Arsenic and Old Cake (7 page)

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “Exactly. Everyone has two arms, two legs, and a face.”

“You’re so funny.” I crossed my legs beneath me on the bed. “Seriously, Gabriel. Why don’t you ever talk about them?”

He pushed away from the wall and sat on the pointy foot of the heart. “I don’t
not
talk about them. We see each other for most holidays and the usual family occasions like weddings and funerals. But I’m single and working. Alex and Francine are married. Renee’s engaged and Raoul is still in school. Our lives are just different.”

“Speaking of the
M
word,” I said, scooting a little closer, “why haven’t you ever been married?”

He turned on the Sexy Cajun grin, probably hoping to distract me with it. “That information is available on a need-to-know basis.”

I batted my eyelashes and cooed, “But, darling, I’m your wife. If anyone needs to know, I do.”

Gabriel leaned toward me, so close that his face was barely an inch from mine. I could smell his soap and something faintly minty on his breath. His eyes roamed my face so slowly I could hardly breathe, and for one heart-stopping moment I knew he was going to kiss me—and I mean
really
kiss me. My heart jumped around in my chest, and my mouth went dry.

But Gabriel just tweaked my nose and said, “In that case, I’ll tell you everything . . . on our first anniversary.”

I swatted his arm as he pulled away. “Jerk.”

“I’ve been called worse. My turn to ask the questions. Let’s start with you and the cop. What’s the story with the two of you?”

I stared at him, surprised by the unexpected change of direction. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Does he know that you’re here? With me?”

The question made me uncomfortable, but I answered it anyway. “Not yet.”

“Ah.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t plan to lie to him, if that’s what you’re asking. But my friendship with Sullivan has no bearing on this weekend.”

“
Au contraire
,
ma chérie
. If the two of you are serious, if he has a prior claim on your affections—” He broke off with an expressive shrug.

I stood to face him. “First of all, nobody has a prior
claim
on anything about me. Sullivan and I are friends. We see each other occasionally, just like you and I do. No commitment, no promises, no petty jealousy.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “So you’re saying he wouldn’t care that you’re here with me for the weekend?”

Was I saying that? I honestly didn’t know how Sullivan would feel, so I took the easy way out. “I’m saying the topic of my relationship with Sullivan is off-limits for the weekend. Let’s stay focused on how we’re going to convince these people that we’re newlyweds and how we’re going to figure out what’s going on with this Monroe person.”

Gabriel touched my cheek gently. “If you say so.”

I pushed past him and checked inside a cheaply constructed armoire for extra blankets and pillows. The way his touch was making my heart race, there was no way I’d survive a night on the same bed with my pride intact. Gabriel would have to sleep somewhere else. Just my luck, there wasn’t so much as a piece of lint inside the cabinet.

I turned my attention to the dresser instead. Also empty, but the drawers looked clean enough so I unzipped my bag and asked, “You want the top drawers or the bottom?”

Gabriel had crossed to the balcony doors, which were swollen by age and humidity and apparently stuck shut.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. I’ll take top. Do you want to shower first in the morning or second?”

Gabriel gave the doors another rattle, but they still didn’t budge. “Are you planning to organize every bit of our stay?”

“Only the things that need to be organized. Shall we talk about sleeping arrangements?”

Gabriel finally managed to open the swollen doors, and stepped out onto the postage-stamp-sized balcony. “I’ll leave it up to you. Do you want the right side or the left?”

“The middle.” I sat on the bed beside my suitcase and frowned. “I thought we might at least have a chair or a couch in the room.”

Gabriel leaned on the railing but straightened again quickly when it wobbled under his weight. “Even if we had a couch,” he said, “I wouldn’t let you sleep on it. I wouldn’t want you to mess up your back or something.”

“Such a gentleman.” I gave the mattress another test bounce, and this time I thought I felt the sharp end of a spring. But at least Gabriel and I were back on familiar ground. “You’ll need to sleep on the floor, over by the door. I’ll try really hard not to step on your head if I get up in the middle of the night.”

