Arsenic and Old Cake Page 5

  Gabriel didn’t blink. I didn’t dare. He glanced around the lobby, and I followed his gaze, taking in the furniture, covered in a bold flowered pattern, the polished wood tables, and a bookshelf filled with dog-eared paperbacks. One young couple cooed at each other on the couch, and another huddled near a small alcove, pouring over brochures advertising nearby points of interest and local businesses. They didn’t seem to notice us, and that gave me hope that we’d be able to fly under the radar while we were here.

  “It sounds perfect,” Gabriel said, turning back with a cheesy grin. “Doesn’t it, chérie?”

  “Perfect.” I offered my friendliest smile to the she-bear behind the front desk.

  She ignored me and growled a question at Gabriel. “You want a street view or a room overlooking the garden? Garden rooms are ten dollars more a night.”

  “What do you think?” Gabriel asked me.

  What I really wanted was the room closest to Monroe Magee, but I couldn’t exactly ask for it. I’d seen the street view on the way in. I could only hope the garden would be more visually appealing. “I think the garden sounds lovely.”

  “Garden it is.” Gabriel rested one arm on the counter and lowered his voice a little. “This is our first time away together, so give us the best room you’ve got.”

  The woman squared her shoulders and sniffed as if he’d insulted her. “All of our rooms are equally nice.”

  I started to say that I was sure they were, but another woman—thinner, darker, and a handful of years younger—poked her head through an open door behind the front desk and gave a little squeal. Her hair fell to her shoulders, a riot of thick black curls, and her eyes were wide in her thin face.

  “More honeymooners? Oh, Hyacinth, isn’t this exciting?” She bustled through the door and tossed a stack of folded towels onto one end of the long counter. Her head bobbed, birdlike, on her thin neck, and she chirped her words so fast it was hard to follow what she said. “Sister’s right, you know. We have the best honeymoon suites in the area, and I’m not lying when I say that.”

  “I’m sure you’re not,” I said.

  And Gabriel added, “We’ve heard good things about the Love Nest, haven’t we, baby?”

  Baby agreed that we had, and the newcomer chirped on like a robin on speed. “Now don’t you go worrying about the cost. Our rates are very reasonable.” She spread open a brochure in front of us and pointed at a cluster of pictures featuring a room completely decorated in red and white. “The Valentine suite has a king-sized bed, a jetted tub, and a balcony. It’s a lovely, lovely room. One of my favorites. Or there’s Nights in White Satin,” she said, directing our attention to another photo grouping. “Very romantic.”

  Hyacinth tried to push the brochure away. “Primrose, really. Let these poor children breathe.” She sent us a smile that looked almost apologetic. “Ignore my sister. She gets carried away at times. Now, as I said, all of our rooms are nice.”

  With an annoyed eye roll at her sister, Primrose cut in again. “You might like the Honeymooner better. It runs thirty dollars more a night, but the bed and the jetted tub are both heart-shaped and the room has mood lighting.”

  “The room,” Hyacinth said with a disapproving sniff, “has a dimmer switch.”

  Primrose shushed her and went on. “We also provide a complimentary bottle of champagne when you check in,” she said, flashing a set of dimples. “And we throw in a few other romantic touches, too. I’d just need half an hour to get your room ready before you go upstairs. And, of course, we’ll want to give you a proper welcome. If you’ll join our little group for cocktail hour at five, we’ll toast you and your new marriage in style.”

  A cocktail party to celebrate our marriage? So much for flying under the radar. I tried begging off. We were here to identify Monroe. Period. “Actually,” I said, “we have—”

  Gabriel cut me off before I could finish. “We’re free all evening,” he said. “We’d love to join you. And I think the Honeymooner sounds perfect.” He pulled out his wallet and handed a credit card to Hyacinth, turning that cheesy grin on me again. “Don’t you, chérie?”

  Chérie most certainly did not. Chérie saw no reason to go overboard with this charade. And she tried to say so. “Gabriel. Sweetheart.”

