Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (12 page)

"Right," I say. "Do you think we'll find anything?"

"Yes," he answers in a softer tone of voice. "That's what worries me."

I gulp.

If we find the killer there's a good chance we'll also find the mafia.

After a beignet breakfast at the iconic Café Du Monde, Bree and I walk through rows and rows of display tables with everything from gators made out of driftwood to paintings of rap superstars. The sun is blaring down on the pavement, and even though we're underneath a covered walkway, my forehead is still simmering.
I wish I could whip my shirt off like Jeff without being stared at
.

We lost Cole and Jeff at the boiled crawfish stand, and Georgina stayed behind to catch up on some much-needed sunbathing. I look ahead of us for the familiar sight of elaborate cakes and stacks of colorful bars all made out of soap. I keep getting distracted.

"Look at this," I gasp, holding a sparkly Mardi Gras mask up to my face. "It's so glittery."

"Put that away," Bree says, nudging my arm. She points off in the distance to a bright and cheery soap stand with a line of customers waiting to ring up their purchases.

"Here we go again." I head toward the soap booth.

The first person I see is Bonnie. She smiles, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress that falls to her sandals. She's ditched the homemade vest made out of yarn and instead is wearing two strands of beads as earrings. Another handmade project. They dangle as she restacks their latest featured item—berry-scented rainbow bars.

"I see one sister," I whisper. The friendlier sister. "Any sign of Mary Frances?"

"Maybe she's on a quick break?" Bree suggests.

"Then now is our best chance." I stroll right up to the Sweet T Soaps stand just like any other customer. I start by marveling at today's specials—triple chocolate soap cake and pineapple sugar body scrubs. Bonnie greets every customer in order, and the lines on her face crease with excitement when she gets to me.

"Oh, Poppy," Bonnie says. "I didn't expect to see you again. How are you?"

"I'm good, Bonnie." I pick out a piece of chocolate soap cake. "You're pretty good with names."

Compliments are a nice segue into deeper conversation.

"Yours is easy to remember," she responds. "In fact, we make a poppy flower soap sometimes."

"So you experiment with your soaps?" Bree chimes in, staring at today's soap cake like it's edible.

"All the time." Bonnie clasps her hands in front of her proudly.

"So you'd be open to, say, mixing together two of your most popular flavors to see if you can make something more unique?" Bree goes on.

Franken-soaps?

"You don't have to answer that," I joke. Bonnie lets out a quiet laugh.

"I'm open to suggestions, child." Bonnie brushes back a strand of silvery hair and keeps a friendly smile on her face.

"If soaping is like baking, have you tried making a variety of soap pastries?" Bree asks.

"Well—"

"Like a chocolate éclair?" Bree interrupts—her voice louder and more upbeat. "What about a French macaron, or how about a cinnamon Bundt cake with a vanilla glaze?"

"Those are all good ideas." Bonnie raises her eyebrows at Bree's last suggestion. "We could acquire a Bundt mold and add cinnamon to our vanilla soap cake recipe. It would slice up real nice too. Less complicated than trying to mimic the look of cinnamon rolls." She scratches the tip of her chin. "Just a second."

Bonnie ignores all customers for a brief second and instead searches for a scrap of paper and something to write with. She jots a few things down on the back of one of her business cards. I never knew how much soaping and baking go hand-in-hand.
Doughnuts. Soapnuts?

"Let me know if I can help you two with anything." Bonnie resumes her duties. "If you're on a tight budget might I suggest you try a few of our latest bath bombes? They're sure to make your skin feel nice and soft."

Bree picks up a circular product from a basket labeled
bath bombes
. It's slightly bigger than their regular bath fizzes, and they come in a variety of shapes and colors. My main reason for drawing myself baths was to soak my sore muscles after ballet rehearsals. But in that case, I had to use cold water. Not hot. Baths aren't a luxury in my mind. Of course, I haven't gotten used to the normal way yet.

