Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (11 page)

"I think I left my brookie plate at your apartment." Bree gathers her things and waits for me to finish my assignment for the day. I set down my piping bag and look up front at Chef Otto. He's been less talkative than usual since his meeting with Detective Reid.

"Check your bag," Georgina says.

"I did."

"The bottom of your bag," Georgina clarifies. Bree sets her tote bag on the counter and digs through it. Her eyes widen when she pulls out her missing plate from yesterday. She studies both sides, amazed at the sight of it.

"How did it get in there?"

"Ingrid." Georgina giggles, noticing the strange look on Bree's face.

"But my bag was next to me the whole time," she says. "When could she have done it?"

"It's a gift really," Georgina answers. "She can clean a room without interrupting anyone. It's a talent my parents have paid to keep around."

A sudden crash steals our attention. Chef Otto looks flustered as he bends down to pick up a stack of mixing bowls he dropped on the floor. Bree puts her dessert plate back in her bag and slowly approaches him. Half of our classroom has cleared out for the day, and Cole and Jeff are still discussing if they should serve chocolate lollipops or chocolate mousse as part of their final buffet.

"Excuse me, Chef." Bree brushes a strand of her strawberry blonde hair out of her face. Georgina and I take a step closer, listening carefully. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." He scratches the side of his head—his cinnamon hair shining in the light. "What can I do for you?"

"You still haven't told me who my new partner is going to be," Bree says. "I can't be expected to bake all the required pastries in the allotted amount of time all by myself."

Cole and Jeff fall silent at the back of the room.

"Right, I understand," Chef Otto replies. "That's why President Dixon and the other instructors have agreed to change your presentation requirements. You will be responsible for your main showpiece and nothing else."

"Are you sure, Chef? I was kind of looking forward to the challenge."

"I think you've more than demonstrated the expectations that are required of any graduate," he responds. Bree nods. "Is that all?" She hesitates to walk away.

"No."

"What else can I do for you?" Chef Otto asks.

"Um…" Bree looks from me and Georgina to the guys in the back. "I also wanted to know what happened yesterday with Detective Reid. Did he tell you anything more about the case?" Bree can't resist asking questions, and Otto can't resist avoiding them.

"I'm sorry. I can't—"

"He won't tell you anything," Georgina interrupts. She walks toward Otto, her former crush, with her arms crossed. "Not now that the police know his dirty little secret." She knows just what to say to make him squirm.

"Quiet," he scolds her. "The three of you…just mind your own business from now on."

"Mind our own business?" Georgina argues. "When you accepted the job here you should've left all your baggage at home."

"All right," Otto mutters, turning his back to Cole and Jeff so they can't hear what he's saying. "If you must know, the police are planning something. They're all over the house, watching the neighborhood, and annoying Susu to bits."

"What exactly are they planning?" I ask.

"They're going to try to lure Leo Bianco to the house by using me as bait." He nervously wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"What are y'all whispering about over there," Cole shouts, startling Otto.

"See you ladies tomorrow." Chef Otto ignores Cole. He hurriedly gathers his things and leaves the classroom.

"Well, he doesn't scare easy," Jeff comments.

"Nice one," I say to Cole. A part of me is satisfied when I point a finger at him. "He was giving us more info about the case."

"Yeah, yeah." Cole chuckles. The sound of his voice rouses a storm of emotions in my chest, and I don't like it. "We heard him. That guy is loud even when he thinks he's being quiet."

"Really? What did you hear?" I egg him on, and he grins as if he's enjoying it.

"That the police are setting up some fancy trap to try to catch a mafia pro," he responds.

"Amateur," Jeff adds. Bree glances at him and places her hands on her hips.

"What makes you the expert?" Bree says to Jeff. Her cheeks turn rosy. The two of them have yet to address what happened between them, and the tension in the air is obvious. Jeff is blushing too but not because he's embarrassed. I think he's pleased that Bree has finally decided to look him in the eyes again.

"What qualifies you to decide that?" Jeff replies. Bree bites the corner of her mouth.

"Get a room, you two," Georgina says, rolling her eyes. "Can we focus on the task at hand, or am I the only one capable of staying on subject?"

"What?" Bree stamps her foot. "You think…" She points to Jeff and then to herself. "You think
we
…?"

"Spare me the sob story," Georgina responds. "I've seen a billion couples start out arguing exactly the way you two are. It's the sexual tension. Do something about it, or get over it."

"Thanks for the assessment," Bree says through her teeth. She's moved beyond embarrassment and straight on to anger. Normally she leaves the sarcasm to me but not today. "How much do I owe you?"

"You're welcome." Georgina accepts her fake compliment. "And you should be grateful. There are people out there who pay big money to figure that sort of stuff out."

"What if the police's plan works?" I chime in, trying to veer the conversation back in the right direction. "This whole case might be solved by the weekend."

"It won't," Cole insists. "A Bianco so high up on the totem pole probably already knows what the police are planning. Plus, he won't show this week. He has something more pressing to attend to." Cole raises his eyebrows when he looks at me as if I should know exactly what he's referring to.

"Care to share with the rest of the group?" Georgina shakes her head.

"Remember?" Cole continues, studying my expression. "Gino Milani's date book?"

I can't dwell on Gino's apartment too much because then I'll think some more about the kiss. I've already over-analyzed the crap out of that moment. I pause and let my thoughts bring me back to Gino's possessions. His little black day planner full of scribbles, a pair of new binoculars, and the folded-up article that was stashed in the back. An old newspaper clipping from the 1980's about a woman dying in a house fire.

"What about it?"

