Arsenic and Old Cake (3 page)

The old man’s mouth curved slightly. “Well, dat’s where de two of you come in. Somebody gotta get a look at him. A real good look. I want de two of you to do it.”

It was a logical request, I suppose. Old Dog Leg couldn’t do it himself. I put my glass on the napkin and asked, “What exactly do you want us to do?”

The air conditioner clicked on, and a blast of cold air poured out of the overhead vents. It felt good to me, but Old Dog Leg shivered a little. “I know dis is a lot to ask. I wouldn’t botter you if I had
any
other way.”

Gabriel put a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. “You’re not bothering us. Just tell us what your plan is.”

Dog Leg sent him a feeble smile and then turned it on me. “Well, we know where he’s stayin’. Got hisself a room at dat place on de West Bank.”

“The Love Nest,” Gabriel said. “Do you need us to drive you over there so you can talk with him?”

“Not exactly.” Dog Leg lifted a hand to his forehead, and I noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly.

Poor old guy. I hated knowing that he was worried and confused. “Then what?” I asked. “It’s okay. We’d both be happy to help.”

At that, Dog Leg smiled hopefully. “I’m sure glad to hear dat, lovely Rita. You’re a good friend. Both of you. So here’s my idea. I was thinkin’ mebbe de two of you could check in dere for a coupla days. Get to know dis fella. Figure out whether he’s tellin’ de truth or not.”

My mouth fell open. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t
that
. I looked to Gabriel for backup, but he was busy making sympathetic noises, and his expression told me he was about to say yes. I spoke up before he could do something we’d both regret. “You want us to
what
?”

Dog Leg’s hopeful smile faded. “I know it sounds crazy, Rita. Believe me, I do. I just don’t know what else to do.”

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” I said, which was not entirely true. “But it does seem a little . . . over-the-top. Why not just talk to him and hear what he has to say?”

Dog Leg shook his head firmly. “Not until I know for sure dat it’s Monroe.”

“But how are we supposed to know that?” I asked. “Neither of us has ever met him.”

“Easy. My brother had a birthmark on his right shoulder.” Dog Leg held up one hand, the thumb and forefinger roughly three inches apart. “’Bout dis long and light pink. If it’s dere, you won’t be able to miss it.”

“Okay,” I said, “I get it. You want to be sure it’s Monroe. So one of us will go over there and check him out. It won’t take two people to get this guy talking.”

Old Dog Leg gave his head another determined shake. “Can’t just one of you go. Dat’s a place for folks on their honeymoons. One of you show up alone, it’s gonna raise questions.”

I started to launch another argument, but Gabriel beat me to it. “He has a point. Nobody will think twice about a husband and wife checking in for a few days.”

And that brought up another issue: that of me alone in a hotel room with Gabriel. I knew I should refuse for at least a dozen reasons, starting with the trouble I knew I’d have saying no once we got there.

It’s not that I object to the two of us getting closer. It’s just . . . complicated.

Gabriel’s not the only guy in my life. I’ve also been seeing Liam Sullivan, a hunky homicide detective with the NOPD. Neither one is a serious relationship, and thanks to Aunt Yolanda’s strict upbringing (and Uncle Nestor’s frequent threats of bodily harm to any man who dared touch me), I’m not into the casual scene. And since I haven’t decided which of them I like more, I’m keeping my options open and my knees closed. In fact, it had been three years since I’d been with any man and the idea of spending an entire weekend in such close proximity made me a little nervous.

I almost had the word
no
fully formed when Dog Leg rubbed his chin and sighed again as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Dis man could be my baby brother,” he reminded me. “Den again, he could be a crook. Either way, I gotta know. And I don’t wanna spook him. What if he
is
Monroe? He starts thinkin’ I don’t trust him, he could run again. I don’t want dat.”

“But surely he’d understand why you’re being cautious,” I reasoned. “If he is Monroe, I mean. He’s been gone for forty years. He has to expect that you’ll have questions.”

Dog Leg shook his head firmly. “You don’ know my brother.” He snorted softly and said, “Den again, neither do I. Dat’s the problem. When I knowed him, he was young and foolish. Did what he wanted and never thought much about de consequences. I tried to warn him dat’s de way to trouble, but he never listened. If he’s de same as he was den, he’s not thinkin’ far ahead.”