  He put a finger on my lips to stop me from speaking and followed up with a chaste kiss. “Really, my love. I insist.”

  I barely resisted the urge to kick him in the shin—which I could have easily done since he also wrapped one arm around my waist while he cooed like a besotted bridegroom. I might have delivered that kick anyway, but Old Dog Leg’s face flashed through my memory at that precise moment, accompanied by a whiff of Gabriel’s aftershave. By the time my head cleared, Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Broussard were registered guests in the honeymoon suite at the Love Nest.

  Six

  We closed the door to our room behind us nearly an hour later. Aside from the time in the car, it was the first time we’d been alone since we’d committed to three fun-filled days and two romantic nights of wedded bliss. Primrose had insisted on giving us a guided tour of the inn’s first floor, including the kitchen, a formal dining room, game room and small library, and the front parlor where we were to meet for cocktails later. We didn’t have to be downstairs for the cocktail party until five, which gave us plenty of time to settle on a game plan for finding and unmasking Monroe. Since we’d be the guests of honor at the party, I also thought it would be smart to get our stories straight so we could play the newlywed game convincingly.

  Gabriel put the bags on the floor and surveyed the room with hands on hips. He nodded as his gaze traveled over the promised heart-shaped bed, covered with a heaping helping of frilly throw pillows and red rose petals. “These must be why we had to wait to come upstairs,” he said, lifting one of the rose petals for a sniff. “They’re real.”

  “I kind of figured that out from the overpowering rose scent.” I rubbed my nose and fought a sneeze. “I hope you don’t think I’m cleaning those up.”

  “Let’s toss a coin,” Gabriel said. “I think that’s only fair.”

  “We wouldn’t have to deal with them at all if you hadn’t asked for the Honeymooner suite.”

  “Oh come on,” he said with a grin. “Are you trying to tell me you weren’t even a little curious to see this room in person?”

  I shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed to test the mattress. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t saggy either. “Not even a little,” I said. “I was more interested in Nights in White Satin. It sounded much more practical.”

  “Practical? For our honeymoon?” He shook his head and tried to look serious. “You worry me, Rita. You saw how excited Primrose was over this room. How could I disappoint that sweet old lady?”

  “Primrose does seem sweet,” I said. “Hyacinth? Not so much. I’m not sure she even wanted our business.”

  “Well, she’s stuck with us now.” Gabriel turned his attention to exploring the room—which wasn’t large enough to demand a long look around. White lace curtains hung at two windows. A set of wooden doors led onto a tiny balcony overlooking an overgrown flower garden. Cold air blew inside through a portable window unit, but did little to relieve the stuffiness of a room that I suspected hadn’t actually seen any honeymoon action in months.

  “And we’re stuck with this room that you were so curious about.” I kicked off my shoes and flexed, then decided to tackle the subject at the top of my head. “There is something I am curious about, though.”

  He adjusted one of the cooler vents and gave me the eye. “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You.”

  He stopped moving for a fraction of a second, then picked up his circuit again. “What do you want to know?”

  “This and that. Enough to feel confident as your blushing bride when we walk into the cocktail party later.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “I think you have that under control already, don’t you?”

  “No I don’t.” I shifted on t
he bed so I could see him better. “In case it’s slipped your mind, we’re supposed to be in love. I should know more about you than the fact that you tend bar, you clean up nicely, and you have friends in high places.” That latter point I’d picked up when he’d taken me to the Captain’s Court for the Krewe of Musterion during Mardi Gras. “Just how did you make all those influential friends, anyway?”

  He smiled and looked out the window. “I met some of them in school. Grew up with some others. You know . . . I get around.”

  “So your family has money?”

  He rocked up onto his toes and stared at something in the garden. “Define money.”

  His attempt to dodge the question didn’t surprise me. In the year since I met him, he’d barely ever talked about his past. Which only intrigued me more. “What kind of house did you grow up in? Large? Small? Outhouse and a well, or running water and indoor plumbing?”

