Cake on a Hot Tin Roof (9 page)

Ten

We served the King Cake promptly at midnight.

Estelle had worked her magic, slipping the Zydeco napkins into place when nobody was looking. I told myself not to gloat over this minor victory, but it did reenergize me. And I needed that, since I was anxious about the reception the cakes would receive. Other than the controversial addition of filling in some of the cakes, I’d remained true to Philippe’s recipe. I thought they’d turned out well, but these folks were connoisseurs. Most of them had been eating King Cake since they were babies, and the perfectionist in me needed the cakes to score a hit.

I hovered while Musterion’s captain made a short speech and introduced the officers for the coming year, a roster that included Big Daddy Boudreaux as captain and Percy Ponter as treasurer, a little detail I found interesting. Several hours had passed since he’d confronted Big Daddy, but Percy didn’t look any happier than before. He glared at Big Daddy throughout the ceremony, and several times I thought he was actually going to interrupt. He didn’t, though, and Big Daddy seemed oblivious to any negative undercurrents. He beamed and thanked people for their votes and made lavish promises about the upcoming year.

I tuned him out and worried about the King Cakes. Were they still fresh? Would the ceremonial cake hold its shape when the captain made the first cut? Would the guests like the flavor? Would they accept the fillings?

While I hovered, holding my breath in anticipation, I saw Judd lurking at the back of the crowd. So he’d come inside to support his brother after all. I hoped Mellie had seen him and then wondered why it should matter to me. I’d liked him instinctively, and maybe I’d felt some kinship. I’d lived in the shadows of my bigger-than-life ex-husband and cousins, so I had an idea how Judd must have felt having Big Daddy for a brother.

To my relief, the speeches finally ended and the captain pronounced the King Cake excellent. The club’s waitstaff surged into the room carrying trays of plated cake, and everything else flew out of my head. Ox and I circulated among the guests, accepting compliments and encouraging anyone who expressed an interest in our cakes to make an appointment with Edie. I lost sight of Judd and didn’t think about him again until the party began to break up around 1 a.m.

Miss Frankie and I stood near the glittering saxophones kissing cheeks, accepting hugs, and saying good-bye to the guests in true Southern style. By one-thirty, even my lucky staff had cleared out and what few guests remained had migrated indoors. I could have counted on two hands the number of die-hard guests who were hanging around, and I hoped they would all leave soon. Miss Frankie would stay until the very end, and she’d expect me to do the same.

After a while, the club’s staff began clearing away dishes and glasses, removing the tablecloths, and packing away decorations. I checked to see how many lingerers there were and spotted Mellie across the room deep in conversation with Susannah Boudreaux. Susannah looked upset. Or maybe she was drunk. Or both. It was hard to tell.

I retrieved Judd’s jacket from under the serving station and draped it over my arm, then decided against interrupting Mellie and Susannah and instead joined Miss Frankie and Aunt Yolanda, who were sitting on a couple of stray chairs near the head table.

Miss Frankie held a glass of champagne in one hand, but her head was tilted back against the chair and her eyes were closed. Aunt Yolanda sat with her bare feet stretched out in front of her, her shoes abandoned on the floor nearby.

Relieved to have the party behind me, I sank onto a folding chair beside Aunt Yolanda and kicked off the sandals that had all but crippled me. I wriggled my toes, wishing I could curl up and go to sleep right there. If I hurried home, I could maybe catch three hours of sleep before I had to leave for work. I had the feeling it was going to be a very long day.

Miss Frankie opened one eye and smiled at me. “The party was a huge success, sugar. I know it wasn’t easy after a full day at the bakery, but all of Philippe’s friends were taken with you. You charmed everyone.”

Not the important ones. My failure to make contact with the Hedge-Montgomery wedding party was my biggest disappointment. A close second was the amount of time I’d had to spend making sure that Big Daddy’s off-color jokes and generally irritating personality didn’t offend anyone.

