Rebel Without a Cake

PRAISE FOR THE PIECE OF CAKE MYSTERIES

The Cakes of Wrath

“Skillful writing in this lighthearted mystery featuring over-the-top characters and fun dialogue . . . Readers should expect the zaniness that seems prevalent in the beautiful, historical, absurd New Orleans.”

—
Kings River Life Magazine

“Another great addition to the Piece of Cake [Mysteries]. The author's good plotting keeps you turning those pages. Love the characters and always look forward to stopping by and seeing what is going on at Zydeco Cakes.”

—MyShelf.com

“A joy to read from start to finish. The descriptions are vivid. The prose is smart, snarky, and possesses as much character and charm as New Orleans itself.”

—
The Season

Arsenic and Old Cake

“[It] wrapped me up in a delectable mystery right from the first page. With a cast of unsavory characters at the B and B, I was having a hard time trying to figure out who the murderer was. Jacklyn Brady kept me on my toes, and I didn't manage to solve the mystery before Rita.”

—
Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

“This is my favorite book in this series! The quirky characters, residents of the B and B, are fantastic and funny, and full of secrets, some deadly secrets . . . The romantic tension jumped up a notch in the edition as well . . . I highly recommend this story and this series. They are full of mystery, mayhem, and way too many delectable treats.”

—
Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

Cake on a Hot Tin Roof

“A fast-paced delightful amateur-sleuth tale starring a feisty independent pastry chef . . .
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof
is an interesting whodunit.”

—
The Mystery Gazette

“The setting and atmosphere in
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof
are very appealing . . . Rita is a very appealing character with loads of energy and a lot to deal with . . . All done with aplomb.”

—
The Mystery Reader

“The New Orleans setting keeps the book lively, and I loved the rich details and ambiance the author conveys . . . Jacklyn Brady has mixed up the perfect concoction of suspects, motives, means, and opportunity. True-to-real-life characters and situations that could be ripped from the headlines of any major city news outlet make
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof
a sequel that fans of this series will not want to miss!”

—MyShelf.com

“A truly excellent read. While one doesn't regularly connect the fun and frivolity of Mardi Gras with the darkness of murder, this is something the author balanced well.”

—
Fresh Fiction

A Sheetcake Named Desire

“A tasty treat for mystery lovers, combining all the right ingredients in a perfectly prepared story that's sure to satisfy.”

—B. B. Haywood, national bestselling author of
Town in a Strawberry Swirl

“A decadent new series with a Big Easy attitude.”

—Paige Shelton, national bestselling author of
If Catfish Had Nine Lives

“A mouthwatering new series! Brady's writing is smooth as fondant, rich as buttercream—the pastry shop's delectable confections are just icing on the cake for the appealing characters and intriguing mystery.”

—Sheila Connolly,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Razing the Dead

“Jacklyn Brady whips up a delectable mystery layered with great characters and sprinkled with clever plot twists.”

—Hannah Reed, author of the Queen Bee Mysteries

“[An] enticing debut.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A light-as-angel-food debut mystery.”

—
The Times-Picayune

“Delicious from start to finish. . . . A yummy series.”

—
Suspense Magazine

“A combination amateur-sleuth tale inside of a family drama . . . Readers will relish Jacklyn Brady, who bakes an engaging first entry starring a heroine who takes the cake.”

—
Genre Go Round Reviews

“Brady writes . . . like an accomplished mystery maven penning her umpteenth installment instead of a debut outing . . . and earns . . . an A+ for knowing her stuff when it comes to the intricate and artistic mastery of cake design.”

—Examiner.com

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jacklyn Brady

A SHEETCAKE NAMED DESIRE

CAKE ON A HOT TIN ROOF

ARSENIC AND OLD CAKE

THE CAKES OF WRATH

REBEL WITHOUT A CAKE

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

REBEL WITHOUT A CAKE

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2014 by Penguin Group (USA).

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

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For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62509-5

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2014

Cover illustration by Chris Lyons.

Cover design by Diana Kolsky.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

To the women of the amazing weekend in Pigeon Forge. Linda, LJ, Connie, Gayle, Alison, Jill, Nic, and Geralyn. You filled me up with friendship, laughter, and writing talk right when I needed it most.

“
You need to tell her
,” the voice inside my head whispered. It's an annoying voice, so despite the fact that my aunt had raised me to listen when my conscience voiced an opinion, I did my best to ignore it. It isn't
always
right, and besides, I was pretty sure Aunt Yolanda hadn't counted on me having to deliver bad news to Frances Mae Renier when she gave me that advice.

Frances Mae, known by most as Miss Frankie, is my mother-in-law (which explains why Aunt Yolanda didn't know about her when I was a kid). She's also my business partner. Together we run Zydeco Cakes, a high-end bakery near New Orleans's Garden District. Actually, I do much of the running. Miss Frankie is my mostly silent partner who does behind-the-scenes stuff like writing checks and nudging high-profile clients our way.