  With a chuckle, Gabriel turned away from the window. “Smallish. Plumbing. Doors and windows. All the amenities. No old family, though. Disappointed?”

  I thought about my conversation with Miss Frankie the night before and shook my head firmly. “Nope. Where were you born?”

  “Slidell,” he said, referring to a town about thirty miles northeast of New Orleans.

  “And your parents? What should I know about them?”

  “They’re great. Hardworking. Do everything they can to make the world a better place.”

  “I guess that means they’re still alive?”

  He nodded once. “Yeah.”

  “You could give me a little more, you now. What about the rest of the family? Any brothers or sisters?”

  Looking exasperated but resigned, he leaned against the wall and crossed one foot over the other. “Two of each.”

  For some reason, that surprised me. I wasn’t sure whether the fact that he’d never talked about his big family with me said more about their relationships or ours. But I’d think about that later. “Younger or older?”

  “I’m the oldest,” he said. “Alex comes next, then Francine, Renee, and Raoul.”

  I committed their names to memory and tried to imagine Gabriel sitting around the dinner table surrounded by family. It wasn’t easy. “Are they all like you?”

  His lips quirked ever so slightly. “Exactly. Everyone has two arms, two legs, and a face.”

  “You’re so funny.” I crossed my legs beneath me on the bed. “Seriously, Gabriel. Why don’t you ever talk about them?”

  He pushed away from the wall and sat on the pointy foot of the heart. “I don’t not talk about them. We see each other for most holidays and the usual family occasions like weddings and funerals. But I’m single and working. Alex and Francine are married. Renee’s engaged and Raoul is still in school. Our lives are just different.”

  “Speaking of the M word,” I said, scooting a little closer, “why haven’t you ever been married?”

  He turned on the Sexy Cajun grin, probably hoping to distract me with it. “That information is available on a need-to-know basis.”

  I batted my eyelashes and cooed, “But, darling, I’m your wife. If anyone needs to know, I do.”

  Gabriel leaned toward me, so close that his face was barely an inch from mine. I could smell his soap and something faintly minty on his breath. His eyes roamed my face so slowly I could hardly breathe, and for one heart-stopping moment I knew he was going to kiss me—and I mean really kiss me. My heart jumped around in my chest, and my mouth went dry.

  But Gabriel just tweaked my nose and said, “In that case, I’ll tell you everything . . . on our first anniversary.”

  I swatted his arm as he pulled away. “Jerk.”

  “I’ve been called worse. My turn to ask the questions. Let’s start with you and the cop. What’s the story with the two of you?”

  I stared at him, surprised by the unexpected change of direction. “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Does he know that you’re here? With me?”

  The question made me uncomfortable, but I answered it anyway. “Not yet.”

  “Ah.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t plan to lie to him, if that’s what you’re asking. But my friendship with Sullivan has no bearing on this weekend.”

  “Au contraire, ma chérie. If the two of you are serious, if he has a prior claim on your affections—” He broke off with an expressive shrug.

  I stood to face him. “First of all, nobody has a prior claim on anything about me. Sullivan and I are friends. We see each other occasionally, just like you and I do. No commitment, no promises, no petty jealousy.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “So you’re saying he wouldn’t care that you’re here with me for the weekend?”

  Was I saying that? I honestly didn’t know how Sullivan would feel, so I took the easy way out. “I’m saying the topic of my relationship with Sullivan is off-limits for the weekend. Let’s stay focused on how we’re going to convince these people that we’re newlyweds and how we’re going to figure out what’s going on with this Monroe person.”

  Gabriel touched my cheek gently. “If you say so.”

  I pushed past him and checked inside a cheaply constructed armoire for extra blankets and pillows. The way his touch was making my heart race, there was no way I’d survive a night on the same bed with my pride intact. Gabriel would have to sleep somewhere else. Just my luck, there wasn’t so much as a piece of lint inside the cabinet.

