Arsenic and Old Cake (18 page)

Miss Frankie scowled at me, then back at the folder in front of her. “I thought you wanted to add
more moderate
cakes, but this feels like you’re trying to move Zydeco into the bargain basement.”

That was harsh. I started to respond, but Ox spoke up first. “I’m not talking bargain-basement quality, Miss Frankie. You know how I feel about Zydeco. I don’t want our reputation to take a hit any more than you do.”

My mother-in-law closed the folder carefully. “What do you think, Rita?”

“I’m still not certain how I feel,” I admitted. “On the one hand, I think it sounds like an idea with potential. Sadly, we’re going to have to do
something
to keep Zydeco in the black unless a miracle happens and the economy suddenly turns around. If we don’t do something like this, our only other alternative is to cut staff, and that’s a direction I really don’t want to take.”

“But wouldn’t even that be better than changing Zydeco and damaging its reputation?”

I felt as if a two-ton weight had dropped onto my shoulders. “The staff is like family,” I reminded her. “They’re depending on us.”

“I’m not talking about letting someone go permanently,” Miss Frankie said. “But if we make the kind of sweeping changes Ox is suggesting, there might not be anything left. Wouldn’t it be better to temporarily sacrifice one or two jobs if by doing that we save the rest?”

A dull ache formed between my eyes. “You’re assuming that adding the new line will be bad for business. What if it actually improves it?”

“By driving away our traditional clientele?” Miss Frankie shook her head and smiled sadly. “Our high-end clients won’t bring their business to a bakery that caters to the masses. They pay for exclusivity. I’m surprised at you, Ox. I thought you would understand that.”

Meaning, I supposed, that I would not. Unlike me, Ox—or, more formally, Oxford Wyndham III—had been born into privilege, at a level on par with the Reniers. Miss Frankie rarely said or did anything to remind me of my humble upbringing, so her comment knocked the wind out of me for a moment.

Miss Frankie sighed heavily and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know Zydeco is at a crossroads, but I don’t think lowering our standards is the answer. I have to vote no.”

Ox ran a hand over his face and let out a breath weighted with frustration. “With all due respect, ma’am, I’m not suggesting that we lower our standards.” He pushed the portfolio toward her again and tapped one of the pictures with his finger. “There’s nothing mediocre about the product. It’s just a less elaborate cake for a more moderate price. The quality would remain the same.”

“I know times are tough,” Miss Frankie said. “But I feel that what you’re suggesting would change Zydeco into something completely different. Philippe didn’t want his baby to be just any other regular kind of cake shop. He had dreams. Visions. You’ve been here from the beginning, Ox. You should know that better than anyone.”

Ox dipped his head. “I do know that. But I also know that he wanted Zydeco to be his legacy. If we go out of business after just three years, that’s not a legacy, that’s a failure.”

I could see that both Ox and Miss Frankie were getting irritated, and I wanted to stop the argument before it spiraled out of control. “Zydeco won’t go out of business,” I assured them both. At least not yet. “Ox, I hear what you’re saying, and I agree with some of the points you’re making. And Miss Frankie, I know how deeply you feel about Zydeco and how much you want to see it succeed. But I think we should take personal feelings out of the equation and just look at this from a business angle—”

She stopped me before I could go any further. “Maybe you can take your personal feelings out of the equation, sugar, but I’m afraid I can’t.” She stood and pushed the folder across the table to Ox. “I simply can’t change the vision for Zydeco. I’d rather see it fail completely than become something less than Philippe wanted it to be. If you’re going to run the business, Rita, you need to understand what Philippe’s vision was.” With that declaration, Miss Frankie swept from the room and the two-ton weight on my shoulders doubled in size. I blinked back tears of hurt and anger and tried desperately to catch my breath.

Ox waited until the door clicked shut behind her and then sent me a weak smile. “I think that went well, don’t you?”

I was in no mood for jokes. I dropped my head onto my desk and groaned. “She’s furious.”

“She’ll get over it.”

I rolled my head to one side and looked at him with my one free eye. “You think so?”

“Eventually.” Ox glanced over his shoulder at the door and then back at me with a shrug. “In a year. Maybe two.”

