A Sheetcake Named Desire (7 page)

Nine

The next morning, I chased the aroma of fresh coffee, chocolate, and bananas into the kitchen, where I found Miss Frankie waiting for me.

She looked tired and pale, but she’d set out plates and mugs, sliced the coffee cake, and added a bowl of fresh fruit to the table. We ate quickly, reminiscing about Philippe. Miss Frankie shared stories about his childhood, and I told her about things that had happened when we lived in Chicago. Occasionally, we lapsed into long stretches of silence. I remembered Philippe as he’d been when we’d met, and I knew Miss Frankie was thinking about the five-year-old boy who’d broken his arm when he fell out of the towering oak tree near the property line.

After a quick detour to my hotel so I could shower, change, and check out (Miss Frankie insisted I’d be staying with her from then on), we walked through the front doors at Zydeco a few minutes before eleven. Unlike the previous two days, no enticing aromas filled the air. The hum of activity I’d noticed before was noticeably absent in spite of the fact that every chair in the reception area was occupied by a staff member. Apparently, Miss Frankie and I weren’t the only people coming to the meeting with Philippe’s attorney.

Once my initial surprise faded, it occurred to me that seeing the whole crew together might be a good thing. I still thought Ox was Philippe’s most logical successor, and this might give me the chance to convince Miss Frankie of that.

Ox sat near the front window. A couple of deep bruises had formed on his face, and the cuts were covered with bandages. But in spite of his injuries, he looked strong and healthy. I told myself that was a good thing, but remembering Detective Sullivan’s insinuations about Ox’s possible guilt made me nervous.

I nodded at Burt as I passed and was treated to one of his flirtatious smiles in return. Isabeau’s pale-blonde ponytail and perfect makeup couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes. A flicker of surprise crossed Abe Cobb’s narrow face when he saw me. He’d gone home before the attacks yesterday, so it had been a while since I’d seen him. He seemed even thinner and more morose looking than ever.

Dwight sat curled on his tailbone like a sullen teenager. He’d cut the arms off his T-shirt, and his jeans bore traces of grease stains. Definitely not appropriate for the face of Zydeco. Sparkle sat a few feet away, hiding behind a veil of black hair and making sure to avoid the sunlight coming in through the windows. Estelle sat on the floor near Edie’s desk, picking nervously at her frizzy red hair.

Edie came out from behind her desk to fuss over Miss Frankie and shed a few tears. “I’ll have someone bring out more chairs,” she said when she finally stopped crying. “The meeting will start as soon as everyone’s here.”

In true southern-gentleman style, Burt shot out of his seat and motioned Miss Frankie toward it. She accepted it with a grateful smile, and I perched on a windowsill near Abe. I silently willed Ox to step up and show Miss Frankie his reliable, trustworthy side, but he didn’t move. Maybe he was embarrassed by the fight. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he just needed time.

Miss Frankie sat with her back ramrod straight, accepting the whispered condolences of Philippe’s employees, but I knew she was wondering if one of them was responsible for yesterday’s attack. Was one of them guilty of sabotaging the bakery? Of murder?

I ruled out Estelle, Sparkle, and Isabeau immediately. I didn’t think any of them had the physical strength to plunge a knife into Philippe’s chest. Abe, Ox, Dwight, and Burt could have, but Burt had been with me. Which left my three old friends as possible suspects. Did I believe one of them was guilty? No. Not really. But I couldn’t absolutely rule them out, no matter how much I might want to. Dwight was passionate and emotional. Abe reclusive and secretive. And Ox? Fiercely competitive.

I was still in the middle of sizing up the staff when the front door flew open, and Quinn made a grand entrance in skinny black cigarette pants and a sleeveless cowl-neck tunic made of something so thin and gauzy that it floated around her like a cloud.

I swallowed a groan of dismay.

