  Tallulah slowly lowered the shotgun and brushed at her short brown hair. “Well, okay then. I didn’t recognize you. Who’s that with you?”

  I didn’t dare move yet, so I shouted back, “This is Liam Sullivan. He’s a friend of mine from New Orleans.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Tallulah rested the shotgun across her arm and jerked her chin at us. “Well, what y’all doing out there? Come on up to the house.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with her, and apparently neither was Sullivan. We crossed the clearing and came to a stop in front of the porch, where I finished the introductions.

  Tallulah looked Sullivan over carefully, then asked, “Y’all hungry? Bitty’s working on supper now. There’s plenty to go around.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t stay,” I said. “I’ll just drop off these bags for Bernice and Miss Frankie and we’ll be on our way. Are they inside? We should say hello.”

  “I’ll grab the suitcases,” Sullivan offered. “Where would you like me to put them?”

  Tallulah answered his question first. “Just bring ’em up to the porch. I’ll take ’em on down to their room later.” She scratched lazily at a spot on her arm and turned to me. “They ain’t here. Been gone about half an hour, I guess. You might as well stay until they come back.”

  Sullivan carried the suitcases to the porch and Tallulah ushered us inside. She propped the shotgun by the door and invited us to sit. Sullivan and I took the couch. Tallulah claimed a recliner and then we all looked at one another for a while. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I broke the awkward silence.

  “So Miss Frankie and Bernice have gone out? Do you know if they’ll be back soon?” I love the tw
o of them, but I didn’t trust them to stay out of trouble, especially when they were together. It wasn’t as if Baie Rebelle was full of places to eat and shop.

  “I don’t have any idea where they went,” Tallulah said. “They borrowed my car is all I know.”

  “They didn’t tell you where they were going?”

  Tallulah spent a moment adjusting her shirt over her ample bosom. “Why are you asking me? They’re grown women. I’m not in charge of their schedule.”

  She wouldn’t have said that if she knew my mother-in-law. “Maybe they said something to Bitty or your mother,” I said as sweetly as I could. “It’s a long drive back to New Orleans. If they’ll be a while, maybe we shouldn’t wait.”

  “Bitty took Mama to the Walmart, so they’re gone, too,” Tallulah said. “That’s why Bernice took my car.”

  “Maybe Bernice is showing Miss Frankie around,” Sullivan suggested. “She grew up here, didn’t she?”

  “She sure did, but I don’t think that’s it,” Tallulah said. “Come to think of it, they did say something about paying their respects to Junior Laroche. But that’s really all I know. And I don’t even know for sure they went there.”

  Sullivan’s eyes locked on mine. “Junior Laroche? Is he related to the guy who died?”

  Tallulah nodded and gave her shirt another twitch. “He’s Silas’s older brother.”

  A red flag popped up and started waving around in my head. “I’m sorry, but I’m confused. Is Junior a friend of Bernice’s? I was under the impression she didn’t know the Laroches well.”

  “He’s not a friend to speak of,” Tallulah said. “I think they’re just curious to find out what Junior knows about Silas’s last days. Not that he’ll know anything, or tell them if he does. I don’t think those two brothers spoke more than a handful of words to each other the past twenty years.”

  Sullivan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t think Junior would know who wanted his brother dead?”