Now that I thought about him, I realized that I hadn’t noticed when he’d left. I wouldn’t have imagined him leaving without drawing attention to himself but, frankly, I appreciated the silence. I was through with him, that’s all that mattered.

I yawned. Stretched. And tried to focus on the positives. “So who got the official baby in the cake this year?”

“Esther McIntosh,” Miss Frankie said. “She’s the art gallery owner and her husband is an attorney. I introduced you to them, remember?”

I ran through the names and faces I’d tried to mentally catalog in the past few hours. “Tall woman? Thin? Wearing an African-print caftan?”

Miss Frankie nodded. “Her husband looks like he should be coaching the Saints, not teaching tax law.”

I was pleased with myself for remembering. “They ought to do a good job with next year’s party,” I said to be polite. I didn’t really care who got the job next year as long as it wasn’t me. I stole a glance at my watch and grimaced at how quickly my sleep time was ticking past.

Aunt Yolanda glanced around the ballroom, still littered with plates, glasses, napkins, and silverware. The musicians had packed up their instruments, and the relative silence after a night of rousing jazz numbers made my ears ring.

“I should figure out where Nestor has gone,” Aunt Yolanda said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

I hadn’t either, I realized with a pang of guilt. After that fight with Big Daddy, I’d vowed to keep an eye on him but I’d been distracted by other things. “Maybe he’s slipped away somewhere to get some rest.” And by “get some rest” I meant “sleep off all the booze he’d swallowed during the evening.” Why else would he have started the fight with Big Daddy? If he was “resting” somewhere, waking him would be like poking a tiger with a sharp stick, but I’d have to risk it. He’d be even angrier if I left him to sleep it off at The Shores.

I stood and realized that I still had Judd’s jacket. Yawning, I tried to decide whether to leave it with a member of the staff or give it to Mellie. She obviously knew him well. The one minor problem: She and I hadn’t actually met. Which made explaining how I knew to give her Judd’s suit coat a little tricky.

Counting on Miss Frankie to help with that, I nodded discreetly toward the two women on the other side of the room. “I don’t remember meeting the woman standing with Susannah Boudreaux. Who is she?”

Miss Frankie sat up and took a look. “You didn’t meet Mellie? How did I let that happen?”

“It’s not your fault,” I assured her quickly. “There were so many people here. It would have been impossible to meet each one personally. Is she a friend of yours?”

Miss Frankie nodded. “I’ve known Mellie since she was a girl. Susannah is relatively new to these parts. Her people come from Charleston, I believe.”

That didn’t tell me much. “I saw her talking to a guy earlier,” I said. “Tall. Blond. Kind of good-looking, I guess.” I held up the suit coat. “He loaned this to me, but I never saw him again. She called him Judd. Am I right in assuming he’s Big Daddy’s brother?”

Miss Frankie brightened. “I’m sure it probably was. He was here earlier.”

“So Mellie is his ex-sister-in-law?”

“That’s right. Mellie was married to Bradley several years ago. They’ve been divorced for a while, more’s the pity. She was the best thing that ever happened to him.” She scowled thoughtfully and lowered her voice a notch. “Susannah is his current wife. The third one. There was one in between, but she didn’t last long. Bless her heart, Susannah there tries hard, but she’s no match for Bradley.”

I glanced again at the two women from the corner of my eye and wondered if the wife/ex-wife thing explained the tension I sensed between them or if there was something else going on. I tried to picture either woman married to Big Daddy. Neither one seemed like his type, but maybe I had a slightly biased idea of what his type was. I’d have bet on platinum blond, dumb as a rock, and 95 percent plastic.

Neither Mellie nor Susannah fit that mold. Neither had Violet, come to think of it, who seemed to be vying for a spot as Wife No. 4. In fact, all three women could have been triplets, separated at birth by a decade or so.

I decided not to interrupt them. I’d hang on to Judd’s jacket for a little while longer. Seeing him again to return it would be no hardship. “Why don’t we gather our things,” I suggested, “and then we can look for Uncle Nestor. Are there any private rooms around here where he might be lying down?”