“Gee thanks. I can feel the love.” He came back inside, leaving the doors open behind him. “Don’t worry, Rita. We agreed to keep this thing platonic, and I won’t go back on my promise . . . unless you change your mind.”

Yeah. That was the problem.

“All we have to do is find the man who wrote that letter to Old Dog Leg and look for the birthmark. Once we do that, we can get out of here if you want,” Gabriel said. “In the meantime, let’s keep those sweet old ladies happy. They could be serving the guy to us on a silver platter—or in a champagne glass—at this little get-together they’ve planned.”

He had a point, which I acknowledged grudgingly. “Let’s hope he’s actually there tonight.”

“Even if he’s not, we’re still ahead. We’ll have met some of the other guests, and maybe one of them can help us get a foot in Monroe’s door.”

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. My breath caught, and I wondered if our voices had carried out into the hall. Gabriel crossed the room in three long strides and opened it on Primrose, who held a silver tray loaded with a bottle of cheap champagne and two glasses.

She surged through the door, brushing past Gabriel and heading toward the dresser in the corner. “I brought you that bottle of champagne to start off the celebration!” She shoved a couple of candlesticks to one side and put the tray down.

I watched her closely, trying to determine whether she’d overheard our conversation.

Clasping her hands together over her chest, she turned back to face us. “Look at you two! Aren’t you the cutest couple ever?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and tried to look pleased. “That’s very sweet of you,” I said, mentally calculating how much champagne I’d need to get through this weekend without losing my nerve.

Her hands fluttered in front of her. “I’m more than happy to do it. Seeing a young couple so happy and in love does my heart good.”

Gabriel slid a couple of bills into her hand. “You must see couples of all ages here. Newlyweds. People celebrating anniversaries. My grandparents might like this place, but they’d probably have trouble negotiating the stairs. Do you have any honeymoon suites on the first floor?”

Primrose slipped the money into her pocket and shook her head. “No suites, I’m afraid. Most of our clientele is young. Like the two of you.”

Which reinforced my guess that Monroe wasn’t here on his honeymoon. “This seems like a big operation for you and your sister,” I said. “Do you have help?”

Primrose nodded. “Oh lawd, yes. More than we need, really.” She motioned toward the outside doors and continued the tour she’d started downstairs. “I see you’ve found the balcony. This time of year, the weather is wonderful and cool in the evenings. And there’s a lock on the front gate, so you’ll be safe to leave the windows and doors open for a while. Let the fresh air inside.” She broke off with a little laugh and covered her mouth with one hand. “Listen to me! You’re on your honeymoon! You don’t want any of those old fools across the way knowing your business.”

I glanced at the window, but the only building I could see was one of the additions to the inn I’d noticed earlier. “Isn’t that part of the Love Nest?”

“Oh, yes. That’s where our regulars stay. If you can call those old coots
regular
.” She laughed at her own joke, then turned serious. “We have a couple of rooms over there, but they’re quite small and not at all romantic. Still, if your grandparents are interested in staying here, we might be able to work something out.”

“The residents over there . . . will they be joining us for cocktail hour?” Gabriel asked.

“If there’s alcohol involved, just you
try
to keep them away. Some of them can be a bit prickly, but don’t you worry. They’re mostly friends from way back. Nice enough, for the most part. But don’t let them bother you none. They give you any trouble at all, you let me or Hyacinth know.” She stopped, tilted her head to one side, and corrected herself. “Let
me
know. Hyacinth doesn’t like to be bothered with such things.” She sobered slightly and asked, “That’s not a problem, is it? Should I tell them to stay away?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly. “They live here, and I’m sure we’ll enjoy meeting them.”

I was intrigued by the idea of a group of
old coots
living in the inn. Was Monroe one of the Love Nest’s longtime residents, or was he on staff? Maybe Primrose and Hyacinth knew about his connection to Old Dog Leg. Were the three of them working together to scam him?

