The Cakes of Monte Cristo (10 page)

“Good idea,” Sparkle said. “She might even know how to counteract the curse. That could be good information to have.”

Ox's frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “There
is
no curse,” he said again. “And don't go dragging my aunt into the middle of this.”

Isabeau sighed dramatically. “I don't know why you're
so set against letting Mambo Odessa use her gifts. She's remarkable. You're just unsupportive.”

“I'm not unsupportive,” he argued. “I'm practical. I'm realistic. I love Auntie Odessa, but I'm not going to say that she's psychic or has some kind of otherworldly power. And I sure as hell don't want you asking her to play around with some made-up curse.”

“You can deny it all you want,” Isabeau retorted. “But Mambo Odessa
knows
stuff. You're just too stubborn to admit it. She knows things that regular people couldn't possibly know. And what if there really
is
a curse on the necklace? Wouldn't it be better to know what you're dealing with than to bury your head in the sand?”

This last was directed at me. “I don't know . . .” I said with an uneasy glance at Ox. “I mean it's not as if I believe there's actually a curse on the necklace, but it certainly upset Miss Frankie. Mambo Odessa might be able to tell me about the rumors.”

“No!” Ox said, jabbing a finger at me. He wagged it at Isabeau next. “No. You know how I feel about that stuff.” And to Sparkle, “Quit egging her on. I mean it.”

Sparkle rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Whatever.”

Isabeau lifted her chin and glared up at him. “Yeah. I do know how you feel, but that doesn't mean you're right.” The top of her perky blond head barely reaches Ox's armpit, but she didn't let the fact that he had almost a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her get in the way. “Maybe there's not a curse on the necklace, but if people believe there is one, isn't that what matters? If somebody tried to steal it from the Vintage Vault, it's because of the curse. You know that, too.”

Ox's nostrils flared. “That doesn't mean that Rita has to get herself involved.”

“I'm not getting involved in the robbery investigation,” I said stiffly. “There probably isn't going to be one anyway. But
once the police are done with the necklace, they're going to give it back to me and I'd really like to know what I'm dealing with before they do. And if I decide to talk to Mambo Odessa, I will. I don't need your permission.”

Ox made a noise low in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. He wasn't happy, but he seemed to realize that he'd lost that argument. “Do what you want,” he snapped. “Just don't call me when things go bad.”

“You have my solemn vow.”

The thing was, I hadn't been sold on talking to Mambo Odessa until Ox forbade me to do it. Now I was determined to pay her a visit. Was it a good idea? Maybe. Maybe not. Right then, I didn't particularly care.

If I hadn't been a responsible adult, I would have left for Mambo Odessa's shop right then and there. Instead, I stayed at Zydeco and tried my best to focus on making several hundred peacock feathers out of fondant, layering green, blue, and lavender leaf-shaped cutouts on top of one another then using a plastic modeling tool to press indentations into the bottom two layers to create a feathery appearance. It wasn't particularly grueling work, but it did take time and patience.

I broke once to answer a call from Tommy Sheridan at the Monte Cristo Hotel, who wanted to make sure he'd answered all of my questions about the new location. I assured him that all was well and promised again to let him know if I needed anything.

By the time noon rolled around, I was more than ready to meet Edie for our lunch date. She had suggested meeting me at Zydeco, but I'd discouraged that idea mostly because the reception area was still a disaster. Zoey had spent the previous
day organizing the piles of paper currently covering Edie's desk into stacks she and I would eventually have to work through, but I still wasn't anxious for Edie to see the backed-up work, the holes in the wall, and the broken stair railing. The whole idea of our lunch date was to make her feel better, not worse.

It also meant that I couldn't tell the others about our lunch plans. If I did, they would certainly have wanted Edie and John David to stop in. I knew a visit was inevitable, but I hoped to put it off at least until we found the surface of Edie's desk.

I put away the remaining fondant and stored the peacock feathers I'd made that morning before I checked in with Zoey and made some admiring noises over her progress. Then I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door.

I'd let Edie choose the restaurant and she'd picked Rubio's Ribs, a local favorite within easy walking distance for me. She and John David were waiting just inside the front door when I arrived. Edie looked better than she had the other night. Her hair was clean and shiny and she'd even managed a bit of makeup. Only one small white splotch high on her shoulder marred her appearance, and I didn't know whether to mention it or keep my big mouth shut.