Miss Frankie got to her feet, but it seemed to take some effort. “Several,” she said. “I’ll help you look.” She smiled at me so fondly, my earlier doubts about the party dimmed. Now that it was over, I could admit that I hadn’t really minded playing hostess for the evening. I just didn’t want to make a habit of it.

“I have a better idea.” Aunt Yolanda reached into the purse at her feet for her cell phone. She pressed a couple of buttons and almost immediately we heard the sound of Uncle Nestor’s ringtone coming in through the open doors to the balcony.

“Now, wasn’t that easier?” She shut her phone with a snap and crossed the room, calling out as she walked, “Nestor? What are you doing out there? We’re ready to go.”

He didn’t answer, but that didn’t surprise me. I still fully expected to find him sleeping it off somewhere. I trailed after her so I could help rouse him if my suspicions proved correct. “Maybe he fell asleep in one of the deck chairs.”

“You underestimate your uncle,” she said. “He’s probably tidying up.”

I thought
she
was underestimating the amount he’d had to drink, but I didn’t say so aloud. Besides, my uncle isn’t the type to “tidy.” He cleans the way he does everything else: all out. If he were cleaning up after Miss Frankie’s party, he’d be sweeping everything in sight into garbage bags.

Aunt Yolanda waited for me to catch up with her, and put an arm around my shoulders when I did. “You’re happy here, aren’t you, Rita?”

The question surprised me and so did her timing, but I nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Are you sure? You seem a little…jumpy.”

“That’s because I’m still adjusting. And this”—I gestured toward the party mess—“isn’t really my thing. I love Zydeco. I have a great staff and I love the work I’m doing. And you’ve seen my house. It’s incredible. I’m happy with my decision. I’m just not sure that you and Uncle Nestor are happy for me.”

“I’m thrilled for you,” she said, giving me another squeeze of reassurance. “And Nestor is fine with it, too.”

I laughed at her careful phrasing. “Fine with it? I wish I could believe you. He seems hurt. Maybe even a little resentful toward Miss Frankie.”

“He’s also adjusting,
mija
. If he does feel any resentment, it’s only temporary. He’s worried about you and he misses you. Just be patient with him. He’ll get there.”

Guilt tweaked at me again. “You know it was never my intention to hurt either of you. I didn’t stay here because I care more about Miss Frankie than the two of you.”

“Of course we know that.” She turned to face me, resting both hands on my shoulders. “There’s
nothing
in the world Nestor and I want more than your happiness. If this is the life you choose, we’re in your corner. I hope you know that.”

I hugged her tightly, grateful for her steadiness and soft-spoken approval. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled as I stepped away, but I glimpsed something that looked almost melancholy beneath her expression. I had to ask, “Is everything okay with the two of you,
Tía
?”

She pulled back, eyes wide. “With us? Of course. Why?”

“It’s just a feeling I get. The two of you showing up here without warning. Uncle Nestor leaving Agave in somebody else’s hands. He called three times before we even got here to make sure things were running smoothly. Something’s…different.”

She laughed, but it sounded more brittle than amused. “Such an imagination you have. We’re fine. We wanted to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

Again, I tried to believe her, but I couldn’t ignore the anger I’d seen in Uncle Nestor. While I tried to figure out what to say about that, Aunt Yolanda turned away and looked out through the doors, staring into the night, her back stiff, her chin high, but that only made me more convinced that she was hiding something. But we’d been going nonstop since the minute they arrived, so she could have just been tired. I’d ask again tomorrow, when we were both rested.

I held back, thinking I should give her a moment alone, but she called out to me only a heartbeat later.

“
Rita?
Oh my God. Rita! Come here. Quickly!” She sounded frantic. Frightened, even.

“What is it?” I asked, hurrying toward her. “What’s wrong?”

With trembling hands—so unlike my unflappable aunt—she pointed at something on the ground below us. “There’s someone in the pool. I think he’s in trouble.” Before I could reach her, she darted across the balcony and started down the steps to the ground level.