  I turned my attention to the dresser instead. Also empty, but the drawers looked clean enough so I unzipped my bag and asked, “You want the top drawers or the bottom?”

  Gabriel had crossed to the balcony doors, which were swollen by age and humidity and apparently stuck shut.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not. I’ll take top. Do you want to shower first in the morning or second?”

  Gabriel gave the doors another rattle, but they still didn’t budge. “Are you planning to organize every bit of our stay?”

  “Only the things that need to be organized. Shall we talk about sleeping arrangements?”

  Gabriel finally managed to open the swollen doors, and stepped out onto the postage-stamp-sized balcony. “I’ll leave it up to you. Do you want the right side or the left?”

  “The middle.” I sat on the bed beside my suitcase and frowned. “I thought we might at least have a chair or a couch in the room.”

  Gabriel leaned on the railing but straightened again quickly when it wobbled under his weight. “Even if we had a couch,” he said, “I wouldn’t let you sleep on it. I wouldn’t want you to mess up your back or something.”

  “Such a gentleman.” I gave the mattress another test bounce, and this time I thought I felt the sharp end of a spring. But at least Gabriel and I were back on familiar ground. “You’ll need to sleep on the floor, over by the door. I’ll try really hard not to step on your head if I get up in the middle of the night.”

  “Gee thanks. I can feel the love.” He came back inside, leaving the doors open behind him. “Don’t worry, Rita. We agreed to keep this thing platonic, and I won’t go back on my promise . . . unless you change your mind.”

  Yeah. That was the problem.

  “All we have to do is find the man who wrote that letter to Old Dog Leg and look for the birthmark. Once we do that, we can get out of here if you want,” Gabriel said. “In the meantime, let’s keep those sweet old ladies happy. They could be serving the guy to us on a silver platter—or in a champagne glass—at this little get-together they’ve planned.”

  He had a point, which I acknowledged grudgingly. “Let’s hope he’s actually there tonight.”

  “Even if he’s not, we’re still ahead. We’ll have met some of the other guests, and maybe one of them can help us get a foot in Monroe’s door.”

  Just then, a knock sounded on the door. My breath caught, and I wondered if our voices had carried out into the hall. Gabriel
crossed the room in three long strides and opened it on Primrose, who held a silver tray loaded with a bottle of cheap champagne and two glasses.

  She surged through the door, brushing past Gabriel and heading toward the dresser in the corner. “I brought you that bottle of champagne to start off the celebration!” She shoved a couple of candlesticks to one side and put the tray down.

  I watched her closely, trying to determine whether she’d overheard our conversation.

  Clasping her hands together over her chest, she turned back to face us. “Look at you two! Aren’t you the cutest couple ever?”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding and tried to look pleased. “That’s very sweet of you,” I said, mentally calculating how much champagne I’d need to get through this weekend without losing my nerve.

  Her hands fluttered in front of her. “I’m more than happy to do it. Seeing a young couple so happy and in love does my heart good.”

  Gabriel slid a couple of bills into her hand. “You must see couples of all ages here. Newlyweds. People celebrating anniversaries. My grandparents might like this place, but they’d probably have trouble negotiating the stairs. Do you have any honeymoon suites on the first floor?”

  Primrose slipped the money into her pocket and shook her head. “No suites, I’m afraid. Most of our clientele is young. Like the two of you.”

  Which reinforced my guess that Monroe wasn’t here on his honeymoon. “This seems like a big operation for you and your sister,” I said. “Do you have help?”

  Primrose nodded. “Oh lawd, yes. More than we need, really.” She motioned toward the outside doors and continued the tour she’d started downstairs. “I see you’ve found the balcony. This time of year, the weather is wonderful and cool in the evenings. And there’s a lock on the front gate, so you’ll be safe to leave the windows and doors open for a while. Let the fresh air inside.” She broke off with a little laugh and covered her mouth with one hand. “Listen to me! You’re on your honeymoon! You don’t want any of those old fools across the way knowing your business.”