As if on cue, most of the men in the room rose to their feet and hurried toward her. Burt reached her first and coaxed her gently into the room, settling her in Abe’s abandoned chair. Dwight disappeared down the hallway and reappeared a moment later with a cold bottle of water. Abe stopped halfway across the room and hovered uncertainly.

Only Ox remained seated, his face expressionless. Interesting. Did that mean he disliked Quinn? Disapproved of Philippe’s choice? I added that to the list of things I wanted to find out.

Isabeau slid forward in her seat and put a reassuring hand on the Drama Queen’s arm. “How are you holding up, Quinn? Are you doing okay?” With their blonde heads bent together, they looked enough alike to be twins, except that Isabeau had the “girl next door” look down pat. Quinn looked more like she belonged in an episode of
The Girls Next Door
.

“How could I possibly be okay?” She pouted. “Philippe is dead. Somebody killed him, and they did it right here, in front of all of you!”

The good twin stiffened under the weight of the accusation, while Sparkle, mistress of the dark, shot Quinn a disapproving look from beneath her veil of black bangs. “Back off, Quinn. She’s just trying to help.” Sparkle was as dark as Isabeau was fair, as sullen as Isabeau was perky, but her loyalty to Isabeau impressed me.

Before I could wrap my mind around their unlikely friendship, Abe muttered something I couldn’t hear and even Burt’s friendly expression grew cold and tight. “It was hardly
in front
of us,” he pointed out.

Struggling to her feet, Estelle shot him a look and turned to Quinn, oozing sympathy. “I know how you must feel—”

Quinn cut her off. “Do you? Do you really?” She ran a look of distaste over Estelle’s round figure. “I hardly think so.”

Estelle clamped her mouth shut so hard her double chin jiggled slightly.

Apparently, Sparkle didn’t like that either. Her already glum expression grew even grimmer as her lips formed a thin black line on her pale face. “I mean it, Quinn. Back off. They’re just trying to be supportive.”

Estelle lifted her chins and offered her a little smile. “Thank you, Sparkle.”

“Whatever.” Sparkle rolled her black-rimmed eyes and went back to looking unconcerned and slightly bored. “Now that Quinn’s here,” she said to Edie, “how much longer is this attorney jackass going to make us wait?”

She’d never win Miss Congeniality, but Sparkle had shown a kind chink in her goth armor, making it easier for me to understand why Philippe had kept her around. Talent alone had never been enough for him. He’d insisted on creating a work environment where everyone had fun.

Edie’s answering smile looked pained, but she said, “He’s ready for you now,” and herded us like sheep up the stairs and into the room where Sullivan had interrogated me the day before. We spent a few minutes sorting ourselves out, and by the time Philippe’s attorney strode into the room, we were all settled around the oval conference table, exhibiting various degrees of impatience.

Thaddeus Montgomery, a tall man in his sixties with silver hair and a long face, spent a few minutes chatting softly with Miss Frankie, then introduced himself to the rest of us. I knew his name well. Until now, I’d never met its owner, but I’d seen it on plenty of legal documents in the early stages of my divorce.

He sat beside Miss Frankie at the head of the table and motioned for quiet. “As most of you know,” he said, in an accent reminiscent of Kevin Spacey’s in
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
, “I’ve been the Renier family attorney for most of my career. Philippe was not just a client; he was a friend.”

A few people nodded, and Thaddeus looked around the table as he continued. “I’m deeply saddened to be here today, as I’m sure we all are. I’m afraid that the disposition of Philippe’s estate may come as something of a shock to some of you, and that’s why I wanted everyone here.”

A wave of unintelligible murmurs rose up from the group seated at the table. I glanced at Miss Frankie to see how she was holding up. She sat completely still, her eyes locked directly in front of her, her hands tightly clasped on the table.

“I’m aware that Philippe made promises to some of you during his lifetime,” Thaddeus went on. “It would be my greatest pleasure to honor those promises now that he’s gone. However, the law is the law, and I am bound to uphold it.”