JD was fussing a bit, so I gave Edie a quick hug and took the baby carrier from her to give her a break. While we waited to be seated, I cooed and gurgled and made all the appropriate noises, which got JD's attention and, I swear, even earned a smile from the baby.

Unfortunately, her son's good humor put a scowl on Edie's face. “Why does he like you better than me?”

I managed to suppress the grin I'd been giving JD as I looked up at her. I didn't want to make her feel worse. “He doesn't like me better than you,” I assured her. “I think he feels your stress and reacts to that. I'm not as stressed as you are.” Which might not have been entirely true. Edie had motherhood to deal with, but I was plenty stressed at work, and now
I was also carrying around guilt over Orra Trussell's untimely death. My stress didn't have anything to do with John David, though, which probably made the difference.

“I don't resent you for being able to handle him, Rita. Really I don't. I just wish he'd calm down for me like he does for you.”

I didn't know what to say to her, so I went with an optimistic prediction. “He will in time. Has he been sleeping any better?”

She gave her hand a so-so waggle. “A bit, I guess. He actually took a nap yesterday
and
he slept for four solid hours last night. I think that's a personal best for him.”

“That's progress! Everyone says it gets easier as they get older.”

Edie's expression turned pensive. “It had better be true,” she said. “I don't know how much more of this I can take.”

Luckily, just then the restaurant's hostess appeared, and I hoisted the baby carrier to trail her and Edie to a table near the window. We spent a few minutes settling the baby and the diaper bag around us, and eventually got ourselves seated as well.

“Thanks for suggesting this,” Edie said as she plucked her napkin from the table. “I feel almost like a real live girl.”

“Good,” I said with a smile. “That was my intention.”

Edie's lips curved slightly in response. She reached for her menu and gave it a cursory glance. “How are things at work?”

I wasn't sure how much to say, so I went with a generic, “Fine.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. We're busy, of course. And Zoey is just settling in, so that's a bit of an adjustment, but really, we're all fine.”

“Oh?” She looked back at her menu, but her expression was far too innocent. “Sparkle said there'd been some trouble. Something about damage to one of the walls?”

I gave myself a mental kick for trying to be coy. I should
have known that someone would fill her in on the gossip, but I hadn't expected Sparkle to gab. She and Edie had had a few issues in the past, but I kept forgetting that since JD's birth, they'd been thick as thieves. I still hadn't adjusted to the new dynamic.

“It's nothing major,” I said. “I just haven't started repairs yet because we have so much work to do in the next couple of months. We can't have workmen underfoot while we're trying to get everything done.”

“That's all?”

“Well, mostly,” I admitted just as a bubbly young waitress bounced over to our table. “Let's order before JD gets fussy again. We can talk while we eat.”

We spent the next few minutes listening to Bubbles enthuse about the daily specials. JD stirred fitfully a couple of times, but we managed to place our orders and send our server away without disturbing him too much.

I thought the interruption might have distracted Edie, but she'd caught the scent of a story, and she wasn't letting go. “Sparkle also said that you'd found something interesting. A necklace, I think she said?”

I laughed and gave up trying to shield Edie from the trouble at work. “Obviously you know the story already, so why don't you just tell me what else you want to know.”

“Anything there is to tell. Sparkle only knows that you and Zoey found a necklace, but she doesn't know anything else.” She paused while Bubbles put our drink choices on the table. “Apparently, Estelle is being very tight-lipped about the whole thing,” she said when we were alone again.

That didn't sound like Estelle at all. Again I wondered if Zoey might assert a claim to the necklace. “I don't think Sparkle knows much,” I said. “We only talked about it for a few minutes this morning. So here's the story in a nutshell: Zoey—you know, Estelle's niece—dropped a few boxes, and
they damaged the stairs. Inside one of the loose steps, she spotted a bundle, which turned out to be a box, and inside the box was a ruby necklace. Which is gorgeous, by the way. I'm still trying to figure out whether it's genuine or costume, and that's really all there is to know.”

Edie regarded me critically over the rim of her sweet tea glass. “Are you sure? Sparkle made it sound like there was something mysterious about the necklace.”