Primrose let out a little sigh and moved on again. “I think Hyacinth told you about breakfast. If you have any special dietary needs, let one of us know and we’ll do our best to accommodate. We have parking for guests behind the house, and you’re welcome to spend time in the garden if you’d like. Not that we expect to see much of you while you’re here. We all understand. We were all young once.”

I stood, uncomfortable on that bed in the wake of Primrose’s insinuations. “I do have one question,” I said to her. “Where’s the TV?”

She looked aghast. “There isn’t one, of course. What would be the point?”

Right. No point whatsoever.

“If you really need a television,” she said, her voice clouded with disapproval, “you’re welcome to use the community set in the parlor. We turn it on at six in the morning, and it goes off at eleven every night. But people around here have their routines, so you may have to watch what they’re watching.”

Old reruns of
Bonanza
or
Kojak
?
No thanks.

Gabriel came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m sure we can find
some
way to entertain ourselves.” He nuzzled my neck, making me seriously reconsider my commitment to the whole platonic thing.

Primrose giggled like a young girl and turned toward the door. “You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Broussard.”

Yeah. Wasn’t I, though? “Call me Rita. Please.”

“Of course. If there’s anything else the two of you need, just press zero on the house phone,” Primrose said. “One of us will bring it right up.”

Yeah. Like I was going to have those old ladies running up and down the stairs on my account.

She finally let herself out into the hallway and closed the door with a soft
click
.

I waited until I heard her footsteps recede before I wriggled out of Gabriel’s embrace. “She’s gone,” I said, keeping my voice low just in case. “We can stop playacting now.”

Gabriel pretended to be disappointed. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay in character while we’re here? I wouldn’t want to slip up.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Nice try . . . but no.” I walked into the bathroom, determined to put some distance between us. I could still hear him laughing, even after I closed and locked the door behind me.

Seven

Gabriel and I were no closer to an agreement on how to proceed when we left our room at five o’clock to go to the cocktail party. He practically skipped down the stairs, eagerly anticipating an adventure. I followed more slowly, unsure about whether we’d be able to plug all the holes in our story and nervous about having to lie. When I was a kid, my aunt Yolanda and uncle Nestor had drilled into me and my cousins the importance of telling the truth. I’d taken the lessons to heart—mostly. Oh, sure, I could omit unnecessary information without hesitation if the occasion demanded. And I was pretty good at justifying those omissions using shades of gray. But outright lying shot straight out of the gray area and into the sin zone, which made me more than a little uncomfortable.

My mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer. What would we say when we met the man who called himself Monroe Magee? How likely would he be to talk with us? How would I get him to show me that birthmark if, in fact, he had one? And how would Hyacinth and Primrose react if they caught us lying?

Maybe this wasn’t the only way or even the best way to find out what Monroe Magee was up to, but we were here and I was determined not to go back to Old Dog Leg empty-handed. Our success or failure now hinged on whether Gabriel and I could successfully maintain the facade that we were a couple of besotted honeymooners. I had experience on my side. At least I’d actually been on a honeymoon. But Gabriel had enthusiasm on his. He was having much more fun than I was.

“Remember,” I whispered as we took the last few stairs, “we’re in love. We can hardly stand to be apart. You worship me. You think everything I do is adorable and nothing I do irritates you.”

He nodded and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “The feeling is mutual, I assume?”

“Of course it is . . . darling. Just don’t overdo it, please.”

Gabriel put an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Overdo? Me?”

“It’s been ten seconds,” I pointed out, “and already you’ve proved my point.” I put both hands on his chest and applied gentle pressure. “This is not an open invitation, however.”

Gabriel nuzzled my neck again and flashed a wicked grin when I stiffened under the brush of warm lips against my skin. “Will you please stop worrying?” he whispered. “Relax and have fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun,” I reminded him. “We’re here to do a favor for a friend.”

“We’re not saving the world, my love.”

I frowned and pulled away. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. We might just be saving Dog Leg’s world, and I can’t concentrate when you do that.”