"The quarterly
family
meeting in New Orleans?" Cole tilts his head. "It's this weekend. Any mobster in town is probably halfway to Louisiana by now."

*   *   *

Cole was right.

The rest of our week at CPA was quiet and casual. Chef Otto didn't exhibit his usual pizzazz, and every morning when he showed up for class I knew nothing happened the previous night. Now it's Friday night, and I'm staring out of the car window at Bourbon Street for the very first time.

The mob won't come to us, so we're going to them.
Very sound logic. Not.

"You guys will have to fight about rooms amongst yourselves," Georgina says. Bree and I rode the whole way in her silver Mercedes. Only because it's air-conditioned, and Ingrid suggested that Georgina do the neighborly thing and offer to drive. Cole insisted on coming because he's a Louisiana boy. That, and he claims that we're in over our heads without him. Cole drove separately, and naturally Jeff found a way to tag along with him. I think it's mainly to annoy Bree.

"As long as Jeff stays far away from me," Bree mutters.

"I'll be taking the master suite," Georgina informs us. "And Ingrid has dibs on the guest house if she wants it."

"Yes, you've said that," I respond. "More than once."

Letting Georgina bring us to her Uncle's vacation rental in the French Quarter sounded more appealing than a dumpy motel a couple of days ago. I have the feeling she's going to hold it over our heads for as long as she can.

Bourbon Street is already buzzing with foot traffic. Lights are glowing from every club, restaurant, and bar, and the tall colonial-style architecture reminds me a little of Paris. I place a hand on the window, and the glass is warm. The heat has followed us here.

Georgina winds through town and into a neighborhood of creole cottages and townhomes. In the distance there's a view of the Mississippi river, and the cast-iron balconies I see look identical to the buildings on Bourbon Street. Georgina pulls up to a tall gate and punches in a key code. The gate opens, revealing a center courtyard with a pool. Surrounding the clear blue water is a red townhouse with second story balconies all with white trim. Across from the main house is a pool shed and matching guest cottage. Both painted in the same shade of cherry-tomato red. It's one of the nicest properties on the block.

"Welcome to Marigny," Georgina says, parking her Mercedes.

Cole pulls up behind us, and Jeff hops out of the passenger's seat. He grins when he sees the pool—the light blue tiles at the bottom almost matching his ice blue eyes. Bree tries not to look at him and instead retrieves a very large and very orange sun hat from her bag. She uses it to hide the look on her face.

"Forget the mafia," Jeff comments. "Let's just enjoy ourselves."

"None of us brought swimsuits," Bree responds, rolling her eyes.

"You don't need a swimsuit to have a good time." Jeff slowly lifts his shirt, revealing a tight torso to match the rest of his frame.

"You taint the pool, and you're dead," Georgina shouts. "I'm having second thoughts about letting you all stay here. Clearly, you don't know how to behave yourselves."

"We're all adults here, Georgina." Jeff dips his toe in the water, scoping out the courtyard while shirtless. Georgina sighs and watches Ingrid carry her suitcase to the front door.

"Come on, man." Cole shakes his head in disapproval. "The sun's not even out."

The front door opens to a living area and wide staircase leading straight up to the second floor. The décor is similar to Georgina's apartment with white walls, cream furniture, and floral rugs. The main difference is that the room is accented with the same cherry tomato red. Even the mantelpiece surrounding the fireplace is painted red.

"Share a room?" I say to Bree.

"I thought you'd never ask." She takes another quick look at Jeff as he brings his bag inside—still showing off the farmer's tan on his biceps. The two of us walk upstairs to check out the available rooms. "I'm not sharing a bathroom with wonder boy."

Bree strolls right into what I assume is the master bedroom. It has a king-size bed and French doors that open toward the pool. I sneak a peek at the private balcony and the small sitting room that pairs nicely with the cream-colored bedspread.

"Holy bathroom," Bree exclaims. I stop just behind her, taking in the sight of the accompanying tub and vanity. The entire room is tiled black, white, and red. And the tiles aren't just on the floor. They run up the side of the oval-shaped tub and most of the walls. The only portion of the space that remains unscathed by the bold tile design is the window.

"Honestly, my eyes hurt." I can't help but squint.

"I see you've found Georgina's room," Cole says behind us. He adjusts the strap of his backpack—much less luggage than any of us. Though I do have the tendency to travel with far too much. "I better keep looking."

"Hey, we call a room with its own bathroom," Bree informs him. "It's better that way. Trust me."

"Sure," Cole politely agrees. I hold my hand to stomach. "Hungry?"

"Always," I automatically reply.

"Have either of you ladies had a griddled doughnut sandwich?" he asks.

"Say that again?" Bree's expression changes. Her eyes grow to the size of mini pies as she yanks off her orange sun hat.
Franken-sweets
. "A sandwich made from a doughnut?"

"That's right," Cole says.

"When do we leave?" Bree chuckles, rushing out of Georgina's room to look for another space to claim.

"Wow." Cole watches her poke her head in and out of every room on the second floor as quickly as can. "She's really into doughnuts, isn't she?"

"Food meshing," I respond. "She's convinced that the ultimate mega-dessert is yet to be discovered."

"She might be right," he admits. My heart races when I realize that Bree is farther down the hall, and the two of us are sort of alone.
What does he have planned this time?

"So…" I clear my throat. "Long day tomorrow. I, uh, checked online and Sweet T Soaps will be at the French Market in the morning."

"Yeah." Cole puts his hands in his pockets. "I remember you mentioning that."

"Oh right, of course."

"Along with our plan to visit Karl's mystery address," he adds.

My cheeks start to feel warm.

Why am I so flustered?