“There's rumor and gossip, but nothing concrete. Why, what did she say?”

“Just that there's supposedly a curse on the necklace and that some lady died last night while she was holding it in her hand.” She put her glass down and scowled at me. “I thought we were friends, Rita. Why didn't you tell me any of this?”

“I didn't want to tell
anybody
about any of this,” I said with a guilty wince. “I feel horrible about Orra Trussell's death and I was hoping to keep the connection between the Toussaint necklace and Orra's heart attack—if there
is
a connection at all—under wraps.”

Edie reached for her phone, did a bit of swiping and one-finger typing, and shoved the screen at me. “I think the cat is out of the bag.”

I glanced at the screen and groaned.
CURSED NEC
KLACE REAPPEARS AFTE
R 100 YEARS,
the screen shouted. It followed with a story by a local journalist all about Beatriz and Armand Toussaint, and Armand's ill-fated relationship with Delphine Mercier. It wasn't posted on a major news outlet, but Edie had seen it, which made me wonder just how far and fast the story would spread.

With a sigh, I gave Edie's phone back to her. “How did they find out about it so fast?”

Edie shrugged. “Who knows? Nothing stays private these days. You know that.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I can't say that I'd embraced social media,
but we did have a nodding acquaintance. I maintained a business blog, a company Facebook account, and I kept up with old friends and my New Mexico family on a personal account, but I didn't spend as much time online as most people.

“So? Tell me,” Edie said. “What's going on? And this time don't leave anything out.”

“There really isn't a lot to tell. Sullivan came over last night and told me about Orra Trussell's death—but it's not as if she was murdered or anything. She died of a heart attack.”

Edie looked almost disappointed. “Really? It wasn't murder?”

“No, and you might try to appear sorry. Dead is dead, no matter how it happens.”

Edie assumed a solemn expression—or at least she tried. “What about the curse the article mentions?”

A brittle laugh escaped my lips. “Don't tell me you believe that rumor?” Edie shrugged but didn't say anything, which caused me to laugh again. “Seriously? You really think there's a curse?”

“The lady died, didn't she?”

“Yes, but only because she was frightened by a burglar. It wasn't because of the necklace.”

“You don't know the necklace had nothing to do with her heart attack,” Edie said. “You said yourself there might be a connection.”

“Not the kind of connection you're suggesting.” We were interrupted by the arrival of our orders—two trays filled with Rubio's famous ribs and coleslaw. We shifted things around to make room for everything. JD stirred again but didn't wake up, and the two of us dug in like we'd both been starving for days.

“Look, Edie, I need you to keep quiet about this,” I said after we'd munched in silence for a few minutes. “The very last thing we need is for word of a supposed curse to get out
and have it associated in any way with Zydeco. It could be the ruin of the business.”

“Or the making of it,” Edie suggested. “This is New Orleans, Rita. Around here, something like that might get the bakery a lot of attention.”

“Attention, we need,” I agreed, “but that's hardly the right kind. The kind of people who can afford our cakes aren't going to be impressed by some hundred-year-old voodoo curse.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“You think they will be?” I tried to imagine someone like Evangeline Delahunt getting excited about a cursed necklace, but the image wouldn't form. I kept seeing the look on Miss Frankie's face instead.

“I think it's the kind of thing that stirs up interest,” Edie said. “And I don't think it matters much who you are or how much money you have. It's the kind of story that will grab anyone's attention. I'm not saying we should play it up or anything. I just don't think you should worry about word getting out. I don't think it would hurt business.”

“Maybe.” I turned Edie's argument over in my mind, but I still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. “The point is, a woman died last night. I don't want to do anything that would make it seem as if we're trying to capitalize on her death, especially since we'll be hanging out with her associates at the Belle Lune Ball.”

“I'm not suggesting that we should,” Edie insisted. She might have said more, but John David began to stir again and this time he was fussy enough to distract his mother. Maybe she was right, but the whole subject made me increasingly uneasy. The journalist might have picked up the story of the burglary from the police, but since they hadn't seemed overly interested in the Toussaint rubies, I doubted very much they'd mentioned the curse.

But someone clearly had, and I couldn't help wondering who.