“But still—”

“Rita, I need your help. I promised my mama on her deathbed I’d take care of Monroe, and I failed. Mebbe dis is my chance to make it up to her—and to him.”

“But you didn’t fail,” I assured him. “You’re not responsible for what Monroe did. He’s the one who ran off.”

Old Dog Leg lifted a shoulder. “Mebbe. Mebbe not. But what if I still got me some family? I got nothin’ else to go on. I don’ have no other way of proving whether he’s my brother or he ain’t. If he
is
Monroe, den I’m gonna kill him for takin’ off and scaring me de way he did. If he’s not, I wanna know why he’s lyin’.”

Gabriel nodded as if Old Dog Leg’s arguments actually made sense. Apparently, I was the sole voice of reason in that room.

“I understand how you feel,” I assured both men, “but why not call the police?”

Gabriel rolled his coffee-colored eyes as if I’d suggested something ridiculous. Because going undercover and spying on some old man made so much more sense than contacting the authorities.

“Think about it,
chérie
,” Gabriel said. “What are the police going to do?”

I knew I was fighting a losing battle anytime Gabriel rolled out the Cajun, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. “I don’t know, maybe run a background check on this guy or something.”

“On a man who has done nothing wrong?” He shook his head. “The police have more important things to worry about.” He bored a hole through me with his eyes. “Unless you have connections Dog Leg and I don’t.”

I knew he was talking about Sullivan, but I didn’t let his suggestion bother me. I haven’t kept either relationship secret, but neither do I flaunt them. Both men know what they’re getting with me.

I briefly considered Gabriel’s suggestion, but there was no way Sullivan could help out with an unofficial background check. A recent triple homicide had claimed most of his attention for the past two weeks. Even if he was willing to help, it might be days before he could run a check, and by then Monroe might have disappeared again.

“No,” I said. “I guess not.”

Old Dog Leg made a noise in his throat, which I did my best to ignore. I tried not to notice the big brown eyes Gabriel was using on me, but that was almost impossible. So I made one more effort to inject common sense into the conversation.

“I’m sure I’d feel the same way in your shoes,” I told Dog Leg, “but neither of us is equipped to do what you’re asking. We’re not private investigators. I’m a pastry chef and he’s a bartender.”

“But you’re de only two can help me.”

I laughed skeptically. “The
only
two?”

“Who else am I gonna ask? One of de waitresses at de Duke? One of de guys from de band? I need somebody smart. Somebody wid a level head. Somebody who ain’t gonna start drinkin’ or worse and blow de whole t’ing ’fore I find out de truth. I know a lotta people, Rita, but not many I trust.” He put both hands on the desk and shot another volley at me. “You know I’d do de same for you if you needed help.”

Every logical cell in my body was shouting at me to turn him down, but Old Dog Leg’s last argument had stirred up my sentimental cells, which are much more powerful than their sensible counterparts. The way Dog Leg had lost his brother was different from the way I’d lost my parents, but all great loss shares the same emotional aftereffect: the longing for one more chance. If someone showed up at my door claiming to be one of my parents, I’d do whatever it took to find out the truth and I’d probably be worried about scaring them off, just as Old Dog Leg was.

Still . . . I sipped my sweet tea and thought it over. “Don’t you think it’s kind of devious to spy on him like that?”

Old Dog Leg nodded. “Sure it is. But dere’s only one way I know of to be sure and dat’s to get a look at dis fella with his shirt off.”

“So all we have to do is get a stranger to take off his shirt?” I laughed through my nose. “That ought to be a piece of cake.”

“I’d try to get a look myself, but . . .” Dog Leg gave a little smile and a shrug.

And there it was. My last solid defense. Gone in a rush of affection for the old man. Though I still wasn’t sold on the idea of checking into the Love Nest under false pretenses. The niggling sense that something was sure to go wrong just wouldn’t leave me alone.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Gabriel,” I said. “How about suggesting some other way we can help Old Dog Leg without getting ourselves into trouble of some kind?”

He shook his head slowly. “Like I said before, I think Dog Leg’s argument makes sense.” He aimed one of his sexy, lopsided smiles at me and added, “Besides, I think it sounds like fun.”

My heart did a little flip-flop in response, but I ignored it. “Don’t get any big ideas.”