I groaned again. “She’d rather fire people than change things around here. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Give her some time to cool down,” Ox suggested. “Once she gets used to the idea, we can talk about it again.”

“She’s never going to get used to the idea,” I said. “Miss Frankie doesn’t adjust. Philippe and I separated almost three years ago, and she still thinks we were just about to reconcile when he died. She conveniently overlooks the fact that the only reason I came to New Orleans at all was to get his signature on the divorce papers. And I’m pretty sure she’s completely forgotten that he would have married someone else about two minutes after our divorce was final.” I didn’t blame her for putting Philippe’s former girlfriend out of her mind. I still didn’t understand that one, myself.

“Point taken,” Ox said with a laugh.

“I’m glad you can be so cavalier about Miss Frankie’s reaction,” I said. “I’m having a little more trouble shrugging it off.”

Ox put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. Relax. We’ll figure something out.”

Relax? Had my tightly wound friend really said that? “Who are you and what have you done with Ox?”

He laughed again, and I dropped my head onto the table once more, this time in relief. Ox and I had our differences from time to time, but it was good to know he had my back. “Thanks,” I said. “I mean that.”

He acknowledged my gratitude with a smile and changed the subject. “So how’s the vacation going?”

I wasn’t sure the change was an improvement. “Don’t ask. It’s not really a vacation. Gabriel and I are . . . well, it’s a long story.”

“I heard. Everybody’s talking about it over at the Duke.”

“Great,” I said sarcastically. “That’ll save time having to explain it to everyone here.”

“So is this guy Dog Leg’s brother or not?”

“Yeah. But it’s all really complicated and I don’t want to say too much before Gabriel and I talk to Dog Leg.”

Ox studied my expression and got serious all of a sudden. “Broussard’s not . . . you know . . . being inappropriate with you, is he?”

That finally got a laugh from me. I sat up slowly. “No, nothing like that,” I assured him. “It’s worse, actually. Someone died last night. The police think it might have been murder.”

Ox did a classic double take. “Say what?”

“One of the permanent residents of the inn. An old man named Dontae Thomas.” I poured a second cup of coffee for each of us and grabbed the first real chance I’d had to process what happened last night. “The coroner hasn’t done an autopsy yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Stunned, Ox ran a hand over his smooth head and whistled softly. “And you thought this would be a quick, easy favor.”

I laughed again. “That’s not even the worst part,” I said. I argued with myself for a moment about sharing the details, but the temptation to talk it over with a friend got the best of me. “Get this: the others are convinced that Dog Leg’s brother is the killer.”

Ox sat back in his seat. “Is he?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. I think Monroe was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And to complicate things even further, he’s gone again. He skipped out before the police got there.”

Ox gave a low groan. “You sure know how to pick ’em. I’ll give you that. Old Dog Leg’s not going to be happy.”

“Ya think?” I rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the ache that was growing stronger by the minute. “I know it’s not my fault, but I hate knowing that I was
this close
to him and I let him get away.”

“You didn’t exactly
let
him do anything,” Ox said. “So cheer up. Maybe he’ll come back again.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Ox shook his head, but he wore an annoying little smile. “So I guess that means the honeymoon is over, huh?”

I had trouble meeting his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re staying at the inn at least another couple of nights, until our reservation is over on Monday.”

Ox put the fingers of one hand to his temple, and I wondered if my headache was contagious. “Come on, Rita . . .”

“It’s not my idea.” I resented him a little for putting me on the defensive. “Detective Sullivan asked me to stay. He wants me to keep an ear to the ground for any potentially useful information.”

Ox’s gaze flashed to mine. “Is he nuts? You could be hurt . . . or worse.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “I promised to help Old Dog Leg, and I want to keep my word.”

“Yeah, but you’ve done that,” Ox pointed out with a slight scowl. “Your part is finished. Let the police do the dirty work.”

“It’s not that simple,” I argued. “And it’s not as if Sullivan asked me to do anything really dangerous. He just wants me to hang out and see what I can pick up. And it’s not as if I’ll be there alone. Gabriel will be there with me.”

That didn’t seem to make a difference. “Not your job,” Ox said again.

