1 Target of Death (5 page)

With that, she shut the door and, with a clang,
we heard her lock the deadbolt. We made our way back to the SUV and Margarita
threw me the keys.

Once we were settled inside the vehicle, I
said, “So, what do you think about Marilyn? Do you think she’s telling us the
truth about being held as a virtual prisoner in her own home with limited
money?”

“If she says that, why shouldn’t we believe
her?” Margarita asked.

“Does that line up to what you’ve known
about her?”

“I’m not sure. We’re not that close, and
it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

“Did you see her around town or at Curls
and Cuts?”

“I’d never go to Curls and Cuts myself.
That owner, Patsy McNally, stole my husband.”

“Stole? I thought you meant your husband
had an affair with her.”

“That, too. When I tossed his sorry behind
out, he left me high and dry and moved in with
her
.”

“How dry?”

“He stole all of our savings and I had to
refinance Hidden Pass to pay him off in the divorce. It’s been hard these past
five years and I’m about to lose the restaurant if I can’t draw in enough
business during the winter festival.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know.” Her face dropped. “I don’t
need to burden you with my troubles, girls.”

“Stop worrying so much, would you? Dixie
and I will help you out. We’ll whip up some real Cajun cooking and you’ll be
plenty busy.”

Tear glistened in Margarita’s eyes. “Oh,
thank you both so much.”

I drove back to the restaurant just as it
started to snow hard.

“Slow down,” Margarita shouted. “Pump the
brakes, dear. Don’t slam on them,” she added as the SUV fishtailed.

I gripped the steering wheel hard. It was
bad enough driving in this blasted snowfall without the constant backseat
driving from Margarita. Oh, I know she means well, but seriously? “I’ll have
you know that back home I’ve plowed through Louisiana mud deeper than this
snow.”

“Snow is nothing like mud, dear, and didn’t
you already land yourself in a ditch on the way into town?”

I sighed heavily. “Yes, but I was caught by
surprise, is all. I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Oh, I could tell. You just ran through a
stop sign.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror and sure
enough, I had.

Dixie leaned forward. “Tammy, you really
should pay more attention to what Ma says. Oops, I mean Margarita.”

Margarita’s brow shot up. “Not a problem
for now, but tomorrow this town will be packed.”

“How long has this festival been going on?”
Dixie asked.

“Nearly thirty years. It’s one of the
longest running festivals in Michigan.”

Once I was in town, I noticed blocks of ice
were lined all along the main drag, and down the side streets there were wooden
frames made of plywood. A backhoe was filling them with snow. “Why aren’t they
doing the ice carvings yet?”

“They’ll start first thing in the morning.
That way, it’s fair. Nobody is allowed to start ice carvings until tomorrow.
It’s in the rule book.”

“And the Tournament of Trouble doesn’t
start until the end of the week?”

“Nope. So you girls should have plenty of
time to make your chili for the cook-off tomorrow and start creating your Cajun
menu for the restaurant. I think it might be just what this town needs, a
little Louisiana cooking for a change.”

“We’ll need to go grocery shopping for
sure.”

Margarita gave me the directions to the
local market, Ray’s, near the end of town. We passed stands that were in the
process of being constructed with awnings. The largest of them was in the
center of town.

“I need time to practice before the
competition.”

“Not a problem. We probably should start
investigating tomorrow. Or I mean, you girls need to.”

“What? You’re not going with us?”

“I’ll have you know that I have a
restaurant to run. You girls can start cooking tonight and instruct my cooks
how to prepare your Cajun dishes. Of course, you’ll have to enter the chili
cook-off. You’ll have to do that before the parade. When you win, it will be
the perfect advertisement for the restaurant.”

“You sound so positive that we can win. I’m
just not so sure that folks will care for our version of chili. It will have
plenty of oomph.”

“Be more positive, girl. With a nickname
like Louisiana Sassy, I’m sure you can accomplish just about anything.”

I nodded to be nice. I sure hoped I
wouldn’t let the old girl down. It’s not every day I’ve had someone believe in
me that much, especially someone I had just met. Lord knows my mamma wasn’t
like that. She tried to the best of her abilities to turn me into a real lady.
It wasn’t my fault that I preferred to run amuck in the bayou, or that hunting
and fishing was more fun to me. Now, I can be as ladylike as the next girl when
I want to, but those times are few and far between ... unless I’m going out, that
is. I must admit that I clean up good. Dixie and I needed to sneak in a little
fun time; that is, if Margarita’s schedule for us allowed for it.

