Arsenic and Old Cake Page 6

  I glanced at the window, but the only building I could see was one of the additions to the inn I’d noticed earlier. “Isn’t that part of the Love Nest?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s where our regulars stay. If you can call those old coots regular.” She laughed at her own joke, then turned serious. “We have a couple of rooms over there, but they’re quite small and not at all romantic. Still, if your grandparents are interested in staying here, we might be able to work something out.”

  “The residents over there . . . will they be joining us for cocktail hour?” Gabriel asked.

  “If there’s alcohol involved, just you try to keep them away. Some of them can be a bit prickly, but don’t you worry. They’re mostly friends from way back. Nice enough, for the most part. But don’t let them bother you none. They give you any trouble at all, you let me or Hyacinth know.” She stopped, tilted her head to one side, and corrected herself. “Let me know. Hyacinth doesn’t like to be bothered with such things.” She sobered slightly and asked, “That’s not a problem, is it? Should I tell them to stay away?”

  “Of course not,” I said quickly. “They live here, and I’m sure we’ll enjoy meeting them.”

  I was intrigued by the idea of a group of old coots living in the inn. Was Monroe one of the Love Nest’s longtime residents, or was he on staff? Maybe Primrose and Hyacinth knew about his connection to Old Dog Leg. Were the three of them working together to scam him?

  Primrose let out a little sigh and moved on again. “I think Hyacinth told you about breakfast. If you have any special dietary needs, let one of us know and we’ll do our best to accommodate. We have parking for guests behind the house, and you’re welcome to spend time in the garden if you’d like. Not that we expect to see much of you while you’re here. We all understand. We were all young once.”

  I stood, uncomfortable on that bed in the wake of Primrose’s insinuations. “I do have one question,” I said to her. “Where’s the TV?”

  She looked aghast. “There isn’t one, of course. What would be the point?”

  Right. No point whatsoever.

  “If you really need a television,” she said, her voice clouded with disapproval, “you’re welcome to use the community set in the parlor. We turn it on at six in the morning, and it goes off at eleven every night. But people around here have their routines, so you may have to watch what they’re watching.”

  Old reruns of Bonanza or Kojak? No thanks.

  Gabriel came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves.” He nuzzled my neck, making me seriously reconsider my commitment to the whole platonic thing.

  Primrose giggled like a young girl and turned toward the door. “You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Broussard.”

  Yeah. Wasn’t I, though? “Call me Rita. Please.”

  “Of course. If there’s anything else the two of you need, just press zero on the house phone,” Primrose said. “One of us will bring it right up.”

  Yeah. Like I was going to have those old ladies running up and down the stairs on my account.

  She finally let herself out into the hallway and closed the door with a soft click.

  I waited until I heard her footsteps recede before I wriggled out of Gabriel’s embrace. “She’s gone,” I said, keeping my voice low just in case. “We can stop playacting now.”

  Gabriel pretended to be disappointed. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay in character while we’re here? I wouldn’t want to slip up.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Nice try . . . but no.” I walked into the bathroom, determined to put some distance between us. I could still hear him laughing, even after I closed and locked the door behind me.

  Seven

  Gabriel and I were no closer to an agreement on how to proceed when we left our room at five o’clock to go to the cocktail party. He practically skipped down the stairs, eagerly anticipating an adventure. I followed more slowly, unsure about whether we’d be able to plug all the holes in our story and nervous about having to lie. When I was a kid, my aunt Yolanda and uncle Nestor had drilled into me and my cousins the importance of telling the truth. I’d taken the lessons to heart—mostly. Oh, sure, I could omit unnecessary information without hesitation if the occasion demanded. And I was pretty good at justifying those omissions using shades of gray. But outright lying shot straight out of the gray area and into the sin zone, which made me more than a little uncomfortable.

  My mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer. What would we say when we met the man who called himself Monroe Magee? How likely would he be to talk with us? How would I get him to show me that birthmark if, in fact, he had one? And how would Hyacinth and Primrose react if they caught us lying?

  Maybe this wasn’t the only way or even the best way to find out what Monroe Magee was up to, but we were here and I was determined not to go back to Old Dog Leg empty-handed. Our success or failure now hinged on whether Gabriel and I could successfully maintain the facade that we were a couple of besotted honeymooners. I had experience on my side. At least I’d actually been on a honeymoon. But Gabriel had enthusiasm on his. He was having much more fun than I was.

  “Remember,” I whispered as we took the last few stairs, “we’re in love. We can hardly stand to be apart. You worship me. You think everything I do is adorable and nothing I do irritates you.”

  He nodded and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “The feeling is mutual, I assume?”

  “Of course it is . . . darling. Just don’t overdo it, please.”

  Gabriel put an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Overdo? Me?”

  “It’s been ten seconds,” I pointed out, “and already you’ve proved my point.” I put both hands on his chest and applied gentle pressure. “This is not an open invitation, however.”

  Gabriel nuzzled my neck again and flashed a wicked grin when I stiffened under the brush of warm lips against my skin. “Will you please stop worrying?” he whispered. “Relax and have fun.”

  “We’re not here to have fun,” I reminded him. “We’re here to do a favor for a friend.”

