Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set

by Alison Golden

  “Unless you have other plans, cher,” Evangeline said gently. “I guess the world is your oyster now. You could go anywhere. Start afresh wherever you wanted.”

  “Though it’d be nice if you stuck around.” Sam’s voice was deep and full of meaning. “Real nice.”

  Roxy looked up. Sam was looking right at her, his eyes sincere.

  She avoided them for a moment, pushing back the wave in her chest that was threatening to break. Instead, she pushed her fingers into Nefertiti’s long fur and stroked her soft, soft belly.

  Roxy allowed her thoughts to roam for a second or two. She imagined herself traveling out of New Orleans by bus, her bags packed, Nefertiti in her little carrier, as she rode away from all the new friends she had made. Where was she going? She didn’t know. But as she imagined herself looking out of the window at this city she’d come to love, she felt a tug at her heart. Not a little tug, like a sentimental but necessary goodbye, but a gigantic pull, like someone had lassoed her with a thick rope and wasn’t about to let go.

  Her senses were alive. The colors of Mardi Gras flashed before her eyes and she heard the noises of the parades in her ears. She could smell the Cajun spices that lingered in the air around her like spirits urging her to stay. Perhaps this city, with all its magic and mystery and chaos was the place she’d finally make her home. It seemed so unlikely, but she had discovered that she was a little fiercer and a little wilder than she knew. New Orleans had brought all that moxie up to the surface.

  “We’ll give you some time to think about it, cher,” Evangeline said, giving her a motherly pat on the knee.

  “No,” said Roxy.

  She thought back to that wild, devil-may-care moment in her apartment. That split second when her spirit had told her, WE’RE OFF! no matter what her fearful mind countered with. This moment was different, though. The feeling didn’t sweep over her from outside, gripping her soul with determination. This time, it bubbled up from somewhere deep within. To come to New Orleans had been a whim. To stay was a conviction.

  Roxy looked Evangeline and Sam in the eyes and smiled. “I’m going to accept your offer with many thanks. I shall be delighted to stay.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TIME WHIZZED BY and before Roxy knew it, the night of the Grand Opening rolled around. She had changed the name of the guesthouse to the Funky Cat Inn, a nod to the jazz traditions of the city and the music she planned to provide regularly, and she and Nat had spent weeks reimagining each room from scratch. They’d headed to the New Orleans Public Library and checked out numerous books on traditional buildings with pictures of sumptuous decors for inspiration.

  They’d hit flea markets with Sam’s laundry van (and his generous cash injection) and filled it up with all manner of French antiques and some amazing reproductions that they put to use in the communal and private rooms of the guesthouse.

  Sam had also gotten to work. He had rewired the building and arranged all the structural repair work necessary. New windows had been installed and the balconies fixed. By the time he had finished, the Funky Cat Inn was up to code and then some.

  On one of their trips to the flea market, Roxy finally broached the elephant in the room with Nat. “Where does Sam get all this money from? Surely the laundry business doesn’t make enough for him to splash this amount of cash around?”

  Nat raised her eyebrows. “We don’t ask about that. I think he has family money, and he’s a little embarrassed about it, but that’s just a guess. Like I said, we don’t talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He gets very cagey,” Nat said. “So we don’t push it. He grew up around here, his family goes way back, generations, and Evangeline always said that was good enough for her.”

  That was the last they talked of it.

  The dining room where tonight’s event was to be held had been transformed. They’d split it into a grand lounge on one side, the dining area on the other. The whole place was painted a gorgeous, soft, pale blue. The room was now furnished with a mixture of champagne and pastel blue fabrics, mahogany side tables with ornately curved legs, lamps, gilded mirrors, and an abundance of interesting knickknacks and ornaments. They even had an enormous chandelier glittering overhead.

  The bedrooms were sumptuous too, and Nefertiti looked more regal than ever curled up on one of the Louis-style four-poster beds. Her bright eyes matched the blue of the bedspreads exactly. She was the perfect accessory. Sage had taken a wonderful picture of her for their new Instagram page.

  Sage had a great eye for photography. Her pictures of the food and the décor were so gorgeous that their social media follower counts were climbing every day. There had been a write-up in a local paper too, and slowly word was spreading that the Funky Cat Inn was the place to stay in New Orleans. Roxy trembled with anticipation when she thought about it.

  Roxy felt she was in a permanent state of exhilaration. She had become so consumed by the whole process of turning the guesthouse from a vision in her head into a reality all around her that she often couldn’t sleep. She’d never felt so accomplished.

  “A boutique luxury, yet traditional, New Orleans experience” was the phrase she kept repeating to decorators, antique dealers, and just about anyone who would listen. It encapsulated precisely her goal for the new hotel.

  Roxy rushed around on the day of the Grand Opening, but eventually, there was nothing more to do so she took herself to her room to get ready. She’d bought herself a new dress. She’d never have picked out something so show-stopping before, but being the new proprietor of this fabulous place and with some encouragement from Nat and Sage, she’d come to believe that a silver-sequined, figure-hugging dress wasn’t too over the top. Okay, well maybe it was, especially when paired with an abundance of silver and crystal jewelry loaned to her by Sage and which now sparkled in her ears and around her neck and her wrists, but why the heck not? Wasn’t life for enjoying, after all?

