Arsenic and Old Cake (2 page)

“Why wait until fall?” I asked. “How many wedding shows are scheduled in this area over the next few months?”

Edie shook her head and crossed her legs. “None. Most of the shows are in the fall and winter.”

“Maybe we could branch out and expand our radius,” I suggested. “There might be something scheduled in other states.”

“Even if there were, we’d just spend money we don’t have on travel and lodging,” Edie pointed out. “We’re in a bad spot, Rita. We didn’t get the wedding orders we needed from last year’s shows, and we’re paying for it now.”

I looked at the schedule again, then sighed and propped my chin in my hand. “We might have to cut hours,” I conceded reluctantly. “But you know I can’t make a decision like that without talking it over with Miss Frankie.”

Miss Frankie and I have a good working relationship and a surprisingly close personal one, especially considering that, had things turned out differently last year, Philippe would have signed the divorce papers and our marriage would have been over. I’d have gone back to my low-grade sous chef job at Uncle Nestor’s restaurant in New Mexico, and Miss Frankie and I might never have seen each other again.

Instead, Philippe had been murdered before the papers could be signed, leaving me, technically, his widow. I’d inherited his house, his car, and his personal bank account—which, though a big deal to me, wasn’t enough to give Zydeco the shot in the arm it needed.

Miss Frankie had become sole owner of Zydeco. But she wasn’t a baker and she knew nothing about cake decorating, so she’d begged me to stay and help her, offering me a partnership to sweeten the deal. How could I say no? She needed me.

Okay, my motives weren’t entirely unselfish. Zydeco was my dream bakery, and the staff Philippe had put together was top-notch. Plus, I’d been dissatisfied with the entry-level job at Uncle Nestor’s restaurant. It had required only a moderate amount of arm-twisting on Miss Frankie’s part to convince me to say yes.

Now I run the day-to-day business on-site, and Miss Frankie stays home and writes checks when we need them. Up until recently, anyway. We could have used one of Miss Frankie’s checks right about now, but the falling stock market had dealt a few blows to her bank balance along with everyone else’s. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to ask for a cash infusion. Now, I wasn’t sure I should

Edie gave me a verbal nudge. “You can’t think about this forever, Rita. I have to post the schedule this afternoon.”

“Then post it,” I said. “Keep everyone full-time for now, at least until I talk to Miss Frankie. We can cut back next week if she agrees that’s the best solution.”

Clearly, that wasn’t the answer Edie wanted. She sat back in her chair and tucked that lock of hair behind her ear again. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

I resented being pushed to make a decision, especially one I didn’t want to make at all. Besides, I’d spoken with Miss Frankie earlier that morning and I knew she was having brunch with her best friend and neighbor, Bernice. Neither of them carried a cell phone, and I hadn’t asked where they were eating. I couldn’t have reached Miss Frankie if I’d tried.

Which I had no intention of doing.

“I’ll talk to her later,” I said decisively. “We’ll figure something out, I promise. And in the meantime, please don’t mention your concerns to anyone else. I don’t want the staff to worry.”

And by
worry
, I meant
panic
. I love my staff, but it’s full of artistic, emotional, temperamental people.
Logic
and
restraint
aren’t words that show up often in their vocabularies.

Edie’s gaze flickered away for a moment, making me wonder whether my warning was too late.

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” I asked.

She shook her head quickly. “Not yet.”

“Good. If we do have to make adjustments, I think Miss Frankie and I should be the ones to explain what we’re doing and why.”

Edie stood but made no move to leave.

I smiled up at her. “Is there anything else?”

She started to say something, but just then we heard the tinkle of the bell above the front door, signaling a new arrival—unusual, since we don’t handle walk-in clients.

Edie scowled over her shoulder, annoyed by the interruption.

I, however, tried not to look overly grateful for it. Maybe it was a prospective client. If so, I’d think twice before turning them away. Besides, our conversation had run its course. Even with the decrease in business, I still had plenty to do that afternoon, starting with calculating payroll so the staff could get paid at all.

Muttering, “We’ll finish this later,” Edie hurried from my office.

I had no doubt we would. Edie isn’t known for letting things go. I tried to forget the warning and focused on getting the payroll figures logged into the computer. It would be easier to finish
this
without a head full of distractions. The air outside was growing warmer, so I shut the window and got down to work.