My name is Rita Lucero, and I want to say up front that, despite my hesitation to come clean with Miss Frankie, I am
not
a coward. I
am
a trained pastry chef who moved from Albuquerque to New Orleans just like
that
last summer when Miss Frankie offered me the chance to take over the day-to-day operations at Zydeco after the death of her son, Philippe, my almost-ex-husband. I'd had to stand up to Uncle Nestor to do it, too. Believe me, that took courage.

My complicated relationship with Miss Frankie is why I was parking the Mercedes I'd inherited from Philippe's estate in her driveway on a Friday night. I should have been joining the rest of Zydeco's staff for a birthday party at the Dizzy Duke, our favorite after-hours hangout. But Miss Frankie had summoned me, so here I was. I didn't know what she wanted, but that wasn't unusual. Still, I was feeling a little resentful as I climbed the front steps and rang her doorbell.

A stiff wind tossed the branches of the massive trees that lined the street. Their shadows did a macabre dance suitable for the Halloween season on Miss Frankie's sweeping front lawn, and I smiled as I watched them shift and bend.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Not because I'm overly fond of ghosts and goblins, but because I have sweet memories of trick-or-treating with my parents when I was young. They died in a car accident the year I turned twelve. I've lost too many memories of them over the years so I cling to the ones I've managed to keep. Losing them flipped my world upside down for a while, so I knew how much losing her only child had rocked Miss Frankie's. I do my best to be gentle with her, which is why I was hesitating over telling her that I'd be going to Albuquerque for Christmas. We'd limped through the holidays last year, mostly ignoring the festivities and staying home rather than joining others. She tries hard not to be clingy where I'm concerned, and some days she succeeds. Others, she hangs on to me like a good-quality plastic wrap.

Miss Frankie was well aware that I had missed home since I'd moved to New Orleans. She knew that, with the exception of one brief visit from Aunt Yolanda and Uncle Nestor, I hadn't seen my family in over a year. I'd left my familiar Hispanic culture behind and stepped into the very different world of New Orleans, and sometimes homesickness hit hard. Surely Miss Frankie would understand why I wanted to go back for Christmas. At least she'd try to.

I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and an instant later it flew open. Miss Frankie greeted me with a warm hug and a glimmer of excitement in her golden brown eyes. In spite of the late hour, she looked ready to begin her day. Her auburn hair was teased and sprayed, a whiff of Shalimar noticeable as she wrapped her arms around me. She wore a pair of wide-legged pants and a loose-fitting tunic made of silky rust-colored fabric. A pair of off-white sandals revealed toenails painted a deep pumpkin color to match her fingernails.

“Thanks for coming, sugar. Let's talk in the kitchen. I've got everything in there.”

I wondered what “everything” was, but I knew there was only one way to find out. After closing the door behind me, I followed her to the back of the house. “I can't stay long,” I warned as we walked. “I'm meeting the rest of the staff at the Duke in half an hour to celebrate Dwight's birthday.”

Dwight is one of Zydeco's best cake artists and an old friend from pastry school. He'd come to New Orleans to work for Philippe, but he'd been supportive of me since Philippe died and I took over at Zydeco. I wanted to show him that I could be a good friend, too.

I was even looking forward to the party, which I considered progress since I'm not much of a partier. When Philippe and I were married, I was much more likely to be found balancing the books while he entertained our friends. Since stepping into his shoes at Zydeco, I'd been making an effort to loosen up.

Miss Frankie glanced back at me. “Is that tonight? I guess I plumb forgot about it. But don't worry. This won't take but a minute.” She stopped just inside the kitchen and motioned me toward the table, which was piled with magazines, recipe books, newspaper clippings, and a large three-ring binder—the kind she used whenever she coordinated a social event. It's her favorite thing to do.

“It looks like you've been busy,” I said. “Are you planning a party?”

She grinned and headed for the coffeemaker. “Not exactly.” She turned back to me and linked her hands together over her chest. “Oh, sugar, isn't it exciting? I decided to take Pearl Lee's advice.”

I knew right then that we were in for trouble. Pearl Lee Gates is Miss Frankie's cousin, five foot nothing of “Let's see how much I can get away with.” She's a few years younger than Miss Frankie, which puts her somewhere in her late fifties or early sixties, I think. Talking to her is dangerous enough. Taking her advice could be a disaster. You'd think Miss Frankie would know that by now.

“What advice is that?” I asked. I thought I sounded remarkably calm, considering.

“Well, about Christmas, of course. It's only two months away.”

Uh-oh
. I got a squidgy feeling in my stomach, and my conscience gave me a sharp poke. This was the perfect time to tell Miss Frankie about my plans. And I probably would have if she hadn't kept talking.

“I was thinking about giving it a miss again this year. The thought of sitting around while people talk about Philippe—and you know they will—is just too much. It's barely been more than a year since he died and people think I should be through grieving. But we both know it doesn't ever really end.”

We'd just stepped onto uneven ground so I thought about my response before I spoke. I didn't have any experience with losing a child, but I did know how easy it was to get stuck in the moment of a loved one's death. I didn't want that for Miss Frankie, and I knew Philippe wouldn't have wanted it either. “It doesn't end,” I agreed cautiously, “but it does change with time. I still miss my parents, but the thought of them doesn't hurt like it used to.”