  “We’re not saving the world, my love.”

  I frowned and pulled away. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. We might just be saving Dog Leg’s world, and I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

  Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh, but the twinkle in his eye told me he was enjoying my discomfort. “All right,” he said. “You win. I’ll be serious and subdued. Will that make you happy?”

  “Delirious.”

  “Good.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then stop frowning.”

  “I’m not frowning,” I whispered back. “I’m worshiping you with my eyes.”

  “Ah. That’s what that is. Good to know.” His grin came back and he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, and then we walked into the parlor wrapped around each other like kudzu vines.

  We found three old men sitting in the parlor with Hyacinth and Primrose, all chatting softly. One short and wrinkled, one tall and thin wearing a black suit that had clearly seen better days, and the third an enormous man who spread across half the couch. The two young couples I’d spotted earlier were talking to each other in one corner.

  I scoured the men’s faces, searching for a resemblance to Old Dog Leg. Each looked about the right age, and all three were African American, but none of them bore any real similarities to my friend that I could see. I didn’t feel discouraged, though. I hadn’t expected to find Old Dog Leg’s clone.

  The short wiry man, who had more wrinkles than a basset hound, spotted us first as we came through the door. He signaled the others with a jerk of his chin, and they fell silent so abruptly, I figured they must have been talking about us.

  Primrose bounded to her feet like a woman half her age and advanced on us with her scrawny arms held wide. “Here they are!” she cried. “Our newest happy couple.” She hugged us both briefly, then took each of us by the hand an
d tugged us toward the small group of senior citizens, all of whom were watching us as if they suspected we were up to no good.

  Which, of course, we were.

  I flashed my most trustworthy smile. Gabriel grinned like a used-car salesman who’d just spotted an easy mark. I would have elbowed him in the ribs, but Primrose stood between us, still clutching our hands tightly.

  “Y’all get on your feet,” she ordered. “We’re toasting Gabriel and Rita Broussard, who were married—” She broke off, suddenly confused. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask. When were you married?”

  I gave them the answer Gabriel and I had agreed on. “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “Just yesterday?” Primrose finally let go of our hands and clasped her own over her heart. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  The old basset hound scowled from one of us to the other. “And you’re just getting here today? You from out of town or something?”

  We’d prepared for that question, too. “No, we’re from right here in New Orleans,” Gabriel said. He leaned around Primrose and winked suggestively in my general direction. “We talked about checking in last night after the wedding, but frankly, it was just too far to drive. I didn’t want anything to get between me and my lovely bride.”

  That was his version of serious and subdued? He’d straight-up lied to me out there on the stairs. I looked him in the eye to let him know I was not amused. “Don’t make jokes, honey. These nice people might take you seriously.”

  Mr. Big regarded me steadily over the frames of his thick-lensed glasses. “You saying you didn’t want to enjoy your wedding night?”

  Heat rushed into my face, which made Gabriel’s eyes dance. “That’s not what she’s saying at all. We did enjoy it, didn’t we, chérie? Very much.”

  “That,” I said firmly, “isn’t an appropriate topic of conversation.” And certainly not the topic I wanted to discuss. I smiled to take the sting out of my reprimand and said, “Let’s talk about something else.” Like whether they were harboring someone pretending to be our long-lost Monroe. But suddenly swinging the conversation in that direction without raising eyebrows would be next to impossible. Like it or not, I’d have to go with the flow and wait for an opportunity.

  Mr. Big looked almost disappointed, but he smiled and said, “The lady’s right, son. That’s the first thing you gotta learn about being married. The lady’s always right.”

  I shot a grin at Gabriel. “I think you should pay attention to him, sweetheart. It sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.”

  All the men laughed. Hyacinth rolled her eyes, and Primrose fluttered her hands at all of them. “Now, now y’all,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s not tease our guests. This is their first night with us. We don’t want to give them a bad impression.”

  The laughter died away, and nobody said anything for a moment. After a while, the basset hound cleared his throat. “What made you choose this place? This neighborhood isn’t your usual stomping grounds, is it?”

  I knew they’d be curious. My eyes flashed to Gabriel, but just then the cell phone in my pocket vibrated. I silenced it without looking at the screen. I didn’t care who was calling. This was not the time for an interruption. But both the question and the phone call made me nervous. Perspiration beaded on my nose and upper lip.

  Gabriel didn’t even blink. “You’re right. This isn’t our neighborhood,” he admitted easily. “We’re both too busy with work to get away for long, but we did want to disappear for a few days . . . if you know what I mean. Nobody will think to look for us here.”

  The big guy chuckled. “Smart thinking. You put work first your whole life, you end up nothing but sorry. Ask me how I know.”

  Hyacinth scowled at Mr. Big, but even so, the look she gave him was several degrees warmer than the frosty one she’d given us when we checked in earlier. “They don’t want to ask you, Dontae. Nobody wants to hear your stories tonight.”

  Primrose turned back to us with a smile that looked a little too bright. “These two squabble like brother and sister,” she chirped, “but they’re harmless. They’ve been friends forever.” She waved a hand toward the large man and said, “This here’s Dontae Thomas. He likes to grumble, so just tune him out if he gets started.”