I’d just opened the first file when Edie reappeared in the doorway. She looked uncharacteristically tentative as she slipped inside my office again and shut the door behind her. “You’ll never believe who’s here,” she said, her voice low. And then, before I could take a guess, she told me. “It’s Gabriel Broussard. You know . . . from the Dizzy Duke? And he’s got Old Dog Leg with him.”

The Dizzy Duke is a bar a few blocks away from Zydeco. It’s been the staff’s after-hours hangout since the bakery opened. Philippe was a regular. Me? Not so much, but I do try to join them a couple of times every week.

Gabriel is one of the bartenders, six feet of sexy, dark Cajun handsomeness. He and I indulge in a little low-key flirting from time to time, and we’ve gone out a couple of times. He’s spontaneous and exciting, but so far there’s nothing serious between us. Partly because he’s not the only guy on my personal horizon, and partly because I’m not sure I’m ready for serious. But hearing his name in the middle of the workday set off a pleasant internal buzz and I didn’t fight it.

Old Dog Leg is a seventy-eight-year-old blind trumpet player who occasionally sits in with the house band at the Dizzy Duke. He’s a sweet old guy and one of my favorites among the regulars at the bar. Still, for either of them to show up at Zydeco was unusual, but both of them walking through the door together? Unheard of. It sparked my curiosity in a big way.

I glanced toward the door and back at Edie. “What do they want?” I whispered.

Edie shrugged. “To see you. That’s all they’d say. Do you want me to send them in or tell them you’re busy?”

I still had way too much to do, but I hesitated for less than a second before closing my laptop and moving it out of the way. I really had no choice. If I sent them away, curiosity would eat me alive and I wouldn’t get anything done. It was simple self-preservation that made me say, “Send them in, of course.”

Two

Edie showed Gabriel and Old Dog Leg into my office and disappeared, promising to return with sweet tea, the signature drink of the South. I greeted both men warmly, although I may have put a little more sugar into the greeting I offered Gabriel. He wore a white shirt and jeans with a black leather jacket that would have made Young Elvis proud. It was hard not to smile at that. In return, he treated me to one of those lopsided grins of his that tend to do strange things to my insides, especially after a margarita or two.

Old Dog Leg used his white cane to maneuver around the furniture and, with a little guidance from Gabriel, settled into a chair facing mine. He was a little less stylin’ than Gabriel, in baggy trousers, a plaid shirt, and the sunglasses he never removed, but he could’ve easily passed for twenty years younger than seventy-eight. I only knew his age because he’d told me; nobody would guess it just by looking at him. When I saw the worry lines creasing his usually smooth skin, however, the warm fuzzies I’d been feeling toward Gabriel fizzled out. Old Dog Leg had something on his mind.

I rounded the desk to give the old man a quick hug and sent Gabriel a “what’s up?” look on my way back.

He answered with an “I don’t know” shrug before claiming the chair next to Dog Leg’s.

“This is a surprise,” I said. “Are you two here for business, or is this a social call?”

The old man smiled at me as I sat. “I got somet’ing on my mind, lovely Rita. Gotta ask for some help.”

That surprised me. Despite his blindness, or maybe because of it, Old Dog Leg was fiercely independent.

“Whatever you need,” I assured him. “What’s wrong?”

He tilted his head so that his round face turned toward the ceiling. “Got me a letter in de mail yesterday,” he said in a singsong accent that was pure Louisiana. “From someone claimin’ to be my brother.”

I shot a surprised glance at Gabriel, but he was focused on Dog Leg and his expression didn’t reveal anything. “I didn’t know you had a brother,” I said. “You’ve never mentioned him to me before, have you?”

Old Dog Leg let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t talk about him much. He disappeared a long time ago.”

From where I sat, this was getting more interesting by the minute. I leaned forward, eager to hear more. “Disappeared? How?”

Dog Leg gave me a patient smile. “Never knew de answer to dat question. He just up and vanished.”

“And now he’s back?”