I didn’t know how to explain; I didn’t really understand it myself. But I knew I couldn’t rest until Monroe Magee’s name was clear and he was reunited with his brother. I just hoped nobody else would get hurt in the process.

Nineteen

Ox and I spent the next hour going over the orders we had for the coming week. Several times I thought about bringing up his argument with Edie, but they really did seem to be okay with each other now, so I shelved that conversation. After Ox went back to the design area, I approved a couple of sketches by other employees and tasted Abe’s attempt at a sweet tea cake recipe he’d been experimenting with. He’d stirred black tea and vanilla extract into traditional dry ingredients and then topped the cake with lemon sweet tea buttercream. I liked the concept but the cake wasn’t up to Zydeco’s exacting standards. The tea was overpowering and the lemon frosting needed more punch. I sent it back to the kitchen with my notes, and at four o’clock set off to tackle the most difficult task on my agenda.

I walked the two blocks to the Dizzy Duke, glad to find that the humidity had tempered a bit, thanks to a breeze blowing in off the Gulf. It had been a rough day so far and I hoped that the warm day and cloudless blue sky would lift my spirits. Within half a block, the stately old antebellum mansions surrounding Zydeco gave way to squat storefronts and sagging old buildings wrapped up in a musty smell that even sunshine and low humidity couldn’t dissipate.

Gabriel was behind the bar when I came through the doors, and the house band was running through songs halfheartedly on the stage. A couple of regular customers chatted amiably at the bar, but the rest of the place was empty.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was too early for the Saturday night crowd, and hitched myself onto a bar stool. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with crowds, and the fewer people around when we talked to Old Dog Leg, the better. Gabriel brought me a Diet Coke without asking and waved away the money I tried to put on the bar.

“Family discount,” he said with a grin.

I laughed. “I get a family discount? Why didn’t you say so before? I’m going to miss
that
when this is over.”

“It’s just one of the many perks that come along with the Broussard name.”

I removed the straw from my glass and set it aside. “I’d rather discuss those than tell Old Dog Leg we lost his brother. But I guess we’d better get it over with. Is he here?”

Gabriel nodded toward the stage. “He showed up an hour ago. He’s pretty eager to talk with us.”

“Wish I could say the same.” I slid from the bar stool and carried my glass to the back of the house while Gabriel pulled two beers from the cooler and went off to bring Old Dog Leg over to my table.

The expression on the old man’s face was both hopeful and cautious, and my heart went out to him. “So?” he asked. “How’d it go?”

“Which do you want first?” I asked. “The good news or the bad news?”

Dog Leg smiled. “If dere’s good news, I’ll take it.”

Okie-dokie.
I took a deep breath and plunged in. “We found Monroe, and I saw the scar on his shoulder. It’s him.”

Dog Leg absorbed that without even a twitch. “Well, well. After all dis time.”

“Yeah. I spoke with him alone for a few minutes,” I said. “I think he’s genuinely interested in reconnecting with you and old friends, but there’s more.”

“Ah yes. Bad news.” Dog Leg sat up a little straighter and lifted his chin. “Might as well give it to me fast.”

“One of the other residents at the inn was killed last night,” Gabriel said. “It looks like he was poisoned.”

Dog Leg’s smile faded, but he still managed to look hopeful. “Another guest, you say? But not Monroe?”

“Not Monroe,” I assured him.

Dog Leg’s sigh of relief was barely audible. “Well. Poor man. Dey know who did it?”

“Not yet,” I said.

Dog Leg took a deep pull from the beer in front of him, his hand shaking a little as he brought the bottle to his lips and then set it down. It was the first real sign that he was affected by the news. “And Monroe? He all right?”

“We think so,” Gabriel said.

Hope turned to wariness. “But you ain’t sure?”

“The thing is,” I said, “he disappeared right after we found the body. Everything was gone from his room, and there’s been no sign of him since.”

The wariness on Dog Leg’s face gave way to dejection. “So he’s run off again.”

“Maybe,” I said. “We don’t know that he left voluntarily. There’s a chance he could be hurt . . .” I broke off, aware that my suggestions weren’t exactly optimistic.