  They were expecting a big turnout, but Roxy couldn’t help drumming her fingertips on the arm of one of the couches as she finally sat down and waited for her guests to arrive. The time seemed to tick by so, so slowly. They’d printed flyers and passed them out just about everywhere. Elijah had distributed them with every beignet purchase made at his bakery, Sam had wrapped one inside every laundry parcel, Sage had left a whole bunch at the botanica, and Nat had spent all her days off on the street at the end of the alleyway handing out details of the event to passersby.

  They’d even sent an invitation to Mara Lomas, a kind of peace offering. After Louise had been arrested, Mara had come back around to the guesthouse in tears, saying to them how ashamed she was of her behavior. They’d tried to console her by telling her that she had been right—it was one of them who had killed her husband—but the message didn’t seem to get through. Mara was determined to feel guilty and she had returned to her home state to make some sense of her life. Roxy didn’t expect Mara to attend the Grand Opening, but she’d written on the invitation, “We wish you all the best for the future,” and she really did.

  Nat came and sat next to Roxy. She patted her on the shoulder. Roxy wouldn’t have dreamed of asking her to drop her “uniform,” but Nat herself had said, “With all this grandeur, I feel a little silly in my Slipknot tee. Slipknot’s a band by the way,” she added to relieve Roxy’s perplexed expression. Instead, Nat was wearing a smart, tailored trouser suit that looked awesome on her. She’d paired it with her shiny green boots with the sparkly laces, which somehow worked, and a plain white t-shirt. Her ears continued to drip with jewelry, and she had kept her tiny diamond nose stud in place. “So that I still feel like myself,” she’d said.

  Shortly after 6 PM, people began to trickle in. Evangeline, who had helped with the food, handed the guests glasses of wine and Café Brûlot. The tables were laid out with what seemed like thousands of New Orleans-style canapés, and Sage offered tarot readings in the lounge.

  Elijah and Sam were on the music, filling the
whole place with warm jazz and the cool, mellow sounds of Miles Davis along with the more upbeat tunes of Duke Ellington, filtered through the air. After a while, Nat joined them, astounding Roxy as she demonstrated the most beautiful, soulful voice Roxy had ever heard. Nat sung jazz classics, Smoke Gets In Your Eyes, and It Don't Mean A Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing and then, with a level of graciousness that she had not previously been known for, she took song requests from Roxy's guests.

  As they finished a set, Roxy walked up to her. “Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?” she whispered.

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” Nat said, shyly.

  “Nothing? You were fantastic!”

  “Nat only gets her voice out on special occasions,” Sam said. “For special people,” he added.

  “When she sings, she has a true Southern vibe,” Sage said. She raised her eyebrows. “Quite unusual when you consider she’s from across the pond.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  LATER THAT EVENING, Roxy felt like a break and stepped outside into the warm night air. The stars were all out, and it seemed like even they were smiling down at her.

  She found Sam out there too, his back turned to her as he looked up to the sky.

  “Oh, hey,” she said.

  He jumped and turned. “Hi, Roxy.” He grinned. “Going great, isn’t it?”

  “Yep!” She felt truly in her element.

  “The stars are all out in celebration,” he said.

  “Lovely clear night, isn’t it?” They gazed up at the stars for a moment in companionable silence. “You were wrong about New Orleans, you know,” she said eventually. “It is magic.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while.” He stared at his feet. “But you know, dumb male pride and all.”

  Roxy stayed silent and watched him.

  “I don’t think I spoke to you very nicely when you came to the laundry, when you talked about your suspicions concerning Elijah.”

  Roxy had let that go a long time back. She laughed. “Well, you were right. It wasn’t him, and at that point, it really would have been wise for me to butt out. It was only after we spoke that I found Louise’s badge and got a part to play.”

  Sam looked down at her. “That’s all true. But I could have spoken in more of a polite manner.”

  “Ever the Southern gentleman,” Roxy said fondly. “Well, that means I’ll have to be a proper Southern belle.” She tried to put on the accent and failed miserably. They both burst into laughter.

  Roxy didn’t quite know what came over her. Maybe it was the champagne, or the beauty of the stars, or the deep happiness she felt in her soul, but she wanted to reach out and kiss him. She paused, though, wondering if it were appropriate. Would he kiss her back? Would he jump away and be like, “You’ve got the wrong idea! We’re business partners, that’s all!”? Her hesitation broke the spell, and she gave him an awkward smile instead. And besides, the doubts she had about him came flooding back. Perhaps those red flags meant something. Maybe he was just pretending to be a nice guy.

  At that moment, Nat came bustling around the corner. “Roxy, I’ve been looking...” She cut herself short. “Ooooh,” she said, her eyes shining. “Have I interrupted something?”

  “No!” Roxy said a little too forcefully.

  Nat raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Anyway, come on inside. We’re all waiting for you, Rox.”

  It was coming up on midnight.

  Inside, everyone had a champagne glass in hand, and there was a round of applause when Roxy made her way back in.