“So it says in de letter. But dat’s de trouble. Mebbe it him. Mebbe it not. I don’ know.” He jerked his head in my direction. “Show her, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pulled the letter from his shirt pocket and handed it to me as he explained, “Dog Leg brings his mail to the Duke and I read it to him. Take a look.”

The small white envelope bore the logo of a Victorian-style house, the words
Love Nest Bed & Breakfast
in bold script, and a return address I placed on the West Bank here in New Orleans. I lifted an eyebrow at Gabriel. “The Love Nest?”

“It’s a new one to me,” he said. “But I looked it up on the Internet. Apparently, it’s a deluxe romantic getaway for honeymooners.”

My gaze swiveled back to Dog Leg. “Your brother’s here on his honeymoon?”

“Don’ know. He didn’ say. G’wan. See for yourself.”

I unfolded a single sheet of Love Nest stationery and found a short note in carefully printed letters:

Hey, D, it’s me. Monroe.

Sorry I run off the way I done, but I’m back for a spell. Sure would like to see you if you can forgive me for what I done. I’ll be at this address for a week. Come on by if you’ve a mind to.

Your brother,

Monroe

I turned the page over, looking futilely for more, but the back of the sheet was empty. I’m an only child, but I grew up with four cousins. If one of them ever disappeared, I’d want more than a
come on by
when he resurfaced. “That’s it?” I asked.

Gabriel nodded. “So it would seem.”

“Monroe never was much for writin’,” Dog Leg said with a half smile.

“So it would seem,” I commented, echoing Gabriel. “How long has he been gone?”

The old man let out another sigh, this one so deep I could feel it from where I sat. “Last time I seen my baby brother it was de first of May, forty years ago.”

I gasped. “Forty years?” That’s longer than I’ve been alive. No wonder he was uncertain.

“He just vanished?” Gabriel asked. “You have no idea what happened to him?”

Dog Leg shook his head. “Notta clue. Figured he run off, though. Least at first. After a while . . .” He lifted one round shoulder. “Well, you gots to wonder.”

“You never heard a word?” I asked. “Monroe didn’t give you any clue that he was thinking of leaving? Never sent a birthday or Christmas card in all the years since?”

“Nothin’. I tol’ you, he wasn’t much for writing.”

Gabriel gave that some thought. “Did anything unusual happen before he left? Was he in trouble of some kind?”

“I axed myself dat a t’ousand times, but I don’t know.” Dog Leg’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Him and me, we played together at de Cott’n Bott’m. You heard of it?”

“I have,” Gabriel said, and then explained for my sake, “The Cotton Bottom was a popular club back then.”

“Dat’s right. It was
de
place to go for a while, and we had us a mighty sweet gig. Money was good. Plenty of women. And we was buildin’ a name for ourselves. Den one day Monroe just didn’t show up. It was a Saturday night, biggest night of de week. Got worried, y’know? So me and a coupla guys went to check on him. His room? Cleaned out. His stuff gone.”

I tried to imagine how Dog Leg had felt, not knowing where his brother was for four decades. Losing my parents the summer I’d turned twelve had devastated me, but at least I’d been certain about what happened to them. Dog Leg must have gone through hell wondering whether his brother was alive or dead. But I didn’t want to dwell on the pain of the past.

“How did he even know where to find you?” I asked.

“I’m livin’ in de house our folks owned. Been dere all my life.”

“Then why didn’t he call instead? I mean—” I broke off, uncertain how to phrase my question without sounding rude. After a couple more fumbled attempts to get it out, Gabriel stepped in.

“What are you trying to get at, slick?”

“Well . . . doesn’t it seem odd that Monroe would send a letter when he knows his brother can’t read it himself?”

“Not so strange,” Dog Leg said. “I wasn’t like dis when Monroe knew me. Didn’t get de glaucoma until I was in my sixties. Far as Monroe knows, I can see just fine.”

Edie came back carrying a tray and sweet tea. We all fell silent while she passed around glasses and napkins. I used the interruption to try to wrap my mind around what Old Dog Leg had told us and to guess what he wanted from me.

“So what are you going to do?” Gabriel asked when Edie left the room again.

Old Dog Leg lifted one shoulder. “Only one t’ing
to
do. I gotta figger out whether he’s Monroe or he ain’t.”

“And how are you going to do that?” I asked.