I don’t know exactly why I was going along
with whatever Margarita said. I think it might have had something to do with
the ‘respect your elders’ thing. It sure was exciting to be knee deep in an
investigation into a murder, too. I still was blown away when we found all that
cash at the Percy place. I just hoped that Marilyn hid it real well, and that
nobody showed up looking for it. It could indeed be the reason that Clayton was
murdered.

I pulled into the parking lot of the
grocery/meat market. When we walked toward the door, I took a big whiff and the
smell of smoked meat wafted into my nostrils. We might get lucky and find the
right ingredients after all.

Margarita waded through the snow, which was
getting mighty deep, and grabbed the last grocery cart.

“Hey,” a woman yelled. “That cart’s mine.”

I stared at a short, senior-aged woman with
gray hair that looked almost blue; thus the term ‘blue hair,’ no doubt.

“Sorry, we got here first,” I said with a
smile.

“You talk funny. Where are you from?”

“Louisiana.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, we do things
differently here in Michigan. I was going for the cart way before you walked
toward the door. I just don’t move all that fast on account of my bad knee,” she
said, as she limped forward.

I glanced from Margarita to the mystery
woman. “I’m sorry, but I never saw you until we had already grabbed the last
cart.” Just then a shopper came out, trailing her way into the parking lot,
having quite a time moving it in the snow. I almost wanted to give her the cart,
until Margarita bellowed, “There’s nothing wrong with her knee. She just uses
that excuse when it’s convenient.”

That sounded so harsh to me, but then both
women glared at each other. Obviously, there was more going on than getting the
last cart. I stomped through the snow after the woman who was still trying to maneuver
her cart near her car. I helped her and she turned, thanking me as two small
children hopped playfully in the snow.

“Thanks,” she said. I smiled and returned
the cart to the store, where Dixie was consoling a red-faced Margarita.

“What on earth did you do that for?”

“On account of I was taught to help out
folks.”

“What’s your beef with her?” Dixie asked
with a cock of her head.

“That’s Mary Clink. We used to be good
friends until I divorced Winston. When you split up with your husband, people
start taking sides, and she took Winston’s. She’s also good friends with Patsy
McNalley, the woman who stole my husband.” Her lips curled down into a frown.
“If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that Mary was kinda sweet on Winston
herself.”

“How long ago did you get a divorce?”

“Five years ago.”

“Too much drama for folks your age,” I
said.

She cocked a brow. “Oh, and what do you
know about women my age?”

“I don’t even know how old you are.”

“And I’m not telling you either, young
lady. Just because folks get old doesn’t mean they don’t live full lives, you
know.”

“I know that. I—”

Dixie clapped me on the back. “Give up,
Tammy. This is one argument you won’t win.”

Margarita took ahold of the cart and pushed
it into the store with a screech of wheels so loud that everyone in the cashier
area stared over at us. “Good going, dear,” Margarita said. “You let that old
cranky lady grab the good cart.”

I doubt Mary was the only cranky old lady
in town, but I nodded, since Margarita was obviously not ready to let this one
rest. We headed down the bread aisle, and it was nearly empty. “Wow, this place
looks more picked over than a liquor store on New Year’s Eve.”

“I know. I sure hope you girls can find
what you need, but I don’t think Ray’s carries Cajun spices.”

“Not to worry. We can make our own. All you
have to do is add the right spices together,” I said with confidence.

We loaded the cart full of the ingredients
we needed for the dishes I had decided to cook, including my special chili
recipe. I even managed to find a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce. “I can’t
believe they carry this here.”

A stock boy must have overheard us because
he smiled and said, “That’s the owner’s favorite. He brings back a case every
time he goes back home to visit.”

“You mean he’s from Louisiana originally?”

“My family is,” a voice boomed from the end
of the aisle.

I sized up the rotund man with the wind-blown
red cheeks, his brown hair combed over. “Where abouts?”

