Arsenic and Old Cake (6 page)

Gabriel laughed and opened his car door. “There. See? Sniping at me already. Right in character. Relax, Rita. We’ll be just fine.”

Easy for him to say. He had the gift of making friends wherever he went.

He paused with one foot on the pavement and gave me a look. “You want me to call Dog Leg and tell him we’ve changed our minds?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, I’m just . . .” But I didn’t know how to put my concerns into words. They were so wrapped up in my childhood issues about fitting into a new environment and then the challenges of having married so far over my head, I wasn’t even sure they were valid. I shrugged. “No. Of course not. Just do me a favor. Remind me why we’re doing this?”

“Because Old Dog Leg needs our help.”

“Yeah. That’s it. I knew there was a reason.” I stepped out into the bright spring sunlight and adjusted my sunglasses against the glare. “So which one of us is going to get Monroe to strip down so we can check for the birthmark on his back?”

Gabriel winked and popped the trunk. “I thought I’d leave that to you, honey.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess it might be a little less weird for me to try getting him naked than for you to do it.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Gabriel pulled our suitcases from the trunk. “Getting the man naked is optional. All we really need is a look at his shoulder. But hey! Whatever floats your boat.”

“Leave my boat out of this,” I said. While he extended the handles on our suitcases, I closed the trunk. “Can we be serious for a minute? What if Monroe isn’t who he claims to be? What are we going to do then?”

“I guess that depends on what else we learn about him along the way,” Gabriel said as we started walking. “We don’t know what we’re going to find here. I think we have to just take it one step at a time.”

He was probably right, but I’m not fond of going with the flow. I’m much more comfortable when I have a game plan. He was walking quickly, so I put on my best “wife” face—whatever that was—and scurried after him to the front door. He held the door for me, and I stepped into a room that smelled so strongly of carnations and roses it was more like a funeral parlor than a lobby.

The hardwood floors gleamed, and sunlight spilled into the foyer through tall narrow windows on two of the walls. Several huge vases filled with massive flower arrangements accounted for the heavy floral scent, and a refreshment station out on a small corner table offered coffee, hot water, and an assortment of tea and cocoa packets. The place seemed a bit faded, but it looked clean and comfortable enough.

An elderly black woman with graying hair cut close to her head looked up as we approached the front desk. She struggled to her feet and shuffled toward us, leaning a set of thick arms on the counter when she reached her destination. She watched us with a scowl so deep it formed several extra chins and hooded—maybe even suspicious—eyes. “Can I help you?”

In spite of her advanced age, her voice was strong and clear, her eyes sharp and bright.

Memories of visits to the principal’s office flashed through my head, and I swallowed nervously.

Gabriel seemed oblivious to her pursed lips and no-nonsense expression. He put on his sexy smile and turned up the Cajun accent. “My wife and I would like to book a room for a few days. Do you have anything available?”

His Sexy Cajun act usually renders women weak in the knees, but the woman behind the front desk seemed more annoyed than impressed. She ran a slow look over both of us in turn. “
You
want to stay
here
?”

A big old “I told you so” hovered on my lips, but I swallowed it and nodded. “If you’re not completely booked.”

She stared us down for another few seconds, then lifted one thick shoulder and reached for a book on the desk behind her. “Should’a made a reservation,” she muttered. “But we have a room. Seventy-five a night. Breakfast every morning between six and nine. Don’t show up at nine-oh-five and expect to be fed. We don’t serve latecomers.”

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 the 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?”