"Um…" I focus on the farmers' market a couple of weeks ago and the peach tea soap bar in Gino Milani's bathroom. Bonnie may appear sweet and sensible at first, but she's hiding something. "I was surprised to hear that you'd decided not to return to Georgia this summer."

"Oh." Bonnie sighs. "Not my idea, unfortunately. Mary Frances handles all our travel arrangements. You know, we used to have a store. Things were much less complicated when we had a store."

"What happened to it?" I ask.

"Oh nothing," Bonnie replies. "We sold it. I think it's a clothing boutique now."

"Money problems?" Bree whispers.

"Not to my knowledge," Bonnie answers. "Mary Frances handles the finances. I'm the creative one, but I did go through a rather
dark
period. Mary Frances suggested we start traveling to gather new inspiration. She was right, as usual."

"Where is Mary Frances?" I bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for her reply. I know once she shows her face, she'll put a stop to the questions. We'll have to buy the whole stand in order to get her to talk.

"Oh. She'll be along in a minute."

Bree and I glance at each other. A timer is ticking in my head and reminding me that my opportune moment is dwindling away. I wipe the moisture from my forehead and casually tuck my hands in the pocket of my jean shorts—the best I can do in this heat other than strutting through the French Quarter in my underwear.

"Bonnie, can I ask you something?" I step closer to the counter, leaning in so she can hear me better.

"Of course you can, Poppy." The smile on her face doesn't fade.

"It's a little
personal
," I add.

"The bonds of womanhood are stronger than secrets," Bonnie states. A subtle breeze blows the bottom half of her dress, making her look like a whimsical soap fairy.

"Remember that morning back in Georgia?" I begin. "The man who was found with a sample of my Bananas Foster?"

"How can I forget?" Bonnie responds. "We left early that day. Lost a lot of sales. Very
unlike
Mary Frances."

"Did you ever meet the man who died that day? His name was Gino Milani."

"This question sounds vaguely familiar," Bonnie answers. She takes a step back, losing some of the sparkle on her face. "No. I've never met him."

"But…" I look at Bree and take a deep breath. "One of your peach tea bars was found where he was staying. Are you sure you never spoke to him?"

Bonnie takes another step away from us, twiddling her fingers. She glances down the row of surrounding tables and displays, eyeing each person who passes. My chest thuds as I imagine Bonnie doing a runner to avoid answering. I clench my fists, and my quads tighten in preparation to chase after her if she does. She can't be that fast.

"Bonnie?" Bree says.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a customer says near the register. Another line of soap enthusiasts is waiting for her attention.

"Oh, thank the cosmos." Bonnie exhales as her sister Mary Frances approaches. Mary Frances's attire is more business appropriate—a collared shirt and clunky black wedges.

"What's going on here?" Mary Frances asks, taking her usual spot near the cash box. "I can help whoever's next." She steps in front of Bonnie, who is still frozen in place. "What's the matter with you, Bonnie?"

Mary Frances wrinkles her forehead as she studies their booth. Her eyes wander down the line of waiting customers until they reach me. She frowns, forcing herself to continue collecting payments. Now that Mary Frances is back, it's not going to be easy to figure out what the two of them aren't saying. I don't know what to do next, and the frustration is welling up inside of me. I don't know how Detective Reid keeps it together when it's obvious that a suspect is lying to him.

"Bonnie," I say again. "Will you please answer my question?"

"What question?" Mary Frances snaps. "Either you buy something or you leave. I'm tired of you girls bothering us."

"And I'm tired of all the lying," I blurt out. Mary Frances scowls, and it deters a young girl from purchasing the last cupcake bath fizz. "What happened, Bonnie? What did that man say to you?"

"Man?" Mary Frances questions.

"The dead man from the farmers' market in Georgia," Bonnie responds slowly.

"Nothing," Mary Frances recites. "Nothing happened. We've never met the man."

"Well…" Bonnie twists the corner of her mouth and glances at me.