Promises? Any worth killing over? Most of the crew looked curious, Ox and Quinn both wore cautious expressions, but nobody looked sinister or secretive.

“The business will be covered by the partnership agreement entered into between Philippe and his mother. Philippe’s death leaves Miss Frankie the sole owner of Zydeco. Since he died without a will or other written instruction, the rest of his estate will have to go through probate.”

Quinn’s head shot up for the first time, and she pinned the attorney to the wall with her gaze. “What does that mean?”

Thaddeus smiled patiently. “It means that Philippe’s estate will be distributed according to state law.”

“And what does
that
mean?”

“The court will appoint a personal representative to administer the estate. He or she will distribute the money—
all
of his liquid assets—along with his other personal property to Philippe’s heirs or heirs-at-law.”

I wondered just what that entailed, but I didn’t ask.

“And those heirs are—?” With every question, Quinn’s voice gathered strength, until she sounded less like a grieving girlfriend and more like a shrewd businesswoman. Surprise, surprise.

“We’ll get to that,” Thaddeus assured her. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’ll file all the necessary paperwork as soon as I can, but you should be aware that absent a court ruling to the contrary, Philippe’s estate will go to his next of kin.”

Quinn’s lips curved as she sat back in her seat. “That’s fine, then. I’m sure Miss Frankie will see to it that Philippe’s wishes are honored.”

Thaddeus cast an uneasy glance in my direction. “Not his mother. At this point, it appears that the estate will go to Philippe’s wife, Rita Lucero.”

Even though Sullivan had hinted at this outcome, I gasped in shock. Every eye in the room turned on me, and Quinn went straight from benevolent grief to red-faced anger, as if someone had flipped a switch.

Shooting to her feet, she pointed one bony finger at me. “Are you saying that
she
inherits Philippe’s money? His house?”

Philippe had a house? Miss Frankie had mentioned that he had his own place, but I’d thought she meant an apartment.

Thaddeus inclined his head slightly. “She does unless the court rules otherwise.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

Forget Quinn; was he freaking kidding
me?

“I’m afraid I’m not. The personal estate belongs to Ms. Lucero as Philippe’s widow.”

I stared at Thaddeus in shock and disbelief, unable to pull my thoughts together or get words out of my mouth.

Apparently, Quinn didn’t have the same problem. “You know as well as I do that Philippe and I were going to live in that house together.”

“As I said before, Ms. Goddard—”

“I know what you
said
,” Quinn shouted. “But if you think you can give everything Philippe owned to
her
, you’re making a huge mistake.”

“I’m not giving anything to anyone,” Thaddeus said patiently. “I’m merely telling you what the law says. The divorce between Philippe and Ms. Lucero was never finalized.”

Quinn shot a venomous look in my direction. “But that was just a technicality! They were divorced in every way except on paper.”

I found my voice at last. “I’m sorry,” I said to the room at large. “I didn’t know . . .”

“You expect us to believe that?” Quinn shrilled. “You expect us to believe that you come to town and Philippe dies, leaving you everything, and it’s all just some gigantic coincidence?”

“I’m sorry, Quinn, but yes, that’s
exactly
what it is.” Quinn was a lost cause. She’d never believe me, so I focused on the jury of my peers, who were all staring at me as if I’d grown three extra heads. I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares.

The attorney cleared his throat in the stony silence that followed. “I know this comes as a surprise to some of you. Ms. Lucero will no doubt want to take some time to think about what she wants to do with Philippe’s personal property. But you should also know that Miss Frankie has asked Rita to take over here at Zydeco for the time being.”

Now it was Ox’s turn to flip out. His face went from curious to furious in a heartbeat. He shot to his feet so fast, his chair toppled over with a
bang!
that made me jump about a foot. “You’re putting Rita in charge?”

Miss Frankie turned her head slowly toward him and spoke for the first time. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Hell yes, I have a problem with that. I’ve given my heart and soul to this place. I know the business inside and out. If anybody takes over for Philippe, it should be me.”