  Not Monroe. Strike one.

  She motioned toward the basset hound next. “And this is Cleveland Bunch. He’s another of our long-term residents.”

  Strike two. That gave us one last chance for a home run.

  “If you should ever want to find Cleveland, he’ll be hanging out right here in this room watching his stories on the TV.” She put a hand to her mouth and whispered, “He’s addicted to soap operas, but don’t let on that I told you.”

  “They’re not soap operas,” Cleveland protested. “I watch my judge shows. You ever seen one?”

  I nodded, but refrained from admitting that I wasn’t a big fan.

  Gabriel said, “Good stuff,” as if he thought the on-camera antics of small claims court had some redeeming social value. I hoped he wasn’t serious.

  Silence threatened again, so I asked the first thing that came to mind. “You don’t have TVs in your rooms either?”

  “Oh, I got one,” Cleveland said, “but it ain’t hooked to the whatchacallit. The cable box.”

  “It’s like a giant paperweight,” Dontae said. “No earthly good to anyone.”

  “So what?” Cleveland shot back. “I don’t like being cooped up in there all the time. Sue me.”

  Frowning at the two men, Hyacinth lumbered to her feet. “All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt you to find something productive to do. If you ask me, you ought to take a page out of the professor’s book.”

  Cleveland grinned at her and at least a dozen years fell off his face. “I didn’t ask your advice, Hy, and that’s why, right there. You won’t catch me parading around town the way he does. Instead of busting my chops, you ought to be thanking me for being normal. You don’t need more than one crazy fool wandering around this place.”

  Hyacinth turned away with another expressive roll of the eyes. “Oh, we got more than one. But who’s counting?”

  I laughed uneasily and turned to the tall man who’d been watching the exchange with a benign smile. “I certainly hope you’re not the professor,” I said, hoping that my third and last chance would be a hit. I wanted him to introduce himself as Monroe Magee and launch into his life story to boot.

  “Gracious, no!” Primrose said with a reedy laugh, and scurried over to perform the introductions. “This is Pastor Rod.”

  I really hadn’t expected fate to throw Monroe into our laps that easily, but I was disappointed anyway.

  The pastor smiled at me and leaned up to shake Gabriel’s hand, revealing a frayed cuff on the sleeve of his shirt. “Rod Kinkle,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Gabriel let out an appreciative whistle. “You have live-in clergy? That’s convenient.”

  I glanced at the others to see if they’d taken offense, but I must have been the only one who thought Gabriel’s comment was a trifle insensitive. I mean, in light of everyone’s advanced years and all.

  “Pastor Rod doesn’t live here,” Primrose explained, “but he’s around most every day. He’s just like one of the family. He likes to offer a prayer for the marriages of our guests. I hope that’s all right with you.”

  Under other circumstances, I’d have agreed without hesitation. Aunt Yolanda had raised me with a healthy respect for the Almighty. But the idea of letting the pastor pray for our make-believe marriage triggered my fight-or-flight response and drove everything else, even Monroe, out of my head for a moment.

  I flicked a panicked look at Gabriel, but he was embracing the idea as another leg on his grand adventure. “I think that would be great,” he said. “Thank you, Pastor.”

  Was he kidding?

  The two men fell into an easy conversation, but I barely heard a word either of them said. I was too busy trying
to think of a way to remove us from the prayer list without giving away the fact that we’d been lying since we walked in the front door.

  I’d crossed the line this time. Blessing a fake marriage? I was going to hell for sure and practically sending an engraved invitation for God to strike me down where I stood.

  Eight

  Just when I thought all was lost, I got a Hail Mary pass in the form of an elderly black man wearing a Confederate army uniform, complete with frock coat and a double row of buttons. He marched slowly, his back ramrod straight, his face devoid of all expression. The uniform was strange enough by itself, but the fact that an African American man was wearing it was stranger still. Was this our supposed Monroe Magee?

  Behind him, an old woman with caramel-colored skin and gray hair leaned heavily on a walker as she shuffled through the door. Whoever these two were, I owed them big-time.

  Primrose looked flustered by their arrival. She ignored the woman and spoke to the Confederate soldier. “Well, Grey, I didn’t realize you were coming. I thought you were out.”

  “Temporary change of duty,” he said. “My contributions were not required this afternoon.”

  “In that getup, it’s no wonder,” Dontae grumbled. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  Grey waved off his comment and headed toward a chair. “I’m tryin’ to give an unbiased account of the conflict,” he snarled. “Not that you’d understand that.”

  The woman gave her walker a sharp rap on the floor, demanding everyone’s attention. Her body seemed frail, but the sparkle in her eyes made it clear that she had her wits about her. “And what about me, Primrose? I told you I’d be a few minutes late, but you started anyway.” She turned to the soldier with a scowl. “Didn’t I tell you she’d try to cut me out?”

  I opened my mouth to assure her we hadn’t actually started anything, but Primrose spoke up first. “I told you five o’clock sharp, Lula Belle. It’s already ten past.” Her demeanor had changed drastically. Gone was her smile and the fluttering of her hands. A look of irritation had settled on her thin face.