My conscience flicked me again, but Miss Frankie was staring at me with eyes that were too bright and a smile that looked too brittle. She tried so hard to cope with the death of her only child but I could tell that she was on the edge of tears, so I swallowed my news and smiled instead. “So does this mean you're going to join your family this year?” I said. “I think that's wonderful.”

“It's better than that,” she said, waving me toward a chair. “We're
hosting
this year.”

I think I gasped. I was all for Miss Frankie taking a step forward this year, but hosting? What was she thinking?

“You're doing what?” I squeaked.

“Hosting the family. They'll all come here this year.”

If Pearl Lee had been in the room, I might have throttled her right then and there. In Miss Frankie–speak,
family
meant a dozen cousins from the Dumond family line along with their spouses and any children or grandchildren who had no other plans. Throw in a couple of ancient aunts and uncles and a Renier relative or two at loose ends, and she could be looking at fifty mouths or more to feed.

“That's a huge job,” I pointed out in case she'd failed to do the math. “Are you sure that's what you want?”

“Well, of course, it's far too big a job to do alone. That's why I'm counting on your help. I'll admit that when Pearl Lee first suggested it, I thought it would be too,
too
much, but then she pointed out that by inviting everyone here, we'll be able to set the tone for the holiday week and maintain some kind of control over the events. It's my turn anyway, so I really should just jump in and do it.”

“But I—” I sank into the closest chair and tried not to sound angry. That wasn't easy. Miss Frankie has a habit of volunteering me for things without talking to me first. It's one of the few downsides of our relationship. “I'm sure everyone would understand if you wanted to wait another year.”

“But I don't want to wait. That's the point.”

I knew that Pearl Lee was responsible for Miss Frankie's attitude, and that irritated me big-time. Pearl Lee has her fair share of problems, but Miss Frankie is fiercely loyal. I'd learned not to bad-mouth her cousin in front of her, so again I went with a careful answer. “Pearl Lee might have a point,” I said with caution. “But wouldn't you rather put your heads together and do this with her?”

Miss Frankie waved a dismissive hand. “Pearl Lee is useless when it comes to things like this. I need your head, sugar. I've been thinking that if you make some amazing cake for the family, they'll see that the bakery is in good hands and we'll be able to focus on the future instead of the past.”

“Yes, but—” Hearing her talk about moving on was a good sign, even if her chosen method for doing it was questionable. I took another deep breath to steady my nerves. “You can't keep making commitments for me without talking to me first. What if I had other plans?” Okay, so it wasn't the direct approach, but it was the best I could do with the threat of my mother-in-law's tears so close to the surface. When it comes to Miss Frankie, it's more effective to steal a few bases at a time than to try for a home run right off.

Her expression fell, but she looked concerned for only a moment. “
Have
you made plans? Gracious! I never even thought. Well, that's no problem. You'll just invite whoever it is to join us here. After all, the more the merrier. Is it one of your young men?”

By that, she meant Liam Sullivan, a detective with the New Orleans PD's Homicide Division, and Gabriel Broussard, part-owner of the Dizzy Duke. I'd been seeing both of them over the past year—all open and aboveboard—but neither relationship had progressed to the “spend holidays together” stage.

I screwed up my courage, ready to tell Miss Frankie about Albuquerque, but she didn't wait for an answer. She waved a hand at the mess on the table. “We can work all of that out later. That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about anyway. I have the most wonderful news for Zydeco, and I simply couldn't wait to tell you. How would you feel about making a cake for the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society Belle Lune Ball?”

Every thought inside my head froze and my heart began to thump. The Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society was one of the most prestigious groups in New Orleans. The Belle Lune Ball, held each January, was a premiere social event. The moneyed set shelled out staggering amounts of cash for tickets every year, and the silent auction brought in a whopping total that was used to help disadvantaged women around the world.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “We actually have a shot?”

Miss Frankie smiled slyly. “You like the idea?”

“Um . . .
yeah!
It's only one of the biggest events in the whole city. Do you know what a coup like that would do for our reputation?”

“I have a good idea. That's why, when I heard that the society had an opening, I invited Evangeline Delahunt to lunch. She's eager to find someone quickly. For an event that size, time is running out. I saw an opportunity to get your work in front of the right people and I took it.”

Uuurch!
My excitement ground to a screeching halt. “Wait a minute. You're not talking about
this
year's ball? The one just three months away . . . are you? With the holidays and everything, it's going to be tough to come up with a design, coordinate everything, and put together the kind of cake they'd want.”

“Well . . . it's a little more than just the cake, sugar. Actually, she needs a caterer for the entire event.” Miss Frankie flicked her wrist as if catering dinner for a few hundred people would add barely any extra work. “Don't worry, though. I have faith in you.”

“But Zydeco doesn't
do
catering,” I pointed out in what I hoped was a reasonable tone. “We've never done catering.”

“That doesn't mean you can't do it. You've had training, and I know Ox and Dwight have, too. Really, Rita, I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. But if you really don't want to do it, I'll call Evangeline and tell her to look for someone else. She'll be disappointed, but I'm sure she won't hold it against you.”