“New Orleans. Our family name is Dubois.
That’s Harry Dubois.”

“That’s quite a common name back home. I’m
Tammy Rodrigue and this is Dixie Perriloux.”

“Rodrigue? Why does that name seem
familiar?”

I tried not to react. Surly he couldn’t
know who my mother’s side of the family was, or the legendary name that went
along with it. Lord knew my family had tried to bury the secret for over a
hundred years now. “I can’t help you out with that one,” I said. Changing the
subject, I continued, “I don’t suppose you have any Zatarain’s spices?”

“I’m sure you can make your own. I can’t
get it up here, but I always make sure to keep the hot sauce in stock.” He
coughed, and then added, “I have some Andouille sausage. I make it myself.”

My cheeks hurt at the smile that nearly
split my face. “That would be great. Any fresh shrimp?”

“Not fresh, exactly, but we do have some at
the meat counter. It’s not like I can catch any out in Lake Summers.”

“Lake Summers?” I just couldn’t imagine a
lake in frozen Michigan called Lake Summers.

“It’s the lake nearby where many of our
winter festivals are held. We have ice fishing competitions, motorcycle
races—”

“How on the earth do you have motorcycle
races on the ice?” I interjected.

“With studded tires. We also have frozen
turkey bowling. The kids really like that one, and of course the polar bear
dipping is the main event.”

Margarita nodded. “These girls are here for
the archery competition.”

“Really? Which one of you is Louisiana
Sassy?”

I waved a hand in the air. “Guilty as
charged.”

“Great. It’s about time Daniel Adams had
some real competition. Now I know why your name sounds so familiar. Aren’t you
related to—”

“I’d love to chat more, but we really need
to get everything for our Cajun menu at the Hidden Pass restaurant.”

“We’re hoping to get a good turn-out,”
Margarita added.

He licked his bottom lip enthusiastically.
“That sounds great. I’d be happy to make you up some fliers to hand out to my
customers.”

Margarita’s face lit up. “That would be
kind of you.”

He led us to the meat case, where we
selected chicken, shrimp, and ground round and waited for Harry to personally
deliver the Andouille sausage to our cart.

“I’ll be sure to stop by and try out your
fare,” he said. “The only time I get authentic Cajun cooking is when I go back
home.”

“You don’t consider Michigan to be your
home?”

“Yes, but there’s nothing like being in New
Orleans. When I’m ready to retire I plan to move back, but my wife doesn’t want
to budge. She’s a Michigan native and all her family lives in town.”

“Hey, do you happen to know Marilyn Percy?”

“She’s as much a mystery in town as her
husband’s legendary wandering ways. I swear it will be the death of him one
day.”

I kept a straight face. “Let’s hope not.”

Dixie tousled her blonde hair as she added,
“Does Marilyn come into town much?”

“Nope. That husband of hers keeps a tight
rein on her. I don’t think they have much money to speak of, from what I hear. My
wife says that Marilyn barely has enough money to get her hair done.”

“Oh, so your wife knows her?”

“No. They just go to the same place to get
their hair done.”

“Let me guess ... Curls and Cuts?”

“Yes. What’s the sudden interest in
Marilyn?”

“She’s my cousin and I’m just a little
worried about her,” Margarita said. “Poor dear is always alone out at her
place.” With that, I whirled the cart away, gathering the rest of our
groceries.

“So, word hasn’t made the gossip rounds
just yet,” Margarita whispered.

“I’m sure they’re not ready to release
Clayton’s name yet.”

“Good luck keeping that quiet in this town.
I wonder who found the body?”

“What body?” Mary Clink asked, as she stood
nearby. Her blue eyes shifted side to side, the lines on her face creasing as
she frowned.

The last thing I needed to do was start the
gossip rolling, but I felt I should come clean with part of the story, leaving
out the identity of who was murdered, and that the widow had found a sack full
of cash in her closet.
 
“I’m not
sure. I just heard they found a body,” I said. “The police discovered it when
we came into town.”

Mary fanned herself. “Oh, my! That’s just
awful. I wonder if it was anyone from town? I sure hope it’s not anyone I know.”

Before I had a chance to regret what I’d
said, we had a circle of curious townsfolk looking on, waiting for more details
that I just couldn’t share.