"End of discussion." Mary Frances widens her eyes and glares at her sister like she's scolding a young child.

"Mary Frances," I go on. Her cheeks turn the color of her spicy red fruits shower bars. "One of your soaps was found in the victim's apartment. How do you explain that?"

"I don't know," she replies in a hurry. "He could've stolen it? He could've purchased it from our online store?"

"On the same morning that you were in town selling it?" I ask.

"We've spoken to the police already, and we will speak no more about it." Mary Frances presses her lips together and turns her back to me.

"But—"

"Bonnie," she barks at her sister. "See if we have anymore cupcake bath fizzes in the returns box."

"Of course," Bonnie replies, kneeling down to dig for more product.

I grab a random bar of soap—one with swirls of blue called Salted Sea Breeze. I use it to steal Mary Frances's attention and keep it on me. She watches the bar as she hands a customer her receipt. I take a step back, acting as if I might take off running. Mary Frances flinches like my Uncle George does when he has to pay for drink refills at a restaurant.
He's a stickler for money
.

"You do what I think you're going to do, and I'll contact the authorities," Mary Frances threatens me.

"It's just soap." I grab a second bar.

"To you it's just soap," she answers, balling her hands into fists. "But to me it's my livelihood. I'll do anything to keep our business going."

"
Anything
?" I repeat.

"You know what I mean." She outstretches a hand. "Now, give me the soap, and be on your way."

"You would chase after me for like five dollars of inventory?" I ask.

"Don't try my patience, young lady." Mary Frances bangs her fist on the table. Bree crosses her arms and takes a step back along with a few confused customers.

"Please, Mary Frances." I try one last time to reason with her. "Tell me what happened that morning. It's a matter of life and death."

Mary Frances takes a deep breath and watches as I put the bars of soap back where they belong.

"Fine." She places a hand on her hip. "Yes, I did speak with the deceased the day before he was killed, but it was only for a brief moment. He bought a bar of soap."

"Did he say anything out of the ordinary?" I question. "Anything at all?"

"No," she answers. "He asked me for my best soap, I handed him our signature peach tea bar, and that was that."

"So why keep it a secret?" I ask. "He was a customer of yours."

"A
one-time
customer," she clarifies. "And I don't like people poking around in my business, okay?"

I nod, accepting her explanation. Bonnie finds a few more cupcake-shaped bath fizzes and places them on the table. Mary Frances takes another calming breath and straightens her top. She sports a friendly smile for her next spurt of customers as if nothing is wrong. Bonnie's eyes dart to me. She tilts her head toward the neighboring vendor—a table of tiki-themed cups, plates, and bowls. Bree and I keep an eye on her as we walk away from the Sweet T Soaps booth.

Bonnie follows us.

"That's not the whole truth," Bonnie mutters, dashing from her post in order to speak to us in private. "Mary Frances and that man had an argument."

"What about?" My heart rate soars. There's hardly any time to get all the facts out of her.

"Something about our vegan certification," she admits. "Mary Frances is very protective of it. Vegan buyers make up half of our business. Anyway, she told me not to tell a soul, and that's all I know."

"Why would Gino Milani care about something like that?"

"I've already said too much, and—" Bonnie shakes her, interrupted by the thundering of her sister's footsteps.

"Bonnie!" Mary Frances shouts in the middle of the aisle. "What do you think you're doing telling strangers about our personal affairs? How stupid are you?"

Bonnie's mystical grin turns into the grimace of an angry troll.

"I'm doing what you're too stubborn to do and helping these girls," she answers, holding her ground.

"Why?" Mary Frances keeps a stern look on her face. She attempts to compose herself when a group of curious shoppers pass her with stares and even giggles.

"Because you lied to them," Bonnie points out. She raises her voice so that it's louder than her sister's. "That man
did
come to our booth, and what did you do? You yelled at him for heaven knows what." Mary Frances stiffens her posture, making herself taller, so she can glare down at her opponent.