  “Evangeline was just saying how proud she was of you, how you’ve transformed the place,” Nat said. “They want to hear something from you now.”

  Roxy would have died in her former life if she’d had to do any form of public speaking. But now, here, considering who she was in this moment, all her nerves fell away, and she was filled with a deep sense of warmth and affection.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “This place…it has come to mean so much to me. Not just this guesthouse, but the whole city. New Orleans is full of magic and wonder. It has changed me. When I got here, I had no idea where my life would lead. I had nothing except my suitcase full of clothes and my cat. No job. No family. No one by my side. No direction. I was painfully shy and didn’t have any sort of belief in myself. But…this city has changed me. It has taught me that miracles do happen, that I have a power inside me that I’ve never been aware of. I’m a new person now, a better person, a more empowered person. And, thanks to your amazing cuisine, also a slightly fatter person!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “So I just want to say thank you. Thank you to Evangeline for introducing me to Creole and Cajun ways. Thank you to Nat, the craziest, most loveable girl I know. Thank you to Sage, for making me believe in magic. Thank you to Elijah, for showing me that it’s okay to be different and that beignets are food from the heavens. Thank you to Sam, for being…a great friend. And thank you to New Orleans for helping me find myself. I am beyond grateful for this new chapter in my life.” She raised the glass of champagne that Nat had thrust into her hand. “And thank you for being here to share it with me.”

  The crowd applauded, and Roxy looked around. The dining room was full of people, chattering, laughing, eating and drinking. She wandered into the lobby where she could survey the entire room.

  As she watched the scene in front of her, she felt a huge sense of satisfaction and achievement.

  “I did this,” she whispered to herself. She almost couldn’t believe it.

  Her phone gave a little “ting.” She looked at the screen. There was a text from Angela, her call center supervisor at Modal Appliances, Inc.

  Jade and Chloe have been fired for fighting in the women’s bathroom. We are two customer service reps down. Come back to work at 9 AM sharp, but no pay for the time you missed. Don’t be late!

  Roxy read the text several times. She tapped out a reply.

  Can’t make it. Sorry. Good luck, though.

  She looked back at the room and watched her guests. Sam waved from across the room.

  She knew what to do. She didn’t hesitate. There was no grief, no loss, no love lost. She swiped her phone. There was a “whoosh.”

  Angela was gone for good.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2019 Alison Golden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Mesa Verde Publishing

  P.O. Box 1002

  San Carlos, CA 94070

  Edited by

  Marjorie Kramer

  NEW ORLEANS NIGHTMARE

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  “OOOOH, I’M SO excited!” Roxy Reinhardt said, dancing around the kitchen, while pots and pans of all sizes bubbled on the stovetop. Gumbos, stews, and jambalayas filled the room with rich, spicy steam as she boogied in the space between the range and the countertops.

  “Me too!” Nat said, clapping her hands together.

  Roxy was the manager and part-owner of the Funky Cat Inn, having been recently installed as such by the previous owner, Evangeline, and local investor, laundryman, handyman, and something of a handsome dark horse, Sam. Nat was Roxy’s “Girl Friday.” She was also a former English nanny who had overstayed her visa.

  Today they were preparing a Grand Welcome Meal.

  “Who are these people again?” Evangeline asked Roxy, for the third time. “I don’t understand all these new-fangled Instabook things, cher.”

  Evangeline was retired and living her own life now, but she still came over to help them with the food. She was an absolute master
at Creole and Cajun cooking and baking, and Roxy and Nat had submitted themselves to an extended tutelage.

  “They’re called influencers,” Roxy explained. “That means that they have a lot of followers on Instagram.”

  “Huh?” Evangeline said.

  Nat rolled her eyes and gave Roxy a wink as she looked back from a pot of gumbo she was stirring. “Instagram is a platform where you have your own page, and you put pictures on it. If people like what they see, they follow you to watch what you’re going to put up next. We have a page for the Funky Cat. Sage runs it.”

  “So why are these…” Evangeline frowned. “Why are these influgrammers comin’ here?”

  “It’s influencers, Evangeline,” Nat said.

  Roxy laughed. “Influgrammers sounds pretty good, though! You might have just coined a new word there, Evangeline. Anyway, the influencers are coming here to stay as part of a promotion. We pay them to showcase their visit. All the pictures and videos they shoot while they are here get put on their Instagram feed, and their followers will see them. Since they have hundreds of thousands of followers, it’s great publicity. This is huge for us.”

  Roxy had arrived in New Orleans during Mardi Gras season. Now though, spring had brightened into summer and the vivid colors and excitement of Mardi Gras were over. The city had lazily tilted into June, but with the imminent arrival of the influencers, the atmosphere at the Funky Cat was ramping up to a level never experienced in the building’s entire 102-year existence.

  Evangeline sighed, shaking her head with bemusement. “Back in my day, people simply bought an ad in a magazine or two.”

  Well into her eighties, Evangeline bustled around the kitchen with pots and spices, her floral wraparound dresses swishing beneath her aprons as she did so. She was a flurry of bustle and action. She could still manage six pans on the flame at one time, and ordered Roxy and Nat about the place as if she still owned the kitchen, which, when she was in it, she did.