He waggled his eyebrows, all Sexy Cajun-like. “Ah,
chérie
, I’ve already got ideas.”

Flip
.
Flop
. “Funny. But you know what I mean. If I agree to do this, it’s about helping Old Dog Leg, not about . . . you know.”

“Nothin’ wrong wid a little romance,” Dog Leg said. “It’s a sad t’ing to go through life alone.”

I shook my finger at him, even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “Don’t encourage him. If you want my help, you’ll keep opinions like that to yourself.”

Old Dog Leg chuckled.

I pretended not to hear him. “I mean it, Gabriel. No funny business.”

Okay. I was tempted. Who wouldn’t have been? But I’d lived thirty-seven years of life according to someone else’s rules. First my parents’, then Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda’s. I’d found freedom in Chicago when I went to pastry school, but I hadn’t been there long before Philippe swept me off my feet. And I’d gone right back to Uncle Nestor’s world when my marriage ended. I was now living on my own for the first time in my life, and I was determined to make future decisions on my own terms.

Gabriel held up both hands and looked at me with wide-eyed innocence. “As you wish. We’ll keep the whole thing strictly platonic.”

“Good.” I sat down in my chair and got back to business. “What about work? It’s going to be pretty hard to look like we’re on our honeymoon if you’re working at the Duke until the wee hours every night.”

“I’ll switch shifts with someone. No big deal.”

“And what if this guy
isn’t
Dog Leg’s brother?”

“Den he’s up to no good,” Dog Leg said. “And if he’s up to no good wid me, den he’s been up to no good before. If he’s goin’ around lyin’ to people, we gotta find out so de police can stop him.”

Hmm. I guess there was
that
.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check the guy out. If Gabriel and I could find evidence that Monroe was a phony, the police would be far more likely to run a background check.

Dog Leg must have sensed my resolve weakening because he leaned forward eagerly. “Will you do it?”

When I didn’t immediately say yes, Gabriel locked eyes with me. “Come on, Rita. Do you really want to leave our friend in the lurch?”

I chewed my bottom lip and tried once more to think of another way to make everyone happy. But that was easier said than done. Old Dog Leg needed my help. Once I finished today’s payroll, it would be easy for me to take a little time away from the bakery. With me gone, there would be more work for everyone else. Win-win.

With a little sigh of resignation, I pushed my chair away from the desk and stood. “Okay, I’ll do it. But I’m going on record as saying that I think this is a bad idea.”

“Relax,” Gabriel said as he leaned up to kiss my cheek. “It’s going to be just fine. Mark my words.”

That nagging sensation of impending doom skittered up my spine, but the smile on Old Dog Leg’s face made it easy to shrug it off and tell myself that Gabriel was right.

I really should have known better.

Three

After Gabriel and I made plans to meet at eleven the following morning, he and Old Dog Leg beat a hasty retreat. Hoping an infusion of caffeine would help my concentration, I grabbed a mug of coffee from the employee break room and spent the next few hours calculating payroll and running expense figures. Cutting my hours over the next few days would help a little, but it wasn’t a long-term fix. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the numbers going forward look any less bleak. Even if we landed a big job in the next few days, we really would have to scale back on the work schedule. We simply couldn’t keep everyone working full-time and hope to make ends meet for long.

I shut down my laptop and called Miss Frankie to ask if I could drop by on my way home, then shelved my financial concerns until later. I come from a long line of worriers, but I knew that fretting about money would eat me alive if I let it.

By the time I left my office, Edie had already gone home for the day. I carried my empty cup back to the break room, rinsed it, and left it on the rack to dry, then wandered into the design area to see how what little work we did have was going.

Besides my office, the design area—a massive room with brightly painted walls and huge windows overlooking the garden—is easily my favorite room in the building. The gold, fuchsia, teal, and lime green walls might seem overpowering in a smaller room, but they work well in this large space. It is the design room of my dreams, with a dozen metal tables creating individual work spaces, each one surrounded by shelves crammed full of cake-making equipment.

I’d sketched this room more times than I could count when Philippe and I were married, and I’d been both elated and angry to find it in his bakery when I arrived in New Orleans. It had been one of the biggest carrots Miss Frankie had dangled in front of me when she’d asked me to stay. Some days I still pinch myself when I realize it’s mine, but today all I felt was a cloying sense of panic that I could lose it to the crumbling economy.